8 Once across the border, the news that biking wasn’t allowed betweenthe border and Quetta (the next town), came as an unwelcome
surprise as I was keen to get on the bike. The area was deemed
unsafe, and the strong military presence and mumblings of “Taliban,
Taliban” put the fear of God into me. So serious were the Pakistanis
regarding the restriction, looking around, my bicycle was already on
the bus’s roof.
The road to Quetta stretched six hundred and twenty kilometres
through the mountains of Baluchistan, taking between 20 and 24
hours by bus. The area was indeed a desert, featuring barren
mountains and temperatures soaring into the fifties. Our elaborately
decorated bus was overcrowded, with more people sitting on the
bus's roof than inside. Sitting on top couldn’t have been a
comfortable ride as the route was rough and bumpy and the mercury
most likely hovered in the forties.
As a woman in that part of the world, you got the best seat in front of
the bus and could go straight to the front of lengthy queues; still, I
felt extremely out of place, and the blatant stares didn’t help.
Quetta
Arrival in Quetta, the capital of the province of Baluchistan, was in
the early hours of the following morning. Weather-wise, a perfect
time to be outside and nearly the only time one could be out in such
a hot and arid region.