Pakistan

Pakistan

The Pakistani border staff were pleased to see us. With their tourist trade decimated, it seemed that our presence on a big red motorbike heartily cheered their day. We headed into the country and at the first two towns we came to, asked about hotels. This caused hoots of laughter and indications to continue on our way. Mid afternoon we arrived in a town called Dalbindin. The temperature was close to 50ºC (120ºF) and having ridden for over 8 hours we had had enough. Fortunately the town had a good size hotel so we put the bike to bed and went for a stroll.

As we wondered around town, our presence caused penetrating stares and 'freeze-frame' scenarios in which conversations halted and cups of tea were held motionless midway to gaping mouths. We'd got used to being the centre of attention but this extreme scrutiny made us both a little uncomfortable to say the least! Having quickly decided that there was little to see, we scurried back to the hotel.

That evening we were joined by a local teacher who was most keen to tell us about US Airforce movements in the area, night-time drug smuggling and how nuclear testing had caused the ambient temperature to rise - something that appeared not to bother him too much!

We set off the next day, riding into the sunrise and stopping briefly for a road side fill-up of contraband fuel - smuggled in from Iran - before continuing east for our first major city, Quetta. The road through the desert area was fairly good although drifting sand dunes made sections slow and fairly hair-raising. We arrived in Quetta by midday and located our hotel. That evening we had chicken curry. After we'd finished, we gave a little thought to the bones on our plates; strange poultry they have here - the chickens must look just like cats, but it tasted good all the same!

The wrong road!

We'd been warned by other motorcyclists of the peculiarly slippery roads in this region. The following morning, we discovered the cause of their dismounts. The road surface was as slippery as it looked and anything more than light braking pressure had the ABS prrrrr-ing-ing into life.

Today was also one of those days that the GPS had decided not to work! After six hours on the road, we found ourselves in a town called Zhob - totally out of our way! We seeked local 'advice' about the road conditions and decided to press on north all the same. Following a very beautiful 100km mountain-pass ride, we crossed a province border to find ourselves on a practically unridable rocky road - still 164km from the nearest town! Having confirmed as best we could that the road got no better and with only a couple of hours of daylight left, we decided to turn back. Although the ride back was scenic, constantly having to cross and re-cross rocky river-beds for a second time soon became a complete pain.

About 6pm, after 12 hours on the bike, we arrived back in Zhob and quickly located the hotel we had seen when we passed through earlier. However, the day's action was far from over! We had attracted a lot of local interest. Within 10 minutes, a plain clothed policeman arrived at our hotel door and we were 'escorted' to the local station. Apparently we were in Baluchistan, a restricted province and just 50km from Afghanistan! After an intense display of dumb-lost-tourist and a dexterous bout of brown-nosing, the policemen relaxed and we found ourselves drinking tea and chatting away with the station's entire compliment as if we were all life-long buddies. We were even offered an armed officer to guard us while in town!

Next morning we left before sunrise, partly to avoid the heat and partly to miss the Special Branch cop our 'friends' had arranged for us to meet 100ks down the road. Desparately short of money and unable to change our $100 note we had to resort to exchanging an old pair of sunglasses and some loose UK coins in order to pay our hotel bill! Back in Quetta by mid afternoon we booked into the hotel we had stayed in last time and once again committed ourselves to Pakistan's culinary cat population control programme!

We set off the next morning and after 200ks found the correct route that we'd missed a couple of days before - despite it being clearly marked in English! Having been on the road alone for 5 days it was a pleasant surprise to see other travellers. That afternoon we bumped into three other motorcyclists - unfortunately all going the other way.

Along this route our way was occassionally blocked by groups of children who had placed lines of stones and rocks across the road. Usually we could simply ride over them (the stones that is!) but when we did have to stop the children demanded money before they would remove their blockade. Of course, the moment we went to remove the rocks ourselves, the children scattered! One group of slightly older children became aggressive when we refused to pay their 'toll' and threw rocks at us as we rode away.

Several hours later we rode into the mountains. The slow moving trucks had added a band of oil to the already slippery road. Tight turns with sheer drops, on a bike that feels like it's on a skid-pan did nothing to impress or reassure either of us and we slowed to little more than a snail's pace. That night we holed up in a small town called Fort Munro and enjoyed the high, cool mountain air.

Lahore and the border

Another early start and we finally got to Lahore, a large city 30ks from the Indian border. Despite Lahore resembling (and smelling like) a huge landfill site, we decided to spend a couple of days here. The old city had a most beautiful mosque and fort and the welcome sight of McDonalds and Pizza Hut meant the local feline community came in for a reprieve! We had cable TV in our room which would intermittently cut out depending on the mood of the local electricity board, so the joy of being able to watch a bit of the World Cup eventually turned to frustration - the cuts persistently coinciding with crucial goals.

The day we left for India, we got to the border at 8am, only to discover that it didn't open until 10.30!! When it did open we were the only people going across, so the officials took their time and we enjoyed a cup of tea and a chat while they filled in ledgers and stamped our passports. But we were not out of the country yet. Sitting in customs, the official examined our carnet and announced that it had been wrongly processed by the border officials on our entry into the country. There was talk of sending us back to Iran. However, we knew very well that there was nothing wrong with the way the carnet had been completed - we've crossed enough borders to know by now - his offer to 'help' was clearly our prompt to supply 'backsheesh'. We sat there and innocently played along, pretending to misunderstand until he gave up and let us go!

Photographs

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