My travel diaries
Sunday 29 July, 2007 - Islamabad, Pakistan
At the airport
Islamabad airport, 6am. I endure one of the longest queues through immigration I've ever experienced, wondering whether my bags will still be on the carousel and if the person who's supposed to be meeting me here will still be waiting when I get through. In the end I convince myself all my kit is gone and I'll have to make my own way to the hotel, and then I become a lot more patient and stop worrying about the wait. After more than an hour of queuing I eventually get through and am relieved to see my big red North Face bag still going round at about the same time as a small Pakistani man comes up to me and says, "Hello Mr Andrew Mark! Mr Andrew Mark - climbing Muztag Ata?" A big smile lights up my face and I realise I must stick out like a sore thumb in this country most tourists are now deserting.
I'm introduced to Sharif, a Pakistani guide who will be showing us round Islamabad then escorting us up the Karakoram Highway to the Chinese border, and Jeff, a 50-something Scotsman who arrived on the same flight as me and is a member of my Muztag Ata expedition team. Leaving the airport we see what I can only assume is the Pakistani equivalent of wheel-clamping: a fork lift truck carrying a car away from the airport car park. Health and safety regulations are clearly not so strict over here.
The journey to our hotel is interesting. I don't know whether the modern city of Islamabad has a centre, but we appear to drive along dual carriageways through fertile green forest, a bit like Milton Keynes but hotter. We arrive at the Hotel Margala shortly after 8am, and Jeff and I immediately turn in for the couple of hours kip that we failed to get on the flight.
Later in the morning I meet the rest of my expedition team in the hotel foyer for a bus tour of Islamabad's sights. My room mate (and tent mate on the mountain) is another Geoff, in his forties, a TEFL teacher who seems to have cycled across most of Asia, and climbed five of the Seven Summits (the highest mountain in each of the seven continents). He's one of those fortunate people I envy who has managed to arrange his life in such a way that he can spend a great deal of it travelling rather than working. He's invited on the bus tour with us his friend Moeen, a 19-year-old student he first met five years ago while cycling through his village outside Islamabad during a cycle ride from Beijing to Istanbul (and if you're not so hot on your geography, let's just say that's some cycle ride). Moeen turns out to be quite an entertaining guide.
Shah Faisal Mosque
Our first stop is the gigantic Shah Faisal Mosque, a very modern structure rising up on the edge of a range of craggy, forested hills, the Margala Hills. It's baking hot now, and walking shoeless through the hot marble floors of the masjid compound is painful. The two women in our party, Juliet and Lindsay, are given scarves to cover their heads, but we men are permitted to walk around bare-headed, which in Steve's and my case is more bare-headed than most. Sharif explains to us this is the largest mosque in the whole of Pakistan. It's modern design makes it look more like some sort of futuristic space port than a place of worship, with the four minarets in each corner looking like rockets about to blast off. I'm acutely aware of giving offence, however, so I refrain from making such observations out loud. I later learn that Islamabad is much more liberal than almost everywhere else in Pakistan, and is one place where I can probably get away with such frivolity. There are several women walking around the mosque on their own and with their faces clearly visible, something we don't see much of later on.
Islamabad - the stats
We drive up into the Margala Hills to a viewpoint called Daman-e-Koh, overlooking the city. A display board here gives me some interesting statistics about Islamabad: it is 1000km2 in size, with 400km2 rural, 200km2 urban, and 200km2 of parks. There are no statistics about standards of education, but it's immediately apparent to me that these figures don't add up. On the other hand, I get the gist of what the numbers are trying to represent. Looking out over Islamabad from where we stand, the land is mostly green: not what you'd traditionally describe as urban city.
More figures: population 950,000, two thirds urban and one third rural. Building commenced in 1961, and the city "came to life" in 1963. Its altitude ranges between 500m and 1600m. This seems strange as we're standing at an altitude of 750m at the viewpoint and appear to be in the countryside high above the rest of the city. Can there really be more of the city 800m above us? The city's boundaries must surely be very oddly defined if this range of wooded hills is officially classed as part of it. It's a bit like saying Kent and Sussex are part of London.
Security in Rawalpindi
We go for lunch at a restaurant in a line of modern shops in F6 Sector, Blue Area (we're obviously back at the futuristic space port again). In the afternoon we visit the market in Rawalpindi, a more traditionally sprawling city adjoining Islamabad. Sharif and Moeen make much of the fact that there is a security risk for a group of white people like ourselves strolling around in 'Pindi' and we must all keep together and not wander off on our own. Geoff wants to visit the Red Mosque, but is told that it's much too dangerous. Earlier this month the government of General Pervez Musharraf killed 70 demonstrators protesting outside the mosque at its being painted white. The Red Mosque has been associated with fundamentalism, and the government hoped that by painting it white its worshipers might become more moderate. 19-year-old Moeen tells us this story wearing an expression of amused incredulity. I ask him about the perceived security in Rawalpindi. Is it the risk of mugging, or something more serious such as kidnap?
"No, kidnapping would be difficult in a place like Pindi, but many Pakistanis blame the white man for government measures to tackle fundamentalists. There is a risk of places being bombed."
I'm reassured. As long as nobody knows where we're going to be or when, then the risk seems small. Even so, Sharif and Moeen's nervousness about escorting us through 'Pindi market rubs off on me, and we walk around briskly before being escorted back to the bus. Whether this fear is justified I don't know, but I arrive back at the Margala Hotel feeling like I've seen enough of Islamabad and looking forward to tomorrow's journey up the Karakoram Highway to the Chinese border.1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 Next
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