Our breakfasts were followed by the plucking of fresh apples. The Apple laden trees stood dropped, invitingly, with their ripened fruits a perfect fit for our palms and a perfect complement for our appetite. In Skardu they were golden, just like the first ray of Sun as it branches out from behind the mountains heralding the breezy mornings.
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| Apples at Skardu |
In hunza, we feasted on blood red apples, tearing into its glossy skin with our teeth, letting the juice ooze down our hands and run down our lips. It is a luxury withheld from the residents of bustling cities where a green tree alone becomes a sight for sore eyes and where the fruits reach dry and dented.
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| Apples at Hunza |
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