From Quetta to Lahore

Woke up kinda late next morning, we felt rested so decided to check what we could see in Quetta. Asked at the reception desk but seems that the only two things they understood were we were checking out and that we need a car to see the city and the surroundings. Oh well! After paying a 5 star hotel a bit more of money waste would not be a sacrilege. We were going to make the tour with a driver and a translator, although we had specified we wanted an English speaking driver. First stop was at the bank to get some cash. Then we went to see the bazaar, although the name of market streets suited better. The city core was full of shops of different kinds of goodies. From electronics to dry fruits stands. But, truth to be told, couldn’t compare to Istanbul Great Bazaar or Isfahan one. After that we moved to the protestant and cantt area. There we saw a hospital and then moved to the protestant school of St. Mary.

One thing we can point about the religion status of the city is that seems the non fanatic members of the different religions coexist in very good terms, catholic, muslims, protestants. I also have to say that I enjoyed very much our visit to St. Mary. Being presented as a future teacher the principle allowed me to visit some classrooms and even participate in 9th degree Social’s one. At the beginning I didn’t feel very comfortable, being an outsider and feeling like a disturbance, but in few minutes got into the class and, sadly, got to say farewell to the Pakistani students, who were full of curiosity and questions about Spanish socials. We’ve been told by the present principle that the previous one had been teacher to governors and major politicians. We also were informed about more disturbing things which I prefer to relate on person, but my impression about that school was that is a wonderful place.

After that we visited a catholic school and church and then crossed the cantt area. This area is where soldiers rest and got educated. It’s separated from the citizens area by some barricades and such. Looks like the situation in Quetta, military talking, is a bit tense, we even saw a fighter flying over our heads while we were at St. Mary’s.

By the time we left the city for going check the surroundings we already knew the smart guy was the driver, not the translator. Knowing this, though, didn’t play at our advantage at the end, but you’ll see what I mean later. We visited some natural spring, where the government had a trout repopulation program going on, were offered rest for one night by a couple of muslims who wanted to show us their hospitality, and the Hanna lake. The awesome, outstanding, perilous Hanna lake. If we had to believe our translator, many persons have died at that lake swallowed due the plant under the water’s surface. Ferri and myself couldn’t completely hide a face of disbelieve, since it seemed that one can walk and keep his head out of the water on that half dry lake. The thing that I liked much of our visit there was the pass between the mountains that you can find behind the dump. I also have to tell that most of the perdurable constructions here in Pakistan seem to date out of when English were around. At least, when the translator was pointing to some wall or building not partially erased by time, he used to say “made by the English”.

After our tour, and near 5 p.m. we went lunch something and then back to the hotel for paying the car rental. There we found our beloved friend whom we gave 10dollars the day we arrived, who told us two or three times that we should have told him we were leaving so he could arrange for us a train ticket to Lahore, that bus was a hell and train was so much better in comparison…one advice, never turn your back on advices given by someone who likes you or your money. We were going to take a bus, and as you might see, it proved our beloved friend probably had reason and wanted us well. Anyway, we were leaving Quetta that same evening so we hurried to check train ticket status (they only leave to Lahore in the morning, by daylight, to prevent the trains being attacked crossing the mountain surrounding the city), and then went ahead to the bus station…Damn it! One bus left to a city between Quetta and Lahore 15 minutes ago…ok…climb to the taxi again. Try to catch the bus. Evade some collisions with vehicles bigger than yours. Histerically laugh at a truck flashing you lights and warning you that it will not stop. Use the car horn to scare away the bicycles, the rickshaws, and some other smaller vehicles. Desperately horn when a bus is pressing while you are overtaking it and something big is coming forward.

At the end we caught the bus. We paid some extra to Mr. Gollum (was named Golam or something like that, but after he ripped us off, I do not feel bad by calling him that) and some more to the translator. At the end, they outsmarted us, but as I begin to realize, that’s not a difficult task. By that time, as the Clint Eastwood movie name, we could have said who were the good, the bad and the ugly of the car, or what it come to be the same, the smart (translator), the smarter (the driver), the dumb (any of us could have fit).

The night ride on the bus was not so bad, if we obvious the sharp black fearsome deeps beside the tiny and narrow road crossing the mountains that surrounds Quetta. The road, or so named, most of the time, is a stone growing dusty trail way. We wondered how many buses lie on the depths below us. Of course, as Ferran says, our vehicle in use is the one which overtakes most in the whole road, and safety rules are for being ignored completely, the narrowest of the bridges is the perfect place to rush over a huge truck while a bus comes the opposite direction blowing its horn and flashing lights like the devil himself driving it.

We made a stop to get some forces, rest the legs, eat dinner whoever wanted to do so, replace a wrong wheel, hmmm did I say replace a wrong wheel? Yea, think so. Pray some prayers for not losing the wheel on a bad curve. On the good side, one of the barmen at the cantina we stop offered me tea, coffee, and brought a nice coffee cup after I declined all. Had some nice chat with them, but short, as we got to move on into the night.

At this point I have to say we were nearly out of cash after paying the smart and the smarter guys. We had to change buses at the middle of our way to Lahore and finish our trip on a second bus. Also I would like to add that a twelve hour maniac suicidal night trip let your nerves a bit tense. But we didn’t imagine what was still to come upon us. A nice guy from our first bus leaded us to another small one. The driver asked six hundred and some rupies for the trip to Lahore, more than we had, at the end the nice guy took our money, placed on driver’s hand and pushed us into the bus.

The bus was tiny, old and dirty, and I mean Dirty, not dirty. It was clear from the beginning that the floor was being used to throw all the garbage in it, from human fluids to banana “skins”. But we did not yet know what was going to befall to us, because we were few persons on it, as I said, yet. By the noon the bus was full, and we had to fight with the locals for some space. Our knees were badly sore because the space between chair rows was minuscule. And worst thing of all. It was not an express car. We probably stop more than thirty times in our way to Lahore. Most of them to allow some fruit sellers, drink sellers, book sellers (yea, I just said book sellers) in it. The whole trip was supposed to last six hours top, they were thirteen hellish hours at the end. Arrived Lahore late at night, found a bank withdrawal machine, ate some dinner and looked for a dirty hotel that suit with the bus-day. Not bad. A bit tiresome, but not bad.

Best wishes, including us.