Val’s birthday – 23. Bloody hell. I never thought I’d see Val reach 23, tho’ of course she would have to. Up at 5, breakfast of corn flakes + tea, a quick wash, + on the road. C + A (who’ve done this journey a couple of times now) warned us that this would be the roughest part of the journey, but either they had so improved the suspension with the new shocks, or it was the result of careful driving, it didn’t seem too bad. I read another novel from the in-house library – not a very inspiring effort, but enough to pass the time. As planned, we arrived at the border late morning, enough time to get us thro’ the exit formalities, + on into Iran. Where we were greeted with slogans spray-painted on the wall – “Down with the USA” – etc.
The first formalities went thro’ easily enough – health control + immigration – but there seemed to be a veneer of antagonism from the petty officials around, tho’ the Health Officer was very friendly. The bad news came then, when we discovered there would be no guide until tomorrow. So in we drove to the dry + dusty car park, squalid with litter + the wrecks of a couple of cars, busy at this time with a couple of bus-loads of passengers, all local, Pakistani or Iranian, all sitting disconsolately by their luggage, cases, bundles, cardboard cartons containing electrical luxuries. A couple of them, Pakistani they were, came over to chat. Colin + Alan were busy, Walter was having a wash, Val was a woman, so I received all of their attention. Their English was good enough to set impossibly difficult questions – they listened politely while I mouthed platitudes. And then, when I’d finally stumbled into complete incoherence, they would smile, say thank you, + rephrase or simply repeat the same question. In particular, they were anxious to know my opinion of the India/Pakistan conflict. I could simply mutter meaningless nothings about it being a pity they weren’t friends etc. I was embarrassed by the whole thing – I generally am with small talk, especially with strangers, + only my natural timid politeness prevents me from snapping. But these 2 weren’t long in realising they weren’t going to get much in the way of originality out of me, said a final “thank you” + wandered away.
The car park was a depressing wasteland, + Colin + Alan had spent 3 days here last time, battling unsuccessfully with stubborn officials. They say it depressed them enormously, + it’s obvious that that would be inevitable. We whiled away the afternoon somehow, doing not very much at all, were visited once or twice by curious officials, trying, I think, to bum American cigarettes – unsuccessfully. Cooked a good meal – to bed. C + A slept outside on an abandoned old wooden trailer – they have sleeping bags, but it was a noble gesture. God knows how we’ll manage to sleep with a guide along.
The inevitable hold-up at the border, very much as expected. but all of us very much hoping that it is merely a temporary delay; Colin and Alan have made it this far before, only to be turned back.
