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November
16, 1999
This is
Chanda Baggarly. Today we traveled from Dalbandin Pakistan to Zahedan Iran.
It was cold
and dark this morning as we started out from the military rest house in
Dalbandin. November is as good of an excuse as any for cold weather, but
the darkness was due to non-existent street lights in this part of
Pakistan.
For the
past eight days I've been wearing the traditional Muslim dupatta (or head
scarf) and shalwar qamiz - a long, loose, non-revealing garment which
consists of big MC Hammer-like trousers and a long dress. any, but not
all, women here cover themselves with a tent-like garment called a burqa.
A woman dressed in yellow is wearing one in todays pictures. The burqa
provides “honorable” women with head-to-toe coverage of their bodies and
even includes a net to cover their eyes.
Today the
Captain road with Nick and I. We were on our last day in Pakistan and we
had quite a drive to Iran. Not a long drive really, just boring, nothing
to see but sand and consequently nothing to do but chat. Unfortunately
our handle on Urdu is about as good as the Captain's English. Yeah,
chatting wasn't easy. We exchanged over-annunciated words with smiles and
nods for a while. It was fun, but it didn't really work though. Oh well,
who needs words anyway, the Captain and I had our own language—he would
put his hand on my knee and in return I would say “No” and brush it off.
This went on for hours. Perhaps it was clear to him—since I was traveling
with five men, spoke freely to each of them, and made little effort to
cover that darned piece of hair that kept falling out of my
dupatta---that I wasn't the most “honorable” women in town. Anyway, I am
sure that after today's drive the Captain will never forget the English
word “No.”
One last
stop for chai (tea) before the border. In Pakistan there is no escaping
chai. It is served at breakfast, and for a mid-morning snack as well as
at lunch, afternoon, dinner, and after dinner. Chai, chai, chai. I'm not
complaining at all, chai is great. Surely it's what puts the 'Pak' in
'Pakistan'. To the amateur though, 12 cups a day (which is one-third of
what the average Pakistani consumes daily) can do some frightening things
to an inexperienced stomach.
We arrived
at the Iranian border in good enough time although we were still three
days late. The entrance was crowded. The Pakistan side consists of just a
few buildings out in the middle of the desert, no trees or shade. We were
not sure where to go so we just followed the crowd and hopped in two
lengthy lines—one for women and one for men—both trickled into a small
white building. Not long and I was at the door. The women's line always
seems to move faster. Even in India the women's line always zipped along
much faster than the mens—wonder why...
Out of
Pakistan we wheeled ourselves over to Iran. Since we were three days late
and had not been able to contact our Iranian guides, we were a little
concerned.Did they know we were here? How are we going to get through
Iran? What do we do now? And, what is this guy saying to us?- Just a few
of our concerns at the time.
This is
when I learned that we could actually “rat out”
someone before we actually meet them. The three hours we spent waiting in
the hot sun before our guides found us was not adequate penance for what
we had done to them. Turns out they had been waiting for us for three
days in the hot desert. Yikes!
Despite the
past few days of living in their car on the desolate Iran/Pakistan
border, somehow Kamran and Ali Rheza managed in good humor to hospitably
welcome us into Iran.
We hit
Zahedan midday. Up until then, all we knew about Iran was the roads are
beautiful and the gas is cheap—fourteen cents (that's .14) per gallon.
Right on! We were planning on going all the way to Kerman but since we
were running late Kamram made arrangements in Zahedan. We arrived at a
nice hotel, unloaded our bags and walked to a nearby cafe for some
Persian cuisine (yogurt and chello kabobs—very tasty) and a smoke from
the hookah or “Bahoka” pipe.
Back at the
hotel, Nick and I had several knocks on our door but no one in sight when
we open the door; probably just curious Persians. I passed a few
chador-clad women in the halls today; we passed with smiles, giggles, and
nods. Hopefully they aren't laughing at my dupatta...
So that's
it for tonight. Tomorrow we are off to Kerman. This is Chanda signing off.
Safe journeys!
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