Why Pakistan Should Be Your Next Adventure Travel Destination

Adventure travelers have overlooked the high-altitude region of the Nangma Valley for years, but new group tours are flourishing.

I woke at 4:30 a.m. and stumbled out of my tent into the chilly morning air.

The pre-dawn sky was a soft dove gray, while frost-stiffened grass crunched satisfyingly underfoot. Snow-dusted mountains rose to either side, their sheer rock faces dwarfing our solitary camp. Watching for the first rays of sunlight on the distant peaks, I listened to the icy stream gushing and birds twittering. Cows grazed nearby while bulky yaks navigated the steeper slopes, the terrain of rarely spotted Himalayan ibexes and even lesser-seen snow leopards.

Not for the first time on this trip, I wondered how so many outdoor-loving travelers — myself included — have overlooked Pakistan.

Five days prior, I’d touched down in Islamabad, where I met my trekking group. The city — a purpose-built capital established in 1967 — is strikingly green, receiving enough rain to keep it looking lush even during the intense heat of May and June when temperatures can hit 110 degrees F. It felt calmer than I’d expected and was easy to navigate alone.

Tourism being relatively uncommon, people were openly curious about our presence. One of my fellow travelers proved particularly popular regarding photo requests; it turned out he resembles various mustachioed Australian cricketers (Merv Hughes, Travis Head, a substantially taller David Boon).

Cricket is wildly popular in Pakistan and played everywhere, from the city streets to the mountain valleys. Imran Khan, the captain of the 1992 World Cup-winning team, became Prime Minister and maintained strong grassroots support after being imprisoned on questionable grounds. (“Talking about politics is a national pastime,” said Aneeqa Ali, founder of Pakistani travel company The Mad Hatters, who I met in Islamabad. But religion, she added, is more taboo.)

Islamabad lies at the foot of the Margalla Hills National Park, a refuge for city dwellers escaping the heat (and a population of leopards). One morning — painfully early — I joined a local trail running group, gasped, and wheezed my way up switchback paths carpeted in pine needles to a summit overlooking the city. I could hear the distant rush of traffic far below, layered under birdsong. We jogged along the ridge line and back down to the carpark — a warmup for the trip’s main event.

Pakistan has abundant hiking and mountaineering opportunities, especially in its Himalaya-adjacent Karakoram range, which includes some of the world’s highest peaks and valleys of staggering beauty. Yet, the tourism figures don’t reflect this.

In 2019, around 28,000 foreigners visited Pakistan on tourism visas, compared to 1.2 million tourist arrivals in Nepal and nearly 11 million in India. Safety perceptions that date back to the 9/11 aftermath, a lack of government interest in promoting tourism, relatively few tour operators offering trips, and a dearth of information for intrigued travelers are just a few contributing factors.

In 2020, while exploring the mountains of his home country, Pakistani entrepreneur Umer Latif realized how much the lesser-visited areas could benefit from a responsible tourism model. He founded trekking operator Beyond the Valley and, at an adventure travel summit last year, tracked down Erica Kritikides, the global product manager for tour company Intrepid Travel. Kritikides didn’t take much convincing to form a partnership, and in 2024, they launched Intrepid’s first Pakistan hiking tours.

While traveling with Intrepid on one of their initial departures, I found myself at the bottom of the Nangma Valley, looking up at the rocky trail snaking between two 3,300-foot rock faces.

From Islamabad, our group of 12 (including Kritikides and Latif and our ever-joyful tour leader, Muneer Alam, from Baltistan) had flown an hour northwards over a dramatic landscape of colossal peaks, landing in the gateway town of Skardu. This is Baltistan, part of the Gilgit-Baltistan territory and sometimes called Little Tibet. The high-altitude region is home to five of the world’s 14 eight-thousanders (mountains over 8,000 meters or 26,247 feet), including K2, the second-highest point on Earth and among the most serious mountaineering undertakings.

The area is popular with Pakistanis escaping the sweltering cities (even more so as heatwaves become more severe and more frequent with the climate crisis), and Islamabad-Skardu flights are booked months in advance, said Latif. The number of hotels in Skardu has increased more than fourfold over the past decade, which has put pressure on the infrastructure. Not everyone is here for hiking: “Pakistanis just like to relax,” Alam told me, laughing.

We made our way to the village of Kanday, at the base of the Nangma Valley, via winding, narrow roads cut into the cliffsides above jade-green rivers. There, we met the 26 porters and chefs who would be accompanying us on our trek, all of whom were from the immediate area. Burgeoning local tourism means they now have less need to travel far from home, hoping to pick up work on challenging, sometimes dangerous K2 expeditions — the trekking here is far easier and pays the same, said Latif. Intrepid also supplies tents, food allowances, and insurance for their porters (which isn’t always the case).

The Nangma Valley is at a sweet spot, experiencing the first flushes of tourism and associated economic opportunities. Visitors are as excited to be there as many residents (especially those employed in the trekking industry) are to see them. I think this is impossible to maintain, but sustainable tourism development — prioritizing hyperlocal employment, respecting cultures, and giving back — can build a model that works for everyone.

Ibrahim Ali, one of our porter team, told us that before Latif’s first guests started arriving in 2022, less than five trekking groups would visit each May-September season. Previously, Ali said, operators claimed no one would want to come here. But this year, by mid-June, around 40 treks had already departed. (We saw another group, plus a solo hiker with a guide, during our trip.)

It’s hard to imagine how this place — full of fragrant, traditionally sacred juniper trees, a glacial stream tumbling down the valley, grand views in every direction — was ever disregarded. I thought our first campsite, a wooded flat between towering peaks, was something special. But the bar was swiftly raised the next day when I crested a hill near the valley's top and looked down at our second camp. Our tents (already assembled by the team of porters who powered up the trail before us) were set on an open meadow by the stream at the foot of the imposing Green Tower rockface. Surrounding mountains included the intimidating-looking Shingu Charpa; Cho Nono, with its needle-like pinnacles, thought to resemble hunters who disappeared, according to porter Liaqat Ali; and Amanat Brakk, named after Ali’s son by Hungarian climbers who made the first summit in 2022. Many peaks in the area remain unclimbed. Aside from the cows, we had the place to ourselves.

The hiking wasn’t exactly easy, but it was manageable for most moderately fit people. Between 9,500 and 13,100 feet above sea level (plus an optional trek to Amin Brakk base camp at 14,750 feet), the trail was steep in parts and sometimes loose underfoot. We regularly stopped in the shade to catch our breath, hydrate, and snack on the trail mix that Alam had prepared for us.

Reaching camp, we were treated to tea and Chef Khadim Hussain’s chicken noodle soup. Latif said Hussain has been to K2 dozens of times, including on winter expeditions. “So he really knows what to feed people at altitude,” he explained. On our last night — in addition to staples such as daal and pilau rice — he produced a dinner of ‘mountain pizza’ and fried chicken (live birds were brought up with us), followed, remarkably, by a flan.

Afternoons were for cricket, naturally. I watched the porters politely soft-bowl their guests, saving the aggressive fastballs for each other. It started to snow, so we ended up nestled inside the mess tent, drinking tea and comparing altitude symptoms and celebrity encounters.

The scenery may be a major appeal of Pakistan, but repeat visits seem driven by deeper connections to the country. Aneeqa Ali, who also leads Intrepid’s culture-focused trips, said although tourists come to see the mountains, he "[thinks] it’s the hospitality of the people that brings people back.”

On one of our afternoons in camp, I stood on the grassy pasture before jagged peaks tickling the moody sky above. But what held my (amused) attention was the Pakistani-Canadian-Australian cricket team huddled, heads together, earnestly devising a game plan to demolish their opponents. Ali was right. I may have come to see the mountains — but the fun I had with folks along the way is the reason I’ll return.

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