Out there... Way out there

At 7 p.m. the light in the city of Islamabad dims to a hazy yellow. So too, drops the incessant mid-day heat to a manageable blend of humidity, temperature, and breeze. The day is closing and the crickets rejoice from the cool depths of the cities overwhelming and abundant greenery. The hour apparently marks a shift change for the flying animals of the skyline. Crows, hawks, and robins collapse their wings and lower their intentions to ground level thus allowing airspace for the fruit bats. Medieval monsters with four foot wing spans who stalk the carcasses of mango, peach, and apple. The melody of the streets changes from the midday buzz of automobile horns and street vendors to the sounds of days end. I enjoy being constantly lost in translation but I find evening the most rewarding time to lurk about. Men and children stroll about the streets with the intention just too; women elaborately cloaked in beautifully colored and embroidered shalwar kameez follow, always slightly behind their husbands and his male acquaintances. On any and every block one can join, or in my case, watch a game of cricket. I am as confused watching this as I am watching the Pakistani sportsman’s other option, field hockey. The national jasmine and rose garden has become a personal favorite and its purifying aromas have cleansed my mind almost every night since I have been here. I can only imagine the garden’s vibrancy during peak bloom, however with precise care the ground crew has managed to maintain a kaleidoscope of pastel, splashed against a towering eucalyptus tree back drop and low hanging light, it is Elysium on the outskirts of chaos. This polarity is not unique to Islamabad, nor Pakistan from what I am told and read. Heartening poverty and gaudy wealth disturbingly intertwine. Landcruisers and rickshaws, Armani and rags, hair gel and fleas, over fed bellies, skin and ribs. It is difficult to find a westerners place in it all, do I give money or lecture on greater good? It is not my place.

My place has been a difficult one to find. This is by far the most intimidating (at first) culture I have ever submersed myself. Pakistani Muslims pass me on the street with a look of stern curiosity. I have exchanged their glance with a very humble and half hearted smile, quickly followed by a shy lowering of my vision to the step ahead. I wish I knew what my hosts think of my ‘greeting’ (or lack thereof) but either respected or rejected I am realizing it does not get me any deeper into this culture that both myself and much of the Western world needs a better understanding. Sad to say, but I imagine 25 years of American media scare tactics have had an effect on me. But my eyes are beginning to open. And while I still do not openly admit I am from the ‘big bold’ UNITED STATES (I have chosen Spain as my home country, which apparently was a good decision because as I was told by an elderly Pakistani, “Muslims once used the Straight of Gibraltar as an immigration route.” To which I replied, “Yes of course, what a beautiful part of Spain”) I do feel I am warming up to my hosts. I can only thank them for this as everyone I have met shares only kindness, willingness to talk, and generosity. This is backed by confirmation again and again that Pakistan is a safe place to travel. Pakistani newspapers speak of America’s bullying of the country and opinion articles express residents fear and opposition of the “homeland” moving in to fight its “war on whatever.” “If it wants to help, American should do as Mr. Mortensen,” I heard yesterday.

I could go on and on. I am quickly falling in love with Pakistan. But in order to wrap it up, the reason for my coming to Pakistan looms to the north of where I sit here and write. I read more and more about the mighty northern mountains but it does no good, I know the stories, I’ve seen the pictures. My appetite will soon be catered and I will ravenously feast upon buffet ala’ Karakoram… Tahu Rutum will be my first plate.

Wow, that last line was a little outrageous. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the North. I’m quite excited and unsure when we will speak next my friends. Please know I am thinking of you all, I love you all, and this is the time of our fucking lives!!!

Lastly, but certainly first in importance I want to tell you about my Pakistani friend Karrar Haidri who has been jumping through the many bureaucratic hoops required to attain a climbing permit here in Pakistan. He has been more than kind and I encourage you all, if considering an expedition to the Land of Purity, to contact him. He has two websites http://www.saltorosummits.com/ and http://www.k2climb.net/ Contact him and dream big!

Woohoo!
And a Stone Chicken bakaaaaa!
Kyle