10 Short Stories

Das beste bier der welt ist ein frei bier

I was outside the former USA embassy in Teheran, Iran. My partner, Jo and I were admiring the interesting murals on the walls that included one where the Liberty Statue looked more devilish than what it was supposed to represent.

Photography was forbidden but those pieces of artwork proved too irresistible. The temptation that we were not able to subdue subsequently brought upon us couple of guards running after us with their Kalashnikovs.

That was Sep/Oct 2003.

Other then those 2 Singaporean cyclists lurking around the "tourist attraction", there were also 2 other cyclists from Germany.

Andreas Merten and Marcel Jassman.

Thereafter, the 4 of us started chatting and later found out that we were actually all staying in the same 25000Rials/person guesthouse! We compared notes and later found out that we were all going into Pakistan! We were all concerned about the harsh conditions of the Balochistan desert (that sits on the border of Iran and Pakistan) that was also smuggler & kidnapper-infested. We subsequently decided to team up as we believed that 4 cyclists would always be safer than 2.

The days were long when we were crossing the Balochistan Desert. We were getting up at 5 to cook, eat, get ready and would start riding the moment the first lights appeared on the Eastern horizon. On several days we were riding until 8/9pm as it was important to us to camp out at the odd police check posts for safety reasons. Those late rides were memorable as sometimes we were riding into the moon that rose above us from the featureless plains. We never caught up with the moon.

It took the 4 of us 10 riding days and some 1000km to cross the big desert from Bam, Iran to Quetta, Pakistan, the 2 biggest towns that lie on the fringes.

More often than not, the winds were against us. It was just not nice having headwinds and crosswinds. For non-cyclists, a better way to get your empathy may be for you to imagine yourself being in a toilet without paper and water. Simply unpleasant!

Weeks later, the 4 of us were on the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan. At Dasu Kohistan, Jo fell sick and so I stayed behind to look after him while the 2 Germans went north to challenge the Khunjerab Pass (which at a point in time was the highest paved road in the world) that separates China from Pakistan.

For 7 days, though already on medication Jo was running a stubborn fever that would subside a little before raising the mercury again. On the 7th day, Jo told me that he would like to eat something easily digestible. Since I had been preparing his meals mostly for the last few days I said that I would try and asked him if he would like soup. He then told me that soup was hard to digest! That was when I started to realize that something was wrong! I then got him to a nearby clinic that had a western- trained doctor and to my horror did we realize that his fever was at 103F (39.4deg). Almost immediately, we went back to the hotel, packed a little and subsequently I booked a taxi (or, more exactly, a local who had a 20-year old 1000cc Daihatsu) for 2200rupees (USD 38, a doctor at the Ayub TH told me that his salary was USD100) to send him some 300km south to the Ayub Teaching Hospital only to find out that he had contracted Malaria(falciparum) and jaundice at the same time.

The taxi sped for some 5 hours over 300km down south on the Karakoram Highway through the dark and in a slight drizzle and haze. The rain sweeper was not working and the driver had put his right hand outside to manually sweep the windscreen clear while driving the car with his left hand. As much as I was worried that we might just swerve left into the river to become another statistic, I was concerned about my partner who had slumped into the seat behind.

We arrived at the ATH just after 9pm to find out that they did not have an empty bed for Jo. I told myself that I was not going to give up, however dire the situations were. Knowing that the palm trees were merely at the horizon of the desert I knew that if I preserved I would arrive. Hence, I went around asking and pleading before they finally agreed to admit Jo.

It did not take long for Ayub Teaching Hospital to disappoint me by mixing up the blood sample of Jo's and other patients. And to leave the urine sample of Jo's unattended for hours. At a particular stage in time, I was so fed-up with the mix-ups that I had put Jo's name as "Mr Singapore" as Jo's middle name was a "bin" which was as common as "John" in our part of the globe. After 4 days of treatment of which his fever stubbornly remained unsubsided (the medicine they had just could not tackle falciparum- the only deadly strain of malarin!) were we subsequently advised that the doctors in Singapore might be better for my partner. I then rushed to buy an air ticket demanding to the salesperson over the counter that I needed the next available flight to Singapore. I then put Jo on a Islamabad-Karachi-Singapore flight where his sister picked him up at Karachi.

The conditions of the ATH could only be described in a single word; horrendous! The ward Jo was staying in had a couple other patients but twice as many visitors & relatives who comfortably made themselves at home in the ward. Many spat freely on the floor and if I was not mistaken some probably smoked too. Once a doctor jabbed a patient and later threw the used syringe into a bin nearby, however he missed! Neither the doctor nor the nurses (anyway, the hospital was heavily understaffed in terms of nurses as I could see) bothered to pick it up. The toilet was 1 place I wished I did not have to patronize. Very often, what was supposed to be in the toilet bowl was in the hand basin. Moreover, the toilet was often flooded. I had a feeling that the bed sheets and pillowcases were not always changed after each patient had left unless heavy stains were visible. As I was a tourist, the doctors were nice to me and allowed me to spend my time in the doctors' lounge, which was decent. I was also allowed to sleep there. I spent days there in between walking 10 meters to Jo's ward to take care of him. During those times, I talked to many doctors of which the majority expressed a common vision to leave the country (for UK) for good! You cannot really fault the people for being disillusioned with the systems, if any. Pakistan is after all a nation where almost 90% of its budget goes to the military.

Almost immediately, I sent an email to the Germans telling them about the developments and my plans to team up with them again. I then went north to Dasu Kohistan, which had no internet service, to wait out for them. News of the 2 Singaporeans in trouble was passed on among travelers on the Karakoram Highway and got to the 2 Germans. I later found out that they had spent some tens of USD to access a rare internet terminal in northern Pakistan. That was when they got to read my mail that I would be waiting for them at Arafat Hotel, Dasu Kohistan.

I spent a lot of time over some 6 cold and lonely days sitting outside my 130rupees/day room at the Arafat Hotel looking at the snow-capped mountains that sat right by the edge of the road and the fierce river running beside my hotel. I still remember the familiar sound of the roller shutters coming down each evening before the night swallowed the entire town in darkness.

Just outside the Arafat Hotel was a tiny little stall that sold chapatti, one evening, my chapatti came wrapped in an October 3, 2002 issue of our Straits Times! I had dutifully cut out the picture of Britney Spears in a really seductive sequined gown as such a picture was hard to come by in (Muslim) Pakistan and stuck it in my diary!

While the entire town was asleep, I would still be the only 1 sitting in darkness with couple of jackets, a candle (power was not always available), and my hot chocolate drink staring at the bridge above the fierce river. My lifestyle got so monotonous that I was able to predict where exactly the sun would break out from the range of mountain by the left edge of the road (when I looked south) and where it would sink in the evening! I did have a little respite though as Daniel Woodley had given copies of the Lord of The Ring to Jo which he had left behind in Arafat Hotel.

I planned to start riding after waiting for 6 days, on the last night of my wait, I was as usual sipping my hot drink by a candle light when a minibus stopped outside the hotel and several bags were lowered together with 2 bikes.

My German friends had arrived! It was the Ramadan (fasting) month and public transport were rare but they managed to catch this very first publicly available bus to rush to Dasu.

Thereafter, the 3 of us started together as the pace of winter crept upon us day by day.

On the India side of the Pakistan-India border, the immigration officers surprised us with the news that we did not have valid visas! We checked and found that the "date of expiry" was some 6 months earlier than the "date of issue". Someone with a logical mind would see this as a clerical mistake but the Indian authorities would not allow us onto Indian soil and insisted that we return to Pakistan to sort out the problem even though we had pleaded that we did not have a re-entry visa!

It really puzzled the 3 of us why we had not checked our visas when we got it many weeks ago. Until this day, this remains a mystery to me why we had all forgotten to verify something so important!

Just as the weight of not being allowed into India began to sink onto me, I heard Jassman telling the immigration officer that it was purely the mistake of the Indian authorities who had issued the visas and that such things "won't happen in Germany". I got the hint that pleading would not help but being a little loud might do.

I then started to raise my voice to match that of Jassman demanding to see the chief immigration officer and their commissioner, boss, or whosoever was around.

As the 3 of us argued with the immigration yelling spurs of "we are not leaving India" in between pointing out their clerical mistake, the gates at the border came down as the Wagah(Pakistan)- Attari(India) was not a 24hour border crossing.

The immigration then took our passports from us, wrote some remarks on it, chopped it and asked us to leave.

As we cycled out of the immigration post, we saw a sign that read "India- the largest democracy in the world welcomes you" as the guards in outrageously flamboyant ceremonial attires from either side of the border tried to shout louder and lift their legs ridiculously higher than the other country in the most silly display of national ego at this daily evening border closing parade.

We subsequently spent couple of weeks together cycling through India to Katmandu, Nepal of which we arrived on a cold and wet Christmas Eve 2003. Our ride on the East-West highway in Nepal was beautiful. As the situation between the Maoists and armed forces was tense, the entire highway was shut down and no motorized transport was allowed! Therefore, the 3 of us had the entire highway to ourselves for days! In the process, they changed their flights twice as they wanted to accompany me to the Nepalese capital.

My ride with the Germans had been very enjoyable. Those nightly backgammon games were always the highlight after a hard day's ride. The winner of a set of 3 games would get a bottle of beer and hence, there were always (funny) debates as Jassman tended to make interesting decisions. Often, Andreas had to be the judge to sort out the Singapore- Germany arguments. It was fun!

The towns of Syangja, Bartung & Damauli in western Nepal would always be the pinnacle of my backgammon "career". I remember getting free Tuborgs from Jassman for at least 3 straight nights! Andreas and I often sarcastically asked (in front of Jassman) each other what the best beer in the world would be. Of course, the answer was always the same;

Das beste bier der welt ist ein frei bier

Wir singapuris werden euch unter den tisch saufen

The Germans flew home from Katmandu in early January 2004 and I then went alone to Tibet.

After my London-Singapore-New Zealand trip, I subsequently teamed up with the Germans again to ride in Central Asia (and more) in the early part of 2005.

Andreas is a very good cook and Jassman an excellent cyclist. It was my good fortune to ride with them. When we were in Pakistan, 3-armed men robbed me. That fateful day, I had cycled off earlier while the Germans continued with their break at a petrol station. Couple of minutes later, on a lonely stretch of the road, 3 men who were spreaded across waylaid me, brandishing a knife and a hammer between them while pulling me by my shirt off the road, into a bush on the edge.

I told myself that if I allowed them to pull me into the bush the consequences would be grave. I then dug into my pockets to hand the robbers whatever cash I had and also gave my sunshades & cap to them. I had done these as I calculated that my items handed to them would fill their hands.

It was a good gamble. As I was filling up their hands I seized a good moment, struggled, and I managed to break free from their grip!

My shirt was torn during the struggle and I probably looked as hysterical and as desperate as someone who was drowning when I ran away from the crime scene to see the Germans cycling towards me. Jassman then gave his bike to me so that I could ride to safety with Andreas while he ran behind us.

Jassman subsequently caught up with me and Andreas at the petrol station where they offered ideas on what we should do. We then paid a local who was filling up his car some money to drive us to a nearby police station where I gave a statement. The Police brought guns and we went back to the crime scene to find that the robbers had left my bike and everything else behind!

I recovered my bike. Nothing was lost. I only suffered a few bruises during the "fight" with the robbers. With hindsight, I guess I was really lucky. These days, I do get really paranoid whenever I see men loitering on road edges.

(on the same note, it will be interesting to hear the German version of the robbery incident and our ride through the Balochistan desert where Andreas was almost pulled off his bike by would-be kidnappers!)

Andreas is an excellent cook and teaches canoe-polo while Jassman is a fine cyclist and does kayak-touring. They are 2 good Germans. I do hope to make another trip with them. Perhaps in Nov & Dec 2007?