Our journey starts from Islamabad at dawn on a rainy Monday morning as the caravan begins the 16-hour drive to Nagar Fort, Chitral -- the first stop on the way to Kalash Valley.

The adventure begins as a motley crew of all ages assembles in Islamabad to go exploring with Adventure Travels Pakistan. Trucks, vans and cars inch by each other as the road becomes more uneven, and the scenery more beautiful. The road to Kalash is not a smooth one. Neither is it boring.

Hours go by, the magnificent peaks of the Hindu Kush begin to reflect the rays of the setting sun. But we are still only halfway to our destination. Light fades, temperatures dip lower and the narrow road from Dir to Chitral gets steeper and slipperier.

Recent rainfall has led to the formation of rivulets of icy water that pool in the middle of rocky roads that are tricky to traverse. Sing-alongs on the Adventure Travel Pakistan (ATP) coasters are intermittently suspended as the drivers try to safely negotiate their vehicles through the hairpin bends in the moonlight. Soon, we are the only travellers on the pathways cutting through walls of Himalayan glaciers amidst snow-capped mountains.

After an over-night stop at Nagar Fort, we begin the vertigo-inducing descent that will take us to the farthest inhabited point on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border.

The Chitral River is a constant companion as we drive through the terraced hillsides of the scenic Ayun Valley. Jeeps and cars become our mode of transport on the rollercoaster ride along precariously narrow roads cut out of slate mountains. An imperceptible change descends on the environment long before the ‘Welcome to Kalash’ boards appear. Annoyance at the innumerable military checkposts dissipates as the doodh-pati coloured Chitral River gives way to the clearer waters of the Bumbure. Strange stillness envelopes the surroundings as we finally reach Bumburate, the biggest and most highly populated of the three valleys that comprise Kalasha Desh.

Nestled in this lush green valley amongst mountains shrouded in mist is the Kalasha tribe. Recently labeled as ‘the white tribe’ of Pakistan, these light-skinned and blue-eyed people number about 4000 in all -- a small ethnic group with no real evidence of genetic ties with any other race in the world. Signs of change are everywhere as placards printed with Allah-o-Akbar, Subhan Allah and Ahumdulillah become visible all around and cars jostle for space on the narrow dirt track that leads us into the heart of Bumburate’s largest village, Krakal.

A line of shalwar kameez-clad school boys with the Pakistani cricket team’s caps angled on their blonde heads turn to look back for a second at the sound of our approaching jeeps, and then move on with the air of a people used to the presence of camera-toting tourists.

The next morning is the first day of the Kalash three-day spring festival, Chilum Josh. Women wearing strings of colourful beads and the Kalashi Cheo, a long billowing black dress decorated with embroidered motifs, smile as we excitedly say ‘Ishpata’. Ishpata stands for hello and welcome in the Kalasha language and forms the extent of our group’s local vocabulary. Fortunately, that does not pose any communication problem as we soon discover that the majority of the Kalasha population can understand and converse in English.

The celebrations begin with Chiripipi, the offering of prayers for the wellbeing of livestock, one of their main sources of income, during the earlier part of the day. After touring the livestock sheds, the local women go out and collect walnut leaves and small yellow flowers called Beeshah with which they decorate their homes.

The second day of the festival starts with the early morning celebration of Gulparik, the baptisation of infants with milk.

The serious stuff over with, the Kalashas, especially the women, dress in their finest beads and embroidered belts and assemble in the village square for an afternoon of song and dance. Sounds of the Dhanu (big drum) beats can be heard from afar as we cross the makeshift military checkpoint installed at the entrance to the square.

The image of the beautiful Kalasha women singing and dancing in groups has long been the only identity of the Kalasha tribe in the world. Their elaborately beaded head-dresses, called soshutr, have fascinated women all over the world. English-speaking Kalasha women coyly inform us that the Spring Festival is the only time of the year when marriage ceremonies are performed.

Being a female-centric society, it is the women who select mates during the festivities by tapping them with branches of walnut tree leaves. The men declare their availability by donning handspun, embroidered sashes known as paati. The couple then elopes to the man’s house, half of whose worldly possessions become the woman’s, and remains in hiding for a couple of months. There is no formal marriage contract; the women are free to choose a new partner next spring. There is a lot of laughter as the men wait on the sidelines watching the whirling women make their final decisions.

Later on, in the evening, with the Bumbure River roaring besides the ATP campsite, quite a few misconceptions about the Kalasha culture are shattered by our highly informative and entertaining, local guide Wali Khan. He rubbishes the notion that "the Kalashas attempt to please some deity through their Spring Festival", and the locals we later meet, reiterate that the Kalashas are not, and have never been, polytheists. They pray to one Supreme Creator, whom they interestingly address as Khuda.

Another English speaking guide, Iqbal Shah, solemnly informs us that the term Kafiristan, the alternate name for Kalash still in usage, is a painful reminder to his people of the ethnic cleansing of the Kalashas in neighbouring Afghanistan and the ironic labelling of those areas as Nuristan. For this small ethnic group, religion is simply the tussle between good and evil. There are no elaborate rituals.

The otherworldly beauty of Kalash Valley and its inhabitants is slowly but surely getting dimmer due to a lack of development funds. Funding by the Greek government, which has been the biggest outside support, is dwindling because of the current situation in Greece. Poverty, we learn, is the major motivator for the increasing number of conversions to Islam.

The Kalashas firmly believe that there is no coercion in religion. Iqbal Shah gives us the example of his own family members co-existing peacefully even though half of them have converted to Islam. "The only difference that the advent of Islam has made in this valley of non-Muslims is the formation of newer houses for the Muslims on the outskirts of the 200-year-old village," he says.

Financial constraints are slowly forcing the Kalashas to let go of some of their ancient traditions as well. Their age-old custom of placing jewellery alongside dead bodies in open coffins in graveyards is no longer practiced because they cannot afford to buy jewels anymore. Skeletons have been removed from the open coffins and bones of ancestors sold off to feed families.

Time has stood still in this valley. The housing, plumbing and other basic amenities are still primitive in style. The ancient form of a wood-hewn ladder, called a shidik, displayed in the Kalasha Museum is still in use in the surrounding villages.

Friendly and hospitable by nature, the Kalasha are simple people. They seem to have realised the benefits tourism offers -- tourists are greeted by loud sounds of Isphatas; nobody minds posing repeatedly for multiple cameras; and a possible Greek lineage is told and retold to garner interest.

They still have not learnt to capitalise on the uniqueness of their cultural assets. Shop owners willingly offer to rent out Kalasha dresses for peanuts instead of selling them at exorbitant prices. It is this simplicity of character that shines through the beauty of the Kalasha people and attracts tourists to a small valley cocooned high up in the Hindu Kush.