Lost With Purpose

Buildings are burning! Trees are blooming.

Iran is being bombed! Wheat fields are sprouting.

Afghan civilians are dying! The sun is shining.

World leaders were killed! Sheep spring through new grass.

Time to evacuate! Time to sow seeds.

It’s both surreal and admittedly serene to hide among spring’s breezy blossoms and slow internet signals in times like these. I don’t know whether to feel guilt or relief.

Anyone feeling the same?

(Welcome to join me in Ishkoman Valley if you’re looking for an escape from whatever tf world we’re living in.)

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Spring blossoms, existential crises, mountain life, Ghizer District, Chatorkhand, Dain, pink flowers, village scenes, travel in Gilgit-Baltistan, Coyote Den Ishkoman

Spring is here in Ishkoman Valley… but it’s a bit early.

The almonds blossomed a bit too soon. The snow line is still a bit too high. The ground is a bit too soft, the air a bit too warm.

For now, it’s useful. Villagers are using the early spring weather to plant crops earlier. Shepherds are enjoying warmer nights in the high pastures.

But what does this mean for the future?

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If you’re planning to come and see blossoms in Pakistan this year, come visit us at . Things are all quiet and peaceful on the Ghizer side 😊 But don’t wait too long, spring is early this year!

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Climate change in the mountains, spring in Gilgit-Baltistan, cherry blossoms, almond blossoms, Chatorkhand, Ghizer District

Okay actually it was two days ago but I hadn’t finished the post yet 😂

Sometimes when I look back on my old blog and social content I cringe. The proclamations I made, the way I viewed the world… was I blind? Ignorant? What was I thinking?!

But then I remember that growth is gradual. We don’t go out into the world immediately understanding every injustice, seeing every flaw. Learning, like travel, takes time and patience and keen observation.

Over the last 10 years, I’ve seen many things, and made equally as many mistakes. But I’ve also learned many lessons, and with time, I learned to tread more gently whether I’m navigating a mountain trail or a totally foreign culture.

10 years is a long ass time. I feel like I should be making some grand proclamation or big celebration… but honestly, in all these years, my travels have humbled me and reminded me how small I am in our universe, rather than the opposite.

So rather than drag this on, I’ll just end with a simple thank you. Thanks to all of you who have followed along on this journey (some of you since 2016!) and stuck with me through all the rants, tirades, missteps, and silences. Thank you for your patience as I explored everything from broke backpacking to tour guiding to motorcycle adventures to shepherd life. Thank you for checking me when I veer too far, and offering a hand when I start to go under.

The world and the internet both can be hard places at times, but you all made this corner of both a little bit better.

Here’s to another 10 years of living✌🏼

Less than one week until I’m back with my sheep! Scroll to the end to see the latest addition to the flock 😉

(They’ll have forgotten me because their brains are 🫛 sized but I still love them.)

I’m headed back to in March, and I can’t wait.

After months in the cities, my mind craves peace in the mountains.

I want to trade doom scrolling on my phone at 3AM for sleeping like a rock because I went for a sunset hike.

I want to leave behind glowing sales advertisements for sunlight rippling through the leaves of my fruit trees.

I want to turn down the volume on talks about car models and clothes collections and the latest tech, and tune in to talks about when to plant seeds and where to root saplings.

It’s not all rainbows and sunshine—mountain life is hard, especially for those locals who brave the harsh winters—but there is a certain magic in the mountain air that can never be found in the rush of the cities.

T-1 week.

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Mountain life, Ishkoman Valley, Ghizer District, Coyote Den Ishkoman, Karakoram and Hindu Kush mountains, Gilgit-Baltistan, sheep are the frigging best

The towering wooden gate is shut, but only for a moment. Our car waits outside, engine idling as motorcycles drone past us in the evening light.

A few words, a phone call, a reference dropped. Suddenly, the wooden gates creak open, revealing the crumbling opulence within.

Sadiq Garh palace.

125 acres of palatial grounds, a sprawling palace at its heart.

In its heyday, the $20 million palace (adjusted for inflation) was one of many playgrounds of the Nawabs of Bahawalpur, rulers of what was once one of the richest Muslim regions of South Asia.

In a town where people still cut crops by hand and camel carts ferry harvests in 2026, this palace had multiple elevators, private bank vaults, and telephone connections in the 1880s.

As we roamed Sadiq Garh’s grounds, kindly shown around by one of its caretakers, it was clear that time has caught up with it, as did its grandeur. Too large and elaborate to maintain through the ages—and generations of land disputes—the palace is now in a state of disarray.

Ballroom mirrors are coated with dust. Frescoes peel from the walls of a mosque older than the palace itself. A luxury car hides in a tired garage, guarded by a colony of cobras and thick overgrowth. Gold and fine furniture have long been pilfered from the palace’s depths.

Will it be restored? A big question when few in Pakistan have the resources to do so.

How about you? Do you think it’s better that monuments are restored to their former glory, or do you prefer the vibe when they’re abandoned like this?

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Abandoned buildings, South Asian palaces, Ahmedpur East, historical monuments, travel Pakistan, South Punjab

Dark clouds gathered in the distance as I wiped mud caked on my goggles, blurring my view. 

'Surely the rain won't come until the evening', I reassured myself... knowing that was absolute nonsense. Despite years of guiding in the mountains, I have a tendency to ignore my own advice when I'm determined to do something.

The day's mission? Ride up and across Son Kul Lake, one of Kyrgyzstan's crown jewels and a place I once visited almost 10 years before.

By the time I climbed the pass and reached the lake's edge, nature was already punishing my stubborn decision-making.

Pouring rain, bordering on freezing, battered my helmet and soaked through my many layers. My bike sputtered, struggling with the cold and 3,000m elevation. My hands ceased to function.

A girl from a nearby yurt camp ran over to me, beckoning me inside one of their tents. Over tea and biscuits, she and her mother slowly warmed up to me. They were equally hungry for a bit of business on a rainy day, and curious to know why a solo woman biker was waterlogged on their land that day.

Their father/husband soon made an appearance, eventually ignoring me after I resisted his attempts to feed me kymyz, alchoholic horse milk.

Warm as their tent was, fantasies of still-warmer temperatures of the lowlands drew me out the door when the rain's beat slowed.

I struck back out onto muddy washboard as the downpour resumed, dodging pothole puddles and cursing the very existence of Son Kul.

As I climbed the final pass to leave the lake's depression, the many cups of tea caught up with me. Parking my bike on the side of the dirt road—it spluttered to a stop by itself—I waddled over to a hillside to relieve myself.

I was soon reminded that opening motorcycle clothes with frozen hands is easy, but closing them requires a little more dexterity. To add insult to injury, as I fumbled with my trousers, the pouring rain transformed into thick, fluffy snow.

And that is how I ended up pantsless, defeated, frozen, and wet in the middle of nowhere in Kyrgyzstan.

Lesson learned? Of course not.

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Bike bits and gear from:

 
 


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Solo female travel, women bikers

Bouncing along jeep roads built into the sides of perilous Karakoram cliffs.

Diving into the beating heart of a bazaar in one of the oldest cities in the world.

Warming your hands on a cup of chai with shepherds in high alpine pastures.

If any—or all—of these sound like a good time, this is the tour for you.

This autumn, I'm running a collaboration tour with my friend and fellow travel writer ! After several years of adventuring together, we decided we want to show some of you our favorite places across Pakistan in a way that's accessible to all kinds of travelers: 4x4 trucks!

We'll take you to some of Pakistan's most remote corners and offbeat delights. Places you've dreamed of visiting, and places you might never have heard of at all. Come and experience them with us.

Questions? Ask them in the comments!

Want to know more about the trip and how to sign up? Comment "Pakistan" and I'll send you everything you need to know ✌🏼

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Note: Sorry, we cannot accept Indian nationals on this tour. One day, but not today!

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Pakistan tour, adventure tours, travel by 4x4, small group tours, collaboration, off the beaten track travel, offbeat destinations, women-led tourism, responsible tourism