TRAVERSE 54
“ Not really,” I said.“ But it’ s likely a dedication, something left by a monk passing through. A mark to say: I was here.”
They leaned closer, studying the lines as though seeing them anew. One of them laughed softly.
“ We pass this many times,” he said.“ We never thought about it like that.”
Although a statement, the tone came across as a question, a reasonable question. And the answer is that this place was never as isolated as it feels now. Hunza once sat at the crossroads of civilisations, a place where the movement of people and ideas was constant. Buddhism flourished here before the spread of Islam, and the valley played a role in carrying those teachings across Asia.
Explaining that to them felt strangely circular, someone from far away describing the global significance of a place to those who live within it.
Over time, Islam spread through the valley, and today the majority of the population follows the Ismaili branch of Shia Islam, a community known for its emphasis on education, community welfare, and pluralism. This influence is tangible. Later that afternoon, we watched as what seemed an impromptu band formed and began playing indigenous music. It was rhythmic in a way that draws the listener in. Exotic, yet familiar.
We sat on a rooftop overlooking the valley, drinking something strong and sweet while apricot trees rustled in the wind. A local told me about his studies, computer science, mostly, and his hope to work abroad before returning home. This, too, is Hunza: deeply rooted and quietly global at the same time.
Education is taken seriously here in a way that feels immediately visible. Schools are everywhere, even in small settlements, and conversations often drift toward study, opportunity, and the future. Much of this is tied to the influence of the Ismaili community, the dominant branch of Islam in Hunza, which places a strong emphasis on education and social development.
It creates a different atmosphere to many other parts of Pakistan, less rigid, perhaps, more outwardlooking. People ask questions, not just about where you’ re from, but about how things work elsewhere. There is a noticeable openness in the way people engage with the wider world.
And yet, despite that openness, there is a strong sense of identity here.
One evening in the village of Ganish, I sat with an older man who spoke only Burushaski and a little Urdu. We communicated through a mix of gestures, translation, and shared patience. At one point, he pointed toward the mountains and said something that a younger man, no older than twenty, who was studying engineering in Islamabad, and spoke fluent English and translating for us struggled to convey fully.
“ He says the mountains are not something you look at,” the translator explained eventually.“ They are something you belong to.”
That idea, of belonging rather than observing, seems to underpin much of life here.
The younger man asked me about Australia, about education systems, about work opportunities abroad.
“ Do you think it’ s better to leave?” he asked.
It was not a simple question, and it lingered long after the conversation moved on. Hunza, for all its beauty, exists within the broader realities of Pakistan, a country of immense diversity, where opportunity is not evenly distributed. Here, the desire
TRAVERSE 54