Islamabad to the Iranian Border

Finally we left Islamabad for the last time and drove the now familiar M2, with it's now familiar speed cameras, to Lahore.

We couldn't find a reasonably priced hotel with good parking so returned to Regal Internet Oven, which was pleasantly cool this time.

As always it was good to chat to other tourists and luckily it was 'Sufi Thursday' which is a night-time trip to the weekly Sufi get-together. Sufism is an odd line of Islamic mysticism where they dance to drumming apparently to enter a trance-like state to be closer to God. Whirling dervishes are the same thing. Starting at midnight, the drumming was brilliant, the singing good, and the most crazy-dancing just bizarre. To get down sufi-style it appears you need to shake your head side to side as fast as possible (to the observer the face becomes blurry), while prancing around in a red dress and spinning round with arms outstretched as fast as possible. It was incredible no one got a massive slap round the face.

The next morning it was raining when we left Lahore to drive the 340km south to hot and humid Multan, where we found an OK hotel with good parking.

The following day we covered a further 460km to the city of Sukkar, the most southerly point we would visit in Pakistan.

A guy on a motorbike spotted us driving round looking for a place to stay and kindly guided us to the Royal Inn guesthouse, where they got an armed guard in to look after us for the night. Next morning the first of 12 police escorts was there ready to get us going to Quetta, the capital city of Balochistan, 410km away.

The escorts ranged from brand new hilux's with soldiers in the back, to just some guy with a taped-up old AK47 on our back seat.

Unfortunately the 1800m Bolan pass leading to Quetta was blocked by a broken down truck, with other vehicles backed up for kilometers KKH style. The usual crowd was soon surrounding the landcruiser.

Our escort at the time was an unhinged policeman on a motorbike, determined to get us through he got us stuck right in the middle of it.

After an hour and a half of waiting we were able to backtrack and take a 2km 4WD detour along the stony dry river bed in the gorge below the road.

Heading up-river and therefore up-hill in deep loose stones was no problem for the Landcruiser, but round a corner were ten or so local 2WD cars all stuck, and all running towards us with ropes in hand. After pulling three cars out we had had enough and got back on the road, continuing past brick-kiln towers smoking in the hazy distance to Quetta.

We spent two nights in the dusty frontier town at the popular Bloom Star Hotel, popular because of it's good parking and pleasant cool, green courtyard garden.

Unfortunately as it is Ramadan we didn't get to eat the spiced roast lamb that Quetta is famous for. We did however stock up on snacks for the days of the non-stop driving ahead.

Quetta is supposedly a base for the Taliban leadership, and because of Ramadan there was high security and the was army out everywhere. It is sad to see so many refugees from the fighting in Afghanistan camped out around the city, in the heat and the dust with very seemingly very little to live on.

The route from Quetta to the Iranian border runs through lawless Balochistan along the Afghan border and is quite famous for being dodgy. When we first arrived at the Islamabad campsite a French overlander had just been kidnapped and the French embassy staff were there trying to persuade the other French overlanders camped there not to take this route. Unfortunately there isn't much choice if you need to get back to Europe.

The first day was an unremarkable long hot drive to the desert to the desert town Dalbandin we had so many different escorts we lost count, and another armed guard at the hotel for the night.

We didn't leave until 8am the next day as we planned to spend the night in the border town Taftan and cross into Iran early the next day to maximise our measly 7 day transit visa. Same as yesterday we had a string of escorts.

The landscape became more desert-like the closer we got to Taftan.

Unfortunately when we got there at 1pm we were told the hotels e all closed over Ramadan due to security issues and we had to cross the border. It really was not the kind of town you would camp out in so we headed to the run-down and randomly scattered buildings that are supposed to be the Pakistani border post.

Once we found the right buildings, the Pakistani side was easy and quick, carnet and passports stamped no problems, rupees changed into rials. The Iranian side was less friendly and took about 2 hours. Customs actually wanted to look through everything in the car, an unpacking nightmare. Luckily a sachet of Alka-Seltzer seemed to make him happy and he soon gave up, waving his hand dismissively, and stamped the carnet. Meanwhile an irritating, offensive, little soldier had taken our passports to prevent us going until an escort turned up. First impressions of Iran - unfortunately not so good...

An Iranian Visa At Last!

Islamabad, still waiting for word on our visa, we have moved into the pleasant Flamingo Guest House, with AC, cable and wifi - nice!

Each day the routine consists of checking emails and the news, downloads, breakfast, calling the Iranian embassy to hear them tell us there was no news and 'please call back at four', watch a crap a movie, decide what to do for the rest of the day. Amongst other things we went shopping to the car market and caught up on the car jobs. Anticipating a 'no' from Iran we also researched the processes and costs involved in driving through China, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Russia, locating and visiting all the embassies to find out about visa requirements.

By now thoroughly sick of the CDs in the car, we made the most of the wifi and got bittorent going to download a new music collection. However this meant we needed an mp3 player. The choice in Islamabad is limited to say the least. So we ended up selling out and getting an ipod, and getting it to synch without itunes on Linux was a pain, but is all now working.

We also worked our way around quite a few of Islamabad's better restaurants. Interestingly McDonalds is really expensive, the cost of two value meals (about 700 rupees) is the same as eating at a pretty good restaurant.

On the morning of Wednesday 19th Mr H at the Iranian embassy finally told me that the MFA had returned an answer of 'no' to our appeal. I thanked him and asked him to pass on my appreciation to the ambassador for their time and patience, and hung up the phone. Considering we first applied back in May, it was a bit of a relief to hear an answer, instead of just 'please call tomorrow.' I told Andrew and we decided to drive to the Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan embassies and pick up the visa application forms. 10 minutes later the guest house phone rang and Mr H asked me if I would be able to get to the diplomatic enclave with our passports. 'Just you' he said.

Within an hour of waiting, I was holding our 2 passports with Iranian visas stuck inside. They may have only given us 7 days, but after many rejections and 3 months of trying, we were more than pleased, and frankly very bloody relieved. Mr H hinted that a meeting I had with the ambassador on Monday may have helped our cause ...

With a new and improved job list we are hurrying around Islamabad finishing all we'd been meaning to for the past week. A spare oil filter, some traditional bangles, a hair-cut, all so we could jump in the car first thing head to the Iranian border, yay!

Murree Hills and Islamabad again

Even after the 'affirmative' from the consul in Lahore, and the 'special fax' sent from Islamabad, we no longer felt confident about an Iranian visa. Anyhow, we decided to heading up to the Murree Hills for my birthday weekend. We both needed to get out of Islamabad which was seeming hotter, steamier and cloudier each day. And what better excuse than to celebrate a 32nd birthday...

We drove north with our only aim being to spend a couple of days amongst the trees and cooler air. Murree as we've mentioned before is quite touristy, so we by-passed it and headed further north to north to Nathiagali. We made it as far as the quiet village of Bhurban for the first night. Here we met some southern Pakistani guys who were away for the weekend, and we relaxed and enjoyed not sweating for the first time in a while. The next day we arrived in Nathiagali, where at 2500m, the thickly forested village still commanded expensive prices in it's hotels. Here we managed to find a room with a lovely view of the valley, and only being 1.5kms from the 'high street', we could leave the car and walk. BBQ chicken seems to be the flavour of the month here. Chickens are found dangling slow cooking around flames on most corners, with freshly cut potato chips and roti not far away.After a late breakfast and an interesting conversation with a Lahore doctor, we made our way to the Ayubia National Park wildlife office. We'd heard a rumour there was a young snow leopard there, being saved locally from captivity. We didn't see a live specimen, but we did see some stuffed cats/foxes and birds. Seemingly the taxidermist was still learning when they attacked these unwilling examples. There was a very friendly and curious goat watching the car for us however which made up for the lack of snow leopard. A quick phone call to the Iranian embassy again resulted in 'sorry, no answer. Call tomorrow.'

We avoided buying more carpets or a bright eared umbrella - but nothing could stop the birthday girl purchasing a garland of daisies.

Locals were selling anything they could get their hands on, and the closer we got to Murree, the more emphatic the selling got. Thank goodness for electric windows. Flower-shaped hand-held windmills, emergency towing ropes, corn on the cob, laptop computers and chai, everything the weekend holiday maker does NOT want. Even fairly floss.

There was one thing the Pakistanis were doing that we did think was a great idea to take home. As we slowly rolled through the congested Murree streets, we noticed a loud beeping sound. Coming around the corner we saw a small forklift. But this was no ordinary forklift, this was a special Police Issue forklift, fitted with lights and sirens! As the holiday makers double-parked their cars in all the wrong spots, the police would come along in their fork lifts and simply carry the car away. It was brilliant, and though we doubted they could lift the landcruiser, it would have made an excellent photo!

It was an interesting weekend, and we felt a lot fresher heading back to the city. As a special 'birthday treat' (I could drag this out for days) we stayed at a very lovely guest house in Islamabad for the night. The next day they were good enough to suggest a place more suitable to our budget where we could stay for the following week while we pleaded our case further at the Iranian embassy. Unfortunately, there was no change there. We met a German couple who were staying in their big motor home at the camp ground in town, and they were also hoping to get a visa, but also didn't have much confidence. After calling every morning, and being told to call back every afternoon, our patience and hope faded.

We decided to start seriously exploring our options for either shipping the car or driving through China/Kyrgyzstan/Kazakhstan. Andrew researched visa agencies and we located the 'Stan' embassies here in Islamabad (which incidentally are not in the diplomatic compound, nor are they where they are listed in the LP guide book or on various web sites). We made the usual list of the car jobs that would be best completed before we left Islamabad, and started researching visas for Russia and the 'Stans.

Lahore in search of a visa

On the day we drove to Lahore we travelled on the very good M2 motorway, passing quite a few police out with radar-guns. Those hidden at the bottom of long hills with a ridiculous 50kmh limit are particularly underhanded. Even the slow old Landcruiser could be caught out here.

Reaching busy Lahore, we headed to the popular Regal Internet Inn, not easy to find and the secure parking is away from the building. Daniel was there too, and amongst others we met a British guy, Nathan, travelling on an Aussie postie bike back to the UK.

Lahore is an interesting city, but was even more humid than Islamabad. Coupled with the fact that Pakistan has an acute shortfall in power supply and the electricity in Lahore alternates on and off each hour, we got little sleep at the Regal. As soon as the fans stop, the heat and sweating wakes you. Some people would sleep on plastic chairs out on the roof area. The Regal really needs to get a generator.

A visit to the Iranian embassy turned out to be very positive. Biscuits, a nice A/C waiting area and the Iranian consul was lovely. He offered to call Tehran for us and later said that he'd been told there should be no problem for us to get a transit visa, seeing as we have a car so cannot simply fly to Turkey. He also recognised the costs involved and said we should not have to pay again, if we returned to Islamabad to collect the visa. Good news indeed!

It was good hanging around with other travellers at the Regal, but after a night of excellent local Sufi drum music, we again drove the 6 hours back up the M2 to Islamabad. A highway patrol car pulled us over, the portly officer telling us the gear on our roof was illegal on the roads in Pakistan. This is of course a load of rubbish but after some disagreement he conceded 'well in my opinion this car is illegal, however as you are my guest in this country I shall not fine you. Now you will come with us and have tea'. So we followed them to a service station, a bit annoying but we had free tea and a good chat.

Compared to Lahore, the weather in Islamabad didn't seem too bad so we headed to the camp site in Aabpara. On arriving we spied a familiar tent and met up with Darius and Jane on their Africa Twin motorbike again. We had last seen them up in Gilgit. They were also waiting to get their Iranian visa, having had no news so far about their application. A new group of soldiers had arrived to protect the foreigners so we said hello to them.

The next day we headed back to the Iranian embassy, a now familiar and sweaty trudge through humid aromas of cannabis across the vast diplomatic enclave. After a wait we were seen, and allowed to hand over a new letter pleading our case. We were told they had already heard from Lahore and we should wait to see the ambassador. Two hours later and the consul wasn't going to meet us after all. Apparently they were going to fax an appeal to the MFA (Ministry of Foreign Affairs) in Tehran for us. We should just call each day to see if there is a reply. Hmmm, must remain positive.

We even got another liquor permit, except when they asked how long we wanted, and we said politely 'One month please', they didn't mention it runs out in 2 days time as it was already the end of the month! We were not to be disappointed though, instead we thought we'd stock up on a couple of cases, having enough then to share with our fellow campers for quite a while. Not the case. At least, not Pakistan. Every single sodding 'permit room' selling beer in Islamabad and 'Pindi had run out of beer until after our permit expired. And the one place that did have beers, kindly reminded us that it was Friday, and hence no beers to be sold on such a holy day.

Hanging around in Aabpara Market mostly consists of visiting the least squalid internet cafe between power cuts, eating chat (fruit salad with sweet yoghurty sauce) and drinking fruit shakes in a cafe with working fans, or visiting the bakery which has AC. We know the market quite well by now. The goat head shop is always a favourite.

We also visited 'Pindi car market and found a spare v-belt for the 12v alternator and 10 litres of decent oil for an oil change. The bloody Landcruiser has a problem where the self-adjusting mechanism connected to the handbrake in the rear nearside drum is over-adjusting and causing the shoes to drag on the drum and overheat. Annoyingly it means we cannot use the handbrake. Maybe it is caused by uneven wear of front and rear shoes, so we picked up a new set, even splashing out on genuine Toyota parts.

After four nights in the campsite we had all had enough of the heat, rain, mosquitoes, stinking squatter and lack of sleep. The four of us said goodbye to Freddy and moved to the New Islamabad Hotel nearby, after negotiating a discount of course. Pleasingly the rooms had cable tv so we (I) could enjoy England's magnificent third Ashes test victory in air-conditioned comfort.

While waiting for the visa we put the Landcruiser into Toyota Islamabad for some professional bodywork. They fixed the rusted holes and patches underneath and around the rear wheel arches, all for a bargain 17,000 rupees. Aside from the fact that you would be unlikely to get an hour of Toyota's time with the incompetent idiots back at 'Farmer and Carlisle' in Leicester for that money, the Pakistanis did a very good job. They even removed the half-gone gold stripes from the sides (that we had been slaving over with a sharpened credit card), and fixed a big dent from a rock in Cameroon. Along with the rust-free Australian wings (front guards), the old girl has never looked better. Amelia met some lovely local children outside the garage who would bring her a fan to cool down while waiting for me to arrange car stuff.

In all we spent 5 nights at the New Islamabad. Darius and Jane got their tourist visa approval, fantastic news, and they set off on the long drive to the Iranian border. We began initiating alternative options to get back to Europe in case we are rejected again. Apparently this is likely, British citizens are still not being issued visas. Neither of our two best alternatives are ideal, both are extremely expensive.

1. Ship car to Aqaba in Jordan, drive through Syria to Turkey
2. Drive back up KKH and transit through China and the 'stans to Russia and Ukraine

Unfortunately Oman and Saudi do not allow right hand drive vehicles which eliminates a number of options. We also met up with Daniel again who was in Islamabad doing some visa research. He is currently also unable to get an Iranian visa and is planning to go through Afghanistan. This sounds quite exciting but the road between the Khyber pass and Kabul sounds a bit too risky. Furthermore he is in a stock Hilux so would be able to travel incognito, unlike us with all of our gear who would stick out like a sore thumb.

With the visa waiting game getting more and more depressing, and the humidity and heat more and more oppressive, we decided to do as the British before us, and head to the cool Murree Hills to celebrate Amelia's birthday. Maybe by the time we get back Tehran may have approved a transit visa . . . .

Return to Islamabad

After leaving Skardu we drove for a couple of hours before stopping for breakfast - chai and channa (chickpea curry) at a truck-stop.

They were quite amused to see tourists there.

Pakistani trucks always look great, the drivers are rightly proud of them and spend a lot of time keeping them clean. Our dirty car always looks a disgrace in comparison.

Many trucks are dangerous works of art, the detail is amazing. Apparently they are all decorated at significant expense in a particular place in the car market in Rawalpindi. If we weren't selling the Landcruiser then we would definitely get something done, as long as it was tough-looking of course, no love-hearts or flowers.

The driving is not always the best though, later we passed a truck whose wheel had gone over the edge. Mind you, if this was India they'd be plunging to their deaths left, right and centre.

As you near the KKH there is a view of the Nanga Parbat massif where we had been trekking a few days before.

Unfortunately, back on the KKH the 205km journey from Chilas to Besham turned into a marathon 14 hour drive into the night. This section of the KKH is in really bad condition. Broken concrete, road-works and potholes drive you a bit crazy, but the biggest problem was the mandatory police escorts.

All in all six escorts, apparently for our own safety. Ironically the police and military are the targets of choice so it probably has the opposite effect.

1. Stopped at a check-post outside Chilas seven hours into the drive. We have no spare seat and they had no means of transport. They refused to allow us to continue until a suitable vehicle passed that they could commandeer. After an hour waiting in the heat a suitable car came by. Seemed to be the sergeants mate.
2. The police jumped out of the car at the next town. His mate drove ahead of us at a good locals pace, waiting for us at some points, appeared to be an unofficial escort until the next police post.
3. Flagged down by two nice policemen washing their motorbike. It backfired a lot and stopped running altogether along an isolated piece of road. They got it going again and slowly took us towards the next town.
4. The police here appear to use radios as the next ones were waiting for us. Cant remember anything interesting about this one.
5. We drove by ourselves for a while making a good pace until annoyingly we were stopped just before Pattan. A huge military convoy was preparing to move supplies south to Islamabad. Looking unusually organised, soldiers were posted everywhere along the roadsides and on top of the trucks. Disconcertingly they looked on a high state of alert, guns trained up into the hills and down into the village. After twenty minutes of waiting our escort got bored and we were told to follow three men in a Hilux and an armed guy sitting in the back.
6. By now it was dark and they let us go saying there was a car ahead waiting for us. Driving at night on the KKH has the added excitement that when blinded by oncoming trucks you really cannot see where the roadside ends and the long drop to the river begins. Especially good in the many places where sections of the road have fallen away due to subsidence. We were hoping we could sneak past the next escort in the dark but they saw us on the bridge in the next town. This one took us all the way to the front steps of the PTDC hotel in Besham, complete with flashing lights to properly announce our arrival at 22:30pm.

Although our escorts sometimes wore cool shades, they usually only had one old Kalashnikov between them. Bizarrely we were unable to ascertain exactly what the threat to us was...

The hotel wouldn't give us much of a discount so we decided to camp in the grounds which still cost us 500 rupees, the price of a room normally. The PTDC is popular with NGOs and we met an interesting ex-special-forces British guy working as a security advisor for the Red Cross. He knew lots of interesting stuff about the current security situation, it didn't make us feel any safer.

The next day as we drove south to Islamabad the altitude fell and the temperature rose. The warm air is pungent with the sweet smell of cannabis that lines the roadsides.

We took a fellow travelers' advice to return via the Murree hills. The old British Punjabi administration would retreat up here during the hot summer months. It is easy to see why - at 2200m it is cool and fresh and forested. Nowadays the Pakistani middle class head there for holidays and the roads are lined with brightly coloured plastic gimmicks for sale, like umbrellas.

Carpets and shawls are also widely available. Benazir Bhutto is a popular person to have on your carpet.

The small towns here are quite interesting, full of Pakistani tourists. The big, hungry-looking holiday-maker below is waiting impatiently for his Chappli Kebab. This Pakistani favourite is a large, deep-fried burger slapped in a naan, it is good.

Unfortunately crawling up hills in second gear and sitting in tourist traffic jams meant we didn't get back to Islamabad until dark. At least most Pakistanis have manners and drive with consideration for other road users on the winding forest roads.

Back in Islamabad we found the tourist campsite unbearably hot and humid, and nearly empty. Freddy Mercury was pleased to see us, as were the mosquitoes. Freddy is famous amongst overlanders, he is the man in charge of the campsite and is a little unbalanced.

The only traveller there was some Swiss guy with a black Troopie and, irritatingly, an Iranian visa. He left the next day at 04:00 and later that morning we were at the cursed Iranian embassy with a letter to ask for the consul's help in getting a transit visa. We waited for ages only to be told there is nothing they can do to help us, and that we should drive through Afghanistan. Extremely frustrating. Nevermind that a few weeks before an upset German couple whose dog had been run-over got a transit visa in three days. I'd get a pet dog and drive over it myself if it would get us a visa.

Punctuated by monsoon downpours we had three nights of abject misery, soaked in sweat in the tent. With yet another case of bad-stomachs we were getting up throughout the night in the mosquitoes to use the filthy campsite squatter. It is amazing, five months in India and we had maybe one significant case each. Pakistan has been a constant cycle of bad guts - ciprofloxacin is your friend here.

Eventually we had to get out of there before we broke. We found a guesthouse with air-conditioning (expensive) and stayed there for two nights, getting some sleep and ourselves back in a more positive frame of mind. The new plan is to head to the Iranian embassy in Lahore and see if they are any more helpful. Not much of a plan really, but something to do at least.