THE END OF THE ROAD (for Pakistan at least)...

And only 20km outside of DG Khan I am finally stopped by the police. I`d heard from other cyclists that a police escort was necessary from DG Khan onwards and had been expecting one all day. However, it didnt quite turn out as I`d hoped. Instead of offering me an escort to Quetta, I am told that I am not allowed to cycle under any circumstances. I spend two hours with the chief police of the district, going round in circles. I ask why other cyclists have received an escort through the area and am told it is different because they were men…
“so it is because I`m a woman alone that you wont let me cycle?"
`No, no madam. It has nothing to do with being a woman'
Yet I think they gave it away when I was told to go home, get married, come back with my husband and then I could cycl!!! I tried not to hiss to much at those remarks and carried on pleading and arguing until I was politely but firmly told to leave his office and taken all the way back to Multan and put on the train to Quetta!


But all things work out for the right reasons in the end. My unexpected early arrival in Quetta, meant I happened across a fellow cyclist in the Iranian embassy and we agree to cycle together. All things in the right place and at the right time…

And not cycling meant I came through the longer but more interesting route of the Bolan Pass-the old trading route to Afghanistan. Spring time sees the dramatic mountain road busy with nomadic caravans bringing livestock and wares to sell in Quetta. This was a fascinating slow wind through endless desert and dusty sun dried villages of mud brick houses.
From the hot train I watch nomadic encampements on dark jagged hills slowly pass by whilst dusty children play in empty sand streets. The train tunnels are full of small beds and cooking hearths where people have made their homes in the only shelter available for miles around, small jackets hanging proudly on the tunnel walls.
A woman in pink blazes bright against the sun bleached sands, leading her elegantly decorated camel home across the flat desert. The traditional dress of the Balochi people of this area of Pakistan is full of vibrant colours and intricate embroided patterns down the central panel. Detailed mirror work is said to deflect the evil eye from bringing bad fortune when people speak too many good things about you…in stark contrast to the more modern, Saudi influenced Islamic dress of dark, black clothing and veils, Pakistans traditional tribal dresses are bright in colour to attract, not deflect, attention. I wonder how the lives of these women are in this harsh landscape of merciless sun and wind. I see the dust lined faces and hope they are as strong inside as the colours of their dress proclaim on the outside


Quetta is friendly smiles and open greetings from men and women. Shouts of 'sister, sister, how are you?' follow me and I end up in various homes drinking tea with different friendly families full of shy girls giggling and older women enveloping me in their ample chests for a hug.
The city is a mix of different ethnic Afghani groups and the Pakistani Pashtun and Balochi tribes. The Pashtun tribe is the world's largest autonomous society, spanning the borders of Pakistan and Afghanistan. Members belong to sub-clans and follow strict codes of conduct emphasising hospitality, honour, revenge and complete submission of the enemy. The Balochi people are mainly still nomadic tribes who also follow codes of honour governing their behaviour. A further flavour is added to Quetta's melting pot with the influx of Afghani refugees...the first group fleeing the Taliban and the second wave of pro-Talibani's fleeing from the war with America. Tensions between the two groups were sadly not left behind at the borders...
Yet despite these tensions on the streets, despite having to watch American war planes flying low each night over the sky, heading to Afghanistan to drop yet more bombs, despite walking into the middle of an apparently pro-Taliban demonstration by accident, I am always greeted warmly and with friendly smiles. It is with more than a little sadness I leave Pakistan …sadness from knowing that this is a land with a kind and hospitable culture where little people are being slowly trapped in big political games…