High times

Pakistan, portrayed in the media as an aggressive nuclear power, is home to some of the most genuinely hospitable people on Earth. It's a country of parched, dusty landscapes that give way to soaring snow-capped Himalayan peaks, where a male-dominated society elected a female prime minister.

After the events of September 11, 2001, the republic became synonymous with the 'war on terror' and Islamic madrassa schools that whipped up anti-western fervour. Mission impossible for the tourist office, or so it seemed.

Political tensions are easing, however, and adventurous travellers are returning to a welcome as warm as ever. The British Foreign Office still errs on the side of caution, warning visitors to avoid Karachi, Baluchistan and areas of sectarian hostilities. Fortunately, in the region that attracts most foreign visitors, the biggest headache is likely to be caused by altitude sickness.

From the modern capital, Islamabad, there are two ways to reach Pakistan's scenic trekking areas in the mountainous north. A flight to Gilgit takes about an hour and the views to starboard are jaw dropping. I have other plans, though, and decide to meander northwards at a slower pace. Flying feels like cheating. I want to follow a route used by long-dead merchants, pioneers and my great-grandfather in the days of the British Raj.

The Karakoram Highway winds its way for 1,200km, from Islamabad to Kashgar, in western China. Built as a Sino-Pakistan joint venture from 1958 to 1978, engineers blasted a road where in many places only a donkey track had existed. Guidebooks warn of landslides, never-ending roadworks and delays.

The first leg is a gentle climb by minibus from Islamabad to the former British hill station of Murree. My rupees are declined by the driver, who explains that the Punjabi grandfather at the back has already paid my fare.