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Lahore: The Flies should've been the Clue | Dec 19, 2007 12:25

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The last stop on my trip to the 'stans is Lahore, capital of the Punjab region and with a population of ten million, the second largest city in Pakistan. It's right on the border with India (you may have seen the chest puffing ceremony of the changing of the guards) and was previously a part of the Mughal Empire.

Most importantly, it's known for having the best food in Pakistan.

Fruit Vendor, Old Markets

Most host is Geoff Walker, formerly of Fonterra, now in charge of the Pakistan Dairy Development Corporation (on which more another time). He picks me up from the airport – "Would you like to go to the Museum of Lahore, or go to the club for a beer?"

Twenty minutes later I was sampling the local brew at the Lahore International Association. Sitting under the trees in the early evening, watching bats flit about and perusing the evening's dinner menu, I couldn't help feel like the British might, a century earlier. The wine came out over dinner, and so did the debate, especially once Geoff admitted he was a big fan of a certain other New Zealand blog. Geoff was incredulous the various foreign correspondents in Lahore hadn't sought the expats' opinions on recent events. I suggested perhaps that was as likely as me seeking out the opinion of the Pakistani expat community for a story on New Zealand politics. We debated some more.

Wheel vendor(?), Old markets

The wine kept flowing and it was a great, albeit surreal night, eating steak and drinking red wine in the heart of Pakistan.

The next day after attending to some journalism, I had time for an afternoon of sightseeing with Mary, the charming wife of another PDDC employee (the PDDC seems to be almost entirely comprised of New Zealand and Australian dairy experts). With little time –and chaotically coagulated traffic throughout the city slowing our progress– we walked briskly around the Lahore Fort, Mary and I fending off eager guides like two young Christian Cullens. Undaunted, one continued delivering his tour speech until he realised he was unlikely to get anything for his efforts.

Lahore Fort

After the fort we hit the markets of Old Town. A labyrinth of stalls, we took a wrong turn and ended up walking past nothing but women's shoes for something like an hour. (Actually, was that really a wrong turn, Mary?) The markets were crazily congested, the smell of two-stroke filling the cramped alleyways as motorbikes, rickshaws and even cars squeezed slowly through the throng of pedestrians. Exhausting? Let's say I'd rather face St Luke's Mall on Christmas Eve any day.

Stopping to sample some sugarcane juice (not my wisest move as it turned out, perhaps the abundant flies were a clue) we made a dash for the Wagah border, to see the changing of the guard ceremony. We'd thought we'd allowed plenty of time, but someone had moved the time of the ceremony and we arrived to see people hurrying back to their cars. Still, I'm sure it's just as good watching it on YouTube. Sigh.

Poisonous Sugarcane Vendor - check out the flies

For dinner that night we went to the famous Cooco's Den. Situated in Lahore's Red Light District it's probably the most famous restaurant in Lahore (even my hosts in Karachi recommended it) with a fascinating history. Beginning to suffer from my ill-advised sugarcane experiment, I can't tell you much about the food, but the view from the rooftop tables was incredible, and I found it hard to draw my eyes off the beautiful Badshahi Mosque.

Badshahi Mosque seen from Cocoo's rooftop

Perhaps more than any other stop on my trip, Lahore struck me as a city of contrast. From those living in the verdant luxury of the Defence district, being driven in air conditioned comfort, to children hawking perishing fruit from a wagon drawn by a malnourished donkey, it's impossible to ignore the gap between the haves and have-nots.

But if the PDDC succeeds as it seems to be, the life of the average Pakistani farmer (each owning a few woefully underproducing cows) will improve immeasurably from its current subsistence level. Such a change will be a remarkable thing to witness, and I envy my hosts for being part of that.

Rubbish Donkey

Special thanks to Geoff at PDDC for his hospitality; and Bill & Mary for seeing a sick young man safely onto his plane.

Damian's visit to Pakistan is made possible with a grant from the Asia NZ Foundation. Thanks, Asia NZ.

Check out the Gallery link for more images, including a cool bumper sticker.

Taking milk to market

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Karachi: What Emergency? | Dec 12, 2007 03:28

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Flying into Karachi, Pakistan, into an official State of Emergency, I didn't quite know what to expect. I was apprehensive to say the least. I had only applied for a tourist visa, so how was I going to explain the large microphone, the mini-disc recorder with a stack of blank discs, the two cameras, ten rolls of film – not to mention a folder of background information, suggesting my real intentions were far from just sightseeing?

I needn't have worried. A cursory glance at my passport, a couple of stamps and I was waved through. Far harder to avoid were the plethora of porters trying to coax my bags from me. Even once I'd dragged my pack to where the hotel driver was bringing the car around, a porter stayed at my side, perhaps expecting payment for his presence alone.

Even arriving in the middle of the night, downtown Karachi was luxury compared to anything I'd seen in Afghanistan. Forget roads paved with gold, the fact they were paved at all was appreciated. The hotel had power and the bathroom didn't smell like an open sewer. The pillows were fluffy and had a mint on top. There might be a state of emergency going on outside, but I slept like a baby.

During the day I looked around the city. I hired a driver, Manuel, who was happy to take me exactly where he wanted to take me. I was shepherded from seemingly one tourist attraction to another, each designed to separate me from my money. "I don't want a camel ride on the beach," I insisted, moments before lurching across the sand on a dromedary's back. "I'd rather go to the local markets than this large tourist shop", I explained, emerging minutes later clutching bags of must-have souvenirs.

Everywhere we walked, beggars would follow, grabbing my elbow. Stopped at traffic lights adults and children alike, often nursing deformed limbs would tap on the car windows and hold out their hand.

Eventually Manuel had his turn too. "The car company pays me very poorly, so you can give me a tip. I am a Christian man and I have to buy many Christmas presents for my family." He turned up his nose at the US$20 I gave him for three hours driving. "This isn't very much money, and I have many Christmas presents to buy."

At least when you're being fleeced somewhere like Pakistan, it doesn't cost much.

The city is covered with political slogans, party symbols, colours and pictures of the likes of former prime ministers (and political hopefuls) Nawaz Sharif and Benazir Bhutto. At a large roundabout, a billboard still advertises Bhutto's October 18 rally, ended when a bomber attacked her convoy, killing an estimated 140 people.

The newspapers I read are entirely full of politics, and it's hard to see just what impact the state of emergency is having. Not a lot apparently, unless you are a politician or one of the ill-fated protesting lawyers. But there are certain signs. Geo TV has been forced off air for its reportage, though its journalists are allowed to protest the closure outside. Elections are planned for January 8, but under the state of emergency there will be no candidate debates, yet another measure allegedly designed to favour the party of President Pervez Musharraf.

The Pakistanis I speak to seem actually embarrassed by their leader, though rather like Lord Voldemort, they won't refer to him by name, at least not when the tape is running. They are strong believers in democracy, the rule of law and the constitution, and are keen to return Pakistan to a functioning democracy with a duly-elected leader. But they've also seen enough these past years to know that it's rarely that straight forward.

I meet with two local bloggers, who are happy to speak their minds both on and off line. (A full interview will be available in due course via public address radio). They are hospitable, generous and great conversationalists, as we continue talking from an upmarket coffee house surrounded by designer western clothing stores in one district, to more traditional (and delicious) food at streetside stalls. They tell me about the beggars I've seen, and say they are in fact a highly organised network, controlled 'mafia-style', and aren't real beggars. Those controlling them take them away from their families, and remove their limbs to make them more effective, they say, so I shouldn't be fooled into giving them money. Whatever the truth, it certainly doesn't seem like the one-armed man is having the last laugh.

After dinner my hosts depart for a wedding around 9pm, then pick me up again after midnight to take me to a friend's farewell, a young woman off to Dubai. We pull up outside a mansion, and the sounds of banging Pakistani/Indian dance music mixed with the worst of UK club hits must be audible blocks away. A bartender stands somewhat redundantly in front of a table stocked with non-alcoholic refreshments – Pepsi, 7-Up and Fanta, to be precise. The only white person in sight, sober as a judge and dancing to Kylie, I couldn't be more out of my element. And where exactly is this state of emergency?

Damian's visit to Pakistan is made possible with a grant from the Asia NZ Foundation. Thanks, Asia NZ.

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