By Train to Peshawar
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
I decided to take the train to Peshawar. There is regular bus service to Peshawar and it is supposed to be good. Busses leave every hour, are new and comfortable, and cost only slightly more than the train. That said, I love trains, and I really wanted the experience of taking a train in Pakistan. The train station was in Rawalpindi ('Pindi to the locals) the next town over from and close enough to be a suburb of Islamabad. Got luck with my cab driver. Although he did not speak very much English he was good natured and eager to point out sites of interst along the way. The transition from Islamabad to Rawalpindi was amazing. The closer we got to 'Pindi the more it turned into the South Asian city you expect. Busses and trucks are brightly painted and ornameted with plastic flowers, wind chimes, and hammered tin ornaments. There are always too many people riding any given vehicle. Every bus is full to capacity. People are also clinging to the roofs and hanging of the backs and sides. A small Honda motorcycle will carry a family of four with a bag of groceries. Autorickshaws are every where (three wheel motorcycle taxis). There is no concept of lanes and about every minute my heart skips a beat as my taxi driver weaves in and out of traffic narrowly avoiding the other vehicles by a matter of inches. Typical of Asia, drivers use their horns instead of their breaks. The road is a busy highway, yet down the middle men labor pull hand drawn carts heavily laden with steel rebar. There is even the occational horse drawn cart from the country side piled high with vegitables for the market. 'Pindi itself is crowded claustraphobic and teeming with street life. By comparison Islamabad seems spacious and serene.
The train station turns out to be a real classic. The tan brick building was a real classic, clearly a legacy of the days of the British Empire. After buying my ticket I walked around the station to take in design and architecture. There was some cricket game going on and around every TV large groups of Pakistani men had congregated. While walking around the station I was approached by a young Pakistani man who immediatly after introducing himself proceeded to talk my ear off. Abdul was a 21 year old Pashtun medical student heading home for the upcoming holiday (March 23 is Pakistan Day). He was a Pashtun (one of Pakistan's ethnic groups) from the mountains outside of Peshawar. Abdul was earnest and nerdy; eager to tell me about every American movie and English book he has read, and show me a new video game he had bought. Just as eagerly he told me about how he hates all Jews and and that before 9/11 he wanted to go to Afghanistan to join an Al-Queda training camp to that he could go fight in Chechneya. This is when I started to feel a distinct sense of vertigo. I tried to explain that he shouldn't confuse the actions of governments with people as individuals, which he agreeed with.
The train station had a nice cafe with the cricket game on of course. I tried watching, but as an American I find cricket utterly mysterious. Abdul attempted to explain the rules to me, but his explainations only increased my confusion.
Abdul had a ticket in the same rail car as I did so I resigened myself to his company for the remainder of my journey to Peshawar. The train was a little creaky, but well maintained. Abdul said they were the same ones left by the British and that they had never been replaced. Pakistan is a very social society. On the trip to Peshawar people kept popping in to chat. The train conductor and serveral of the guards sat down to take breaks and converse. One of our fellow passegers was Sher Mohammad, a Punjabi law student who worked for the government of Pakistan as a GIS surveyer. He was a fan of John Grisham and had read nearly everyone of his novels. Later we were joined by another Pashtun man, who's name I don't recall. He was in his early thirties and fair enough to look European. However he had the hard look of a religious conservative (in the middle of a conversation he took a break to pray). He was initially a bit hostile, asking many questions about religion. He softened a bit as we talked about family (he was married with 3 children). They all had questions about dating in America. I asked Abdul if he had a girlfriend and he looked at me like I was crazy and blurted out, "I don't want to die!" In the conservative Pashtun society there is no opportunity to know a girl outside of marriage and to transgress these rules would bring down the wrath of her entire family.
Both Abdul and the other Pashtun man were taking turns reading a newspaper. It was in Pashtu so the Arabic script was completely unreadable to me. On the cover was a picture of a man heavily illustrated with flowers and on a pink background. I asked them who it was and they said it was a man who had stabbed someone who had insulted the Prophet. The headline on the paper as they explained to me was "We will kill anyone who insults the Prophet". A very uncomfortable moment, yet I didn't feel any hostility directed at me.
In Peshawar I ended up staying at Green's hotel. The chocie had been between the $20 a night Greens and the $8 per night Rose. The decicion was made for me when I got confused about which stop was for the Rose (there are two for Peshawar). I ended up at the Cantonment stop, so that meant Greens. It was after dark when I arrived and I did not want to explore this city at night. Abdul was kind enought to show me the way to my hotel. That's what's funny about this area. The Pashtuns have a legendary reputation for hospitality and once they get to know you will go a long way out of their way to be helpful.
I decided to take the train to Peshawar. There is regular bus service to Peshawar and it is supposed to be good. Busses leave every hour, are new and comfortable, and cost only slightly more than the train. That said, I love trains, and I really wanted the experience of taking a train in Pakistan. The train station was in Rawalpindi ('Pindi to the locals) the next town over from and close enough to be a suburb of Islamabad. Got luck with my cab driver. Although he did not speak very much English he was good natured and eager to point out sites of interst along the way. The transition from Islamabad to Rawalpindi was amazing. The closer we got to 'Pindi the more it turned into the South Asian city you expect. Busses and trucks are brightly painted and ornameted with plastic flowers, wind chimes, and hammered tin ornaments. There are always too many people riding any given vehicle. Every bus is full to capacity. People are also clinging to the roofs and hanging of the backs and sides. A small Honda motorcycle will carry a family of four with a bag of groceries. Autorickshaws are every where (three wheel motorcycle taxis). There is no concept of lanes and about every minute my heart skips a beat as my taxi driver weaves in and out of traffic narrowly avoiding the other vehicles by a matter of inches. Typical of Asia, drivers use their horns instead of their breaks. The road is a busy highway, yet down the middle men labor pull hand drawn carts heavily laden with steel rebar. There is even the occational horse drawn cart from the country side piled high with vegitables for the market. 'Pindi itself is crowded claustraphobic and teeming with street life. By comparison Islamabad seems spacious and serene.
The train station turns out to be a real classic. The tan brick building was a real classic, clearly a legacy of the days of the British Empire. After buying my ticket I walked around the station to take in design and architecture. There was some cricket game going on and around every TV large groups of Pakistani men had congregated. While walking around the station I was approached by a young Pakistani man who immediatly after introducing himself proceeded to talk my ear off. Abdul was a 21 year old Pashtun medical student heading home for the upcoming holiday (March 23 is Pakistan Day). He was a Pashtun (one of Pakistan's ethnic groups) from the mountains outside of Peshawar. Abdul was earnest and nerdy; eager to tell me about every American movie and English book he has read, and show me a new video game he had bought. Just as eagerly he told me about how he hates all Jews and and that before 9/11 he wanted to go to Afghanistan to join an Al-Queda training camp to that he could go fight in Chechneya. This is when I started to feel a distinct sense of vertigo. I tried to explain that he shouldn't confuse the actions of governments with people as individuals, which he agreeed with.The train station had a nice cafe with the cricket game on of course. I tried watching, but as an American I find cricket utterly mysterious. Abdul attempted to explain the rules to me, but his explainations only increased my confusion.
Abdul had a ticket in the same rail car as I did so I resigened myself to his company for the remainder of my journey to Peshawar. The train was a little creaky, but well maintained. Abdul said they were the same ones left by the British and that they had never been replaced. Pakistan is a very social society. On the trip to Peshawar people kept popping in to chat. The train conductor and serveral of the guards sat down to take breaks and converse. One of our fellow passegers was Sher Mohammad, a Punjabi law student who worked for the government of Pakistan as a GIS surveyer. He was a fan of John Grisham and had read nearly everyone of his novels. Later we were joined by another Pashtun man, who's name I don't recall. He was in his early thirties and fair enough to look European. However he had the hard look of a religious conservative (in the middle of a conversation he took a break to pray). He was initially a bit hostile, asking many questions about religion. He softened a bit as we talked about family (he was married with 3 children). They all had questions about dating in America. I asked Abdul if he had a girlfriend and he looked at me like I was crazy and blurted out, "I don't want to die!" In the conservative Pashtun society there is no opportunity to know a girl outside of marriage and to transgress these rules would bring down the wrath of her entire family.
Both Abdul and the other Pashtun man were taking turns reading a newspaper. It was in Pashtu so the Arabic script was completely unreadable to me. On the cover was a picture of a man heavily illustrated with flowers and on a pink background. I asked them who it was and they said it was a man who had stabbed someone who had insulted the Prophet. The headline on the paper as they explained to me was "We will kill anyone who insults the Prophet". A very uncomfortable moment, yet I didn't feel any hostility directed at me.
In Peshawar I ended up staying at Green's hotel. The chocie had been between the $20 a night Greens and the $8 per night Rose. The decicion was made for me when I got confused about which stop was for the Rose (there are two for Peshawar). I ended up at the Cantonment stop, so that meant Greens. It was after dark when I arrived and I did not want to explore this city at night. Abdul was kind enought to show me the way to my hotel. That's what's funny about this area. The Pashtuns have a legendary reputation for hospitality and once they get to know you will go a long way out of their way to be helpful.
posted by TravelWriterWannaBe at 8:39 PM
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