I'm doing something a little different for this week's column. Instead of a "crafted" article, I'm simply posting a raw journal entry which recounts a day in my fourteen-month journey across Asia, which I finished in December 2004. There is nothing particular special about this day -- October 8, 2004 -- but it illustrates the kind of writing I'd do before going to bed each evening. These entries, as well as other notes I'd sometimes write during the day, would be the basis for stories I'd later write.
This article begins in Peshawar, Pakistan, where I stayed a couple days in the home of the British headmaster of Edwards College, and looks at a day spent traveling from Peshawar to the town of Besham. I'll try to answer any questions you may have as you read.
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Emanuel, a Pakistani Christian who works as the cook for the headmaster of Edwards College; he treated me like a king during my short stay in Peshawar -- something this budget traveler wasn't at all used to.
Wanting to sleep indefinitely longer, I got up at 8am and threw my skinny body into the shower. The last 24 hours I've felt sickly, even dealt with a nagging worry that I've picked up some dreaded disease (when I look in a mirror I think either of the richness contained in an American salad bar, or I'm reminded of a gaunt Tom Hanks in Philadelphia). I worry that I'm pale and thin to the extent that something's wrong. I feel a little fragile; not very "manly." I wonder if it's in part because my 'beard' looks more like mange than man.
I got a coffee from Emanuel [the headmaster's cook] and checked email. Saw the news of three car bombings in Sinai (Taba and Nuweiba), probably targeting Israelis. Taba Hilton damaged. Scared-to-death Israelis trying desperately to "break out" of Egypt at the border crossing. Having been to Sinai several times, I have a visual image of just how chaotic that area must have been these last few hours. And I got tears in my eyes thinking about it too. The violence around the world -- even taking root in the barren terrain of Sinai -- that causes so many lives to vanish each day.
At 10am I took a rickshaw to the bus station. Before getting in I asked the driver how much. "As you wish," he said. "You are my guest." I said, "30." He easily agreed, which made me nervous since the last two trips to/from the station have been 40. On the way I asked him about the Afghan refugees. He talked about the problems they've presented to the "small town" of Peshawar. One of them is that the Afghan women are so beautiful, more so than Pakistani women. "So beautiful!" he said again. And then out of the blue, after a moment of silence, he said, "F--king!" He knows an officer who is always "f--king" the Afghan ladies. I assume he's referring to prostitution. I assume it's not just the Afghan beauty but also their destitution that is the problem. I liked my driver and gave him 35 upon arrival. He handed me back 10, insisting on giving me a "discount." I protested in vain. What a nice way to start the day.
A woman begs at the Peshawar bus station
Got a coaster bus for Mingora at 11am. Sat next to 26-year-old Fida Kahn of Totakan (in Malakand Agency). I asked him what he thought of the USA (he studied US history; his masters is in English literature) and so we began an hour or so conversation. We sat in the back row of a bus full of Pashtuns and, by far, ours was the loudest conversation. Fida spoke about the hypocrisy of the US and backed his thesis with many examples. He quoted Kennedy (a 1962 speech in which he said the US cannot solve all the world's problems) and Nixon. Referred to the Monroe Doctrine (I think to show the hypocrisy of the US interference outside its hemisphere). Said the US has killed more civilians than terrorism has. Said US is against Islam. We butted heads over terrorism in Israel/Palestine. He said, "what else can they do" with no army and diplomatic options. I said bus bombings -- targeting civilians -- is not a valid, moral, or politically helpful option. I had read in the NYT (a Friedman editorial) a good point this week: The Muslim world was more expressive in its support of a fatwa against Salman Rushdie for what he wrote in a book than it has been in response to the lives lost on 9/11 and other terrorist acts. I argued to Fida that terrorism is never right (he agreed), never justifiable (he contradicted himself here), and that Islam would do well to field more leaders who will denounce it unequivocally. I wondered in the course of this conversation how each of us had been influenced by both media and experience so that we both were in some error. Particularly I wondered later if I shouldn't have been so quick to attach to Friedman's comparison. Have not a lot of Muslims condemned terrorism...but the media does not report this with the same diligence as it does the negative stuff?
The stop where Fida bought me an orange juice
Fida bought us each an orange juice when the bus stopped to change a flat. We stopped again for midday prayers. He also said he'd pay my Rs80 ticket, but I said no (and I think he wanted me to say no.) He also invited me to spend the night at his home. After giving it some thought I accepted. In the next hour he seemed less excited and in the end said maybe now was a bad time to visit since his cousin is getting married Sunday and he'd be busy. I was happy with that since it doesn't hurt for me NOT to get further behind schedule.
Switched to a minivan at Mingora and it sucked. I was put in the back row of the vehicle, which held 19 but had seating for 15. The ceiling was two inches too low for me to sit up straight and there was no leg room so that I could slouch down. So...I spent 4 hours hunched over, trying not to touch the woman in the burka in front of me (there were 2 women on the bus; I think a mom and daughter -- late teens? -- but I'm only guessing based on the eyelashes I saw when the light hit her silhouette. She also wore a burka. They struck me as a sad, imprisoned lot. I thought of a medieval knight, McDonald's Grimace. They were hunched over like weeping, suffocating sackcloth.
The burka and the tank have some similarities: There is no human contact. I've never had a woman in a burka speak to me; I've never seen her eyes. A tank is so sinister and frightening in part because you see no person. There is a sense of alienation, disconnection...wrong. A tank frightens; a burka saddens me, or leaves me with this sense of estrangement. And I will never wish to be estranged from half of humanity.
The drive along the Swat River late this afternoon was idyllic, like traveling through a French painting (sadly, I can't recall the name of the painting I'm thinking of). Today in the color of the leaves I saw autumn for the first time this year. The persimmon trees were burdened with their fruit, a red orange ball. Shops had boxes of "Swat Apples", kids played on concrete cylinders. Corn stalks rose in fields, or they had been cut down and bundled. Dark clouds formed a solid ceiling that warned of a storm. Cold came too and I saw that I was probably moving straight from summer to winter (or at least late autumn). The cold seemed to come from nowhere; there was no transition. The corn stalks and orangish persimmons (which reminded me of pumpkins) felt like Halloween. Today I was once again entering a new setting. I was undergoing a shift in my state of mind.
On the Swat River I was amazed at all the men along its rocky banks -- chatting, playing games (like chess?), fishing with poles or nets, and even a serious-looking game of cricket. In the fields people chopped limbs for winter wood, cut grass or stalks and bundled them. The rain and darkness fell together, so the last two hours to Besham I could see nothing. I only felt the wet cold. Our bus stopped twice for the men to pray.
In Besham the streets were thick with rushing water. The rain was falling with awesome power and large hail balls joined the downpour, slamming against the sheet metal roof of the eatery I sought shelter in. I was there with Sikander Shah, born in 1953. Sikander sat to my right on the trip from Mingora and was sort of my guardian, especially when we arrived in Besham. I ordered us tea -- and insisted on paying for it -- but he refused to accept, saying I was in his country. So we drank the tea together, but he paid for us both. He has been working in Bahrain the last 15 years and is on leave right now, returning on the 18th. He too invited me to his home, which I had to decline.
Sikander Shah
I was pretty wet and chilled by the time I walked into the flooded lobby of the Hotel Prince and got a room for Rs100. The ceiling was leaking water onto my bed, so I moved the bed. Had a light meal of beef, veggies, and chapatti at the Paris Hotel. The night was cold. Fell asleep with ease, but not before envying King David's ability to have a warm body next to him when he got cold. But I guess that was in his old age...he had some rough nights on the road in his younger years.
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FOR MORE PHOTOGRAPHS FROM PAKISTAN, CLICK ON IN PICTURES: FACES OF PAKISTAN
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| Joel Carillet, Gather Travel Correspondent | ||||
His articles, based on extensive travels in Asia and the Middle East, seek to shed light on humanity, both our own and that of others. They aim not merely to entertain and inform but also to develop a sense of connection between the reader and the world. Joel's writing and photography have appeared in several magazines and newspapers, including the Kansas City Star and Christian Science Monitor. Currently he is seeking an agent for a book manuscript entitled Sixty-One Weeks: A Journey across Asia. When not on the road, he happily calls Tennessee home. Keep up with Joel's article series by joining his network, or subscribing to his content. | ||||
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Comments: 28
I just finished reading a book about Pakistan's pleasure district, it was a wonderful, heart-breaking book. By Louise Brown.
i am sure that if a woman was to travel that same route, she'd have SUCH a different experience. no?
Marianne -- I agree this isn't a readable format, at least not at length. The purpose of my journal entries -- which were almost always written in a hurry -- was just to get some info and feelings down befor they were forgotten or faded. While this entry is detailed, it is only a fraction as detailed as some others. The amount of detail you need to capture to write a story is significant, and in the end most of the detail will never make it into the story.
as to flit and marianne's comment, i would LOVe to read a journal like this. i am one to savor each moment of the day, and your writing reflects that. there's a place for both!!
Thanks.
In 2004 I did travel with an Israeli friend for about four weeks, in China and Vietnam. What we wrote in our journals was considerably different (I say this not because we read each other's journals but because of comments she made after reading a couple of my articles from China/Vietnam). Part of the difference would have been because we were interpreting events through our own personalities; a bigger part, I think, was that we were writing for different reasons -- she more as a diary, me both diary and reportage -- and so we weren't only writing but also looking for different things.
Thank you for posting a part of your thoughts.
Blessings
I just wanted to stop by since I am finally going through what is now listed as under 4,600 pieces of gather new mail that is sitting in my inbox on here.
With that mentioned I just came across either a mailing from you yourself, or someone else brought this piece to my attention. You or they felt that your creation should be shared with the gather community, which I am very glad that it was passed on to me to view. So I wanted to say Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to publish it here on gather for us to all view. :o)
As well before I leave you I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year... in 2009 :o)