Over the Roof of the World
Crossing the Karakoram Mountains from China to Pakistan
In November 2014, my friend Charlie and I set out on a rugged, independent overland journey that began in Kashgar, China, and ended in the mountains of northern Pakistan. It was a trip carved straight out of a map of the ancient Silk Road—wild, raw, and unforgettable.
We flew into Kashgar and spent our first night wandering its dusty streets, soaking in the mix of Uyghur culture, mosques, and bazaars that give the city its distinct frontier flavor. On our second night, we left the city behind and headed into the mountains, staying in the remote village of Yarkant, a quiet place tucked into the stark highlands of Xinjiang.
On the third day, we boarded a sleep bus—an aging machine that rattled its way toward one of the world’s most remote crossings: the Khunjerab Pass. At 15,396 feet (4,693 meters), it’s the highest paved international border crossing on Earth, slicing through the icy spine of the Karakoram Mountains.
As we crossed into Pakistan, the landscape changed dramatically—sheer granite peaks, vast glaciers, and winding mountain roads replaced the desolate plateaus of western China. We had made it over the roof of the world, and the descent into the fabled Hunza Valley had begun.
Kashgar in the north, one of the most prominent Silk Road era cities in China
Kashgar: Edge of Empire
Ancient Silk Road city under modern Chinese rule
Kashgar, located in western China’s Xinjiang Province, was once one of the most important cities along the ancient Silk Road. Sitting at the crossroads of empires, it connected China with Central Asia, Persia, and beyond. Today, it still feels like a place on the edge—both geographically and politically.
Western China is a wild, striking region where the Taklamakan Desert, a vast sand sea, meets the towering Karakoram Mountains. The people here are mostly Uyghur Muslims, a Turkic ethnic group with their own language, customs, and deeply rooted Islamic identity. But in recent years, tensions between the Uyghur population and the Chinese government have escalated.
Much like the Tibetans, many Uyghurs have called for independence or, at the very least, greater autonomy. In response, the Chinese state has dramatically expanded its control over the region. During our visit, we witnessed the heavy presence of Chinese soldiers, surveillance, and frequent roadblocks, eerily reminiscent of my earlier trip to Lhasa, Tibet.
More disturbingly, international reports have accused China of operating vast internment camps in the region—what many call concentration or re-education camps—aimed at transforming Uyghur culture and religious identity into a more “acceptable,” state-controlled version of Islam.
At the same time, Kashgar’s ancient face was vanishing. Traditional marketplaces, clay-brick homes, and centuries-old alleyways were being bulldozed and replaced by modern concrete apartment blocks. Propaganda murals and nationalistic monuments were springing up around the city, signaling Beijing’s effort to reshape the cultural identity of Xinjiang.
Few people spoke English here, and the Chinese government is notoriously suspicious of foreigners in this region. I was lucky to be traveling with my friend Charlie, who was born in Taiwan and spoke fluent Mandarin—an immense help in navigating the layers of bureaucracy and subtle hostility.
Monument of General Mao
General Mao
Patrol of Chinese Soldiers in Kashgar
Three Days Were Never Enough
Scratching the surface of Western China
Like many of my trips, I tried to squeeze too much into too little time—and this journey was no exception. In hindsight, I could have easily spent two weeks exploring just Western China. Instead, I only had three days before continuing into northern Pakistan.
But what a three days they were.
The region’s history, culture, and breathtaking scenery deserve far more than a whirlwind visit. Even just getting lost in the bazaars, wandering the winding streets, and watching daily life unfold felt like stepping into a living museum. The aroma of spices, the clang of metalwork, the sizzle of street food stalls—it was sensory overload in the best way.
Those three days were barely enough to scratch the surface. Yet they were unforgettable.
Street transport
Street transport
Bazaar
Bazaar
Bazaar
Bazaar
Bazaar
Bazaar
Uigher Man
Bazaar
Uigher man
To Yarkant, Where Time Slows Down
Frozen castles, camel caravans, and an unexpected photo op with border guards
From Kashgar, Charlie and I hired a taxi to take us deeper into the mountains, bound for Yarkant—a small, freezing village not far from the Pakistan border. The drive was surreal, winding past high alpine pastures where nomadic families tended camel and yak caravans, some resting in traditional yurts scattered across the snowy landscape.
As we gained elevation, the world felt increasingly remote. Yarkant itself was a quiet mountain village, hemmed in by towering peaks and dotted with ancient castle ruins. It’s the kind of place where you feel like the only foreigner who’s ever visited. The locals greeted us with curious, cautious smiles, and we could sense just how rarely outsiders pass through.
The most memorable moment came when we visited the crumbling walls of an old castle, perched above the village. There, a battalion of Chinese border guards had gathered to take a group photo on the ramparts. We asked if we could photograph them—and not only did they say yes, they were genuinely excited to be included. They even invited Charlie to join them in the photo, standing shoulder to shoulder with soldiers in full uniform, all beaming under the cold mountain sun.
That day in Yarkant—among snow-dusted ruins, border patrols, and a sky so clear it felt painted—was a snapshot of a far-flung frontier I won’t soon forget.
Charlie at a Yarkant restaraunt
Mighty karakoram Mountains
Mountain fortress
Chinese soldiers posing on the mountain fortress
Chinese soldiers posing on the mountain fortress
Chinese soldiers posing on the mountain fortress
The Loophole to the Highest Border in the World
Sleeper buses, rough roads, and dodging red tape in the Karakoram
To reach the Khunjerab Pass, foreigners were officially required to obtain a special travel permit—something that could only be applied for in Kashgar. It sounded like a bureaucratic headache, especially with our tight timeline.
But then we discovered a convenient loophole: if we took a public bus, we could bypass the permit entirely.
So that’s exactly what we did.
Charlie and I booked tickets on a sleeper bus, the kind outfitted with narrow bunk-style beds instead of seats, and began the long, winding journey toward the border. The road was mostly under construction, torn up in places, with steep drops and scattered checkpoints. But it didn’t matter—we were on our way to the world’s highest international border crossing, the legendary Khunjerab Pass at 15,396 feet (4,693 meters) above sea level.
The ride was long, bumpy, and surreal—but so is most of the magic that happens in places this remote.
Sleeper bus on the way to Pakistan
Crossing the Line
From Chinese order to Pakistani chaos at the Khunjerab Pass
We finally arrived at the Khunjerab Pass, where we departed from the newly constructed Chinese immigration facility—a massive, modern complex that felt coldly efficient and heavily surveilled. The building loomed like a fortress at the top of the world.
In stark contrast, the Pakistani immigration post just across the border was smaller, older, and far more chaotic, but it came with a certain charm. The atmosphere shifted immediately: the uniforms changed, the language changed, even the energy in the air felt looser, more alive.
From here, a new chapter began—a wild ride down the Karakoram Highway and into the mystical valleys of northern Pakistan.
👉 Continue reading: Kalash People, Descended from the Armies of Alexander the Great, and Traveling the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan | Venture The Planet