Shah Jamal Fix it
on Pak'd Off (Pakistan), 06/Oct/2008 08:52, 34 days ago
I’m just three days away from leaving Pakistan and I can hardly believe that nearly a year has passed since I stood getting crushed by old ladies in the passport queue at Islamabad airport (now known as “Benazir Bhutto Airport”). It has been a difficult year but I am happy that I came here, it’s been an amazing learning experience and I have had some fun too. Unfortunately for you, two of the highlights of this past year have happened in the past few weeks so this entry will be a long one. One was definitely my recent trip to the North of Pakistan but firstly I have to try to describe toyou the delights of the Shah Jamal Shrine.Shah Jamal is a Sufi shrine where hundreds of Sufis and other well wishers flock every Thursday evening. Sufism (Islamic Mysticism) is a branch of Islam that, according to the Lonely Planet, pursues spiritual emancipation and unconventional manifestations of the religion. I wasn’t exactly sure what they meant by “unconventional manifestations” of Islam , but having now visited the shrine I can tell you that it definitely includes a lot of hypnotic drumming, energetic dancing, spinning routines and getting stoned.When we first arrived in the upstairs section of the shrine we were ushered into a special“foreigners section” at the edge of the room which was already pretty packed. Everyone was staring at us, so I was quite relieved when the real entertainment arrived: the Saeen brothers, a legendary drumming duo one of whom is totally deaf. The room seemed to get more and more packed and we found ourselves the object of the attention of some young men sitting in front of us. Pakistan is known for its hospitality to guests and true to form these guys rolled and passed us joint after joint. We thought this was a very kind gesture but then it went too far and they decided to give us jewellerytoo, including the earrings straight out of one bloke’s earlobes, apparently saying to our Pakistani friend: “you know what we Pakistanis are like with guests!”The revelry was rudely interrupted however, when someone in the next room was electrocuted. The ensuing furore caused the crowd to surge forcing a pile of people to fall through a narrow doorway to our right. Everyone around us leapt to our assistance, ushering us into the gated, highly decorated tomb of a Sufi leader. After the crush we decided to head downstairs to where the spinning takes place. We were sat in a pretty peaceful part but I felt a little unnerved when some crazy old dude started beating the people who were sitting at the front with his shoe and physically throwing them out of the way, just to make room for the spinning. We sat and watched while twenty men, in clothes colourful enough to make Joseph’s dreamcoat look like a dish rag, leapt and spun around the arena while 7up bottle-bongs stuffed with 20 “naughty” cigarettes were passed through the crowd. We got home just before dawn in time to hear the klaxon sound toindicate breakfast time for Ramazan observers. Shah Jamal was probably the most insane situation I ever have found myself in, I don’t think I want to go again though.The next day I had to pack and leave for the North feeling tired and ever so slightly dizzy. 3 other volunteers and I flew into Gilgit and were met by our guide Fida, our driver and a bright green open-topped jeep which made me very happy indeed. We decided to take advantage of the clear weather and head straight to Fairy Meadows. Little did I realise that getting there involved an hour long jeep ride along a narrow mountain path, a journey so terrifying that my face contorted into expressions I was not previously aware I was capable of. Fortunately I had vaguely remembered some advice I was given to sit on the right of the vehicle so I wouldn’t be able to see the sheer drop down the enormousmountain face on one side. I was feeling slightly smug about remembering that tip and about the fact we had survived the journey when our guide announced we had a 3-4 hour climb ahead of us, with luggage.In fact we made it in 2 and a half hours but I was in a lot of pain and bloody frozen when we reached the campsite. Admittedly it did seem almost worth it when I saw the view of Nanga Parbat,“The Killer Mountain” from the balcony of my wooden hut.The walks we did over the next few days brought cute local children demanding biscuits as payment for being in photos and views that must literally have been breath-taking, given the puffing and wheezing coming from my side. Indeed having spent a long and sweltering hot summer spent sat by an air conditioner consuming mangoes, I was forced to admit to being an embarrassingly unfit slob. So it was that on the fourth day of the trip, climbing up to the base camp of Nanga Parbat that I decided to travel by horse.Without the crushing chest pain, suddenly everything seemed a hundred times more beautiful. I was able to appreciate the views of the mountain, the friendly locals strolling effortlessly past with miserable, heavily laden donkeys and the stunning farming village of Rupal, the home of our guide, where we stopped for tea with his family. Oh yes, I survived the journey to base camp with just a sunburnt nose and a sore botty.At this point I started to feel pretty sad that I only had six days to make this trip meaning only a day or so in the Hunza Valley. We stayed in the highly recommendable Eagle’s Nest hotel that sits high in the valley overlooking Karimabad (previously called Baltit, the ancient capital of Hunza) and visited the two forts in the town. Again I feel compelled to comment on the amazing warmth and welcoming spirit of the Northern people who waved and smiled and chatted to us wherever we went. The children were especially sweet with their pale eyes and dark skin. Even very young children(boys mostly) were roaming free around the city, some in wheelbarrows like these two, who followed us through the winding streets with cheeky grins on their faces.It’s hard to believe that the beautiful places I visited are in the same area associated with extremism and clandestine Taliban activity. I can’t imagine that there would be anyone living among these hospitable folk that would not welcome visitors of all kinds with open arms. During the course ofthis year I have tried not to think too much about such things, almost to the point of complacency. However, sadly the first day of the trip coincided with the attack on the Marriot hotel in Islamabad and I flew back into Benazir Bhutto Airport with my heart in my mouth knowing that there had been abomb scare there as well only the day before. As I nervously awaited the return of my backpack, hopping from foot-to-foot desperate to leave the airport, I noticed how no one else there was showing quite so much of the whites of their eyes as me. Perhaps this nasty business has just become a part of life for them or they find comfort in their religious beliefs and that frequently used saying “Insh’Allah” (God’s Will).That about brings me to the end of this entry which will be the final one on this blog, I don’t think the Pak’d off pun will really work for a blog about travelling in India. I will have to come up with a new title, something adventurous yet classy like “India-na Jo”. I’ll work on it and let you know. Bye for now.