Thurs 28 May
I apologise to my loyal readers who I’m sure have been sitting on the edge of their seats waiting on these last few exciting instalments of my Odyssey 😂. This “episode” will be relatively short since I haven’t done very much during he week.
The lads left early on Thurs morning and that night I treated myself 😂 to a KFC, with an ice-cream for dessert! On Friday I then developed a rather severe episode of abdominal pain and diarrhoea which put paid to my frequent assertion that I never get sick when I’m travelling. It reminded me of the time I left Addis Ababa after having a cream tea, which was followed by the most horrendous journey back to Belfast, and of the few days I suffered in Morocco.
Despite trying all the usual symptomatic remedies and some additional ones, I only managed to resolve it to a degree, but this left me with no desire, whatsoever, to eat, because I was worried about what might happen after I did. With no energy at all, I spent most of my days, that weekend, lying in my room feeling sorry for myself.
During this time I decided that Coyote Den was not all that comfortable, and not all that clean either, so I booked another lodging that promised more.
Tues 03 June
Early this morning, I finally received notice that my Iranian visa had been granted. Although I felt like doing nothing less, because of the upcoming Eid holiday weekend, which starts on Friday, I couldn’t delay in going to the Embassy to complete the necessary administrative procedures. I also had arranged to “move house” this morning, so I had a busy day ahead.
Baggage duly deposited at the new place, I set out for the embassy. Getting there proved to be a challenge, because you are not allowed just to drive or get a taxi there. No. All the embassies are in the, so-called, Diplomatic Enclave, and, to gain admission, you must go to a reception area where shuttle buses are organised to drive around the enclave and drop you at your desired destination, for a fee of course.
The next bit is easier; present yourself at the, closed, consulate windowoutside the embassy, and just wait – there is no bell and the intercom doesn’t work. Miraculously, after a short delay, the door opens and you hand over your passport and visa grant notice, in return for which, after another short delay, you are given two deposit slips, to pay for the visa (+/- €50) and the compulsory travel insurance (+/- €10).
This can only be done using local currency, and as I didn’t have enough, I sought out an ATM, of which there were several at the many banks in this “Diplomatic Enclave”. Nothing doing! None of the first five I tried would entertain my request. The sixth was happy to process my request 😀, declared that it had successfully completed the process, and then didn’t give me any cash! 😣
I tried the currency exchange office in one of the banks, but I needed my passport to change cash, and that was still at the embassy! 🤬 Finally, the two guys at the desk, helped me out. I’m not sure what they did, but one came out, had his picture taken by the camera, then his colleague took my Euro and gave me Rials. Simple! We did you a big favour they told me; I gave them a big thank-you and an even bigger smile.
By now it was lunchtime at the embassy (document submission 1000-1200 and collection 1400-1600) so I had to pass some time taking a drink; bearing in mind that my gut was still somewhat unreliable, tis was an anxious period.
Once the clock had struck 2pm, it was back to the closed door, which opened again, and after another short delay, I was given back my passport and informed that I would receive my visa by email two days hence.
I suppose this rigmarole is something to do with sanctions, because how much easier it would be, all-round, if the complete process, including payment, was done online; the embassy did nothing, after all, except receive the payment.
Weds 04 June
I was now in touch with the shipping people in Dubai and had been informed that a) the bike was unlikely to be cleared before the holiday (6-8 June), and b) I needed insurance before they could clear it.
Doing this, and making my onward travel plans, now that I had some firm dates, gave me something to take my mind of my rumbling gut, about which I was now a little concerned, as I reckoned it should have settled already.
I ventured into town to buy an external HDD to save the videos we had recorded and decided to visit the Centaurus, which is billed as “Pakistan’s premier (shopping) destination with 250+ brands, entertainment and dining experiences”. The car park is as chaotic as you might imagine, but, when it comes to illegal parking, they take no prisoners!
It’s very similar to some of the big malls I’d visited in Saudi Arabia but on a much bigger scale, believe it or not, covering 4 extensive floors. Although it’s obviously where more liberal Pakistanis hang out, nearly all the females are still wearing traditional outfits, including head scarves. To me, the absence of western attire was striking, in contrast to what I had seen in Saudi.
I was wandering around the food court and realised that I was hungry; not surprising as I hadn’t eaten much in 4 days. Although the food was mostly of the fast-food type, I felt a desire to tuck in, yet was held back by my ongoing upset tummy.
I came across the, unusually named, Tayto Café and I decided I would give some of their chicken strips ago to see how I coped. I also decided that I wanted this nonsense resolved before leaving Pakistan and that I would seek out some local professional advice; tough call that!
As luck would have it, there was a hospital just opposite my new digs, and I found there a gastro-enterologist who, based on his letters, seems like a good bet. I made an appointment, costing PKR 2.500 (< €8), waited a couple of hours and was rewarded by a very satisfactory consultation, some sound advice and a prescription for an additional antibiotic.
Later, I set about transferring the video files to my new HDD. Unfortunately, I didn’t pay close enough attention to what I was at and managed to erase all the files from the camera’s SD card! I bought and downloaded a data recovery app, but this promised to take an age to do its job, so I left it running and went to bed.
Thurs 05 Jun
The software didn’t succeed in recovering the files, so I returned to the shop where I had bought the HDD, as the guys there seemed knowledgeable, and had been friendly and helpful. They made a few calls, but the news was bad; the videos couldn’t be recovered. I decided that amongst all the IT shops I was surrounded by, there must be a hacker-type who I was sure would be able to help; you know, one of those guys you see in movies, hidden away in a pokey room, surrounded by piles of monitors and cables blinking lights and stuff, and able to type commands at 2,000 words per minute.
Well, by enquiring in a couple of shops, I nearly succeeded. Faisal’s office was advertised by an, easily missed, ageing sign amongst all the bright neon ones, and it was located on the 2nd floor of a grimy building, accessed by some crumbling steps.
The office was as I had imagined it.
Faisal’s beard gave him an air of a Muslim cleric, but he had also seemed like someone who might be devout, but not a fanatic. Whatever, he took the SD card and did some preliminary stuff and then told me he would need a few hours to scan the card and try to recover the videos. I should come back after prayers that evening and see what’s he’d achieved. With nothing else to pass the time and already feeling somewhat better after my first few doses of antibiotic, I decided to return to the Centaurus to see about some food.
I found an Italian restaurant, tucked away at the back of the mall, and had my most delicious meal in many weeks. OK, so they had to have two goes (gos?) at getting the steak right, but the meal was excellent – each item was perfectly cooked and tasted as it was meant to – and fully deserving of the only thing missing, a glass of wine.
I returned to Faisal, only to discover that, like me, whilst he had succeeded in recovering some files, they were corrupted in some way and the original software couldn’t read them. Disappointed, but resigned, I headed home.
Fri 06 Jun
This was my last full day in Islamabad, and I resolved that my priority was to get everything ready for my departure the next day. This included doing a full laundry using an elderly twin tub machine, and then wandering around in a towel while my clothes dried. Lucking, in the heat, this didn’t take too long.
Once all was ready, I returned to the Centaurus and La Traviatta, for my dinner. I was again happy with my usual Friday staple for fish and chips, preceded by a “Classic Mojito”, minus the rum of course.
Sat 07 Jun
With everything organised the night before, I arrived at the airport an unprecedented 3 hours before my flight. This, I spent in an almost deserted departure area, sipping a coffee.
After an uneventful flight, I arrived at an equally deserted Dubai International, and was surprised at the ease of immigration; simply show my passport, have a photo taken, and “Enjoy your stay!”
I had boked a car to take me to the hotel, and this turned out to be a rather upmarket affair, at least in comparison to Islamabad’s taxis. The driver was one of those who believed that if the speed limit is 120kph, then you should drive at 120kph; even when the limit dropped to 80. A Bangladeshi, he was rather impatient with others wo didn’t share his view, and on one occasion I had to tell him he was driving dangerously and ust slow down and drop back from the car in front.
The hotel turned out to be a family resort sort of place and when I arrived, the swimming pool was heaving.
Deciding to leave my swim to first thing in the morning, I settled into my room, went to the bar for a drink (and watched the ladies tennis final in Paris), before having my dinner sent to my room, where I enjoyed it with a glass of the 2013 Rioja, I had bought at the airport.
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 