The northern areas of Pakistan are a paradise for trekking and mountaineering, I couldn’t leave without taking the opportunity of a good bye trip. What better spot to visit then a place called Fairy Meadows? This enchanting little village offers a historic taste or rural village life, as of yet unspoiled by the complications and distractions of 21^st century life. It also is considered the most beautiful access to the ninth highest mountain in the world, Nanga Parbat, also known as the ‘Killer Mountain’.

I met an American living in Jutial that owns a trekking company and guest house, after studying his guide books as well as numerous conversations we settled on a three day adventure. The potential for a hike up to the Nanga Parbat view point on the second day would be conditional on the weather and my stamina. I never had any doubt about either, Mother Nature has always smiled on me and I certainly have learned never to doubt my stubbornness.

The early morning drive to Fairy Meadows was an event in itself. As we were picking up supplies in one of the towns along the way I was privy to the very real shopping experience of buying our food. Our food included chicken. I had never seen a chicken killed before. The religious practice of this area is that all meat is butchered in the Halal style. Islamic practices are not totally unknown to me, I knew that the ceremony of death included the animal facing Mecca, and then a short prayer would be said followed by death with a clean knife. I was amazed how quickly the process took place. There were no grand symbolic gestures of crying out prayers or the waving of hands and knives to impress the ignorant foreigner. The entire process took about 10 seconds before the knife was slide across the chicken’s throat and then held down to bleed out. In another 10 seconds the skin and feathers were removed and our dinner was bagged and ready. As someone who eats meat, I think it is important to truly see how, and where, our food comes from; as someone interested in worldly religious ceremonies I was left unimpressed by what is a very common way of living.

Finally we reached Raikot Bridge, here our driver had to leave us and we needed to switch Jeeps. The road from here to Fairy Meadows is a private road operated by the villagers, only locals can drive on it and I soon found out why. The next hour was a white knuckle ride on a narrow rocky road with numerous little avalanches that snaked up the mountain. We hugged the rock face on one side as we crept along a dead drop on the other. We picked up local boys who helped remove stones and navigate the turns along the way. Locals also line the road to indicate the safety of the drive and spot oncoming traffic. The number of cars on the road is controlled because there are limited places to pass and reversing to a safe spot is too dangerous. I sat in the back alone and terrified the whole way, praying not to die. The driver and guides sat up front, later I was told that in the front you could quickly jump out if danger arose. Exhausted from fear, we finally arrived at the town of Jehl, for a quick lunch and then our hike to Fairy Meadows.

Exhilarated to be out of the car and have the safety of my own legs under me we happily departed for our destination. Our troop included my guide, me, three men who would open the hotel, and a donkey to carry supplies. Appartently it was so early in the season that neither the villagers, nor tourists, were up in the mountains just yet. Under the hot sun and on a dusty rocky path we eventually came to our journeys end. When we reached the top I was treated to a tranquil, enchanting village torn from the pages of a history book for my own private enjoyment.

Fairy Meadows is a rural village used in the summer months for raising sheep, cattle and growing crops. Its remoteness and the difficulty of reaching it have left it virtually untouched by our modern inconveniences. It has about 100 houses, a polo field and grazing areas, it also now has six tourist hotels with cabins for accommodation. Tourists do not mix with the villagers and very old and traditional ways of living are still celebrated and adhered to even today by the people. It is an absolutely magical setting you would expect to find in the Lord of the Rings movie; however I found myself wandering through it untainted by anyone else’s presence but that of my own private guide. A lone dwelling was occupied, apparent by the smoke emitted from the chimney.

Saif was the best guide I have ever had. As well as the numerous guides I have dealt with I have taken numerous courses on guiding and have an appetite for conversation regarding history and culture; he happily satisfied all of it. On our second day we departed after breakfast for the view point, normally this hike is a two day affair. Very early on I expressed my desire to push our selves to get to the best views; his response was ‘inshallah’ (as God wills). Saif never asked if I was tired, or OK, or if we had gone far enough, he just methodically put one foot in front of the other. After two hours we passed a second town called Beyal, which looked even more quaint than Fairy Meadows, as if stolen out of the ‘Braveheart’ movie. From there we pushed an hour and a half further up to the first lookout point; below us, to the east was the female (white) section of Raikot glacier; I think I saw Superman’s ice palace hideout. From here we trudged over an hour straight up the spine of the ridge through waist deep snow to the second lookout point of Nanga Parbat Mountain. Somewhere up there must be Raj Al Gulh’s sanctuary from the Batman Begins movie. I had destroyed my Merrell’s, so I was standing in my bare feet on the killer mountain. Stories told conjecture that one in four die in the attempt to summit after leaving base camp. I think Saif, had no intentions of going any further, I don’t understand Urdu, but the look on the cook and hotel staff’s faces as he was explaining our day was enough to tell me that we had pushed further than they expected, and the furthest into the mountain of anyone this season.

After dinner I dragged Saif out again for another photographic journey around Fairy Meadows. Back in the village he was on his hands and knees digging an irrigation canal to flood one of the gardens. The next morning as we retraced our steps before sunrise to the pool of water he created which reflected a scenic picture of the mountain above and below for my camera. I couldn’t have asked for more in a guide or in the breathtaking environment; it is the most beautiful place I have ever been fortunate enough to gaze upon. My hesitation to depart after breakfast was in part due to my reluctance to leave such a place as well as the knowledge that I would be reliving the most terrifying Jeep ride in my life. Again over breakfast I prodded Saif to answer the only question he dodged during our tour, which do you like more; the beautiful cabins with the views of the mountain or the quaintness of the historic villages homes? He sidestepped the answer again with a history lesson, but, I think, his answer is the same as mine. We were only here because of the hotels, but the village and the people are the magic ingredient of the place.

I wonder how long the sanctity of life here can continue considering the lure of money that development brings, or if I will ever have the opportunity to return again. Inshallah.