Elsien's Traveblogue

After the beauty and charm of Oman, Karachi is a bit of a shock to the system. I footslogged it for two days, but couldn’t really find any redeeming features: it’s incredibly noisy, dusty, dirty and polluted. Little tuk-tuks leave a stream of blue exhaust behind them and the rest of the traffic is not much better. The old buildings are filthy and literally falling to pieces. Most date back to the British Colonial period – a few seem to have been saved, like Mohammed Ali Jinnah’s house, but most are in the most indescribable state of disrepair.
I had a wander around the old Empress Market, holding my nose. It must have been a beautiful Victorian construction once, but now it’s disgustingly filthy, especially the poultry section. I doubt whether I’ll be able to eat chicken again for a while, having seen the shit-spattered, bedraggled state the poor beasts were in. True, they had more room than their trussed up sisters in China, but even so, Avian ‘flu would be a merciful release for them.
There was a gorgeous library in a park which I stumbled on by accident as the police wouldn’t let me past the Marriott – half an army of a roadblock with more guns and tanks than I’ve seen in the whole of Kosova – what are they protecting? Anyway, the library was so dusty that I had to get a rag of the librarians who had nothing to do but sit and read the paper, so that I could dust the chair, the table and the Jinnah book I wanted to look at. I still had to leave after 10 minutes as I was sneezing my head off – and I’ve never had a dust allergy in my life.
I walked around the diplomatic area as well where the consuls are really slumming it. Compared to the rest of Karachi it’s nicer, but your average diplomat must burst into tears when they are told they’re being sent to Karachi.
Modern buildings are ugly concrete cubes and poor people’s houses the usual half-built breezeblock shacks, surrounded by acres of dirt and old blue plastic bags – I bet they didn’t show Prince Charles these bits. My hotel wasn’t one of the most wonderful either: the shower didn’t work, there was a pink plastic bucket though – memories of Kiribati – and at half past midnight some man came into my room, unlocked the door, switched the light on, had a good look around and left again. Didn’t like what he saw?
Anyway, I’d seen enough of Karachi, so left on the sleeper train to Bahawalpur. I shared a carriage with a heavily veiled woman who spoke no English, but obviously had some problem as she kept being interrogated by some policeman – when she wasn’t grizzling quietly, she spoke loudly and indignantly into her mobile phone ….
Oh yes, actually, most Pakistani people I’ve met so far have been lovely and bemoan the fact that there are no tourists in Karachi any more. They blame Bush, I’d say the dirt may have something to do with it …..