House

The Faisal mosque in Islamabad. Symbolic for the city: square, modern and huge. The dome measures 40 metres in height, the 4 minarets 80.

Hurray! My camera's back! A service centre in Islamabad managed to reanimate the focus sensors, bringing back my travel buddy. After football there's photos: viva la fotografia!
But yeah, the game.. I saw it at the embassy where a surprising amount of Dutchies and other 'Oranje' supporters had gathered in an outbuilding turned Holland House. You don't see many foreigners on the streets of Islamabad and yesterday I got to know why. They live life behind gates. Even though I had some sort of protocol on the road - with police escorts and off-limit hotels - I'm accustomed to moving freely. Embassy staff is not allowed to leave the enclave and if they reside outside this secured area, they do so in a few neighbourhoods where each street has armed personnel on guard. Such restrictions seem a high price to pay for a job.
But yeah, the game.. It wasn't to write home about, although that's what I'm doing now.. So let's move on!

(Picture: worshipper at the Faisal mosque.)

Last weekend I made a small cycle ride in the hills north of town to get a taste of what's real climbing is like. If things go according to plan, I'll cycle the Karakoram Highway later this month. I planned a ride along Murree - a hill station that is popular with Pakistani tourists who come to shop, enjoy the cool weather and drive white horses on the paved streets - and Ayubia, another resort a steep climb up the main road to Abbottabad. Children sold colourful windmills, men had roasted corn or shawls or umbrellas. All wanted to make little chats. Also lots of fruits; the peaches are fantastic at the moment!

(Pictures: the church looking out over Kashmir and the caretaker with his grandchildren and a calf that he most of the time chased around with a stick.)

Made about 75 kilometres on Saturday, which wasn't bad as I climbed about 2000 metres. Got to a nice off-the-beaten track place to make my camp: the 150 year old Catholic church of Ayubia built by the British. Normally there's a great view on the hills of Azad Kashmir, the part of Jammu and Kashmir administered by Pakistan, but unfortunately it was a bit hazy.

Initially I was happy to camp again, until it started to rain. Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening. The terrain around the church literally flooded.

I tried to get some sleep under sodden bed sheets. It kept me warm enough, like a wetsuit, but I couldn't sleep. When I left the tent around 4:45 I had nothing dry to wear. I was shivering. I knocked on the door of the shed where two policemen with whom I had talked the night before were sleeping. When they saw me they didn't waste time. They pulled me in, gave me a dry tracksuit and put me under a thick blanket. I fell asleep, only to wake up well after 9.

(Picture: a disassembled house; camping gear drying in the morning sun.)

I'd planned to make it all the way to Abbottabad to take a different road back to Islamabad, but for this there wasn't enough time. My stuff was still soaking wet, so I put it out to dry and had a talk with the caretaker in the meantime. Normally Pakistanis want to know if you are Muslim. In second instance the ask if you are Christian. If that's also negative they become a bit uncomfortable, which is amplified in downright aversion if you say that you don't believe in God or the afterlife, that you don't pray and think we have one life and that we should enjoy it. This time the question on Christianity came first, but the impact of what came after was more or less the same. "But I do like the houses people build for God to live in", I added and gave my most friendly smile, which the caretaker couldn't identify with what he had just heard.

I'm not sure if it was because of this, but the tour around the church didn't happen anymore.