Day 33: Lahore

Thursday 25th October

Had a lay-in until 9.00am and then went to find an internet café which had a reputation for not being too bad and not far from the hotel. The good café was down some stairs from a much another one which was poor. First impressions were not good, five machines, two with flat screens and all towers older than my first Dell fifteen years ago. Started the machines to be confronted with Windows 98, no USB ports, no CD drive and my mini SD card caused the proprietor puzzlement. Took over five minutes to login into my email account and even longer to read them. After fifteen minutes I was on the point of smashing the monitor and Anne suggested we beat a retreat before I did damage to the shop or myself. I am just glad we didn't go to the poor café.

We all met up at 2.00pm to go and see a Sufi meeting in the old part of town. The rickshaw ride was brilliant because the traffic was exceptionally bad and he weaved in and out and even left the ground once or twice as he hit large bumps and protruding manhole covers in his attempts to outrun the bikes and cars. Once again as soon as we congregate in public the locals surround us and this time they're mostly the poor heading to the Sufi temple. After taking our shoes of once again we enter and sit down in the middle of the large hall. I quite enjoyed the singing, it was soporific. Very relaxing. However it wasn't long before we were being stared at, told off for spreading our legs out in front of us and beckoned to the front, I think to contribute financially. Bilal eventually gave up saying no and signaled us to leave. Next stop the Royal Fort and mosque.

This was the best rickshaw ride of all usin 3 large ones holding six in each and setting off through the congestion and clouds of appalling polution like a chariot race to the death. Ours was the fastest and in no time at all we were leaving the others behind. Sitting in the back seat, facing the pursueing hordes, gave me a perfect viewpoint. It was great seeing the others fall back as we accelerated and then just as quickly catch up as we came to a set of lights or junction. When all three were level the fun really started as each tried to gain poll position by breaking all the rules but always stopping short of bumping each other and damaing their livelyhoods. Once the road cleared ours would set off again showing its superior power and the process started all over again. We were at the old part of the city a few minutes before the others and were captivated by a couple of five year old girls who Bilal explained were professional gypsy beggars. Like two little Madona's they were charcoal black, incedibly grimey, nose studdered, with big, beautiful, deep brown sultary eyes that led you down to their outstrecthed cupped hands.

The Royal Fort area was very impressive and the mosque covered an amazing square area which copletely fills for Friday prayers according to Bilal. I would like to see so many kneeling. Came back from the bazaar to hear that John had been taken to hospital with prostate problems and I thought this would be my fate. After yesterdays excellent meal on food street, tonights place, although the food was good, totally lacked any atmosphere and I was glad to leave. Most people went to see John in his private hospital and were amazed first by the standards, certainly better than our national health ones and secondly to find John in excellent spirits after having had his prostate removed. At 2.00am this morning he was laying on the bed drinking and talking with Anne and at 8.00am being rushed to hospital. On admission he was offered a free operation on Monday or a private one immediately. Having established a cost of €500 he settled for the instant treatment and will be meeting up with us in Delhi in two or three days time.

On saying our goodbyes to John we embarked on one of the strangest events so far on this trip. Bilal wanted to take us to a shrine to listen to ritual drumming. On arriving, down a very dark crowded lane we were met by Viv and Fe in an agitated state saying they had been manhandled. After some discussion it was decided to proceed all together with caution and not to the entrance where they had been touched but further down to an outside area. Suddenly we took our shoes off and joined a large crowd of young men up some stone steps in the dark. At the top of the steps four or five of us were immediately surrounded and pressed into a corner against our will. At the bottom of the steps I'd noticed quite a few men smoking cannabis and there was a strong order on the stairs. In the darkness and chaos I found myself trying to protect the three women from preying hands only to find out they were in actual fact they belonged Daz and Andy who were trying to get back to help out on hearing Fe screaming for help. As we made a retreat back down the stairs a hand started trying to unzip my trouser pocket containing credit cards and money and as I hit the hand away a young figure pushed past me and away. I think Bilal greatly fears that this will be our overall impression of this lovely country.

My overall impression will be the thousands of Kites circling the blue sky. There are more Kites in the sky than there are rickshaws on the roads. There are Kites on telegraph wires, sitting on buildings, circling above the traffic, shops and parks. These beautiful birds are to Lahore what Magpies are to Sheffield. I estimated thousands and Bilal says there are millions and although this probably is an exaggeration it's not much of one.

After last night's party, tonight's return to the hotel was a very low key affair. I had too many beers to consume and couldn't be bothered to carry them into India and so I gave them to two very appreciative hotel laundrymen.

Day 32: Multan - Lahore

Wednesday 24th October:

My alarm worked perfectly this morning at 5.45am for the second time on this trip. Risked a slice of toast and marmalade for breakfast and a couple of sips of coffee. Todays journey another 400 kilometres but with a stop at Harrape, one of the oldest cities in the world. Over 5,000 years ago it consisted of 250,000 inhabitants. The museum was reasonably interesting but the actual site was seven kilometres away from the museum. A case of little figurines, over 5,000 years old, some rude put Wallace and Grummit to shame.

It was suddenly announced that after booking in to our hotel we were heading for the Wagga border crossing between Pakistan and India which is only 45 kilometres outside the city. The journey took nearly an hour and quarter because of the congestion: the first signs of driving around Lahore is seriously scary. When we arrived things were already hotting up. On either side of the main border gates two ampitheatres have been set up to seat an audience of about 1000 on each side. With the exception of us and a few more tourists the audience on our side, at least, consisted of school children all spanking clean in their uniforms and primed to explode. In front off them were cheer leaders all carrying the flag of Pakistan. One a very old man marched up and down shouting slogens that the kids responded to with the precission of a well rehearsed West End production of Oliver.

The old man looked and sounded like Albrert Steptoe (two front teeth only) and showed the same aggressive nature screaming at the top of his voice a famouse nationalistic song which simply says long live Pakistan:

Gva (pronounced Geeva) , Gva, Gva Pakistan.

Pakistan, Pakistan, Gva Pakistan

and then he rushed up to the railing seperating the stands and screamed

'Pakistan' and the kids responded in unison 'Zindibad' meaning up Pakistan. This was repeated over and over again to try and drown out the volume coming over the border gates from what I assume were Indian school children. By the end, the old man looked in some distress, swallowing heavily to try and regain some of his voice presumably in time to tell his wife later over a samosa how it had gone.

One of the things I like about this lovely country is at five foot five-ish I don't feel out of place like back home. Indeed most of the men seem to spend their time squatting down on their heels either resting or having a number one but the guards performing here for their homeland are giants who were at the back of the queue when looks were handed out. All of them were about six foot five and with the extra thick soles on their boots and their silly hats with plumes, each stood over seven foot. It's been said before but it is the best description by far, the antics that these dozen soldiers get up to are straight out of a Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks sketch. On the stroke of some unseen signal two guards from each side set off down the middle of the road towards the raised gates and their opponents. Each kicked their legs above head height and stamped them back down on road making as much noise as possible. Then just as suddenly as they started they stopped face to face, turned instantly away from each other at 90 degrees and then after a few more silly steps away from each other turned to face their oponents.

Suddenly the gates closed, the gruesome guards stood having their photos taken with visiting dignitaries and tourists and the old man with flag rolled up and resting on his shoulder followed the school kids back to their waiting vehicles to recoupe for tomorrow's battle. Someone remarked that he also attends and performs at cricket matches: a full time supporter for his country.

Day 31

Tuesday 24th October: Sukkur - Multan

Another early start (7.00am) and the first bad one for me. Before I got dressed I'd been to the toilet a couple of times with the unmistakable Delhi belly and the 400 klm journey today was worrying me. I was only saying to Anne I 'd done really well health wise, quite a few have had some kind of stomach upset. I think the malaria tablets are helping to fight of all infections as our Nurse Practitioner said they would.

However, even the constant gripes couldn't stop this stretch of the journey being anything other than a pleasure. I have completely changed my view of this wonderful country. I had mistakenly thought it was completely barren and although the Baluchistan area was it still had incredible beauty. But the drive from Sukkur to Multan has continued the transition from the arid area around the Afghan border to lush green fields fed by the mighty Indus and the most wonderful bird life. The fields and the homes they support look so much better for a covering of grass. The first sign of crops came with rice, sugar cane, followed by cotton, then Mango trees and many other crops unfamiliar to me. In less than half an hour Anne spotted six Kingfishers patiently waiting on telegraph wires above the water channels that stand moat-like between the fields and roads. It's quite amazing when you think Anne had seen two or three in her life before today. Besides these we had an acrobatic display by a very large bird of prey not more than twenty yards away from our coach window, circling above a scrub yard in-between a row of shops. We also saw in the gleam of the sunlight the most beautiful coloured bird which we first mistook for more Kingfishers but on further inspection we noticed that these were much larger. Sue informed us they were Bee Catchers. I am not too sure they were, I thought Bee Eaters nested in sandy banks and not around paddy fields etc. We also saw a couple of birds yesterday that were black and white but very much the shape of a Kingfishers and we were told by John that's what they were.

We arrived at the hotel early for a change, completing the 400 kilometre drive in good time thanks to the improved road. All life is congested along the main roads of this country with miles of shacks, breeze block square shops, stalls and barrows selling fruit and veg and below these on the social ladder are the occupiers of the tents which are often set further back as though outcast. Today we've spent the day driving along a dual carriageway and it is an amazing sight and experience when suddenly a large group of people, who are waiting to catch a bus, just walkout into the middle of the road and try and stop us physically by using their bodies. As the bus violently slows to avert genocide Bilal frantically gesticulates to them through the windscreen to move out of the way. At such informal junctions the whole of Pakistani society seems to converge: men with briefcases in hand heading for the office, children in uniforms and satchels on their way to school, donkey pulled carts transporting whole families or simply fire wood, cotton etc to market. By the roadside going nowhere: cows, bullocks, goats and oxen loosely controlled by pre-school children walking back and forth across the lanes to find patches of grass, rickshaws standing idle and last but not least the good old camels standing boringly looking on having seen it all for thousands of years and chewing constantly like Ferguson in his dugout on match day. A large sign proudly proclaims that we on the Pakistan National Highway and everything was at a standstill thanks to this convergence of life. I asked John Paul (our driver) later about the journey and he said in his broken Belgium English 'you know you can't keep the speed up for the camels and cows on the road'. Life in England would be so much more interesting if the past and present could harmonise every few hundred yards on the highways of the country.

The Hotel Sheza looked reasonably modern and our guide, had informed me the day before during our rickshaw ride in in Sukkur, that it was the best of the hotels we were staying in in Pakistan. As we entered the foyer we were greeted by the manager who stood suited and manicured giving out instructions to his menials who hung chains of beautiful smelling roses round our necks and handed out soft drinks. I was not in the best frame of mind, wanting instead to get my room key and shake hands with the toilet. Things became even more desperate on being instructed to go into the dining room to sing happy birthday to Ted (the third on the trip) and eat fresh cream cake made by the hotel. This is not the first thing you want to do after holding your insides in for a few hours.

Our room was fine, very large with kinsgize bed, air conditioning that worked, TV with many channels, even one that looked like sex but mostly cricket (Pakistan beating S Africa in some competition), football and a fully functioning bathroom. I didn't even mind the lack of alcohol in the mini bar on this occasion. All I wanted to do was lay and rest by my very own toilet.

Within half hour of arriving the group were heading off to play a pre-arranged football match with the locals followed by a visit to a mausoleum, mosque and of course a bazaar. If there's one thing I hate about this trip it's the assumption that after a full days drive that there's time to throw in half dozen events, visits etc, leaving no time to relax or do your household chores such as laundry and blogs etc. Although I felt awful I thought I could use the time while they were playing football etc to use the one internet machine in the hotel. When I got down stairs Noreen was already ensconced on it for the evening. When I enquired how long she would be she replied in her best Ian Paisley manner 'long, go away I'm busy'. I managed to check my mail and send one message thanks to Marcus who let me use his laptop for an hour. The connection was, however, very slow as usual and unsuitable to upload anything. I decided to go back to my room and concentrate on catching up on my blog because I have fallen behind over the past few days. I was no more successful at this than on the net mainly because of power cuts. In an hour or so the hotel went into total blackness six times. I actually sat writing in the dark using my head torch.

After dinner in the garden marquee, the evening slipped into a kind of cricket game: I call it a kind of cricket match and not proper one because the Irish (most of the bus) think balling in cricket is the same as baseball which makes Ireland's win over Pakistan recently all the more amazing. Anyway the game faded out in the semi dark after we smashed one of the bulbs lighting the tent and this put out most of the others. The hotel management seemed to take it as normal and even some Pakistani guests joined in presumably to get their own back on the Irish. The group didn't do much better at football either, losing 4-0.

30 Day

Monday 22nd October: Quetta - Sukkur

Started early after our day's rest yesterday. The coach was very cool and fresh as the bus's air condition got a helping hand from the fresh mountain air that makes Quetta such a pleasant town. We hadn't been driving very long when Bilal announced we were entering the Bolan Pass. John informed me that a Scottish regiment marched through the pass to enter India by an alternative route to the Khyber Pass in the 19th Century. Unfortunately same result, 15,000 were slaughtered and it wasn't very long before I new how. The pass is over thirty miles long and doesn't rise as you would expect but cuts its way through the most amazing rock formations. These stretch down the mountainside and enclose the road in a menacingly way that no previous road has done. Anyone wanting to ambush us could very easily jumped from the rocks onto the bus roof or roll large boulders down at any number of points. High on the top of enormous rock stood two very large boulders that only needed a slight push to wipe-out the entire road. Our escort disappeared as we entered the pass. We didn't really need them because there were army posts of riflemen and machine guns every few hundred yards above the road and stretching all way through the pass. Although their presence was comforting it was however strange to think that not a great deal's changed since the poor Scots made their attempt all those years ago. Bilal remarked it is just as much a strategic route today as ever it was.

Once out of the pass the valley widened out to accommodate a very large river bed strewn with large boulders. In the rainy season this must be a very impressive and somewhat dangerous river. We made a wee stop at a large modern looking concrete bridge which had buckled and v shape. Down in the bottom of the river bed miniature trucks and ant like figures made their way to the road at the far side. This surely is only possible in the dry period and even then fraught with danger. The broken bridge was not totally redundant as motorbikes and bicycles made their way across and down and back up the V section and a makeshift ramp made of stones. If this was an example of Pakistani road engineering then they could do worse than learn something else from the Irish.

The journey from here onwards was continued through some stunning scenery that became more green as the dried up river bed supported a steady stream of clear water that became more and more significant as we got closer to the Indus. Before long the hot driy desert gave way to green fields and crops.

Sukkur is a city of four million, surrounded by green arable fields and filled with the most appalling poverty. Our hotel sits by the mighty river Indus at the entrance to a very long barrier which spans it, was built by the British in 1921 and is the source of the amazing irrigation system that feeds all the fields around. Bilal considered it to be a piece of engineering brilliance. The barrier is as it was built over 80 years ago. A group of us led by Bilal set off across to the other side which according to him is nearly two kilometres long. It is indeed a major construction but I doubt it is that long. It was long enough for the young ones to get tired and Bilal comandeered a donkey and cart for them to finish the journey. We were given the chance to use it but declined. As we were crossing Ben ran into the middle of the road to rescue a large Leather Neck turtle from the oncoming traffic. The poor thing refused to be stopped and set of at quite a fast pace. Ian however was having none of this and picked it up and took it to drop it back in the water. As the poor thing belly flopped back in to the river we noticed many more dead ones floating against the enormous steel barrier blades which are raised in the wet season. Bilal admitted that there is a serious problem with the turtles and river Dolphins in the area but didn't blame the barrier.

Returned to the hotel to find it didn't have a drinks licence and if we wanted booze we would have to go and fetch it from downtown Sukkur. Jim and myself were chosen to carry out this task because we were the most verbose in times of drought. This was a good opportunity to see the central shopping area of a large Pakistani city. After only a 15 minute rickshaw ride we arrived at the centre which if anything was more run down than the other areas we'd seen on entering earlier. I went to bank to use the ATM machine and it was surrounded by little mesters shops welding, fixing car parts etc. The actual beer wholeseller was just like the welding shops but had a grill to protect the drinks. Once we had ordered the 150 bottles we needed to transport it back. After a few words of negotiations with Bilal the company was quite happy to deliver. By the time we arrived back for dinner the bottles were reclining in a large bucket type container filled with iced water and protected by two amused hotel porters. The two not only protected but them but opened and disposed of the empties and refilled the cold vessel when needed. For this service they received the odd small tip and were overjoyed when I gave them four bottles to share. Our reward for masterminding this operation was to return to find most of the food had been eaten by those we were fetching beer for. But we did get our own back by refusing to share our stock with those who thought they'd drink without having to pay.

Day 29 : Quetta

Sunday 21st October

After the seventeen hour drive from Iran through the desert, the mountains and the night we had earned a day's rest. We could stay in bed until breakfast between 9.00 and 11.00am. I didn't want to get on the bus to go anywhere but joined most of the group to the Geological Museum which was well worth the visit. The second destination sounded better - a lake in the mountains that's very popular with Quettans at weekends. I have my doubts, it took nearly an hour to get there through a maize of military roads and. When we got there we queued up for a couple of samosas and the sweetest cup of tea I have ever tasted.

We then got back on the bus and headed back into town to visit the bazaar. After a few moments walking from the bus towards the market it became apparent that there were serious problems. Within no time at all we were surrounded by 40 to 60 local men all wanting to touch, shake hands and speak to us. Eventually the crowd brought the traffic to a stop and things were only brought back to order by two armed police officers dispersing them and allowing us to proceed. The trip to the bazaar was abruptly scrapped and we beat a quick retreat to a restaurant for dinner. Food was very good and somewhat similar to restaurants in England with chicken tikka, lamb curry, fried rice and naan breads and rusmali to finish.

Walked back to the hotel after the meal with no incidents. I think it is the sheer number of people all turning out on the streets together that causes so much attention. I don't think they mean any harm but it is worrying trying to hold on to your passport and money while shaking hands surrounded. Anne quite liked being a celebrity.

Back at the hotel we enjoyed just sitting in the garden and drinking beer, even though it was expensive, after our moment of fame. Went to bed late, a little merry, with just four hours to go before hitting the road again.

Day 28: Zahedan to Quetta

Saturday 18th October

My PDA lit the coal black bedroom at 4.00am as its alarm started to do an impersonation of a dog barking. Anne wasn't impressed, not so much with the barking but the unearthly hour. Within a couple of a minutes the Imam was calling everyone to prayer and with it Anne lost the point of her anger. A very early start was needed to give us some chance of making it to a Quetta. Firstly there was the matter of getting our passports back which, along with a very basic breakfast, took us to 5.50am. All we needed was our escort. At 6.15am it arrived to safely deliver us exactly one kilomotre nearer the border and stopped to waite for relief escort. I arrived at 7.15am making a mockery of our early start.

After stops and starts we made it to the Pakistan border and duely queued up to have our passports checked. The actual administrative part didn't take too long, about and hour and half but it was so hot and the terraine a complete mess that it seemed longer. We have followed a constant strip of discarded rubbish since Romania and it seems it is all blowing into the border crossing area between Iran and Pakistan. It looked like the rubbish dump of the world with scapped cars, tyres, rusting pipe and gurders, tin cans and all wallowing in a sea of plastic and papers. An absolute shit hole is a fair description and sitting a few hundred yards away stood a square boxed mud township happily making a living from the mess but God knows how. Once we left the border behind, the scenery quickly flattened out as though the mountains new they belonged to Iran and had no right on the otherside of the border.

Our new guide Bilal introduced himself to the coach saying Marco Polo would have been proud of you and the land you're now travelling has little changed since. The scenery was quite interesting and the mountains looked quite high in the distance but when I asked Bilal what they were called he referred to them as hills, not being higher than 3000 feet . After a while we made our first stop in Pakistan and it caused quite a stir. All we did was cross the road to a hotel which had two toilets and a sign outside saying we were on London Rd and within a few minutes we drew a largish crowd. The toilets, both ladies and gents, were inside two seperate bedrooms and because there was no running water it was suggested that we use the bottle on the table between the single beds outside the gents. When I got back down stairs the large crow had now attracted a snake charmer who'd seen an opportunity. As soon as everyone had paid he grabbed the Cobra and stuffed it back in its bag.

Things began to deteriorate from this point onwards. The temperature outside was now 35 degrees centigrade and the road took a significant turn for the worse. The road was surfaced one minute and the next the bus would come to a sudden stop before crashing onto a surface of dust, stone and large holes. Things became even worse has the light gave way to a starry sky: every severe bump, drop into a hole, sudden unexpected movement was met by a series of expleteves and huhs and hahs. We had a total of 600 kilometres to cover, 300 on decent road and the final 300 on what Bilal called poor road. This was a conservative estimate, appalling would be nearer and the reality was somewhere between this and non existant. If we had been covering these latter miles in the daylight I think there would have been a census to wait and start again the next day but we couldn't see and so it went ahead. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse the road began to rise and twist and turn with large gaily coloured trucks coming the opposite way which brought our progress to a complete stop. The only good thing about the trucks was you could see them coming down the mountainside looking like Trafelgar Squares christmas decorations on wheels. Bilal explained that the tradition of decorating the trucks stems from the way they decorated their camels.

The hotel at Quetta was a colonial building just two floors high rectangular set around a central garden area. When we arrived it was 11.50pm and the hotel had prepared a meal of veg and chicken curry with naan breads and bottle beer. I have never had Pakistani beer before and it's quite good: made by Murrees, since the 1860s, it's a typical IPA with good flavour and 5.5 percent strength. What was surprising about it was the price: 150 rupees in the hotel and to buy in bulk 130; Pakistan has the q £1 pint. I'd spent a few days thinking about beer in the sobriety of Iran but never imagined it would be expensive in a country where 100 rupees gets a 20 minute sim card for your phone or two veg curries and naan breads and if interested a 15 minute scary ride in a rickshaw.

Day 27: Bam to Zahedan

Thursday 18th October

Since leaving Troy the weather has slowly got warmer and warmer until now it is well into the top 80s but not a serious problem as yet thanks to the bus's air conditioning. This is the start of our last full day in this fascinating country and I shall miss it but not its drinking laws. I think the food has been poor compared with Turkey but would be more palatable if washed down by a good bottle of wine. I gather from Vali that Iran did make wine before the fall of the Shah and we have only been a few hundred miles from Shiraz which I presume, but can't verify, is the home of the grape so central to the wines of the New World.

After another standard breakfast of fruit and boiled eggs I carried my bags out to the bus through a group of young soldiers some carrying machine guns. All replied to my Salem and smiled. We all expected to be escorted from the Pakistan border to Quetta not from Bam to Zehaden. However, it seems this stretch of road is one of the most dangerous roads in the world because it's one of the main routes for coke etc to enter Europe. Vali told us that while he was in Bam, working on the relief operation, he was offered hard drugs every day and saw their effects on many in the area. The once great Silk Road is now a highway for drug smugglers and killers and bandits of all kind and if anyone finds this hard to believe then look at the young soldier lads with their Kalashnikov A47s and truck mounted machine guns. Most have their faces covered with Arab type scarves and I can't decide if it is for anonymity or protection from the blowing sand. Whatever it is, it is very hard to distinguish them from Hamas fighters in Palestine. Strangely there's a kind of attractiveness about these young warriors with their smart uniforms and and head scarves. I could see Fidel Castro, at their head, leading them in to the struggle for freedom from the Mullahs.

The drive so far has been pleasant and memorable not for any events but the scenery which is totally foreign to anything before. We have travelled along a winding road with desert on both sides stretching to the horizon and sand dunes at one point and camels sitting around a circular area of mounds of what must be food for them. After miles of the same, the armed guard changed from a car with five soldiers to a pick up truck with two inside and two on the back with a fixed machine, the road began to wind and climb through a narrow pass into a new mountain range. If we were to be attacked I think this would be the place as vehicles, heavy loaded in low gear struggled up the road.

Once through the mountain pass and back down on a flat plain the guard was reduced to one soldier who's joined us on the bus. We are now less than 100 kilometres from Zehedan and presumably out of danger for a while. It will be interesting to see if the Pakistani soldiers are as polite and courteous as their Iranian counterparts.

Zehaden from what I can see is a reasonably new city with few interesting features although we did see a statute of a St George figure slicing the head off a dragon as we left. We were warned not to leave the hotel under any circumstances and with soldiers and police on every corner this appears to be a very nervous settlement. As we have crossed from West to East of this large and interesting country the military have gradually increased in presense until here in Zahedan they're on every corner as though in wait for invasion from one of its many eastern neighbours.

The hotel looked quite modern from the outside and the back area was an interesting use of space with fountains, a play area, with swings etc for children and a series of wooden gazebos on decking with carpets and cushions for lounging about on. The first sign that not all was modern came as we entered the rickety lift for floor four, the second was stained carpets on our landing, the third was the heat and noise of the inefficient air condition system and the fourth and fifth were etc etc etc. It had all the hallmarks of a communist hotel past its best.
Within minutes of getting everyone booked in Leighton was in negotiations trying to get the price of an evening buffet down from the extortionate price of 112,000 rial to something nearer the normal 70,000. Eventually an a la carte menu in English was produced which consisted of the usual boring selection. It was not so much that people objected to paying the higher price but didn't want to change money on their last night in Iran. I have 60,000 left and I can't imagine being able to change them anywhere outside of Iran.

On arriving at the diningroom I was surprised to hear we could help ourselves to a buffet for only 43,000. This was to be our last meal in Iran and I can't say I have enjoyed my first experience of this country's culinary delights but the buffet was excellent with, of course, lentil soup, a fine array of salads with grated carrot, cabbage, tomato, cucumber, a pepper salad in a vinagrette and risoles and a beautiful chicken dish in a spicey sauce and a sweet to finish off of caramel.
After dinner sat outside on the carpets with Sue, Mary and Claire talking about who is doing what in the next two weeks: Mark flying from Quetta to Lahore, Barry setting off with others to Bangkok, Mac and Emmett flying into Laos and China and there may be others we don't know of yet. The temperature was perfect and amazingly there were no insects of any kind not even moths round the lights above our heads. We made our way back to our room and another early night before the long and tedious journey in the morning.