Great news!!! The bike has definitely arrived but is unfortunately still stuck in a crate in the port. But we manged to have a glimpse. I still can’t believe it since I started to think this is it, Karachi is the beginning and the end of our journey! After not getting much sleep last night due to Mark’s frequent visits to the bathroom as a result of something doggy he ingested the previous day, we nevertheless went to the port this morning to sort out the paperwork and sweet talk the officials. It took about six hours and a lot of waiting since everything happens at a snail’s pace and it takes three times as many people to do a job that half a person could accomplish in half the time it took them. Despite it all everyone was really nice and we had a very interesting talk with the customs officer who is a very well traveled and educated man. It was refreshing to speak to someone who can rise above the extremism and ignorance of the masses. We were promised we can pick the bike up tomorrow at 10am and are planning to set off for Multan very early Sunday morning.
We’ll keep you updated!
November 13, 2009
Fourth day and we’re still in Karachi. Considering our visa permits us to stay in Pakistan for only 15 days, and taking into account the current unstable political situation, one would think that we would be on the move by now trying to get over the border to India and onwards to Friday’s Place in the south. As much as I’m anxious to move on it is out of my hands and up to the customs and shipping agents who are the ones that need to release our means of transport, the old Beemer we shipped from home. Remember this is Pakistan! Efficiency and speed are not on top of the agenda. Having traveled around the subcontinent for business and pleasure for the past 30 odd years, Mark is very much used to the pulse and pace of the country, but I’m a novice and feel there is a lot for me to learn here especially when it comes to patience.
We’ve been here since Monday 9th November and the ship carrying the bike only arrived this morning. When we booked the container in the UK we were told it would arrive on 7th November, then the Pakistani agents gave us yesterday’s date and finally Mark just got off the phone and was told the ship is being unloaded right now. If we are lucky we might get the bike on Saturday or even a day earlier.
We are staying with Mark’s friends who he has known since his carpet dealing days and who have been very generous and have advised us on our safety. I have consequently seen and learned a bit about carpets and have absorbed and admired Marks passion and expertise on the subject. It’s been quite an eye opener talking to these people when it comes to politics, religion and gender issues. They are all devastated by the current situation in the northern regions and are hopeful that the Taliban will be defeated. Their economy has been hard hit and I have no idea how they do any business at all. There are no foreigners who would buy handicraft goods or fake antiques and those bazaars are silent and drab. The country seems to rely on the US for basic rations like wheat, rice and dhal so I do wonder how this country sustains itself. At the moment the sugar wholesalers have also shut down and considering the amount of sugar they consume in their never ending cups of tea and various sweets they’ll soon be out of their domestic supplies. When it comes to education of women and practicing religion Mark’s friends are not overly traditional but when it comes to their wives the gender differences and restrictions become very apparent. Women stay at home looking after the house and the children, are not allowed to go to work (there are some changes visible on this front when it comes to younger generations but it is certainly not a prevalent trend) or leave the house during the day unaccompanied, they are certainly not allowed to frequent traditional eateries – I was the only one during lunch time and, as you can imagine, got quite a few stares – and the female population is visibly outnumbered by men on the streets especially during the day. ‘I don’t/wouldn’t allow my wife to . . . ‘ comes up frequently in conversation and, as you can imagine, it really hits a nerve every time.
On the bright side we have managed to walk around and absorb the smells and vibes of the city. Karachi is a large port city and here and there you get a glimpse of its grand Moghul and colonial style past visible through the rubble of only a few remaining dilapidated sand coloured buildings but most of it is tower blocks of gray concrete and metal bars. Chaos seems to be present wherever you look. The edge of the road serves as a rubbish tip for all sorts of litter including rubble. Walking along the pavement you get ‘blessed’ by an occasional water trickle or are faced with a pool of water that has come streaming down the building from one of the flats as a result of a water-tank overflow. Directing your gaze towards the heavens you notice that the electric cables and wires supplying the households and businesses are bunched together into what appears like big bird nests and are just hanging off distribution poles and buildings. How anyone can make any sense of what goes where is anyone’s guess! The upper stories of the buildings mostly serve as flats for the masses and don’t you think you can escape the chaos of dust, rubbish and the cable nests of the streets once you’ve entered. In addition the walls of the stairwells are decorated with red coloured spit marks as a result of the male population spiting when chewing pan (a concoction of betel leaf, erika nut, lime paste, black tobacco and various aromatic spices) and if you didn’t know better you would think a terrible homicide had taken place in every corner and dark niche of every building. Aesthetics and desire to create a beautiful clean environment to live in do not feature. As for the plumbing . . . something to be desired. The so call ’shower’ is really a bucket job. Fill a bucket with water, scoop some water in a smaller jug and splash yourself with or pour it over yourself. Those who know me can only imagine that it will take some time for me to get used to it but I intend to perfect the technique!
The city is interwoven with narrow streets packed with bazaars and the bizarre. The little bazaar shops are grouped together according to their trade just like medieval guilds and you can find almost anything from fabrics, traditional shalwar kameezes, Aladdin shoes from Multan, pots and pans, electronic goods, photography studios, leather goods, jewelry, wigs, etc. Everywhere you go there are street sellers offering delicious fried snacks and sweets as well as ruby red pomegranate and sugar cane juice. Empress bazaar is a haven for any tourist or photographer. Sacks of spices, nuts, dates and rice compete alongside beautifully displayed vegetables. Some of them are very unusual and one in particular with a nobly star shaped deep purple outer shell that revealed a crispy white tuber similar to a water chestnut in taste, was from some kind of water lily root! Moving in the sea of bodies the aromas of turmeric, dried chilies, black pepper, garlic and ginger mingle in the air with spicy dishes from the street vendors, dust, pollution and bloody smells of the butcher’s market. It is a full blown attack on all your senses. The food is delicious, fresh and quite spicy. Wonderful soft, light chapatis cooked on an upturned karahi (similar to a wok) and, puffy but fairly salty naans and rotis unlike the ones I’d tasted at home baked in charcoal fired clay oven or rather a barrel shaped hole in the ground. The small dough balls are rolled out and spread on a sort of a hard fabric cushion. The cushion is then shoved into the hole, the flat bread slides off, the cushion is pulled out and the bread is turned over and eventually pulled out with two long metal poles. The oven is extremely energy efficient since once the coal is fired up there is no more need to add extra fuel and standing five meters distance from the oven the heat is overbearing. Imagine standing above it like the baker does for hours on end. Although the Pakistanis love their meat Mark hasn’t seen or tasted any as yet. He’s been really looking forward to fatten up on chicken and get as far away from a vegetarian diet but he’s been pretty unlucky since when our host realised I’m vegetarian he’s been feeding us copious amounts of lovely dhal and subji (broad term for vegetable curry).
The temperatures are high here but the cool sea breeze full of sand and flies takes the edge away. With one single exception of an elderly man shouting after us to go back to our country people have been very pleasant and curious (I was asked if I am Muslim by a boy of about seventeen or eighteen) about who we are and what we are doing in Pakistan. It’s been put to me if I’m American and I make sure that they know I’m Slovene and Mark is Irish for the time being since everybody loves the Irish (not so sure about the British). I get a lot of stares but everyone is generally polite. We have only come across one foreigner and he had the same expression of surprise as we did when we encountered one another.
So far so good. I am however desperate to start traveling. If we are very lucky we might get the bike tomorrow . . . if God is willing or rather if the customs officers are willing.
November 13, 2009