After a few days of Rest & Recreation in Multan as guests of Iqbal – Pakistan’s #1 adventure rider and most gracious host, it was time to push on towards Murree, about 340km north of Lahore. With Lahore 350km north-east of Multan I wasn’t really expecting to cover the 690km from Multan to Murree via Lahore in one day, but I was hopeful that without an escort we’d make better time than we had previously, and so after loading the bike and enjoying one last breakfast of fried egg rolled up in paratha and fresh mango juice with Iqbal, he kindly led us from his home to the turn-off to the N5 to Lahore so we couldn’t get lost in the Multan traffic.

We refuelled near Khanewal at the petrol station where we had stopped at last Friday afternoon waiting for an escort to return us to Multan after the fiasco with the Italian 4×4’s, but then afterwards I wondered if that was such a good idea as when I’d flushed the washroom cistern on Friday it had half-fallen off the wall, and I wasn’t sure if I’d get into trouble.

On the highway we could max out at the 100kmh speed limit and it was nice to ride without an escort, but our average speed was probably closer to around 40-50kmh as often we’d need to slow down behind slow trucks that were overtaking even slower trucks. The roadside was a combination of rural farmland and developed villages, and both of them threw up constant hazards in the form of erratic tuk-tuks, 150cc motorcycles, impatient car drivers, crater-like potholes, speeding coaches, herds of water buffalo crossing the road, etc etc.

Without an escort we could stop where and when we wanted to, so for morning tea we pulled up to a Pepsi-signposted stall and had a cold drink and a chat with some local men. Pepsi has won the advertising war against Coca-Cola here in Pakistan. We pushed on again in the heat and the dust, weaving between the traffic and chipping away slowly towards Lahore.

Lunch was a quick stop for a drink and some chips before we continued on our way, eventually arriving at the start of the motorway that runs north from Lahore to Islamabad. We’d heard a rumour that motorbikes weren’t allowed on the motorway, but I hoped that Pakistan would be like Iran in that regards and make exceptions for large-capacity foreign bikes, as we’re certainly capable of sustaining the 120kmh speed limit imposed on the motorway.

The six or so Police at the check-point at the start of the motorway waved us on, and so did the toll-booth operator, and we started to enjoy the open road and absence of chaotic rural traffic, but we were flagged down by a police officer and so rolled to a stop to chat with him. He said we really required a permit, but allowed us on with instructions to stay in the left-hand lane, except for when overtaking.

Encouraged with his permission we took off again, only to be stopped again at the next checkpoint further down the road. At this checkpoint the police officer wasn’t so easily swayed, and he called for a police escort vehicle to lead us off the motorway and out to the Grand Trunk. Karen sat on the naughty bench for 45 minutes as we waited for the escort, whilst I chatted with two men from the NHA-MP (National Highway Authority – Metro Police), and found out that the primary purpose of this checkpoint was to enable them to stop all coaches, video the licence plate number, destination board displayed on the front of the coach, and every passenger onboard, whilst the driver dropped off a list of all passengers. This information is retained for a week and then deleted if not required. Karen is getting quite used to sitting on the naughty bench, and once again the kindness of the Pakistan police shone through, as they offered us cold water to drink and food to eat.

When our escort patrol car arrived we greeted the three officers, and then followed back down the motorway on the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic before we could find a break in the central dividing barrier and cross to the correct side. A few km down the road the patrol car peeled off at an exit and then pulled over, and we stopped to have an interesting conversation about religion, Pakistani Mystics, famous poets of Lahore (and their counterparts from Shiraz in Iran after I’d mentioned that we had visited Sadi’s Mausoleum in Shiraz), and the interesting sights we’d see by travelling on the Grand Trunk Road north to Rawalpindi rather than taking the motorway.

The conversation with the police officers (one of whom was also a Mystic) was enthralling but Karen was sweltering on the back of the bike, so we apologised once again for the inconvenience caused and took off, quickly picking up the Grand Trunk Road and immediately being swamped by all the road hazards that I’d been trying to avoid.

We kept our eyes peeled for a hotel or guest house as it was late afternoon at this stage and appreciating that we wouldn’t reach Murree today I was happy to call it quits rather than push on too far for limited gain, especially as I was a bit shagged from all the cut-and-thrust riding.

Just as we were approaching Gujranwala we spotted a hotel and pulled in there, and quickly checked into seventh heaven. We were able to get all of our filthy and smelly clothes washed, and we enjoyed a tasty steak in the restaurant – the first we’ve had in months.

Today has been a long day and we didn’t achieve the stretch goal I’d set, but we’ve set ourselves up to make Murree easily when we get going again. Tomorrow will be a rest day here in Gujranwala – I’ll use the opportunity to go over the details of the KKH route suggested by Iqbal, and Karen will upload a few photos from our time in Multan.

Upon reflection we’ve covered Pakistan from west to east over the past fortnight and it’s been a demanding and challenging experience, but it’s also been extremely rewarding and insightful. We’ve been privileged to meet and talk with many Pakistani’s and hear about their aspirations for the country and their sadness at the negative images of Pakistan presented on mainstream western media, and we’re looking forwards to the next part of our Pakistan adventure – the KKH !!!

Sukkur to Multan – 490km (including 20km overshoot & 20km back-track)

Our iPad alarm went off at 05:30am, allowing us 30 minutes to get organised before our pre-ordered breakfast of omelette, toast & jam appeared at 06:00am. We were expecting to be collected at 07:00am by the escort and the three Italian 4×4’s as advised the preceding evening, but when I went out to the bike at 6:10am our escort was already waiting outside for us so we loaded the bike as quickly as we could and by 06:35am we were following our escort to a petrol station where we refuelled, and then waited the next hour for the 4×4’s to appear, along with another escort vehicle.

Whilst waiting I organised some of the curious local boys into two facing lines and went through a basic karate drill – detaching shirt grabs – but the enthusiastic crowd was starting to swell quite considerably so a policeman chased them away and asked us to sit near their patrol vehicle.

Karen waved to some local ladies walking past and en masse they came up to greet us, but what started out as quite innocent started to turn a little bit as we were swamped, and again the crowd was chased away by a policeman.

We got going as soon as the 4×4’s arrived – once again I took up position directly behind the police vehicle leading the convoy, upsetting I think the driver behind – but I can’t see past his wide 4×4 and it’s easier for me to be behind the police utes as I can see them and they can both see us and look past us easily to see the cars behind. In addition – I can keep up with the police as they zip between the traffic where as the slow diesel 4×4’s always fall behind.

The road from Sukkur to Multan is about 450km long and is green on both sides with crop cultivation – rice, cotton, sugar, mangoes. Mills were dotted along the route to process the raw crops, and lots of trucks plied the highway carrying goods up and down, often overloaded and bursting at the seems.

On the subject of trucks we saw four separate truck accidents – all of them looked very nasty, but the police didn’t slow down at all – they kept on pushing along. We averaged about 40kmh for the day, though did have a short stint of 100kmh which was quite enjoyable. The police would sound their sirens to get trucks to pull over and make way for us – one truck was slow to do this and the police waved a big stick at him as their ute pulled up alongside – later in the day another policeman smashed the door mirror off a truck that was too slow to move over – and the police indicated to us via sign language that the driver had been on his mobile phone as well.

We managed to get a quick drink from our water bottles being carried by the Land Rover at one checkpoint mid-morning, and about 12:30pm we signalled the police sitting in the covered ute that we needed a drink, so they pulled over at a fuel stop a few km down the road. Karen and I had our usual lunch – some dry granita biscuits, water, and a bottle of coke bought from the shop that was quite revitalising, and we’re ready to continue on after ten minutes, but the Italians had set up for a gourmet lunch and told the police to wait for them as they needed to finish brewing their coffees. A similar incident yesterday over coffee, and the Italian Job Fiasco last night had already tiried our patience and this was the last straw for Karen – we were sweltering in the hot, humid conditions in our helmets and riding gear, and when the officer recognised our willingness to get moving he got his men back in the ute and sped off, bike right behind and the 4×4’s in various states of disarray.

In the afternoon we stopped at a few check-points and when asked where we were going, we always said ‘Multan to see our host and friend, Iqbal’, and gave they police his mobile phone number,. We would then redirect the police to the Italians to discuss their needs as we did not want to get involved in which hotel they wanted this time. But later in the day, as we approached the outskirts of Multan, we veered NE and started heading towards Lahore. Having won a gold medal in navigation only yesterday, Karen was hot to impress again today and sure enough, she started to see road signs saying that Multan was behind us. We were already into a 12 hour day again.

I stopped the bike on the side of the road so we could check with police and find out where they were taking us, and they answered ‘Lahore, which wasn’t the right answer for us. This was because the Italians had told them we were ALL going there! We thought they were coming to Multan. The Italians were furious with us that we’d stopped the convoy – both Karen and I had sharp words with two separate drivers, telling them to settle down and pull their heads in. Contrary to what one driver said to Karen – the bike CAN and WILL stop the convoy if that’s what we need. She set him straight on that score, as well as the fact it was our escort in the first place ….not theirs and we were not going to Lahore (another 320km onwards)….the Italians has no right to tell the police otherwise.

The police led us another km down the road where one policeman stayed with us so another escort vehicle could arrive and take us back to Multan, whilst the Italians carried on to Lahore. Neither Karen nor I were impressed at all with their dramatics – they didn’t mind it when we stopped the convoy earlier today so people could have a lunch break, nor yesterday when Karen (sans-GPS) figured out we’d overshot Sukkur and needed to turn around, and we where glad to be on our own, albeit with Bilal, our Punjab Police Commando.

We waited in an airconditioned office attached to the petrol station whilst the police tracked down Iqbal and rustled up another vehicle – when it arrived the local Elite Squad Commander was with his team, so we complimented him on the efficiency and courtesy of his men as they have all been wonderful. Bilal treat us to a cold coke and we chatted about places to visit in Pakistan. His AK47 was equipped with two magazines taped together to double the number of rounds – when I saw the rest of his team they also had the same magazine configuration, and this is the first time I’ve seen this arrangement in Pakistan.

Siren blaring, the police ute raced back into Multan, and we stuck to the rear bumper as close as I dared. We were riding into the setting sun and the late afternoon traffic was chaotic, but the police vehicle bludgeoned its way through the cars and trucks and motorcycles and tuk-tuks, and we followed closely in its wake. After about 30 minutes of riding mayhem we pulled over, and a short while later a sleek black Toyota pulled up and Iqbal, our host, bounded out and introduced himself to us.

The Toyota led the police, and the police led us, down a few bumpy and muddy side streets before we arrived at Iqbal’s three-storey mansion, set in some beautiful gardens and surrounded by high walls. Iqbal welcomed us with flower wreaths, and after a swathe of photos we sat with Iqbal, some of his friends and the police team under the shade of the trees on the grassy lawn and enjoyed a welcome and relaxing cool drink.

Admitted to Iqbal’s care, the police team were dismissed and so after a solid round of hand-shakes and thank-you’s they remounted their ute and took off – job well done!

Iqbal calls himself a ‘biker traveller’ – and the term fits him perfectly. On the verandah of his mansion was sitting his Yamaha 660 Tenere – the only local bike bigger than 150cc I’ve seen here, and in his garage he showed us his collection of about seven or eight vintage Vespa scooters, including two recently restored Vespa’s. He also showed us the brand new Suzuki 150cc motorcycle he has bought for his son (aged 15 now, can ride it at 17), complete with panniers and top box, as he sets his son up to join him for adventure travel rides.

Iqbal showed us to our room and after unpacking the bike we showered and relaxed for a while, before Iqbal explained that we would go out for the evening, and I would ride his old 150cc bike with Karen on the back and follow him on one of his vintage Vespa’s. We grabbed our helmets – we were in our off-bike gear – and after a few kicks on the kick-starter we wobbled out onto the bumpy road in front of the mansion as I got used to the four-down heel-toe gearbox, and disconcerting brakes. We bumped down a muddy alley way and popped out onto an unlit main street, first riding along the footpath until I was a bit more familiar with the bike, and then out into the chaotic street traffic.

The riding was absolutely crazy – Iqbal was scooting ahead in his Vespa and I was trying hard to keep up, all the while dodging pedestrians and vehicles and camels and donkeys. We just shaved along the side of a donkey cart parked on the street – without street lights and blinded by the lights of oncoming cars it was very difficult to see, and Karen was “speechless” in her enthusiasm for such an entertaining ride.

10-15 minutes later we arrived at a very upmarket shopping centre and after walking through the metal detector at the entrance, into a lift that the locals were told to get out and let us in by the security guard, then Iqbal led us to the manager’s office on the top floor, where he introduced us to his friend. We had a stimulating conversation and shared a delicious traditional Pakastani meal. After dinner his friend showed us videos of the rally 4×4 he would like to build, and slideshows of the scenic delights of northern Pakistan. Iqbal showed us photos he has taken at various car rallies – he’s a very talented photographer and his action photos are awesome!

About 11:00pm we said our goodbyes to Iqbal’s friend, who has invited us back again, and remounted our loan bike for a slightly more sedate ride home, made easier in the lighter traffic but still quite an adventure. It had been a very long day and quite tiring as well, but the challenges of the day had been replaced by the friendship and hospitality we had received first from the police and then from Iqbal and his friends, and we slept soundly in this knowledge.

Today was a rest day for us at Hotel Bloom Star, Quetta. The road south from Quetta to Sukkur is about 420km long and crosses the Kachhi Desert before reaching the provincial border of Baluchistan and Sindh Provinces. Despite some of our earlier escorts saying that we wouldn’t need a NOC (No Objection Certificate) to travel south of Quetta, all of my research on Horizons Unlimited had suggested that a NOC was an essential prerequisite, and our Australian 4×4 friends – Claire and Emiel – had needed to get a NOC in Quetta just a week earlier, so we weren’t surprised when we had been told the previous evening that the Police would collect us this morning and take us to the Home and Tribal Affairs Department to obtain our NOC.

As an explainer – the NOC is a piece of paper that states that the relevant local authorities do not object to having a foreign tourist travel a particular stretch of road, and that the Police will provide all necessary security arrangements to ensure that nothing untoward happens. The NOC has to be presented at the Police check-points along the route, and without a NOC you will not be allowed to proceed.

Karen and I had a simple but enjoyable breakfast of toast and jam, tea and coffee in the cool gardens of the Bloom Star. A local family staying at the hotel were very intrigued by our presence – I counted about 10 or so young children, and they were fascinated by us. Initially timid and shy, with some coaxing they eventually came out and sat with us. The eldest boy could speak English and so we chatted with him, whilst his younger cousins and siblings just sat and smiled. The girls were dressed in very colourful dresses, and many wore armfuls of bangles and sported henna tattoos on their hands and feet. The boys wore the traditional male dress – not unlike a pair of plain coloured pyjamas.

One young girl – Sophia – was particularly taken with Karen, and Karen gave her the ‘Save the Rhino’ bracelet that she had bought in South Africa last year to add to the collection of bangles on her arm.

The elderly grandmother came out from behind the garden fence from wher she had been watching proceedings, and the young boy introduced her. She spoke no English but we still had a chat with her, and she sat and joined us and the children.

After breakfast we bade farewell to our Baluchistan entourage and presented ourselves at Reception, ready to go to Home Affairs. Four armed men from the ‘Anti-Terrorist Team’ arrived, and one of them procured a tuk-tuk to take Karen and I, with the four men astride two motorcycles.

The tuk-tuk drive to the Home Affairs office was one of the wildest rides I’ve ever had – it would have featured perfectly in a James Bond chase scene. As the lead motorcycle raced off the tuk-tuk was right behind the bike – literally just an inch off his rear wheel. Time and again I thought that we’d crash into the motorcycle as there was no space at all between us, and we were weaving through traffic and dodging obstacles all the time. The motorcycle veered down a side street, bouncing over a speed bump with the tuk-tuk in hot pursuit – Karen and I both thought we’d roll over as the weight shifted cornering hard over the bump, and we may have nudged the police bike at this point, but the wild ride continued unabated for a few more minutes without any accidents but plenty of exciting moments.

We pulled into a secured carpark and alighted, and the guards formed up around us and marched us through a complex of official buildings before leading us up the steps of the Home Affairs office. We were led down a dark corridor and admitted into a large office where seven men were working, surrounded by high piles of paperwork, and our team left us at this point.

We were made very welcome by the men in this office. They inspected our passports and prepared our NOC application, offering us sweet tea in the process. One smartly dressed man – he sported a waist coat over his blue pyjamas, sat with us and described some of the aid programs that Australia contributes to in Baluchistan, involving irrigation and water management, crop development, and livestock management. Apparently Australia has developed a lot of relevant experience and knowledge in these areas that is applicable to the farmers in Baluchistan, and they share both their knowledge – and a portion of the profits.

We were led to three other offices down the other end of the long corridor to obtain approvals from two officers, including the Deputy Secretary of Home and Tribal Affairs Department (and we enjoyed a brief but very pleasant chat with him) before moving on to two other officials, then returning to the first office and after a short wait, receiving our NOC. Everyone was most professional and helpful. The administrative process took about an hour or so.

Another Police team was organised by phone and when they arrived we retraced our journey back to the Bloom Star, but at a slightly less frenetic pace. On this journey one policeman sat next to the tuk-tuk driver, AK47 on his lap.

Back at the Bloom Star we enjoyed a spicy lunch in the cool gardens, and I was introduced to the elderly man who maintains the gardens here – and it’s obviously a labour of love as the gardens are immaculate. Whilst he didn’t speak any English I think he could still appreciate the compliments I offered about his garden, as he grinned a big toothless grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Throughout the afternoon we had numerous men pop by to sit and chat for a while, keen to hear about our travels and practice their English-speaking skills. At one stage we had about five men chatting with us, but the hotel manager chased them away eventually so we could eat our dinner in peace and quiet.

It was another hot night and when the power went out and our room fan stopped I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and slept on the balcony outside our first floor room, overlooking the garden below, as this way I could enjoy the cool evening breeze rather than roast in the room.

Woke up before sunrise to the sound of dogs barking, roosters roosting, and Imam calling the faithful to morning prayers. We put our mattresses away and left our rooftop bedroom to go downstairs and get ready for our anticipated 07:00am pick-up by the next Levies team arranged to take us out of Dalbandin. Our two overnight Police guards had slept up on the roof with us – in fact one of them had recommended that we sleep on the roof as the hotel power goes off at midnight and the overhead fans in the rooms no longer work and they become a sauna.

About 7:30am our escort arrived and we were quickly on the move, taking in the sights and sounds of Dalbandin as it hustled and bustled into life. We had two quick stops – the first to get some water for the trip, and then fuel – 14 litres for about 1,200 rupee, served out of a plastic canister and a tin can through a cloth-covered funnel.

Ali, the officer in charge of our morning team and proud driver of the brand new Toyota Hilux Levies ute had said that we were to meet up with three other tourist vehicles at a check-point down the road, but we never met any other travellers throughout the long, hot day.

We had approx 320km to travel from Dalbandin to Quetta, and we averaged 50kmh across the whole day. The day’s temperature peaked around 41.5 degrees – so not quite as hot as some of our previous riding days, but I was feeling quite sick with nausea through a lot of the morning, which made the riding difficult. The Levies have perfected the hand-over of travellers from one escort team to the next, so the change-overs are quick – so quick we often didn’t have time to grab a drink of hot water from our water bottles stuffed into the cavity of the spare tyres strapped to the back of the bike.

Fortunately we were invited inside a hut at the check-point at which Ali and his team handed us over to our next escort – a man on a 125cc Honda with his rifle slung over his shoulder, and we were offered a revitalising tea inside the hut before we moved on, and the sweet tea helped settle my nausea.

The terrain for the start of the days ride was across a flat and barren wasteland of a desert. In places sand drifts had crossed the road and we had to ride across these sandy patches in pursuit of our escort vehicle.

As we approached the first hand-over point – just east of Padag I think – we picked up a low mountain range to the south of us and followed its contours to the hut where we had the sweet tea. This area seemed more inhabited and there were signs of crop cultivation and livestock, benefiting from water derived from the mountains.

Following the next escort on his 125cc Honda we left the hut and immediately around the next bend was a grassy oasis with perhaps 50 camels grazing on the grass. We whizzed past the camels and none of them battered an eyelid, heads down instead as they ate.

Trees started to pop up on the plain, and we entered a small village, pulling up behind the escort under the shade of a tree outside an Islamic Boys School, and waited briefly for our next escort – this time two old sunburnt men on a single motorcycle, the pillion with his rifle in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. The boys at the school came out to see us – or more likely the motorcycle – as we waited for our escort, and that was a bit uncomfortable as they crowded around us, touching and fiddling with the bike. We were happy to get going again, and the breeze as we rode on was also welcome.

A short distance down the road we were handed over to two young guys on a motorcycle, and for the first time in the day we picked up our speed a bit, even managing to get up to 100kmh! We hoped that we’d have this escort all the way into Quetta, but it wasn’t too long before they handed us over to the next team.

All in all we lost count of the number of escorts we had throughout the day – probably between 25 and 30, and the number of check-points we had to present our passports to, and complete a log book with our particulars. With that said all of the police officers and Levies were very professional and courteous, and we enjoyed their hospitality and kindness. At one stop the Police showed us the drip irrigation system they had installed that allowed water to run down the reed wall of their shelter, cooling the breeze as the air passed through, and their dog ‘Tiger’ who they were training to guard their check-point when they were out on patrol.

The day progressed at a slow rate, and at one stage we were a bit concerned that we may not make it to Quetta, but once we’d passed Nushki – the typical overnight stop for escorts that can’t reach Quetta in a day – our confidence increased even if the speed of our escorts didn’t – and at times we were crawling along at 30-40kmh, baking in the sun.

We entered the mountain range and the road became quite fun to ride on, twisting through the hills as it climbed up towards Shaikh Wasil, before flattening out in a cultivated area. Our escort here pulled over and waved us on. We checked with them that we were free to ride on unescorted and they said ‘yes’, so we slipped into sixth gear for the first time in the day and enjoyed our run up to Lak Pass. The traffic at the tunnel here was banked up so I followed two motorcycles down the wrong side of the road as no oncoming traffic was coming through the tunnel, and when we popped out the other end we found out why – two trucks had collided and caused a traffic jam. We squeezed between the chaos of trucks all over the road and pushed on our merry way for another few kilometres before we came to another check-point where the absence of an escort caught the Police by surprise, and we were pulled over.

The Police at this check-point were wonderful, inviting us to sit in their hut and offering us cold water from their urns whilst they got onto the radio, trying to figure out what to do with us. An elderly gentleman came in and chatted with us – he spoke excellent English and explained how he was an Immigration Officer and had spent twelve years working in Taftan, before moving to other positions throughout Pakistan. This man had a large paddy-wagon parked outside the check-point and he explained that he’d heard that a large number of Afghan men were rumoured to be moving through the area without the necessary papers, and he and his officers were waiting to pick them up. Sure enough we saw two men inside the paddy-wagon when we arrived, and another eight or ten were offloaded from a bus stopped for inspection and they too were bundled into the wagon.

We sat on the ‘naughty bench’ outside the check-point hut and watched the vehicle inspections continue, and waved at the passing traffic. Utes full of girls dressed in bright, colourful dresses would pass by and we could hear them singing – it was a wonderful sight. Colourfully decorated truck and buses with live goats and people on top sped past. After 30 or 40 minutes a Police ute pulled up and an escort team alighted – giving us hugs of happiness that they had finally located their wayward tourists.

We were quickly on our way, and soon afterwards started to enter Quetta. The roadside chaos was a delight for our eyes and ears after the drab monotony of the desert crossing. Our destination within Quetta was the Hotel Bloom Star – the Bloom Star gets a mention in the Lonely Planet guide and is – we found out later – the only place that foreign tourists stay at when in Quetta. Whilst we only had a few km to ride to our destination we had perhaps six or more escort teams take us along various sections of the main road. My favourite escort was the armoured car that had his siren on, Karen liked the covered ute with three armed Police in the back – constantly alert and with their fingers resting on their trigger-guards. Every time we slowed down for traffic these men would pop up from the back of the ute and survey the surrounding area like uniformed meerkats.

We followed the escort vehicles as close as I thought safe – we’d sit behind them by just a few feet as they pushed their way through the afternoon traffic. Any cars or rickshaws that came too close were warned off by the Police – a little tap on their rifle enough to convey the message.

The last team we had needed to turn right across a busy, congested intersection (upon entering Pakistan we’ve switched back to riding on the left-hand side of the road), and one officer jumped out of the Police ute and stopped the traffic so we could pass through. A short distance later we were ushered into the secured car park of the Hotel Bloom Star, and the OIC formally handed us over to the hotel staff, and then left with his team.

We signed into the hotel register and were shown to our room – dilapidated and basic, but after sleeping on a rooftop in Dalbandin and in a Levies lock-up in Taftan, our room was almost as good as anything the Hilton could offer.

After a cold shower – no hot water here – we ordered dinner (chicken curry & chicken masala) – and a couple of alcoholic beers arranged by the Bloom Star staff – and then after downloading our photos from the past few days and watching them on the Mac it was time for bed – a long, hot day on the back of the four previous long, hot days – but we’d arrived safe and sound in Quetta and we’d had a wonderful adventure getting here. Mission accomplished!!!