The 2007 Iran Lonely Planet guide advises that no traveler venture past Bam towards the Pakistani border as the British consulate has placed a heavy travel ban on the area as it's a brutal desert populated by roaming ex Taliban bandits. It's the land of children bearing machine guns (for self defense) and tribesman offering the chance for $20 to shoot go to their opium field an shoot AK47 at a goat ($50 for a rocket launcher). This was our next destination.
There are rules for traveling across this region: you must have a military escort and travel in a convoy to provide more targets for shooting bandits theyby increasing your chances of survival.
We spent the night at an Iranian border town. It was the same deal as Kerman and Bam, it's on the smugglers highway and populated by gangsters and other unsavory types. We headed out at 5am for the Pakistani border and soon enough we had a series of military escorts which would interchange every few hundred meters. These escorts had varying degrees of safety. Some escorts would have two soldiers diligently manning an anti aircraft gun, others were more interested in smiling and waving at us than looking for bandits.
Bandit territory
Our tour leader nearly passed out with stress as a male tour member, for a laugh, decided to dress up in a woman's burka, a sure fire way to piss off an exiled Taliban. Another member had his camera confiscated by an angry Iranian solider for inadvertently taking a photo of a military base. Having the responsibility of looking after 40 people, where only a wayward snipe or a rocket launcher would finish us off, his stress was justified.
We were escorted to the Pakistani border. I'd unexpectedly been to Pakistan ten years earlier. I was an unaccompanied 15 year old on a flight from London to Sydney (yes, flying is much quicker) when the plane made an emergency landing in Karachi, Pakistan's largest city. I spent the next 24 hours holed up in a hotel with the only other unaccompanied passenger – a 16 year old Dutch girl. Being romantically retarded, nothing happened. I ordered lobster thermador (I figured the airline would be paying our expenses, it wasn't) and went to sleep. Interesting.
Entering Iran I was given a small pink slip to present on disembarkation. I had lost it. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to leave Iran; I would have to live with Valli and be doomed to give tours forever. I stepped up to the window, ready to use my library of excuses but the guard just waved me through. Talk about an anti climax.
Once in Pakistan we met our guide Billal who the perfect antidote to Valli. He spoke impeccable English, talked sparingly and was open for intelligent discussion on any Pakistani matter whether it be government, religion or cricket.
The previous day the democratic candidate for prime minister, Benazir Bhutto, was parading in Karachi before an estimated audience of 1.5 million people when a bomb exploded killing 139 people. The masses were angry at the military government (dictatorship) who in turn were angry at the popular demoractic Bhutto. It was about to kick off in Pakistan. But Bilial reassured us of our fears and said our crossing of the desert should be bandit free.
As we raced across the desert, a funny thing happened; we listened to Lionel Ritchie's classic All Night Long. Looking out the window as the great expanse of nothing the tunes of Lionel were surprisingly serene and uplifting. As a smile crept across my face, I didn't seem to care about roaming bandits and exploding donkeys and we safely made it across the desert. Mr. Ritchie, I salute you.
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