Karimabad- a small slice of heaven

 

The next day saw the Germans head off towards the Khunjerab border to look at China.  We bucked the trend for a bit of anti-social alone time, and headed off to find the walnut cake. 

Karimabad was only a couple of hours down the road.  We found the cake.  We ate the cake.  We fell in love with the cake, the café, and the town.

It was perfect in every way so we found a hotel and stayed the night.

We met a great Lahori guy in the café.  He told us how his whole family thought he was mad for being there as it was so dangerous, and then laughed.  We clicked.

Our hotel was amazing, with sunflowers and apricot trees, and a goat we fed. 
 

 

We met some fellow hotel-dwellers, and spent a pleasant evening gabbing over a big communal meal.  

We found a Brock, a young Aussie mechanic who was on a 2 year trip round the world. 

There was a Peter, an old hippie anarchist; a lanky guy with bizarrely loud Homer Simpson patterned pyjamas on, who waved his hands around and told lots of stories. 

There was a young Chinese fellow called Jack who had spent a lot of time in the States. He was communist through and through, and oddly obsessed with dams. 
He was riding his 150cc bike around China, but they took it off him at the border.
 
There was a Louisiana kid with a drawling accent who was teaching English out there; he had recently visited the Peshawar Dead American market and purchased himself a dead soldier’s gun. 

There was a Toronto Pakistani guy, Karim, who was headed off to pick potatoes with the farmers the next day, just for kicks. 

It was a good mix. 

We found a shop selling Murree-brewed lager for an extortionate price, and sat on the patio watching the sun go down, talking rubbish. 

We all arranged to meet up for trout-fishing back down the hill in Gilgit.

I had the best nights seep for a very long time, and felt human again.