Pakistan “Islamabad and the Road to Abbottabad”

• November 9, 2020
• By Daryl
• 0 Comment

Bunny made arrangements for a rental car to be dropped off at our hotel. They are late and they have me inspect the car. After a lengthy, language-challenged discussions they did not want us to leave Islamabad and they wanted to keep our passports as collateral. Two strikes , no way we are leaving our passports. No way are we getting a car. We soon got another car but it was a driver and taxi; a Suzuki, a tiny car. We tie three suitcases to the roof rack and the rest in the back seat with snuggly Bunny. We looked like the Beverly Hillbillies heading to California. 

We enter a freeway and soon pass a forklift going the wrong way, as an accident needed to be cleaned up. They scoop up the wreck from the side then drive it off, never to be seen again. Soon a question arises; why did the two teenagers cross eight lanes of freeway traffic on foot? What was on the other side that risking their lives was that important. On foot there was no other way to cross to the East, as no overpasses or roads penetrate the Chinese-built highway. One misstep, from begging on the side of the road.

The brightly colored trucks seem to crawl along the freeway, the bright colors mix, like the coloring cups of dye for Easter eggs, as we pass. Traffic is light as we make our way into the countryside. Pakistan has many similarities of India and that does not change in the countryside. The clay, mined from the surrounding area, leaves the old ocean bottom; 15 to 20 feet lower along the road. The brick smoke stacks from the brick kilns, dot the area. The stacks of finished bricks stand tall and cover large areas. The air is thick with dust and smoke, turning everything a pale grey. Clouds can’t even be seen past the haze, muck and grime. We are headed to the mountains, eventually, with hopes of clearer sky’s for our photos. 

After about two hours, we pull off the freeway, that now is two lanes each way. The feeder road is dusty and winds through the large town. The chaos returns, with honking with scooters joining in. A policeman sees the luggage on the taxi and motions for us to pull over to the side of the road. The license was maybe not from the area and the suitcases represent money. After our driver passes his phone, papers and a long conversation ensued, 500 rupees was extorted and a receipt was given. Back on our drive, a stop was made to get some fine-tuning on the whereabouts of our guesthouse.  We drive further, and we are motioned to pull over by more police, the receipt was flashed and on we go. Again we are pulled over in a market area that had fruit stands and mechanics standing in oil soaked dirt with wheels and car parts scattered about. The police let us go and many people’s eyes follow us. A boy that studied the policeman’s every move, walks away as we left. The market was full of pedestrians walking about, most empty-handed. 

The wheels groan and the car body pops, as we drive past the uneven road. The loud pop made me jump and feel for our luggage on the roof. The driver tells me it is OK, a common sound to him, I theorized.  One more stop at a turn to ask for directions, as the traffic chaotically move about us. Soon we make a turn, our destination is getting close. The walls on both sides of the road do not leave much road space. A boy runs along the side of the road jumping from one side of the open sewer covert to the road. His foot slips and I cringe as he regains his footing, missing a wet foot and scraped legs. His mom will not have to call him stink foot.

When we arrived at the guesthouse and pulled in the driveway, a surprised impression overwhelmed us. The clean garden and vines hanging perfectly vertical from the the balcony, were welcoming. A gentleman rose from a chair in the corner of the garden and approached; greeting us. I look up at a sleek looking Kite, circling above the neighborhood. It was almost a solid black bird with slender long wings, and the look of a hawk came to mind. In the lower trees, birds are chirping in a gibberish chorus, it is getting close to roosting time, I think to myself, the birds have picked this home for the chosen gathering spot. At the gate two kids look up the driveway, then three. I pull my camera to my eye and they run away. A second later they dash back with one boy standing with bent leg onto the other knee like a flamingo. Now they want their picture taken and quickly run away with two more boys wanting attention. 

Our luggage is untied after Bunny negotiations for a room. I can’t be everywhere, so the local men need to accept a strongwoman in charge. Men scurry to retrieve the luggage and take them inside and up to our room. These guesthouses have very large rooms with a hallway to the bathroom. It is a good-size bathroom with a bathtub so close to the toilet I can see no room for my knees. No shower curtain and a shower head at chest level. Squeegee is included for the shower head will spill all over the bathroom floor. With a king size bed, we have plenty of room as we lay down for the night. After midnight, I try to sleep, but I still hear the birds squawking. After one o’clock the rooster crows in unison every hour, like they think it is dawn at any second. We awake to hundreds of birds chirping. I go outside to investigate. I find a bird aviary with hundred of parakeets jumping around, right where the owner was sitting when we arrived. 

I arranged for a driver tomorrow, to take us to see the sights around this area. He shows up in about an hour and I tell him the game plan for tomorrow, he buys us some tea. A nice gesture. We will meet tomorrow.