It all is a bit fuzzy now; after all, it has been 23 years since I was there. The flight from Delhi to Islamabad was of no consequence. Actually, I was supposed to be driving across the border but due to the 'rough' relations between the two countries only one person was allowed to drive across- so I flew over to meet the car in Islamabad. The car was supposed to be there when I arrived, but there was no car. So I'm in a city I've never been in before and I have no phone number or address. Stranded in this city which although just a country away from India appeared so different. The one striking difference was the lack of females. (This would be something I would never get used to as I drove further into Pakistan).
The friendliness of the people sure did help to make my introduction to Pakistan be a positive one. A talkative taxi driver wanted to know if we were the ones waiting for the White Morris Minor. It could be a coincidence since there were so many Morris Minors around, so I pushed him to describe the driver. His description was perfect. My friend and I plunked ourselves down on the side of the road and waited. We waited and waited and waited. Soon the cheerful Morris Minor chugged up the road to where we were. Now the trip of a lifetime was to begin.
I saw a picture on another blog which brought back such memories. The picture was of a huge sign post telling the drivers how many miles there were to go to say...Islamabad...or Pershawa...etc. I just remember when we were driving those same roads there were very few signs- and we had to find out directions the hard way-- by stopping and asking with cross cultural, improvised sign language of course.
