Wednesday 12th May
Pakistan[border] much quicker (had a Pepsi too) and we found a tourist office (info on flights to Chitral) and met two English juggernaut drivers, who been there two weeks waiting custom clearance on a load of fridges – straight from the East End of London they were!
The Khyber Pass was a little disappointing – not terribly beautiful, though sheer and steep – one road for traffic up and another for traffic down! Pakistan very different – more barren and less green. Towns built differently, though people look the same.
In Peshawar the bus stopped right next door to Jan’s hotel – for £3 and plus a little, we got a double room with private bathroom and fan. So thirsty and had a delicious iced coffee. Chicken and almond curry evening.
On enquiring about Peter at Dean‘s and here, both seen him recently and think he’s still here, but as a festival occurs in Maladesh in two or three days, we think it unlikely though J went to look and walk around the town after supper. I was very tired (not too much sleep last night) and wrote this instead!
Thursday 13th May
What bliss to sleep in real beds with a cool fan breezing over us all night – and to wake refreshed from sleep in the morning and have a hot shower! We discovered to our great dismay that there is a 700 person-long waiting list for flights to Chitral and that the only alternative is to go by bus to a palce called Dir (one day) and then by Jeep to Chitral on the next day.
We called in at the post office and found two very garbled letters from Peter, latest news written on the back of the envelopes. Just as we came out a Pakistani approached us and invited us to have tea with him. Eventually he persuaded us and we all went to Green’s restaurant, where he demanded our addresses and even a photo of me, because he said he wished to marry an English girl. It was only after that we discovered he had appropriated J’s golden Parker [why he brought it I simply don’t know!] during the address swapping. So we spent several hours in his bank (office) and were made to write the complaint out by his fellow employees who hated him, called him a ‘bloody bastard’ and said that he was a well-known trickster and specialised in fooling Europeans – however it seems that they might be able to get the biro back for us, and we received a deputation at Jan’s at 4 o’clock, but they’ve not been able to get hold of him.
Earlier we had been to Edwardes College to try and contact a Mr. Zia, a friend of Peter’s. As he was not there, we left a note but as we were leaving a very self-important officious man came up to us and told us that, as this was a boys hostel and had very strict rules concerning guests, we had no business to be there (despite us saying that we were looking for Zia). I had envisaged him to be somewhat like Mr. Godbole in A Passage to India, and was very surprised when at 6 pm a young, smart man walked into our room. His English was so amazing, spoken like a native of England and very colloquial. He was charming and extremely amusing – a typical friend of Peter’s.
In the evening we dined at Dean’s – had to wait 20 minutes because there was a power cut! – on steak, fed up with local foods, and realised it would be our last good meal for some time. A fresh lemonade at Jan‘s delicious – but they had run out by evening – a great blow.
We were woken at 4, but the bus didn’t turn up until 5, so we had half an hour in which to have tea. From the Cantonment bus station, we went to the one in the old town, where lots of people piled on and we were surrounded by complaining ladies and screaming children, who both kicked or pulled hair, whether on purpose or not I don’t know. As the bus filled up, we were invited to sit right up in the front next to the driver – the coolest and least squashed of all and a marvellous view.
We climbed a perilous mountain road with soldiers to give warning at each dangerous bend! We followed a river bed nearly all the way, so the countryside was fertile and green with wheat and rice. You also saw opium poppies growing, and several bands of people, obviously nomads or gypsies, camping by the side of the road making chapatis and looking after their animals, or trudging along the road with all their earthly possessions on their heads and backs. A very tough life.
PWD were in evidence everywhere fixing up the road – badly needed doing as we were only averaging 12 miles an hour – a long slow grind. At one point they were blasting and we saw and heard the bang and falling rocks. We had lunch in a small place – meat curry, dal and yoghurt. Here tea delicious, milky and sweet, often cardamom-flavoured.
At last we arrived in to find that jeeps only go as far as the pass, when you have to walk between six and 12 miles before you get another jeep to Chitral. Apparently there are lots of coolies so baggage is no problem. The problem was – which jeep? One man with a beard almost had us, vowing there was no government jeep although the government official had said there was and, upon further questioning, he dashed out in a huff, and when I approached him, he was so rude and nasty that I burst into tears as it seemed we might be stranded.
J has a terribly annoying habit of being totally unable to recognise faces and when he started questioning the bus driver and conductor about Chitral (they of course not having a clue) it set me off and I had to dash into the room beyond to have my crying in private. I felt so humiliated afterwards when I came out red eyed and sniffing.
We had been led to a room just above the government transport office where a businessman from Lahore was also staying. He bought us cava – tea made with the fresh green leaves and cardamon, and then proceeded to have economic religious and finally a discussion on marriage and ‘sexual intercourse’. He was a staunch Muslim and supporter of arranged marriages! The first question he asked was ‘are you addicted to narcotics?’ and then told us he was an opium addict. We spent the rest of the evening with him – he bought us supper – the hospitality here is quite incredible. There was an older man and his servant also staying, who was also bound for Chitral, and it was agreed we should go together (in the nasty man’s Jeep). However the older man seemed charming enough to outweigh the nasty man (even had a bottle of brandy with him and smoked Rothman’s special filter – very affluent-looking).
I’m getting fairly good at outdoor loos – this one was on the roof of the house which was built into the hillside like all the houses here. The hotel (!) removed two bricks from the top of the chimneys so I wouldn’t get my feet wet!
Vicky's Big Adventure 