Pakistan is a country of two extremes, of fairy tales and terror tales. When I planned to travel to Pakistan the challenge was knowing where the fairy tale parts ended and where the more dangerous parts began. In 1998 my first attempt to visit Pakistan had failed at the outset: Following the deadly terror attacks on US Embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, the US had launched cruise missile attacks on tribal areas in Pakistan supposed to be the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden. I better stayed put in tranquil Iran, our then home. In 1999 my wife and I tried our luck again. Fabled Peshawar and its mystic street of the fairy storytellers were still off-limit, as it was in the midst of the uncontrollable tribal areas.

 We started our tour in the city of Lahore, fateful site of the Declaration of Indian Independence from British rule and of the resolution calling for the creation of Pakistan. Halva Puri for breakfast, chicken biryani for lunch and great mutton kebap wrapped in buttery naan for dinner. How I cherish them, the spices of the Orient! Food in Lahore was as good as its architecture bearing witness to Lahore’s splendor under the Mughal Empire. I still regard Shalimar Gardens, an Indian-Persian paradise garden representing the four gardens and four rivers of paradise mentioned in the Quran, as one of the most beautiful gardens where I have ever been. As it was a Saturday the gardens were full of families picnicking on the green lawn and enjoying the waterworks. As we watched two kids letting a lime dance on a fountain’s jet of water, we did not waste a thought on any travel warning.

 From Lahore we headed north, past the twin cities of Rawalpindi (beautiful chaos of people) and Islamabad (less beautiful sterile government enclave). We reached the southern ramp of Karakoram Highway, stretching over 1300km from Pakistan to China through most demanding, rugged terrain, cutting through the collision zone between the Eurasian and Indian plates. Soon lush rice paddies gave way to the deep gorges of the Indus. Cultivated terraces were sloping down to the roaring river. As the abysses got steeper and steeper. the road got more and more hairraising.

For lunch we stopped at a small village which proved to be a Disneyland of gun lovers. I was offered a locally-made copy of a Kalashnikov for just 50 USD. A tempting souvenir but hard to get home. Although summer was already being in full swing, massive amounts of snowpack still clung to the 7,000m peaks. After five days of driving on one of the world’s most spectacular mountain roads, we reached the impossibly beautiful section of the Hunza Valley. Pure Shangri La! In a perfect combination of nature, the Indus had carved its course deep below into the lush orchards of cherry, apricot and apple trees. Thousands of ripe apricots were drying on flat roofs in the sun, painting the little Hunza villages in a wonderful orange contrast. Villagers in brownish kaftans were chilling out in the shade of a huge cherry tree as they came back from their hard work on the terraced fields. The sun was now painting the glaciers and snow-capped peaks in a golden afternoon light.

The Hunza people were cut off from the world until the 20th century due to formidable geography, sandwiched between Xinjiang and Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor. Many case studies have been made since they are said to be one of the longest living people around the world. Which are their secrets, I was wondering? Apricots? Glacier water? Climate? Maybe it’s that simple: The Hunza have always been known to exercise a lot as their environment is mountainous and has extremely rough terrain. They have no choice as their villages are incredibly isolated and built into the cliffside causing long walking journeys to their fields. They have been consuming plant-based diet, eaten raw. Apricots, cherries, grapes, plums, and peaches have long been cultivated here. Moreover, they have been eating a lot of grains — wheat, barley, and millet – and chapati, resulting in low rates of obesity. And they prioritize their mental health benefitting from social connection and a strong sense of identity within Hunza villages in a culture that has historically been low in stressors. Slowly our epic road trip around Karakoram Highway was nearing its end. After a strenuous hike we were now camping on 3300m altitude, standing in awe opposite the north face of 8126m Nanga Parbat. The killer mountain of German mountaineers was cloaked in a mantle of ice and snow. Surrounded by pine forest and a riverine where Nanga Parbat mirrored, our campsite’s name could not have been more fitting: Fairy Meadows…