Crossing land borders has always been one of travel’s joys for me. They’re so much more meaningful than crossing some mythical line at 28,000ft
I was always sure that leaving Iran for Pakistan was going to be one of the more memorable ones – it was obvious. Even so, it delivered far more than I expected.
The crossing sits in the province of Baluchistan: a vast region that overlaps the Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan borders, and a region whose people (the Baluch) pay little heed to the imaginary borderlines in the sand. It’s also a harsh area, known for its tribal lawlessness and barren landscapes.
This is not a place where travellers or tourists would, or should, typically visit; it’s a known known and, if you do venture this way, you want to be with people who know people when travelling through these parts.
Departing at Iran’s Mirjaveh border, I was met with the same confused expressions as when I arrived, followed by the same series of ‘suspicious’ questions but soon enough I was making the short walk across to Pakistan. More questions, a more welcoming tone to them now, and I’m through the Taftan gate. J’arrive Pakistan.
But hold up there, sonny, not so fast.
In place of my friend, Raza, was an official-ish looking chap (and trust me, that is a stretch) gesturing for me to get on the back of his motorbike, swinging his rifle across his front to make room for me. OK then, I thought, here we go. A lot of things were running through my mind at this stage, but there was no doubt in my mind that this was a less than optimal situation.
I was forewarned that an armed escort would be needed for the next stage of the journey across Baluchistan. I’ve been reading much about the distrust the Baluch people have in the army and their involvement in the politics of the region. The military are, therefore, the target of separatist terrorist activity. However, as the recent tragedy in Quetta clearly demonstrates, there are no tidy edges when it comes to acts of terrorism.
Security arrangements had been made in advance, so to my mind these were formalities. Not quite. And so began my fast-track introduction to the Baluch style of negotiation and broader Pakistani diplomacy. Many hours of it, in fact, sat in the baking sun whilst an extremely erratic Assistant Commissioner dragged us through an award-worthy performance of an unhinged megalomaniac.
Within a few hours, it became pretty clear that we weren’t going anywhere, but on it went – on and on – until finally, after around six hours of the charade (as my sunburnt neck will testify), he announced that it was now too late to allow us to travel on the road, as it would be too dangerous. But we’ll go tomorrow, for sure.…inshallah.
So started the clock on 5 days of being restricted to a small government compound, each day being told that we were leaving the next…inshallah.
Now, Taftan is not a pretty place by any stretch of the imagination, so we’re not missing much by being kept within these walls. From our vantage point, we can watch the comings and goings over the wall, and can see that it’s a hard, hard place to live, where people walk at pace, head down, across dusty, litter strewn streets. The highlight of the day for everyone (ourselves included) is the cricket match played out on a rough clearing a little beyond our walls.
24 hours became 48 hours. The one time I leave is when I’m invited to the Assistant Commissioner’s house for tea. I didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter, and the pick-up truck sent to collect me (complete with gunman on the rear) is certainly a nerve-tester.
On arrival, things picked up where they’d left off in the courtyard the previous day. It was a surreal conversation, and I was resigned to enduring it, laughing where appropriate and answering questions in the ‘right’ way. I even put up with his bare foot being waved inches from my face, endless poking in my arm as points were made, and endless cigarette smoke blown in my face. There was a tense atmosphere, and I was confused as to why I was there, but also trying to avoid causing any offence in the fast-dwindling hope that, at some point, the conversation may actually come round to us leaving Taftan.
When, at 10pm, supper was ‘offered’, I’d reached my limit and had to break with protocol and insist I go back to the compound. He seemed surprised, or insulted, it’s hard to know, but I left all the same.
As the hours and days tick by, it’s the lack of trustworthy information that gets to you. I was with my Pakistani friends and three Sri Lankan over-landers driving home from France. We were being hosted by a handful of Baluch locals, each of them a character in their own way and, despite the language barriers, we built up a camaraderie with them. We were making do.
We heard snippets about ongoing security activity in the immediate area, but there were very mixed messages and no-one would give us a straight answer. So, on the 3rd day, we had the idea to smuggle me out. Not quite as mad as it sounds when you consider that the smuggling ‘industry’ is the primary employer in this border region. Plans were made for a 3am departure the following day. Of course, I was loving the idea, because I’m a twit like that, however at the 11th hour (well, 10.30pm) a chink of light appeared in the form of a messenger telling us that we were officially moving tomorrow, 100%, inshallah. And we fell for it. Again.
When it didn’t happen (obvs, duh), we decided to try our luck and just drive out of town. The first check point was un-guarded and we drove on. Surely, it couldn’t have been this easy all along?! Nope! Just a few km further on, we were stopped, calls were made, familiar official faces appeared and we were on our way back like scolded children.
Should have gone with the smuggler…
Moods were low, so when we got another messenger telling us that we were moving the following day, there was no reaction. We weren’t falling for that again. But then new people started appearing, reinforcing the earlier messages. There was no inshallah. There were confident smiles in place of pitying faces. It was actually, maybe, almost certainly ‘on’ tomorrow. Day 5.
And the following day, with our exit progressing, the reason for the wait became clear. Alongside the need to wait for the army to finish their security operations, we were also waiting for 20 busloads of pilgrims to cross the border, returning from holy sites in Iran and Iraq. We were all being moved together.
Finally things were moving at pace. Hollywood levels of military suddenly appeared, charging around on either side of our 30-vehicle convoy. What took my friends 7 hours on the way in, became a 15 hour drive on the way out, with the military forcing us to stop regularly and limiting our speed.
Whilst it was hard to believe that we wouldn’t have been safer – and a tad less conspicuous – in one vehicle, I clearly know nothing about the realities of travelling this route.
There’s no question that this is an extremely fractious area. However, acts of conflict / terrorism are focused at the armed forces that the separatists claim, through a combination of corruption and neglect, siphon away the small amount of funding that was intended for the people. How dangerous it is for the occasional stubborn traveller that passes through this way, it’s very hard to say. My best guess is that they are not taking as great a risk as the scale of military operation would suggest, and that it is very politically motivated.
However, any doubts I’d had as to the seriousness of the situation were dispelled when we learned from one of our accompanying officers that, just the previous night, this same unit had taken some losses whilst under attack from the same separatist forces they were protecting us from on this journey.
Onwards…
Finally, and this is important, I’d ask any reader not to judge all of Pakistan by my experience in Baluchistan. As I state above, problems were expected and I’m very much looking forward to my travels elsewhere in Pakistan. It’s sad to me how many Baluch people felt it necessary to apologise to me for how things were throughout their region. They would certainly rather it were very much different.
Day: 36 / Distance: 9525km
This is quite simply amazing