Shuffling down the tunnel onto my second flight to reach Islamabad, Pakistan, I looked at my reflection in the window. A pang of fear in my stomach, I questioned what I was doing. Was I ready for this sort of adventure again? For the hard work and discomfort it would undoubtedly bring? Should I have chosen an easier trip? Making eye contact with my reflection, I smiled. Of course not.
The passport control queue was crazy and took close to an hour. At the booth the man peered around me. “Alone?” he asked. “Yes, alone” I replied. “Where are you going?”. “To the Hunza valley.” “With a group?” “Alone.” He frowned, stamped my passport and wished me good luck. I laughed to myself as I walked to baggage collection, just the encouragement I need! I found my bag quickly (always a concern) and headed out of the airport. The exit was full of people waiting with flowers, children in their best outfits, and excited looking adults. It was calmly hectic, but not overwhelming. My first priority was finding an ATM, and then a taxi. I asked a worker where the ATMs were and was passed to a man who appeared from thin air, he led me to a security guard who pointed us to a second security guard, then another man appeared and led us both to the destination - 2 ATMs! None of which worked with my card. The first man exclaimed that there was no need to worry, that he has taken many foreigners from the airport to an ATM which works with our cards. And he will then take me to my hotel. He showed me his official taxi card and a photo with him and a white woman, I assume to garner my trust. I decided that whilst I would definitely be overcharged for this trip, that he seemed trustworthy and I was happy to pay if it meant everything was sorted. And so I climbed into his car, complete with zebra seat covers.
Surprisingly, the initial nerves wore off in the manic taxi ride, with this man who kept telling me “I know a place!” and the chaotic multilane highway. Not as busy or as hectic as Delhi by any stretch. My favourite sight was a small car with around 7 live geese strapped seated on the roof, their heads bobbing around in the wind. I let my breath settle and felt my heart rate resume a normal pace. I was here, I was safe in the taxi. The ATM did indeed work with my card, and I was delivered to my hostel (with only some attempts to make me go to a hotel instead that the taxi guy knew).
The hostel was beautiful, lots of colour and cosy areas to sit. And so I sat and drank tea, connected to the wifi and just took a moment to relax all the way back to normal. I spoke to a man who was going to the Hunza valley to climb for 2 months, a guy from Afghanistan (Fazley) who was in Islamabad to get his Canadian visa, and a guy from the north of Pakistan (Haver) who was driving to Gilgit the following day. I decided to join Fazley, Haver and Haver’s Canadian fiance (Hailey) to go for coffee and then explore Islamabad a bit. The 75 year old Korean/US lady (Xi) in our room also joined us. We climbed into Haver’s car, which was a very cool 4 x 4 with cow horns attached to the front. On our drive over to the cafe (which was very industrial chic and something I’d expect to find in Hackney rather than Islamabad), Haver and Hailey said they would be driving to the north the following day. When I said that was my plan too, they asked if I would like to join them. I said that would be great, if they were sure! I had some slight concerns over safety, as they were planning to drive via Kashmir and Chilas (both no travel areas on the FCDO website) but I decided that if they considered it safe, it most likely was. In the evening, I met Sana, the final person joining our journey and the owner of the hostel in Islamabad, and another hostel in the north. He was ex-head of security for the UNOP so again, I felt comfortable joining if he considered it safe!
After visiting the cafe, Fazley, Xi and I went to the Shah Faisal Masjid (a huge, white mosque). We explored the outside, burning our bare feet on the hot ground (you must remove your shoes before entering the area). There were lots of groups of women and girls, and these waved at us excitedly. The more brave ones asked me and Xi for photos, which I happily allowed. There were also plenty of men, but they didn’t interact with us at all. After circling the mosque we got a taxi to a bazaar and explored some of the shops and ate some food (lentils and roti). Xi needed to change some money so we went on a hunt for an exchange. This took us down grassy alleys, where we followed a helpful man heading in the same direction. Islamabad was surprisingly green. We had to catch a bus, and there was a separate door and area for the women at the front of the bus. We sat in relative comfort, with there being lots of space, and behind the rope labelled “Women and children only” the men were all crammed in like sardines. There was a similar thing in restaurants - men sat in the front and behind a curtain at the back, women and families sat to eat. When I had breakfast the next morning, I was led to this curtained area. I was very happy with this set-up, it meant I could interact with women and see them being open and comfortable, and didn’t have to deal with being squished next to a man or having them watch me eat (they could be quite creepy). But I think it’s terrible for society in general. It creates a larger divide between men and women and exasperates the idea that women have a set place in society and should not move from that place. After finding a money exchange, we headed back to the hostel, the heat getting to us all.
I had a chilled evening chatting to the other guests and ate some biriyani with Fazley, and then a chilled morning getting some fruit for the journey. At around midday we left in the 4 x 4 and the journey north began!
Overall, can’t say I’d recommend Islamabad. I left a day early, after only spending one day there. There’s not much to see, it’s completely unwalkable (but the taxis are very cheap, 75p for a 10 minute journey) and it was very hot and humid.
It felt good to be back in the swing of travelling however. I thought it would take me a few days to get back into it, but actually it felt like I had never stopped. Just as my 15 months travelling felt like a fever dream when I was back in London, my life in London felt equally dreamlike now I was back travelling. I forgot how easy it was to form a group in a hostel and spend the day together. How interesting it was to hear about different people’s stories (even more so when that story is based in Afghanistan). How funny it is to see people’s quirks - Fazley, for example, seemed to have a deep fear of eating vaccinated chickens. My whole body tingled with the joy of being back on the road.