Travel Stories

When leaving Jaglot in the morning, I was faced with as much asphalt as a lack of it. By now I was used to it, but familiarity with the concept doesn’t breed acceptance. After an hour of plodding my way through, I arrived at the back end of a long queue leading up to clouds of dust. At these moments I’m glad to ride a bike, and I slowly drove past the many cars, richly ornamented trucks and waiting people. I parked my bike completely at the front, next to some army cars and men viewing the spectacle.

I opened my bag and started handing out almonds to the men around me. “It will probably take no more than half an hour”, said one man while accepting my almonds. Another pile of sand and rock was being shoved over the side. I was surprised that they got this giant yellow apparatus here so quickly, until I chatted with another man: “We’ve been waiting here for about 3,5h now, the bulldozer just arrived.” He told me that landslides happens often on this particular road. It’s hard to maintain a road on this kind of rock, It will always crumble and slide, but there is not much of an alternative.

Strangely enough it felt like a relief to spectate an actual fresh landslide. For the past two weeks I had seen traces of past disaster, but I could only imagine the actual moment. Now I knew the real implications, the danger felt more real, but not more frightening. Everything about it felt like just another daily hurdle in Pakistan.

I offered some almonds to the army guys in the pickup next to me, and got an enthusiastic smile back. Not because of the almonds, but for seeing a tall Dutch guy on a small motorbike in Gilgit-Baltistan. The bulldozer reached the other side and the engines were started. I waved the smiling militia goodbye and joined the rest of the bikers through the dust to the other side. Off to the next daily hurdle.