Journey to Shandur and Naltar in 2006 was never just about travel. It was about human connection, solitude in nature, adventure at high altitude, and the friendships that blossomed in unexpected corners.
By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden
The Memory that Dances
I saw him dancing at an altitude of 12,000 feet.
That image of President Pervez Musharraf dancing during the Shandur Polo Festival is etched into my memory like a surreal painting. But this travelogue is more than a memory of a moment. It’s about a solo journey I undertook in 2006 from Moro in Sindh to Gilgit, then onward to the wild mountain plains of Shandur and finally into the forests and lakes of Naltar Valley.
From the Plains of Moro to the Hills of Gilgit
The journey began in Moro, my hometown in Sindh. My destination was the world-renowned Shandur Polo Festival. I took the train from Nawabshah to Rawalpindi. The train ride, slow and steady, offered me views of Pakistan that buses often miss—the wide, yellow fields of rural Sindh, the hustle and grit of southern Punjab, and then the cool, welcoming greenery of Rawalpindi.
After arriving in Rawalpindi and staying one day there, I caught a NATCO coaster headed for Gilgit. This was no ordinary coaster ride; this was the legendary Karakoram Highway (KKH) route. As the coaster wound through deep gorges and towering cliffs, it felt like time had slowed down to match the pace of ancient rivers carving their way through rock. We passed small villages like Chilas, Jaglot, and even glimpsed the mighty Nanga Parbat from a distance. It was not just a route; it was a corridor through nature and history.
Arrival in Gilgit & the Madinah Guest House
Our coaster finally reached Gilgit, but due to President Musharraf’s visit, the city roads were blocked. We had to get down far from the center and find our own way in. I hopped onto a local Suzuki pick-up and slowly made my way toward the Madinah Guest House.
The guest house was run by a kind man, Mr. Muhammad Yaqoob. I had stayed there before in 2003, and it felt like returning home. International travellers filled the lobby—some washing clothes, others sunbathing or chatting with rucksacks by their feet. These were not tourists; they were adventurists, mountain seekers.
Over tea with Mr. Yaqoob, I caught up on the local scene. The guest house was a hub for international hikers, climbers, and wanderers. Two Danish girls complained about the extra warm weather there in Gilgit. I also reunited with my university classmate from Sindh Agriculture University, Shahid Hussain, who was based in Gilgit.
Meeting Altaf & Forming the Crew
After two days, the man I was waiting for—Altaf Hussain—finally arrived. Altaf, a jovial and experienced mountain guide, was full of life and laughter. Our travel group consisted of Altaf, myself, his staff, Robert from Melbourne, a Japanese woman, a South Korean girl, and Sohrab Memon, a New Zealander of Sindhi origin. Sohrab told me how his ancestors migrated from somewhere near Nasarpur in Sindh to Mombasa, Kenya, and later to New Zealand. He had visited Sindh before coming up north.
We set off in two jeeps toward Shandur via the Gilgit-Gahkuch-Gupis route along the Gilgit river. Our vehicle climbed into the rugged terrains of the Ghizer District. The landscape grew wilder, more serene. Gahkuch and Gupis greeted us with wooden houses and riverside scenes. At Gupis, I thought about returning someday to explore the Yasin and Darkut valleys.
The Enchantment of Phandar Valley
As we drove deeper, a gasp escaped my lips: “Oh my God, so beautiful.” Before us lay Phandar Valley—its lake calm as glass, mirroring snow-capped peaks. It felt like a secret preserved in silence, waiting for travellers like us.
We stopped for a while. The tranquility, the crisp air, the stillness of the lake—it all invited reflection. Phandar wasn’t just a stop; it was an experience, a moment where nature stands still for you.
Shandur Polo Festival – A High-Altitude Carnival
Eventually, we arrived in Shandur at nearly 12,000 feet. The area was a bustling camp town—tents sprawled like a pop-up city, food stalls with piping hot chapatis and curries, stalls selling local crafts, and the sounds of fireworks and laughter everywhere. This was no ordinary festival—it was a celebration in the sky. I couldn’t help but laugh when I found out that the locals jokingly refer to alcoholic drinks as “Hunza water.”
We pitched our tents a bit away from the central chaos for some peace. Every day brought a new rhythm: trekking to the lake, chatting with travellers, laughing endlessly at Altaf’s stories, and dealing with the rustic realities—cold toilets and shivering showers. But none of it mattered. The air was thin but pure, the people warm, and the vibe festive.
The Match of Matches – Gilgit vs Chitral
Shandur Polo isn’t just a game; it’s war on horseback. With no umpires, minimal rules, and intense rivalry, the matches between Gilgit and Chitral have been a tradition for over 80 years.
On the final day, a huge crowd had gathered. The excitement was electric. Horses galloped fiercely, dust swirled in the air, and every shot was followed by roars of applause. President Musharraf attended the match as the chief guest. And there, amidst the medal ceremony and the music, I saw him—dancing.
As others stayed back for the closing ceremony, I climbed back to our jeep parked on a hill. The sky was blue, the breeze fresh, and the air danced through the alpine flowers. Suddenly, it all ended. The crowd began to disband, and jeeps and other vehicles honked in chaos. It reminded me of a Sindhi saying: “Melo matto chadje”—leave the festival when it’s at its peak.
Back to Gilgit – New Friends, Old Bonds
I had the choice to go with Altaf to Chitral or return to Gilgit. I chose the latter, telling myself I’d do Chitral another day. That day hasn’t come yet.
On the way back, two girls from Singapore—Xueting and Kim Eng—joined our ride. We bonded over chai and mountains. Years later, Robert visited me in Moro, I visited him in Melbourne, and Xueting came to see me in Stockholm. The world, as always, proved itself smaller than it seems.
Naltar Valley – The Alpine Retreat
Back in Gilgit, I rested again at Madinah Guest House. Mr. Yaqoob invited me for a homemade dinner, and later we went to Altaf’s home. Yet the journey wasn’t over.
I set off with Shahid on his roaring motorbike toward Naltar Valley—a jewel in Gilgit-Baltistan’s crown. The bumpy, forested path took us through alpine villages and babbling brooks. Riding the KKH on that bike gave me a thrill no 4×4 could offer.
Naltar is famed for its multicolored lakes—Satrangi (Rainbow), Blue Lake, Pari Lake, and Firoza. Each lake can be more mesmerizing than the last. Some were hidden behind rocky outcrops, others nestled in flowering meadows. Now there, in winter, the area transforms into a ski resort run by the Pakistan Air Force. Snow sports, chair lifts, and even ice hockey are part of the valley’s winter character.
Naltar – Nature’s Quiet Majesty
Few know that Naltar is also home to a protected wildlife sanctuary. Snow leopards, Himalayan ibex, and brown bears roam its remote ridges. The local villages—Naltar Bala and Naltar Paain—are charming and highly literate, boasting a 90%+ literacy rate.
The simplicity of life there was humbling. Children waved at us, women worked the fields, and elders offered advice and warm smiles. With minimal internet and no urban distractions, Naltar felt like a retreat not just in space, but in time.
Epilogue: Of Journeys & Friendships That Endure
That journey to Shandur and Naltar in 2006 was never just about travel. It was about human connection, solitude in nature, adventure at high altitude, and the friendships that blossomed in unexpected corners.
Some moments still visit me vividly—the reflections in Phandar Lake, Musharraf dancing at Shandur, riding a bike in Naltar, or Xueting’s smile when we met again in Stockholm.
I often tell myself: travel when you can. Because the days you postpone may never come or come after a long wait.
Insha’Allah, I’ll return to those mountains again someday. And maybe, I’ll dance too.
Read: Rejuvenate Your Body and Mind
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Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.
