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a chance to take a little breath before facing the Pakistani adventure .
Akhbar ’ s house is wonderfully comfortable , inviting us to stay for more time , as we knew that from now on our travel would become riskier , according to what everybody told us in Zahedan , the last city before the border .
It is said to be a crossroad of opium smugglers , Taliban , and Baloch nationalists . For this reason , we had to be escorted by police , which intercepted us when we enter the city , took away our passports and forced us to move only together and with them . Strict rules that prevented us from photographing that around us , no chance to bend any rules yet , they were gentle and hospitable like the rest of the country . They gave us tea and water for the trip .
Crossing Pakistan-Iranian border took an entire day . We decided to make a caravan together with Tino and Hubert , two German bikers we ’ d met at Akhbar Guest House , they were headed to Australia . Together , we lined up behind a group of fifteen that was led by a German tour operator .
The Pakistani border crossing , unlike the Iranian one , was quite shabby and seemed to be devoid of any security precautions .
We aligned ourselves with the others and made our way slowly to the Taftan police station where we would spend the night in our sleeping bags under the strict surveillance of the Balochistan Levies , the local police force whose chief explained that their real enemies are the Taliban .
These policemen , whose motto is “ Your best friend in Pakistan ”, are precise and professional despite the limited equipment . The most engaging amongst them , a short man of indeterminate older age , ran about shouting orders to everyone despite not being the chief . It was our wakeup call to make the six hundred slow kilometres to Quetta . He ’ d spent the night on the buildings roof as a lookout .
Riding in the desert at sunrise was one of the most amazing situations of the whole trip , but going at the slow speed of the trucks was a hinderance for us motorcyclists . The worse time was the arrival in Quetta after eighteen hours riding at max speed of thirty kilometres per hour . The police were visibly on alert , we were surrounded by a sense of looming danger .
Under police watch we were secured down in a hotel for one day ,
the only time out was for official paperwork to be completed and of course under the watchful eye of the police . Our knowledge that the real target for the Taliban are the police and military didn ’ t instil a feeling of safety , perhaps just my overzealous imagination .
We rode on , escorted until Multan , overdue to meet Muhammad Iqbal Ghangla , the most famous biker in Pakistan , always ready to host bikers from all the world for free .
Iqbal ’ s hospitality is unwavering ; after a princely breakfast , every day we would have lunch and dinner in one of his friends ’ houses or
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