Pakistan & India
Outward Journey

This article was pubished in Jersey Life, vol 6, no 43, May 1970

Into Pakistan

About 800 miles of these roads saw us through Persia, and on to the Pakistan border. Getting out of Persia was again a major operation, as, when we reached the Customs post there was not a soul to be found, and we subsequently discovered that they had all disappeared to deal with Customs formalities on the train which had just arrived. This seemed to be quite an event, and we had to wait until all the excitement had died down. Our next stop was the Pakistan Customs which was simply a tent in the middle of nowhere, and a large notice which reminded us to ‘Drive on the Left’. It was the first Customs Post we had encountered where there were no official facilities for changing money, but an old man was found in an adjoining tent, who, though never having heard of travellers cheques, gave us an extremely good black market exchange rate for our pound notes. Thus we learned the value of hard cash, as against travellers cheques, because it is not only vital for obtaining local currency in out of the way places, but it also fetches a far higher rate of exchange everywhere.

In spite of having changed our money satisfactorily it did us little good, as there was no petrol pump for miles. At last, to our relief, we were directed to a Militia H.Q. and told to ask for the ‘Petrol Wallah’. The Petrol Wallah took some finding, but eventually led us to his petrol supply which was stored in a tank. The only means of transferring it to our tank was to syphon it in, and this he did by sucking it up through his mouth. We wondered just how much petrol he consumed during the course of a day’s work.

Arrival at Quetta

It was now becoming very hot, and we were plagued by flies, and looking forward to our arrival in Quetta, which is several thousand feet up, and the 150 miles of asphalt roads we should have before reaching it.

Arriving in Quetta we decided to put up at the Dak Bungalow, or Resthouse, in order to clean ourselves and the van. We were now, for the first time, in a Sterling area, so could afford to spend some of our money. The Resthouse was cheap, and the proprietor most helpful, showing us round his kitchen which appeared to contain every type of cooking utensil imaginable, his pride and joy being an ancient gas cooker he had obtained cheaply. As there was no gas laid on he explained that when wanting to use the oven he lit a fire on the floor under the stove. In spite of the well-equipped kitchen we were then told he did not serve meals, so we took ourselves out for a very good Pakistan curry.

From Quetta we set off for Lahore, via Multan, sleeping one night outside the local gaol, adjoining the police station, at Jacobabad, and giving the inmates an unexpected distraction and interest. Once in Lahore we looked up the family of a Pakistani we had met at the Persian border. Although we were entirely unknown to them, they showed us wonderful hospitality, putting up beds for us in the sitting-room, and insisting that I wash in a tin bath in the kitchen. Feeling rather like Mr. Steptoe, I complied, while the female members of the family prepared the evening meal to the accompaniment of my splashings.

The following day we were shown round Lahore. One day sight-seeing was not nearly enough, but what we saw was fascinating. We visited many of the Mogul monuments, most of which are still very much intact, and well preserved. The Shalimar Gardens were beautiful, and somehow still retain their air of peacefulness, in spite of the tourists and picnic parties. We left Lahore, knowing we had seen too little of a fascinating city, but quite glad to say good-bye to the crowds, traffic, and flies, and to be on the road again, driving through the peaceful countryside, bound for Hussainiwala, the entry into India.

Heading for Delhi

Getting through the Indian Customs proved a long business, as, due to the stringent import rules, they not only inspected all our personal possessions, but made detailed notes of the van’s specifications, and practically counted every nut and bolt. They were, however, remarkably friendly, and we felt that the British were still welcome in India. Our first night was spent at a Police Post, manned by Sikhs, very smart, and so large we felt well protected. We arrived in Delhi the following day, exactly three weeks after we had set off from Jersey. There we spent four restful days with old and close friends, who provided us with every comfort, from an air-conditioned bedroom to the joys of endless hot baths, and we set off on the last lap of our journey, to Madras, much refreshed, stopping in Agra the first night to see the Taj Mahal. Of all the great Mogul tombs, this is by far the most impressive, and has an indescribable beauty, particularly when seen by moonlight, when it glitters like something out of a fairy tale. We actually slept that night in the precincts of the Taj, feeling rather insignificant beside so majestic a monument.

We took the central, and most direct route to Madras. We had been unable to find out anything in advance about shipping across to Penang, and were hoping for a cargo ship which would get us there at minimum cost, and prepared, if necessary, to sleep in the van, lashed to the deck. This proved a vain hope. There are only two ships that do this run – both of them catering for quite a few passengers, and therefore a great deal more expensive than we had bargained for. We settled for the BISN ship Rajula, which was leaving in four days’ time, giving us ample time for all formalities of shipping the van across. We spent our time in Madras in a hostel, and having met up with a party of five, travelling in a Volkswagen Dormobile, and also waiting for the Rajula to sail, we spent one very enjoyable day with them on the beach at a place called Mahabalipurum, 30 miles south of Madras, where we swam, got very sunburnt, and visited a most interesting old temple built actually on the beach.