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Favorite thing: The language of the Kalash valleys and the people is called Kalashwar.

As with almost anywhere in the world, the locals really like it when you try to learn and speak their language, even if it's just basic greetings. It breaks the ice all the time and warms you up to the locals!

Linguists have tried to find the origin of this language, similar to Central Asian dialects.
The people are also believed to have been descended from Alexander the Great's armies when they passed by here...

Some survival Kalashwar i've picked up from the very friendly locals:
(Due to some communication problems, it might not be the most accurate, but they're generally safe to use for the following.)

Hello (general/neutral): ish-pa-ta
Hello (to ladies): ish-pa-ta-ba-ya
Hello (to men): ish-pa-ta-ba-ba
Thank You: prohsht
How are you?: ta-bi-ya-prohsht?
Yes: jahm
No: nah
Good Morning: chop-por-pa-shik
Good Night: geh-ri-pa-shik
See You Again: geh-ri-pa-shik
You're Ok: pash-tia-li
Walnut: bribo
Mulberry: mrach
Chicken: ka-ka-wangk ("ng" - nasal sound like the french "n")
Food was good: bor-prohsht
I'm Leaving: aa-par-im
Beautiful: shis-shyak
Good: prohsht

Fondest memory: One of the highlights of my Pakistan trip was a visit to the Kalash tribe.
Today, there are some 3000 Kalash people living in three valleys near the Afghan border (see map under "Transportation").

Our hotel in this area was the national PTDC Hotel (Pakistan Tourist Developmenbt Corp.) in Anish, right at the entrance of the valley called Bamburet. Not far from the hotel, just across the street, was a small village that I visited early in the morning, shortly after sunrise.

Fondest memory: All of these night pictures were taken in Krakar, the main village in Bamburet. There was a small public square, kind of greek amphitheatre, where we could sit and watch their night dances called Ratnat.

Fondest memory: I ran into the woman I met the day before (I had given her a postcard of my hometown Munich; she was very impressed). When she saw me passing in front of her house early in the morning, she invited me for tea.

Fondest memory: The men don't dance, they just hit the drums in a very monotone way. And the women are dancing around them in groups of three of four.

Fondest memory: That night, I think I shot something like two rolls of film of the women in their colorful dresses. Here I am showing you just some of my favorite pictures.