of these working works of art .
Another tea break was a chance to sit with the soldiers , on a carpet in another mudbrick building , and learn about them and their way of life .
For many , the desert around them , the sandstorms and occasional armed conflicts was all they ’ d ever seen . For them , connecting with us was like connecting with the outside world . It never ceased to amaze me just how friendly , curious , and hospitable the people were ; genuinely interested in learning more about us and sharing the stories of themselves . In most cases , when getting snacks or refreshments , they ’ d point blank refuse to accept any payment from us , no matter how hard we tried .
Why is that the people who have extraordinarily little are so ready to give the most ?
As we approached the outskirts of Quetta we were handed over to the local police and special forces squad . This city still sees several bombings every year . One of the new escorts was quick to show us his bullet wounds . Quetta : Disneyland it is not .
We ’ d arrived on a day of Ashura Muharram , a religious holiday . The city centre was sealed so we were redirected to a police station , providing my first experience of riding through a decent sized Pakistani town . The traffic was chaotic , many streets blocked by merchants selling numerous goods and variations of street food .
Often the locals would try to chat with me , to welcome me to Pakistan , all while continuing to ride his bike or rikshaw through packed streets . An occasional speed hump , which are brutal in Pakistan , tested the ground clearance of my bike to the limit , eventually denting and flattening the exhaust pipes .
Arriving at the police station ,
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