Spring comes in gradual stages in Karimabad: the pink and white blossoms appear first on the floor of the valley, while the apple and apricot trees are still bare on the higher slopes of the surrounding mountains. But as winter loosens its grip, the trees on the steep heights break into their spring colours of green, white and pink. Towering over this unfolding panorama are the eternally snowcapped peaks of Rakaposhi, Altur, the Lady's Finger and many other mountains which soar well over 20,000 feet.

Perched on a hill overlooking the valley and the ancient village is Baltit Fort. Legend has it that a bygone ruler of Hunza married a princess from Baltistan, and she brought some craftsmen as part of her trousseau to build this fort. However, it is almost certain that this story is apocryphal as recent research indicates that the fort came into being as a haphazard addition of rooms which connected two (or possibly three) watch-towers. Carbon dating of a piece of wood from the oldest part of the fort indicates that the original structure is at least seven hundred years old. For centuries, this was a stronghold from which raids were launched against caravans plying the Silk Route as well as against neighboring Nagar. Together with the nearby Altit Fort, Baltit constituted the seat of power of the Mirs, the rulers of Hunza who held absolute power over the valley until the reforms of 1974.

After the arrival of the British in the area a century ago, the fort lost its importance as a military base. Although the Mirs tried to make it more comfortable by gentrifying it, probably using craftsmen from the plains, they abandoned it in the 1930s, moving to a more modern palace on the lower slopes of the village which was renamed Karimabad in 1976 after the Aga Khan. Over the years, the neglected old fort fell into disrepair to the point that it was in danger of complete collapse. In 1979, the fort was visited independently by Richard Hughes, an engineer, and Didier Lefort, an architect, who both convinced the Aga Khan to save the fort.

The Mir, Ghazanfar Ali Khan, did his bit by transferring ownership of his traditional family seat to the newly created Baltit Heritage Trust, and soon thereafter, restoration work on the fort commenced. The first step was to thoroughly document the structure before arriving at a comprehensive conservation strategy based on structural and soil analyses. Today, the fort is shrouded in scaffolding as 80 workers and a team of architects and engineers toil to meet its target reopening date in 1996.

Conservation was the subject of a two-week workshop held in Karimabad recently which brought together 18 architects, engineers and archaeologists to discuss and learn new techniques in the field. Using a hands-on approach, the organisers had participants out in the village and the fort every day, learning documentation and local building techniques.

One of the principal concerns of the team at Bait it Fort is to try and maintain the historic flavour of the village. Indeed, the Karimabad Planning Support Service (KPSS) offers free designing services to villagers to encourage them to preserve their traditional way of life. But this may be a losing battle. As, tourism, education and the ubiquitous dish antenna bring the rest of the world closer to Hunza, it becomes more and more difficult to convince villagers that what was good enough for their forefathers should be good enough for them.

If the purists among the conservationists had their way, the locals would build on the same pattern, using the same materials as the old houses. In the traditional Hunza house, the whole family cooks, eats and sleeps in the same large room called aha. There is a central opening to let the smoke out and the light in, as there are no windows. Men, women and children relieve themselves outside. The only other room is a small enclosure for animals.

Understandably, young couples - especially those who have lived in cities - now demand greater privacy. As a result, a number of houses are now being built outside the old village, using bricks or concrete blocks, as opposed to the stone and wood used in the old houses. While most of the new homes incorporate the ha into their designs, they also boast windows and attached bathrooms.

The planners at KPSS are aware of the fact that unless they can provide modern conveniences like running water and sewerage to the inhabitants of Karimabad, they will be unable to convince them not to move down to the terraced fields. Such a movement would not only change the character of the community, but would also put pressure on the limited farmland. As it is, Karimabad is no longer self-sufficient in food, importing over 70 per cent of its requirements. The conservationists are not trying to preserve Karimabad in a kind of time warp simply because they harbour romantic notions of an idyllic past, but because they realise that if the character of the valley changes too drastically, the tourist trade- the mainstay of the local economy - will decline as well.

A major debate during the workshop centered around the degree to which modern influences could or should be resisted. A heated argument broke out when Richard Hughes informed participants that after the structural works were over, the fort would be painted white. Originally, all the structures in the area were a natural stone grey; Baltit Fort was painted white subsequently, probably in the late 19th century when it was being gentrified. Currently, despite the efforts of KPSS, a number of houses have been painted white as well as some more jarring colours.

Participants were concerned about the influence the fort will exert on the community when it is opened, and the KPSS team wanted to know how they were to convince villagers not to paint their houses when the dominant structure in the area was gleaming white. Richard Hughes defended the decision on the grounds that the fort was being restored to the point at which the earliest photographs of the structure existed, and these show it being whitewashed.

The argument is not as abstruse as it seems but goes to the heart of the whole philosophy of conservation. To what extent is intervention valid? Should conservators try to restore a structure to its (imagined) original shape, or make the degree of change apparent to the modern visitor? Added to these questions is the larger concern for the conservation of the area. In the case of Karimabad, the village is unique in its layout and traditional features, and should be preserved as a living community but not as a museum. These were some of the issues which were raised during the workshop but were not entirely resolved. However, the subject is constantly evolving, as is our understanding of it, and the workshop helped to give participants new perspectives and insights.

This article was original published in the June 1994 issue of the Herald under the headline 'Freezing time'. To read more subscribe to the Herald in print.