From the US to Pakistan, Islamabad to the mountains

I think I am becoming a seasoned international traveler, now, friends.  British Airways offers decent service between DC (Dulles) and Islamabad, with a stop in London, and I've got the routine down - settle onto the plane, have a drink, eat the food, watch a movie or two, sleep a little, and before you know it the seven hour flight is over.  Nap a bit then in the 'quiet room' at Heathrow's Terminal Four - the seven hour layover there sounds horrific but is actually the saving grace, that quiet room having soft chairs that allow you to stretch out and actually sleep for a few hours - and more drinking, eating, movie watching, and sleeping on the seven hour flight to Islamabad.

A mundane way to begin an update from such a scintillating and haywire place as Pakistan, perhaps, but the point being that I took the flight without a hitch.  I'll be one of those world-trotting expat travelers before ya know it.

THE U.S. AND BACK

Jules and I flew into the US the first full weekend of April, spending the next three weeks in California.  Jules has loads of family and friends in the larger San Francisco bay area so we were able to see lots of folks and take some time to ourselves too in San Francisco and at Lake Tahoe.  Our Tahoe visit was a highlight: we were all ready for hiking but it snowed instead, so we went sledding, skiing, and spent hours in our chalet's great room reading by the fire.

Flying east in early May, we spent time in Pennsylvania with my family, went to a wedding Jules was in in Cleveland, then spent a few days in DC before Jules flew out May 11.  I spent the next month in DC doing a little bit of this and little bit of that: hanging out with friends, catering, catching up with my neighborhood.  Eight hundred odd of my Kenilworth history booklets - from a second printing I got a grant for last fall - were waiting for me, so I distributed some of those around the city but, most significantly, went door to door in Kenilworth handing them to folks on their porch and slipping them into mail slots.

After a few days of furious activity (why does the human condition mandate leaving too many things till the last minute?), I flew out from the US and arrived in Islamabad June 13.  I didn't record too many of my thoughts upon reentering Pakistan - it seemed almost normal, even though I felt like, at the end of my US stay, that I had mostly forgotten what Pakistan is like.  I did record some of my thoughts reentering the US, though, back in early April, so I thought I'd share some of those:

"Ah, back to the land of water fountains and standard electrical plugs, of working metal detectors at airports and people queueing up for their morning coffee and muffin.  Back to the land of gameboys and idle chatter, of flirtatious conversation around the water cooler, of males and females talking, even holding hands and kissing, in public.  Back to the land of shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts, see-through blouses over purple bras, flesh accentuated at necklines and showing between shirt hems and pant waists, shirts-off basketball in the public park.  Back to where I understand everyone's language even if their faces and motivations have become foreign.  Back to where women are not confined to the private sphere and I can look them in the eye when I am walking down the street, back to people expressing emotion in public as they laugh and talk almost at the top of their lungs.  Back to clean Metro cars and buses, back to baggage-left-behind warnings and color coded national security alerts, back to fast food and energy dependence and enough SUV's to launch an overland assault on Poland.  Back to booze in bars and hot dog stands on the streets, back to Hollywood movies in theaters and real DVD's in rental stores, back to enormous stores overloaded with groceries and clothing and electronics.

Forget about the shalwar kameez and the tuk-tuk, forget about the men running their hands up your crotch at the security line in the airport because the metal detectors don't really work, forget about cricket and masala and chicken tikka.  Forget about alcohol-less 'mocktails' mixed at the 'bar' and forget about the small congregations of men sitting on the raised grass median between busy lanes of traffic.  Forget about Security Fridays that keep you locked in your house in fear of afternoon demonstrations, forget about the possibility of a suicide bomber holed up in your front lawn, forget about seminary students armed with bamboo batons patrolling the streets.  Remember the decorated trucks but forget about the crazy-driving minibuses, remember the desert-tent elegance of Shah Faisal Mosque below the Margalla Hills.  Forget about the gulab jamun and the rosewater desserts but don't forget the taste of hand-cut french fries at Jinnah Market.  Think now and again about the fresh fruit juices and the hot curry dishes, the naan and roti slapped on the side of an underground oven to bake."


MANSEHRA

After a few days in Islamabad I traveled north with Jules to the mountain town of Mansehra, where she is assigned for the next few months.  It's not far enough north to be the out-of-your-mind Himalayas, but the Siran River valley is still a beautiful place, the town of Mansehra itself on a hill ringed by other upthrust hills that grow slowly into mountains, with a few tall peaks brooding in the distant haze.

The town of Mansehra seems typical for a Pakistani mountain city, "lively and full of enticing nooks to explore" if you're in a positive mood, "dirty and provincial" if you're not.  Jules and I wandered into the center city this past weekend to have a look-see and to find some necessaries for the guest house here.  The downtown has a windy main road or two, with many offshoot passageways going up and down hill, and all lined with shops: electronic shops, appliance shops, fabric shops, hardware stores, wedding and party supply shops, spice shops, stores that sell sheets of metal for your building and sheets of foam for your bed and carpets for your floors.  We walked for awhile, stopping at household goods shops for a spatula (see the blurb about spatula below), cheese grater, mixing bowl.

We stopped at a spice shop and got small-small portions of different spices: cumin, turmeric, fennel, plus some gumdrops and raisins.  We sat on a little bench in the young man's shop while he scooped spices out of bags on the floor in front of him and weighed them on a balance scales.  He would not take any payment, then, a gift to his guest, but I insisted and he finally took fifty rupees, probably much less than what our small bag of goods was worth.

Later we bought four gray plastic chairs to sit outside on, two for the guest house roof and two for the back porch.  Jules almost fell down a sewer in front of the chair store, but I caught her.  Just before we bought the chairs we stopped and got ice cream from a 'sidewalk' vendor - three flavors: coconut, pistachio, and cherry.  The cherry had raisins in it; it was probably the best of the three.  We stood by the side of the road then, men staring at both of us, eating our three flavors, ten rupees each, out of three little cups, raising the fast-melting globs of cool goodness to our mouths with little wooden paddles.  "This is probably scandalous, but I don't care," Jules said, referring to our, a man and woman, stopping by the side of the road to stand quite near each other and share ice cream out of the same dishes.  (Later we referred to a danger of a different sort, congratulating ourselves for facing 'mortal peril' - well, the threat of the runs at least - for eating ice cream from a sidewalk vendor dipped out with a scoop kept in a tub of nameless water...)

Mansehra is a pretty conservative town, and Jules was the only woman I saw all day without her hair covered; most had even their faces wrapped over to some extent (re. the photo - girl-children don't experience the full conservatism till later).  Jules wears kameezes (long-sleeved shirts with shirttails long enough to cover the butt) with extra-long tails here, and wraps a dupatta (really big scarf) around her upper body too, whenever she goes out.  We were oddities in the bazaar just by the fact of being white, plus I wore a short sleeved shirt and she had uncovered hair: even a woman or two whipped their head around to get a better look at us, a funny change from the usual man-staring.

When we got back to our car we found a small gathering of shopkeepers wanting to talk to us.  Apparently we parked in a No Parking zone, and the keeper of the shop in front of which we had parked wanted to explain that we had done a bad thing, blocking his shop, causing traffic jams, parking illegally.  He even waved a policeman over, who happened to be nearby.  I apologized and said we were leaving and we got out of there as quickly as we could.  They wanted money, but we would not give.  This seems the way to deal with such problems in Pakistan: be as respectful as possible but play as dumb as you can, don't go anywhere with anybody and leave the situation as soon as you can squirm or bluster your way out.

(And here's the note about spatula, lifted from my journal: "No one seems to understand what a spatula is.  The first attempt at bringing spatula to us by the men buying goods for the guest house kitchen yielded a thick wooden spoon and two long metal ladles such as might stir a large pot of curry or lift samosas from a vat of oil.  The second attempt brought a pair of metal tongs.  I may just have to find out where the household goods stores are then go out and find spatula myself.")

The guest house here is comfortable, with wireless internet, so it's overall a good existence, like a mountain retreat for me almost.  The guest house comes with a cleaning lady, a Pakistani woman who speaks no English and likes to greet women visitors to the house - whether she's seen them before or not - with a hug (understand that the hugging can be a bit of a surprise in this culture not always much given to external displays of affection).  It's nice not to have to wash one's own dishes or clothes, though there are inconveniences associated with having a cleaning-person.  This particular woman has a habit of rearranging things into random places, for instance, so you're constantly looking for your shoes - which might be in a box one day or under the dresser the next - or for those soup bowls - which alternate between the cup cabinet and the pans cabinet.

And sometimes it can be a little embarrassing to be served.  The other day, while both Jules and I sat at the typically Pakistani dining room table - a glass top with ornately carved wooden legs supporting it - working on our computers, the cleaning lady came in and proceeded to 'sweep' the floor around us by getting down on her hands and knees and using a rag as her 'broom,' still managing to keep her dupatta up over her head since there was a man in the room.  It made both Jules and I a bit uncomfortable, that here is this woman old enough to be our mothers, perhaps our grandmother, on her hands and knees sweeping the floor for us, and probably not making much money doing it.  We could only sit there and type, though, for even if we could communicate - the lady doesn't even know Urdu, which Jules know a little of - how would you put into words to a Pakistani such a thing as white-privilege guilt?

All in all however, things are quite nice in Mansehra, and it's great to be away from the heat and elite-ness of Islamabad to spend some time in a more 'authentic' Pakistani town.

The best feature of Mansehra life, for me, is that I was able to bring my Trek mountain bike from the States all the way here.  The British Air people were quite nice about it, shipping it in it's well-packed box with no charge even though it was my third piece of checked luggage.  It arrived in fine shape, though a day late, and it has been - after Jules, of course - the chief joy of my sojourn here.  Mansehra is valleys and jutting hills as far as the eye can see, all crisscrossed by dirt car-tracks and narrow footpaths, many of them accessible to a good mountain bike ridden well (though I don't always ride so well, I must confess).  I think one could be here a year and not go out on the same ride twice, there are almost unlimited areas to explore.  But I think I'll report more on my bike adventures in future updates.

THE NEWS - WHAT'S A CJ? and RUSHDIE VS. OSAMA

For now I'll close with an occasional section of news items from Pakistan.

The sudden suspension of Pakistan's Chief Justice by President Musharraf back in, I think it was March, continues to prompt nationwide protests and reactions.  The public outcry at this move, by all accounts, has been much greater than the Pres must have counted on, and he's had to backtrack a bit while stopping short of reinstating the CJ.  Some think this continuing crisis could bring down the government or prompt a state of emergency, but so far any unrest has been fairly contained and, I think, perhaps more motivated by parties positioning themselves for the (hopeful) fall elections than by a real surge of widespread public uprising.

The recent interesting news, however, has been the response to the knighting of author Salman Rushdie by the queen of England.  Mr. Rushdie is a reviled figure in much of the Islamic world, mostly for alleged blasphemy in his book The Satanic Verses.  The bounties put on his head after that book came out have been, perhaps actually, perhaps symbolically, renewed in the latest backlash to what some see as Western insensitivity to Islamic culture.  The queen's choice of whom to dub 'Sir' has prompted street protests in Pakistan and in Kashmir, with both her majesty and his-authorness burned in effigy.  It amused me to see these competing articles recently in the newspaper Dawn:


Rs10m offered for killing Rushdie

ISLAMABAD, June 21: A traders’ association here on Thursday announced a reward of Rs10 million for anyone beheading novelist Salman Rushdie following Britain’s decision to award him a knighthood.

The announcement came during a protest by 200 traders at Aabpara market, an AFP photographer said.

“We will give Rs10 million to anyone who beheads Rushdie,” Islamabad Traders’ Association secretary-general Ajmal Baluch told the cheering crowd.

He also called on Muslim countries to boycott British products in protest.

Participants chanted ‘Cut off the head of Salman Rushdie!’ and carried placards calling for him to be killed.—AFP

Ulema Council honours Osama

ISLAMABAD, June 21: The Pakistan Ulema Council on Thursday awarded its highest honour to Al Qaeda chief Osama bin Laden, saying it was in reaction to Britain’s knighthood for writer Salman Rushdie.

“We are pleased to award the title of Saifullah to Osama bin Laden after the British government’s decision to bestow the title of ‘Sir’ on blasphemer Rushdie,” the council’s chairman Maulana Tahir Ashrafi told AFP.

“This is the highest title for a Muslim warrior.”—AFP


Till next time, Assalaam alaikum, and be good.