Travelogue Pakistan

From the border of Taftan to Quetta

08 June 2022

I finally and officially enter Pakistan in the early afternoon, but I have to stay overnight in the police station to wait for the following morning to leave with the escort.
It is 7.30 am, I am ready and a pick up arrives with two armed policemen, they are my bodyguard. We load the Vespa on the pick up because there is a long way to go and so we can travel faster.
Only during the journey did I realize that that car would not take me to Quetta, but to the end of its territory.
A steffetta passage of my Vespa, my luggage and myself begins. Some transfers are fast, 10 minutes, others last up to two hours, parked in some police station or on the street, always escorted, but waiting for yet another pick up.
A lot of effort, the heat, sandstorm, no food, luckily I had 4 bottles of water. The policemen are always nice, but there is no dialogue, hardly anyone speaks English.
It gets dark and the changes continue, now I drive my Vespa because the changes are frequent and it makes no sense to load and unload the Vespa every time. It is not easy, apart from the damage to the bodywork in the various passages, the fan cover scratches the engine and the Vespa remains accelerated even when you decelerate.
In the dark I don’t see anything, everyone comes in reverse with the high beams, bad roads and left-hand drive; there are times when I have to stop just to understand where I am.
At the 13th change of escort it is 11.00 pm, I wait for the next one for an hour and then move on.
The 15th patrol is in motion, come on, maybe it’s the last one, so I also have to recharge the Vespa. I’m in reserve …
Nothing, I change another car 16th, it’s half past one in the night and the outskirts of Quetta are really scary …, luckily in front of me I have the police pick-up with flashing lights and two policemen behind, facing towards of me, with the machine gun in my hand. I begin to love him.
I have to ask to stop for petrol, I don’t think I have more than a few kilometers of autonomy.
17th and last patrol, takes me to a hotel, it’s twenty to two in the morning.
Apart from the 7.00 breakfast banana I didn’t touch any food, the hotel only gets me a mango milkshake … that’s fine.
18 hours of travel, it was very hard but luckily it’s over … but no.
In the morning the police come back and take me I don’t know where to get a security document. I realize they have to escort me for another 350km that they define the city for. Ok, I decide to delay the departure of two days, I want to rest.
In the early afternoon they take me back to the hotel, by motorbike, with another escort following us. They give instructions to the hotelier that I can’t go out, ok 100% rest.
This was my entry into Pakistan, and a lot more that I don’t dwell on at the moment.
Today I have outlined my possible itinerary which I have published in the site.
A little complicated to move here in Pakistan!

From Quetta to India

June 15, 2022

I arrived in India !!!
and this is good news, but let’s rewind the tape five days ago and go back to Quetta.
The two days of forced rest in the hotel in Quetta (the Poliia did not allow me to go out) were not so bad, apart from the regret of not having seen the city, it seems impossible to me there was nothing to see.
As soon as I get up this morning I go down to the lobby and meet Chris Donaldson (@goingtheworngway_book), a 64-year-old Irishman who arrived in the night, also exhausted from Taftan. I am immediately struck by his bike, a Moto Guzzi Le Mans 850 with which 43 years ago he made a long journey between the United States, South America and Africa. Last year he decided to leave again, with the same bike, for a trip to Asia and Australia.
Shortly after, Alex also gets out, who has also arrived in the night, a French boy who, on foot, backpack on his shoulder, is traveling the world alone. I had already met Alex in Zahedan, Iran the week before.
We chat and I give them info on what they would do in the city offices, to define their next stop and therefore the relative escort. Chris has to arrive in Lahore in two days, drop his bike and temporarily return to Ireland. Alex has to take a bus to go to Islamabad.
During the day, Sadaat and Ejaz, two lawyers from Quetta who are super passionate about Vespa, also come to see me. They are very kind and very pleasant people with whom I spend a few hours. I perceive their attention to me when they tell me that they have also brought their mechanic, in case of need for maintenance on my Vespa. All fanatics for the Vespa 150 Sprint Veloce, they have the passion to modify it, making it unique, with various accessories and lights that we would look upon with disapproval in Italy.
The following morning both Chris and I await the escort, at an unspecified time, between 6.00 and 9.00 in the morning, I headed to Zhob and he to Lahore. At 8.00 a single police car arrives, which we both follow up to the first change, where we split up. I try to explain that I too want to go to Lahore, but nothing, they divide us and we leave, each one for his own destination.
I have 335 km up to Zhob and then, finally free to manage the journey independently. The road is beautiful and runs well, always hot but ok. The patrol changes begin, one, two, three … I try to keep the count, out of my personal curiosity.
At a certain point I realize in the distance, on the left, that the sky has a strange color, more and more dark. I keep looking at it and as I get closer I discover that it is sand, a sandstorm. The sky is split in two, with a clear dividing line; on the left the sandstorm and on the right serene. We are exactly in the center, I focus my attention on the curves, in the hope that they lead to the right. But no, more and more to the left, inside the storm. The wind grows, I feel the sand penetrating, I close my helmet tightly, slow down my speed and continue, following the police car. The situation is annoying but manageable, so we go ahead and after half an hour the wind begins to drop and at the bottom you can see the clear sky.
Finally we arrive in Zhob, an incredible city, we cross it right in the center. Now I understand why they told me “in Zhob you don’t stop to sleep”. I remain attached to the police van, I’m curious to know where they will leave me, we pass the center, on the left there is a grouping of houses made of earth, with many people and animals, a really strange and difficult image to describe. I wanted to take the picture, but nothing, the police set the pace and I can’t stop.
We leave the city and we don’t stop, I continue to follow them, yet another change, I try to ask, to understand, but they don’t speak English. They answer me at random, they are always very kind, but there is no way to have clear and above all reliable information.
We travel another 100 km, up to the checkpoint that delineates the end of the Balochistan region. Passport and visa control, then I go out. The road winds into a very suggestive canyon, the police follow me for another two km and then go back. It’s over I thought, finally !!!!!!!!
Nothing, after 5 km, another checkpoint to enter the KPK region, passport and visa control and assignment of a new escort. It’s starting to get dark, I’m tired and haven’t eaten since the morning. I ask the police where to sleep, let’s go on, it is now 9.00 pm, after 80 km we arrive at a police station. We stop for the night.
The structure is very rundown and very dirty, here they are used to it, I’m too tired to worry about it. All the policemen take action to give me every possible comfort, compatibly with the possibilities, they give me something to eat, a plate with something like wraps cut together with a stew, obviously without cutlery. We stop to talk, they ask me so many things, I’m tired and I can finally go to bed, without a shower, that’s not the case.
In the morning I wake up with the light, shortly after 5.00, I look around and see better where I am, I join some of them who offer me breakfast, a hot, very greasy piadina and tea with milk. We keep talking, they keep asking me about Italy, they are kind and curious.
I want to leave, I get ready and at 7.00 am ready, but still with the escort, I just hope to get out of the country. Only when I realize that they would have escorted me to Islamabad, I didn’t do it anymore, so it’s impossible I thought. I look at the map, how far is Lahore from the border with India? 450 km, ok, I’m going there, I have to get out as soon as possible.
And so I change direction, 450 absurd km in countries where I have seen the most absurd roads, traffic and poverty. At 15.00 I lose my escort, I’m happy, but a few minutes later I realize that I don’t have a navigator, the road is anything but direct and I don’t know where to go. I try to orient myself with difficulty, I identify a possible direction and I try. After 5 minutes, in the mirror, a police car following me…, ah here, problem solved.
We arrive in Lahore very late, it’s dark, they have to take me to the house of a friend of the Vespa Club Pakistan who has offered to host me. At 21.00 we are finally there, but, it’s not good that I sleep there, I have to sleep in a hotel, I don’t know why … Ok, we have dinner together and then Ashan takes me to a hotel in the city and informs the Police of where I am, so everyone they are calm.
In three days, 1600 km of escort and 63 patrols changed, unbelievable.
I can’t wait to go out, I have certainly been unlucky, but this country has exhausted me in the head and physically. I decide to stay two days in Lahore to recover, one I spend in bed and the second I go to Ashan for some small checks on the Vespa.
In fact, he immediately feels that something is wrong, strange noises. The heat of Iran and Pakistan and the bad Iranian gasoline have done damage. In four hours he and his mechanic completely disassemble and reassemble the engine, change the crankshaft oil seal, clutch cruise, piston and some other parts. One person went back and forth with a Vespa 15 km away to buy the necessary spare parts. In the end Ashan doesn’t want anything, he doesn’t exist, we closed for € 70, including lunch. Day went like this.
It’s the 15th, I’m not okay, my intestine has been giving me problems for a week, but finally today I’m going to India. I go to the border, 3 hours of bureaucracy, an absurd heat, but everything runs smoothly and smoothly and by 14.00. I find a place to sleep in the first town 30 km away and at 8.00 pm I fell into a heavy sleep, interspersed with frequent visits to the bathroom.
Considerations on Pakistan: My belief, or I hope, was not a representative experience of reality, but I struggled a lot and I lived this country very badly. I couldn’t stop and look at it, trying to grasp its characteristics and beauties. My memory is this: very kind, generous and helpful people, even the Police, some naturalistically very beautiful parts, too much Police and Military, a lot of poverty, a lot of dirt, a lot of traffic and bad roads.