Gary BUTTERWORTH Online

LAHORE, PAKISTAN

With Colombian and now Pakistani entry stamps in my passport, I feel like I’ve finally earned some serious travel cred. The thing is, Lahore really doesn’t feel edgy enough to warrant bragging rights. Yes, this is the post where I’ll talk about safety, and the short version is that I feel very safe here.

Now, the disclaimer: I’m not sure how much nuance I can provide given that I’ve spent 2 weeks being chauffeured around one city by longtime locals. There are travel warnings out about Pakistan, and they are mostly there for a reason. But at worst, it’s not bad at all here, at least in Lahore. I wouldn’t venture to Peshawar or most of Baluchistan right now, even though I’m dying to go, but Punjab seems to get the green light.

A little over a year ago, the literary journal “Granta” published an issue devoted to Pakistan. Their website had a set of special features on “how to write about Pakistan.” Check out number III: “Brand Pakistan.” Sure, it’s tongue-in-cheek, but honestly, pretty much everyone thinks that way. Be honest: when you found out I was here, you worried about me, didn’t you? At least a little?

I even know plenty of Pakistani expats in the US who worried for me. In fact, a fair amount of Pakistani expats themselves have some reservations about coming back home (remember Babu Bhatt on Seinfeld?). They probably paint a more optimistic view than Mortimer would, but even recent emigrants have given me some gentle warnings. One even told me to spend my entire stay indoors. If their/my/your hair stands on end just a little, it’s not entirely without justification.

I’ve done the macabre Lahore tour.

“Can you show me where the Sri Lankan team was attacked?”

“There were some blasts in your development, weren’t there, Uncle?” “Gary, that’s the training academy that the terrorists took over for a few hours.”

I had some incredible nihari a few blocks away from where the Raymond Davis incident began. Sarah and I were browsing Liberty Market a few days ago, and I asked her what part of the market had the bombing. “Alhamdillilah, they never bombed Liberty!”
But sadly, Google proved me right–the bomb went off pretty much right where we were parked.

When I looked out the hotel window the morning after our wedding and saw a protest march going by,

I got nervous for a second. And apologies to my Shia friends, but those black flags you see flying really intimidate the hell out of me. But don’t let fear rule you–they’re not dangerous. Actually, the most dangerous thing I’ve been doing here is probably drinking the tap water. Shit happens, but life goes on, and the odds of being in the wrong place at the wrong time are slim. If, God forbid, something bad were to happen to me here, it will be on the news at home. That’s because it would be a newsworthy event, which by definition, means it would be a relatively rare occurrence. Of course if, God forbid, something like that were to happen, I’m sure there would be some “hiker hate” thrown in my direction. But most hiker haters really don’t know what they are talking about, so I won’t let that bother me.

I’m more comfortable here than Sarah is with me being here. She is erring further on the side of caution than I am, which is the hardest part of the trip for me. Yesterday was Friday; I wanted to visit the mosque. She advised against it–just so I didn’t run into any uncomfortable conversations. That was probably the right decision, but things like that are a little hard for me to swallow. I am not used to feeling dependent or asking permission.

Sarah actually lectured me a bit when I went to a polo match by myself. But I was just fine. I almost certainly would have been fine at the mosque, too. I’ve already figured that out, and my minders are learning that, too. I hardly get a second glance when we go out. No harassment, no touts. Not even many stares. A few glances, maybe. But overall, no one pays any special attention to me.

For years, people have been telling me that I could pass for a Pathan in Pakistan. Just wear a Pathan cap and desi dress. And stay quiet (not quite as good of an option as learning Pashto, but more feasible). Any time I was told that, I smiled and agreed, but I never really believed it. But it’s a good looking hat, so I’ve been wearing it. And I still can’t believe it, but at least two people have asked my family if I’m from the Tribal Areas.

It’s almost absurd to me that someone could mistake me for a Pathan tribesman. Sure, the hat might fool a couple of

people, but common sense alone should tell you that it’s not much of a disguise. And the evidence bears that out. I’ve had to buy “Foreigner” tickets at three tourist sites so far. (Foreigners are charged about 200 PKR–about $2.20–for entry to sites that only cost about 10 PKR–11 cents–for locals. I don’t really mind.)

I’ll admit it: I stand out a little. I feel like there are three things keeping me safe.

1. I am with locals at all time. The day I escaped from my cage and went to the polo match, I also took a walk around a park. I did draw a little attention there.  I definitely stood out a little bit more. Or, if that wasn’t it, maybe I just looked a little more suspicious. Wandering around with a grandfatherly-looking father-in-law and two kids under 11 makes me look like an unlikely candidate to be the next Raymond Davis, even if I do catch people’s eyes. Combined with the fact that they know their way around, I have to admit that I am safer with family. However, that doesn’t mean that I would be unsafe without them.
2. There is almost no tourism here to speak of. A trickle, maybe, but that’s it nowadays.  (At one point, Lahore was a moderately touristy city, so many people have seen foreigners at one point or another, but not in abundance for a while.)  It’s particularly strange for me to visit the big tourist sites, like the Lahore Fort, and be the only foreigner there. (Even more startling when you realize I’m only about 10 miles from an international border). But the fact remains that Pakistan is pretty far off the tourism radar. Until yesterday, when I spotted a van full of white people at Shalimar Gardens, I had only seen one white person here (although I’ll give partial credit to the brown folks with US accents who I assume were second generation Americans visiting their grandparents). Ironically, this lack of tourism makes for a great travel destination. And not just for the bragging rights. With so few tourists, there is no industry of ripping off tourists. I had a great time in Costa Rica a few years ago, but the capital was a place where you could not let your guard down. With so many wealthy foreign tourists wandering around San Jose and similar touristy cities in the developing world, a cottage industry has emerged to take advantage of them. I’ve read that if I were to visit touristy Amritsar, India (about 20 miles from here), I could expect to feel safe but heavily  hassled.  But with no such tourism, no such industry exists here. I feel like I can whip out my camera pretty much anywhere without fear. No one is looking for easy prey.
3. Finally, I feel safe simply because the city is, by and large, safe.
   There are armed guards everywhere, but that’s the norm in many countries. They check your truck for explosives before entering a couple of areas, but that’s the exception, not the rule. There are metal detectors all over the place, but most of them are ignored.  Street crime isn’t any more of a concern here than anywhere.  There isn’t nearly enough poverty to drive people to desperation.
   There is a difference between danger and fear.  Unfortunately, the human mind rarely matches the two up appropriately.  Lahore is a city with slightly more danger than the average city yet significantly less fear.  It might sound odd to tell you that every single day I pass at least two attack sites without giving them a second thought.  But that’s just how life works.  And the locals–the people who have far more of a stake in this place than I do–go about life as usual.  The odds are on our side.
   

   Security Guard

I expected to feel relatively comfortable here, but even I have been pleasantly surprised by how at ease am I am able to be. My guard is never entirely down, and for the first time ever, I’ve lied and told people that I’m Canadian.  But I am not at all on edge.

I feel pretty.
(I was going to write, “I feel pretty safe here,” to end things, but my wife thought “I feel pretty” was a better ending. You know…Sarah–my wife! I got married! I’ll have to write a post about that, too!)

Filed under: international, Life, Pakistan, Posts with Pictures, Travel