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.