After a two day trip that took me from DC to NY to Frankfurt to Istanbul, I finally reached Pakistan. With the end to my two days of travel in sight, I was elated. But this recognition also contained a convoluted mixture of feelings -- excitement, fear and anticipation. But these emotions were somewhat dampened by the fact that I had yet another flight 4 hours later to Islmabad, which left me feeling fairly sleepy. Karachi International may not have the elegant lounge setting or impressive upper end boutiques that Ataturk International offers, but it does have a great 1978 retro look. After passing through the Swine Flu check, which consisted of me giving them a statement stating that I did not have the Swine Flu, I headed over to passport/visa control. The woman at the desk asked me why I am visiting Pakistan. I responded: Tourism. She gave me a quizzical look, so I followed up with: It seems like an interesting place. She smirked. But other than the abundance of armed guards with automatic weapons, there was nothing to suggest that there was anything out of the ordinary going on in Pakistan.
After collecting my bag, I asked a PIA employee how to transfer to my next flight. Rather than telling/pointing me where to go, he decided to help. Maybe it was because I look bedraggled and he could see that I had traveled far, or maybe it was 3am and he had nothing better to do. Regardless, he grabbed my bag. took me to the transfer counter, went to get an official itinerary printout for me, brought my bag and led me to the actual ticket counter, and then walked me through security and to the gate. Talk about service. I waited for (read: attempted to nap before) my next flight, while morning prayers were going on at the gate next to mine. No need for the airport chaplain, I guess.
The flight to Islamabad, on a plane roughly my age, was relatively uneventful. It was a full plane. On the upside, they did serve breakfast on an hour and a half flight, so it had that and the 1970s color scheme going for it. I also had a brief chat with the software engineer that was seated to my right. He spoke about his views on Germany's aging population due to women not wanting to have children, the inappropriateness of people making out publicly in Rome near the Vatican, and how I should already be married when he found out my age (he first thought I looked 22 and that is with the beard). We did manage to chat a bit about Kashmir, the Siachen Glacier conflict, and that he liked Musharraf because the economy was better under him.
Upon arriving and after grabbing my bag, I headed out to meet my ride from the guest house. Problematically, there wasn't one. So, I hopped into a cab and directed them to my district (E7 for all you Islamabadians.) The cabbie was nice, although his English was sparse, not unlike the vegetation. The ride, other than getting used to driving on the left side of the road, was marginally less scary than in other developing countries. It helps that there is pavement and ostensible lanes. Don't get me wrong, I still felt like we were going to get into an accident. But despite the driving, I still noticed that on the surface, things seemed to be marching along normally, as if there wasn't a large military operation going on in the NWFP and 2.3 million internally displaced persons. Of course, the driver mentioned matter-of-factly that the Taliban were going to be gone in 2 or 3 months, which may be why no one seemed too concerned. Good to hear, no? But he also said that Pakistanis love the US, which based on some recent polls is a questionable assertion, undermining his credibility a bit. Then again, optimism isn't a bad thing.
From the drive into Islamabad, Pakistan seems like any other developing country. It has large amounts of architecturally hideous buildings on the outskirts of town, clothing styles from 15 years ago, laborers cleaning the streets with makeshift brooms, and the unemployed resting in the shade. But it has some eccentricities as well, particularly the elaborately painted and decorated trucks, mini-vans and buses. And, as a Muslim country, there were very few women out. Those that were, were dressed in traditional dress and some in burkas. Isloo itself also seemed a bit out of the ordinary. We pulled off the highway that seemed like it was in the middle of a park, made a turn or two and we were clearly in a city- simply one with lush greenery. And as I found out a turn later, this is my neighborhood.
E7, as I learned over the next couple days, is basically filled with Pakistani elites, high-level expats, a few embassies and large homes doubling as offices or guest houses. For example, my guest house is a couple blocks from the Crisis Group office, which sits in between some UN official's house and the embassy of a small Eastern European country. The neighborhood is quite nice, although the small ubiquitous white cars give it away as a nice neighborhood in a developing country. That and the armed security guards in front of every home, the lack of regular sidewalks and the frequent occurrence of high walls topped with sharp spikes, barbed wire or or the time-honored developing country favorite -- shards of broken glass. The security guards seem nice and typically smile back, which is somewhat surprising. I doubt I would be all smiles after standing in 100 degree weather all day long.
The guesthouse is great. In addition to the kindly guards, it has a lush front lawn that also contains the diesel generator. The generator is key, since the main power shuts off in Isloo for 3-5 hours a day. The guesthouse also offers several extras that have varying degrees of utility. The AC is very useful, as is the 24-hour inter-web access. The satellite TV, of which the 600 stations are mostly in languages other than English and consiste of mainly just phone sex ads, is less so. In addition, there are some things I just don't understand. For example, why do I have a shower curtain that is too short to block the water from escaping the shower? And what is the purpose of a mini-bar if it isn't stocked with alcohol? And why do I have an incredibly small desk, but two large sitting chairs? But more than the room or its amenities, the people that run the guesthouse are quite kind.
Yesterday, the manager came to me and said that he didn't introduce himself to me properly on Sunday since he knew that I had flown a great distance and was tired. But he wanted me to know that beyond the normal expected service, I should think of him and the rest of the staff as brothers. They know that I am staying for a while and they want me to feel at home. We then spoke about his 7 brothers and 1 sister that have been displaced due to the fighting in the Northwest Frontier Province. Another character at the guest house is the cook, who looks like a real Gen Xer circa 1986 (jeans, rock t-shirt, longish hair parted down the middle -- think brat pack.) A genuinely friendly guy who prepares breakfast made to order as long as it involves toast, Nescafe and eggs. He can also whip up some dinner on request. I took advantage of this the first couple nights, as the notion of not being within 20 feet of my bed seemed like a dangerous choice. For dinner, I can order whatever I want from the menu, but he ends up making whatever is available in the kitchen. Regardless, it tastes pretty good and it usually consists of chicken, I think. It does makes me wonder, however, why they placed a menu in the room. Anyway, that's not important right now. Point here is simply that the folks at the guesthouse are great. But other than catching up on sleep, working and eating, I've been exploring my neighborhood the past few days.
The first day here, I wandered down to the major market (Jinna) in the area, down in the F7 sector. Rather than a large supermarket, like a Wal-Mart or Carrefour, it is simply a disorganized amalgam of shops in different sizes in various buildings with separate levels that extends for several long blocks. It has fashion shops, restaurants, electronics, dry goods, bakeries, a bookstore, wedding shops, guys selling individual balloons, banks -- it's basically an outdoor mall for the upper crust and expats in Islamabad. But as it was Sunday and most of the shops were closed, I returned home. Unlike other Muslim nations, Pakistan's colonial history still dominates and they have a Western-style weekend. This history also results in an unnatural love of cricket, polo, squash and badminton. And also tea, which is forced upon me every hour by the tea guy at work. But I digress. F7 is a similarly nice neighborhood, although busier, noisier, and more crowded, as it's closer to the heart of the city's main thoroughfare (Jennah Ave) and because it doesn't have as many dead-end streets to limit traffic.
The crowd on the street on the way to and from Jinnah Market consisted entirely of men. These men wore the kameez shalwar, the traditional Pakistani clothing, like those I saw on the drive in from the airport. Many more had beards and wore skull caps than I had anticipated. But upon reflection, it makes sense, as it seems true that often times those without economic opportunity turn to religion with greater fervor. Not that any of these people were Salafist-style Talib. They were simply religious. Most were friendly, returning smiles or greetings. I returned to Jinnah Market again on Tuesday for lunch to grab some street food from a food stall -- less than a dollar for some delicious chicken paratha roll. It wasn't sanitary, but it was absolutely fantastic. We'll see if my view stays that way tomorrow.
On Tuesday afternoon, the sky was a pure blue for the first time since I arrived and so I headed over to the Faisal Mosque after work. Allegedly, it can hold over a hundred thousand worshipers at once and is one of the largest mosques in Asia It is white and architecturally modern (the minarets look like rockets), with traditional Pakistani architectural themes. It nestles into the bottom of Margala Hills, the dividing line between Punjab and NWFP and is only a 10 minute walk from my guesthouse. After stopping by, I headed home to drop off my bag and let it cool off (it was 39 degrees Celsius today).
In my attempt to continue exploring, I decided to try Kabul Restaurant -- one of the restaurants in Jinnah Market that Crisis Group's driver, Sharif, recommended. Inside and upstairs, (in the A/C cooled dining room) the walls held several large landscape paintings from Afghanistan, including one featuring the Bamiyan Buddhas, which the Taliban lamentably destroyed in 2001. Inside the restaurant were some well-to-do couples, including an Ugyhur couple, and small groups of well-off Pakistani men. None were dressed in the kameez shalwar, or even wearing long sleeves or trousers. In fact, one even wore board shorts. While my sensibilities weren't shocked, it was a bit surprising after seeing the traditional types heading off for evening prayer just moments before. I ordered blindly from the menu and ended up with Afghani Naan and some stew-like lamb dish, I think. It was tasty, but I couldn't finish it and offered my naan to the table next to me. They happily accepted and exchanged it for a skewer of barbecued meat. A fair trade, I think. One of the four guys next to me, the one with the board shorts, suggested I try a dumpling dish next time -- evidently, it contains beef, but is listed under the vegetable category on the menu for some unknown reason. I wonder how they are defining vegetable. Regardless, this meal upholds my hypothesis that when a country has an ethnic restaurant from a nearby country, it is usually pretty good. (And just to clarify, only US States on the border with Mexico count as nearby Mexico -- the Mexican Food Hypothesis Corollary.) After dinner, I meandered a bit around the still bustling Jinnah Market. It turns out that back in April, there was a terrorist attack against a Frontier Corps (the internal security units being sent to NWFP) station near the market, but it doesn't appear to have dimmed anyone's enthusaism for the place. In my wanderings I discovered a trendy clothing shop where the shirts are about 10 dollars piece, an espresso bar and a shisha lounge, but figured I can save those adventures for another day.
The flight to Islamabad, on a plane roughly my age, was relatively uneventful. It was a full plane. On the upside, they did serve breakfast on an hour and a half flight, so it had that and the 1970s color scheme going for it. I also had a brief chat with the software engineer that was seated to my right. He spoke about his views on Germany's aging population due to women not wanting to have children, the inappropriateness of people making out publicly in Rome near the Vatican, and how I should already be married when he found out my age (he first thought I looked 22 and that is with the beard). We did manage to chat a bit about Kashmir, the Siachen Glacier conflict, and that he liked Musharraf because the economy was better under him.
Upon arriving and after grabbing my bag, I headed out to meet my ride from the guest house. Problematically, there wasn't one. So, I hopped into a cab and directed them to my district (E7 for all you Islamabadians.) The cabbie was nice, although his English was sparse, not unlike the vegetation. The ride, other than getting used to driving on the left side of the road, was marginally less scary than in other developing countries. It helps that there is pavement and ostensible lanes. Don't get me wrong, I still felt like we were going to get into an accident. But despite the driving, I still noticed that on the surface, things seemed to be marching along normally, as if there wasn't a large military operation going on in the NWFP and 2.3 million internally displaced persons. Of course, the driver mentioned matter-of-factly that the Taliban were going to be gone in 2 or 3 months, which may be why no one seemed too concerned. Good to hear, no? But he also said that Pakistanis love the US, which based on some recent polls is a questionable assertion, undermining his credibility a bit. Then again, optimism isn't a bad thing.
From the drive into Islamabad, Pakistan seems like any other developing country. It has large amounts of architecturally hideous buildings on the outskirts of town, clothing styles from 15 years ago, laborers cleaning the streets with makeshift brooms, and the unemployed resting in the shade. But it has some eccentricities as well, particularly the elaborately painted and decorated trucks, mini-vans and buses. And, as a Muslim country, there were very few women out. Those that were, were dressed in traditional dress and some in burkas. Isloo itself also seemed a bit out of the ordinary. We pulled off the highway that seemed like it was in the middle of a park, made a turn or two and we were clearly in a city- simply one with lush greenery. And as I found out a turn later, this is my neighborhood.
E7, as I learned over the next couple days, is basically filled with Pakistani elites, high-level expats, a few embassies and large homes doubling as offices or guest houses. For example, my guest house is a couple blocks from the Crisis Group office, which sits in between some UN official's house and the embassy of a small Eastern European country. The neighborhood is quite nice, although the small ubiquitous white cars give it away as a nice neighborhood in a developing country. That and the armed security guards in front of every home, the lack of regular sidewalks and the frequent occurrence of high walls topped with sharp spikes, barbed wire or or the time-honored developing country favorite -- shards of broken glass. The security guards seem nice and typically smile back, which is somewhat surprising. I doubt I would be all smiles after standing in 100 degree weather all day long.
The guesthouse is great. In addition to the kindly guards, it has a lush front lawn that also contains the diesel generator. The generator is key, since the main power shuts off in Isloo for 3-5 hours a day. The guesthouse also offers several extras that have varying degrees of utility. The AC is very useful, as is the 24-hour inter-web access. The satellite TV, of which the 600 stations are mostly in languages other than English and consiste of mainly just phone sex ads, is less so. In addition, there are some things I just don't understand. For example, why do I have a shower curtain that is too short to block the water from escaping the shower? And what is the purpose of a mini-bar if it isn't stocked with alcohol? And why do I have an incredibly small desk, but two large sitting chairs? But more than the room or its amenities, the people that run the guesthouse are quite kind.
Yesterday, the manager came to me and said that he didn't introduce himself to me properly on Sunday since he knew that I had flown a great distance and was tired. But he wanted me to know that beyond the normal expected service, I should think of him and the rest of the staff as brothers. They know that I am staying for a while and they want me to feel at home. We then spoke about his 7 brothers and 1 sister that have been displaced due to the fighting in the Northwest Frontier Province. Another character at the guest house is the cook, who looks like a real Gen Xer circa 1986 (jeans, rock t-shirt, longish hair parted down the middle -- think brat pack.) A genuinely friendly guy who prepares breakfast made to order as long as it involves toast, Nescafe and eggs. He can also whip up some dinner on request. I took advantage of this the first couple nights, as the notion of not being within 20 feet of my bed seemed like a dangerous choice. For dinner, I can order whatever I want from the menu, but he ends up making whatever is available in the kitchen. Regardless, it tastes pretty good and it usually consists of chicken, I think. It does makes me wonder, however, why they placed a menu in the room. Anyway, that's not important right now. Point here is simply that the folks at the guesthouse are great. But other than catching up on sleep, working and eating, I've been exploring my neighborhood the past few days.
The first day here, I wandered down to the major market (Jinna) in the area, down in the F7 sector. Rather than a large supermarket, like a Wal-Mart or Carrefour, it is simply a disorganized amalgam of shops in different sizes in various buildings with separate levels that extends for several long blocks. It has fashion shops, restaurants, electronics, dry goods, bakeries, a bookstore, wedding shops, guys selling individual balloons, banks -- it's basically an outdoor mall for the upper crust and expats in Islamabad. But as it was Sunday and most of the shops were closed, I returned home. Unlike other Muslim nations, Pakistan's colonial history still dominates and they have a Western-style weekend. This history also results in an unnatural love of cricket, polo, squash and badminton. And also tea, which is forced upon me every hour by the tea guy at work. But I digress. F7 is a similarly nice neighborhood, although busier, noisier, and more crowded, as it's closer to the heart of the city's main thoroughfare (Jennah Ave) and because it doesn't have as many dead-end streets to limit traffic.
The crowd on the street on the way to and from Jinnah Market consisted entirely of men. These men wore the kameez shalwar, the traditional Pakistani clothing, like those I saw on the drive in from the airport. Many more had beards and wore skull caps than I had anticipated. But upon reflection, it makes sense, as it seems true that often times those without economic opportunity turn to religion with greater fervor. Not that any of these people were Salafist-style Talib. They were simply religious. Most were friendly, returning smiles or greetings. I returned to Jinnah Market again on Tuesday for lunch to grab some street food from a food stall -- less than a dollar for some delicious chicken paratha roll. It wasn't sanitary, but it was absolutely fantastic. We'll see if my view stays that way tomorrow.
On Tuesday afternoon, the sky was a pure blue for the first time since I arrived and so I headed over to the Faisal Mosque after work. Allegedly, it can hold over a hundred thousand worshipers at once and is one of the largest mosques in Asia It is white and architecturally modern (the minarets look like rockets), with traditional Pakistani architectural themes. It nestles into the bottom of Margala Hills, the dividing line between Punjab and NWFP and is only a 10 minute walk from my guesthouse. After stopping by, I headed home to drop off my bag and let it cool off (it was 39 degrees Celsius today).
In my attempt to continue exploring, I decided to try Kabul Restaurant -- one of the restaurants in Jinnah Market that Crisis Group's driver, Sharif, recommended. Inside and upstairs, (in the A/C cooled dining room) the walls held several large landscape paintings from Afghanistan, including one featuring the Bamiyan Buddhas, which the Taliban lamentably destroyed in 2001. Inside the restaurant were some well-to-do couples, including an Ugyhur couple, and small groups of well-off Pakistani men. None were dressed in the kameez shalwar, or even wearing long sleeves or trousers. In fact, one even wore board shorts. While my sensibilities weren't shocked, it was a bit surprising after seeing the traditional types heading off for evening prayer just moments before. I ordered blindly from the menu and ended up with Afghani Naan and some stew-like lamb dish, I think. It was tasty, but I couldn't finish it and offered my naan to the table next to me. They happily accepted and exchanged it for a skewer of barbecued meat. A fair trade, I think. One of the four guys next to me, the one with the board shorts, suggested I try a dumpling dish next time -- evidently, it contains beef, but is listed under the vegetable category on the menu for some unknown reason. I wonder how they are defining vegetable. Regardless, this meal upholds my hypothesis that when a country has an ethnic restaurant from a nearby country, it is usually pretty good. (And just to clarify, only US States on the border with Mexico count as nearby Mexico -- the Mexican Food Hypothesis Corollary.) After dinner, I meandered a bit around the still bustling Jinnah Market. It turns out that back in April, there was a terrorist attack against a Frontier Corps (the internal security units being sent to NWFP) station near the market, but it doesn't appear to have dimmed anyone's enthusaism for the place. In my wanderings I discovered a trendy clothing shop where the shirts are about 10 dollars piece, an espresso bar and a shisha lounge, but figured I can save those adventures for another day.
(I'll add pictures here after I download them to my computer.)
My next post will discuss Crisis Group, my office, coworkers and Samina, the projects I'm working on, and the IDP situation.
Posts
