#18 LEAVING BOONI -- FILLING SOME GAPS: Amir, Shah Family, Safety, Marketplace 10/21

After 4 fabulous weeks here we leave Booni tomorrow. There's no way to tell all the stories, describe all the scenes or explain all the feelings. Not everything was breathtaking or mind-blowing, but even the mundane here was different, somehow less mundane than back home. As far as adventures go, this gets an A+ in my book. The following, in no particular order, are a mixture of things to help fill in the landscape of this experience.

Amir, our taxi driver:
btw, the terms "taxi" and "jeep" have been use interchangeably. The vehicle is almost always a small Suzuki SUV, and there are a couple areas in the Booni marketplace where they normally park while waiting for trips. The day of our first flight Brad found Amir, a driver Brad had used before and liked. Brad said Amir "has a good energy." They agreed on a fare of 1500 rupees )$25) for the two hour ride up to launch. After the satisfactory first trip Brad got Amir's phone number. From then on, each night before a planned flight Brad called Amir, who would come to our hotel at 7:30 the next morning. That continued throughout our stay. Brad was right about Amir's good energy. His punctuality and reliability made up for his very limited English. Here's Amir and Freddy at launch.

Our first ride ended, after waiting most of the day, with our moonlight flight. On our second ride up the weather changed dramatically from Booni to the launch site, so we had Amir wait while "we" decided. The decision was to drive back down. On the way down he invited us to his home for tea. His wife could not have expected us as we walked through the gate into the two-building compound, but she took it in stride. He ushered us into his guest house, about the same as others we visited. That first glimpse of his wife was the only time we saw her, but soon there was tea and biscuits for us. Our conversation with Amir was as limited as his English, but we all smiled a lot. After 15 minutes an English speaking male relative came in, and the conversation improved. Pix: Brad & Freddy study the sky. Amir waits patiently.

SHAH FAMILY HOSPITALITY:
We had several meals with the Shah family (Aftab, et al). Late one afternoon we stopped in without notice, mainly to introduce Etiene, but ended up staying for dinner. Sahib, the father, was working on the fireplace hood and was blackened with soot. We didn’t want to interrupt, but they insisted we stay. Sahib assured us he was ready to quit. Aftab took us to the guest house where we sat and chatted for about an hour. It was an easy, comfortable conversation involving Aftab (13), Freddy (27), Brad (32), Etiene (55) and me (65). After cleaning up Sahib joined us, but he seemed satisfied to just listen. Other than Sahib I was least vocal because it was so interesting to listen. Aftab’s knowledge and presence, at 13 or 14, is awesome.

Aftab talked about his family and other relatives, other activities in Booni and in Pakistan, and his school, a private boarding school in Gilgit, which is a 13 hour bus ride away. He gets home about 4 or 5 times a year. In a casual comment he said, "He's my teacher, and also my uncle." It made me laugh - and wonder at the extended, interconnected families. We asked about private school fees, and he gave us various examples and also casually told us how much the teachers at his school are paid. What American students have any idea about that?

Another time after a flight Brad & I dropped in - just to visit. But again they insisted on feeding us. The unplanned meal was a feast: fresh bread, a wonderfully spiced spinach dish, homemade yogurt (of course everything was homemade), and tea. The two of us sat on the platform near the fireplace, and Shahida, who didn’t eat, kneeled in the corner, fanned the flies away, and joined in conversation. We thanked her as we were leaving, and she replied, “Thank you so much for being a guest in our house.” It boggles my mind to think about it. We show up, unannounced and unexpected, in the middle of the afternoon, are treated to a delicious meal and delightful conversation, and then are thanked for being their guests.

Are you getting an idea why we like this area and these people, so much?

SAFETY AND TREATMENT RECEIVED:
Most of my friends have expressed concern for our safety here. My experience is limited, but consider this:
1. No one has ever threatened me in any way.
2. With the exception of some school boy horsing around, I have not even seen any instances of threat or violence.
3. Only twice has anyone asked me for money, and both times were kids.
4. With the exception of one pastry shop and a barber shop, it seems that street vendors and shopkeepers have charged me the same as they charge locals.
5. The only theft from a tourist that I’ve heard of was in Karimabad and was committed by another tourist.
6. It just "feels" safe walking through the village at night (though my experience with that is also limited).
7. We've been invited for meals or tea and fruit more times than we can remember. And have you ever had someone stop what they were doing, prepare food for you, serve you, staying to fan the flies away, and then say, "Thank you for being a guest in our home."?

MARKETS, SHOPS, STREET SCENES:
The main market place is the crossroads at the center of Booni. Mostly, we bought produce, eggs and spices from one stall. The guy was nice, didn't speak English, but understood some, and pointing helped. Veggies were usually by weight, but bananas were by the piece. He used a balance scale, and had actual weights for 1/2 and 1 kilo. For smaller amounts he used a single-serving milk carton and a rock (it was always the same rock). Prices were very fair.

We usually bought donuts and cookies from one particular shop, and laundry soap and TP from any of a number. Chipottis (kind of like a flour tortilla, but sweeter, puffier and a little more chewy - in a good way) were made in a shop on a side alley near the crossroads. It's a one-item shop. Just before dark it was very busy with village kids, and adults, coming to get chipottis for the family dinner.

The inside of the brick oven was shaped kind of like a half a football, pointed end up, but open for access. The prep guy divided the dough into shapes like hamburger buns, and the cooker guy took a bun and stretched it into a disc about a foot in diameter, like a little pizza. Then he pushed it firmly onto what looked like a heavy pillow, stuck the dough-topped pillow into the oven and slapped it against the side. The dough stayed stuck to the oven when he brought the pillow out. In the bottom of the oven was what looked like very hot wood coals, so the chipotti-in-progress cooked on both sides at the same time, heated by the coals on one side and the hot oven on the other. Then, using long tongs, the baker removed a fully-cooked chipotti from the side of the oven, tossed it into a holding box covered with newspapers to keep in the heat, and repeated the process over and over. They made lots of chipottis.

It was always interesting to walk through the streets. A number of the shops, some of which were right beside each other, sold the same kinds of items, such as cooking oil, soap, sacks of grain, shampoo, and other stuff, and a few sold electronics or maybe plumbing or electric or electronics. Clothes could be made at a sewing shop or bought at a used clothing stall or shop. Here's a brief sample:

It's nice to have company when you're waiting for customers. The guy on the right owns the shop next door.

The shop with the three guys is the middle shop of the three. Watch out for the pothole when you're crossing the street.

While most of the shops were in the main market area, a number of others were scattered around the village; sometimes just one, and sometimes several adjacent to each other. The market was a 15 minute walk from our hotel, but there were a couple shops much closer. Here's one that we liked to use because the owner was always friendly, and the shop had a great variety, including: jam, biscuites, notebooks, teapots, shampoo (bottles and individual packets), cleanser, toilet paper, Brylcreem (old time men's hair styling stuff), bolts of cloth, children's dresses, shoes, buckets, rope, razor blades, and more.

This sign appeared on walls and posts around the village. Pretty decent of them. Click on it to read the text.