Towing a cow through the glacier

She tells how the cow is towed across the glacier, it was in Pakistan, the Karakoram Highway.
History under the cut.




My name is Anna, I am 22 years and I razdolbayka profession. I ride around the world and get into a stupid situation.

July was a tumultuous month in this year. I drove through the Karakoram Highway from Pakistan to China. Interestingly began on 22 July 2012, when I got acquainted with a local woman on the eve of Zarina, hiking through Baturskiy glacier, to take cattle to summer pastures ...

Thus began my morning in the house Zarina - it is after 5 minutes of acquaintance invited me to stay with her - and this morning started at 3:30 am (the nightmare of my life owl).

Zarina - unusual by the standards of Pakistani woman. Strictly speaking, it all belongs to another nation, and language, which is spoken in the village of Passy, ​​Vakhskoye, akin Tajik. But that does not matter because Zarina - an unusual woman in all respects. In his nearly thirty years Zarina has a lot more than most ladies of her age: 2 cows, 2 sheep, 4 children, a dozen cherry trees, one man and one boyfriend. Plus a big house and fucking contagious laughter.



Batura Glacier - 57 km long ice snot, stretching almost to the Karakorum Highway from the mountain tops. After the glacier trail passes that herders have long been used for the passage to the mountain pastures where the summer is withdrawn their four-legged mammals.



Along the way, you can stay in a stone hut and drink a lot of tea with milk, which after a few days already beginning to turn.



A Circle - Glacier, like a big ice cream with chocolate chips.



The main difference between me and cows lay in the fact that I did not get confident strokes of the cane on the back when it became difficult to walk. Two cows Zarina ran up and down the slopes cheerfully and joyfully, because it told them stick.



But the third cow belonging to the mustachioed guy who joined us on the road, was either sick, or lazy, or obkurennaya. Or saboteur. She continued to stumble and fall here and there in a stone crevice of the glacier ... until eventually fell off completely, his whole appearance indicating that it could not stand to go further.



Then we began to push. Push up the 200+ kg cow. Up the hill. More precisely, the owner pulled the beast by the horns and ears, and the remaining three men pushing a cow's ass and hips, pulled the tail up and scrambled to get beef moving or even stand up. The cow was adamant in his stoned.



So was the rest of our journey. Pushing the cow - a rest for half an hour - push the cow - a half-hour rest.



Shepherd's life is not easy, I tell you.



But the scenery is worth it all around.



Ice flowers. Grow yourself.



At this stage, Anwar (happy owner stoned calf-saboteur) decided then to go forward does not make sense, but back it will be easier to get. We left him with these reflections, while they themselves continued their way to the valley, where the river of honey, chocolate and probably will shore champagne on arrival. I hoped so.



I vaguely remember a time when we crawled to the stone hut that Zarina's cousin, Ibrar magically found a wet mist.



Inside, there was a plasma screen, an electric kettle and karaoke. Thank mind.



Then I was not funny, but above all dominated by a sense of victory ("I'm much better than a cow!"). Around galloping goats so lamb, rolled from the roof of the enclosure, and lay in a mountain of dust.



Milk them - every morning and every evening routine.



And the more hairy - the better!



Since goats and sheep being driven higher into the mountains.



And after that you can relax and take pictures.



And sing a couple of folk songs.



And drink a little queasy milk tea.



With homemade bread.



And this is my family photo with curly relatives.



And evening landscape in the appendage.



Horn terrible monster guarding the entrance to the hut.



And fall asleep with a view of the - uh - the window - perhaps the best that happened to me in recent years of travel.



Source: odin-moy-den.livejournal.com