Category: Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

I arrived in Lahore, Pakistan from Muscat, Oman in the morning with some excitement and trepidation.  Pakistan is off the established tourist trail – which is a great part of the reason that I chose it, but I still had some apprehension, including: would I have any problems with my e-visa at the airport?  I had heard so many stories of visas being denied or difficult to get, but I had gotten mine on the first try online.  It seemed too easy. Surely they would flag me at the border for questions and hassles. 

The airport’s immigration section was pure chaos. As soon as people arrived in the building they ran towards the immigration desks and pressed in clumps. There didn’t seem to be separate desks for nationals and foreigners, so I queued (or rather, clustered) with everyone else.  But soon I was summoned to the desk for diplomats and whatnot.  They looked at my e-visa printout (bring your print out!) and stamped my passport without question, and I was off.

I haled a taxi from the airport to my hostel.  The driver, who spoke a little English, said he knew the place, but clearly did not, as we drove in circles, before I finally convinced him to call the hostel for directions. His English was ok, but not so good that I could explain to him that I thought the hostel was on the mall, near the museum. He had little interest in my printed maps. He seemed to focus much of his attention on telling me how beautiful I was and leaning in a little too close, patting my leg. I was irritated. Really, this is how my trip starts? With a leering taxi driver? I just started being a bit rude, and he backed off and eventually dropped me off at my hostel.

I had booked the Lahore Backpackers Hostel, which had pretty mixed reviews, but it was a good price, had a good location, and a big rooftop patio, which I figured it where I could enjoy an evening cigar. Both at the moment and in reflection, I had mixed feelings about the place. It looked bad.  It may be clean, but is so old and scruffy that it doesn’t look it. My room was like a little cell with a window that looked out onto the desk of the manager. The kitchen and bathrooms were best avoided, but functional. No toilet paper even.  That was the bad. The good was exceptional hospitality, a great location, and good wifi. 

Upon checking in, I was furnished with tea and a plate of tasty rice and daal.  The manager, Sajjad, and assistant manager were great. Super friendly and helpful.  They also organized various walking and driving tours for guests, which was handy.  But the place was still a bit icky.

On reflection, unless a better budget option opens up in an equally good location, I would recommend the Lahore Backpackers Hostel for the price, location, hospitality, the camaraderie of fellow backpackers, and all the outings they can help organize – but just know what you are getting.

I checked in and then hit the streets.  If my initial impressions in the taxi and hostel were not the best, it was all washed away by the delights of walking the city.  Lahore is one of those places that just left me exhilarated.  It quickened my pulse and piqued my curiosity.  It was a riot of color, sound, and bustle.  The traffic was congested and loud. People milled about the cars and tuk tuks to and from markets and shops. From the sidewalks, people sold all manner of things, but most notably (to me anyway) fish, vegetables, and bright, wet chains of fresh marigolds and roses.

I visited a street that was well populated by street doctors – not professionally trained doctors, but natural healers and self-taught medicine men.  They were lined up in the area between the sidewalk and the row of fish and vegetable sellers who say along the roadside. I met with and observed a couple of dentists, one pulling a tooth from a stoic old man, another fashioning a false tooth. Another was an ear doctor who proudly showed me his home made medical kit. Another was a man at a cart populated with liquids and objects in jars, as well as several fat lizards, some dead and some soon to be dead, waiting to become a potion.  The man beckoned me over, lifted up a basket and produced a live cobra, from which he would use the venom in concoctions.  I watched as he mixed bits of dead lizard with other odds and ends and boiled it in a small pot for one of his patients.  It was all SO interesting.  And lest you think I was intruding, the men called me over to show me what their practice was, invited me to watch, and asked me to take pictures.

The willingness, indeed, eagerness, to be photographed was surprising – particularly after being in West Africa recently, where no one wanted to be caught in a picture.  I wandered into a labyrinth of fish sellers, who called me over for pictures.  One man even posing repeatedly, each time with a new fish.

I took a tuk tuk to a vegetable market area, which was like many others I had seen, but the volume of produce was something extraordinary. Massive cauliflowers and bales of spinach piled high.

A man approached me from I know not where and placed a thick marigold wreath around my neck.  It was a lovely gesture, but it was wet and heavy and made me even more conspicuous than my white skin and all black ensemble. I felt very conspicuous and thought “How long do I have to wear this?”  The answer: just until I got into my next tuk tuk, where I hung it from the frame, of which the driver seemed to approve.

I walked in to the Old City, which is a walled centre part of Lahore. Old; dating back to about 1000, but still very active today.  It is so easy to get lost, but you will find your way to a gate again, and getting lost of part of the fun. Maps of this area are useless.

I climbed to a high mosque for views of the streets.

Upon descending, I was invited to take tea with some men at a bone setter’s clinic.  Unlike the street healers, this was in a small storefront, though the medicinal practices seemed equally non-traditional, at least from a western perspective.

I wandered around, delighted by everything I saw.

Everyone was so nice and hospitable.  No one was hassling me for cash or aggressively trying to sell me things.  They just seemed happy to have me visit (or they ignored me altogether. 

One other cool thing was that the manager from my hostel took me to see an area where the commercial trucks are decorated.  In Pakistan, the trucks used to transport goods are elaborately painted and decorated with embossed metal panels, flowers, animals, and garlands.  They are tall and extraordinary.  This area showed where all this tricking out carries on.  One man invited me into his truck to see the velvet seat covers and sparkly garlands inside.  He did grab my ass as I exited the truck and I scolded him like you would a dog that had peed on the carpet, with a pointed finger and stern “NO”.  It irritated me for a moment and then I moved on.

I should say that the ass grabbing truck driver and the leering taxi driver were the only unpleasant issues of that variety that I had; and in neither case did I feel unsafe, just annoyed.  Everyone else was exceedingly kind and hospitable.

My final stop that day, with the manager from my hotel was to a tiny hair salon where the specialty is hair cutting…with fire. We entered the salon where two hair dressers and one customer (and a few of his friends) – all young men – were about to start. First, they put some thick goop on his hair and then they LIT IT ON FIRE. While it was burning the stylist combed through the hair quickly as the fire burned off, presumably, the ends of the hair. The whole thing lasted 15-20 seconds. Honestly, I’m not sure it made that much difference to the hair, but it was crazy.

That took me to the evening.  I grabbed some dinner from a street vendor who sold rice and curried things for the equivalent of a dollar or two.

I spent the late evening chatting with two other travelers at the hostel.  They were both long-term travelers.  One a Scottish woman in her 60s on the road for several months.  The other a Belgian guy in his 20s cycling from Europe to South East Asia.  Pakistan doesn’t attract your typical 19-year-old gap year backpacker.

I slept in my dismal room soundly, satisfied with all I had seen that first day and excited to see more the next day.  As it turned out, the next day would be the last good day I would have on that trip.  As settled in on that first night I was about 24 hours away from getting very sick.