Source (Khaleejtimes) Tim Hannigan visits Pakistan’s wild and beautiful Gilgit-Baltistan, sees bankrupt gift shops and empty hotels and wonders why tourism is an escapee.

“The Tenth of September 2001was a busy day,” says Manzur Karim; “there were many foreign tour groups, many Americans.”

I am sitting sipping sweet tea amidst the dusty trinkets and sun-bleached postcards in Manzur’s Hunza Shangrila Handicrafts Shop on an alleyway off the bustling bazaar of Gilgit, the ramshackle mountain town at the heart of Pakistan’s far north.

I have been in Pakistan for less than 24 hours, after arriving on a bone-shaking bus ride across the Khunjerab Pass from China. Any apprehension I felt on arrival in one of the world’s most troubled nations has dissipated with my first morning stroll through Gilgit: so far I have encountered only cheerful invitations to drink tea; the cup that Manzur offered is my fourth since breakfast.

I haven’t, however, seen any other foreign tourists – hardly surprising, given Pakistan’s atrocious media profile. Bombs in big cities are so common that they hardly merit a headline, and this, of course, was the country where Osama bin Laden was recently run to ground.
But it wasn’t always this way. A decade ago, Gilgit-Baltistan, the mountainous region of Pakistan’s far north, was high on the travellers’ wish-list. A minor tourism boom had followed the opening of the Karakoram Highway, a high-altitude road linking Islamabad with China,to foreigners in 1986. By the turn of the century an estimated 30,000 foreign tourists were visiting Gilgit-Baltistan each year.

But then came “the war on terror” and everything changed.

As I sip my tea, Manzur reminisces about the pre-9/11 days when foreigners were a common sight in the bazaar. Today, he scrapes a meagre living from domestic tourists, but has never thought of giving up.

“We’ve been doing this for 35 years,” he says; “so how could we change?”

Manzur has another motivation for continuing to fly the flag for Gilgit-Baltistan’s moribund tourist industry: sky-scraping ridges, rough roads, and unusual demographics  have kept the region almost entirely isolated from the troubles affecting the rest of the country. Arriving overland from China, meanwhile, allows visitors to bypass down-country trouble spots.

“Why don’t tourists come here anymore?” Mazur wonders, gazing out at the bustling bazaar.  I am here to try to answer that question.

An hour later I am sipping yet another cup of tea in a plush office in the deserted riverside hotel of PTDC, Pakistan’s state-owned tourism development corporation. Birds are singing in the trees outside.

PTDC’s Gilgit manager, Shahid Nawaz Khan, shakes he head sadly. “When I first joined this industry everyone was interested in tourism. After 9/11, this has become a big problem. People who joined the tourist industry in the 1990s are too old now to join the army or government service, and it’s difficult to do anything else in the private sector. Basically, we’re all just sitting around waiting for the good times to come back,” he says.

Shahid admits that mistakes were made during the 1990s: “No one was interested in sustainability because people thought the industry would keep growing year by year,” he says. But he also wrestles with a deep sense of frustration. “The international media shows only the negative things, but what has that got to do with Gilgit-Baltistan?”

As I wander back through the bazaar I can’t help but feel that he is right. This certainly doesn’t seem like a dangerous place. Brightly-decorated Suzuki minibuses roar along bustling streets; a heady aroma of grilling kebabs fills my nostrils; and when I raise eyes above the jumbled rooftops I can see the sharp sunlight shining on the high peaks beyond the town. It is time to head for the hills.

The next morning, I clamber aboard an overloaded minibus bound for Yasin, a remote mountain valley some sixty miles west of Gilgit. Soon we are rolling along a narrow road above a cobalt-blue river.Women in pillbox hats and purple headscarves watch shyly from the wheat-fields as we pass.

Yasin is a wild and beautiful place that even in the 1990s saw few foreign visitors. For two days, I make my way north along the valley. In every village I am welcomed like a long-lost friend. The former Taliban fiefdom of Swat lies just 100 miles to the south, but with huge mountains blocking the way, I might as well be on another planet.

After my unworldly sojourn in Yasin, Gilgit seems like a buzzing metropolis, all the more so as a fast-paced polo tournament is underway. This is not the ///gentile/// sport favored by English aristocrats: Gilgit-style polo looks like a sort of no-holds-barred rugby on horseback.

From the midst of a roaring crowd I watch the two five-man teams – drawn from the ranks of the police and the army – thunder back and forth to a soundtrack provided by a trio of traditional drummers and pipers.  In the end the army wins – as they usually do in Pakistan…

To my surprise there are a handful of other foreigners at the polo match, and most of them are – like me – staying at the Madina Guesthouse. A little oasis of calm in a walled garden at the heart of the town, the Madina was once a busy institution on the travellers’ circuit. These days it barely survives on the custom from a trickle of hardy over-landers in the summer months.

“I don’t really know how we survive,” says Habibur Rehman, the assistant manager; “every year we think it will be the last, but somehow we get just enough to keep going for one more season.”

One thing that keeps Habib hopeful is the impressive dedication of his cousin—Yasir Hussain, Deputy Director of Tourism and the Environment for Gilgit-Baltistan. Yasir drops in for breakfast on his way to the office the next morning, and over yet more tea he tells me about his hopes for the future. With the rest of Pakistan facing such an uncertain future, Yasir says, Gilgit-Baltistan’s land border with China is a lifesaver, allowing travellers to visit the region without worrying about security. But it is crucial, he tells me, for sustainability and community involvement to play a part in any resurgence of tourism in these wild mountains.

“We have to facilitate the recovery of tourism if we want peace to continue here.  If communities are busy then there is no time for conflict,” says Yasir, smiling and sipping his tea.

From Gilgit, I head back north towards the Chinese border, through the fabled Hunza Valley, a mountain fastness that stands out even amidst the generally jaw-dropping scenery of Gilgit-Baltistan. Village houses huddle amongst the poplars trees, their flat roofs strewn with amber apricots, drying in the sharp sunlight. Stupendous snow peaks tower to inconceivable heights on either side.

Karimabad, the eyrie-like traditional capital of Hunza, was once the centerpiece of Gilgit-Baltistan’s tourism industry. The view from my guesthouse garden alone – down over concertinaed terraces to the river, with the full 7788-metre might of Rakaposhi rising in the distance – would attract hordes of camera-toting trippers were it in any other country.

Indeed, a decade ago, as a steady stream of tourists rolled into Karimabad, many commentators complained that it was being “spoilt”. Today, however, the village is a place of bankrupt gift shops and empty hotels.

“Nothing today, nothing yesterday, nothing tomorrow,” says Moimin, a blue-eyed carpet salesman with a store on Karimabad’s narrow main street when I ask how business has been.  Then he breaks into a grin and shrugs: “But Hunza is still peaceful.”

I linger over the final days of my journey, heading north from Karimabad towards the border, stopping in the little villages of Gulmit and Passu, places of sunshine and dusty lanes where rickety suspension bridges criss-cross the surging river and the snouts of huge glaciers push right down to the highway.

Since that first cup of tea with Manzur in Gilgit many other locals, remembering better times, have asked me plaintively, “Why don’t tourists come here anymore?”

Glib replies to that question spill all too easily off the tongue, but up here in the mountains, with the sunlight shining like molten copper through the poplar leaves, phrases like “Taliban” and “suicide bomb” cease to have meaning. I cannot answer the question myself.  <Why> don’t tourists come here anymore?

Shared By : Piar Ali
From : Gilgit Baltistan
Occupation : IT Officer
Email: piarali@gmail.com

Pakistan is a home to some of the most beautiful and scenic places on earth but unfortunately, our tourism industry is breathing its last. In a report presented at the World Economic Forum, Pakistan was ranked 113 in tourism out of the 133 countries. Needless to say, its the hub of mountaineering, the Karakorum range has some of the highest peaks of the world here such as the mighty K-2 (second highest peak after Everest), the Himalaya range also has its highest peak here commonly known as the Nanga Parbat (9th highest peak in the world), its famous as the killer mountain due to its extremely difficult tracks – even more difficult than Everest and K-2 and the third famous range is the Hindu Kush with its highest peak Trichmir – are all located in Pakistan . It has its fair share of the famous ‘SILK ROAD’, the legendary Karakorum Highway, valleys full of cherry blossoms, beautiful weather, distinct seasons and of course, its ‘very hospitable people’.

Source(Dawn) “Last year we had less than 2,500 foreigners visit our valleys. This numbers include the Chinese who are building the Karakoram Highway.”

The northern areas of Pakistan are like canvases that portray the joy and contentment bestowed by the inexhaustible beauty of nature’s boundless forms.

But the beautiful valleys miss their admirers who once used to visit in great numbers to watch and bask in the glory of nature.

That is because tourism has failed to reach its full potential in Gilgit-Baltistan, conceded experts associated with the industry in the Ministry of Tourism as well as those in parliament.

Worst, they dread that these tourist retreats `are in danger of slipping further behind`.

Experts in the tourism industry pointed the fingers at the government for mismanagement of policies despite the fact that tourism was the largest industry in Gilgit and all the way to Hunza and beyond.

“It`s just not government`s priority,” said Senator Pervaiz Rashid, who is member of the Senate standing committee on culture and tourism, citing his reason for the held-back growth.

Tourism could play a key role in the region`s future economy, he said, adding: “But the industry needs stronger, clearer support from the government to reach its full potential. And that we fear does not seem coming.”

Worst hit, of course, was the hotel industry. “Last year we had less than 2,500 foreigners visit our valleys. This numbers include the Chinese who are building the Karakoram Highway,” lamented the owner of the famed Eagle`s Nest Hotel, Ali Madad Galiu who is also president of Hunza Hotels Association.

According to the Ministry of Tourism, the war on terror has kept foreign tourists away. “Most of the westerners believed that Gilgit and Hunza were in Khyber Pukhtunkhwa and confused it with the conflict in Swat where Pakistan army was sweeping on the ground,” said a senior official with the ministry.

Then came the floods and later the Attabad lake disaster, he explained. “When these factors had done enough damage, the government abandoned the valleys and the people. There are no rehabilitation programmes to fix infrastructure or help the hotel owners, tour operators and transporters by providing them some kind of financial backing to keep the industry running,” the official said.

“While Attabad was the focus and so were schools, nobody focused on hotel and other small associated businesses,” said Raja Hussain, who owns a hotel in Gilgit, adding how media needed to return to highlight the aftermath.

Alam Shah, the general manager of Hilltop Hotel in Karimabad, lamented that Gilgit-Baltistan had not seen a dime of funds announced by Department for International Development (DFID) for development purposes after impacts of war on terror.

Experts connected with the tourism industry said lack of infrastructure and delay on part of the government in developing tourist resorts in these mountain resorts had been one of the reasons for the drop in not just foreign but local tourist traffic that was the backbone of the industry.

“Tourists and excursionists are forced to opt for safer areas for rest and relaxation because access to these places has almost been impossible. The region abounds in scenic spots but these sites have neither been developed nor projected in the state`s tourism promotion campaign,” said the official with the ministry.

Azam Khan, who visited Hunza last year, was delayed for two days because of flight cancellation. “That cost us extra two days of hotel stay besides missing work. It`s ridiculous that there are only two flights to some of the world`s most popular retreats and that too subject to weather conditions,” he said.

The decline in the biggest trade again speaks volumes about the government apathy and the utter disregard for tourism promotion in Gilgit-Baltistan.

Chairperson Senate standing committee on culture and tourism Nilofar Bakhtiar, who is also a former federal minister for tourism, described the predicament best when she said: “There has never been a tourism policy for Gilgit-Baltistan.”

Source(DAWN) Tourists can now see snow leopards in their natural habitat on the sky-high mountainous terrains of Gilgit-Baltistan. An adventure safari provides an opportunity for tourists to visit the mighty mountains in the country’s extreme north and capture fantastic scenes where these wild animals, also known as “big cats” by the locals, are found playing, hunting and relaxing.

This ambitious plan, carved out by Himalayan Holidays, an Islamabad-based tour operator, will help explore snow leopards, which are found in the dense forests at an altitude of 1,200 to 2,000 metres (3900 to 6600 feet).

“By organising this event we can entertain the visitors with not just wildlife, but also include tours of the serene valleys where tourists can witness diverse cultures, snow-clad mountainous peaks and gushing streams and rivers,” said Najib Ahmed Khan, owner of Himalayan Holidays.

Khan is determined that the spectacular event, besides attracting visitors from around the country, would help enthrall the tourists from across the world, boosting Pakistan’s tourism industry.

“It is a unique move towards tapping into the country’s endangered wildlife species and using our fascinating flora and fauna to promote tourism,” Najib said.

He, however, said focus would be on snow leopards as the wildlife sector had so far not figured in country’s tourism activities.

The tour will take wildlife lovers from Islamabad to Gilgit, where the journey begins by a road trek to Ramghat via Partabpul and Bunji. A bar-b-que dinner at sunset on the Nanga Parbat will conclude day one.

Day two starts with a hike to Neelidar, going as high as about 600 metres in five hours to discover the big cats, roaming freely in their habitats.

Third day’s hiking leads to Akalotamo where the local guides brief the visitors about places for filming of fantastic scenes of big cats. On day four, the group will be taken to the enchanting destination of Misikhandgah.

An individual snow leopard lives within a well-defined home range, but does not defend its territory aggressively when encroached upon by other big cats.

Like other cats, snow leopards use scent marks, scent to indicate their territory and common travel routes. Being most active at dawn and dusk they are known for their extreme secretive and well camouflaged nature.

The diet of the snow leopard also varies across its range and with the time of year, depending on prey availability. In the western Himalayas it preys mostly Himalayan blue sheep, Markhor, ibex and smaller prey consists of marmots, woolly hares and birds such as the snow cock and chukar. However, it is not averse to taking domestic livestock which brings it into direct conflict with humans.

Snow leopards have not been reported to attack humans, and appear to be among the least aggressive of all the big cats.

As a result, they are easily driven away from livestock, they readily abandon their kills when threatened and may not even defend themselves when attacked.

Snow leopards prefer to ambush prey from above, using broken terrain to conceal their approach, and can leap as far as 14 metres. They actively pursue prey down steep mountainsides, using the momentum of their initial leap to chase animals for up to 300 meters.

Estimated population of snow leopards in Pakistan is 420 to 500 with their habitat stretching over 80,000 square miles in Skardu, Astore Bunji (Nanga Parbat region), Khunjran Borogil and Chitral.