I dont remember all the details of the last leg of the journey. Back in Mansehra, we drove for hours through fields and fields of corn, fruits, each trees, tobacco plants (baji, i so like that picture!). We went to Balakot and crossed rocky bridges (it was a bet - uncle jee was sure id act feminine and say oh nooooooooooo hehe] and sat by a cold, cold river - darya kunhar, which froze our toes and iced the mangoes and leechees we set to cool in a mini dam constructed from rocks. And oh, the rocks, of all shapes and sizes and colors, smooth greens and maroons and shaded blue and purple, rocks with holes and rocks with bums and rocks so smooth they felt like satin. We had chai while watching nearby buffaloes out of the corner of our eyes, and prayed on the open ground, feeling the soft grass hard against our foreheads when we knelt in prostration to the Allah who made all this for us.

We were to drive down down to Rawalpindi and catch a flight from there to Karachi. All down the route from Abbotabad to pindi (man i love Abbotabad - its so perfect, so scenic, i could live there), there was rain and thunderstorms and ligthning - quite scary actually, and after a long adventure and fear filled drive, we arrived at the airport 45 minutes after our flight was scheduled to takeoff. Luckily, all flights were delayed too, for the same reason, so after I learnt Id b. sitting around for the next 5 hours or so, I called up Owl.

And they drove, Abez and the Mom, down to the airport to meet me, which I think was utterly nice of them. And Abez paid for dinner. I had a grand rocking time, with them doing all the talking, and me doing all the laughing.

So much done, so much learnt. For the next post. InshAllah.


ps. I might take a tri to London/paris in Sept. Im afraid of going to paris again, beause of the recent hijab stuff. Is it safe.. in the sense that will I be able to wear my hijab without fear of it being pulled off or blatant discrimination in the street? does anyone know...
11:51 PM

We hailed a bus to take us on a day trip to neighboring ‘cities’, namely Patriata (the best of the chairlifts) and Bhurban. What a trip! We hired a sort of pickup – actually don’t know what it’s called, but a sort of van with two rows of seats facing each other. Our group of 7 was accompanied by a family of 5 from Karachi’s neighboring city of Hyderabad, and we merrily started our journey to what turned out to be a long, excruciating day.

Bhurban was nicish… but after seeing Nathiagali and Ayubia and all those long long car rids, Bhurban was just a repetition with not much to do. It’s main attraction, the PC Bhurban hotel, was charging a ridiculous amount to just enter it’s premises, so instead of unnecessary doling out of cash, we prayed our dhuhr salaah, played with some goats and went further to Patriata.

All the towns are sadly becoming commercialized, so each place becomes a repition of the same shops, cafes and so on. Patriata however had been taken up by some tea company whose logo color was a vibrant red, so the entire area was splashed with crimson and it was quite festive. Since it was the weekend, Patriata was thronged with people. I bought some seashell keychains with names carved on them for people, petted tall white Punjabi thoroughbred horsies, and tried to take my companion – 13 year old neighbours – mind off the horrible journey we had had to endure.

Because oh! The family who travlled with us in that Toyota was apparently new to driving up and down rocky mountain roads, because they were – lets say unfortunately – extremely susceptible to bouts of throwing up, one after the other, bag after bag…

Afiya (kid neighbour) *covering hand with mouth*: “I’m going to throw up!”
Me: Afiya! So… of all the places you went to, which did you like best?
Afiya: Hmmm.. That would be Naran.. you know what we did? There was this glacier on which they had carved a slide and we took turns tubing down and…

*glances to right* The teenage boy’s head is still bent low

Afiya: ‘uh’
Me: Have you seen Shrek 2?

All through the journey. We seriously contemplated leaving them behind.
7:59 PM

Murree The neighbours we smack banged into in Nathiagali persuaded us to come along with them to Murree. We weren't too willing because Murree is famed for being too commercial and for its unsafe crowd - unlike in the peaceful and touristy ambience of Nathiagali, Murree cannot be strolled down at 10 pm. We joined them anyway and had a fun drive going in and out of those wondrous roads up and down mountains and in between trees, and we waved at monkeys on the way and ate chulli - (bhutta, roasted corn) and I told the kids (aged 14, 10 and 5, and complete brats) about cloud formation and the different types of trees and Allah's infinite grace and beauty.

Murree, known in the past as "Malka Kohsaar", or the Queen of Mountains, is a city just beyond Islamabad and usually the first station you stop in on a trip to Northern Pakistan (or "Up north", as locals refer to it as) The 'Queen of Mountains' is now famed, sadly, for its one long, wide avenue, or "Mall Road" (Maaaaaal, desi style). Mall Road stretches for a mile (trying to do a Champs Elysees, hmmph!) with shops on either side... a shopping paradise, if you love clothes and little knick knacks. It's crammed with restaurants, kids play areas, icecream stalls and picnic corners. If that sounds good, put in rows and rows (and rows) of cheap desi guys sitting on either sides, cigarettes in hand, orange shirts and slicked back with oil that could run my car for a week and checking out the girls, one by one, eyes roving up and down, hands clicking on their snazzy cell phone sets. Sadly, it's not just the "Hero boys" as I call them, that make you sick. Its the heroine girls too. Pshaw. Despite Murree being shunned by the more tasteful tourisst, however, it was FULL... no walking space up and down Mall Road.

Murree isn't ALL bad, however, and after having 'anda paratha' and truly scrumptious chai which sustained us for the better part of the entire day, Mom and I hiked to Pindi Point, where the Chair lifts are located. Dozens of horses crowded the area and happy families were getting in and out of buses, hopping into chairlifts, and wheee... a plane ride in open air. The chairs - they really were merely chairs suspended in the air with only a bar in front to sustain you (and most people had opened their bars) made up one of the best times of our whole trip (after the horses, ofcourse) The view is exhiliarating... the wires are suspended through a beautiful foresty valley between towering mountains, and for miles below your dangling legs, you can see nothing but soulful (i dont care if soulful is inappropriate, it WAS soulful) greenery. I reached out in an attempt to catch a leaf and a pinecone came out onto my hand. Sometimes a branch would brush against our face, and at certain points the chairlift would come low and our feet brushed against the mud. We smiled and waved at kids coming back from the opposite direction, who pointed out that my boots were about to fall off.

7:23 PM

I peered down anxiously from my seat in the saddle, cautiously extending a tanned hand to stroke my horse’s silver-white mane. The horse owner turned around and smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, sister. He’s very tame”.
“Do you”, I asked haltingly, “ever read the travelers prayer before setting out on your horse?”
He smiled widely, hesitating for only a second. “Of course sister!”
“What is it?”
“Ummmmmmm”… he looked at his cousin, on whose horse my Mom was giddyaping.
“Allahuma Innaka…”
My mom laughed. “No! Subhanallazi…”
“I know! La ilaha illa…”
I know it wasn’t that funny, but at the moment it was sorta hilarious, and it relieved my tension. But before I continue, let me add a note about the “travelers prayer”, which is essential before ANY ride, be it plane, car, ship, or horse… “Glory be to Allah, who gave us the strength to control this ride, otherwise we would have had no control over it. And to Him is our final return”. Things we never otherwise think about, but it’s so true!

Back to horsy. I was tense for a reason. I guess I’m one of those, “What danger?” type of people who likes to plunge ahead and do it and think, “of course not!”, but when you’re up there, high up on a horse right beside a cliff which plunges down into nothingness, on a horse which skids over every few rocks and seems to have a mind of it’s own (“what language does this dude understand!” I exasperatedly asked its keeper. “English? Urdu? Pushto!?!?”), it’s different. And Mom and I had taken another risk. We had hiked to Green Spot, a scenic picnic park about 20 mins walk from our hotel and spent the morning there. On our return however, we came across two disarmingly charming horse walas (just kidding!)… but they were very persuasive… who persuaaaded us to grab this “life time opportunity” (zindagi ka yaadgar safar, hee hee) and instead of walking down the road, go horseback down the deep jungle in the mountains back. It was an hours ride, very scenic, very beautiful, lifetime opportunity… but we were ALONE! Two women, alone in a deserted empty jungle, with two strangers… Nuh huh… not good, B-ness… not good.

20 minutes later, after repeated assurances of safety, checking their govt licences (expiry, 2000 lol!), we got up on “Rani” and “Jimmy” (“my horse is prettier than yours”, I said snottily to my Mom) and, forcing our hearts back down our throats, we began the long ride.

For anyone visiting the area, I would ABSOLUTELY recommend the horse ride. It was amazing, exhiliarating, thrilling. Danger of steep inclines and veering off the horse aside, the view was fantastic subhanallah, something to take in and absorb along each step, to sigh, to sing, to say SUBHAN’ALLAH! My horse was gorgeous, and after getting used to my firm hand, started to actually listen to me and RACED when I wanted it to stop and went painstakingly slow when I wanted to race. The two horse walas were friendly souls and kept us a long banter, which relieved my anxiety a bit. It was awesome. The funny bit was, every time I clutched my horse’s reins when he went too close to the edge, the horsey guy would go like *sniff* “Baji, the horse cares for his own life too!” *Smirk*

Geez… sorry!

Towards the end of the winding jungle path, Rani and I raced out into the clearing. It was a wide expanse of road then, and I gently hit Rani’s side to get him running. He (or she?) galloped down the road, and we laughed together as the wind blew against our faces. “B!” my mom shouted from behind. “Come back!”
“Come on, Rani!”, I pulled up the reins. “Stop”
Rani didn’t stop.
“Ruku!” I yelled. He trotted ahead.
“Bussssssssssssssssssssssssss!” I grabbed the reins and Rani tossed up her head and walked purposefully towards the bazaar.

“Aaaaaaaaaa eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”…

7:20 PM

The next day, we drove up to Nathiagali.

The B-ness loved Nathiagali. This small tourist resort, for mostly more upper middle class visitors (expensive hotels! whoosh!) has a very nice atmosphere, very touristy, around it. Situated at an altitude of 8200 feet, the road to Nathiagali is a long, winding path up and down steep mountain slopes and hilly terrains. Looking down from a mountain takes guts, especially if you are the driver I imagine - steep drops to spread out towns below, acres and acresof land covered with just trees… tall, graceful trees, so many you can't even count, so green… it's sort of indescribable. Sometimes we looked down and in the valleys there would be dried river beds full of stones and gravel (and limestone and sandstone, says my geog. book). Children would be running around playing cricket, families had set up tents and were picnicking around.
We stopped periodically to buy fruits from little boys selling them along the road, and for cold water to cool down the car. There were springs gushing from the mountains and we cupped our hands beneath them and washed our faces, laughing joyously as the water drenched our clothes.

Nathiagali has a long main shopping bazaar, mostly stacked with clothes and jewelry shops, and some Chinese stores with the usual odds and ends. I bought some lovely garnet necklaces in different colours (turquoise, the B-ness's color), fat glass bangles which chinkle when you move your arms up and down, some Nepali silver decoration boxes with hanging beads (for my sister), and a Pathan topi for the brother in law. Tee hee! The shops, however, were… =/ Most of them were constructed by planks of wood nailed together messily into an open box shaped structure, and the whole box stood on two tree trunks drilled into the mountain slope. We were standing 10 feet up on a thin wood plank ON A MOUNTAIN SLOPE! Oh, the horror!

It was the 14th of Jamadiul Awwal, and Mom and I strolled around to see the full moon. SubhanAllah! It was so beautiful, and so near! Like you could reach out and enclose it in the palm of your hand. The street was swarming with tourists, mostly city girls in short shirts and jeans and boys in BMWs with decks on high blast and cigarettes. Families were strolling around, licking icecream, chattering excitedly, testing out toys, and one small boy at the coffee shop was singing, "Coffee to hai tayyar, lekin peenay walay kahan hai yaar!"

As Mom entered a shop, selecting some cloth, I heard someone shouting "B apa!"
"B Apa?" I was FOUND OUT??? Before I had time to think, the flaps of the tent shop opened and my neighbours down from Karachi rushed inside! It was joyous union of sorts as they were our best and closest friends from home. What a coincidence, Subhan Allah. Thing is, we had come to Nathiagli with our Mansehra hosts (Mr. F and his family, if you read [Travelogue 1, but we felt guilty because they had their own family to stay with back home and were stuck guiding us around. So Mom told them to drop us off in Nathiagali and we'd come back by ourselves. Which is a risky thing to do, being left alone in an unfamiliar place without any males.
Anyway, our neighbours were delighted to see us. We went to have dinner together, but before we reached the Chinese restaurant of their choice, Mom spotted Chappli Kabab- a Peshawar specialty. I'm not explaining what is it, but it was DELICIOUS. Mouth smacking delicious, with piping hot tandoori and yummy raita.

"Bhai", said Mom while eating. "Are you sure this hasn't gotten too much fat?"
"No, baji, what are you talking about! It is the finest meat!" cute little guy answered (What? he WAS cute!)
"And it's halal?"
"Of course!"
When there were about two bites left, Mom puckered her eyebrows. "By the way", she asked poor cook. "What meat is this?"
"Bhains" (buffalo)
Moms jaws almost dropped. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-! I bit my lip to kep from laughing. "You know", I observed. "If Khala even HEARS the word bhains, her cholesterol level will go up just like that!"

Cute thing was, the cook-jee didn't even take the money we paid him for the delicious meal. "you are my guests", he said. My Mom protested. "Everyone is your guest then!"
"aap kay akhlaq achay hain", (your manners are nice) he said shyly. Awwww!

So on that cute note we ended day 2.

Coming up next: horsies in Green Spot, Nathiagali!

4:50 PM

It’s always the same feeling no matter how often you fly, feeling the plane in take off is always the first time! Nevertheless, Aero Asia flight RSA 103 Karachi – Islamabad was a boring, uncomfortable flight; I didn’t get my window seat, the lady next to me was sleeping on my shoulder, and the chai was cold. Nevermind.

As soon as the plane touched down in the oppressive heat of Isloo, I dialed Owly - “number not in use” – aargh! (They don’t even know their own number… or was this a conspiracy to make sure I didn’t get that leg of lamb?? sigh) I dialed her all though customs, baggage control, ladies room to no avail, before stepping out and beginning the long drive to Mansehra.

This trip was actually an invitation by family friends – a couple my mother knew who were natives of the place had repeatedly invited us to come, and this summer my mom and I flew up to stay with them. The father – a wonderfully nice, hilariously funny and very sweet old guy came to the airport to pick us up.

Rawalpindi – where the airport is actually located (Islamabad and Pindi are called the ‘twin cities’) is like Karachi, only more congested and stuffy, but with older and quainter reddish buildings, which gives it a nicer look than Karachi’s pseudo-modern billboard-splattered avenues. We drove through the main roads and highways from Pindi, to Taxila, through Hasan Abdal (home of the great Sikh shrines), entering the province NWFP, through Hazara, and finally Abbotabad, a lovely city, and stopping in Mansehra.
The 3 hour plus drive was incredible. It seemed like one long wide road, miles and miles of road canopied by tall, graceful trees, bending and whispering in the wind together as we drove underneath. On both sides lay wide, stretching fields, knee high corn stalks, gracefully swaying and rustling. Fields of sunny yellow daffodils smiled at us as we drove by. In the backdrop, mountains so steep stretched unimaginably high, making you feel queasy just looking at them! The air blew strongly, yet gently against our faces, and I laughed with sheer delight, the sounds being drowned in the wind. We navigated through winding paths, steep hills climbing up and down, up and down, stopping only for drinks and chocolate bars for me.

All the while, our host, Mr. F I’ll call him, pointed out places and plants oof interest. Turns out they- my host family – practically own half of abbotabad and Mansehra – the lands, buildings, schools, hotels, markets, etc. He promised to take us to their fields to pick mangoes and lychees and eat them fresh!
“B-ness”, he smiled mischievously, “see that mountain?” I nodded as he pointed to something whose top I couldn’t even see. “We’ll hike up there until you cry out with fatigue, then we’ll cross that bridge across the river – be careful you don’t fall! – and I’ll make you…” Eek! He showed me this scary looking bridge WAY up high and waged a bet with me I wouldn’t be able to cross it. (His wife told me later he deliberately jumped up and down and shook the bridge to scare everyone off it!)

We were regaled with stories of adventures, or misadventures, and briefed on local customs and cultures. Ayub Khan – a former President of Pakistan, was from this area and his houses and his family lands and buildings were spread everywhere. In Pakistan, A means only two things: either Ayub, or the Army. Every nice building you see or impressive construction you point out has the Army stamp on it. Heck, 40% of our entire budget goes to them. But more on that later. Back to the cities.

I loved Abbottabad. Like many Pakistani cities, towns or roads, it's named after a British General "Abbott" back from Colonial days. Abbottabad (pron., desi style, Aibt-abad) is a large, proper city with schools universities, hospitals, and best of all, awesome scenery. It's nestled cosily between towering mountains and vast fields and forests; look ahead! theres a montain. On our right; rocky, hilly terrain from which sprout countless bushes and shrubs. Left - shops and houses. It's beautiful.
Mansehra, the district, is of a different landscape. Vast fields as far as the eye can see; waist high tobacco plants, swaying ears of corn, watery rice fields, peach and apple orchards… the main city however, is a rather small, crampy bazaar and stuff, mostly male dominated, so being the lone female may put on off a bit. Both cities were teeming with tourists at this time of year upto the point of suffocation – June- August are the main visitor months.

After depositing our bags and washing up in our temporary house – cousin of Mr. F’s, my Mom and I, along with the two ladies of the house who were two of the coolest aunties I’ve met, (less than my mom of course), walked to Circuit House – a residential hotel for tourists, which was located on a hill surrounded by countless pine trees. After driving around Aibt-abad for a while, we trekked up high on a mountaintop. From our vantage point (of a helipad), we could see the entire city sparkling brightly in the dark night sky beneath us. It was pitch dark on those roads, but the entire city below was illuminated with lights and activity.

We stopped at Ilyas Mosque – where the great Mughal Emperor Shah Jehan (who had the Taj Mahal built) had once stopped to pray – and after delving into those world famous Ilyasi pakoras - a must have!, we picked some apples from trees and drove home.

From my swing on the patio, I can see the acres of land in front of me on which are grown lemon trees (oh, the smell of those leaves!), apricots, um-log, mangoes, grapefruit, fig (the fruit of heaven!), and flowers – oh those flowers! Bright Red little dots that look like earrings the bush joyously wore, white roses whose scent rubbed off onto my hand at the gentlest touch and Yellow flowers that bloomed only after sunset. Mom picked one and handed it to me; I breathed deeply in it and the petals rubbed off onto my nose. “Rudolph the yellow nosed reindeer!” we laughed, and headed inside for dinner to wrap up our eventful and busy day.

3:36 PM

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3:18 PM

Iran: Beauty, Charm and Splendor


There are places you visit, and all you write home about is the massive duty free at the airport. Then there are places you visit, and forget to write home about. On my recent trip to Tehran, capital city of bordering Iran, I didn’t know what to expect, tagging along on a business trip. A short fun spree visiting old sites of historical significance, an underdeveloped city with messy hotel rooms, a few walks through the bazaar and then head off to London and enjoy the winter and shopping season with friends.
I couldn’t have been wronger.

From my first expectant drive through the city, to my gloomy farewell from the place, I was enchanted. To call Tehran beautiful would be an understatement; it is beauty, charm, splendor, character, and everything rolled into one.

At Tehran’s modest Mehrabad Airport, we coincidentally ran into a Pakistani lady, who, delighted to meet us, insisted we accompany her to her house and stay as guests. The wife of an Iranian engineer who met her during a project in Karachi, she was determined to share with us her love of Tehran and it’s people. As we drove through the city we were regaled with stories about the community, the land and the life there.

Tehran is an extremely well developed city, with each area comprising its own park, sports complex and mall, and vast highways, bridges, underground stations and flyovers connecting the city. The more upscale areas have grandeur; modern high-rises, glass and chrome office and residential buildings with car parks, pools and other facilities, fancy malls and classy leisure outlets. But to place Tehran with the typical modern city would be an injustice; it is a perfect blend between archaic architecture and contemporary styles, and natural beauty. Hilly terrains dot the landscape, the long lanes weaving in and out of residential areas are lined with trees reminding you of a scenic Parisian avenue, and looking down from a slightly elevated road shows a charming land structure – the city seems to be built on “stories”. It was pure pleasure walking up and down the rise and fall of the roads, bordered by hills and gardens and rocky topography. A snowy mountainous backdrop to the city completes its allure. In addition, it is dotted with remnants of the old Tehran; huge palaces and ancient structures and Revolution memorials. Not too new to be characterless, not too old to be passed over.

We spent our three days in sightseeing, hobnobbing with the public in bazaars, doing all the regular touristy things; visiting the numerous elaborate palaces of the exiled Shah, viewing the magnificent crown jewels (the Tower of London gems seemed like pebbles in comparison), and of course shopping. Like most modern cities, Tehran has an underground subway, which makes commuting easy and cheap. The government has provided a multitude of facilities for the people among which are unemployment benefits (that include basic facilities for living at low rates), efficient transport services, etc. For a taxi, one has to simply dial the number of the local taxi station and one will appear at your doorstep almost immediately. Having obtained a friendly English-speaking driver for the day, we told him to take us wherever he thought feasible for first time visitors. We were driven to Sahebqaranian – one of the Shah’s many, many palaces, and among the most luxurious. It was overwhelmingly beautiful, with elaborately mirrored halls, lavish imported furniture, office rooms, luxury bed and bath areas, waiting rooms, bars, tearooms, day time sleeping rooms, ladies quarters and vast palace grounds. It started snowing that day – the streets were lined with snow and fallen leaves. Another palace we visited was Nehrawan, which was as opulent as the first.
The next day we went to the Central Bank (Bank Markazi Iran) where the Shah’s jewels are kept. The displays were as unimaginably dazzling as you only read in books; entire thrones carved in gold and set with shining rubies, emeralds, diamonds and other precious gemstones, jewelry of every possible sort ranging from tiara’s to bracelets, rings, turban pins, in glittering diamond (cut in 6 ways) and sapphires; velvet robes studded with opals and room decorations like a complete globe done in emerald for land and sapphire for sea. On enquiry whether the precious pieces were insured, the guide (somewhat offended) replied that they were much, much too precious to be even insured for any sum!

Looking at the towering mountains in the distance, I inquired whether there were any skiing or mountain climbing facilities. It turned out that Tehran has about nearly a dozen fully developed skiing resorts with ski lifts, instructors, beginners and advanced slopes and all the regular stuff. The next day was delightfully cold and snowy and we spent a lovely day high up in the mountains; tubing down the pristine white snow, balancing on skis and, throwing snowballs. In addition, there are parasailing facilities, mountain biking, horse riding and a host of other activities; as one girl told me there, “To really experience this city you need more than a month!”

Iranians are some of the most wonderful people I have ever come across; everyone from the bookseller (who refused to accept payment for my postcards) to my bus companion (who insisted on paying my subway ticket) and the museum guide who struggled to translate everything for us in English, were truly courteous and helpful and extremely welcoming. It was delightful walking through the crowded bazaars, and mixing with the people. Iranians seem to have a great regard for Pakistani’s too. One Iranian couple who translated the guide’s words for us from Persian took our names and addresses as he was keen to visit Pakistan one day. And a shop owner, on finding out we were Pakistani, pronounced, “Oh, we are fond of our neighbors!” and promptly handed us slabs of chocolate!
One of the best things is absolute safety- the highest form of crime in the city is “overcharging by a shop owner”. Indeed even for women it is one of the safest places to be; a young lady walking through a deserted Tehran street at 3 am has no fear of being molested. Walking back one night I managed to get lost, and it struck me while wandering through dark alleys at nearly midnight what my situation would have been had I been walking through a similar area in my city even at daytime! The peace and quiet and serenity was really unusual – but totally pleasant.
While driving down a highway during a snowfall, one on side we saw snowed in hills, cars and covered trees, from the other window all green grassy hills and lush gardens and trees. It was a complete postcard perfect setting!
Having read about the Iranian Revolution, I was curious to know about what the people’s feelings were towards it and towards the present government. Regulations seem to be more lax now; the dress impositions on both men and women, although still stringent, are openly disregarded and movements are more open and free. Private TV channels, aired from America, although still illegal, are being broadcast openly, and foreign media is sold under the counter. The government was powerless in controlling it. Behind the scenes a lot of illegal activity takes place; teenage culture thrives on rock and roll and drinks, prostitution is common and drugs are freely exchanged, even in schools.
As I was interested in Iranian culture and customs, my hostess took me to a friends’ wedding. I had heard the saying, “Persians are the French of the East” but until I witnessed two social events did I fully get the picture. While publicly mixed gatherings and western wear are banned, inside their homes people do as they please. The wedding I attended was thronged by couples in tuxedos and skimpy ball gowns, dancing while enjoying sips of champagne. At a friend’s house, the hosts casually poured wines for the guests while watching the latest Hollywood flick.
Curious as to why there was so much unrest, especially in Universities, I asked various people I met about the state of the economy and the cause of dissent. One lady explained to me that the main reason was that people desired more freedom. Freedom to chiefly have open balls, musical concerts, to dress as they pleased, to lessen media restrictions. “You see”, I was told, “No matter what changes you bring to their education, to their society, to their ideas, Iranians were, and always will be, European at heart”. Students of elitist schools I met openly denounced the revolutionary leaders; indeed when I took one name in a taxi I was told to keep my voice low as it could prove dangerous for us. The economic recession and high unemployment rates are forcing people to leave the country and the government is bitterly criticized.
However, on the other hand there was a great deal of contentment as well. “There are recessions all over the world”, argued one 19 year old girl, a student of Biology at Tehran University. “You can’t blame the people wanting to leave on the governments’ policies; but you also see how easy life is for us, how safe we are”. While many females view the compulsory wearing of the headscarf as restrictive and resent it highly, others look at it as a source of relief and security. One area in which the government is highly praised is the quality of education imparted in schools. Students are instructed in all fields from the usual standard subjects to technical and practical hands-on tasks. My Pakistani host was not even considering returning home; “If just for my children’s education”. There is complete equality of the sexes is all fields; every office, shop or institute I visited had as many men as women. A young journalist at the Nehrawan museum laughingly told me she wouldn’t leave for anything in the world; “I have a job, a government that cares for my needs, laws that protect me, what more can I get if I go to a foreign country?” One impressive thing in Iran was their total self-sufficiency; ritzy Irani cars, home industries producing everything they need, answers to foreign monopolies like Zam-Zam and “Parsi Cola”…
Yet on the roads young Irani men often accosted passersby to ask for dollars, and my University graduate- taxi driver was bitter at the unemployment problem. “The only people left here are those who couldn’t afford to go abroad”, he said.

The flight from Tehran was a definite disappointment, leaving with the feeling of having missed so much to see. It just goes to show how little you know about a place until you visit it; indeed next time it’s not going to be climbing up Paris’s Arch de Triomph or taking pictures in New York’s Fifth Avenue, it will be posing in Isfahan or Shiraz… or simply in the delightful corner kebab shop on a side street in Tehran where we sampled Irani specialty Sumaq – or dried pomegranate with Lamb kababs and roasted tomatoes – and got it on the house

3:18 PM

India, France and England: 2000

“Flight PK 721 is preparing for takeoff. Passengers are requested to fasten their seatbelts and stay in their seats until the signal is turned off“. The formal announcement blaring from the overhead speakers in the small Mumbai-bound PIA flight aroused me from my daydreams. As the full impact of the words began to sink in, I frantically turned towards the window to catch the last glimpses of my beloved city before landing in a new, unknown world which, at that moment, seemed miles, miles away.

Sinking into my seat, I mentally reviewed my trip itinerary. I was to fly to India to visit my relatives for a few days before proceeding to the famous hearts of Europe; Paris and London. Despite a few upsets while planning the vacation such as allocation of days to each place, my love for travel had not diminished any of the excitement of prospects of a whole month away from my beloved – yet dreary old city. It was time for some change in routine, I now thought happily, cushioned comfortably in my seat. Travelling is so much fun! Just feeling the roar of the wind as the plane taxied the runway and the feeling of exhilaration as the heavy body heaved itself into the air was thrilling.

The flight was a routine one though, and I was glad when we approached land. However, I was not prepared for the shock I was about to receive. As we neared the hilly plains of Bombay, it was as if I was looking at an open tin of sardines. This, was the ‘slum of Bombay’? The houses we flew by were appalling. Stacked together like matchboxes and about that size too, they were built of small pieces of wood and cloth. It was difficult to imagine people living there, but my doubts were done away with when I saw hordes of people moving in and out those shacks. The living conditions of those poor people were appalling, and I was glad when the aircraft came to a stop in a clean, open area very much like the one it had left. The airport formalities at Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, however, further multiplied my gloom when it took us nearly 2 hours to enter the city after hassling with officious custom officials.

Driving through Bombay, however, was not so bad. Bombay is a very green and hilly city surrounded by patches of water. The streets are narrow, much dirtier than what I was used to and the city is unbelievably overcrowded. It makes Karachi look like a deserted city in comparison! People and innumerable shacks crammed the sidewalks, I even saw people cooking on the pavements! However, as it goes, the shopping there is good. Huge malls and shopping centers dot the city and the markets sell countless goods of all types, much more than you would find in Karachi. Crawford Market is home to Bombay’s biggest markets and shopping centers. Crammed with stores like Roopam and Sheetal to hundreds of stalls under one roof, it is shoppers’ paradise.
A plus point of the commercial capital of India is its greenery. It does give an appealing look to the city, and the most famous road especially, Marine Drive, is a particularly pleasant drive. Passing by Flora Fountain and the famous “Gateway of India”, it ends at a beach similar to Clifton’s’. It is in this area that the modern, classy buildings are found and the overcrowding recedes a bit. Travelling in a train to one of the inner cities was also pretty comfortable and enjoyable. The trains were large and comfortable and the services offered were numerous.

However, my Bombay visit was not prolonged and we (i.e. my grandfather and I) after a brief stay in Surat, approx. 3 ½ hours away from Bombay, proceeded to Paris. Of all the airports I visited on my trip, Abu Dhabi Airport beats them all. It is a beautiful sprawling structure, with the transit lounge under a mighty dome decorated with blue, green and white mosaic. The duty-free shops are set in a ring beneath the transit section and one can either stroll through the grand shops luxuriously or view shoppers and strollers from above.

From there we boarded the flight to Paris, which took approximately six hours. We arrived in the city at about noon. Accompanying us through the airport formalities was a young Lahori lady, who had come here for the first time. It was nice to see another desi around in my first Europe trip! As it is, Paris has extremely few non-Europeans (apart from its Arab section) and one feels kind of ‘out’ in the surroundings. However, sightseeing in Paris is sheer fun. It is a beautiful city, full of grand old buildings and monuments of historical interest, like the Arch of Triumph, an immense, charming arc situated at the junction of about 6 avenues, which provide a beautiful view from the top. Moving around Paris is also a pleasure, as you can substitute the convenient, efficient subway trains for walking! Wealthy or down and out, the best way to see Paris is to walk. There is no other place where you will enjoy walking as much as in Paris. You set your own pace, stroll leisurely, stop to stare, wonder and ofcourse, take photos… And only when you are tired will you even think of taking the Metro, or Underground. Indeed, after walking approximately 9 miles in one day, I was not tired at all! The weather in mid-June was glorious, with fresh, cold air blowing around our faces and the leaves on the lush trees fluttering quietly as we walked leisurely along the roads. Paris makes you feel like a real tourist, and in no time at all I had done all the touristy things, rode up the Eiffel tower, browsed through the Louvre Museum, which guards the famous Mona Lisa, climbed up to the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre and sipped fresh orange juice sitting on a roadside bench., and toured Notre Dame where I half expected Quasimodo to suddenly emerge, ringing the bell! Notre-Dame - The gothic statuary and rose windows may be very familiar, but the proportions and play of light do not fail to impress! No pictures can compare to the actual Eiffel Tower. Its height, greatness and overall strength and beauty and complexity staggers you. It is set in the middle of a huge garden, and has two lifts running up and down daily to offer visitors a magnificent view to this historic city.
The Louvre Museum, too, which was once a palace for one of Frances famed monarchs, is home to thousands of masterpieces of the great artists and sculptors of the world. Here, I must admit, that some of the pieces of art are obscene and not really worth paying all that money to go see. Anyway, as expected, the room housing Mona Lisa was the most crowded, as the people looked rapturously at her smiling at them...
A neighboring sleepy little town of Paris had been demolished some time ago and an addition to the city developed in its place. This extension, La Defense, is a vast difference from the old, massive pieces of architecture in Paris. Filled with gardens, modern skyscrapers and shiny buildings, it is beautiful and a must-see, but overall a typical modern city and nothing compared to the grandeur of ancient Paris.
When I first saw the tall, spreading trees that lined the beautiful, sprawling Avenue de Champs Elysees (pronounced Chanz Aleezay) I instantly knew what made the most famous avenue in the world so famous. Champs Elysees is home to everything you can imagine, from open air cafes, movie houses, boutiques, offices, shopping centers, arcades, restaurants, old and young men, women and children of its own ages (and poodles of all breeds). Everything thrown together in one place. You stand breathless at the Arc de Triomphe and the length of the Champs Elysees stretches before you and before you finish strolling down this street, you’ll never want to leave. Or leave without indulging yourself in freshly brewed coffee in an open air café.
One of the greatest pleasures of Paris, is by far the breakfast! I remember when we were ordering breakfast, I was a bit apprehensive about the fact that my grandfather ordered just some coffee. Imagine my surprise when the waiter appeared with a huge basket of fresh, hot and aromatic French bread which simply melted in my mouth, scrumptious looking croissants and a plate full of little jam and marmalade packets! I must admit that was the best breakfast I have ever had and I would have gladly stayed on in Paris just to have a few more breakfasts!
However, for the shopping enthusiasts, unless you have a filled pocket with money to throw around, don’t even remotely imagine shopping in Paris. A single item is ridiculously expensive, and you would gladly avoid eating to save money! A story I love telling my friends, is that, on entering a small shop selling a variety of books, decoration pieces and various bric a brac, I spotted a gorgeous reel of silver chain, with tiny little stars or similar ornaments dangling from it, which could be cut to fit your wrist for a bracelet. Squinting to read the price, I was enormously happy to discover that it cost only 4 Fr, about 30 rupees. However, just before cutting the metal, and I am extremely glad for doing so, I realized that this price was not possible, and rechecked it. Imagine my surprise, and dismay, when I read it to be 4 Fr per centimeter! That should give you a good idea about bringing even little souvenirs of Paris, Eiffel tower key chains, ‘J’Etaime Paris’ (I love Paris) badges, and the sort!
Paris is split into two halves by the Seine. On the north of the river, the Right Bank (rive droite) is home to the grand boulevards and most monumental buildings. The top museums are here - the Louvre and Beaubourg, as well as the city's widest range of shops. The left bank has a noticeably different taste, and filled with bars and restaurants.
Montmartre, rising up to the north of the centre, is an enchanting place with a village-like, almost rural atmosphere with its colourful mixture of locals and artists.
Paris also has a little Arab section of its own, and this is also a truly enjoyable place. Browsing through Arab restaurants, modeling in Parisian-cum-Islamic attire and trying different delectable Arab delicacies, the most popular of them being ‘Cous Cous’, is sheer fun (and delicious)! It’s like being in a separate city altogether, and you feel immensely happy when someone recognizes you as a Muslim and comes forward, saying effusively, “Salaam alaykum!”

But, sadly speaking, I soon had to leave for London. Since our flight was cancelled, we travelled through EuroStar, a train travelling from Paris to London via the Channel Tunnel, which was perhaps the most fun travelling experience on the whole trip. We drove through practically half of France’s lush green farms and hills in that amazingly fast train, which crossed the entire tunnel in 20 minutes (a four-hour trip by ferry)! And arrived in England approximately after a 3½-hour ride, which was worth every minute of it. The scenery was pure delight to the eyes… and a description of those fields and farms and serenely grazing livestock, lush green grassy hills, and clear blue skies is unfortunately beyond the scope of my rather limited writing power.

London was cold, and fortunately, not too wet. I spent much of my time visiting the much-visited world famous museums and tourist attractions, the names of which are familiar to all. London should be better than it is, but it is still a thrilling place. Its museums and galleries are among the finest in the world, while monuments from the capital's more glorious past are to be seen everywhere, from Roman ruins through great Baroque churches to the architecture of the triumphalist British Empire. The major sights – from Big Ben to the Tower of London – draw in millions of tourists, but there is enjoyment to be had from the quiet squares, narrow alleyways and surprisingly large expanses of greenery – Hyde Park, Green Park and St James's Park are all within a few minutes' walk of the West End shops. You can also spend days just shopping in London, hobnobbing with the ruling classes in Harrods, or sampling the offbeat weekend markets and getting little items to take back home at astonishing low prices. From 10 Downing Street you can walk to Buckingham Palace, recently opened to the public and take the efficient underground to North and west of Trafalgar Square, where lies the consumerist ore of the West End, a lively zone of restaurants, shops, theatres and cinemas concentrated between Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square and Oxford Street. In the area popularly known as “City of London”, modern office buildings dominate the landscape, but the City has two of London's prime tourist sights, in the shape of St Paul's Cathedral and the Tower of London.
London is a great place in which to eat. You can sample more or less any kind of cuisine here, and - wherever you come from – you should find something new and possibly unique. London is home to some of the best Cantonese restaurants in the whole of Europe, is a noted centre for Indian and Bangladeshi food, and has numerous French, Greek, Italian, Japanese, Spanish and Thai restaurants.
I spent much of my time simply walking around, taking in the view, and the general activity of the city which is home to many different communities. London, however, was kind of disappointing after the glory and beauty of Paris, but the life there is full and exciting and every corner brings a surprise and some visitors’ attraction or the other. Quaint little eateries dot the narrow alleyways and specialized markets, such as Portobello where one can find any type of antique, are a pleasure to browse through. And although the boring familiar places like Trafalgar square brought nothing new, it is was exciting just to ‘be there’, feeding the pigeons… and of course the people meeting THE people in Madame Tassaud’s was still quite fun despite having seen countless photos from various acquaintances posing beside the people who ruled the world in different stages.

After spending a few days in London, and a few in Bradford, a sleepy, and admittedly dull little town Northwest of London which is popularly known as “Little Pakistan” owing to the overwhelming majority of Pakistani’s there (and it was hilarious listening to thoroughly desi looking people speaking in complete British accents!), I returned to Karachi, at just about the same time I began to get homesick. My trip over, I prepared myself for the boringly familiar everyday life of my city - where, despite the glamour of Europe, my heart really belonged!


3:11 PM

Tehran, Here I come!

Oh God no... I really have written it, and while I waited for this page to load I was searching for my file where i carefully typed it out... and my Search is showing no results.. *bawl*... maybe it got blown up when my computer was in the shop for a week?
Let the search continue.. in the meantime, have some mango pie..
1:50 PM

Aaand... finally! After Baji's repeated insistence for me to blog about my travels, much less than her 28 countries ofcourse, this blog has finally come up. Now, to start posting! Hehe.. THAt will take time.
What countries must I cover?

Saudi Arabia Raised here... but I revisited last year; Oct 2003; so those wodnerful 2 weeks will definitely be blogged...

Mauritius: That was ages ago... 1994 if I recall correctly. Might take time to write about, but I'll give it a passing reference. Shall I give details of the snake-chops cuisine? Or leave it at Ile-aux-Ceif (however you spell it) which was pure heaven... haha

India: Hmmm... *holds nose*. Bombay was......... well. The sixteenth century mosques in Surat were something to write about, perhaps even post images of! Look out!

London: How cliched. Madame Tassauds. Buckingham Palace. Kensington Gardens. Sleepover with Raeesa, Honeyness and Sweetz! And the 4 am Maltesers and celebration chocs, and the refreshing of our SV page 3 times a minute! Ha ha!

Paris: Beauty, charm and the Notre Dame. Oh Yes. And sights you would rather not see!

Iran: Now that is a country worth writing about. Baji, here I come!

Where else? There was USA, but who wants to read about that? Turkey, coming up next month, Insha'Allah! Egypt - want to visit someday to sit by the Nile.

Hope to get posting soon!
2:00 PM