We ran into a bit of bureaucratic delay this morning when we had trouble getting our passports back from the office – they had taken them last night in order to fill on various details onto a series of forms, but it seemed this was only a job the secretary could perform. He hadn’t been found last night, + this morning the job had still not been done, but eventually, after much toing + froing, we received back the things. Off to the station, to catch a train up to Rawalpindi, the stn for the capital, Islamabad. We’d decided to go to the heart of the country, in diplomatic terms anyway, to see what could be done there. We would also have to go there to get a letter from our own embassy – we were determined to take every necessary step.
At the stn we encountered bureaucracy again, + became very flustered about the whole thing. We wanted to get student concession fares, but in order to do so we had to have a form authorised by the Divisional Superintendent. However, today being Friday, his office was closed, so despite chasing around from one minor official to another, we got nowhere, only having wasted something like an hour. In the end we gave up + paid the full fare – it really didn’t make such a difference on such a short run – such a relatively short run, I should say. And of course, it would be hypocritical of me to get too high-handed about it, seeing as it was not something to which we were actually entitled, merely something we thought we could swing.
Nevertheless, we weren’t in a good mood when we boarded the train, + this wasn’t improved when we found it difficult to get seats. There seemed to us to be plenty free, but we were told proprietorially that these were booked. Luckily, someone did offer Val a seat before too long, while I sat on one of our packs – quite soft, as it is filled almost exclusively with clothes, sheets, etc, the legacy of Val’s Indian shopping. And after a couple of hours, some people got off, + we were able to get 2 seats on a bench together. The other lady on the bench, sitting next to Val, was in purdah, + dressed in a black burka. Beneath that too, so far as one could tell, she was veiled except for a tiny slit for the eyes. She chatted with Val, on + off, throughout the journey, but Val didn’t find it an easy conversation, partly because her English was very limited, partly because it is difficult to communicate with someone when you can’t see any response or reaction – tho’ that applies to the telephone too, of course. And as Val told me later, the subject matter was bizarre to say the least, the woman talking of her divorce, her children, Val’s children – when Val told her she had none, she was told that could be fixed in hospital – + the usual request, to be taken to England. Otherwise, the journey was tedious + boring –travelling is a chore to be got over at the moment, when it is also so uncomfortable, it is not even dead, neutral time, to be filled up with reading a book. It is a negative force, + if one reads, it is only to help the time to appear to go away more quickly.
We arrived in Rawalpindi after dark, later than we’d expected, + by asking many times were able to make our way to a hotel we had listed. I certainly felt under threat in the street however, the hotel being in the heart of the bazaar area, + consequently the streets leading to it being crowded. It was not so much a feeling of danger as of being under scrutiny, being stared at. Once we had checked in, however, + re-emerged to wander round, + grab something to eat of some of the stalls, I felt much better, being relieved of the burden, emotional even more than physical, of the bags. When we returned to the hotel, however, depression set in once more, an all too present consciousness that time was slipping away + we were getting nowhere.
So, immediately off to another city, and immediately setting about trying – again – for our visa. But beset by travel troubles again; we really were sick of the whole business of dealing with travel bureaucracy. But once again, no hassles specific to being in a muslim country.
