We proudly present the first out of many tales by folks who travelled the world when things were.. different.
The best travel tales, go way back.
Sit back and enjoy the first story from the road to India in the 60'es, by "Koni".
He was there:
Chapter #1 In 1978 we traveled with a few other hippies by local bus from Zahedan through the desert of Balochistan to Quetta. Before the trip I asked the driver how long it would take, he said about 24 hours. So we got enough provisions and, above all, water. The buses in this world are unique works of art, decorated from top to bottom, with pictures, lights, bells, etc. Our fellow travelers decided to travel on the roof. As it turned out later, that was a big mistake. My wife and I preferred the interior. The bus was extremely tight and I, 196cm tall, could only find space in an acrobatic yoga position. Under the seats lay chickens tied together at their feet, which at first still cackled, on the roof, next to the passengers and the luggage, sheep and goats also traveled. So we drove off and after a short time all the locals were sleeping peacefully, only we waited awake for the things, the sand that penetrated through all the cracks in the bus and the water supply, which was completely used up after 36 hours of driving. After almost two days we came to a small oasis.
There were huge clay pots filled with water in the desert sand, and dried out and thirsty, I wanted to fill up my water bottles. What a sight, what a shock! The clay pots were filled with an indefinable liquid, it was supposed to be water, but all the locals filled their bottles and so did I. All the men also disappeared, none of the women traveled with them, in a small tent and came out again after a short time, all of them wrapped in newspaper with little balls. From that moment I knew how to travel comfortably in this part of the world. I also got myself 2 pellets from a man who measured everything with a small scale. It turned out that the wrapped balls were made of opium and so the second part of the trip was pleasantly, painlessly euphoric for us too! After 3 ½ days we finally arrived in Quetta. Our friends on the roof were toasted, sanded off and totally worn out. We entered a new, absolutely fascinating world! Our first contact with the people of the free tribes of Afghanistan and Pakistan. The men were armed with huge turbans, swords and large daggers, often with ammunition belts and rifles. All of them had glowing, fiery eyes made up with black kajal, large harem pants and the typical sandals made from old car tires. As impressive as these people looked, they were also friendly. We soon realized that smoking black haschisch is part of everyday life here. I met a dentist on my first walk through the bazaar. I noticed him because his little “practice” was totally adorned with pictures of Swiss mountains. He had a drill that he operated with his foot, similar to what we used to do with sewing machines. When he heard that we were from Switzerland, he was totally ecstatic and invited us to witness a dental treatment. A tooth had to be extracted from his patient. He was given an injection and shortly thereafter he fell into a happy-looking, coma-like sleep. After the tooth was extracted, he had to be carried home by his relatives. When I saw the ampoule from which the dentist had drawn the syringe, everything was clear to me, pure morphine.
He then invited us to his home for tea. His little mud house was a little outside the city, almost in the desert again. The whole building was surrounded by a high wall and when we entered through the gate we saw a small, lush green, square lawn. A red rose grew in every corner. We had to sit on the lawn and were served tea. Then he began with skillful hands from a shiny, black piece of Hasch small balls, again, to shape and filled them into an empty cigarette case. I actually expected that people would smoke hookahs here and was almost a little disappointed. He then lit the cigarette and there was enough for one drag each. I then asked him if I could have another train and he looked at me a bit astonished, but he quickly made a second bag. After the second move I didn't know what and how was happening to me and even this time I was well trained chillum smoker. I have never had such a high intoxication experience from a joint and can no longer remember the return trip, in any case I woke up the next day satisfied in the hotel bed.
Our first day in Pakistan had started furiously! ©by Koh Nie