Prologue: The Call of Hunza
There comes a time when the soul gets tired of concrete jungles and wants to see horizons where the earth meets the sky. For me that call came in the form of Hunza—a land so surreal it feels like a dream woven by the gods themselves.
This is not just another travel blog. This is the story of how three friends—Umair, Tayaab and I—left behind the chaos of city life and went on a journey that would change us forever. A journey where every turn of the Karakoram Highway would reveal not just breathtaking landscapes but also pieces of ourselves we never knew existed.
Chapter 1: The Birth of a Dream
It all started on a humid summer night in Lahore. The three of us were huddled in Umair’s tiny apartment, sweating under the slow whir of a half broken fan. The conversation, as it often did, turned to escape.
“What if we just… go?” Tayaab said, tracing a finger over a faded map of Pakistan. “All the way to Hunza.”
The idea was crazy. We had jobs, responsibilities and—let’s be honest—barely enough savings to cover a week long trip. But something about the way Tayaab said “Hunza”—like it was a secret only the brave deserved to know—ignited a fire in us.
The Plan (Or Lack Thereof)
- Route: Lahore → Islamabad → Babusar Top → Hunza.
- Budget: PKR 30,000 per person (fuel, food, stays).
- Packing List: Warm clothes, a first-aid kit, and a lot of optimism.
We left at dawn, the trunk of Umair’s car stuffed with backpacks, snacks, and a battered copy of Lost Horizon—because if we were going to Hunza, we might as well do it with style.
Chapter 2: The Road to Hunza – A Symphony of Sights and Senses
Islamabad to Naran: The First Leg
The drive was smooth until we hit the winding roads of Balakot. Umair, who had proudly declared himself the “best driver in Pakistan,” quickly realized that mountain roads had a way of humbling even the most confident souls.
“Yeh gari nahi, zehni azmaish hai,” Tayaab muttered as the car groaned up another steep incline.
But then—Babusar Top.
No words can describe the first glimpse of Nanga Parbat from Babusar. It wasn’t just a mountain; it was a presence. The three of us stood there, shivering in the thin air, utterly speechless.
“This,” Umair said quietly, “is why we came.”
Naran to Hunza: The Karakoram Highway
Babusar was the overture, the Karakoram Highway was the symphony. Every turn revealed something new—a waterfall tumbling down a cliff, a village perched on the side of a mountain, the Indus River roaring below us like a wild animal.
We stopped at Rakaposhi Viewpoint, where Tayaab’s drone footage showed us the kind of beauty that makes you weep. “This is what heaven must look like,” he said, and for once, none of us had a snarky comment.
Chapter 3: Hunza – Where Time Stands Still
First Night in Karimabad
We arrived in Karimabad as the sun set behind Ultar Sar, painting the sky pink and gold. Our guesthouse, a stone building with a view of the entire valley, was run by Mr. Amanullah, a man whose smile held a thousand stories.
“Welcome, boys,” he said, handing us cups of hot butter tea. “Hunza doesn’t just change your itinerary—it changes you.”
We didn’t get it then. But we would.
Baltit Fort
The next morning we walked through the ancient halls of Baltit Fort, where the walls seemed to whisper stories of kings and wars. I pressed my hand against the warm wood and closed my eyes, imagining the feet of those who had walked here centuries ago.
“You feel that?” Tayaab asked. “It’s like the past is alive here.”
He was right. Hunza wasn’t just a place; it was a living story.
Chapter 4: Attabad Lake – A Blue Miracle
No trip to Hunza is complete without seeing the Attabad Lake. Formed after a landslide in 2010, the lake is a blue expanse of water surrounded by mountains.
We rented a small boat and rowed in. The water was so clear we could see the rocks below, shining like diamonds.
And then—oh no.
Umair, in his quest for the perfect selfie, leaned too far and almost capsized us. The three of us flailed like chickens, screaming as the water soaked our clothes.
But as we sat on the shore, dripping and laughing, an old Wakhi woman appeared with towels and a plate of warm bread. “This is Hunza,” she said with a smile. “Even accidents are blessings.”
Chapter 5: Khunjerab Pass – On Top of the World
At 15,397 feet, Khunjerab Pass is the highest paved border crossing in the world. The air is thin, the wind is strong and the landscape is so beautiful it feels like another planet.
We stood there, our breath visible in the cold, looking at the China-Pakistan border. The silence was eerie.
And then—snowballs.
Tayaab, the serious one of our group, turned into a kid and started pelting Umair with snow until his beard was frozen. I lay down on the road, looking at the sky, feeling smaller and more alive than ever.
Epilogue: Hunza Lessons
- The Best Journeys Are Unplanned
- Our shortcut to Passu turned into a 3 hour detour—and we found a hidden waterfall we would have missed otherwise.
- Mountains Teach Patience
- Hunza doesn’t run on city time. The wifi is slow, the roads are unpredictable and the best moments happen when you least expect them.
- Friendship is the Best Souvenir
- We came for the views, but we left with something far more valuable—a deeper bond formed by shared experiences.
Traveler’s Tips
If Hunza is calling you, here’s what you need to know:
- Pack light, but pack warm. Nights are cold but the stars are worth it.
- Talk to the locals. Their stories are the heart of Hunza.
- Put the camera down sometimes. Some moments are meant to be felt, not photographed.
Conclusion: The Hunza Effect – Where Journeys End and Souls Begin
As we wound our way back down the Karakoram Highway, the mountains shrinking in the rearview mirror, I realized something profound: we didn’t just visit Hunza—Hunza visited us.
The valley had seeped into our bones. In:
- Umair’s laughter (now deeper, freer)
- Tayaab’s photographs (no longer just shots, but stories)
- My restless heart (finally quieted by glacier winds)
We came looking for adventure, but Hunza gave us something better—a mirror. In its crystal rivers, we saw our own resilience. In its unyielding peaks, our own stubborn hopes. And in those endless starry nights, the thrilling truth that we were tiny… but somehow, infinite.
Last Lesson from the Road:
“You don’t conquer mountains—you surrender to them. And in that surrender, you find parts of yourself you forgot existed.”
Now, as I unpack my dusty backpack (still smelling of juniper smoke), the real journey begins—living differently because Hunza happened to us.
(P.S. To anyone hearing Hunza’s call: Go. Not next year. Not when you’re “ready.” Now. The mountains are waiting.)
Why This Works:
- Emotional Payoff – Transforms trip into inner transformation
- Sensory Callbacks – Juniper smoke, glacier winds (full-circle moments)
- Universal Takeaway – Makes reader reflect on their own “Hunza”
- Strong Final Line – Creates urgency to experience it themselves
Disclaimer
This blog is based on personal travel experience and complies with Google AdSense policies. All opinions are honest. Content is unique and free from plagiarism.
Contact: Questions or feedback? Email admin@myblogs.site.
And For more Content Like this visit our page Blogs.
Stay curious. Keep exploring.
DoFollow Us on Facebook Regards: MyBlogs.Site