Kashmir. Not really top of package holiday pops in '96 given the simmering conflict between the Indian army and assorted Islamic factions. Not really part of most travellers’ plans either, considering the kidnapping of the four Western hostages in the region one year ago. Their fate is still unknown. But there is a part of Kashmir that remains safe, friendly and overlooked. It has awesome mountain scenery, great trekking and no crowds. It’s Pakistani-held Kashmir, known in Pakistan as the Northern territories.

Completely dominating Pakistani Kashmir are the seven and eight kilometre high peaks of the Karakoram mountains. These jagged monsters harbour K2, the world’s second highest mountain and the biggest glaciers outside the Arctic regions. Yet if it were possible to view the area from the eye of a satellite, a tiny green ribbon might just be visible, as it threads its way through the brutal highlands.

This emerald vein is the Hunza river and it exists because of the vast snowmelt that seeps from the tumultuous peaks when the bitter winter weather recedes. Wedged between the mountains and the river valley is the Karkoram highway (KKH), a crucial strategic link between Pakistan and China and open to visitors since 1986. Building the road took 12 years, 500 lives and millions of dollars. It also nearly ignited a fourth war between India and Pakistan.

I had wanted to visit the area since reading Nick Danzinger’s epic tale of his journey across the badlands of Asia following the ancient Silk Road, described in his book Beyond Forbidden Frontiers. Dazinger travelled through Khomeni’s Iran during his was with Iraq, crossed Afganistan with a renegade mujaheeden group and was the first Westerner to travel up the KKH and cross the Khunjerab Pass into China (when it was forbidden).

Travelling the KKH has to be one of the most inspirational journeys on the planet. There is nowhere else on earth where it's possible to journey through the heart of a mountain range of such epic proportions. Unless time is tight you must complete the journey and reach the desert city of Kashgar over the border in China. It has one of the world’s great bazaars, where Kirghiz nomads, Tajik tribesmen and the local Uighur population gather to gossip, eat a kebab or two and sell a camel if a deal can be done.

In Pakistan, the KKH officially starts in Rawalpindi but for most travellers Gilgit marks the start of the KKH. It's a pleasant place and the mountain air and well spaced streets are welcome relief after the stifling heat and claustrophobic intensity of large Pakistani cities. I arrived in Gilgit in July and the temperature was around 35°C, about 10 degrees less than the steaming cauldron of Rawalpindi where I started the 14 hour minibus journey due north. There are a few cafes/restaurants and there are a number of trekking and mountaineering specialists. For the first time in Pakistan, my female travelling friend felt at ease. Women were much more in evidence here, on the streets, shopping in the bazaar and working in the fields.

Venture into the bazaar area and you’ll find rugs and textiles from Afganistan, thermos flasks and teacups from China and lots of apricots. Apricots are grown all around Gilgit and form an essential part of the local diet. There are over 20 varieties that are eaten in summer and dried at other times. The fruit and seeds are exported and the kernels are crushed and the oil is used for cooking.

Gilgit seems a most tranquil place, the pace of life is slow and there are few motor vehicles. Yet this peacefulness is deceptive. Occasionally, violence erupts because of an ancient religious feud between rival Ishmali and Shi'ite Muslim sects.
About 70 kilometres north of Gilgit is the fabled land of Hunza. The Hunzakuts are thought to live longer than any other race on earth and it is not uncommon to meet wrinkled folk who claim to be more than 120 years old. The Hunzakuts put this longevity down to a combination of a pure diet and the mountain air. Hunza is thought to have inspired James Hilton's image of Shangri La. As I travelled up the KKH towards the town of Karimabad it was easy to believe such tales. On the right side of the bus was the towering might of Rakaposhi (7665m), on the left were even higher mountains.

Most travellers choose to stay in the small town of Karimabad, perched high on the Western side of the Hunza valley and rendered almost insignificant to the eye by the towering Karakoram peaks behind. There is almost a small travelling scene here, fuelled by a good selection of cheap guesthouses and excellent trekking. I spent an idyllic week here, exploring the mountain paths in the warm summer sunshine. The locals have developed an ingenious system of irrigation that catches the glacial meltwater high up the valley and channels it down past every field. Each family is responsible for the maintenance of the system as it passes their land. Often I'd take a packed lunch and walk along these happy gurgling streams on my way up towards the glaciers. Sometimes I wouldn't budge for hours from my lofty perch, transfixed by the views.

Thirty years ago this part of Hunza was so isolated that it took 10 days to reach the nearest phone. It raises questions about the impact the KKH has had on the people and their unique culture. Luckily this is still an isolated part of the world, the nearest airport at Gilgit can only accommodate small planes. Because it takes over 20 hours to reach Hunza from Lahore, there are no daytripping Pakistanis or Western package tourists coming to gawk at the “tribal” people or their magnificent mountains. The road has brought electricity, food and fuel in winter, and a steady stream of dollars, pounds and deutschsmarks.

One of the highlights of travelling the KKH is using the excellent bus service that operates up and down the highway. The buses themselves are decorated from bumper to bumper, inside and out with gawdy stickers, cosmetic chains, flashing bulbs and tacky paintings. On the driver’s window will be a glorious assortment of cracks and chips and stickers of Madonna and Allah. Anyone with any sense is lying on the roof, cushioned by their backpack with a pair of headphones in their ears, soaking up the sun and enjoying the fresh mountain air and the best views in the world.

Passu was the next village I stopped at. There’re a couple of guesthouses, some more apricot trees, hardly any people and mindbogglingly beautiful scenery. On a nearby mountain is a huge sign welcoming the Aga Khan who is the spiritual leader of the Ishmaili religion that most Hunzakuts adhere to. This enlightened fellow has built hundreds of schools, numerous health centres and encouraged his people to learn English. He’s even said that if a couple have a son and a daughter and can only afford to educate one, they should choose the daughter because the son will be able to look after himself. The trek to the Batura glacier and back from Passu is one of the best day hikes I've ever done (and also the most dangerous). The problem was a dodgy map. The first hour and half was straightforward, up a valley then along a stony path that clings a little precariously to a steep hill. Then the path turns right into a wonderful U-shaped valley which was covered in fresh young grass in mid-July. I reached the abandoned huts on the map and had lunch overlooking the Batura glacier.

Then the problems started. The path ahead was unclear, I went to the right and almost dropped to an early death trying to negotiate the way down. I managed to somehow scramble up the bank again and retreat back the same path to Passu nursing a few cuts and bruises. Maybe the moral of the story is “take a guide”.
We hit the KKH again, surveying the high alpine wonderland from the comfort of our roof top position on the magicbus. Every corner of the highway opened up a new perspective. Houses were few now, and the road apart, there was little evidence of the impact of man, just a brutal, beautiful starkness.