We had been told that our escort to Quetta would arrive at 8am but after 8am passes, we are told the guards will be there for 9 o’clock. In the meantime we play a cricket game with a plank of wood and Meg’s plastic cricket ball, which gets stuck on the hay matted roof of a nearby wicker hut several times. Some of the customs guards take part as well and one is a seriously good spinner, and not a bad bat. It is our first bit of fun for a while.
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| cricket (photos Dave Jones) |
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| howzat |
We eventually set off for a journey through the desert at about 10am. Our escort leaves us after an hour or so, and we have to stop at checkpoints every 10km and show our passports. What is striking about uninhabited Pakistan is that it would be perfect for movie settings for westerns or as an alternative planet for Star Trek / Star Wars films.
We arrive at Dalbandin at about 2pm. On previous trips, the hotel had been rat infested and I was going to sleep on the roof, but the hotel had since been renovated and was quite inhabitable with new toilets. Sleeping on the roof would not have been practical anyway, as we garner a lot of attention from the locals, with groups gathering outside our hotel just to look at us on the balconies. It turns out the hotel is owned by a government minister, though it is more a residential hotel than guest hotel, Dalbandin not being a major tourist or business stop…
There is a local bazaar, but we are told by Lucinda not to go, as six Germans had been kidnapped from there in August.
However, I need to change some money and am told that I must wait for a ‘police escort‘. While waiting, I chat with the hotel staff who tell me the town is safe, although that would not explain the need for an escort. People here and Iran have a strange fascination with American 'Pro' wrestling, which blares out of the TV of the staff room. When the escort arrives, he appears to be just as man with an old well worn car. We drive no more than ½ km through the town, which consists of a series of concrete blocks like garages. I am escorted to a backroom of one these blocks, where several men sit around in a circle chatting over tea. One of the men goes to a safe behind a desk, where I am given 70 rupees to the dollar, the same exchange rate offered by hawkers at the border.
Outside the hotel, a bus stops with some goats loaded on top. They are passed down by hand. I suspect this is our dinner.
There is an armed guard outside our hotel and people are starting to feel tense. Dinner is a bad tempered affair as some people don’t get served while others are getting extra portions. The dinner is not goat, but a salty chicken (on the bone) curry with a pleasant enough dhal.
Some of the truck group have decided they will catch a train from Quetta to Lahore in a couple of days to skip out the most perilous areas of Pakistan.
Power cuts mean that the room fan does not work, so it is a hot night’s sleep.
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