#20 THE END. ISLAMABAD, LAHORE, HOME 10/24, et al

The Islamabad-Lahore trip was the same one (but in the other direction) as my first day in Pakistan, a nice, air-conditioned bus on what people have said is the best road in the country. A couple interesting things en route. One has to do with security, which was the same as on the first trip. After the bus was loaded a man with a camera got on and took everyone's picture. If someone was sleeping or had on dark glasses or sometimes a hat, the photographer had the person remove the glasses and look into the camera. The order in which he took them meant it would be possible to know who was sitting where and beside whom. Some "Wanted" pictures were posted in the bus station, and they obviously came from these pictures. We left the station, drove for about 20 minutes, stopped, and another man got on and repeated the process.

Our bus left about 5 PM for the five hour trip to Lahore. My seatmate this time was also a young man. Mohammed is 22, has a BS in Mechanical Engineering, lives in Lahore with his family and is deciding on either work or grad school. Another very nice guy. Having a night to stay in Lahore I needed a place to stay, and this time had my Lonely Planet with me. Mohammed helped me narrow the choices based on location. It wasn't clear to me the first time, but Lahore is a city of 6 or 7 million people, so location matters. Mohammed called 3 different places listed, and it's good he did. One had bad info, and the other two were full.

That left a travellers inn well rated by Lonely Planet, but which Brad said was pretty basic and could be loud. It was generally the direction Mohammed was going and he offered to share an auto rickshaw. When we arrived he made the deal w/ the driver and off we went. It took a while to get there. It was in an alley off a main road, and when we got there, about 10:30, it was totally dark. Totally. The door opened onto stairs going up, and a Japanese guy w/ a flashlight was coming down. He confirmed this was the right place, that he was sure they had rooms or at least beds available. The office was on the second floor.

Leaving my backpack with Mohammed and the rickshaw I took my day pack and went upstairs, lighted by a candle at the top. The sound of conversations led me to a smoky office, and info about my options: a dorm room or a single room. In either case the bath was down the hall and across an open courtyard. I was tired - the room would work fine - just fine. When I went outside the rickshaw was gone. But Mohammed was there with my backpack. The driver didn't want to wait, so Mohammed had paid him. He would get another rickshaw to take him home, and no, he wouldn't let me pay him for my part. He simply wouldn't accept my money.

My fatigue was less urgent than my hunger. This place, The Regal Internet Inn, was about 30 steps from a major street (3 lanes each way, separated by a median strip), and across the street was a shopping area with lots of activity. My door had a hasp but no lock, so I left my backpack (containing only clothes), took my day pack, and went across the street. There were lots of cars, motorcycles and pedestrians, and a few bikes. The night was warm and comfortable, but the smoggy air was stinging my throat. This was a thriving commercial area, even this late at night. I bought fried chicken from a friendly vendor, then saw some people in a parked car eating ice cream. They readily pointed to the side street for the ice cream place. It made a fine late night meal. It was midnight when I got back to my room. The electricity was back on, and the fan in my room was on all night long.

A nice surprise: Got up the next morning about 7:30; was in a common area looking at a paper when Carlos walked in. Carlos, the very nice Colombian guy from the Madina Guest House. It was good to see him again. We had a very pleasant talk, then he left to take care of a visa.

With time before my flight there's a chance to see a little in Lahore. Guidebook shows a good museum less than a mile down the main street. The walk would be nice, but traffic is heavy and so is the smog. Here's a couple things about the traffic: 1. The air is bad. Unlike in Delhi, seems like none of the vehicles run on CNG. It stinks, and it hearts my nose and throat. The guidebook warns about it. 2. There are lots of traffic police around. Saw several tickets being given. I was standing at a light waiting for the light to change, as were numbers of bikes, motorbikes, rickshaws and cars. A cop walked over and pulled two pedal bikes off to the side and started writing something up. No idea what, but they're busy.

So off to the museum. Easy to find an autorickshaw. Told him my destination and got in. We were in a combination parking area/ service road adjacent to the main street by my hotel. The museum was about 2 km down that street, but instead of going there he went off on a side street. None of the cross streets were at right angles, so he was making lots of rights and lefts, getting us back toward the main road and the museum. It was ok with me to see more of the city, and we weren't going a long way out of the way. It would have been so much easier to stay on the main street. Again, practicing the concept of staying calm and keeping things in perspective, I just went with the flow, but decided not to tip him.

After a while we were back at the main street. He stopped and pointed to a building behind some trees. It was a quarter block away and no name was visible. He said, "Museum" a couple times and I told him to take me to it. He refused, then finally did, although it involved driving about 30 meters going the wrong way on the main street, then pulling into the exit driveway of what was in fact the museum. A security/parking guard yelled at my driver, and the driver said something, pointing at me. I paid him and walked over to the ticket office, feeling pleased with myself for staying calm and not getting upset over a minor thing, even though he did go out of the way.

Well the museum visit was interesting, but I wasn't that focused. It would be interesting to go back with some more energy. After a little while decided to walk back to my hotel. I bought some fresh squeezed juice - orange and pomegranate - from a street vendor. It gave me a chance to see how they get the pomegranate seeds out. They cut and break the fruit apart, then beat on the skin with a stick to knock the seeds into a bucket. They also flavor the juice with a little salt. It tasted very good, and the salt is probably good for people on the very hot summer days.

Two more ice cream cones gave me the energy to get back, pick up my backpack and get a taxi to the airport. The hotel clerk said don't take a rickshaw because "they're not allowed on the main road." Whoa, so that explains what happened on the way to the museum, both the round about way and the reluctance to drop me right at the door. Once again in Pakistan my suspicion has been ill-founded. Oh well. Live and learn.

Another chance to laugh - at myself.
My flight leaves Lahore at 4 pm. Per the desk clerk, an airport taxi is 500 rupees and takes 15 minutes. The bus is just 20 rupees, but takes over an hour - in traffic and smog. My throat already hurts, so a taxi it is, and a taxi stand is across the street. The first driver I ask says 300 rupees. Great. His name is Ali. We have a nice conversation on the way. He gets me there in plenty of time to check in, get through ticketing, passport control and security, and into the waiting area well over an hour before my flight. I'm feeling comfortable and relaxed, and am relishing many wonderful memories of the trip, but it will also feel good to be home. As I begin writing in my journal a euphoric feeling spreads through me.

It's a typical airport waiting area, with food stands, retail stores and duty free shops. A guy in some kind of outfit or uniform comes up and says, "Would you like some tea?" Well that's nice. Sure, I say, but first, where's a place to change money? (Pakistani rupees aren't easily convertible outside Pakistan.) The money exchanges are on the other side of security, so are no longer accessible to me. He takes me to the closest shop, a snack bar, and they have some dollars they've taken in. The exchange rate has generally been about 60 rupees to the dollar, but when the guy calculates the exchange he uses 61.5. Wow, that's better than I expected. He doesn't have enough dollars to take all my rupees, but he takes most.

In a couple minutes the guy comes with the tea, and he also has a wrapped piece of cake and a sandwich. It's the same snack as on my flight yesterday. So that's it. This must be something PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) does for its passengers. It's a continuation of the hospitality Brad first wrote about and which we both experienced so often. This latest example is worth noting in my journal, and I do, noting that the same treatment is given to two other tourists. By the time my flight is called the tea and food are gone, having contributed to the warm feeling in my stomach and my overall euphoric state.

As I'm gathering my stuff (notebook, water bottle, etc) the first guy comes up with a piece of paper and says "bill" and "280 rupees." He sees my confused look and quickly points out that I ate the cake and sandwich. It catches me off guard. Something doesn't seem as it should be, but what it is eludes me, and I pay. A little later it dawns on me. Of course it wasn't PIA. It was a clever merchant who has found a way to get money from tourists just as they're leaving the country. I could have argued that the tea was "offered" and the food "given" to me, indicating a gift, or I simply could have refused to pay, and just boarded the plane. Those responses, however, would have required a greater alertness than existed in my current euphoric state.

And another thing, the exchange rate was in his favor, not mine. And then the whole picture became clear to me. And it made me laugh. It made me laugh at the irony. After experiencing so many acts of generosity and hospitality on this trip, my last experience in Pakistan, something just recorded in my journal as another act of hospitality, was actually a scam, a scam for only a few dollars, but still a scam.

It made me laugh then, and whenever it occurred to me on the long flight home it made me laugh again. And when my cousin was driving me home from the airport and I told him about it, we both laughed. And writing this now and remembering what happened makes me laugh again.

It was a long trip home: Lahore to Delhi was just an hour, but then a 10 hour wait before the 15 hour flight to Newark, and a 4 hour wait till the 3 hour flight to Denver. And my trip had actually started in Chitral 30 hours before leaving Lahore. Thinking about it now makes me tired, and looking at my scrawled journal entries confirms the fuzzy state of my mind then. But that was then, and was very short-lived.

What's clear to me is that it's all part of the bigger journey. It's a great journey if we live it moment by moment and accept it as it is.

Memories of the trip come to mind whenever they want and whenever I want to call them up, all the time Brad and I spent together and all the experiences we had - the good ones, the great ones, the indescribably joyous ones, and...... the, uh... interesting ones. They all make up the story of the trip and contribute to the fabric of my life. And when the memories come up, my response (if my thinking is clear) is always the same: feelings of gratitude, contentment, joy, love. It makes me smile, and breathe deeply, and be thankful. Except the memory of the final airport scam - that makes me laugh.

This is the end of the story this blog intended to tell. Thank you if you've gotten this far. I hope it's been interesting and fun and maybe even informative. Any comments you'd like to make, either within the blog or to my email dave@sander.com will be greatly appreciated. Peace, and good travels to you.