2025-04-04T08:00:00.000Z

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This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).

As the Friday prayers conclude, a vibrant atmosphere envelops the bustling streets of Rawalpindi. The air is filled with a cacophony of sounds, from the growling of mopeds maneuvering through the crowded thoroughfares to the chatter of pedestrians. Amidst this lively scene, striking details emerge: men sporting henna-dyed beards and women donning candy-striped hijabs, a knife-sharpener sending sparks flying as he tends to his craft, and an auto-rickshaw carrying four passengers alongside a goat. Just down a narrow alley, a group of boys enthusiastically plays cricket under a web of overhead wires. The sweltering heat wraps around us, and the sounds of squeaking brakes mingle with the scent of spices wafting from nearby stalls.

“We’re coming into mango season,” shares Aneeqa Ali, our local tour leader, as she strides confidently through the chaos. She gestures toward a roadside stall brimming with ripe, yellow mangoes nestled among the hustle and bustle. “I love this time of year. June is particularly nice for hiking,” she remarks with a bright smile. “It can be warm here, but once you reach the Karakoram, the temperatures drop significantly. You’ll see the difference once we’re in the mountains.”

Aneeqa’s attire complements her enthusiastic personality; she wears her hair down, adorned in a traditional paisley shalwar kameez—a tunic and loose trousers typical of the region. Once a finance professional, she pivoted to tourism upon recognizing her country’s immense potential as an adventure travel destination. “The internet is still a black hole for travel information in Pakistan,” she explains as we weave through vendors selling ginger and almonds. “Finding details on restaurants or booking train tickets can be quite challenging. But don’t let that dissuade you from exploring.”

This advice proves to be well-founded. I am part of a new group tour organized by Intrepid Travel, and my initial concerns about safety quickly dissipated after my arrival the previous day. Security worries? Not unless I consider the locals who greet me with warm waves while I dodge passing mopeds. The only uninvited attention comes from enthusiastic teenagers asking for selfies, curious about the presence of foreign visitors. And as for red tape? The authorities recently eliminated visa fees for tourists from 126 countries, including the UK, making travel smoother than ever.

The Lok Virsa Museum in Islamabad is a cultural gem showcasing Pakistan’s rich heritage, complete with entertaining musical performances. This country is a tapestry of youth and ancient history. Established in 1947 after the partition of India, Pakistan’s lands have witnessed the rise and fall of numerous civilizations. Our journey offers a glimpse into its diverse narratives. Rawalpindi, with its predominantly pre-partition architecture—including a dilapidated former Hindu temple—is merely a short drive from Islamabad, the capital city, which was meticulously planned and constructed in the 1960s.

Yet the heart of our adventure lies in the Baltistan region, located in the far north of the country, home to the world’s second-highest mountain range: the breathtakingly majestic Karakoram. While the Himalayas in nearby Nepal attract over a million adventurous travelers each year, the Karakoram receives a mere 15,000 hikers annually, making it a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.

Our group, comprised of twelve enthusiastic explorers, will hike to the relatively less-visited areas of this mountain range, culminating in a trek to Amin Brakk Base Camp, which sits at an elevation of 14,000 feet. “No one is telling Pakistan’s story,” Aneeqa states firmly. “The more remote valleys possess a unique beauty.” As I will soon discover, her assertion is an understatement of colossal proportions.

But before venturing further, we spend time absorbing the charm of Islamabad. The city, which succeeded coastal Karachi as the national capital in 1967, boasts a population exceeding 1.2 million. It presents a juxtaposition of order and eccentricity; fig tree-lined avenues and austere civic buildings coexist with vibrantly painted trucks and motorbikes carrying three passengers each. Tethered camels rest beside ongoing construction, adding to the city’s unique character.

On our first evening, we dine at Khoka Khola, a basement restaurant where refreshing non-alcoholic mint margaritas counter the heat from our spicy samosa chaat. The walls are adorned with framed images of The Beatles and iconic Pakistani figures, while a stencil humorously depicts former Prime Minister Imran Khan’s head on the body of Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo. The hotel television channels are all abuzz with cricket and political discussions.

Although Aneeqa will not accompany us to the northern region, our journey continues with Muneer Alam, another tour leader; he is a kind-hearted, energetic presence, eager to show us the beauty of his homeland. A native of Baltistan, he is well-acquainted with the serene grandeur of the Karakoram. “I am a man of the mountains,” he introduces himself upon our meeting in Islamabad.

On the eve of our one-hour flight northward, he takes us to the iconic Faisal Mosque, located amidst the gentle hills bordering the city. As the largest mosque in South Asia and the fifth largest worldwide, its four towering minarets rise above the pyramidal prayer hall, creating a stunning sight.

“Remove your shoes here,” Muneer instructs as we approach the expansive courtyard, where the sky transitions into a deepening blue, and the air remains warm. A symphony of sparrows fills the air as hundreds of people await the call to prayer. The marble stones beneath my feet are still radiating warmth, and the mosque’s grandeur is awe-inspiring. Muneer gazes at the crescent moon hanging in the dusky sky, noting, “Just like the Pakistan flag,” before his thoughts drift towards the distant Karakoram. “I see this as a good omen for our adventure.”

Our journey into the lesser-known parts of Pakistan reveals its stunning natural beauty and the warmth of its people. In the Old Bazaar of Skardu, I meet Sadiq Sadpara, who has climbed all five of Pakistan’s mountains over 8,000 meters (26,240 feet). Dressed in traditional woolen attire and sporting a thick mustache, he recounts his impressive summits, including K2, the second-highest peak in the world, known for its daunting challenges.

The Karakoram, which Thomas Montgomerie mapped in 1856, boasts some of the most magnificent mountains on the planet, with K2 hidden from view only because other towering peaks surround it. The moment we land in Skardu, the breathtaking scenery unfolds around us, with jagged ridgelines pierce the sky, and vast valleys reveal glaciers in their icy embrace.

Driving through the mountains towards the trailhead village of Kanday, we stop to admire the sparkling waters of the Indus River, which flows from Mount Kailash in Tibet to the Arabian Sea. “It’s our lifeblood,” Muneer expresses with a sense of pride. The Balti people, whose ancestors migrated from Tibet over 3,000 years ago, are predominantly Shia Muslims, adding another layer of complexity to Pakistan's cultural fabric. With over 70 languages spoken nationwide, Balti is just one of the many dialects that highlight the region’s rich diversity.

The road to Kanday takes us through rugged terrain, revealing small villages that emerge as green oases amid the rocky landscape. In Yugo, a village of 600 households primarily engaged in farming and herding, villager Inayat Yugvi leads us through narrow lanes lined with mud-and-stone houses. “We hope to attract more tourists to show them our way of life,” he shares, offering us freshly picked cherries that burst with sweetness. His ambition to welcome visitors and share his community’s story mirrors the aims of our journey, as we traverse through less-traveled paths where domestic tourists typically flock to the more popular spots like the Hunza Valley.

Our trek begins in Kanday, which stands as a peaceful outpost beside a river plain at the head of a secluded valley. After a night in Khaplu, where a 19th-century fort stands guard over the landscape, we are greeted warmly by the locals with the cheerful refrain, “Welcome to Pakistan!” and a delightful feast of dahls and curries served on the floor.

The trails we follow have recently been marked with signs for trekkers, a welcome development that has enhanced accessibility to the stunning Nangma Valley. As we navigate through the upper reaches, we find ourselves surrounded by glaciers and towering cliffs, entering a natural paradise that seems to beckon adventurers with its grandeur.

The first part of our hike leads us between towering granite cliffs, creating a passage that feels like stepping into a sacred realm. Our ascent is a challenge, and I find myself taking slow, measured steps, enveloped by the earthy aroma of herbs and the majesty of the mountains surrounding us. After five hours of trekking, we reach our first camp at Mingulo Broq, where jagged peaks rise around us like fortresses, their ice-pocked edges glistening in the sunlight.

As our tents are set up, I seize the opportunity to join the local porters in a spirited game of cricket. My lackluster bowling is met with good-natured laughter, but the experience of playing in such breathtaking surroundings is nothing short of exhilarating.

At around 3 a.m., I venture outside my tent for a moment of solitude. The crisp night air and the star-filled sky create a magical ambiance, the Milky Way illuminating the vastness above. It’s a stark contrast to the world outside, and I feel a profound connection to the mountains that cradle us in their embrace.

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast of flatbreads and tea, Muneer encourages us to maintain our momentum. We still have 1,300 feet to climb before reaching our Nangma Valley campsite. An hour into our climb, we encounter a trailblazing solo female hiker, the only other person we see in three days.

As we ascend higher, past gnarled willows, I stroll alongside Liaqat Ali, our chief porter, who shares captivating insights about the local wildlife and geography. He reveals that a peak he helped to name after his son was climbed for the first time just last year, reinforcing the sense of adventure that surrounds us.

Arriving in Nangma Valley feels like stepping into a breathtaking amphitheater, where colossal peaks tower in magnificent silence. Here, beneath the impressive Shingu Charpa glacier, emerald-green grass carpets the ground, and a lively stream flows nearby. I dip my fingers into the ice-cold water, feeling invigorated by its chill.

After a long day of trekking, we gather in the mess tent to replenish our energy with warm soup and chicken curries. Our conversations revolve around the trip’s objectives and the hope that sustainable tourism can foster economic benefits for local communities while reshaping global perceptions of Pakistan. “The region needs responsible, sustainable tourism,” Muneer emphasizes, reminding us of our purpose.

As night falls, the solitude of Nangma Valley envelops us. The experience of camping under the vast, star-studded sky, surrounded by immense mountains, is nothing short of transcendent.

Our final trek leads us to Amin Brakk base camp, situated at 14,000 feet. The climb is gradual, and Muneer shares that he recently spotted fresh snow leopard tracks in the area, adding excitement to our ascent. The rugged landscape around us becomes even more enchanting as we climb, with wildflowers peeking through the rocky terrain.

Reaching the base camp, we stand in awe at the sight of Amin Brakk looming above us. Although there are taller peaks in the Karakoram, being here in the heart of this majestic range is a privilege I will cherish forever.

A couple of days later, I find myself sipping coffee in the sunlight at the historic Shigar Fort, a heritage hotel located just north of our journey back to Skardu. As I chat with Noor un Nisa, the young front desk clerk who broke barriers by becoming the first woman employed at this establishment, I am reminded of the potential tourism holds for the region. “I was determined to get this job,” she states assertively. “This challenge was my opportunity to contribute to the visitor industry.” The majestic peaks in the background serve as a reminder of the beauty and potential that Pakistan holds. “For me,” Noor concludes, “tourism is the future,” a sentiment echoed by many in this region where hospitality and breathtaking nature intertwine seamlessly.

In conclusion, as we leave the stunning landscapes of Baltistan behind, the beauty of Pakistan remains etched in our hearts, a testament to the allure of sustainable travel and the rich stories waiting to be uncovered in this remarkable land.

Published in the April 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK).

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