My public transport horror story in Pakistan

Chatting over chai the other day, a conversation started about trips gone horribly wrong. And I am the queen of trips gone horribly wrong. Sharing my worst experience to date.

I was a part of an adventure society at my university, which meant a solid five to six trips a year. Never wanting to miss the opportunity to go on a trip and taking full advantage of being a senior, which at that time felt like the last year we could live to the fullest, that I now realise is a very stupid fear, I decided to go on two trips in the winter. This was not uncommon for any of us. What was different was that this time I was supposed to make my way to the other destination, on public transport, alone. And as a young Pakistani girl that was scary no matter how badass I pretended to be.

I went from Lahore to Passu for a winter mountaineering course on Passu glacier with the rest of my team. After five days there, we traveled back to Karimabad to unwind. From Karimabad, the rest of my team proceeded to go back to Lahore, two of them stayed with me – they were going to go on another trek to Kilik Pass. I was going to make my way to Rattu, a small village near Astore district and spend the remainder of my winter break skiing. If you don’t care about my story, just want a guide to skiing in Pakistan, you can find it here.

Now that we’ve got the geography covered, here’s my story – how I got from Karimabad to Rattu. I had taken local buses before and wasn’t too nervous about this one. It just didn’t seem like a threatening situation. A friend was supposed to join me – we were supposed to take this journey together before he ditched last minute. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be in the situation I was put in. Aakhir ‘akeli larki khuli hui tejori ki tarah hoti hai’ 🙂

We left early in the morning from Karimabad to Aliabad where I was going to get on the bus to Gilgit and bid farewell to my friends going to Sost. The roughly 100km bus ride from Aliabad to Gilgit was pleasant and exciting. There is something about the drive on Karakoram Highway in the Gilgit-Baltistan region that I can’t get over, no matter how many times I travel the route. Two hours later in a bus of two women and fifteen men, I arrived at the Gilgit Bus Station. This is when I started getting nervous. Soon after the lady accompanying me left, I figured I was the only girl standing at this bus station and while I was in a full shalwar kameez with an oversized chaddar, I could tell I was beginning to attract unwanted attention. One of the workers directed me to the bus that was set for Astore. I had been to Astore a few times before and I understood it to be more conservative compared to the people of Hunza.

F*ckshow 1: Fashionably Late

The bus was late. The buses don’t run on time, they run when they have enough passengers. This was a problem because my friends from Lahore who I was supposed to meet at Astore were already there, ready to head on to Rattu, which is another two hour jeep ride further from Astore and they wanted to cover that distance in daylight. And here I was, on a schedule, waiting for there to be enough men to fill the hiace. One hour later than scheduled, the hiace finally had enough people. I turned out to be the only girl (what a surprise) which made me not only self conscious but also very paranoid. To make things worse, I was seated right behind the driving seat of a very sleazy driver.

It’s quite odd how much comfort the presence of a stranger woman would be to me at that moment.

F*ckshow 2: Why planning is important

As we started towards Astore and my phone signals started becoming unreliable, I realized how irresponsible I was for having an Scom sim – the network that has best coverage in Gilgit-Baltistan – but no credit. Another hour later we stopped to my relief, to pick up a family of two women and a man to carry on to a village just short of Astore. I began chatting to the woman, a lovely lady originally from Gilgit. Out of concern for me, she told me that she would send me Scom credit as soon as she got off just so I could make a call in case of an emergency. AND GOD BLESS HER FOR IT!

F*ckshow 3: All was good, until it wasn’t

All was right in the world. I was safe with this lovely family. I could finally sit back and enjoy the mountains, I had my headphones on, the world tuned out –  life was good. Until it wasn’t.

An hour away from Astore, we dropped the family to their village. Just an hour to go, I got this, nothing is going to happen. I told myself that but I had my doubts because as my friends know very well, it’s not possible for me to be on a trip and not have something go horribly wrong. It really is a wonder I’ve survived this long, tbh.

Anyway, back to the story – the hiace broke down just after crossing a checkpost. Great! I had two phones, and no signals. After spending some trying to locate the source of the problem, the driver came to announce that we had no way of going forward and would have to wait two hours for back up.

F*ckshow 4: The rejection that stung

The rest of the passengers decided to hitchhike the rest of the way to Astore and I was sitting there, trying to decide how to proceed.

Here were my options:

• Stay here with the sleazy driver who might harass me? (sounds like an exaggeration, I know but that’s the first thing that pops into a girls head when confronted with such a situation.)
• Or hitchhike with 10 other men?

I decided to go with the 10 men because the odds of being ‘saved’ seemed greater than surviving alone with the driver. In hindsight and with recent news back home, this was a bad decision. But I was placing bets on my faith in humanity.

Soon after, a pick up truck passed by and was stopped by one of the passengers. When the driver spoke to him about giving us a ride, he said he wouldn’t give a ride to a girl. Lift maang rai hu yaar, rishta nai (I’m asking for a lift man, not your hand in marriage) Now I was really beginning to panic and it was dawning on me that I was stranded alone, an hour from Astore, with a creep and no signals.

F*ckshow 5: Not all men in Pakistan are creepy but when so many are, you don’t know who to trust

There was a boy who had tried chatting to me earlier and I had hesitated to reply except for in monosyllables. He asked me if I wanted him to stay behind with me or hitchhike with the rest of the men. I didn’t want to ask him to stay because he too, was a complete stranger but my instincts were screaming at me not to be alone with the driver so he seemed like the better option. Before I could answer him, he offered to stay behind.

We stood there another ten minutes waiting for another car, I was praying desperately that there would be a woman in the next car that we ask for a ride. There wasn’t. The next car comes by, a white corolla with three men, they stop and agree to give us a ride. As I go to put my bag in the car trunk I notice the car has no number plate. So if I were to be kidnapped, there’s no way I could be tracked? I sit in the car, heart racing. I open my phone, and I know I only have phone credit for a few texts.

All is well that ends well?

I begin composing a text to my friend who was waiting in Astore for me:

“Omw! Bus broke down, took a lift. White corolla, no number plate, 3 men. Probably crossed the check post around 12.”

And then I wait for my phone to catch signals as we drive towards Astore so that I can send it.

I press send and he replies “Are you kidding?”

I wished I was.

“No, I’m serious.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

And he started driving in the direction I was supposed to be coming from. I was in the car counting down seconds, trying to take in my surroundings, expecting something to go horribly wrong. The movie ‘Taken’ was running through my head. My dad was no Liam Neeson.

20 minutes in, I see a hiace cross us and Hashim’s familiar face out of the driving seat. I don’t think I have ever been this happy to see someone.