Pakistan

January 2, 2017February 13, 2021

Pakistan- The Final Verdict!

The journey back to Lahore was draining. I took the earliest morning bus back to Peshawar, and we arrived at the tunnel at around 9:30AM. At first, the bus driver was very concerned that he would have to wait at the tunnel entrance until 12:30PM, but I told him the story about the Korean engineer bending the rules for us and letting us through last time via my animated body language repertoire. In Pakistan, marketing for buses and shared vehicle service works much differently from what many are accustomed to in other countries. Public transportation operators yell out their vehicle’s destination name at the top of their lungs while trying to lure passersby to jump on board. The driver was so delighted to have me on board his bus and yelled “Korea” while pointing his index finger in my direction while attempting to entice potential riders. Upon arrival at the tunnel there were no “Korean men” for me to negotiate with and we would have to wait. The driver looked a bit disappointed, but this situation was out of my hands. After accepting the fact that we would have to wait for three hours my Pashtun friend came to me as I was sipping tea with the locals- “come here, lets talk with the Korean men,” he stated with a gleam of elation on his face. I followed him up the mountain and he explained to the security officers what we were doing in Pashto and one man offered to take us to see the Koreans in his truck. “Lets go drink some tea first before talking to the Korean guys,” he said. I am not one to turn down a cup of delicious Pakistani chai, so we sat down with some engineers working on the tunnel project- a Chitrali geologist and a Philipino engineer.

We ended up chatting for about forty minutes over tea and biscuit refills. They shared many interesting tales about their work on the tunnel project, including one about a Korean engineer who lost his life on a stroke of bad luck sent by mother nature. The man was going back to the office from his sleeping quarters in order to retrieve something and flood waters waded him away- all this on the Philipino guy’s first day on the job in the region. The brute force of nature in the Himalaya took the man’s life. Nature is always to be respected and feared. This just reinforces that we must treat our Mother Earth the way we would also like to be treated.

I eventually talked to another Korean engineer who seemed only half interested in what I had to say. He wrote a permit for our vehicle to pass through the tunnel early. By the time I made it back down to the bus it was around twelve o’clock, which meant the tunnel would open in about thirty minutes. It didn’t matter though, everyone was absolutely thrilled that we were the only vehicle granted permission to pass through the tunnel a few minutes early.

This just shows the importance of knowledge and communication. Even though a modest fraction of the world’s population speaks Korean, I put my years of studying to use and helped me win friends in Pakistan. “When one speaks with someone in their second language, they are speaking to their brain. However, when one speaks with someone in their native language, they are speaking to their heart.” This quote by Nelson Mandela was proven true once again. Even though the older Korean man showed little emotion, he calmly wrote a permission slip. The granting of favors like this is just one language of love, even though there were no emotions verbally expressed. Never underestimate the importance of foreign language skills when establishing rapport with others.

A Social Blunder

The scenery along the Pakistani Himalaya on the way back to Peshawar was nothing short of spectacular. At one point we stopped at a rest area so everyone could pray and I decided to shed a layer of clothing outside a restaurant as the altitude had sharply declined along the last stretch of roadway and now I was covered in sweat. Upon shedding my shalwar kameez which naturally exposed my inner long sleeve shirt a man ran up to me in panic and said, “there are women and children here. Go to the bathroom and change.” Before taking off a layer of clothing, I debated doing what he suggested as people everywhere in Pakistan are extremely covered up all the time. I thought it would be okay since I wouldn’t be exposing any more skin than I already was. I suppose he thought I was going to take it a step further. “No problem. I am finished,” I said, pointing to my long sleeves. Looks like I caused an accidental uproar.

I learned here another important lesson. Always aire on the conservative side when unsure about committing a potentially socially unacceptable act. For many of the fellow passengers on that bus, I was the only Non Pakistani traveler they had ever come in contact with. Therefore, any positive or negative actions on my part will be etched into their memory for years to come. By traveling abroad, one must accept the responsibility of becoming a global ambassador, and cultural sensitivity is of paramount importance.

Crossing The Border To India

I ended up making it back to Lahore at about 6AM and decided to crash for a few hours and chat it up with my friends a bit. I would have liked to relax for a few days and hang out in Lahore some more as I met some very interesting people along the way.

However, it was time to say goodbye- so is life. I was off to the Wagha border again to make my way into India. Once I arrived at the dead silent border crossing there was only one man working. Apparently there was a power outage on the Pakistani side of the border so immigration could not clear me using their computers. I waited patiently while reading a book and chatting up the immigration officer. He liked my shalwar kameez and the fact that I was trying to speak some Urdu and Pashto. I raved about Pakistan, its great people and mesmerizing scenery. After chatting with him for a bit he turned on the backup generator “just for you because you are an honest man and I like your character,” he stated. Next I exchanged the rest of my Pakistani currency for Indian rupees with the same money launderer whom I met on my way into Pakistan. I told the man I remembered him and reminded him of the Korean currency I gifted him for his money collection on my way into Pakistan a few weeks ago. He lit up when I mentioned I remembered him and said “you are a good man, please come back to Pakistan soon.” I have a feeling I will have to take him up on his offer soon!

Pakistan Rehashed

If there is one word that sums up my experience in Pakistan it would have to be “hospitality.” Free meals and cups of tea on the street, offers of overnight stays in local homes, risking of lives for an adrenaline seeking tourist and genuine concern for the well being of a fellow global citizen. This was humanity in its rawest form. A standard of humanity we should all strive to reach in our daily lives. There is a warm place in my heart reserved for Pakistan and its people. A place warm enough to make you sweat bullets on a frigid night in the Himalaya. With each act of kindness I received over the course of three weeks it became larger and warmer. Due to the mass media, unfortunately Pakistan has become the misunderstood mother in law of our world. Just like any relationship, whether between individuals, cultures or nations, we must seek first to understand and accept. If done properly and with awareness, they will naturally find a way into our heart, which contains the ability to expand with infinite potential. Seek to understand and unleash your heart’s infinite potential!

January 1, 2017February 13, 2021

Into Taliban Territory

Guns

Three AK-47 armed giants dressed in fatigues brashly interrupted my meal and made themselves comfortable at my table. “We have some things to discuss with you. But finish your dinner first. We will wait for you at your hotel,” one man explained. At this point I was enthralled with curiosity about what they had to say to me and wolfed down my rice and bread abruptly. As I approached my hotel in the mountain town of Chitral, the glowing outline of five AK-47 armed men in the candlelit lobby piqued my curiosity. Several hours earlier there was a power outage ravaged through town, and now all that was left was the shimmering moonlight. “This is like a real life gangster movie,” I thought to myself. Hopefully, I would play the role of the hero that would live to see another day. One man said they were here to provide me with a security service and it was necessary for me to have two armed guards escort me everywhere while in town. “They will be like your shadow. Anytime you leave your room you have to let them know and they will go with you. We can assure you that Chitral is a safe place, but they are here for your safety,” they expounded. How wild- now they were sleeping in the room next door!

Into Taliban Territory

“Five armed guards must escort you everywhere,” was the startling news I heard when I went to the police station in order to find out about the intricacies of visiting the nearby Kalash villages. The authorities promised it would be a completely free service and that the region was “one hundred percent safe.” Later on I found out that the number of guards required to follow you around depends on your country of origin- one guard for Japanese and Koreans, four guards for Canadians, five guards for Americans. Perhaps in increasing order of Taliban hatred? “We are just following orders from Islamabad,” stated the police officer. I attempted to maintain a positive attitude about the predicament I was faced with. “I could become good friends with these guys,” I naively tried to reason to myself.

We left for the mountain villages along the Afghanistan border and did quite a bit of hiking along some stunning mountain roads. My escorts did not like my leisurely walking pace and kept rushing me along like there was a golden plate of rice for the first one to arrive back to town. Unfortunately, I lost the opportunity to interact with the local Kalash people as these large men with guns were strikingly intimidating to have by my side. I could sense a bit of tension between the Kalash and the guards I was with as one of the beautifully dressed woman screched and said “Muslims” in a voice that did not sound so welcoming. Anyway, I didn’t enjoy having these guys around me anymore.

Along the way back I saw some graves of Pakistani military personnel who were slayed by the Taliban. Quite haunting, I must admit. Then it all came tumbling down on me like a Himalayan landslide. I was a tourist in a war-torn land. I realized that although my AK-47 equipped companions did not seem to be the least bit animated at taking me around the surrounding villages, they would have sacrificed their lives to protect me if the situation would have turned violent. Up to five men would have passed on, just to protect one. They would have easily joined the others at the graveyard without hesitation. Laying down your life for another person’s safety is the biggest form of hospitality one could ever receive. By my standards, those men should have been given red capes and have the word hero tattooed on their chests in Urdu and Pashto. The only reason for them to come to that area was because my of my curiosity and lust for adrenaline. Perhaps they were rushing me along because they knew the region was unstable and we were all taking a great risk due to our presence. Could I really believe the man at the police station whom insisted the region was secure? Those men all had families and responsibilities, possibly much greater than my own. This was not an ethical decision and quite selfish of me to subject those men to the potentially volatile nature of that region. I had overstayed my welcome! It was time to move on as swiftly as possible!

December 29, 2016February 13, 2021

Smuggling My Way Into The Korean Himalaya

The smuggler’s bazaar! Just hearing the name alone was enough to get the adrenaline pumping through my body! Known by locals as the Karkhano market along the Kyber Roadway- just one or two kilometers from the Afghanistan border crossing. In order to blend in with the locals, I took absolutely nothing with me and just put a few rupees in my sock for the bus fare. As I was on my way to this mysterious place, I spoke to quite a few people and one man called me over and said “don’t go there, these are the tribal areas, they are lawless and once they find out you are a not from around here, they will kidnap you and no one will ever find you. Get off this bus and go back. You are dressed like a Pashto but once you speak they will know- don’t open your mouth there,” he said. I thought about his advice for a bit and kept going. Adrenaline got the best of me once again! “As long as I keep my trap shut, I should be okay,” I thought to myself. After soaking up the atmosphere for a few hours at the market that smuggles drugs, guns and stolen items intercepted from the US military to and from Afghanistan, I decided it would probably be in my best interest to go back. Everyone in the area was armed with AK-47’s under their shalwar kameez (traditional clothing) which did not make me feel any more comfortable.

I called one guy I met on the bus and he ended up showing me around all day and even took me to his town, a few kilometers outside of Peshawar. The town, which is governed in a completely autonomous manner independent of the Pakistani government, is headed by his uncle, who took over after his grandfather and great grandfather. He escorted me to the building where everyone gathers for meetings and decision making. I was greeted by many of his neighbors and family, and we all had tea together. At one point an older man came over to me with a very stern look on his face, “I have many things to tell you!” he said as his eyes pierced right through me. “First of all, you must know we are not terrorists! The world does not understand Islam! Do we seem like terrorists to you?” he asked. The elder man said he is working to educate people about Islam and gave me a website address where he is trying to share information on Islam.

I also enjoyed talking to an Afghani refugee who came to Pakistan during the war with the Soviets. He said he can’t ever go back to Afghanistan because there is too much violence and danger. He is a very nice guy with a good sense of humor and had some friendly talks over tea and a plate of fish- outstanding experience!

Korean Skills Come in Handy

Anneong ha sey yo! The following day I left Peshawar, and the day my Korean skills came in handy finally arrived! Riding in a shared car along the Himalaya Mountains of northern Pakistan, I would never in my wildest dreams have imagined I would put my Korean language skills to use. Think again! After traveling for about eight hours that day, security officers halted our vehicle due to tunnel construction along the new roadway. “The tunnel is closed for the day!” bellowed a man in green and black fatigues. Suddenly, an uproar in Pashto exploded in our vehicle as all passengers were in disbelief at the thought of turning back. It was now past 4:30PM, and they had to follow orders from the engineers working for Daewoo, a Korean construction company. We were in the middle of nowhere with no options but to drive in the opposite direction. However, after much debate in Pashto one man riding with us decided it would be a good idea for me to talk to the Korean engineers working in the office. After waiting for about an hour while chatting with some Pakistani construction workers over tea, they finally showed me to the building where a Korean man in his late 50s was sitting at a paper scattered desk. I started shooting off some Korean and much to my surprise, he had absolutely no reaction to the white guy dressed in traditional Pakistani clothing. I offered him some Korean chocolates from the heavily frequented tourist destination Jeju Island as his expression solidified even further. I gave up on trying to build rapport with him and finally explained our situation in his mother tongue as he listened intently. Nonchalantly, he reached for his pen and granted our vehicle permission to pass through the tunnel after daily closing time. As I returned to the car with the permit in hand, everyone was all smiles and we made it to the mountain town of Chitral just after sunset.

November 30, 2016February 13, 2021

Peshawar, Pakistan- One Wife? I’ll Take Four!

The scent of hashish filled the air. The dark, drab theater turned into a male dominated disco party as all spectators jumped out of their cold steel chairs and waved their hands in the air to the pounding rhythm of Lollywood pop music. Shocked by their enthusiasm at mimicking legendary Pashto movie star Shahid Khan’s dance moves, I sat back and observed. “This is the way life is supposed to be! When you feel like dancing, get up and dance! Anywhere! Anytime!” I thought in reflection. Chair pounding ensued as the men howled and yelled at the female actress in a bright red outfit who suddenly revealed her bare shoulder. Khan’s character gently brushes his leathery hands against the actresses’ shoulder and the crowd roars as if their favorite team just won a cricket world championship match. Absolute mayhem ensues after Khan rips the cap off a liquor bottle and takes a few swigs of the prohibited beverage. At that moment I realized that I was thousands of kilometers away from my home country, whose mass media glorifies human carnal lust and desire by exposing all parts of human sexuality and anatomy. Controversy sells tickets all across the globe, especially in ultra conservative Peshawar.

I transformed myself into a spitting image of Shahid Khan. Upon exiting the movie theater, I came across a store with colorful pictures of the Pakistani actor plastered all over the walls. “Your face. Here!” mentioned a man in broken English with a beaming smile as he pointed to a picture of Khan holding an AK-47 in a blood stained shirt. A few minutes later my face was photoshopped onto the canvas and I was in the middle of a fictional gunfight with a Lollywood gangster. What a perfect souvenir I obtained that day!

One Wife? How About Four?

After my outrageous movie theater experience, an old man with a warm smile on his face waved his hands in my direction, signaling me into a tea stall. The man ended up being a 75-year-old poet and university professor who bragged about his ability to recite poetry from memory. He closed his eyes for a few moments and recited some verses that he composed himself and I could feel the passion in his voice tone and facial micro expressions. Experts say communication is over eighty percent non-verbal and upon listening to his poems I could tell he was an expert at his art form.

Next, our conversation topic changed from poetry to women. The professor proudly stated that he had two wives and wants one more for the simple reason of “lust.” He explained that the Koran says you can have up to four wives, but anything more is not permitted. He said he is a wealthy man as you need to provide economically for each wife equally. I asked him what kind of woman he was looking for to be his third wife and he expressed his interest in having a wife that is 35 years old, beautiful and intelligent. He said 18 years old is too young but 35 seems like a good age.

Upon further investigation of having multiple wives, the Quran states: “marry those that please you of (other) women, two or three or four. But if you fear that you will not be just, then marry only one.” It should also be pointed out that polygamy was practiced in the pre-Islamic Arabia before the revelation of the Quran, but was uncontrolled and without regulation. Islam attempts to limit polygamy to having a maximum of four wives and attaches conditions to each marriage. In reality, it is only less than two percent of the Muslim population that has over one wife as monogamy is prevailing in the contemporary Muslim world. The option of husband sharing can be a blessing in times of shortage of men, such as after brutal warfare. Also, married couples with medical issues or sterility may consider this option in a positive manner. It is hypocritical of the West to criticize this way of life as society glorifies extramarital relations and sexual promiscuity. It is time to rethink our definition of morality in North America and Europe and seek to understand before criticizing others with varying outlooks on life.

November 14, 2016February 13, 2021

Face to Face With Afghan Refugees

Where Are The Women?

Clank! The curtain slammed shut as several women covered from head to toe in black cloth walked past me at the local juice stand. The worker gave me a discerning glare as I couldn’t hide the flabbergasted expression on my face. “How can those women see?” I thought to myself as they had several pinholes a few millimeters in diameter poked where their eyes should be. Not even a micrometer of skin was exposed on their bodies, and I had just realized that I had not seen a women’s exposed skin for several days now. Indeed, this was a great culture shock to me as I am a product of a culture that exploits sex and skin as a means to and promote consumerism and freedom. However, in this region of the world, women are free to cover themselves as they see fit and only expose their faces in the privacy of their own homes with immediate family members. Perhaps this was a different expression of freedom from what I was used to. From my understanding, the burqa is a choice made by a woman in order to reject superficial judgements which are so common in the Western world based on a woman’s outer appearance. Rather than allow themselves to be gawked at by male strangers, Pakistani females choose to defeat the “male gaze” by hiding behind a piece of cloth. This enables them to be seen as individuals and not as objects of sexual desire. Public display of the body may oppressively marginalize many who physically cannot measure up to the current images of perfection in the media. As long as a woman has free will to choose, I have no problem with them covering themselves up as they see fit.

Murder in the Streets of Lahore

Anti-American protests filled the streets of Peshawar. A local man informed me of the horrific news. The previous day an American ambassador shot two Pakistani men on a motorcycle in Lahore after a perceived threat by the two locals. He said the details about what kind of “threat” occurred was not uncovered by the media. Anyway, there were hoards of people on the street because of the violent undertaking, and the local man suggested getting into a rickshaw together in order to keep a low profile in the midst of all the chaos. We passed the crowds unscathed as I was now extremely happy I invested in local clothing which I used to transform myself into a chameleon in this Pakistani jungle. I was quickly noticed that things can take a turn for the worse in this unpredictable land before you can finish saying “assalam alaikum.” How lucky I was to meet the man who became my guardian angel in Peshawar’s concrete jungle.

A Humbling Experience With Afghani Refugees

After gulping down my glass of juice and pondering on the mysterious lives of Pakistani women, I wandered into another market district. Along the way, I came across a modest-looking bread shack selling chapatti while a group of twenty women covered from head to toe in burqas were sitting on the ground outside the entrance. A man whispered they are Afghani refugees who were waiting for any kind of food people were willing to donate. I bought about 20 rupees (30cents USD) worth of bread, which got me two piping hot pancake sized pieces of food and started giving handouts to the women. Suddenly, one refugee snatched the bread from my hand and shoved as much as she could into her mouth at lightening speed. The other Afghani women all attacked the daring one like a group of wild vultures competing for prey on the Mongolian steppe. I had to pry open the bread thief’s hands and distributed small pieces to the group in equal rations as best as I could. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the group of women as I have never seen people fight like this for food. It was one of the more humbling experiences I have witnessed in my life. I can’t even imagine what lives these women have led coming from the war-torn country next door. Their desperate lives as refugees escaping the horrors of war belittle the issues I face in everyday life. From that moment on, I resolved never again to complain about the difficulties of my life full of food, shelter, clothing and love from my family and friends.

Upon further investigation on the refugee crisis in Peshawar, the New York Times reports that about 100,000 Afghani refugees who fled their home country in the 1980s during the war with the Soviets. Approximately sixty percent left home with nothing but the clothes on their backs. I had just come face to face with the sad reality that war brings to the world.

No Trips to Afghanistan This Time Around

The following day I went to the Tribal Affairs Office to inquire about the possibility of going to Kabul by land from Peshawar. Unfortunately, the manager said they are not giving out permits to cross the Kyber Pass (the Kabul-Peshawar border crossing) responding that the situation is currently “too dangerous.” After I offered to pay for an AK-47 armed guard to accompany me the man said that “one guard is nothing and will not help you.” I visited several travel agents that said flights were going for $400USD, so I scratched that idea and check out Afghanistan on another trip. Perhaps this was for the better, as safety should always be my number one concern, and I just took it as a grain of fate that was not meant to happen this time.

November 8, 2016February 13, 2021

Peshawar, Pakistan- I Am Not A Spy

CIA Spy Accusations

To start off the day, I made my way on foot to a neighborhood called Namak Mundhi for some mutton but ran into a potentially crippling ordeal along the way. As I was strutting around the food district, a man invited me into his barbershop for a cup of tea. We were having a normal conversation using body language and the very little Pashto I learned over the course of a few days. Suddenly, the man getting his hair trimmed started interrogating me about my nationality. Upon mentioning I am from the United States of America, his expression suddenly turned stark black, and he rotated his chair so it was pointing directly at me. “Muerdabad USA” (translation- die USA) he said with a very intense look on his face. “What are you doing in Pakistan?” he asked. When I responded I was on vacation traveling and learning more about the great country of Pakistan, it didn’t seem to help the situation at all. “You are not traveling! You are a CIA spy! Nobody travels in Peshawar, only CIA spies that want to kill Pakistanis and Afghanis come to Peshawar!” he continued as the jubilant shop owner offered me another cup of tea with a smile on his face (I don’t think he could understand the angry man’s English). The shop owner insisted I accept the tea refill and I attempted to explain myself in more detail to no avail. I went on about how I am only “one man” who has no influence on the foreign policy of my country. I explained I don’t agree with my government’s actions and that if I had a magic wand, I would stop all the wars going on in the world but unfortunately I’m not a magician that can solve complex issues with one wave of a stick. I don’t know how much he understood, but he kept on repeating the phrase “USA muerdabad” again and again. “You say you like Pakistan, but do you like Muslims?” he inquired in a bloodcurdling tone. As I clarified how Muslim people are just like any other people in the world and I consider many of them my friends I instantaneously gulped down my tea and left that neighborhood without a portion of mutton in my stomach.

One of my major objectives while traveling in hard to reach destinations is spreading peace and positive energy to those around me. Unfortunately, one lesson I have learned is that it is impossible to effect everyone I encounter as we all have stereotypes ingrained in ourselves that can be a gargantuan task to change. The only thing I can do is make the best effort possible, and I was thankful the situation I encountered at the barbershop did not escalate into anything worse. Attitude is everything and later that day I ended up making a much larger positive impact on a group of locals than I ever would have expected.

Scolding by the Cops

I took a turn down one alleyway in order to get a break from all the noisiness and chaos of the principal streets. I encountered some older men who greeted me with warm smiles and handshakes. Before I knew it, they were offering me tea and a crowd quickly formed around me. One of the people that approached me was a fifteen-year-old high school kid who was extremely well informed for his age with a high English fluency. At lightening speed, he started firing political questions at me when he found out my nationality. He was quick at translating my answers into Pashto, the local language. As the conversation developed, an audience of thirty local people accumulated into a circle around me while hanging on to my every word. The adrenaline continued to surge through my body as the conversation progressed. Here is how the cross-examination went down.

BOY: “Why are you killing Afghani and Pakistani people in Afghanistan?”

ME: “I am not killing anybody. Do I look like somebody that wants to kill Afghani and Pakistani people? Do I look like an angry killer to you?”

BOY: “No you don’t look like you want to kill anybody. You look like a nice man. Why do American people shoot Afghani people?”

ME: “The American people that shoot Afghan people are people that my government sends to do that. I don’t agree with many things my government does, and killing people is a horrible thing to do. What about you? Do you like the president of Pakistan and everything he does?

BOY: “No, I don’t like our president.”

ME: “American people are the same way. Many of us do not like the things our president does in Pakistan but there is nothing we can do about it. Can you change the things your president does?”

BOY: “No.”

ME: “Neither can I. I wish there would be no killing in the world but I can’t change the things my president decides to do.”

BOY: “Why do you hate Muslims?”

ME: “I was just having a cup of tea with all the nice Muslim people in this neighborhood, and we were smiling and laughing together. Does it look like I hate Muslims?”

BOY: “No.”

ME: “How many American people have you ever met?”

BOY: “You are the first one.”

ME: “What do you think of me? Do I seem like a ‘bad guy?’

BOY: “No. You seem like a very nice man.”

I won the crowd over after a few minutes of intense investigation by the boy and posed for pictures with everyone. All of a sudden, a police officer came over and interrupted our picture-taking session. The law enforcement officer escorted me out of the alleyway and sat me down behind a barrier of sandbags and barbed wire at a major intersection while giving me a stern scolding. “Don’t tell those people you are American. That is very dangerous for you. Be careful!” he exclaimed. He gave me a lecture on the dangers of disclosing my nationality to local people and then bought me a piping hot cup of tea. His tone abruptly shifted as he asked me more casual questions in a friendly and hospitable demeanor. We had a nice chat for about fifteen minutes or so and then hailed a cab for me. “It is starting to get dark. You better go to your guest house now.” I decided not to put up a fight and end the day off on a high note.

This was an immense triumph for me as I was able to have a positive impact on the local people in that small alleyway. Surely the gossip would spread that a peaceful man from the United States visited their neighborhood with the intention of making friends. Often lack of experience with others leads to misunderstandings and negative attitudes towards groups of people from different religions, nationalities and races. As a result of my experience that day and similar travel escapades, I realized what a large impact a simple conversation can have on world peace. I felt like an ambassador who was spreading his message of peace to the streets of Peshawar. After all, we are all global citizens who are sons and daughters of our Mother Earth.

I have to admit, my performance under pressure left me astonished for a while. The situation had the potential to turn hostile quickly, but my communication competency and persuasive speaking skills played a huge role in my survival that afternoon. One of the primary benefits of adventure travel is being placed in high-pressure, unpredictable situations, and being forced to survive and adjust quickly in exotic or even threatening environments. By doing this, one can also discover untapped talents at a moment’s notice. From that moment on, I committed myself to spreading peace and sharing my experiences one conversation, blog entry and language at a time.

Some friendly people on the streets of Peshawar.

October 28, 2016February 13, 2021

Peshawar, Pakistan: Watch Out For the Man With the AK-47

Some friendly people I met on the street!

American Blood Lust

“Militant groups lust for American bloodshed in Peshawar. Don’t go,” the man sitting next to me on the bus pleaded with me. “If you go there, I will pray to Allah for your safety,” he said with deep concern in his eyes. “Because of the US government’s support of India in the Kashmir dispute and their backing of Israel, you will have a target on your back,” he continued. He explained to me that Lahore is very “second, but humans sometimes get fed up if someone is devastating their situation,” he described. “Even though we are all brothers and sisters descending from Adam and Eve, it is natural for jealousy and envy to occur even within the same family,” he calmly explained. Before getting off the bus and setting off for his hometown, he kept on trying to convince me to visit his home for a few days to see what rural Punjabi life is like. “It would be an honor to have you as a guest in my home,” he stated. I declined his offer this time around, as I had limited time to travel and really wanted to see Peshawar. During the seven-hour bus ride from one border town (Pakistan-India) to the next (Pakistan-Afghanistan) the bus stopped at a roadside rest area that had a mosque (every rest area in Pakistan has a mosque) for afternoon prayer. At one point the bus driver stopped another time just to pray while everyone else was waiting on the bus. Along the way we had several police checks, which involved filming every passenger with a video camera for about five seconds for security measures. I have to admit my conversation with my bus companion made me feel a bit uneasy about visiting the border town of Peshawar, but my thirst for the unknown was far more powerful than any warning from a local man and I was excited to see what was in store for me next. The adrenaline continued to pump through my body as the man left my side. I felt like a fifth grade elementary student high on a sugar rush on Halloween night.

The First Day

We arrived at night in Peshawar and I was lucky to find a cheap hotel near the bus station where I got some solid rest. The next morning as soon as I stepped foot outside of my hotel I attempted to buy some fruit from an Afghani man, but he refused my money with a wide smile. I tried to practice some Pashto I learned on the bus the previous night- “suh taa noom sey dey?” (What is your name?) “chuh Pakistan hwah hoom!” (I like Pakistan) “Tey Dey Ruh Ha ee” (you are very kind). They were pretty amused by my attempt at speaking the language, and I looked down to see some Afghani kids laughing at me. As I continued on my way, a man approached me and invited me to come up to his office nearby for a cup of tea. While we sat at his desk and drank some chai, he warned me over and over about the dangers of Peshawar and said bombings happen here all the time. We talked for a bit and he escorted me onto the street after declining his offer to take me to my $2USD per night guest house on his motorbike. I have never been a fan of motorcycles and figured my odds of an accident occurring on his motorcycle are much high that becoming a bombing casualty victim in the border city. After walking for a few minutes toward my guest house (which I wasn’t sure how to get to) he pulled up again on his bike and this time I got on the back. I saw the deep concern in his eyes and changed my mind in a split second, especially after hearing so many warnings in such a short time. While I was on the back of his bike, he gave me a bit of a city tour. “There was a suicide bombing at this intersection one year ago,” he said at a traffic signal. “There was also a bombing close to the airport a few days ago, so we have to take a different route,” he informed me. He finally dropped me off in front of my guesthouse after a longer ride than expected- it probably would have taken me at least a few hours to find the place on my own, so I was glad I took him up on the ride. I made it safe and sound.

Low Cultural Intelligence Equals Danger

The following day I met a Chinese man named Jang who had been in Peshawar for three months. We talked for a bit and then hit the town together. What I had figured would be an excellent opportunity to get to know the city with someone who had been there for a while ended up putting me in several awkward situations and could have potentially cost me my life. First, we went to the clothing bazaar because he was looking for a shirt when I noticed right away he was drawing a crowd with his intense bargaining over about fifty cents. “You are wrong! Do the math!” he raised his voice. One guy that was observing everything going down came over and whispered “shut up” in my ear with a stern look on his face regarding my companion’s obnoxious behavior. I was getting quite frustrated with him as he was showing very little cultural sensitivity in one of the most feared parts of the world. The Chinese man was even scolded by locals for attempting to take photographs of children without an adult’s permission and proceeded to instigate heated debates on what the Koran says is the accurate age of adulthood. “You see this! Lack of education,” he condescendingly criticized everyone around him. At one point he fumbled around in his backpack while looking for something and pulled out a bottle of liquor in a crowded marketplace. Upon viewing a bottle of the forbidden beverage, people had looks on their faces as if a ghost had appeared and started doing a Bollywood dance. I assumed that anyone traveling in this part of the world must have a high cultural intelligence quotient, but I was dead wrong. I found it incomprehensible that such a person survived in Peshawar for three months. He was ruining his chance to make a positive impression on the Pashto people, as the tourist industry is practically nonexistent in this region of the world due to all the Western media stereotypes. I would have been much better off on my own, and it was a shame that the locals probably grouped the two of us together as arrogant outsiders trying to change their multiple century long traditions. “You are who you hang out with” is a motto I abide by, as I am normally very picky about the people I choose to spend my time with. I should have known better.

October 19, 2016February 13, 2021

Lahore Sufi Festival- Running in a Lightening Storm

Darkness falls over Lahore. Potholes line the sidewalks, so I creep along with every step. “No sprained ankles!” I keep repeating to myself. Electricity cuts are the norm until ten in the evening in Lahore, so my next task was to find my way home as the streets became pitch black. I stumbled upon a dark alley that looked vaguely familiar. Voices in the distance made me realize there is someone around from my adopted home country. “너무 춥네!” one woman complained. “날씨가 춥지않고 지금 한국에서 매섭게 춥잖아요,” I replied as we were going upstairs together now. We entered the room of a different guesthouse, but now I was sitting in a candlelit room with three Korean women in their 50s who looked very shaken up and panic-stricken. “You speak Korean!” they exclaimed with mesmerized looks on their faces. They explained to me they were on a city bus earlier in Lahore when some political demonstrations turned violent, rocks were thrown and a stray struck the bus they were riding, shattering a window and cutting one of the woman’s hands. The women were trying to explain what happened earlier to the guesthouse owner, but they were having a hard time with English so I took on the role of translator for a few minutes. “Tell him we need a cheap bed for tonight. Very, very cheap,” they said. I gave them an apple that was in a bag with the name of the corner store I shop at in Seoul. “Have an apple smuggled in from your home country,” I said as their expressions became more and more dumbfounded upon hearing a white guy speak their mother tongue proficiently. They finally calmed down after a few minutes and the guesthouse owner helped them get settled in.

After returning to my guesthouse, I met Mohamed, a Palestinian college student who has been studying pharmacy in Lahore for three years. We started talking for a long time over tea, and he shared so many stories about his life in Lahore. No rules! He was robbed at gunpoint and got into numerous fights, one time with a man armed with a sword in a thirty-man brawl. As we walked around together, he pointed out a building where there was a suicide bombing several years back. “That pile of rubble over there?” I attempted to confirm by pointing my finger in the building’s direction. “Don’t point! They might suspect you,” he said, referring to the hoards of military and police personnel on alert behind sandbags and barbed wire at every intersection. Anyway, I was really lucky to meet such a great guy my first night in Pakistan. He took me around to many places I probably would have never found on my own and helped me buy a Shalwar Kameez (Pakistani traditional clothes- always better to blend in).

Overall, Lahore provided endless culture and history for anyone with a thirst or curiosity for travel and excitement. Our guesthouse owner Malik once advised many of Pakistan’s famous musical talents to take on some more innovative marketing strategies that helped put them on the map. As a result, many of these now world renowned musicians help fill Malik in on any performances happening in the area and go out of their way to see to it that Malik’s guests get a unique, full on, in your face Pakistani musical experience.

Sufi Festival Turned Deadly

One of my most unforgettable experiences in Pakistan was going to Lahore’s Sufi Festival. By far the craziest, most energetic festival I have ever seen- music, lights, street dancing, food- it was all there. Upon entering Istanbul Chowk where the streets were blocked off, there were crowds of people waiting to bypass many security checks and lines to enter the Data Darbar mosque to watch Qaawali music. It was pretty chaotic as people were pushing and holding each other in line to enter the mosque. I tried talking to one guard for a bit and practice the very minute amount of Urdu I learned over several days. He was smiling because I was wearing a Shalwar Kameez and liked that I was trying to learn a bit of the local language. “How can we get into the mosque?” I asked. “Go to the end of the line,” he pointed to the back of the line that extended beyond my field of vision. We made our way to the back and waited for several minutes with all the locals pushing and holding on to each other in order to secure their position in the queue. After a few minutes of trying not to fall and lose my balance, the guard came to find us. “Come with me, I will have someone escort you into the mosque so you don’t have to wait in line,” he said. He called another large, AK-47 armed guard who led us past the endless queues of people and took us into the mosque. The guard took us into the main area where we were given beautiful flower necklaces-mine must have been made of at least three hundred flowers all stringed together.

We spent the night dancing in the streets and listening to pounding Sufi music. It was all good fun until some kids started messing with one police officers, which resulted in wild night stick swinging and crowds scattering to avoid being caned.

As we hit the streets all night long crowds of Punjabi’s circled around us and took us around different places to dance and take pictures with their friends and family. Although I had an amazing time at the festival, now I understand what it feels like to be a movie star and I have to admit I was pretty exhausted by the end of the night.

Overall, I had a great time the first night at the festival but felt like it was time to move on and go to Peshawar. The festival would carry on for a few days thereafter, but I thought a street party put on by one of the more controversial Muslim groups in Pakistan combined with the immense crowds of people could be a potentially dangerous scenario. “This is a perfect opportunity for a suicide bomber to appear on the scene,” I thought to myself. My intuition proved correct as I returned to Lahore a few weeks later on my way back to India and heard the news of a thirty fatalities as a result of a suicide bombing at the festival. Life is so fragile, but I was high on adrenaline from living the extreme experience of being on Pakistani soil. Always follow your intuition! At that moment mine was telling me to venture to a more extreme territory- the Afghanistan border. I was quickly becoming an adrenaline addict!

October 15, 2016February 13, 2021

Death in Pakistan? It’s Worth the Risk!

Should I risk my life by traveling in Pakistan? Bomb blasts, terrorists and the Taliban are keywords the Western media has ingrained in us regarding the nation sandwiched between Afghanistan, Iran and India. Statistics on violent crime and terrorist bombings against tourists led me to the conclusion that there would be a little risk for a tall, pale-skinned guy like me to explore this unknown territory. The probability of becoming a casualty of violent crime or a bomb blast is the same as the likelihood of being struck by lightning on a rainy day. As a guy who likes to go jogging in summer thunderstorms, there was only one thought in my head. Go for it!

“Aren’t you scared?” a smiling man greeted me as I walked my first few steps on Pakistani soil. “I’m here, right? I am not scared, just excited to be here,” I replied. “Good! Asallam alaikum and welcome to Pakistan!” the local man continued. I was ready for whatever Pakistan had in store for me, which ended up being more exciting experiences than I could ever imagine.

The bus dropped me off somewhere in Lahore’s noisy, chaotic central business district. After asking several locals and finally finding someone that could speak a bit of English help translate, I had a cab driver drop me off at Regale Chowk, where unknowingly I would spend the next ten days. Although I had no real travel itinerary for my time in Pakistan, my rough estimate of three to five days in Punjab’s cultural capital proved not to be sufficient enough and I ended up staying much longer than expected. The seductive combination of Sufi music, local spices and tales from the fascinating people that call Lahore their home made me change my plan and stay much longer than expected. Here is the story of how Lahore’s charm won me over.

My home in Lahore became the Regale Internet Inn, and I enjoyed talking to Malik, the owner, for quite some as he had many fascinating stories. Malik is a very interesting man who is quite well known in Lahore and around Pakistan for voicing his opinion. The former journalist for a left winged newspaper called “Revolution” opened Pakistan’s first Internet cafe after quitting his newspaper writing gig as a result of publishing several controversial articles. They forced him into hiding and slept at several mosques around Pakistan for ten years of his life because the authorities were after him. “Even my family wouldn’t let me stay with them because of the potential danger it would bring” he explained. Anyway, during this time he and his friend wrote books under false names in order to make ends meet. “The only thing I could do to make money back then was write,” he continued. After a while his Internet cafe developed into a Pakistan’s first guesthouse open to Non-Pakistani travelers.

As someone born in the United States of America where voicing your opinion is encouraged from childhood, I felt a new sense of privilege regarding my upbringing. I have always been opinionated and enjoy a good debate but have taken for granted the fact that in many places in the world you can be severely punished for taking an unpopular stance on an issue. Anyway, I can’t imagine what it would be like to live ten years of my life as a fugitive as Malik did.

Malik, also a self-regarded expert palm reader, told me I would be very successful because of my intellect, will write a book and become extremely famous, especially after I die. Also, I will marry a rich woman and must be careful not to take too many risks like riding motorcycles and traveling on top of buses. He also mentioned I have wonderful luck and should buy a lottery ticket soon. This is good news indeed. Only time will tell if his predictions come true for me. Malik also claims to have picked out a murderer who escaped his home country in Europe and fled to Pakistan just by examining the man’s hand at a distance for a few minutes. Later, the man confessed to Malik that he was on the run for homicide. Given his track record for palm reading, I made a mental note to visit the bazaar the following morning in order to invest in a paper and pen and try to find a rich Pakistani woman who would be willing to marry a vagabond like me.

My first night in Lahore, I went to “food street” only a thirty-minute walk from my guesthouse. I conversed for a bit with a university physics lecturer with a very serious demeanor who could not understand why I would want to visit Pakistan with all the negative media and press coverage in the Western world. I explained the draw of his home country from a global citizen’s perspective, focusing on all the positive relationships I have had with Pakistani people throughout my life. I told him stories of my elementary school Pakistani friend who ruined Christmas for me by spreading vicious rumors around school that Santa Claus is a fictional character. Of course, his family did not celebrate Christmas due to their religious views. Indeed, my friend was jealous of his classmates who received a plethora of gifts under the Christmas tree. Despite our conflicting views on the proper way to celebrate December 25th, whenever I visited my play companion’s home they always treated me as one of the family. I also mentioned how great it was living with a Pakistani roommate in graduate school. I remember clearly his peaceful and compassionate demeanor, generosity and positive outlook on life. These experiences with Pakistanis helped shape me into the global citizen I am today and helped spark the thirst for more knowledge on their home country. There is no better way to educate yourself than by direct experience. So this journey into Pakistan is just a chapter of my life’s destiny. The university lecturer left me with a satisfied look on his face and shook my hand. “Inshallah, you will enjoy your time in Pakistan” he said. Inshallah- Arabic for “if Allah wills it so” is a phrase I heard time and time again over the course of my stay in Pakistan.

My first day in Pakistan had already been so action packed. Little did I know that I was in for a roller coaster ride over the next three weeks and this was only the slow ride to the top of the first steep drop down!