When I attempted to document my unparalleled 1978 journey through the ‘Hippie Trail,’ I realised that some experiences defy easy categorisation. Among these, Khyber Pass stood out, a gap through the Spin Ghar mountain range that serves as a bridge between Kabul and Pakistan. During summers, its flaring sunrise incinerates the black night, igniting a flame that reveals the intricate, yet brutal terrain etched out by centuries of history and geopolitics — a mesmerising sight that still burns bright in my memory even decades later.
Navigating the pass was an extreme challenge; its steep inclines, treacherous hairpin bends and the occasional presence of bandits, blending the adrenalin rush with an element of dread. Yet, the winding journey proved equally exhilarating, revealing panoramas of desolate beauty interspersed with scattered settlements where hospitality remained vigorous even amidst sparse resources. In their smiles, I saw resilience, in their tea, I tasted a blend of cultural richness. A timeless narrative seemed to run through the veins of this majestic terrain, shaping the lives and cultures of the regions it touched while silently bearing witness to the substantial shifts in the world outside.
My ‘Hippie Trail’ journal is a testament to these experiences, a chronicle that sought not just distinguishable places but the indistinguishable journey itself. Today, each page smells not just of old parchment, but the memory-laden air of Khyber Pass, testifying the tale of a journey, all those miles trekked, and the world glimpsed—a 1978 tribute to the fabled path between Kabul and Pakistan that keeps reverberating across time and space.
