FIELD NOTES FROM PAKISTAN
“A gloriously, colourful, charming, adventurous glimpse into aristocratic life of a time gone by”
IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT
When Alexander the Great looked across the Jhelum River, he saw the great King Poros and his 40,000-strong army, including 200 armed elephants, staring back at him. Fast forward 2,400 years, and he would have seen our group of fifteen riders.
We swam across the river bareback, resting on a small sandy island before finishing the swim to the northern bank. Alexander had crossed in the other direction on his black stallion, Bucephalus. He had come down through the Khyber Pass. His journey had taken eight years from his homeland of Macedonia. Along the way, he had decimated the Persian Empire, and by now the entire world knew of the strength of his army. This fertile land, now the Punjab region of Pakistan, was to be the final destination of his eastern expansion. He won the battle against Poros, but his war-weary army refused to continue on.
The first part of our safari would follow Alexander’s footsteps in reverse from the Jhelum River to the Salt Range mountains.
QAWALLI MUSIC
Our camp on the Jhelum was a semicircle of tents with a great pile of wood stacked up in the centre. Lanterns were dotted around the perimeter. A huge wooden dining table, complete with ornate chairs, was set up close to the river. While we feasted in the dark, a 15-person Qawwali band set up, all seated cross-legged on a rug on the ground. Qawwali is a form of mystical Sufi devotional singing. This was quite a renowned band, and there was a bit of to and fro as they realised there was no stage and great fanfare, just a group of eleven tourists, mostly from the UK, to perform to.
Taimur Noon, our host, handed out wads of cash to each of us to throw on the musicians like confetti. ‘They brought the cash themselves; each note is less than one cent, but throw it to show your appreciation. Make as much noise and dance as much as possible, or they’ll be disappointed.’ At first, we were frigid, politely watching them call and reply to each other in song.
‘You know, all their songs are about alcohol and love,’ Taimur tells me. Interesting in a country where alcohol is extremely illegal.
Over the course of three hours, we covered the band in thousands of notes and danced by bonfire light. Our guide, Bertie Alexander, appeared bareback on his white horse, Shadowfax, running laps around the band, then standing, all 6’5” of him, on his ghostly pony while we danced and cheered around him. The show ended when the heavens opened up and torrential rain bucketed down on us. The musicians made their escape around 1 a.m.
THE PESHAWAR VALE HUNT
The history of the Peshawar Vale Hunt is interwoven with the history of the frontier with Afghanistan. It is where the Great Game played out between the British and Russian empires in the late 19th century. Officers sent to war brought hounds with them from all over the country and managed to get some sport in between emergencies. The hunt disbanded when Pakistan gained independence but has recently been reignited by Faiysal Ali Khan, a Peshawar man himself.
Bertie had met Faiysal when he was hunting captain at Stowe School and Faiysal was studying at Oxford. A joint day out beagling formed a connection that would bring Bertie to Faiysal’s homeland after graduating from the Royal Agricultural College. Bertie is now the Huntsman and Master of the P.V.H.
These days, the hounds spend much of their season kennelled at Nurpur Noon. Bertie has been importing hounds from England and caring for them, building up the number of couples for three years now. During our ride, we hunted twice, once on the banks of the Jhelum and we had a lawn meet at Nurpur Noon one morning, followed by a delicious hot breakfast.
That sunny morning on the first of February, we galloped across the sandy banks of the Jhelum in pursuit of the golden jackal, bouncing through water and jumping irrigation ditches in and out of farmers' fields. Bertie wore his red velvet Nehru gilet over a light brown Pakistani shalwar kameez, his horn tucked neatly between the buttons of his jacket. On his head, he wore a traditional woollen cap from Chitral in the north of the country, adorned with a golden pin of the national animal of Pakistan, the Markhor goat, known to kill snakes and spit anti-venom.
After some fast riding through fields of sugar cane, we returned to camp for a hot breakfast, served in silverware under the gazebo.
THE NOON FAMILY + NURPUR NOON ESTATE
We arrived at Islamabad airport on a direct BA flight from London. Our guide, Bertie, was easily recognisable as he towered above everyone else outside the terminal. Surrounding him was the Noon’s personal protection team, who got busy collecting luggage and loading it into three new black Toyota Land Cruisers. We travelled in convoy, not bothering to stop at any toll road checkpoints, until we reached Nurpur Noon Estate, deep in rural Punjab.
The cars stopped in the driveway, and Bertie ushered us all out. Pink rose petal wreaths were hung around our necks by the elderly head gardener. A band of boys appeared, beating a drum and singing happily. A grey horse was led out to dance for us. Two camels covered in colorful pom-poms stood on each side of the tall, white gates to the house. We walked through to see the large red brick palace, built in Mughal style with a fortress feel, complete with a cannon out front. Waiters offered us freshly squeezed orange juice, and we were welcomed to relax on chaise longues that were laid out on the lawn in front of the rose garden.
After a royal welcome, we were shown to our rooms. All eleven of us had our own, all facing the central courtyard of the Noon’s home. Before we had time to take it all in, we were invited to walk to the polo pitch for a quick chukka or two. Our seven-day safari had started with colourful excess that wouldn’t stop until we boarded the plane home in Lahore in a week’s time.
It was in Cirencester at university that Bertie met the Noon twins, Taimur and Saif. Their great-grandfather, a Prime Minister of Pakistan, alumnus of Oxford University, and contemporary of Churchill, had built the estate. The big house was a new addition. Our safari was a joint venture between Taimur, who now ran his family estate, and Bertie.
Taimur’s father, Adnan is an artist. His art, in many forms, adorns the walls of the house. His mother, Tahia, is a fashion designer and a sitting member of parliament, educated at Trinity College in Dublin. They are both warm and friendly, and shared so many family stories as we sat in front of the fire enjoying a post-ride cup of tea.
THE SNAKE CHARMERS
Tahia Noon is from the desert, close to India. There, the art of snake charming is still alive. One afternoon at the house we were invited into the courtyard to see two men dressed in brightly coloured clothing. A snake charmer and his apprentice. They had travelled up from the desert to share their skills with us.
The snake charmer was dressed in long pink robes and carried two fabric sacks tied to a stick he balanced across his shoulders like a vagabond. His hands were free to play his flute. He walked through the rose garden, sticking close to the bushes. Adnan explained that the Charmer finds the snakes by feeling the vibration from the music of his flute bouncing off of the body of the snake. Very quickly the Charmer stops in his tracks. He takes a stick and moves quickly to the middle of the bushes, catapulting a black cobra onto the grass. We all scrambled to get out of the way. He squats down directly in front of the snake, well within striking distance, playing his flute. It is angry, with its head raised, bouncing up and down menacingly. The Charmer moves suddenly, pinning down its head. He snaps its fangs off, drains out the poison, and adds it to his fabric sack. ‘He will never kill the snake’ Tahia explains. ‘He will take it back to the desert, bless it and release it back to the wild’.
A guest asks if the Charmer has ever been bitten? Black cobra bites will kill you in 15 minutes. Bertie tells us that the last time the charmers were at Nurpur the apprentice was bitten. He began to froth at the mouth, obviously dying. The Charmer quickly rubbed a black rock against the bite, drawing out the poison and the apprentice fully recovered soon after. Berties swears it’s a true story, he saw it with his own eyes.
The black rock is the great secret of the snake charmers of Pakistan. The national animal, the Markhor, a mountain goat, is said to kill cobras when bitten and spit out this black rock of poison that now acts as anti-venom. It’s so valuable that this black rock is given as dowry for women in the snake charmer tribe. As he walked around the gardens at Nurpur, the Charmer collected pine cones, placing them into the fabric sack along with the snakes. If, after a bite, no black rock is available, a piece of pine cone will extend the life of a human by ten minutes.
Completely spellbound by the charmer, it was not the last time we would meet him. Later that night, his family dazzled us with a musical performance in the courtyard. The main dancer twirled around in a frenzy like the whirling dervishes of Anatolia. They too are Sufis, Islamic mystics
LAHORE
We loaded into our black Land Cruisers once more to drive two hours to Lahore. On the border with India, Lahore is huge, with a population 10% larger than London’s. The city is a cultural hub nicknamed the Heart of Pakistan, Paris of the East, City of Gardens, and City of Literature by UNESCO. In 1947, when Lord Mountbatten split Pakistan from Greater India and created a Muslim country in the west of the subcontinent, there were an estimated 200,000 to 2 million deaths as Muslims went west and Hindus escaped to the east. The modern-day Indian government plays on a strong anti-Muslim platform, and so relations remain frosty. There are no flights between Pakistan and India
We drove straight to the Polo Club. Passing through layers of security we arrived in time to enjoy lunch at a table outside and watch the final of an important local tournament. Everyone was well heeled with lush, shiny, voluminous Pakistani hair. We enjoyed ourselves, downing cans of coke as alcohol is as illegal as opium here. The winner was awarded a trophy by Taimur’s uncle, the Polo club president.
Our hotel, a historic private member’s club was just across the road from the Polo Club in a leafy private suburb. Porters wore traditional Nehru collared suits. A wooden board displaying the names of club Presidents showed the current President was also a Noon family member.
That evening, we drove through town to a rooftop restaurant with a spectacular view of the enormous Badshahi Mosque, consecrated in 1670 and built in the same Mughal style as the house at Nurpur Noon. The mosque was lit up and looked as if it were glowing. Behind the mosque was the old fortress, the seat of the Mughal Empire. Tomorrow, we would visit there ourselves on our tuk-tuk city tour.
Before the tour we visited an artisan shop selling textiles and jewellery. Fine rugs and tapestries were in all directions, some imported from neighbouring Afghanistan though much locally made. We filled bags of shopping. By the time we made it to the Mosque the sun had started to set. The call to prayer rang out over the courtyard as we approached barefoot and heads covered. One of the most beautiful calls to prayer I’ve ever heard.
That evening, we had dinner at Saif Noon’s apartment with an incredible view of the city. Bertie brought out boxes of P.V.H merch—caps with golden jackals embroidered on them, red and yellow tracksuits, and, most special of all, golden hunt buttons. The buttons were a gift, but we paid for the tracksuits. They made a perfect outfit for the plane as we made our way to Lahore airport for a 2:30 a.m. flight home.
WHAT NEXT?
Having travelled all over the world scoping rides for Black Saddle, on reflection, six months later, I consider this the best holiday I’ve ever had. It’s chaotic, colourful, beautiful, and wild. Bertie and Taimur are the perfect blend of risk and reason. The riding is fast-paced on hot horses and in all different styles – hacking, hunting, polo, and driving. This is a holiday that will take you a month to recover from and a lifetime to process.
During the ride, Bertie would tell stories about riding in Chitral in the Hindu Kush, where the venom-spitting goat lives and where polo is a way of life. I started dreaming about joining him there and continuing the Pakistani adventure. Perhaps in 2025. For now, I’m headed back to Pakistan to ride at Nurpur Noon in October. This time, six months later, I’ve processed the holiday a bit; I’ve read up on Alexander and the history of the Peshawar Vale Hunt. I will have a better understanding of just where we are.
This time, I will be able to get even deeper into this magical place.
You can join me this 09 - 16 October 2024
Author: Black Saddle Owner, Emma Barron, July 2024
PAKISTAN
Our Nurpur Noon safari is 7 nights and runs from October to March. The best time of year to visit is January and February, technically in mid-winter but winters are mild and the days often reach 25 degrees celcius.
Where: Punjab, Pakistan
When:
BLACK SADDLE DEPARTURES
09 - 16 OCTOBER 2024 - Join Black Saddle founder Emma who will film the ride. Content shared freely with all riders.
07 - 14 JANUARY 2025
21 - 28 JANUARY 2025
SET DEPARTURE
15 - 22 DECEMBER 2024 - An open date with some riders from Black Saddle
Price: £4,950
Getting There: We will share recommended flights to Islamabad and from Lahore.
Visa: Required. We will assist with your visa.
Riding Level: Advanced. Suitable for lifelong riders with excellent horse sense who ride regularly and likely own their own horses. Foxhunters, eventers, and others used to riding horses at gallop in open countryside. Do you know how to bridge your reins? Then you might be ready for this one.
Horses: Athletic polo ponies, thoroughbred types, Pakistani horses with a similar temperaments to Arabian horses.
NURPUR NOON | PAKISTAN
7 nights in Pakistan | Adventure mobile tented safari and luxury home stay | From £4,950 per person