When we reach the check post that blocks the access to the Babusar Top, we realize that our adventure in the mountain is coming to an end. And with it, also our time left in Pakistan.
It has been amazing. We are enthusiastic.
We knew that at the check post they were going to try to stop us and to divert us to another road. 
Apparently doing that road from Naran to Chilas is safe, while doing it from Chilas to Naran is totally dangerous.
Obviously we were not there to accept a “No”.
They tell us that that road is closed to foreigner, to continue on the hot and dusty KKH.
We filibuster a bit, they try to drive us away, to a not better specified office; we stay there. Some Russian guys try to convince us that is normal that one road is dangerous in one way, but not in the other (??!) and tell us that also to some friends of them was denied the access. They fail silent when we explain them that we perfectly know that foreigners cannot go through that road in that direction, but that we will go anyway.
And we go.
(Why, you didn’t trust two hardheads italians?)
After a phone call with the Superintendent of Police, that didn’t seem too surprised that we were complaining that not being able to do the same road from which we came didn’t make any sense, comes the official authorization. They didn’t have any register for foreigners, so they register our passports and names on a piece of paper teared from the book of the potato (at every checkpost they have to register foreigners, number of passengers of buses, kg of potatoes and onions) and they let us go. I see the precious piece of paper with our data flying away while we go under the wooden bar of the check post.
The Babusar Valley is long and narrow. And probably 30 years ago it was also beautiful. Now the slopes of the mountains are horribly disfigured by stumps of trees. Entire forests cut away without consciousness and foresight, only to be sold to the timber mafia, very active in the region.
We stop a couple of days in Batakundi, in the same guest house, in the same room with a stunning view over the valley, where we stayed 2 years ago. Warmt of wood and super heavy blankets. Chay and huge breakfasts in the welcoming kitchen. We easily turn down the excursions that we had planned and we grow lazy, aided by a fine, but persistent rain that shoes no sign of decreasing.
After two days of rain we start to worry for the condition of the road that during the monsoon season often gets blocked by landslides, so we decide to move towards Islamabad in order not to run the risk of getting stuck with the road closed.
But these are not the monsoons, this is the foreplay of the storm that will bring the provinces of Kashmir and Punjab, in both India and Pakistan, to their knees.
But we didn’t know it…
We drive 12 hours straight under a uninterrupted rain. We ride all the Kaghan Valley under the rain, we decide to avoid Murree for fear of more rain, fog and landslides and that was a mistake. We get lost and take a wrong road. Under the Deluge. Sunset comes and it’s still raining, the headlamps of the cars blind us recfracting against the rain.
We are soaking wet.
Everything is sopping…
To make things a bit more clear: we were wearing all the waterproof equipment that we had, but in case of continuos buckets of water splashing from everywhere, “waterproof” is not enough.
The feet are floating inside the boots. When we get down from the motorbike to have a break, the water moving inside the raincoat make us shiver, rivers roll down our sleeves, clenching our fists, from the gloves squeeze out one full glass of water. Being completely still on the bike is the only way not to touch any of the many layers of wet clothes that we are wearing. The rain doesn’t seem to stop and we are so wet (and desperate) that we decide to reach Islamabad neverthless it’s already dark, but the prospect of setting off the day after with all the clothes still completely soaked was even less appealing than continueing to drive. The situation was so ridiculus and apocaliptic that at one point I started to sing. It was for sure a day to remember, why not take it in a positive way?
My optimism was put to the test once we reached the plain. The roads were rivers, around there were very few veichles, mostly trucks because the cars surrender under the power of the water and they turn off without any hope to turn them back on, not even pushing them. And for sure there were no motorbikes. The trucks that we were overtaking were lifting walls of water and mud that splashed on Thomas’ visor.
We enter the capital hoping that at least there the situation is a bit better, but Serena continued to be immerged ’till half of the well, the rain continue to fall and us, exhausted, were driving in a circle lost in between the thousands of work in progress and closed roads.
The day after, from our hotel room, with the storm still knocking on our window and the entire content of our bagagges (tent included) layed out to dry, Thomas raccomended me to report to the records that the biggest fords of our trip he has done them that night, in Islamabad downtown.
And I report it.
After the rain it came the sun. 3 days later.
We spent the last days of our visa to the farewells, but they were not enough. 
We rode once again the GT road and once we had reached Lahore our adventure was over for real. For all the way I tryed to find a solution, a purpose, a way to stay longer in Pakistan, not to go away. Because once we go out, in order to obtain another visa we would have to go back to our place of residence, that is Italy. And who knows when it’s going to be next time…
But I was too busy looking around, to think and so I didn’t manage. No brilliant last minute solution. With one day of overstay (more symbolic than necessary) we crossed again the Wagha Borded and were welcomed and surrounded by the colorful, caotic, and eccessive India.
This interview was taken from our friend Moin few hours (minutes) before leaving his house direction India and it’s somehow our heartfelt thanks to Pakistanfor giving us a summer that we will never forget.
The video reflects at full the enthusiasm that we were feeling towards this wonderful country, the most beautiful that we have seen. Until now. What it’s missing it’s maybe a bit of curiosity for the countries yet to come and there is a certain hurry in saying “the best place in the world”.
But in this interview we are nothing but two kids that put our feet down: we don’t want to go away from Pakistan. From a country that, despite the barbwire, the uncountable check posts and inspections, the soldiers armed with kalashnikovs hidden behind sand bags in the capital, the armed guards that escorted us in more than one stretch of our travel, the guns on the bedside table of the houses and in the glove compartement of the cars and the invisible, but real, presence of terrorism, welcomed us and made us feel extremely welcomed and well-liked. Always.
One again Thank You.
