Road to Kabul
After visiting the Khyber pass and stopping a stone's throw away from the Afghan border (didn't see anyone from Al Qaeda there), I travelled to Lahore and its smelly, poisonous Old Town. I have now left Pakistan by crossing through the Wagah border. A column of Pakistani workers were unloading a truck and handing its crates to another column of Indian workers for loading unto another truck - quite a sight. Now in Amritsar, preparing my next leg - either to see the Dalai Lama's home near Dharamsala, Shimla's mountain resort at the foothills of the Himalayas, or Manali, where we could do river rafting and meet with plenty of Israeli tourists.
Signs line up the streets encouraging people to stay on the straight and narrow path. Our bus stopped at sunset to allow people to go pray. Now in Peshawar, 50km from the Afghan border. The weather is hot, humid and dusty, the roads are congested and hectic. A flash sand storm crossed the city and engulfed the hotel's patio, shattering the flower pots on the blaconeys.
I'm off to Karachi, meeting a friend in Islamabad on Tuesday morning. We've agreed to meet at the Serena Hotel at 10am, where I will be enjoying a cool lime and soda sitting in a colonial-style armchair.
It all started on Friday when a colleague showed me a series of wedding pictures, one of these joke PPT files that go round people's mailing lists. The pictures showed people enjoying themselves at a wedding, dressed up the way they normally would. My colleague was giggling and pointed at the extra tight tank tops girls were wearing, showing their bulging tummy, and the guys' caps and oversized suits in unstylish colours, and the expression on their faces. She said they were chavs, not normal people. I didn't get it, because everybody in London looks like that, I thought.
Today, I was surrounded by the middle class and the chavs, going to see their favourite popular bands. I joined them to experience what is V Festival, and for the 10th edition, I got what I wanted. The highlight to me probably was Good Charlotte, although I'm not a fan, their performance was cool, as they were poking fun at the English, saying the word cheers at every occasion.
The Bacardi and Strongbow tents were neat, clubbing in wellies with a crowd of chavs. And on Sunday, 
The Dalai Lama had a cold yesterday but explained that despite having to suffer from a sore throat, the good side was being able to enjoy as many Ricola sweets as he wanted. His good spirits and relaxed attitude to stuff was very refreshing. However, avoid Tibetan butter tea, which I tried amongst other specialities. It's really lethal. On this picture, the Dalai Lama is reading from a book about support activities in Switzerland for the people of Tibet whilst enduring a performance of traditional Tibetan music in his honour.
