Malala from Swat

Swat is the city Malala came from. It’s also the city where the Taliban ruled for a long period of time. In that time tv’s were banned, public hanging were common and girls weren’t allowed to go to school. Malala loved school and went anyway. Reason enough for the Taliban to enter her schoolbus and shoot her in the head. Shoot a little girl because she wants to learn, to study. And that same Taliban is now ruling Afghanistan. I always want to believe there is hope in this world, hope for a better more equal world where peace is a normality and war an absurdity. But sometimes I lose hope. When i see the women here walking in burqas, when I hear what happens to women in Afghanistan, when I read stories like they of Malala. It’s a strange world we’re living in. We have been to the depths of the ocean, the weightlessness of the universe and climbed the highest mountains on earth. We have transplanted a pigs heart into a human body, found cures for deceases killing thousands of people not so long ago and are exploring the world of GMO. Yet, we think it’s okay to let a government decide what women wear, what jobs they’re allowed to do and whether or not they want an abortion. We let a terrorist group take over a whole country and look the other way while the women are oppressed once again. What is it that makes men so scare of women? 

In this part of Pakistan many women wear burqas. And even though I’m totally fine with whatever women want to wear I just can’t believe anyone wants to wear a burqa out of free will. It’s warm, inconvenient and asocial. It’s hard to understand the wearing of a burqa and it’s definitely very hard for me to understand that women continue to wear them. When I took off my hijab after three months Iran I felt so free, I felt so me. My hair is part of me, part of who I am. I’m proud of my curly hair and love it when it blows in the wind. I hated the hijab, having to wear it against my will is something new to me. A government, not even my own, obeying me to wear it. But it’s nothing compared to the burqa. It’s an isolation dress. There is no contact with whomever wears a burqa. Is she looking at me? Was that a nod to acknowledge me saying hi? Who is she? 

I wish a time would come where no one is oppressed, but that seems as stupid a wish as is world peace. Buddhists would meditate inside a dark small room for days, weeks even. When their wishes would come true they would offer things on the stupas. If I were a Buddhist I would be stuck in this tiny room forever. My wishes never coming true. But that of course doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for what we wish. Cause even if I can change the life of one person for the better I’m a happy person. If only I can decrease inequality for one person I have not failed. 

Malala fought for education. She survived the gunshot and became a famous young inspiring girl. An influencer the Taliban wished would never have flourished. But it is that gunshot that changed the faith of Malala and that of many girls. As many girls (and parents) changed their behaviour towards schools. Nowadays there is a lot of advertisement for girl schools (still separated from boys). And I’m happy to see it, a tiny spark in these dark times. 

Another foreign Switzerland 

Swat is locally known as the Switzerland of Pakistan. The mountains aren’t as high as further up north yet, but the green forests and the raging river are wonderful. But the closer we get to Kalam, our stop for today, the more we doubt the slogan. The road is alright but it’s crowded, and dirty. When we reach the first of Kalam we know for sure; this ain’t Switzerland. Not even close. The scenery is amazing. Truly magnificent with mountains as high as 3.000 meter above sea level. But as soon as we enter the forest we see waste everywhere, tents under every tree and food stalls all around. It’s more like a music festival than a natural area. It’s hard to look beyond all the rubbish. 

We park our van and within no time people come to us taking selfies with us. Welcoming us. It’s hearth warming how kind the Pakistani people are, but please take care of your nature. Your Switzerland is a big waste bin. A thousand years from now there will be mountains of plastic instead of rocks. The forests won’t be smelling after the trees but after the waste. And then the camels and horses that are standing here the whole day waiting to entertain humans. We should take care of our animals, of our nature, instead we exploit them. We are killing our planet and this trip along the Silk Road makes that abundantly clear. The silk road is one long way alongside a waste dump. Plastic everywhere and we still have no idea how long plastic will stay, but I’m pretty sure it will outlast humankind. 

So from womens rights to environmental issues. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about Pakistani culture now. 

We love Pakistan!

We’ve arrived here, parked the van, took some selfies with people and went for a walk. While walking more people stopped to take selfies with us. Up to now we just agree, smile and say our goodbyes. A small gesture in return to all the kindness we have experienced. Remember Waleed and Muheeb paying for our diner? They also did for our lunch and the entrance to the Buddhist monastery. “You are our guest” they kept saying. So, agreeing to selfies is our way of paying back. And here as well, a kind young man asks us if we want tea. So we have a nice talk, drink some tea and take some photos. He is from around the area and tells us he believes in marriage from love.

Many people are still marrying arranged by their parents. But he doesn’t like that. “You should love first and then marry.” He says. It’s always fun where our conversations end up. 

After tea we walk back to the van where another photo session takes place. And when one takes selfies with us, others come. It’s alright, it’s just a photo. But I’m still not feeling well, my stomach is still turning upside down once in a while and my head almost exploding from pain. The smiling hurts my cheeks and we tell everyone it’s enough now. When we do that they let us go. 

Further up we hear some music and we decide to check it out. Three local men playing local music and when we arrive a crowd starts to surround the men. It doesn’t take long for other men to join who start dancing. The music is in Pashtun, which is the local tongue of this region. There are many languages in Pakistan, Urdu is the main language and Pashtun is spoken at the area bordering Afghanistan. We don’t understand a thing but music is universal right? People dance, people clap and people laugh. Music does wonders, it’s emotions in sound and the folklore we hear here is making people happy. It’s uniting people and everyone enjoys. 

The concert is finished and we sit at our van when a young boy brings us tea. “Welcome to Pakistan!” He says. He is such a beautiful young boy. Really, Pakistani people are very beautiful. And very diverse. From dark brown skinned to light, almost white skinned. And from dark brown eyes to blue bright eyes. I love the diversity in people here. We talk a little bit with the boy who doesn’t speak English very well but he is so polite and so sweet. The tea is sweet as well. Sugar and milk. Not what we normally drink but this cup of hospitality is the best I ever drank. 

Gosh I love Pakistan already. And tea is just what my stomach can handle and my headache lessens. While the Pakistani picknickers move to their hotels, we stay in the forest of waste.

Love, Milene & Yuri

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Making friends in Peshawar

We stayed at the Shelton guesthouse, a nice basic guesthouse with good food and delicious mango smoothie. For most of the day we stayed in the hotel because we had to work a bit. But at the end of the day we decided to go for a walk, even though the police told us it ain’t safe. But what’s safety? I’m sure more people get killed in car accidents than from a bombing. We actually saw an accident on the road and the truck drivers surely didn’t survive. Anyway, as always we listen to the police but do something else. So we had a walk to an Afghan restaurant where they served Afghan burgers. It’s just fries and egg rolled in naanbread. It was good though. Of course we ordered a mango smoothie to go with it. And then we met Waleed and Muneeb, two friends who were so incredibly kind to pay for our diner! Without asking or offering, they just did it. So we asked them to sit down with us and drink another mango smoothie. 

Waleed lives in Finland for five years now but came back to Pakistan for a couple of months. Muneeb works as an environmentalist. Both of them are bright and smart and we had such interesting conversations about religion, politics, environmental and humanitarian issues. But also about food, clothing and languages. As we weren’t nearly done talking we decided to meet up tomorrow for lunch. Apparently, when in Peshawar you need to eat Charsi Tikka (lamb pieces cooked in the tail and buttocks fat of that same lamb). 

So the next day Waleed and Muneeb picked us up from the hotel and we went to the one and only charsi tikka place! It’s not the only one but it’s the best one. Because they only cook it when you order it, it takes a while for it to be ready. But again we had nice talks about a lot of different things; waste management, refugees, terrorism in Pakistan. It’s fun to talk with Waleed and Muneeb because they give us a good insight in the country and we learn a lot from them. They’re also incredibly kind and hospitable. And again we weren’t done with each other so decided to visit Takht-I-bhai together. A Buddhist monastery 1.5 hours from Peshawar.

OMG, we just ditched the police!

So to get here we ditched the police that we had to follow but when we arrived at the monastery they were there waiting for us. And then we started our hike through the site with our friends and got a guide. We had so much fun and learned so much about the site. We saw the place where a little bit of Buddha’s ashes are buried. What’s not to be found are the Buddha statues that were here a long time ago. Those can be found in the British (of course 🥴) and the Peshawar museum. It would be great if some replicas would be placed here to give an idea of how it was. This special place where Buddha’s ashes are resting can only be visited by tourists. “The locals don’t respect a place like this, they would sit and stand everywhere, disrespectful”. I don’t like the distinction, even though it’s probably based on experience I have seen too many tourists (westerners like me) who disrespected a place by taking selfies in inappropriate ways. And I don’t like to be treated differently from the locals, even though that has been the case since we entered Pakistan.

The escort we got is only for tourists, the staying at the police station is only for us (and I mean not in a cell but in our car) and we don’t have to pay for the tollway. “It’s because you are our guest and we welcome you” they say. But however a guest someone is, in the Netherlands you have to pay for everything no matter where you’re from or what you’re doing there. The hospitality and kindness of Pakistanis exceeds the one of Iranians. We get tea everywhere, are waved hello by everyone and are feeling like VIP’s wherever we go. Also at the monastery. We get to see places locals have to see behind locked doors, we get information they either have to search on Google or pay extra for and in the end we get offered some tea.

I wish we would be equal and the treatment we get here would be for everyone, everywhere. But the world isn’t like that. The world is divided and the fact that everyone wants a selfie with us here because we’re tourists shows just that. We are at this incredible Machu Picchu like monastery and the men are in line to take a photo with me. With me!? I’m not special, I’m not a celebrity and I’m certainly not more interesting than Takht-I-bhai. 

Inequality is something im fighting for a long time. Whether it’s between gender, nationality or religion. The inequality gives me, because I’m white and Dutch, a privilege of visiting places locals can’t. We often hear “wow you’ve seen more of my country than I have”, which is because inequality exists. Inequality and privilege go hand in hand and I would lie if I’d say I never take advantage of it. I can wave my passport and all is good, I say I’m from The Netherlands and it opens doors, I can travel because of the inequality that my ancestors used to become wealthy. 

In Buddhism there is only equality. No lifeform is lesser than the other, no Buddhist more important than another and no person treated differently. The more East we go the more we learn from different religions. We dived deeper into Christianity, the Islam and Jewish religion. We learned about Zoro-Astrianism, Ba’ahri and Assyrians. And now we’ve entered the realm of Buddhism, Taoism and Sikh. Of Hindu’s and the Kalash.

From ancient religions to the three big modern religions. That’s the great thing about travelling, you learn so much more than from books. As Gandalf said “the world is not in your books, it’s out there.”

Visiting a Buddhist stupa

So, here at this ancient site of which only 30% is excavated at the moment we learn about Buddhism. Every student learned from one teacher in one tiny room. They meditated in a dark room so they had no distractions. Scholars lived without possessions, everything was shared and they devoted their life to Buddhism. A simple life, without worry, without stress, without greed. A simple life devoted to one cause. I know someone from The Netherlands who decided he wanted to live completely like a Buddhist. He ditched all the technology we are addicted to and instead started meditating. He let go of things that aren’t important and found his way to a stress free and devoted life. It’s a huge change and something I’m not able to do. But, living a bit more like a Buddhist wouldn’t cause any harm I guess. Living a healthy life without too much food and alcohol. Living with less possession, embracing minimalism. Listening to nature, your body and mind. I can’t wait to learn more about Buddhism and their way of life. Here and now I felt honoured to visit a holy place like this, a place Buddhists found worthy enough to spread a piece of Buddhas ashes. 

We spend three hours at the site, walking up and down the many stairs, talking and learning. The police officers were waiting below to escort us to the police station where we would stay the night. First we went to have some diner. We have Kabulu pilao (rice with raisins, greeneries and some beef). This didn’t go well with my stomach. I’m still not fully recovered from the heatstroke and can’t eat much. So, after two bites I suffered again from stomach pains. 

Time to say goodbye to Waleed and Muneeb and park Alexine at the police station. Which was safe but also a mud bath any pig would find heaven! Nonetheless we stayed here. It was freaking warm but there were so many mosquitos we were afraid to open the windows. The later it got the more ill I felt. While sweating and not knowing how to lay down it started to rain. And not just a bit of rain but so hard that a river started to appear below us. We opened the windows so the cool air could enter but soon the rain came in as well thus closing up again. At 1 I was still not asleep and felt like I had to throw up. But the river around us kept me from going to the toilet. So I just closed my eyes and thought of something that made me happy. Volleyball, mountains, Alexine, food. Ai, don’t think of food please. 

Staying at the police station a last time

At 4 I woke up to the sound of what felt like one giant mosquito just circling around my ear. Go away! I was in pain. My stomach, my head, my back. Everything was hurting, is if I was lying on a bed of needles while a sumo wrestler sat atop of me. In my head someone was surely hitting my brain with Thor’s hammer. And my stomach hurt as if an ogre squeezed it inside his hands. You can imagine I didn’t sleep much. 

This morning wasn’t my best. But we had kilometers to make. One week in Pakistan already and we haven’t seen any nature yet. Well, not without police escort. 

Never not exploring

We left the police station without saying anything. We were afraid that otherwise they would give us an escort again. “It’s not safe” they keep telling us. But as I said before; what’s safety? We can get hit by a car in our own street. We are to explore the Swat region today. Known internationally as the home of Malala (the girl who got shot in the head by the Taliban for going to school), but locally as the Switzerland of Pakistan. More about that in our next blog!

Hope you enjoy our blogs. Please do let us know 😘

Love, Milene & Yuri

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Follow the police

So, we just follow the police officers. And today we drive through an amazing gorge, so beautiful! It’s rainy and a bit slippery but a great road nonetheless. We’re not driving that quick but it’s okay we enjoy the scenery. It’s absolutely beautiful here. Monsoon season started so it’s wet as well and the rivers are filling up. The green returned to the landscape and the roads become a bit muddy. Although I’m pleasantly surprised by the good condition of the roads in Pakistan. Truly they did an amazing job. So amazing that I’m almost thinking the Chinese must have something to do with this. A reoccurring theme in our Silk Road travel; the Chinese hunger for a new Silk Road. And they are everywhere’s except in Iran. We haven’t seen them there. But here in Pakistan ‘made in China’ signs are visible again and even my chappati was wrapped up in a Chinese newspaper. So, their Silk Road journey definitely reached Pakistan.

What didn’t reach Pakistan is modern technology. Again we are waiting at a checkpost for people in army clothes to write down all the information on our documents. After they’re done writing, they take a picture of it. I don’t get it. It seems that 70% of Pakistanis are either in the army, the police or the levies. And the rest are truck-, tuctuc- or motorcycle drivers. But that’s only my finding after three days of escort through the country. 

The people are beautiful though. Their skin colour, hair, dresses. The eyes!!! Wow. And they are all so friendly. Happily waving at us, welcoming us and smiling when we pass. Some don’t smile but just stare in bewilderment. That’s fine, I imagine they don’t see many of us racing through. Where in The Netherlands only children get to stare in Pakistan there is no age boundary to staring. You wonder, you stare. You see something new, unfamiliar, alienlike, you stare. No matter your age, gender or religion. 

What is your religion?

Oh that’s another thing in Pakistan, they are very curious what religion we have. Often a conversation starts with the question where we are from. Then “is this your wife?” And then it’s about kids. “You don’t have kids? How old are you? I am 5 years older than you but have 8 kids.” And then it’s religion. “No religion?” “But what about the almighty?” “Oh, you’re free!” There are quite some religions in Pakistan; Islam is the biggest (about 95%), then there is Christianity, Hindus, Ahmadis and others. We already met quite a few Christians, one Buddhist and many more Muslims. The Muslims do shake my hand here btw. 

It’s still 65km’s to hopefully the last stop of our escort. We are now at a military stop and it takes ages for them to write everything down. Passport, visa, car, photo, selfie and again and again and again. This bureaucracy seems endless, but our patience is not. Or well, Yuri’s patience is not. For once he is the one fired up while I sit back and just take it as it goes. Maybe I’m too tired to give a fuck. It’s quite humid here so after a night sleep, no wash and the same clothes I feel a bit dirty. Can’t wait to be in nature and jump into a river. Although the rivers here looked a bit tricky. Quite rough and muddy so no ideal to take a bath. But I hope, the more north we go the calmer and cleaner the water. We’ll see. First we have to get out of this Pakistani escort service 😉

Stopped by the military

When you think you’ve gone through it all, the army comes in. Stopping us from continuing. Why isn’t clear to us. Apparently we have no permission to continue. Which is strange because permission is exactly what we’ve arranged in Quetta. So after some phone calls they let us go. And we continue our trip.

Long story short, the estafette escort takes long, while they tell us the next village is the end, they continue to provide our safety. At some point it’s time to say goodby to Claudio. He travels to Islamabad and we to Peshawar. 

And from that moment we speed up. It’s like they finally get it, at last they understand we are tired and don’t want to drive another night. Thus there we go. With 80km/h we drive to Peshawar, overtaking many beautiful trucks and waving at many people who welcome us to Pakistan. The escorte switch also professionalised. Instead of stopping we know continue driving while one escort waves us goodbye and the other waves us hello. Quick switches that make it easy for us to travel fast. 

At some point we follow a police car with sirens on. We move through the tiniest spots in between trucks and tuctucs and it feels like we’ve entered a video game. The racing is surreal. Police officers telling other people to move away, we follow in pursuit, sometimes nearly crashing oncoming vehicles. But all goes well… in sure there is an angle on my shoulder today. 

Finally; Peshawar!

And then we finally reach Peshawar. Little did we know that we were supposed to get permission to travel here. Apparently tourists aren’t very welcome in Peshawar at the moment. Mainly because of the security tourists need and the constant treat of something happening. We don’t feel or experience anything of that. People say hello to us, are very curious where we are from, smile at us. Nothing but kindness. Peshawar is the sixth biggest city of Pakistan and is one of the oldest cities (dating back to 539 BC). Little did we know the city is famous for its food… So after days of no food (no time to eat while driving 1450km’s in escort) it’s time to refill our stomachs! 

So that’s what we are going to do now. We checked in our hotel and ordered ourselves some local Pakistani dish: daal mash. A delicious lentils recipe that’s perfect served with some roti and chutney.

Love, Milene and Yuri

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And into the countryside

After multiple changes we enter the countryside. Instead of unfinished buildings there are tents within compounds and muddy buildings. The mountains are bare and the landscape is empty. The road is full though. Full with traffic and we are behind the slowest one on it. 40 or 50km’s/h which is of course not enough if we ever want to get out of Beluchistan. Telling him to drive faster does not help. He grins and tells us to stay behind him. I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a very long day… again. 

“Can we go faster?” “No we can’t!” “Why not?” “Because you’ll be waiting, because we have no people”. So we keep driving 50km/h for the rest of the day and will end up in Zorb around Christmas. 

Arrival in Zorb

It took us 7 hours to drive 320km’s to Zorb. But we have arrived! It’s 8 o’clock and it’s already dark. We are close behind a police vehicle and zigzag our way through the tiny and busy streets of the cities. Vendors are out, motorcycle everywhere and lots of dust. We move in colonne and while my eyes are quite tired I do enjoy driving through the hectic of the city. Barbers everywhere, stalls with delicious fruits and people sitting on plastic chairs chatting the night away. It looks like a nice city. “But it’s not safe for you” the police officer reminds me. Staying in a hotel here isn’t even safe so they bring us to the police station. But that police station is nowhere to be found and before we know it we have exited the city.

It’s getting darker and darker, in the distance thunder is raging and my eyes are numb from being tired. But we keep going. Switch cars again and move on. Further and further away from the city. 

Then we stop again. Police officers come to us and ask for our passports. It’s 9:30 already and I’m tired of this. He takes a photo of the passport and as always a photo of us. Often accompanied with a selfie. We’ve taken hundreds of photos like this already. I wonder what happens with them. Do they have a WhatsApp group where they share the photos and laugh about our smiles slowly disappearing and our eyes closing? Well not me! I keep a big smile. It’s an adventure and not the destination but the journey matters.

The police station turned into a refugee centre

But that journey takes very long. We are once again stopped by police to check our passports, takes selfies and so on. “Now you’re free. In 20km’s you see a police station, you can stay there”. I’m flabbergasted. It’s 22:15 and suddenly they think we’re good to go. It might be safe regarding a terrorist grouping that wants to attack us, but my eyes and my body is telling me it’s not safe to drive as tired as we are. And it’s pitch black! We don’t know the road and don’t know where to go. After holding us down the whole day, making us go so slow that we reached here so late and now they wave us off? We are too tired to argue and just go. The Italian motor bike, Claudio, is behind us. The road is wet and soon the rain starts. I’m sure it’s a beautiful area we drive through but we can’t see anything because of the darkness. It takes long and it’s a bit scary. Oncoming traffic has lights that blinds us completely, the road is wet and unknown and we actually never drive at night so it’s isn’t ideal but we do it anyway. After half an hour (20km’s? Right…) and 17 changes of police officers, I pullover at something that looks like a castle but is a police station. 

“We have a problem. We are full. There are 250 people here already” the police officer tells me. I don’t care, I’m not moving any further. “We can stay in the car.” That’s fine, thus we move Alexine to the back of the building where we are welcomed by many people. They all want a selfie with us, not the right time so I tell them kindly I’m going to sleep. The building is full with refugees from Afghanistan. “They have no passport so we are waiting to deport them back to Afghanistan” the officer tells me. I try to make him understand that Afghanistan is not a safe place for them and they should be given refuge. “They have no passport” he keeps telling me. It’s like talking to a Dutch government official. These are the rules and everyone, no matter the horrific situation back home, has to obey. Tiresome!

I look into the eyes of the hundreds of refugees staying here and see recognition. While I’m tired of two days driving, they are tired of their journey as well. And while I’m choosing this out of free will, they are forced into it. No one tells me to go home but they will be pushed back home even though it is not a safe place. Men, women, children… they’re all stuck here waiting to be deported. And I feel silly. Silly for complaining the journey takes so long, for being too tired to have a selfie made, for making a fuzz at the gate when they didn’t let us enter. It’s my job, I always work with refugees, I hear their stories and they take a piece of my heart with them. But I never get used to it, it always hurts, seeing them deprived from everything they have and still treated as lesser human beings. And it doesn’t matter where they are from, their religion, their looks. It happened to Jewish people in WWII, when nobody wanted them and it happens now with Afghans, Syrians, Yemenis. And it doesn’t matter where people flee to; Greece, Pakistan, Colombia. And with these sad thoughts I fall into a deep sleep. To be waken up by 5:30 when a little baby starts crying… 

Love, Milene & Yuri

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We are allowed to travel through Beluchistan

After a while we arrive at the NOC office. An armed officer brings us to the office where we have to give our documents. The idea is that this will give us the protection we need in Beluchistan. They’ll send a paper throughout the area to all the police stops and road blocks so they know we are coming. It is obliged by the government that tourists travel through the area safely. We haven’t experienced any danger, or felt like we were in some kind of danger but they won’t provide this for nothing. They say it takes 30 minutes to 4 hours for the NOC to finish. I feel sorry for the armed police officer who has to wait here with us. But as far as I can see all is going quite quick and we’ll be on our way soon. Inshallah.

We will be escorted out of Beluchistan by police officers, afterwards we are on our own. Something we long for already. We will be travelling to Peshawar. “A good road, and good choice to go this way” they tell us. Which makes us happy. When a country has this many incredible sites to see but we have limited time we always experience a fear of missing out. But you can do only as much in one month. 

Prints are made and we have signed that we follow the rules of Baluchistan no matter what. No idea what the rules are precisely but alright. And we’re done. 10 minutes!!! 

Buying a simcard

When I started to travel on my own back in 2001 (I was 16 years), I had a phone with the game ‘snake’ on it. Internet was still something you did on a computer and not on the phone. My Nokia 3210 gave my parents a save feeling (I could be reached) and me a way to kill time (love snake). I travelled to Tsjech Republic and Southern Africa without that phone because it made no sense to have it with me. “I will send an email when I find an Internet cafe” I told my parents. And when I arrived abroad I would go to an Internet cafe, pay some dollars and have 30 minutes of internet which I used to update my blog and email my family. Then I left and lost was the connection. Nowadays we travel to a country and a couple of things are our priority: changing money and getting a local SIMcard with data on it. We spend almost more time updating our friends and family (you!) than exploring 😉 No kidding, but sometimes it feels like that. That’s why we take time offline more and more often. But yeah, so after the necessities of informing the whole Baluchistan force of our being here we moved to the phone office.

It took about 30 minutes to get the SIMcard but apparently it takes two hours for the card to work. Registering takes a while here. Just like printing a receipt. At the immigration office at the border it took an hour to print Yuri’s visum and now it takes 15 minutes to print our receipt – no exaggeration here! 

So, done! When you read this you know we made it work. Afterwards we went to get some cash. Finally we can withdrawal money from the bank again. Although, we thought so. When we enter our card and pincode suddenly the machine shuts down: oh no! “Don’t worry, electricity is off it will get back on soon and you’ll get your card”. So we wait, and indeed – as soon as the power gets back on we get our card back. No money though. At the next bank it all works but… they only want to give us 20k rupees, which is about €85,-. Not enough to survive on. When we left Iran we also left cheap gasoline behind. From €3,- a tank to €40,- a tank… 

Leaving Quetta

Back to the police station. Another round of paperwork and filling our watertank and off we go. We are very happy we stayed at the police station. The hotel was probably fine as well but here we could experience the police culture, meet some nice people, drive with them around town and fill our water tank. And now it’s time to go. One escort takes us to another, that one changes as well and after only three estafette changes we are out of the city and onto the road to Peshawar. And what happens on this road will be for another blog. 

Love, Milene & Yuri

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Etappe 1: Taftan – Nok kundi

After an amazing shower!! Ok it was nothing special but having water run down our bodies after a very sweaty night is just amazing. Cooling down and feeling somewhat clean again the dream. So the night was horribly warm and we changed in the middle of the night from the oven to Alexine which was a good decision. Then in the morning it started raining. Raining!! So we danced of course. What else should we do after months of no rain, not even a drop. 

And at 8 precisely it was time to leave. We drove behind a vehicle with two Levies in it. One a commander who had his best days of duty behind him but was still very kind. And even though I wonder if he would hit a target if needed he wouldn’t be afraid to die im sure. So there we go! First our Levies need some petrol which doesn’t really look like a proper station but hey they painted shell on it so it must be alright. And I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to have the wind go through my hair and cool down my arms because I’m wearing a T-shirt and no headscarf anymore. Oh my, the freedom! 

For two hours we drive behind the car. The landscape a desert like plain with Afghani mountains on the left side and Iranian mountains on the right. In the middle Pakistan. Empty and deserted. Except for some abandoned buildings and train wagons that are scattered around the area. Beside the quite good tarmac road are little sand hills and the sky is full with clouds. Trucks with the most colourful ornaments dangling from every corner of it pass us. Beautiful and impressive! Just don’t want to be hit by one but they look amazing. And that’s it. The first etappe of the 635km trip to Quetta is uneventful and relaxed. 

In Nok kundi we say goodbye to our Levies and hello to our new Levies. We hand over our documents again which are copied by hand and drink tea with the Levies. It’s getting hot so taking it slow is key to survival. And we are in no hurry, if the Levies are not – we are not. 

On the wall in the office hangs a photo of men with a sack over their heads and lot of guns in front. The levies are posing next to the men. I’m asking who they are and what they did. “They’re just thieves” the commissioner replies. He worked for 26 years at the Taftan border and is now working here for 1 year before retiring. He looks forward to that moment. “I want to be free in my head” he tells me. It’s a tough job as they only have one day off per week. All the other days they work as police officers in the travelling area of Pakistan. Travelling area means the area from Taftan to Quetta alongside the Afghanistan border. “Normally it can be a bit dangerous because not everywhere the border is protected. And the Taliban focusses on people from the USA. Just like other terrorist groups operating in the area. They don’t know if your Dutch or German or English. They just see you’re a tourist so you’re a target. But the army is in full force at the border now, because of the overtake.” We talk a bit about life as a Levies in Beluchistan, about the Taliban and the pressure of its force into Pakistan. He seems a bit tired, done with his service as a levie. He wants to be with his wife, kids and grandchildren. He wants to see Iran, India and other parts of Pakistan. He wants to be relaxed and free. And I understand him. 26 years, 6 days a week and only 10 – 15 days of holiday a year. I would’ve gone crazy a long time ago. 

Etappe 2: Nok kundi – Dalbandin

My turn to drive! To the delight of the Levies. A woman driving is apparently funny. A women with an opinion about that not so much so I of course tell them that women are as good a driver as any. They stop laughing. Better show, not tell I guess. Ok, so after establishing that we move. Through the town of speed bumps. The higher the better apparently. And we hoped saying goodbye to Iran would also mean saying goodbye to these ridiculous speed bumps but no. After conquering them all there is the endless desert again. The one road through it and nothing but mirages alongside it. And that goes on for hundreds of kilometers. Here and there a dromedaris emerges from the mirage and it looks like some palmtrees in the far distance but they could be little branches as well. 

For a while we see nothing but emptiness but then some trucks and cars appear and it seems there is live on this planet! In the far distance the contours of huge sharp rocks appear and we even cross some tiny villages. I almost hit a goat that found it wise to cross the road from behind one of those colourful trucks. Luckily – for both – we didn’t and continued to live long and prosperous. Well, that’s to be seen. 

Alright, so nothing interesting happened. Alexine is doing great. The sun is shining, it’s quite hot but Alexine keeps her head cool. We can even drive 80km/h for most of the journey. And that journey takes 2.5 hours and 175km. We arrive in Dalbandin where we have to refuel Alexine. “Pakistani or Iran fuel?” They ask. We are surprised by the question and ask for the best one. Of course the men reply with Pakistani gasikube. As if we would expect anything else. A full tank (38 liters now) costs us 9.100 Pakistani rupees. That’s about €38,- thus €35,- more expensive then what we paid for in Iran. Ai… but it’s still €45,- cheaper than in the Netherlands, so all is good. 

To our surprise we are not staying in Dalbandin – which all the blogs online told us. We continue our journey for at least 200km’s to Nuskhi. Will we reach Quetta today already? That would be a surprise to us. Quetta is still some 325 km’s away, that’s about 4.5 hours as Alexine drives. Probably not, but we’ll see. The only thing clear of this escort to Quetta is that it all isn’t clear and no one seems to know much. So we take it as it comes and continue the road. 

Etappe 3: Dalbandin – Nuskhi

With a full tank, somewhat renewed energy and a lack of water we follow the road which crosses the sand dunes as a snake. But snakes we don’t see, dromedaris we do see. And many! Walking graciously through the hot sand that matches their skin colour. We follow the levies on a safe distance and try to enjoy the landscape as much as possible. It is hot though, very hot. 

312 km’s to Quetta. Will we really reach there today? What made the Levies change their usual schedule? The stop in Dalbandin at a hotel no one wants to stay in. To continue the next day for the remaining part. To make it a two day expedition, instead of a one day race? We don’t know, but the furthest we get today the better. We only have one month in Pakistan and don’t want to spend it in hotel compounds, which we are not allowed to leave. 

About half way (80 km’s from Nuskhi) we have a switch of guards. And what kind of switch. Until now we have followed vehicles that disappointed us a bit, with only one armed men in them. Not the type of escort we expected. But now we’ve got 5 men of which 3 are armed. They are smiling and relax when we drink tea. They wonder why we have a dragon toy (John Snowdonia as he’s from Mount Snowdonia in Wales) in the car but no kids. Well, can’t explain that. I love teddy bears? 

As soon as we finish the tea we continue our journey. It is 16:15h and we’ve got a lot more km’s to go still so ready to move on. Three men in the back of the car, gunned. Two men in front and off we go. Is this because danger is more near? The border is close to where we are, we can see Afghanistan. But danger seems to be far away, a darkness in the distance. Not tangible and not worrying. Like a spider waiting for someone to enter it’s web. I just hope we don’t drive into anyones web. The people we see wave at us happily. When they smile I can see they use too much sugar in the tea but their eyes are filled with twinkles. We feel like VIP’s driving through a landscape so special that people are not allowed to enter it. And it is beautiful!

The sandy dunes have made place for razor sharp rocks and more and more settlements are visible. There’s also a lot more traffic and the road conditions worsen. The trucks are moving as quick as turtles although I think a turtle might move quicker. And we, we are racing through the scenery like a bunch of cheetahs. It’s challenging and tiresome but as said before we have to get somewhere today. Where exactly that is, is still a mystery to us. 

Etappe 4: Nuskhi – Quetta

And there we are, in the middle of … not Nuskhi but this is the Nuskhi stop anyway. The guarded levies leave us here with the police. And the police seems to have things organised a bit more modern. Instead of writing down our names, visa code and country they just take photos of our documents. And then we wait… Some men stop to check out Alexine and everyone passing looks at us mesmerised. Some remind themselves to be kind and wave, others just stare. It’s windy, a bit humid but finally not so hot. We have to wait for other police officers who will hopefully escort us to Quetta and then we’re done with this racing escort through Baluchistan. Well, almost. We haven’t reached the border of the province yet so until then we will be escorted. Not sure where we’ll sleep tonight but hopefully it’s a bit better than where we were yesterday. At least it’s a lot less hot here which makes us so grateful! Finally… 

And the people… oh my are they photogenic! Wow! The women so colourfully clothed with beautiful brown skin. And the men with big beards, sometimes beautifully white, turbans and beautiful eyes. My photographers heart is often skipping a beat. But as we are following our escort we have no time to stop and shoot, so moving on… We’ll be in Pakistan for a month so enough time to photograph 😉

100 meters further, no 15km, we stop again at a military stop. We wait for the police to pick us up to go to Quetta. It’s getting late already (19:00) but the police apparently is in no hurry because it takes ages for them to come. In the meantime we are the attraction at the military stop. Everyone stares at us, waves, shouts whatever. And the military has a lot of fun with it. They carry G3 guns and are mainly searching for people of the BLA terrorist group. 

While they poke with their stick in all the baggage of trucks and busses that pass we are waiting not so patiently for our escort to arrive. I see so many different people crossing and scenes that I have never seen. Children in a cage in the back of a car with a lock on it. People in, on top and at the back of the minivan (incl luggage and drums). And again the most colourful trucks packed with so much stuff it could fill a second truck. 

I’m not sure if the police and army are great friends. It seems the army is greater in force and number. And the military men surely feel powerful. Not because they are anything more than the kind police officer that’s escorting us but because they have a bigger gun. That’s it with men. It needs to be big, bigger, biggest. Only then can they feel invincible. Makes me laugh and cry at the same time. It’s this behaviour that’s ruining the world. Whether it’s bar fights, wars or climate change. Men won’t change… it’s in their nature. But alright. Back to our stop! It’s a circus, really. And I’m starting to believe we are the main act. But for us it’s them. The busses, trucks, cars, motorcycles. All filled with people, too many people, and overloaded with stuff. It’s good that there are no bridges here. 

Waiting is exhausting and we still have 140km to go. It’s gonna be driving at night and we’re already tired of the not so great sleep we had last night. It’s my turn to drive and my eyes are drying up already. Wish they’ll be here soon. It’s not that they didn’t know we are coming. We started at 8 this morning and apparently it was the plan all along to get us to Quetta as quick as possible. Well, let’s get on with it then, right? 

And there we went. Escorted by the police. The police going as quick as they can and quicker than we can go (now they’re in a hurry?(. Suddenly we left the desert plain and entered the mountains. Bend after bend we race after the police and lots of other traffic. It is difficult to follow but we manage until the Levies take over again. In an estafette like race they switched 3, 4, 5 times. Quick and smooth. One car stops and another takes over. It feels like we’re in a movie scene. Police taking over the levies and vice versa and then even the anti terrorist force takes over and brings us another 30 km’s further. This is how far Marco Polo travelled on camel everyday. 30 to 40km’s. We are now nearing the 635km’s in one day. What a change, what a difference, what a benefit we have thanks to Karl Benz, who invented the first motorwagon.

Last etappe: Quetta

We are almost there. 50km’s and we are in Quetta, but… there is a but. A man on a bike is also moving to Quetta but apparently there is no car for him. They ask us if we can take him but as much as we want to we can’t. A bike, the traveller and a guard, extra in Alexine isn’t working. We have to take care of our lady and with the racing that we are doing. Besides; we have no place for a bike and two men.

So there we are, stranded in the middle of … I have no idea. It’s pitch black around us. 

Yuri makes a guard come in our van so at least we can continue the trip to Quetta. Oh yeah! Sorry for the other traveller but Alexine goes first and driving the winding roads and hilly countryside with so much extra weight isn’t happening. So there we go, guard in the van, Kalashnikov present and on our way to Quetta. It’s 21:15h and we’ve been on the road for 13 hours now. 

Again, 30km’s before Quetta we get another guard in Alexine. And suddenly she doesn’t want to start. She doesn’t give an inch, nothing. But luckily the Levies are with a lot of guys and they give her a push. The last bit of the journey. We are all very tired. Yuri, me and of course Alexine. So it’s really time to end this day, to give Alexine and our own eyes a rest. 

At our next and hopefully last estafette location we are reunited with the traveller on bike. Apparently he wanted to go from Pakistan to Iran but had no authority to cycle this road, did it anyway and was caught after 100km’s. A very stupid thing to do in our opinion. 

And then there’s the last km’s into Quetta, we have to drive behind traveller on his bike!!!! We’ve been on the road for 14,5 hours now and have to drive at cycle speed because there is no car to escort the traveller on bike back to Quetta! Of course that makes us a bit pissed. We want to go to our resting place as soon as possible. But let’s not complain, we’re almost there and we will probably – whatever the heat – sleep very well tonight! 

In the end he just had to cycle a short while. We were waited for by the police not to far ahead. They are taking over from the Levies in Quetta. Now the police estafette starts. For very short trips the police escorts us to the next and the next and the next. It seems endless, just like the dusty streets of Quetta. It’s late but life is bustling here. Everywhere are food stalls, half built buildings and people. People in cars, on bikes, motorcycles, tuctucs. Trucks squeezing themselves in the tiniest empty spots. And us following the police close by. The police are with more men than the Levies. Two gunned men are standing on the back of the car, always watching us and everyone around us. One is signalling every motorcycle to move away from our car, hand on the gun always ready to shoot. 

It feels like ages before we drive up to the hotel where the tourist on bike (by now we know he’s from Russia) is staying. We don’t want to stay here as we heard you can also stay at the police station in your van and that’s exactly what we want to do. So after dropping off the Russian we change officers one last time and end up at the police station. 

00:23h

We’re here. At the police station of Quetta in bed. After 16 hours we made it, not in 3 or 2 days as we were told but in 1 day. Wow! Good for us because we only have one month in Pakistan, but it was a tough day. No more words now, I’m going to sleep. Bye!

Love, Milene & Yuri

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