Part 11. The silk road, Kyhber Pass and Golden Temple
The bus to Peshawar was full of hippies, we shared stories and I learned about places to stay, which were the cheapest ways to travel onward and most importantly not to take the remaining Afghan Black over the border. Apparently the Pakistan border guards were rumoured to have their pay enhanced by the local tribes to ensure that no narcotics came over the border with tourists, they had their own internal markets to protect.They had really harsh penalties for smugglers and even tiny amounts were liable to get you a prison sentence. Eight of us divided up the small remaining hashish and ate it.
The ancient ‘silk road’ route through the mountains was awe inspiring, the pathway littered in history, the debris of endless wars, rotting artillery, crashed vehicles, tribesman on horseback and roads built through terrain that would challenge anyone. Traditional tea shop rest stops led to the border post and sure enough, taking one look at us, our bus was emptied, our luggage offloaded and a huge lady border guard was brought in to search everybody and everything. I was interviewed with two other English guys, she shouted at us that she wanted us to handover our ‘stash’. She said she could smell it on us, she said we were soaked in it, she said she could see it oozing from the pores in our skin. She hated that we were finding the whole thing hilarious and we were strip searched and every container in our luggage opened emptied and refilled.
There was a tented market type area on the Pakistan side about half a mile from the border where the bus eventually stopped for refreshments and we were bombarded by salesman.These guys had trays round their necks, a bit like a cinema ice cream seller but with a range of clandestine goods, little sample bottles of Cocaine, Heroin, Amphetamines, Hashish, knives, ammunition for guns, pictures of guns of all descriptions, these guys really expected to sell stuff, they led passengers off to neighbouring tents to look in more detail at their wares. The tents were full of armed tribesman some clearly selling to other tribesman, some people in army uniforms. A veritable circus of contraband, an open air black marked with military protection and approval. Something that could easily have inspired a market scene in a Mad Max movie.
To be honest it freaked me out, one guy got on the bus and was wiping coke off his finger onto everybody’s gums, whether they resisted or not, “check the quality, check the quality”. I resisted everything and stayed firmly on the bus but more hardened travellers went with them and came back with tall tales and secret purchases.
We moved on down the mountains to Peshawar and a night in a seedy hostel in the market area where I was awoken to the sounds and smells of animal slaughter as the meat and game were bled into the blood running gutters with accompanying prayers. Halal slaughter looked just as barbaric to this delicate vegetarian westerner as any other kind of slaughter. I moved on the same day to get to Lahore and across to the Golden Temple in Amritsar that I heard was welcoming to travellers, so my time in Pakistan was very limited.
The Golden temple was smaller than I had imagined but was a fabulous bustling place full of Sikh pilgrims and holy men. They offered a bed to any who asked for one and fed everybody who was there twice a day, a massive task. I knew nothing of Sikhs except to recognise their head gear and slightly proud, upright manner. Those that I had met seemed aloof and a little war like.
To spend time to talk with these people about their complex belief system, their search for inner truth and divine grace was fascinating. Their sense of living in the world while staying connected to the divine showed in what I can only describe as humility and generosity, I came away with a deep respect for them. I also met a couple of Khampa warriors resting from their fight in Tibet, but their existence at the temple was kind of hushed up, not acknowledged and our interaction was brief.
I was set now on travelling down to Delhi and then on to the south, I’m not sure where I picked up the letter from Hillary to say she was going to meet me in Delhi and travel south with me but it warmed my heart. We had until that summer, for about 2 years, lived as one person, connected and inseparable , people that knew us had always referred to either of us as ‘BobandHillary’ a sort of combined unit.
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