Border to Dalbandin

We set out across "No Mans Land" between the two border posts. It felt strange we were nowhere, not in Iran or Pakistan. The trip was painful, the vibration was so bad that at times it felt like the bus was just going up and down, not forward. On several occasions I just stopped, once to take off my wrist watch that was jumping around on my arm that much that it hurt. The sand was reflecting the sun making it so bright that it hurt your eyes. Sand drifts across the road were a constant problem, we had to stop and check to see how deep the sand was, the last thing we needed was to get stuck out here.

Suddenly a train line appeared near the road, the first sign of life. The train came once a week bringing fuel and water to this far flung post. Soon there were buildings in the distance, more mud huts, a sleepier town you could not hope to find. It took a tour round the dozen or so buildings to work out where the border post was and it was soon obvious that this was going to take some time.

The border train

We were going to be here at Qila Safed for the night, so everyone wandered off to see the town. No fear of anybody slipping over the border, you would need to be a camel to come this way. It was agreed that the formalities would take place when the sun went down, that way no one need get overheated. At the end of the street was a large bedouin style tent that housed the only eating place, which in no time became home to us, plus the total male population of about 20. They served up a very good cauliflower curry, it was supposed to be chicken but no one found any, not even a bone. We sat in the tent and processed the passports, while a local man played an Ud. (Sound bite) This area is part of Baluchistan which covers the south western part of Pakistan and follows the Afghan border up towards the Kyber Pass. This is a very tribal area and everyone carries guns. Out here not carring a gun would be like going out with out a mobile phone these days and we all no how unlikely that is.

Qila Safed - Pakistan

This place is very remote and only survives because of the weekly visit by the train, which brings water and supplies to the towns west of Quetta. The train arrives each Thursday and this is the only day you can get fresh vegetables. The water is stored in large underground tanks and we have been advised not to drink it before it is boiled.

The next day starts slowly and we are delayed by customs, I suspect they see so little traffic that they want to keep us here as long as possible. The majority of India bound traffic goes via the shorter route through Tehran, Mashhad and crosses into Afghanistan at Islam Qala then via Herat, Kandahar to Kabul. This southern route is only taken by those with more time than brains. We are heading for Dalbandin next which is less than 300kms as the crow flies, but it is rough desert road through bandit country, home to sand dunes and camels. It will take us all day, plus there is a night time curfew, so we must get there or risk spending a night in hostile territory.

Baluchistan wildlife

Wide open spaces

Tribesmen

Typical roadside village

The road lived up to its reputation and the going was hard. By midday we had only covered 150 of the 350 kms and Dalbandin seemed a long way off. Every 50 kms or so there was a check post, not anything elaborate just a tent at the side of the road with a single strand of chain blocking the way. We had to stop while they did a check of papers and walked through the bus. They weren't really interested in anything except having a look at the girls. Each soldier took his turn of walking very slowly up the isle to the back of the bus, it was as if a peep show was in town. They were harmless and soon dropped the chain so we could get on our way. About 30 kms from Dalbandin we reached the last check post. By now it was getting late the sun was close to the horizon and soon darkness would fall. They told us we couldn't go any further or we would be breaking the curfew. The though of spending a night out here was not my idea of fun, when we could be in town in 30mins. I drove up to the chain and began pushing it, almost immediately two soldiers dropped to one knee and pointed their rifles at me. It was time to back off, Fred hopped off and spoke to them and a couple of minutes later they dropped the chain and we were on our way.

The ever moving dunes

Fred wasn't happy having to part with a packet of his dwindling supply of cigarettes, but it did the trick. The music was playing, town was only 20 minutes away when I had to turn on the lights, so we could see where we were going, I could almost taste that first cup of tea. Through the open window beside me I heard a sound that could have been a distant gun shot, then thump a bullet hit the side of the door right next to me. Instantly I turned off all the lights only to realise I couldn't see the road ahead. We were racing into the dark almost blind, but to put the lights back on would have made us an easy target. Fred opened the front door and stuck his head out to help guide me. Twice I flicked on the lights just for a second to get my bearings. We ran off the road several times but as luck would have it, the ground was flat, so no real danger. After about 2 miles it was safe to put the lights back on and in no time we were entering Dalbandin. We stayed overnight at the rest house and no sooner had we arrived, than tea was being served on the lawn in china tea pots with roses on them. What a contrast to only minutes earlier. Dalbandin is a very primitive town, just a collection of mud dwellings. how could we know that in years to come, it would be vital to Pakistan's nuclear war program. The once abandoned airfield is now a part of the American war on terrorism, how thing change.