Back to Pakistan and through to Bangladaesh

From Kashgar we planned to take a normal line-bus, as opposed to local taxis, to Sust, over the border in Pakistan. This was going to taker two days and therefore we were not entirely surprised to find that the bus we were to board was a sleeper bus.
We had been in the same hotel for a few days, hotel Seman in Kashgar as when we came into China and this time we noticed the difference between a “minority town” and the rest of China. This Uygar town is not as organized as the towns more to the East, is far less well developed as far as shops and streets are concerned and the people are a lot less friendly. But apart from that we enjoyed some typical Uygar kebabs with pita bread in a place that really does not deserve the name “restaurant” but functioned as such.
The sleeper bus to Pakistan was a mistake. As it was designed to have people aboard who were supposed to lay down, one could not sit. And lying down while being driven is not very comfortable. On top of that we were taken to a hotel midway and were expected to stay in a room. So why the sleeper bus?
Anyway, the custom proceedings both in China and Pakistan were handled smoothly and then I went on to look at our car. What a joy to find it in good shape, except for the battery which was discharged completely. A little to my surprise, but with the help of a large auxiliary battery from the hotel we had the engine working in no time.
After some cleaning (Ann) and checking (me) we proceeded to drive to Gilgit fist and Islamabad after that. The trip to Gilgit gave us some trouble because the bridge over the river, just before entering the town, was down; damaged by floodwater or something. We were advised to turn back a few km and cross the river somewhere else, then take to “normal” road. “Normal” we suppose because it was not paved, very dusty and narrow and rather frustrating to find our way eventually into town to the Tourist Cottage we had stayed at before.
At the end of the second stage we stay at another spot we had been before, a stream-crossing with some local restaurants and rest places for truck drivers. In the previous occasions we had been there the business next to “our” parking place had been operating and the owner had kept an eye on the little kids that were over-curious. This time his business was closed and the little kids, dirty, unkempt and ten in all, became a real nuisance.
It came close to stone-throwing when we packed up to leave and we were glad to leave the spot behind.
Islamabad camping was also changed somewhat. Earlier we had noticed a less friendly atmosphere amongst the people we passed and eventually we realized that was a result of the American effort to get rid of the terrorists inside Pakistan near the border with Afghanistan. But the people we had been dealing with before, the merchants of Aabpara shopping centre were just as pleasant as ever.
When Ann learned that here father, then 96 years old, was taken to hospital with blood-clots in his lungs, I helped her to decide to go and see him, as it seemed he might not make it much longer. While she was gone, I had to try and get a roof-vent for the camper to replace the one that was damaged by low-hanging telephone lines, which in the end proved impossible to get from Italy (where the factory is) or from a dealer in England because they could not accept payment by credit card. Eventually I asked Ann to find one and she did.
An even more frustrating exercise was to get the customs authorities to extend the period the car was allowed to be in Pakistan as officially it only would be allowed there for three months. The carnet had lapsed while I was in China and the period allowed in Pakistan was well over the limit. A new carnet was easily obtained from South Africa but an extension ran into a barrage of red tape. To get to the right people to sort it out was made difficult because the building was near the diplomatic enclave in Islamabad and cordoned off by security personnel and broken-up roads. But eventually only the visa for India was still needed and that took yet another week of going to and fro, endless waiting and being humble.
When no more papers were to be sorted out I learned that Ann was going to stay ten days longer with her father until he was recovered sufficiently to look after himself again (!).
Singapore
Days, weeks, even months float by without me having a chance (or the inclination) to work on my blog. Yet, quiet a few things are worth recording. On the way from Islamabad to Lahore, after finally having al my papers and other documents competed, driving a nice 90 km/h on the (only) decent highway in Pakistan, the engine seized.
It just stopped and would not start again. After frantic phoning to get the number of a Land Rover dealer in Lahore I had the car towed (mainly by night through what seemed the busiest part of the town where motorcycles were trying to drive over the towrope to get closer to the stoplight). The next day the damage was assessed and the conclusion, when the engine was taken apart: a non-functioning oil pump, probably due to the use of a wrong bolt or the wrong type of lock-tite to secure it. In other words, a manufacturing blunder! I’ll never be able to explain how angry and frustrated I was when I got this news. Angry because, although the engine could be repaired, the cost of a new engine was only marginally more and frustrated because Land Rover is about the only business these days that has no email address. Only a postal address to send complaints to! And I still haven’t done that.
After the new engine was fitted, I drove on direction India. On the way the turbo charger gave in, so that the oil, pumped up to lubricate the device, was sucked into the engine where it self-ignited, producing an almighty big cloud of smoke. I thought that was the end of my brand-new engine but fortunately that was not the case. A mechanic with some knowledge of diesel engines covered up the connections to the turbo charger and made it possible to proceed , at a slow pace, to the border where the Bangladesh customs official made a big mistake by filling out the carnet papers incorrectly, on the old carnet which had lapsed on the 27th of July. I landed in Bangladesh without valid papers and when we made plans for our car to be shipped to Singapore it became clear we would have to do something about that.
We found a place to park and stay with the car and the next day we contacted the representative of PIL, (Pacific Indian Lines or something) and were advised to contact a shipping agent to help with the papers. That we did and this agent charged an incredible large amount for his services and giving us a lot to think about because the containers were not high enough for our camper.
We had a few days before we could have the car loaded in the container and decided to take the car to the longest beach on earth and later to a few lakes to the North/East of Chitagong. Also entirely undeveloped. We decided to take a boat-trip and embarked in one of those small Chinese-made boats, accompanied by four policemen who were there for our protection, according the law. We had to pay for their lunch and afterwards also for their services. And as soon as we found a hotel with more or less suitable room, a man appointed himself as watchmen and had to be paid for his security services later. It’s all so pathetic.
When eventually faced ith the decision what to do ith the camper, we decided to separate the camper from the car and although that was a good solution, it did not solve our problem conclusively. The camper, on the minimum height of it’s legs, was still too high.
Once again we had a good look at what could be done and eventually, with the help of willing lift-truck drivers, we got the camper low enough to fit in a 29,75 foot high container, together with the Land Rover.
To take away a possible misunderstanding, I want to record that I entered Dhaka on my own, knowing only that Ann would be in a hotel called “Farmgate” hotel. How to find the hotel in this chaotic town? Ask for directions, of course. And trusting my GPS. Both of that sounds logic, but in Bangladesh nothing is logic. If Nepal was poor, with the poverty mirrored in road condition and rubbish heaps, Bangladesh is a refugee-camp with permanent residents. The beggars, the rubbish heaps, the partly open sewerage channels and never ending rows of lorries that compete with rickshaw’s for space between the ruts and potholes, the constant hooting and blaring of claxons, the traffic that pours in from side streets would drive anyone over the hill, even if you don’t have to look for a hotel somewhere in this dusty, filthy, powerless and badly polluted labyrinth.
As far as pollution, dirt and dust are concerned, Kolkata (used to be Calcutta), where I had to wait a few days for the arrival from England of the new turbo-charger, is not much better. No blatant poverty like in Bangladesh here, but dust of the kind that goes where blood can not, is everywhere and after a week by the side of the road at “Super diesels” where the brothers Singh have their business, the camper is SO dirty that Ann, now we are in Singapore, spends days on end trying to get it clean up to her standard, which is very high.
Coming back to Bangladesh which seems to celebrate the “liberation” from “cruel” Pakistan rule annually, is a very whet country, the delta area of two great rivers and therefore infested by millions of mosquito’s. They have the longest beach on earth, as mentioned, a sandy strip that goes on for over 100 km and is not or poorly developed. The people are incredibly ignorant. So poor that a student from a university we passed asked us if we had anything to eat and, in another situation, the money we left on the table in a restaurant by way of a tip, was removed by the waiter even before we had left the table. The amount we were charged by the agent therefore was obscene compared to the general standard of living.
Contrary to Bangladesh Singapore has no mosquito’s, but the humidity is such that even in winter, December thus, you never have a dry skin unless in an air-conditioned room. At the spot we found to camp, legally according to Lonely Planet, most of the old trees were covered with parasites, huge ferns (hertshoorn in Dutch) and other plants that sucked the sap out of their trunks. The campsite, a parking lot with toilets, showers and shops where you can hire a bicycle or a pair of in-line roller skates, is close to the beach where hundreds of ships can be seen, from small coasters to huge super tankers, waiting to be serviced in the harbor. No wonder therefore that Singapore is a rich city, where the number of up-market shopping malls are barely surpassed by the number of restaurants and other eating places, often populated by small kitchens offering food of various kinds, with a central space to sit at (clean) tables. Gary and Stephanie, representing the local Land Rover club, came to greet us and to invite us for a meal at a German restaurant, what for us was a great surprise and a most pleasant experience.
We stay here for about two weeks, doing our shopping and looking at the fireworks over Marina Bay at new year’s eve, having our washing done and the Land Rover serviced, all kinds of things that a rich place like Singapore can offer. We truly love it here, notwithstanding the humidity, and notwithstanding the fact that once again the generator has given in and, according to Mike the mechanic can not be repaired. Tough luck. Time for the 4th unit? There is more to write about, but due to the lack of power from the generator I have to bring this addition of the blog to an end. We hope to leave Singapore tomorrow to travel to Malaysia and further. We wish all our friends the best, and an adventurous, fun-filled 2009.

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