The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: Lahore

*Author's Note: This post slightly disrupts the chronological order of the trip. CJ is doing the heavy lifting of putting the Pakistan trek into words. In the meantime, we wanted to keep the readership engaged. Stay tuned for Thailand content as well.* 

Our unforgettable 11 day tour of Northern Pakistan came to an end in the same place where it started: Islamabad. After an emotional goodbye to Israr and Rauf, we checked into our AirBnB and immediately ordered 6,000 calories of McDonald's delivery. 

Don't worry, we saved some of it for our bus ride the next day. No better travel day sustenance than a cold, soggy chicken sandwich.

Our time in Islamabad was short-lived. We woke up early and taxi'd to the Faisal Movers bus station where we were ushered through the chaos by a kind security guard who led us to the ticket office. Rather than paying around five dollars for a standard ticket, we upgraded to business class for an extra five. This unlocked lounge access, a free lunch, and reclining massager seats. We were living large. 

Stepping off the bus in Lahore, we were rushed by taxi drivers. After receiving a price which, thanks to a crosscheck with Chat GPT, we deemed too expensive, we slipped by the taxi drivers and instead opted for the much cheaper rickshaw (tuk-tuk). If you are unfamiliar with the concept like I was, refer to the image below. It is essentially a motorbike with a small carriage for passengers. 

Just like that, we were off. This would not be our last rickshaw experience. 

Three consecutive days on the road finally brought us at last to our destination: the Al-Safina Hotel. We were greeted by a warm and friendly staff and a room that had no windows and smelled like dead fish. After moving our trashcan into the hallway, however, the smell kinda faded. A win's a win.

That evening, we were graciously hosted for dinner at the home of (stay with me here) CJ's high school computer science teacher's college friend Ibrahim, who grew up in Lahore, lived in the US for college and some years post grad, and has since returned to Pakistan. We had a blast learning about his life in Lahore and career - all the while snacking on delicious homemade Pakistani dishes. Thank you Ibrahim!

The next day we set off on foot to explore some of the highly recommended bazaar's. Our first stop was an ATM. 

Upon walking out the door, we were greeted by a strip of money transfer shops, sitting behind a row of security guards all strapped with automatic rifles. Don't let their intimidating weaponry fool you, these guys were laughing, smiling, and twirling their guns around like children's toys. 

They even had a man in a mini-bunker with his gun fully pointed at the road. When CJ first pointed it out to me, I spun around and found myself looking straight down the barrel. Not sure what kind of petty crime people are getting up to in Pakistan, but these dudes are ready for it. 

Eventually, we entered the bazaar area and were greeted by your average selection of hole in the wall slaughterhouses. Lucky for us (and you), they displayed their raw meat and animal parts collections for all to see. If you have a weak stomach, view discretion is advised. 

Weaving through the streets, we got a peak into Pakistan's chaotic transportation methods. Turns out anybody who is anybody owns a diesel powered Honda moped. 

Unrelated, but the layout of these wires offers some insight into the city's general vibe. 

When we finally reached the walled city, we started searching for a lunch spot from our long list of recommendations (2 places). On our way, we stopped to take photos of this vibrant strip of buildings. 

When we reached the other side of these buildings, we discovered that the yellow one was actually Haveli, one of our two recommendations, and a beautiful rooftop cafe overlooking the Badshahi mosque. We took our time soaking in the views and four or five lassis over the course of the next few hours.

After our meal, we made our way into the Badshahi mosque, a grand 17th-century Mughal structure known for its red stone courtyard and white marble domes. The mosque itself was beautiful and made it onto our shortlist for top mosques. 

Shortly after entering the main courtyard, we were approached by a few kind gentlemen asking us where we were from and if they could have a photo with us. How kind? We thought. They must not see very many tourists from the US. A few seconds after these gentlemen left, a group of teenagers approached us with grins on their faces and phones in their out stretched hands. Another photo request. No big deal. This is kind of fun. Then it happened again. And again. And again until we were in the courtyard of the mosque for 45 minutes taking photos with people as if we were Brad Pitt. It got to a point where every time we stopped walking, a group of people would immediately gather around us looking for photos. 

During a quick break from the chaos, we snuck over to the Lahore Fort, hoping to evade the public eye. The fort was impressive. The blend of Persian, Islamic, and Indian architecture showcased the different influences of Lahore's royal past. One could spend a day exploring this massive complex and its vast courtyards. 

Unfortunately for us, we couldn't spend more than an hour. The harmless hellos and photo requests quickly evolved into us being full on followed by groups of young boys asking for our numbers. All attempts at subtle social queues to deter them fell short. We were forced to flee the fort and take shelter in a nearby rickshaw. To our 30 consistent viewers of the blog, if any of you are celebrities, I don't know how you do it. 

Once settled in the rickshaw, we shipped off to Gulberg, a newer shopping district of Lahore with slightly more of a commercial feel than the earlier markets we went to. We looked at some clothes and some jewelry, led on some salesmen, and as always, purchased nothing. 

For dinner, we switched things up and found ourselves a buffet. Serving everything from chicken karahi to stir fry to fettuccine alfredo, this meal was glorious. 

Sampling every item from the dessert section was no easy feat, but it had to be done. 

The next morning, after some more street wandering and mosque looking, we hunted down Waris Nihari, a lunch spot recommended to us by a local we met on the bus. His raving about the authentic, rich taste had us very excited. When we arrived to the location on Google Maps, we saw no restaurant. Spotting our confusion, a middle aged man popped out of an alleyway and asked us if we were looking for the restaurant. We said yes and were then escorted into the alleyway where we came across a small dining room with 4 tables. They only had one physical menu so the waiter was running it back and forth between tables. We ordered the signature dish and struck up conversation with our waiter, who, unlike our previous fans, made it clear that he hates America and Americans. Bold strategy for boosting the tip jar.

We were then served this monstrosity of fat, grease, bone marrow, and mystery meat. It was repulsive. I actually could not eat more than two bites. In awe and confusion, we looked at the other patrons devouring their own bowls. "Best nihari in the city!" we overheard one of them saying. Well - I guess nihari just isn't our cup of tea. 

After a swift exit, we rerouted to Butt Karahi (Butt must mean something else in Pakistan because we saw it on a ton of signs). This place was known for their chicken karahi, and yes, you guessed it, they were killing the chickens directly in front of the restaurant. A whole new interpretation of farm to table. Unsettling? Yes. But for the amount of chicken we eat, it's probably good to see one get killed every now and then. And given the number of locals crowded around the butcher, it appeared to be an effective marketing strategy. Whatever works. Morals aside, these guys were cheffing up.  

After lunch, we hopped in a taxi and headed 40 minutes east to the Wagah Border where India meets Pakistan to watch the famous flag lowering ceremony. If your Sunday paper ever happens to detail India-Pakistan geopolitics, you may know that their relationship is tense, marked by an ongoing 80 year dispute for the Kashmir region. This feeling of competing national pride is in full display during the flag lowering ceremony held everyday at sunset.

Our taxi driver, Ali, who was 21 and working to make money for university, parked the car and joined us at the ceremony. Initially, this seemed a bit strange. However, after realizing the border has no service, no taxis on demand, and multiple military checkpoints with officers that didn't speak english, we were thrilled to have Ali by our side. Ali was the man.

As we walked into the arena, we were offered free flags, bandanas, and face paint. Naturally, we had to get in theme. 

The ceremony started with multiple emcees getting the crowd fired up through a series of call and response cheers.  While we could not hear them over the Pakistanis' chanting and drumming, it appeared that similar activities were happening on the Indian side. 

Once the crowds were riled up, military soldiers began making their way towards the gate in synchronized rhythmic marches. Their flashy outfits and aggressive high kicks made it quite the spectacle. 

Not to mention the average height of the Pakistani soldiers rivaled that of a pro basketball team. I doubt your average military man is allowed to show face at the Wagah border.

CJ and I, fueled by the energy of our driver and the others around us, nearly lost our voices from chanting
and cheering. The ceremony ended after soldiers from both sides shook hands, lowered their respective flags, and promptly marched off. Ali encouraged us to stick around for a photo op, then didn't look at the camera in any of our selfies. Enjoy his side profile. 

Blending geopolitical drama and the atmosphere of a sporting event, the Wagah border ceremony was a one of kind experience.

We finished off our night with another delicious rooftop dinner. 

The next day, we had 12 hours to kill between checkout of our hotel and our flight to Thailand. Exhausted and craving relief from the heat, we hunted down a buffet at the Four Points Hotel by Sheraton, the highest rated hotel in Lahore. We severely overstayed our welcome, waiting 30 minutes between every plate. 

Eventually, the wait staff asked us to pay and encouraged us to head out. We spent a little more time walking around and stumbled across the Pakistan Stock Exchange.

And someone's car presumably getting towed. Interesting choice of equipment. 

And the anti-smog gun. Feels like something Gru would invent in Despicable Me. Not sure how they are using this thing. 

Finally, when our legs could walk no longer, we headed to the airport. Our Lahore tenure came to an end in the only way it could, with a frenzy at the airport. 

We were nearly five hours early, so we expected to go through security and hang out at the gate. Turns out, you can't even enter the airport until three hours before the flight. So we sat outside by the street to wait it out. After we entered, we went through round one of security and made our way into the immigration line. When we reached the immigration officer, he sent us away saying we needed to print our boarding passes. We found a printing shop in the airport, paid to have our tickets printed, and returned to the officer. This time, he waved us through to security checkpoint #2, where we were stopped yet again for having the incorrect format of printed boarding pass. Back to square one. We then printed them at the airline desk and were able to make it through. For showing up five hours early, we cut it pretty close. We spent our remaining time at the three restaurant food court, where the only place serving appealing food was called "Juice Zone." Genuinely one of the better chicken sandwiches I've ever had. Always expect the unexpected in Pakistan. 

16 days after entering Pakistan, through trials and tribulations, it was finally time to say goodbye. Onto Thailand, my final stop before leaving CJ to continue his journeys alone. Till next time.