We get ourselves in eight hours from the Peach Farm in Swat to Kalash valley. The first part of the road is alright, it follows the river and therefore we cannot drive faster than 50 / 60km/h. And eventhough Kalash valley is only 200km away it takes ages to reach. Especially the last 15km are hell. Small road, lots of stones and steep slopes. At one time Alexine even needs a push to get atop the hill. And then after paying 600 rupees per person we are stuck. The road needs to be cleared of stones that fallen off the mountain. The 15km are already taking 1 hour and we still have 30 minutes to go says Google. 

The moment we stop people surround Alexine. Curious to know where we are from and what we are doing here. Well, driving this road I have no idea. Again I’m scratching my head and cursing to myself. These are no roads for Alexine. She can handle it sure, she’s high enough but it takes it’s toll. Well, we’re almost there so no way we will go back. 

After twenty minutes we are moving again. The road isn’t better, worse maybe. It’s full of dust, like moon sand. And lots of bumps as well, so big that sometimes it feels as if Alexine is shaking apart. And maybe she is. I hear her creaking and squeezing but we make it. We make it to the Kalash area, a tribe I’m so eager to meet.

The Kalash Tribe

The Kalash are a tribe now only found in this area of Pakistan. They believe they are the direct descendants of Alexander the Great, because of their looks. Their skin is as white as mine and their hair as brown. Actually we look quite a like. Although the sun have browned my skin. Anyway, the Kalash are living here and they have been oppressed by many but the Pakistani government is doing its best to preserve the Kalash culture. Nonetheless many Kalash convert to the Islam. Which is a pity because the culture is therefor declining. At the moment there are about 3.000 to 5.000 Kalash living in the valley and Bamburet is the main valley they live in. 

The Kalash lived in Kafiristan, which translates to the ‘land of unbelievers’, which spread throughout Pakistan and Afghanistan. In Afghanistan the Kalash were hunted, they had to convert to the Islam or die. The Taliban changed the name of the region in Nuristan ‘land of light’. So most of the Kalash fled to Pakistan but as said many convert to Islam (out of free will). Why? Because they marry, because they learn about the other religion, because it’s the main religion of Pakistan. Everyone has their own reason. 

Our arrival in the valley

We made it to the valley and immediately we see a change in people. Their skin colour is white, the hair of women seen in a braid and amazing colourful dresses. But why I love the Kalash the most and why I wanted to meet them is mainly because of the women. The Kalash women have power, they choose who they marry, they can shake the hand of men, they are free to do whatever they want. Compared to the Muslim women of the region who are covered, not allowed to eat with men and often will be in an arranged marriage, it sounds the Kalashi women are free. And don’t get me wrong, I respect anyones choice of religion and how a person wants to dress. I don’t care if a person wants to wear a burqa, is okay with not eating with men, is fine with an arranged marriage. But, it must be a choice. It must be out of free will. If not, it’s oppression and if I am against something it’s that. I’ve experienced it myself; having to wear a headscarf in Iran against my will. It’s not okay. I’m a person, someone with a brain, with a heart, with a will, and then a government makes me wear something I don’t want. So in Pakistan I see a lot of burqas and I just can’t believe anyone chooses to wear that. First of all; it’s too hot. Second what about the social interaction with people on the street? But still, there are women chosing to wear a burqa. And then I see the beautiful clothing underneath the burqa, clothes that are screaming to be seen and I really don’t understand it.

But back to the Kalash, because they can show their colourful dresses, their beautiful hair! And I dig that, I love that. They want to be photographed, they want to talk, they want to show their beautiful clothes. Those women are badass in a country that is the opposite towards women. Although, Pakistan is fine actually. No one looks at me weird for wearing a T-shirt and showing my hair. They don’t care, they just love that we are here. We’ve been invited to diners, tea and selfies. It’s amazing and the Kalash aren’t any different. 

Well, they are. Because here we get wine!!!!!! Yeah, you read that well; wine! So in Pakistan the Muslims aren’t allowed to drink or produce alcohol but the Kalash aren’t Muslims so they are allowed to produce their own wine. And believe it or not but the taste is comparable to Georgian wine, the oldest wine on earth. I’m not a fan of Alexander the Great but if he really left these people here, if they’re really his descendants he did something good. 

I’m now surrounded by men with white skin, blue eyes and light brown hair. They fit more in the Netherlands than I do. I’m more brown than they are. Incredible! And they are not all blonde and blue eyed. Most have brown hair and brown eyes. But I think these people are closer to the Arian race than are the Iranians, while the name Iranian comes from Arian. And that all has nothing to do with Hitler, although in Iran they think it has and therefore they like him. They don’t understand that Hitler meant blonde hair and blue eyes with his Arian race but alright. Other topic I guess. But yeah, I can totally understand the people here think they are the direct descendants of the army of Alexander the Great. He came to Afghanistan and continued his journey East through this area. It happened that soldiers left his war mongering pilgrimage and settled in an area like this. So it happened that people stayed mixed with locals and became the Kalash.

And the Kalash are different. They have a different religion, different believes and different values. More on that in a blog dedicated to this amazing tribe.  

Wine time!

But I’m sitting here, drinking a wine and enjoying the natural sounds of crickets. Oh and conversations with the manager, Abdul Wahab, who is a very nice guy. He is learning English, eager to improve it. That’s also a thing here, the men look a lot older than they actually are. And Yuri to them looks very young. 30-35 they think he is. Me they don’t ask. It’s alright, I’m fine with that. Ok the wine is getting to my head now. And food is coming soon. Oh I didn’t even talk about the cook and where we got the wine. Ok let’s get back to that quickly.

So we got here and asked about wine, of course – what else? Then the cook, Zakibar, of the place took us to his house. We met his sister, also the boss of wine, his mother, brother, sister in law. We drank wine and had great talks. The women are looking so colourful and amazing. And they are all so kind! They gave us white wine instead of red but it tastes like Georgian amber wine. So we bought a 1.5 liter bottle for 3.000 rupees (€13,-), it’s a lot but hey, it’s wine in Pakistan! I guess we party tonight. 

Love, Milene & Yuri

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Luckily the North of Pakistan is all that. Snowy peaks, forests, rivers. Nature all around. At least, that’s what we think. “Swat is an amazing place to visit, there are great hikes there and the mountains are incredible” an Afghan police officer in Quetta told us. It’s about three hours from Peshawar, the road is alright but it’s a bit busy as the road crosses towns. Towns in Pakistan mean; a lot of people on the street, waking, in tuctucs and on motorbikes. Food stalls everywhere and little shops selling their goods. The first towns we cross are fun. So much is going on that we don’t know where to look. Merchants selling products, bakers baking their breads, mechanics fixing things. Lots of groceries stores that they call super mart but is so small only one person can stand inside it. Children working as well. From collecting wood to carrying super heavy bags. They sell things in shops or on the street or just beg for money. 

We get to an ATM where we can only get 20k rupees so withdrawal a couple of times. We refuel Alexine and do some grocery shopping. On the way we stop to drink Pakistans most famous drink: sugar cane juice. It’s so good!! We let them fill our a bottle for us. And then we moved on.

Malala from Swat

Swat is the city Malala came from. It’s also the city where the Taliban ruled for a long period of time. In that time tv’s were banned, public hanging were common and girls weren’t allowed to go to school. Malala loved school and went anyway. Reason enough for the Taliban to enter her schoolbus and shoot her in the head. Shoot a little girl because she wants to learn, to study. And that same Taliban is now ruling Afghanistan. I always want to believe there is hope in this world, hope for a better more equal world where peace is a normality and war an absurdity. But sometimes I lose hope. When i see the women here walking in burqas, when I hear what happens to women in Afghanistan, when I read stories like they of Malala. It’s a strange world we’re living in. We have been to the depths of the ocean, the weightlessness of the universe and climbed the highest mountains on earth. We have transplanted a pigs heart into a human body, found cures for deceases killing thousands of people not so long ago and are exploring the world of GMO. Yet, we think it’s okay to let a government decide what women wear, what jobs they’re allowed to do and whether or not they want an abortion. We let a terrorist group take over a whole country and look the other way while the women are oppressed once again. What is it that makes men so scare of women? 

In this part of Pakistan many women wear burqas. And even though I’m totally fine with whatever women want to wear I just can’t believe anyone wants to wear a burqa out of free will. It’s warm, inconvenient and asocial. It’s hard to understand the wearing of a burqa and it’s definitely very hard for me to understand that women continue to wear them. When I took off my hijab after three months Iran I felt so free, I felt so me. My hair is part of me, part of who I am. I’m proud of my curly hair and love it when it blows in the wind. I hated the hijab, having to wear it against my will is something new to me. A government, not even my own, obeying me to wear it. But it’s nothing compared to the burqa. It’s an isolation dress. There is no contact with whomever wears a burqa. Is she looking at me? Was that a nod to acknowledge me saying hi? Who is she? 

I wish a time would come where no one is oppressed, but that seems as stupid a wish as is world peace. Buddhists would meditate inside a dark small room for days, weeks even. When their wishes would come true they would offer things on the stupas. If I were a Buddhist I would be stuck in this tiny room forever. My wishes never coming true. But that of course doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for what we wish. Cause even if I can change the life of one person for the better I’m a happy person. If only I can decrease inequality for one person I have not failed. 

Malala fought for education. She survived the gunshot and became a famous young inspiring girl. An influencer the Taliban wished would never have flourished. But it is that gunshot that changed the faith of Malala and that of many girls. As many girls (and parents) changed their behaviour towards schools. Nowadays there is a lot of advertisement for girl schools (still separated from boys). And I’m happy to see it, a tiny spark in these dark times. 

Another foreign Switzerland 

Swat is locally known as the Switzerland of Pakistan. The mountains aren’t as high as further up north yet, but the green forests and the raging river are wonderful. But the closer we get to Kalam, our stop for today, the more we doubt the slogan. The road is alright but it’s crowded, and dirty. When we reach the first of Kalam we know for sure; this ain’t Switzerland. Not even close. The scenery is amazing. Truly magnificent with mountains as high as 3.000 meter above sea level. But as soon as we enter the forest we see waste everywhere, tents under every tree and food stalls all around. It’s more like a music festival than a natural area. It’s hard to look beyond all the rubbish. 

We park our van and within no time people come to us taking selfies with us. Welcoming us. It’s hearth warming how kind the Pakistani people are, but please take care of your nature. Your Switzerland is a big waste bin. A thousand years from now there will be mountains of plastic instead of rocks. The forests won’t be smelling after the trees but after the waste. And then the camels and horses that are standing here the whole day waiting to entertain humans. We should take care of our animals, of our nature, instead we exploit them. We are killing our planet and this trip along the Silk Road makes that abundantly clear. The silk road is one long way alongside a waste dump. Plastic everywhere and we still have no idea how long plastic will stay, but I’m pretty sure it will outlast humankind. 

So from womens rights to environmental issues. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about Pakistani culture now. 

We love Pakistan!

We’ve arrived here, parked the van, took some selfies with people and went for a walk. While walking more people stopped to take selfies with us. Up to now we just agree, smile and say our goodbyes. A small gesture in return to all the kindness we have experienced. Remember Waleed and Muheeb paying for our diner? They also did for our lunch and the entrance to the Buddhist monastery. “You are our guest” they kept saying. So, agreeing to selfies is our way of paying back. And here as well, a kind young man asks us if we want tea. So we have a nice talk, drink some tea and take some photos. He is from around the area and tells us he believes in marriage from love.

Many people are still marrying arranged by their parents. But he doesn’t like that. “You should love first and then marry.” He says. It’s always fun where our conversations end up. 

After tea we walk back to the van where another photo session takes place. And when one takes selfies with us, others come. It’s alright, it’s just a photo. But I’m still not feeling well, my stomach is still turning upside down once in a while and my head almost exploding from pain. The smiling hurts my cheeks and we tell everyone it’s enough now. When we do that they let us go. 

Further up we hear some music and we decide to check it out. Three local men playing local music and when we arrive a crowd starts to surround the men. It doesn’t take long for other men to join who start dancing. The music is in Pashtun, which is the local tongue of this region. There are many languages in Pakistan, Urdu is the main language and Pashtun is spoken at the area bordering Afghanistan. We don’t understand a thing but music is universal right? People dance, people clap and people laugh. Music does wonders, it’s emotions in sound and the folklore we hear here is making people happy. It’s uniting people and everyone enjoys. 

The concert is finished and we sit at our van when a young boy brings us tea. “Welcome to Pakistan!” He says. He is such a beautiful young boy. Really, Pakistani people are very beautiful. And very diverse. From dark brown skinned to light, almost white skinned. And from dark brown eyes to blue bright eyes. I love the diversity in people here. We talk a little bit with the boy who doesn’t speak English very well but he is so polite and so sweet. The tea is sweet as well. Sugar and milk. Not what we normally drink but this cup of hospitality is the best I ever drank. 

Gosh I love Pakistan already. And tea is just what my stomach can handle and my headache lessens. While the Pakistani picknickers move to their hotels, we stay in the forest of waste.

Love, Milene & Yuri

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A week ago we were staying at the border of Iran and Pakistan and now we are about 2.000kms north of that. It feels like ages since we crossed the border. So much has happened, of which I already wrote and you hopefully read. 

We’ve followed more than 40 different police security vehicles and we’re all the time surrounded by police until we reached Peshawar. Little did we know is that Peshawar is actually off limits for tourists. Well, tourists can visit but only with explicit invitation of the police, which we didn’t have. Nonetheless they let us enter the city and we are so happy they let us. 

Making friends in Peshawar

We stayed at the Shelton guesthouse, a nice basic guesthouse with good food and delicious mango smoothie. For most of the day we stayed in the hotel because we had to work a bit. But at the end of the day we decided to go for a walk, even though the police told us it ain’t safe. But what’s safety? I’m sure more people get killed in car accidents than from a bombing. We actually saw an accident on the road and the truck drivers surely didn’t survive. Anyway, as always we listen to the police but do something else. So we had a walk to an Afghan restaurant where they served Afghan burgers. It’s just fries and egg rolled in naanbread. It was good though. Of course we ordered a mango smoothie to go with it. And then we met Waleed and Muneeb, two friends who were so incredibly kind to pay for our diner! Without asking or offering, they just did it. So we asked them to sit down with us and drink another mango smoothie. 

Waleed lives in Finland for five years now but came back to Pakistan for a couple of months. Muneeb works as an environmentalist. Both of them are bright and smart and we had such interesting conversations about religion, politics, environmental and humanitarian issues. But also about food, clothing and languages. As we weren’t nearly done talking we decided to meet up tomorrow for lunch. Apparently, when in Peshawar you need to eat Charsi Tikka (lamb pieces cooked in the tail and buttocks fat of that same lamb). 

So the next day Waleed and Muneeb picked us up from the hotel and we went to the one and only charsi tikka place! It’s not the only one but it’s the best one. Because they only cook it when you order it, it takes a while for it to be ready. But again we had nice talks about a lot of different things; waste management, refugees, terrorism in Pakistan. It’s fun to talk with Waleed and Muneeb because they give us a good insight in the country and we learn a lot from them. They’re also incredibly kind and hospitable. And again we weren’t done with each other so decided to visit Takht-I-bhai together. A Buddhist monastery 1.5 hours from Peshawar.

OMG, we just ditched the police!

So to get here we ditched the police that we had to follow but when we arrived at the monastery they were there waiting for us. And then we started our hike through the site with our friends and got a guide. We had so much fun and learned so much about the site. We saw the place where a little bit of Buddha’s ashes are buried. What’s not to be found are the Buddha statues that were here a long time ago. Those can be found in the British (of course 🥴) and the Peshawar museum. It would be great if some replicas would be placed here to give an idea of how it was. This special place where Buddha’s ashes are resting can only be visited by tourists. “The locals don’t respect a place like this, they would sit and stand everywhere, disrespectful”. I don’t like the distinction, even though it’s probably based on experience I have seen too many tourists (westerners like me) who disrespected a place by taking selfies in inappropriate ways. And I don’t like to be treated differently from the locals, even though that has been the case since we entered Pakistan.

The escort we got is only for tourists, the staying at the police station is only for us (and I mean not in a cell but in our car) and we don’t have to pay for the tollway. “It’s because you are our guest and we welcome you” they say. But however a guest someone is, in the Netherlands you have to pay for everything no matter where you’re from or what you’re doing there. The hospitality and kindness of Pakistanis exceeds the one of Iranians. We get tea everywhere, are waved hello by everyone and are feeling like VIP’s wherever we go. Also at the monastery. We get to see places locals have to see behind locked doors, we get information they either have to search on Google or pay extra for and in the end we get offered some tea.

I wish we would be equal and the treatment we get here would be for everyone, everywhere. But the world isn’t like that. The world is divided and the fact that everyone wants a selfie with us here because we’re tourists shows just that. We are at this incredible Machu Picchu like monastery and the men are in line to take a photo with me. With me!? I’m not special, I’m not a celebrity and I’m certainly not more interesting than Takht-I-bhai. 

Inequality is something im fighting for a long time. Whether it’s between gender, nationality or religion. The inequality gives me, because I’m white and Dutch, a privilege of visiting places locals can’t. We often hear “wow you’ve seen more of my country than I have”, which is because inequality exists. Inequality and privilege go hand in hand and I would lie if I’d say I never take advantage of it. I can wave my passport and all is good, I say I’m from The Netherlands and it opens doors, I can travel because of the inequality that my ancestors used to become wealthy. 

In Buddhism there is only equality. No lifeform is lesser than the other, no Buddhist more important than another and no person treated differently. The more East we go the more we learn from different religions. We dived deeper into Christianity, the Islam and Jewish religion. We learned about Zoro-Astrianism, Ba’ahri and Assyrians. And now we’ve entered the realm of Buddhism, Taoism and Sikh. Of Hindu’s and the Kalash.

From ancient religions to the three big modern religions. That’s the great thing about travelling, you learn so much more than from books. As Gandalf said “the world is not in your books, it’s out there.”

Visiting a Buddhist stupa

So, here at this ancient site of which only 30% is excavated at the moment we learn about Buddhism. Every student learned from one teacher in one tiny room. They meditated in a dark room so they had no distractions. Scholars lived without possessions, everything was shared and they devoted their life to Buddhism. A simple life, without worry, without stress, without greed. A simple life devoted to one cause. I know someone from The Netherlands who decided he wanted to live completely like a Buddhist. He ditched all the technology we are addicted to and instead started meditating. He let go of things that aren’t important and found his way to a stress free and devoted life. It’s a huge change and something I’m not able to do. But, living a bit more like a Buddhist wouldn’t cause any harm I guess. Living a healthy life without too much food and alcohol. Living with less possession, embracing minimalism. Listening to nature, your body and mind. I can’t wait to learn more about Buddhism and their way of life. Here and now I felt honoured to visit a holy place like this, a place Buddhists found worthy enough to spread a piece of Buddhas ashes. 

We spend three hours at the site, walking up and down the many stairs, talking and learning. The police officers were waiting below to escort us to the police station where we would stay the night. First we went to have some diner. We have Kabulu pilao (rice with raisins, greeneries and some beef). This didn’t go well with my stomach. I’m still not fully recovered from the heatstroke and can’t eat much. So, after two bites I suffered again from stomach pains. 

Time to say goodbye to Waleed and Muneeb and park Alexine at the police station. Which was safe but also a mud bath any pig would find heaven! Nonetheless we stayed here. It was freaking warm but there were so many mosquitos we were afraid to open the windows. The later it got the more ill I felt. While sweating and not knowing how to lay down it started to rain. And not just a bit of rain but so hard that a river started to appear below us. We opened the windows so the cool air could enter but soon the rain came in as well thus closing up again. At 1 I was still not asleep and felt like I had to throw up. But the river around us kept me from going to the toilet. So I just closed my eyes and thought of something that made me happy. Volleyball, mountains, Alexine, food. Ai, don’t think of food please. 

Staying at the police station a last time

At 4 I woke up to the sound of what felt like one giant mosquito just circling around my ear. Go away! I was in pain. My stomach, my head, my back. Everything was hurting, is if I was lying on a bed of needles while a sumo wrestler sat atop of me. In my head someone was surely hitting my brain with Thor’s hammer. And my stomach hurt as if an ogre squeezed it inside his hands. You can imagine I didn’t sleep much. 

This morning wasn’t my best. But we had kilometers to make. One week in Pakistan already and we haven’t seen any nature yet. Well, not without police escort. 

Never not exploring

We left the police station without saying anything. We were afraid that otherwise they would give us an escort again. “It’s not safe” they keep telling us. But as I said before; what’s safety? We can get hit by a car in our own street. We are to explore the Swat region today. Known internationally as the home of Malala (the girl who got shot in the head by the Taliban for going to school), but locally as the Switzerland of Pakistan. More about that in our next blog!

Hope you enjoy our blogs. Please do let us know 😘

Love, Milene & Yuri

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So at 7am we are ready to hit the road, again behind escort. They keep telling us it’s safe to go and for some km’s we actually drive on our own. But still, apparently it’s needed to have security around us. I’m getting a bit tired of it all. It takes too long and it’s not clear at all to where they’ll be escorting us. “You’re free to go” they said three times already, and then again we end up following police. Peshawar is a long way. But what can we do?

NOTHING!

Follow the police

So, we just follow the police officers. And today we drive through an amazing gorge, so beautiful! It’s rainy and a bit slippery but a great road nonetheless. We’re not driving that quick but it’s okay we enjoy the scenery. It’s absolutely beautiful here. Monsoon season started so it’s wet as well and the rivers are filling up. The green returned to the landscape and the roads become a bit muddy. Although I’m pleasantly surprised by the good condition of the roads in Pakistan. Truly they did an amazing job. So amazing that I’m almost thinking the Chinese must have something to do with this. A reoccurring theme in our Silk Road travel; the Chinese hunger for a new Silk Road. And they are everywhere’s except in Iran. We haven’t seen them there. But here in Pakistan ‘made in China’ signs are visible again and even my chappati was wrapped up in a Chinese newspaper. So, their Silk Road journey definitely reached Pakistan.

What didn’t reach Pakistan is modern technology. Again we are waiting at a checkpost for people in army clothes to write down all the information on our documents. After they’re done writing, they take a picture of it. I don’t get it. It seems that 70% of Pakistanis are either in the army, the police or the levies. And the rest are truck-, tuctuc- or motorcycle drivers. But that’s only my finding after three days of escort through the country. 

The people are beautiful though. Their skin colour, hair, dresses. The eyes!!! Wow. And they are all so friendly. Happily waving at us, welcoming us and smiling when we pass. Some don’t smile but just stare in bewilderment. That’s fine, I imagine they don’t see many of us racing through. Where in The Netherlands only children get to stare in Pakistan there is no age boundary to staring. You wonder, you stare. You see something new, unfamiliar, alienlike, you stare. No matter your age, gender or religion. 

What is your religion?

Oh that’s another thing in Pakistan, they are very curious what religion we have. Often a conversation starts with the question where we are from. Then “is this your wife?” And then it’s about kids. “You don’t have kids? How old are you? I am 5 years older than you but have 8 kids.” And then it’s religion. “No religion?” “But what about the almighty?” “Oh, you’re free!” There are quite some religions in Pakistan; Islam is the biggest (about 95%), then there is Christianity, Hindus, Ahmadis and others. We already met quite a few Christians, one Buddhist and many more Muslims. The Muslims do shake my hand here btw. 

It’s still 65km’s to hopefully the last stop of our escort. We are now at a military stop and it takes ages for them to write everything down. Passport, visa, car, photo, selfie and again and again and again. This bureaucracy seems endless, but our patience is not. Or well, Yuri’s patience is not. For once he is the one fired up while I sit back and just take it as it goes. Maybe I’m too tired to give a fuck. It’s quite humid here so after a night sleep, no wash and the same clothes I feel a bit dirty. Can’t wait to be in nature and jump into a river. Although the rivers here looked a bit tricky. Quite rough and muddy so no ideal to take a bath. But I hope, the more north we go the calmer and cleaner the water. We’ll see. First we have to get out of this Pakistani escort service 😉

Stopped by the military

When you think you’ve gone through it all, the army comes in. Stopping us from continuing. Why isn’t clear to us. Apparently we have no permission to continue. Which is strange because permission is exactly what we’ve arranged in Quetta. So after some phone calls they let us go. And we continue our trip.

Long story short, the estafette escort takes long, while they tell us the next village is the end, they continue to provide our safety. At some point it’s time to say goodby to Claudio. He travels to Islamabad and we to Peshawar. 

And from that moment we speed up. It’s like they finally get it, at last they understand we are tired and don’t want to drive another night. Thus there we go. With 80km/h we drive to Peshawar, overtaking many beautiful trucks and waving at many people who welcome us to Pakistan. The escorte switch also professionalised. Instead of stopping we know continue driving while one escort waves us goodbye and the other waves us hello. Quick switches that make it easy for us to travel fast. 

At some point we follow a police car with sirens on. We move through the tiniest spots in between trucks and tuctucs and it feels like we’ve entered a video game. The racing is surreal. Police officers telling other people to move away, we follow in pursuit, sometimes nearly crashing oncoming vehicles. But all goes well… in sure there is an angle on my shoulder today. 

Finally; Peshawar!

And then we finally reach Peshawar. Little did we know that we were supposed to get permission to travel here. Apparently tourists aren’t very welcome in Peshawar at the moment. Mainly because of the security tourists need and the constant treat of something happening. We don’t feel or experience anything of that. People say hello to us, are very curious where we are from, smile at us. Nothing but kindness. Peshawar is the sixth biggest city of Pakistan and is one of the oldest cities (dating back to 539 BC). Little did we know the city is famous for its food… So after days of no food (no time to eat while driving 1450km’s in escort) it’s time to refill our stomachs! 

So that’s what we are going to do now. We checked in our hotel and ordered ourselves some local Pakistani dish: daal mash. A delicious lentils recipe that’s perfect served with some roti and chutney.

Love, Milene and Yuri

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Even though I despise Shell (if any company invented greenwashing, it must be Shell) we are happy for Alexine as the gasoline here will be better than when buying it at the side of the road in a jerrycan. Unfortunately for us we cannot pay by card here and one tank costs about €40,- which is around 9.500 Rupees. And of course the maximum amount of withdrawal at an ATM is 20k rupees. You do the math. 

First switch done after 10 minutes. In the city we do many switches of police protection because of their jurisdictions. “You follow this car now and we provide protection all to the Beluchistan border” one of the officers tells us. They are all very kind and relaxed. For us it’s just very interesting and a bit annoying. Annoying because we have to follow in their speed, their driving style. And it costs a lot of time. Today again we have some 400km’s to go with escort. That’s a long way and a lot of changes. In Quetta it’s not as bad as it was yesterday night btw. We change only two times and are out of the city. All very kind and driving quite alright. 

And into the countryside

After multiple changes we enter the countryside. Instead of unfinished buildings there are tents within compounds and muddy buildings. The mountains are bare and the landscape is empty. The road is full though. Full with traffic and we are behind the slowest one on it. 40 or 50km’s/h which is of course not enough if we ever want to get out of Beluchistan. Telling him to drive faster does not help. He grins and tells us to stay behind him. I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a very long day… again. 

“Can we go faster?” “No we can’t!” “Why not?” “Because you’ll be waiting, because we have no people”. So we keep driving 50km/h for the rest of the day and will end up in Zorb around Christmas. 

Arrival in Zorb

It took us 7 hours to drive 320km’s to Zorb. But we have arrived! It’s 8 o’clock and it’s already dark. We are close behind a police vehicle and zigzag our way through the tiny and busy streets of the cities. Vendors are out, motorcycle everywhere and lots of dust. We move in colonne and while my eyes are quite tired I do enjoy driving through the hectic of the city. Barbers everywhere, stalls with delicious fruits and people sitting on plastic chairs chatting the night away. It looks like a nice city. “But it’s not safe for you” the police officer reminds me. Staying in a hotel here isn’t even safe so they bring us to the police station. But that police station is nowhere to be found and before we know it we have exited the city.

It’s getting darker and darker, in the distance thunder is raging and my eyes are numb from being tired. But we keep going. Switch cars again and move on. Further and further away from the city. 

Then we stop again. Police officers come to us and ask for our passports. It’s 9:30 already and I’m tired of this. He takes a photo of the passport and as always a photo of us. Often accompanied with a selfie. We’ve taken hundreds of photos like this already. I wonder what happens with them. Do they have a WhatsApp group where they share the photos and laugh about our smiles slowly disappearing and our eyes closing? Well not me! I keep a big smile. It’s an adventure and not the destination but the journey matters.

The police station turned into a refugee centre

But that journey takes very long. We are once again stopped by police to check our passports, takes selfies and so on. “Now you’re free. In 20km’s you see a police station, you can stay there”. I’m flabbergasted. It’s 22:15 and suddenly they think we’re good to go. It might be safe regarding a terrorist grouping that wants to attack us, but my eyes and my body is telling me it’s not safe to drive as tired as we are. And it’s pitch black! We don’t know the road and don’t know where to go. After holding us down the whole day, making us go so slow that we reached here so late and now they wave us off? We are too tired to argue and just go. The Italian motor bike, Claudio, is behind us. The road is wet and soon the rain starts. I’m sure it’s a beautiful area we drive through but we can’t see anything because of the darkness. It takes long and it’s a bit scary. Oncoming traffic has lights that blinds us completely, the road is wet and unknown and we actually never drive at night so it’s isn’t ideal but we do it anyway. After half an hour (20km’s? Right…) and 17 changes of police officers, I pullover at something that looks like a castle but is a police station. 

“We have a problem. We are full. There are 250 people here already” the police officer tells me. I don’t care, I’m not moving any further. “We can stay in the car.” That’s fine, thus we move Alexine to the back of the building where we are welcomed by many people. They all want a selfie with us, not the right time so I tell them kindly I’m going to sleep. The building is full with refugees from Afghanistan. “They have no passport so we are waiting to deport them back to Afghanistan” the officer tells me. I try to make him understand that Afghanistan is not a safe place for them and they should be given refuge. “They have no passport” he keeps telling me. It’s like talking to a Dutch government official. These are the rules and everyone, no matter the horrific situation back home, has to obey. Tiresome!

I look into the eyes of the hundreds of refugees staying here and see recognition. While I’m tired of two days driving, they are tired of their journey as well. And while I’m choosing this out of free will, they are forced into it. No one tells me to go home but they will be pushed back home even though it is not a safe place. Men, women, children… they’re all stuck here waiting to be deported. And I feel silly. Silly for complaining the journey takes so long, for being too tired to have a selfie made, for making a fuzz at the gate when they didn’t let us enter. It’s my job, I always work with refugees, I hear their stories and they take a piece of my heart with them. But I never get used to it, it always hurts, seeing them deprived from everything they have and still treated as lesser human beings. And it doesn’t matter where they are from, their religion, their looks. It happened to Jewish people in WWII, when nobody wanted them and it happens now with Afghans, Syrians, Yemenis. And it doesn’t matter where people flee to; Greece, Pakistan, Colombia. And with these sad thoughts I fall into a deep sleep. To be waken up by 5:30 when a little baby starts crying… 

Love, Milene & Yuri

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