During the last weeks, it's a normal feeling to arrive somewhere where we have never been before. On our 2-month journey we have crossed seven borders. To seven countries, seven cultures, seven languages.
And when we arrive in India and Nepal, there will be a few more, as there is a multilingual muddle there. Not that this will bother us, in the meantime we have learned to make ourselves understood with hands and feet and eyes and smiles. So we have successfully developed into citizens of the world, so to speak, feeling at home everywhere.
I guess that fulfills the purpose of this trip.
We return differently than the way we left.
But unfortunately we still haven't managed to get rid of our restlessness. This urge to always and immediately want to move on, towards the next destination, the next country.
Therefore, our stay in Peshawar will be short, we are pushing south, via Islamabad and Rawalpindi towards an major city – Lahore.
And then just a short hop to India.
So curtains up for Pakistan
Whenever you cross the border into a new country, a curtain opens - and another closes behind. A new world arises, although at first glance neither visible nor perceptible.
It is the details that matter. Sometimes the way the houses are built. Or the clothes of the people. Their faces, light a moment ago, but dark here, the eyes with a strange glow. The streets, the children, the colors. And always the smells. They are the most reliable indicators. Countries smell different, maybe it's the spices, the sewage, the garbage on the roadside. The perfume of the ladies. The way the clothes are worn. Veiled or displayed with proud dignity.
You can't understand it. And even if it is not noticeable at first, but with time - or sometimes only in memory - it becomes clear and you understand.
But as the Buddha said (who knew everything better anyway): “It is better to travel well than to arrive”.
Heat – and a crowded street
There would be much to be said about the country. The diverse culture, the natural beauty, the ancient heritage. Some things are left by the roadside, but at least we are going to visit Lahore, but the Swat Valley, the Kalash Valley, Chitral, Hunza and Baluchistan, all this remains eluding us.
All we want now is to be properly jumped at by the heat after the long cold, and that's exactly what's happening. Probably not yet as it can be expected in India, but anything around 30 degrees is very welcome to us.
Admittedly, Peshawar remains largely unknown, but we will take our time on the way home. And so we continue our journey, cheerfully, it seems, perhaps it is the final destination that is no longer far away.
We initially follow the Grand Trunk Road east, the road is now full of you name it. Carts, cars, trucks, bicycles, pedestrians, dogs and cows. At some point, almost missing it, we cross the Indus, that monster of a river originating in the Himalayas, meandering through Kashmir and finally taking the long way south towards the Arabian Sea.
The Grand Trunk Road
Actually, since Kabul we have been on the Grand Trunk Road, however, without our knowledge, because in our case the knowledge reveals itself always on the journey.
Imagine this road: it starts in Kabul, crosses the vast plains of Pakistan and India, follows the Ganges through the overpopulated Indian states of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, finally reaching West Bengal after thousands of kilometers, then crossing a border one last time and ending after more than 3000 kilometers in Chittagong in Bangladesh.
Indeed, it might be a great idea for another trip to cover the whole route, but for the time being we are content with a section of it, after all almost 2500 kilometers, and not to forget with our old rickety vehicle. And across regions that are anything but easy to drive through.
Sometimes we ought to be frightened, but our limited imagination doesn't permit it. So we just drive on.
Islamabad and Rawalpindi
Islamabad is a relatively new city, built in the 60's. It really seems a bit unfinished. Something is in the making, but no one seems quite sure where it's headed.
The name Islamabad means city of Islam. It is derived from two words: Islam and abad. Islam refers to the religion of Islam, the state religion of Pakistan, and -abad is a Persian suffix meaning cultivated place, indicating an inhabited place or city.
This sounds fine, but for the time being it does not help for a more positive evaluation of this strange place.
So we keep going to Rawalpindi, a town where we spend the night. Being very close to Islamabad, the two cities are known as the "twin cities" because of their social and economic ties.
The city has much to offer. There are many good hotels, restaurants, clubs, museums and parks. The populated avenues of the old town host many attractions, besides Muslim shrines there are Hindu and Sikh temples.
There are also worthwhile excursion destinations in the vicinity. For example the Mankiala Stupa, one of several largely ruined Buddhist stupas located about 30 kilometers from Rawalpindi. Or the Pharwala Fort, also about 40 kilometers away from Rawalpindi.
But it remains in the subjunctive and the faint hope that we will have more time and leisure for sightseeing on the way home.
Lahore - the fight through the crowd
The trip to the south turns out to be just as challenging as the previous stage. It's good not to have any fixed times and certainly not any appointments, and so we just drive along, sometimes across vast seemingly endless countryside, then again along tree- and bush-covered plains, in between houses, villages, towns. And many people. Everywhere.
The arrival in Lahorethe country's second-largest city, is proving difficult because now, for the first time, we have to find our way through the crowded streets and alleys.E
An important overdue remark: Can you even imagine today being able to reach a destination without a cell phone and a navigation device? You type in your name and address, and a moment later you know where you are and the direction to your destination. Peanuts, isn't it?In the year of our Lord 1974, you had to struggle through without these wonderful gadgets. In fact, it only worked by hoping to run into someone who, first, spoke English and, second, knew the answer to the question.
In the process, a crucial insight and lesson is revealed. It will also have its value in India. Whenever the question of a destination arises, never NEVER point with the hand or the head in the likely direction. The person asked will nod in 99% of the cases, even if he doesn't have the slightest idea or simply didn't understand the question. Like many things in Asia, it has to do with losing face. It is better to give false information than to be exposed as ignorant.Lahore - in the midst of hatred
So is the difficult passage through the city of millions (today over 11 million inhabitants, back then much less). As it soon turns out, it's not just a logistical problem. On this day, of all days, a demonstration is scheduled.
Thousands of people crowd the street, waving flags, shouting slogans - and spotting us. This is no fun now and it turns into a lesson in keeping calm and always showing a friendly smile on the face. Whether you mutter "Stupid idiots" or "All assholes" is irrelevant.
And so our poor vehicle becomes the object of hatred, it is hammered on, it is made to shake, at least this seems to serve the purpose of amusement, which is able to calm the heated mood somewhat.
Anyway, eventually we escape the mob and indeed find our way to the hotel.
Lahore - Heaven and Hell
There are experiences that stay in the memory, forever and ever. This late afternoon and evening is definitely one of them.
I fought my way through the crowd, looking for something to eat (no problem) and for the impression this crazy city makes on a stranger. And so I stand at the side of the road, in front of me a chaos that is only possible on the Indian subcontinent.
Is it possible to describe it? It would need quite a lot of adjectives and adverbs, and not only "hot" or "loud", but in its intensity also words such as " crazy", "disturbing", "bizarre" or simply "overwhelming" in the conclusion.
Tuktuks race by, trailing clouds of black exhaust. The pedestrians take it surprisingly calmly in the chaos, they know nothing else. Old men striding along with dignity, wearing turbans or other headgear on their equally dignified heads. Bicycles fight their way with contempt for death between trucks and cars and other vehicles. A cow munches calmly in the midst of the busy intersection. And there - a small young man or is it rather a small old boy - pushes himself nimbly on a mobile wooden vehicle, nodding to me in a friendly manner.
It's heaven and hell at the same time.
Lahore - Beds on the sidewalk
Nearby, just beyond the sidewalk, there are a few wooden huts; a look inside reveals countless racks remotely resembling beds. No idea what they are for, but I am sure that nothing in this country does not serve some purpose.
An hour later, when it's getting dark and I'm on my way home, I realize what the beds are for. In the meantime, the huts are empty and the beds are lined up on the sidewalk, and sure enough – some guests have already made themselves comfortable on the makeshift mattresses.
It is now obvious: whoever does not have a home with a bed - and there are many of them - can rent a bed here for one night. It is located close to the busy road, but that doesn't seem to bother anyone. Except when a sacred cow takes a liking to the straw-filled mattresses and bites into them with gusto until the corresponding sleeper discovers the villain and protests loudly.
Thus, I have involuntarily become a witness to a drama being played out on a daily basis. Participants are a supplier, several beds with straw-filled mattresses, demanders for cheap accommodation and sometimes a sacred, albeit hungry cow.
Unbeatable.
Song 1974: The Hollies – The Air that I breathe
And here the trip continues... across the Indian border to Amritsar
