Not in Kansas anymore

NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

My flights from New York City to Brussels to Abu Dhabi to Islamabad were uneventful but long. There's no way you can travel for nearly 24 hours and not arrive a bit tired and crumpled but I was otherwise in good shape.

After clearing customs I went to pick up my bags but they weren't there. I was told to go to a particular counter to file my claim. There were 20 others there as well and they were all engaged in a shoving match to get to the beleaguered clerks. I found a young guy who spoke English who advised me how to engage in this sport, encouraging me to push my way past "Gandhi" a short, nearly bald-headed man. Speaking of men, nearly everyone on the flight was male, probably 10:1.

I eventually got past "Gandhi" though not until after someone else did. My benefactor teased me about not being very good at pushing my way forward and I told him I'd try and get better during my month in Pakistan.

During this time I was not in the slightest upset or anxious. A good sign.

Walking outside it took only seconds to meet up with Surkhab and Zamurad. They knew by this time that many of us had become estranged from our luggage and told me not to worry. I told him that I wasn't worried, particularly since it had happened to so many of us. Clearly some section of the cargo did not make one of the transfers and I would be able to pick up my bags the next day (Sat.).

We got in their compressed natural gas van (kinda a small vw) and headed to Abbottobad on roads that were surprisingly good. One of the most distinctive features of this trip was the transport trucks and busses that were all decorated in brightly colored, Arabic motifs. I pictured one of them in a US style truck stop and the stares it would attract and laughed to myself.

Surkhab and Zamurad had 2 important tasks to perform in Abbottobad. The first was to take me directly to a barber and get me cleaned up. After sending them my picture so they would know whom to pick up at the airport, they both thought I was too "disheveled" looking. They also thought I looked like Saddam Hussein after he was captured and before he was hung. I thought this would be an embarrassment but to the contrary, Surkhab told me that in Pakistan, Saddam is a hero. Apparently the Pakistanis do not watch CNN or FOX enough. Surkhab went on to explain that in Pakistan, appearance is quite important and that those who want respect are neatly quaffed. He also said that I did not need to grow the beard, but since so many folks have said they like it, I figured I'd keep it for awhile at least.

The barber was down a crowded alley in a smallish space. 3 very standard, though older, barber's chairs were there and soon I was in one. I let Surkhab direct the show and after what seemed like an extended operation, my beard was a mere shadow of its former self and my hair 2 months shorter. But I wasn't done at this point. They directed me towards the back where I was to take a shower. The "shower" was only a bucket and cup system but between the bits of hair down my back and neck and a body that was crying out for sleep, I cannot remember another shower I've ever had that felt so good. I came out feeling rejuvenated and looking like a proper Pakistani (or at least a proper foreigner).

The other item of business was to get me registered with the authorities. I'm not entirely certain what this was about, but the process seemed friendly enough and I was not concerned. This also required a trip to the photo shop since the photos I had brought with me for this purpose were in my missing luggage. While at the photographer's shop, Surkhab pointed out the hand carved furniture that their "carpenters" make. I told him this was something completely outside of my abilities and that I would have to stop describing myself as a carpenter since I was clearly outclassed. Surfaces with intricate designs adorned every piece and I wondered how many years it would take me to accomplish something of far inferior quality.

From Abbottabad, we went to Kakul village where Surkhab and Zamurad live. They set me up in their palatial guest quarters which includes a cot and inside, western style, toilet. We tried to get my mac hooked up to their dial-up internet but the set-up disk was made for a pc and did not work for me.

But as with everything else, Surkhab said not to worry. He's got a pc laptop I can use while I'm here if we can't get the mac hooked up. He's also going to help me buy a cell phone (for about $40) that I will be able to use here, as well as in India later on.

I am having serious problems with e-mail at the moment. For the most part I will not be able to respond and might not even be able to read what is sent to me. Please understand and help out by not sending anything that is not vital. Your messages of support are appreciated, but they tend to slow down an already too slow process.