Monthly Archives: June 2012

It was at Taxila Museum where I had an unusual encounter with two youngish gentlemen. In the middle of a spiel by Zaheer, my museum guide,  I was asked my name by one of the two strangers. As this has become a fairly common occurence I gave my name and thought nothing more of it. However when he asked for my passport details I immediately became suspicious. Without complying, I asked the sour-faced stranger (via Zaheer) why he needed my passport details. The reply was for “for security reasons”. I asked Zaheer if this was normal and eventually gave only my passport number.

After Mr. Sour-face and his more friendly accomplice left, I queried Zaheer about who they were. Zaheer replied that they were with the ISI (the Inter-Service Intelligence) – Pakistan’s main intelligence organisation. Apparently they were checking on the movements of all foreigners in the area. Who knows why? Paranoia on their part, I guessed and continued with my museum tour with Zaheer.

Bizarrely, this was not to be my only encounter with the two strangers. After I left the museum I hired a rickshaw to take me to some of the main ruins, some of which were about 5-6 km away. As we were leaving Mr. Sour-face came over and, I presume, asked the driver where he was taking me as the driver rattled off the list of ruins I had just given to him. And so, every time we stopped at a ruins site, sure enough another stranger dressed in the same outfit/unifrom would arrive shortly thereafter. When I returned to the museum, some two hours later, the two strangers were there again hovering around 20-30m away. After a short break for lunch I hired a different driver to take me to a different area and, lo and behold, Mr. Sour-face reappeared and again asked the second driver where he was taking me. It came as no surprise that another stranger turned up shortly after I arrived at the next ruins.

By mid-afternoon I was “templed” out so I returned to the museum where, not surprisingly, Mr. Sour-face put in another appearance. Again he spoke to the driver. I obviously couldn’t understand the conversation but I heard the word “BMW” and the driver pointed over to where I had parked the bike while I wandered around all the ruins sites. Fed up with all this unnecessary shadowing I decided to call it a day and return to my guest house in Islamabad. As I was leaving the carpark I gave Mr. Sour-face a friendly wave good-bye. It was not reciprocated.

I am at a loss to explain the strange events of today. Have I suddenly taken on the appearance of a suspicious foreigner? Was it a really slow day for the ISI? Or have they been keeping a track of my movements ever since I crossed into Pakistan a week ago? Whatever the reason it certainly made me feel a bit uneasy. Up until now, everyone I’ve met in Pakistan has been amazingly friendly and welcoming.

I just hope the two strangers are not following this blog-site. I will be really paranoid if the number of followers suddenly increases by 2!

The Tajik Embassy in Islamabad. Turned away one day but  welcomed the next – after a bit of waiting!

WARNING: If you hate waiting, please ignore this post.

What a difference a day makes!

With unfounded optimism and a change of taxi driver, I was hoping that my second attempt at the Tajik embassy would prove more successful. Arriving at 9:30am, I was met by the same embassy official as yesterday. He ushered me in to a formal waiting room where he asked me what I wanted. A tourist visa and the special GBAO Permit, please. He invited me to take a seat and wait. Eventually, another embassy official came and asked me for my passport and then invited me to take a seat and wait. The second embassy official eventually came back and asked me for my paperwork and again invited me to take a seat and wait.  All these invitations were too good to refuse so I proceeded to wait and wait and wait. After about 30min, the second official came back and said that I could have my tourist visa – no problem.  And what about the GBAO Permit? “You want to travel in Pamirs?” Yes, please. “Please, take seat and wait”. No problem, I’ve had lots of practice.

After some more waiting the second official returned with the first. That’s when I heard the words that all travellers dread to hear. In a heavily Russified accent, “There is problem. You must get GBAO (ge-bow) permit in Dushanbe”. The only problem with this was that I wouldn’t get to Dushanbe until the END of my travels in Tajikistan not the START. Out came my trusty map of Central Asia and I indicated the route that I wanted to take through his homeland, emphasising that Dushanbe was my final destination not my starting point. “No problem. I must ring Dushanbe and ask your permit. Please wait”.  No problem, I can wait all day.

After a bit of good waiting the second official returned with a third, obviously more senior, official. “There is problem. You must get GBAO in Dushanbe. It is special stamp. We do not have here.”  Oh dear, here we go again! I try to explain that Dushanbe is at the end of my travels not the start.

“Then you must get in Bishkek or Beijing. They have special stamp” Bishkek? Beijing? Bishkek was hundreds of kilometres out of my way! And as for Beijing – it was thousands of kilometres out of my way!!  Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, No. 2 and No. 3 starting disagreeing about something. When they were finished No. 3 said “He will write for you. No problem. Please wait”.  No problem. I’m getting pretty good at it.

After some really high quality waiting, I was eventually invited into the visa consul’s office and ……asked to wait. No. 2 appeared and it seemed that he was the visa consul. He approached me with my passport in his hand. This is it, I thought, the waiting is finally over.  “I give you tourist visa. These dates”. Thank you, thank you, thank you. “Now I must write GBAO. Please wait”. Shattered, I waited.

In this game of diplomatic good cop-bad cop, No. 2 was the good cop doing his best to help me. No. 3 was … well you get the picture!

While I waited some more No. 3 reappeared at the door (cue: sinister bad guy music) and came over to speak to me. “He will write for you in passport permit. If you have trouble you must go to Dushanbe for special stamp”. So if I have trouble, I must go to Dushanbe to get a special stamp for somewhere I’ve already been? “Yes. He will write GBAO permit now for you. Please wait”. Of course, what else would I do?

Finally, Mr. Nice Guy No. 2  approached me again with my passport in his hand. This is it, the waiting really is over this time! “I write GBAO permit for you. OK.” Thank you so much. So I can travel along the Pamir Highway. “No! No Pamir! Only GBAO.” But the Pamir Highway runs through the middle of the GBAO. “No! No Pamir!”  Totally gobsmacked, I tried to resort to my map again.  “No. Please wait.” Mr Nice Guy No. 2 asked a fourth official to join us as translator. No. 4 said that I could travel along the Pamir Highway but not into the Pamirs – the main geographical feature of the area which lends its name to the highway. I was not sure how I could comply with this condition as the Pamir Highway is the main access route through the Pamir region.

I was just about to query this apparent contradiction when I decided that I should quit while I was ahead. My passport with my Tajik visa and GBAO permit were mere centimetres away. So I can travel along the Pamir Highway? “Of course. No problem.”

And so, after a little bit more waiting just for good measure, Mr. Nice Guy No. 2 handed my passport back to me along with a free tourist map and a hearty “Welcome to my country”.

The lesson in waiting was over!

Flushed with my 100% strike rate in the last two days, I approached Day 3 confidently. Three visas in three days. Honestly, how hard could it be?

The Tajik embassy was the last embassy on the list. So again, after breakfast, it was yet another taxi ride with the ever-present Shafiq to the embassy at 10am – well past the opening time of 9am for visa applications according to the embassy website. Ominously though, the website also clearly stated that “Visa processing takes 4 working days”.

It was at the embassy gate where things began to unravel. The security guard seemed to be indicating that nobody was home. Using Shafiq as an impromtu translator, the security guard had apparently said that everybody had left today (Thursday) and would not be back until Monday. This news had the potential to be disastrous financially as every extra day would cost me about $50 at the NCG. Just as I was comtemplating my next move, a Pakistani businessman arrived to apply for a visa and asked ME what was happening. Under the circumstances, I was the person least likely to know what was happening.  I explained to him what I THOUGHT was happening and he then very kindly offered to try to clarify the situation. After talking with the security guard, the guard went inside the embassy and returned a short time later with an embassy official who was able to tell us that the visa consul was away today and would be back tomorrow (Friday) to accept visa applications. Crisis averted – partially.

Street cricket in Islamabad. I would have needed more than four stumps to take a wicket today!

Suitably deflated, all that remained to do now was to return to the NCG where the hitherto honest Shafiq charged me double for the taxi fare. Because I had failed to follow the golden rule of always agreeing on a price before getting in the taxi I was obliged to pay the exhorbitant fare. The only consolation was that Shafiq would no longer be getting any fares from me as I still had to return to the Tajik embassy tomorrow for a second attempt at getting the visa.

So there was to be no hat-trick for me today. In fact, I had been smashed back over the bowler’s head for six!

Tomorrow will hopefully bear better returns.

Day 2 started out as a carbon copy of the first.

The Uzbek embassy was the next on the list. So again, after breakfast, it was another taxi ride with Shafiq to the embassy at 10am – the opening time for visa applications according to the embassy website.

This is where things began to differ.  After arriving at 10:01am, the security guard ushered me in to the grounds of the embassy where I was invited to sit on a long bench beside a high wall in the garden. Shortly afterwards a small door opened behind a grate in a slot in the wall. The slot was no more than 400mm wide by 200mm high – just big enough to pass A4 documents through.

The face behind the grate was extremely friendly and asked the usual visa questions (do you have all the paperwork, why do you want to visit my country and, more importantly, do have US$105 cash). After these formalities, the friendly face behind the grate invited me to wait on the bench again. As the bench had an awning to provide some shade from the already searing sun I happily settled in to wait.

For how long, I had no idea.

To my utter amazement, it was only about 5-10min later that Mr. Friendly Face reappeared behind the grate and handed my passport back to me complete with Uzbek visa, shook my hand (with some difficulty throught the grate) welcomed me to his country and wished me well in my travels. At 10:20am I walked out of the embassy garden back to Shafiq who was waiting nearby and headed back to the NCG.

Incredibly, the whole process had taken less than 20min!

While today’s process lacked the elegance of yesterday’s audience in the formal reception room of the Kyrgyz embassy, the sheer efficiency of the slot in the wall more than compensated and left me somewhat stunned.

Two visas in two days. Could I get the hat-trick? Only tomorrow will tell.

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The formal reception room where we had an audience with the Kyrgyz ambassador. Very stately! You will have to forgive the finger in the upper left-hand corner.

The Kyrgyz embassy was the first on the list. So after breakfast, it was a local taxi to the embassy at 10am – the opening time for visa applications according to the embassy website. After waiting outside the front gate with the security guard for 30min I, along with three others, was allowed in to the embassy where we were greeted very hospitably by the Kyrgyz ambassador himself. Only to be told that visa hours were from 3-5pm due to the power blackouts. However, the ambassador very graciously talked us through the process and how to make the payment of US$55 at the correct branch of the correct bank and told us to come back at 3pm. So at 3pm we all returned to the embassy where we treated like old friends while the ambassador regaled us with stories of Kyrgyz culture (yes, we are Muslim but we like wodka even more), what it was like growing up under the Soviet Union and what it meant to the Kyrgyz people when the Soviet Union finally collapsed. By 3:30pm we were done and I left with a Kyrgyz visa in my hand and very friendly impression of the Kyrgyz people in my heart.

One visa down, two to go!

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The New Cape Grace Guest House – my new home for a couple of weeks.

Off the motorway and into the streets of Islamabad, I made my way to my hotel with only the usual number of “scenic detours”. The New Cape Grace Guest House (NCG) was several universes away from the Avari but, hey, that was to be expected. There had been a mix-up in the booking and I had to spend the first two nights in rather downbeat quarters but Karim, the owner, and his son, Samir, went out of their way to move me to a better room as soon as one became available.

I proceeded to settle into a new rhythm of life at the NCG and I got to know the names of most of the other staff: Munir, Imran and Tariq and tried to use my few words of Urdu as often as possible. The NCG was to serve simply as a base while I applied for visas to Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Advice posted on various travel websites indicated that it could possibly take 2-3 weeks to get all three. I was hoping to achieve it in much less than that. Not just for financial reasons – Islamabad is a very expensive city, comparable to any big city in Australia – but because there is simply not enough to see or do to keep one occupied for that length of time.

So it was time to start crossing embassies off my “to do” list.

Motorcycling heaven! Never been happier to see a virtually deserted 6-lane freeway.

Relaxed and refreshed after two nights of 5-star luxury, it was time to hit the road again. But heading out of Lahore the bike suffered a catastrophic failure – the horn stopped working! On the sub-continent, only two things are essential for surviving the traffic madness – the throttle and the horn. Everything else, including brakes, is optional apparently.

No matter. Press on regardless.

The M2 motorway is about 75km longer than the GT Rd but promised unhindered travel by avoiding the endless bottlenecks caused by the innumerable market towns along the way. However, there was one small problem. Motorcycles are not allowed on the motorway. Or so I had been told. I had also been told that international vehicles were exempt. And I had also been told that motorcycles could use the motorway if the motorcycle and rider met certain conditions.

– over 250cc: Check

– rider over 25years old: Check

– licensed for over 5 years: Check

I had also been told that I would need to get a special permit from an office in the city which didn’t open until 9am. The thought of waiting around until 9am and then going back into the Lahore CBD to try to find this obscure office and then trying to get the permit was too much for me. I headed out of Lahore and hoped I wouldn’t get stopped.

Wrong!

At the toll gate entering the M2 motorway, I got pulled over by the Motorway Police 5m after I got my toll pass. Immediately, I was asked for my permit. I told them that I had been told that international vehicles were exempt. (Which was true – I HAD been told international vehicles were exempt. I just didn’t know if it was true or not). After a slightly uneasy introduction, phone calls were made to somebody’s superior officer and, while waiting for a decision, I had a very friendly chat to the police who wanted to know all about my family and life in Australia. Eventually, after about 10-15min, they wished me well and waved me on my way up the M2.

The M2 was everything that the GT Rd wasn’t. Six lanes of virtually deserted world-class freeway. No donkeys stubbornly refusing to unblock intersections, no bullocks hauling drays massively overloaded with bricks, no cycleshaws going so slowly that if they went any slower they would be going backwards. And everybody driving on the right side of the road. Bonus! (Well, almost everybody)

For the first time since arriving in Kathmandu, It was a joy and a relief to be able to ride without worrying about where the next kamikaze driver, goat or pothole was coming from. Kilometre after kilometre of effortless cruising at 100-110km/h as the bike was finally able to breathe freely once again after weeks of dredging along congested roads in 2nd and 3rd gear.

The Salt Range emerging from the smog. The first elevated land since I dropped down out of the Kathmandu Valley and onto the Terai in Nepal.

Gradually, out of the smog and heat haze emerged the low mountains of the Salt Range which divides the Indus river plain from the broad flat plain of the Punjab. The M2 elegantly carved its way over the range providing many stretches of very enjoyable riding punctuated only by occasional heavy trucks and buses playing “I think I can, I think I can” as they stuggled to haul themselves up and over the range.

From the Salt Range it was just a short ride to Islamabad which was to be my home for about 1-2 weeks while I applied for my next batch of visas.

The guys from PBC with Moritz

After visiting the Lahore Museum, my next goal was the 16th century Lahore Fort. By now, however, the temperature was back over the 40 degree mark and the prospect of spending a couple of hours wandering around the fort was less than appealing – no matter how worthy the fort may be.

Instead, I chose something with much more contemporary origins.

Within the international motorcycling community there is a highly respected website called HorizonsUnlimited which is run/hosted/maintained by Grant and Susan Johnson. This site is an ABSLOUTE MUST for anyone who is planning to go motorcycling overseas. The HorizonsUnlimited (HU) website contains a phenomenal amount of information about every aspect of overseas motorcycling including destinations, documentation, freight and choice of bike.

As well as this “nuts and bolts” aspect, HU acts as a virtual meeting place for motorcyclists on the road. Riders can contact other riders who may be in the same city/town/village at the same time. Through HU I got a message from Moritz who happened to be in Lahore at the same time I was. Moritz had been travelling on his Honda Transalp for a few months from Germany eastwards on his way somewhere else.

Independently, Moritz and I had both been in contact with the Pakistan Bikers Club. The PBC consists of a bunch of enthusiastic motorcyclists from all walks of life who meet regularly to organise rides and other social events. So Moritz and I met up with Omar and the guys from PBC and had a great time talking to them about motorcycling and motorcycle travel in Europe and Australia. Large capacity bikes are such a rarity here that they attract huge attention wherever you go.

As well as sharing some delicious local food, Omar offered lots of valuable information and suggestions about travelling along the Karakoram Highway to China (the next phase of my trip after I leave Islamabad) as the guys from the PBC have travelled this route many times and have lots of contacts along the way.

So, if you are ever in Lahore, make sure you contact the PBC. They love meeting foreign motorcyclists and will go out of their way to provide any sort of assistance they can – including trying to track down spare parts or tyres for bikes which are uncommon in Pakistan.

The plan was to then visit Lahore Fort in the cool of the evening. However, the evening still wasn’t cool (about 30-35 degrees). And so, tired but happy, that was enough social interaction for one day and I headed home for one last night of luxury at the Avari.

Tomorrow would bring a quick dash up the road to Islamabad – the Canberra of Pakistan!

The spectacular entrance to the Lahore museum

Suitably rejuvenated in body and soul, I ventured out of my 5-star bubble and into the real Lahore. First stop the Lahore Museum. The museum building is a fabulous piece of architecture constructed in its distinctive red brick with a white marble portico. Inside, the museum itself is a monument to faded grandeur. Most of the exhibit rooms were closed off while major, and much needed, renovations are carried out.  This left only a small selection of exhibit rooms open for display. And what a disjointed selection they were. One room was dedicated to an odd collection of Buddhist artefacts from as far afield as Burma, while another resembled a B-grade art gallery from the 1960’s. Yet another was a peculiar collection of ceramic figurines.  Another contained fabulous examples of Islamic calligraphy – some dating back to the 10th and 12th century. For me, however,  the best was the prehistoric and ancient civilisations room. This contained examples of stone axes and clubs dating from 300,000BCE. There were also extensive displays of the Mohenjo-daro civilisation and the Ghandaran civilisation – one of the first major Buddhist empires.

At first, arriving in Lahore seemed to promise nothing except more of the same – sweltering heat, chaotic traffic and grimy slums. And one day seemed more than enough. Just an overnight stop and then one final push up the M2 motorway to Islamabad to start the visa tango.

But serendipity is a wonderful thing!

Sitting at a set of traffic lights that I hoped, rather than knew, would take me to the hotel where I was planning to stay a guy on a little bike beside me asked where I was going. I told him the Avari. He said follow me, I work at the Avari.  I’m on my way to work now. So I followed my good samaritan, Khouri, on his miniscule 100cc bike as enthusiastically as my big yellow monster would allow while we dodged and weaved through Lahore’s lunchtime lunacy.

At the border post of Wagah, I had been told that the Avari Hotel was a 3-star hotel – good enough for me, thinks I, following my expensive, but ultimately disappointing, spluge at the Samrat in Delhi. However, the Avari Hotel was any but a 3-star hotel. It was the full-blown, gold-plated, crystal-chandeliered, grand piano playing, over-the-top, luxury 5-star hotel – the likes of which I have never before experienced.  So, after making an instantaneous executive decision to refund my “Fast Forward to 5-star Hotel” (on the spurious grounds that the Samrat wasn’t a real 5-star hotel!), I leapt at the opportunity to wash the last traces of India out of my psyche and start afresh in a new and different land.

The Avari must employ half of Lahore because they had somebody to do everything for you. Open doors, carry luggage, press lift buttons, turn your bed down at night. A level of luxury that is beyond the comprehension of the vast majority of locals who live beyond the pale. But obviously there is an elite in Lahore who accept this as a normal way of life. There were very few western tourists there so I must have been a bit of a curiosity to them arriving in my daggy motorcycling gear.

And all of this for about AUD$100/night!!! I have spent more than that on dank roadside motels up and down the Bruce Highway.

So I spent one and a half days having my every whim attended to by a veritable army of hotel staff. Nothing was too much trouble. After a while though, the overwhelming obsequiousness began to grate and I just wanted to be left alone to do things for myself..

Inexplicably, one of the hotel’s many restaurants (I never did find them all) was holding a Tex/Mex night. This would have been bizarre enough in itself but , in addition, the waiters were dressed up in cowboy costumes. And one unfortunate soul bore a disturbing resemblance to Mr. Bean dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. I was just waiting for John Denver’s “Take me home country road” to replace the Urdu pop songs and the line dancing to start!

After a night of deep sleep in a bed that came with your choice pillows (firm, soft, down, foam among several other options) I indulged in a buffet breakfast that would put many Australian restaurants to shame.