Pakistan

Now it was time to cross the much-famed border between India and Pakistan. We'd heard a lot of stories about people getting hassled and having to pay bakshish (bribes) to get across, so we were a bit nervous. A bus that let us off near the border, a bicycle rickshaw to the border, a short walk to about a zillion Indian check posts, then you're ready to cross the no-man's land to Pakistan. The minute you cross the border you see a difference - the officials are now about a foot taller than on the other side. Also, you need to get out of the habit of greeting everyone with "Namaste" and start saying "A salam aleikum," which is a bit more difficult! Then another series of interminable checkposts. After a total of about one and a half hours we were done! We were fortunate, no problems at all - lucky for us but not for him-the kind gentleman behind us (Pakistani, but now a British citizen) must have looked like a more lucrative target because we later found out he'd had to part with some rupees or pounds to get through.

Quick, if I asked you to guess what our strongest impression of Pakistan, what would it be? I'll bet you wouldn't guess warm, friendly people, but that's what has remained topmost in our minds. First of all, it's important to be "culturally correct" in your dress, meaning don't show much flesh. Fortunately, I swapped our India Lonely Planet guide for a Shalwar Camiz in Amritsar, and was quite appropriately decked out. This is the national dress for Pakistani men and women, and basically looks like a long pajama top worn over huge, baggy trousers. The female version comes complete with a large scarf, which in India is just a decorative accessory, but in Pakistan is used to cover your head. After India, I was ready to do whatever it took to avoid being stared at, so I wore this outfit every single day for three weeks, with layers underneath for warmth. Pakistan was very cold!

We'd heard that Lahore was a big city, with lots of scams (for example, your kindly hotel manager plants drugs in your luggage and calls the cops, then gets half the bakshish you pay the police to leave you alone), and were a bit nervous, so we stayed in the YWCA dorm (that's where all the backpackers go). This was quite fun, as we met quite a lot of people who were heading one direction or the other on the overland trail between Europe and Southeast Asia (by way of Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Nepal, sometimes China). Some were driving, some taking public transportation, and quite a few die-hards (usually Japanese boys) were actually bicycling.

Our first day, we decided to walk to the Old City and visit Lahore Fort. First stop was a small "roti" shop where the men were busy making delicious hot naan bread (similar to the Indian kind, but thicker, and sprinkled with sesame seeds). We decided that a few of these would make a good breakfast that we could eat as we walked. No chance. We were forced to sit in the shop, drink tea, and under no circumstances would we be allowed to pay a single rupee! Well, this was a bit different from India, so we sat and chatted with the roti men for about 2.5 hours. Of course, they spoke hardly any English and we didn't know any Urdu whatsoever....

We spent 4 or 5 days in Lahore, and found ourselves back in the roti shop several times. Each time, we learned a bit more about our hosts, and were forced to consume massive amounts of chai (sweet milk tea) and sweets as a penalty for visiting. They showed us a photo of the roti-wallah (shop owner) and his friends posing with large guns in a mountain area. Naïve me, I thought they'd gone somewhere to visit and were fooling around for the camera. Turns out the owner and his friends had been fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan for 5 years as rebel fighters (they were born in Lahore but before Partitian their grandparents were from an area that's in Afghanistan).

Our roti-wallah friend, Tassan, is 31, same age as Eduardo, and his wife is 30, Erika's age. There the similarity ends, because they have 7children (sorry, Mom). They all live in a house with 4 other related families. We later were invited into the house, and it's pretty large, but talk about family togetherness! His mother and father are upstairs, with most of their kids, many of whom are the same age as Tassan's kids. Several aunts and uncles live there, along with their 5-8 kids each. It was difficult to find out the grand total, but we think it's 21 people. Actually, being invited in and allowed to meet the women was probably a huge honor, because normally another man would never be allowed to see their faces. When the women go out into the market, they keep their faces covered, except fort heir eyes. Everyone was so happy to meet us, and smiled a whole lot, even though we couldn't communicate too well. We did manage to learn quite a few Urdu words, mostly describing family relationships (not surprisingly).

Some of you have asked about Christmas. To be honest, it wasn't much of a Christmas, and we were quite homesick thinking of family and friends back at home. We had a lot of trouble finding out when the various services would be held (for some reason, the churches don't see fit to post this information outside like they do at home), but managed to find a Christmas morning service at a Church of Pakistan church (similar to Church of England). Erika cried through most of the familiar carols, thinking of times we'd sung them at home. The service was fine, but then it was over and there was nothing else going on, so we visited the excellent National Museum and then brought candy and fruit to the people who were closest thing we had to family in Pakistan, our Muslim roti friends. For us, this was the part of the day that was closest to the true spirit of Christmas -they had so little themselves but gave to us with a truly generous spirit, with no expectation of getting anything in return, and shared the warmth and love of their home with us.

Next we left Lahore and headed north to visit the beautiful mountain areas of Pakistan. (By the way, for those of you who at this point are thinking, "Isn't Pakistan very dangerous," you've probably heard news items from Karachi in southern Pakistan. For some reason, the Karachi residents who've been there a really, really long time don't like the newcomers who arrived only 50 years ago at Partition time, and vice versa, and they feel it's necessary to kidnap each other, shoot their guns around, etc. We maybe a bit mad, but we aren't suicidal, so we gave this area a very wide berth.) Northern Pakistan is pretty peaceful, and the scenery is beautiful. It's an excellent place for trekking...but not in December, when it's just really cold. We did manage to do some dayhikes, including clambering over a glacier, and enjoyed the views.

We headed out of the mountains to Peshawar, home of the Pashtun people, a rough-looking bunch with long beards and sometimes rows of machine gun bullets hanging on their chests (this is the men, of course; we can't describe the women because the very, very few you can see in public are completely covered in black, like ghosts). The main attractions in Peshawar are the bazaars and the Khyber pass. The bazaars are like something from the Tales of the Arabian Nights, long, narrow, twisty streets, many covered overhead with cloths, where all sorts of items are available for sale. There's a vegetable market, fruit market, leathermarket (shoes), meat market (skip this unless you like the sight of animal pieces hanging from hooks, a dozen sheep heads neatly lined up on at able, etc.), clothing market, kitchen gadget market, etc. It's quite fun to wander. As I said, the people are a bit rougher here on the border, and this was the only place Erika was grabbed in the rear. But maybe the anonymous gentleman in the crowd was simply being friendly? She didn't try to find out the cultural implications, and she simply punched at the chest of the nearest man behind her and yelled at him. She has no idea if she hit the guilty party or an innocent bystander, but figured no-one would try anything after that!

The next day we headed to the Khyber pass, which is where you can drive to look over across the Afghan border. The excitement of it is that you have to go with an armed guard (it's really not dangerous though, and the guard is just a kid-although with a machine gun) and you officially exit the area controlled by the Pakistani government and enter the zone controlled by the local tribes. Here the men look surly and carry guns, and it feels a bit like the old Wild American West. You pass the homes of the locals, which are a bit unusual - each one is built like a fort, with a guard tower and high compound walls. I'm not quite sure if I'm not quite sure if these guys are actually fighting each other or just like this particular style of architecture as many of us at home prefer Cape Code or Colonial or Mediterranean styles. The few women you see are carrying water on their heads and turn their faces away as you drive past.

On the way back, we visited the bazaar, our armed guard dragging us in tow, and didn't see the usual friendly smiles from shopkeepers until we entered the gun bazaar. This is where they make and sell weapons, and can copy any gun model for you in less than a week, using hand tools. These guys were quite friendly! But it was a relief to get back in the car and head back to the city! (Sorry, we didn't pick up any gun souvenirs as gifts for any of you.)

By now, Ramadan was in full swing - this is a very holy month during which no one can eat, drink or smoke between sunrise and sunset. It's not a fun time to visit, because it's rude to eat in front of a fasting Muslim, so you have to try to eat on the sly or run back to your room. But they keep frying and selling food on the street all day, so you have to be smelling all the great smells although you can't consume the products!

Back to Lahore, and it was time to say goodbye to our roti-wallah friend and his family. His friend across the street, who has often fed us chai in his small dry-goods shop, decided to give us a Christmas card, and that's where the escalation began. Next came various perishable foods, Pakistani glass bracelets, Old Spice for Eduardo, etc. Then Tassan decided to take us to his cobbler friend's place and make me some shoes (this was right about the time we had to leave to catch our flight to Thailand). Then someone pushed a bunch of flowers in my arms as we were walking out. They have no concept of traveling light! (We left the flowers behind with our friends at the YWCA.)

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