We arrived here after a long and scenic ride through northern Pakistan. The place where we stayed the night is called Ghazi Guest House — one of only two decent options in this small, windswept settlement. Both are good enough for a night’s stay, though Chilam Chowki itself isn’t really a tourist destination. It’s more of a transit point — a gateway for travelers heading towards Deosai Plains or the long-restricted, magical valley of Minimarg.
Today, our destination is Minimarg — a place that has been on my bucket list for years. I first came here in 2020, but back then, due to Covid restrictions, tourists weren’t allowed beyond this point. You needed special permission to enter. But this time, the area is open, and we’ve secured all necessary passes.
I’m traveling with my friends Ali and Yasir. Ali is here for the first time, and Yasir — always busy filming — visited last year. Our motorcycles are ready, our spirits are high, and our cameras are charged. Ahead lies one of the most breathtaking routes in the north of Pakistan.
Morning at Chilam Chowki
That’s Chilam Chowki right in front of us — a small, buzzing checkpoint surrounded by majestic mountains. We pull over, reminded to keep our passes handy. One of our friends has them, and he’s waiting ahead. The place is crowded, much more than I remember from 2020. Tourists, motorcyclists, and a few army vehicles — all gathered at the same narrow spot.
“Assalam Alekum,” I greet the soldier at the gate. “Our passes are with our friend over there.”
He nods. “All motorcycles need to go through together. Show the passes at the next point.”
We do as told. The Army officers here are polite and efficient. They recognize us immediately and process our entry in less than fifteen minutes. Their hospitality and professionalism never fail to impress me. We hand over our passes and prepare to roll out.
“Bismillah… In the name of Allah,” I whisper a small prayer. “May this journey ahead be smooth and memorable.”
And with that, our engines roar to life. Ahead lies the road to Minimarg — and adventure.
The Ride Begins
The first few kilometers out of Chilam Chowki are pure joy. The winding road cuts through a valley of unspoiled beauty. Morning light filters through clouds, striking the snow-covered peaks and casting golden highlights on the grass below. A crystal-clear stream runs alongside, shimmering in the sunlight.
At every turn, the scenery seems to shift — rugged cliffs give way to soft green slopes, and snowfields melt into waterfalls that dance down the mountainsides.
“This is incredible,” I say to Ali over the intercom. “Look at how that road winds through the mountains.”
He laughs, soaking in the sights. “I’m in love with this valley already.”
The feeling is mutual. The beauty here is raw and humbling. You can’t help but fall silent — overwhelmed by the grandeur of nature.
The Rules of the Road
For anyone planning to visit: only motorcycles above 150cc and 4×4 vehicles are allowed on this route. The restriction makes sense once you see the terrain. The track alternates between rough gravel and muddy water crossings. Even though much of it is still under construction, the challenge adds to the thrill.
We continue climbing, and the weather starts to cool. Sunlight breaks through thick clouds, creating shafts of light that seem to descend from heaven. Every curve reveals another breathtaking view. I can’t decide whether to keep my camera on or simply live the moment.
“Look at that spring down there,” I call out. “You can still see snow on those peaks!”
The higher we go, the more the temperature drops. I realize my mistake of wearing summer gloves — my hands are freezing now. The altitude is increasing fast, and soon we’re riding above 13,000 feet.
This region falls under Army control, and the road up to Burzil Top is remarkably well maintained. But beyond that, it’s more of a wild track than a road.
Climbing Burzil Top
After a few tight hairpin bends, the white slopes of Burzil Top come into view. We’ve reached the gateway between Astore and Minimarg. Up here, snow blankets everything. The air is thin, sharp, and crystal clear. The landscape feels otherworldly — like riding through a frozen dream.
We stop briefly at the Army check post at the top to register ourselves. Standing still even for a few minutes makes you realize the altitude — you start feeling short of breath. We quickly finish the formalities and begin descending.
At 13,500 feet, the view is jaw-dropping. Behind us lie the Deosai plains, their mountains glistening under the sun. Ahead stretches the route towards Minimarg — a ribbon of road snaking through valleys of white and green.
“This is unreal,” Yasir says, capturing drone footage. “It looks like Norway!”
He’s right. The scenery reminds me of northern Europe — pristine, vast, and silent. But unlike Europe, this place carries an untamed wildness. Here, adventure feels real. A landslide, a water crossing, or even sudden snowfall could change your plans in an instant.
From the Peaks of Burzil to the Heart of Minimarg
The descent from Burzil Top is even more beautiful than the climb. Streams of glacial water run alongside us, and as we lose altitude, green pastures reappear. The snow melts away, revealing wildflowers, small wooden huts, and grazing cattle.
We pass by local shepherds with their herds. The people here live simple lives, in tiny wooden homes scattered across the slopes. Tourists need passes to enter, but locals move freely — this land has been theirs for centuries.
“The beauty here feels so natural,” I think aloud. “Not a trace of garbage anywhere.”
That’s something rare in popular tourist spots. Minimarg, being newly opened, still retains its untouched charm. I hope it stays that way even as tourism grows.
Approaching Minimarg
As we descend further, the scenery shifts dramatically. The towering peaks grow smaller, replaced by rolling green meadows. The track winds along a sparkling stream that seems to guide us forward.
“This reminds me of Gitti Das,” I say to Ali. “You know, when you come down from Babusar Top — a river flowing through a green valley.”
He nods. “Yes, the landscape feels alive here.”
After a while, we reach another Army post. Since we’ve already submitted our passes, we only show our ID cards this time. The officers wave us through with friendly smiles. Their presence gives this isolated area a feeling of safety.
A few kilometers later, the first glimpses of Minimarg appear. Small houses, wooden fences, and plowed fields dot the landscape. Children wave as we pass by, their laughter echoing across the valley.
“This is Minimarg village,” I tell the camera. “Whenever you hear about this region, this is the place they mean.”
But our plan is to go further — to Domail, home of the famous Rainbow Lake.
The Road to Domail
Leaving the main village of Minimarg behind, we began the final leg of our day’s journey — the road to Domail. The locals had told us it was only about fifteen kilometers away, but everyone had smiled knowingly while saying it, as if those fifteen kilometers carried their own world of challenges and beauty. They were right.
The narrow dirt track leaving Minimarg looked harmless at first — a ribbon of earth meandering between soft green meadows and snow-clad ridges. But within minutes, the adventure began. The surface turned rocky, uneven, and crossed repeatedly by glacial streams that cut across the road like veins of silver. We slowed down, not because we had to, but because every curve demanded admiration.
Water crossings came one after another — some gentle trickles, others small torrents of freezing water rushing straight down from the mountains. The sound of our engines mixed with the roar of the streams, echoing across the valley walls. Riding through each crossing felt like a small victory. My boots were soaked, but the thrill was worth it.
“This is a real adventure,” Ali shouted over the sound of the water. His smile was wide despite the cold spray that hit our faces. “Every minute feels alive!”
He was right. There’s a kind of magic that only these off-road mountain tracks can offer — the unpredictability, the rawness, the constant reminder that you’re deep inside nature’s untouched heart.
As we gained height again, the valley opened up below us. From one of the turns, I stopped the bike to look down — and the view took my breath away. A wide, lush basin stretched out beneath the snow-covered peaks. The sunlight, filtered through clouds, gave the grass a luminous green glow. In the middle, a small ribbon of river sparkled like a mirror.
“That’s Domail,” Yasir said, pointing at the valley. “And somewhere there… is Rainbow Lake.”
From above, the lake wasn’t visible yet, but the descending zigzag track promised a spectacular arrival. The road down looked like a brown thread stitched through an emerald carpet. Every few meters, we stopped for photos — though honestly, no picture could do justice to the grandeur around us.
Halfway down, we encountered a group of locals driving rugged jeeps. They waved cheerfully, as though greeting fellow travelers from the same adventure tribe. One of the drivers told us that a dirt path from here eventually connects to Barra Pani in Deosai Plains. Hearing that, I couldn’t help but imagine a future trip — perhaps taking that route someday, if permission is granted. There’s always another journey waiting in these mountains.
As we descended further, patches of snow gave way to thick green pastures dotted with wildflowers. Small wooden huts appeared again, smoke rising lazily from their chimneys. Children waved from the sides of the road, their faces lit with curiosity and excitement.
Finally, the sound of running water grew louder, and soon we reached a clearing filled with jeeps and parked motorcycles. Ahead of us shimmered the legendary Rainbow Lake.
At first glance, it seemed small — a quiet turquoise patch framed by tall pines and snow-tipped peaks. But as we walked closer, the true scale and beauty of it revealed itself. The water was so clear that you could see the rocks at the bottom, their colors shifting with the light — shades of blue, green, and silver blending into one another. It wasn’t hard to understand why it was called Rainbow Lake.
We stood there in silence for a while, just taking it all in — the crisp mountain air, the reflection of the peaks on the still surface, and the serenity that wrapped around everything.
“This is probably the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen,” I finally said. Ali nodded, lost in the view.
The road to Domail had been tough, cold, and unpredictable — but it had brought us here, to this corner of paradise where time seemed to stand still.
In that moment, every mile of rough terrain, every shiver, every drop of sweat felt completely worth it.
At Rainbow Lake
We park our motorcycles and walk down to the lake’s edge. The water is icy cold. The whole area feels serene, untouched. The Army has done an excellent job maintaining cleanliness here — no litter, no noise.
“This,” I say, “is what heaven must look like.”
Tourists who come for a day trip are required to leave by 3:30 pm, since the area closes at 5 pm. But we’re staying overnight, so we can relax and soak in the atmosphere.
Next to Rainbow Lake lies another beautiful body of water — Crystal Lake. Both are part of the same ecosystem, fed by glacial streams. Together, they form the heart of Minimarg’s beauty.
Meeting Locals
While exploring, we meet a friendly local named Farman.
“I’m from Haramosh,” he tells us. “If you visit that valley, I’ll arrange someone to guide you.”
We thank him — his warmth reflects the hospitality of people in these northern regions. Life here is hard, yet their hearts are soft and generous.
I remind the viewers: “When you come to places like this, remember that locals here work tirelessly to provide basic services. Respect their efforts and keep the environment clean.”
Our Night in Domail
We finally find a tent for the night. It’s spacious — enough for three or four people. The rent is PKR 1,500 per person, including basic bedding. I had hoped to pitch our own tents by the river, but personal camping isn’t allowed here due to Army regulations.
Still, the campsite is cozy. The sound of flowing water fills the valley as evening descends. The temperature drops quickly, and mist gathers around the lake.
Dinner arrives soon — steaming mutton karahi and dal. After a long day of riding, it feels like a feast.
“Don’t let the roti get cold!” I joke, as we all laugh, huddled inside the tent.
Outside, the stars begin to appear — bright and countless, scattered across a perfectly dark sky. The reflection of the moon on the still lake completes the picture.
Reflections on the Journey
Today has been one of the most rewarding days of my travel life. From the checkpoints of Chilam Chowki to the snow-laden Burzil Top, from the thrilling descent to the emerald meadows of Minimarg, and finally, the tranquil beauty of Rainbow Lake — every moment felt like stepping into a painting.
This region, once closed to outsiders, is now open. But with that comes responsibility. The cleanliness and serenity here are what make it special. I sincerely hope that as tourism grows, visitors will treat it with the respect it deserves.
If you ever plan to visit, remember:
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Secure your passes in advance.
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Travel only on motorcycles above 150cc or in a 4×4 vehicle.
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Avoid peak holidays like Eid or weekends to enjoy peace.
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And most importantly — leave no trace.
As I crawl into my sleeping bag, the cold air fills the tent. I hear the faint rumble of the stream outside and the distant hum of the wind weaving through the mountains. It’s hard not to feel grateful — for the journey, the company, and the land itself.
Tomorrow, we’ll explore Domail further, maybe even visit the nearby Crystal Lake before heading back. But for now, I close my eyes, replaying the day’s journey in my mind — the laughter, the roads, the mountains, and the beauty of Minimarg that words can barely describe.
