In the morning I didn’t feel any better and André was starting to get something too. The owner of a roadside eatery next to where we had camped saw us taking down our tents and came over. He invited us back to have some breakfast and we were more than happy to accept the invitation. 
He brought us over and gave us eggs, roti (a fried bread in Pakistan) and of course, chicken curry. I was afraid to touch the curry, André gladly ate it. I stuck to the eggs and bread. Afterwards I felt ill, the owner took us around the back where there was a small garden to drink tea and rest. I lay down on one of the benches and slept while André mercifully fielded all the questions from the people as they came by.
We got going again a bit after ten. It wasn’t s hard tide at all but I really couldn’t keep up the pace. I had not energy and felt like I would throw up at any minute. I can’t remember much about the cycle as a result, I was focused more on just pedalling.
After an hour or two we passed through a checkpoint and on the other side, a McDonalds. An air conditioned building where we could sit as long as we wanted, it was too good to pass up. And we were both in need of a rest anyway. We sat in that McDonald’s for two hours, not eating thing just waiting to feel up to cycling again.

 

 
When we finally did get going we both didn’t still didn’t feel so great. It finally happened that it wasn’t able to keep breakfast down, and from then on the cycle was a slog. On the bright side we had found a host for Islamabad, a Dutch guy who seemed really friendly from our messages with him so if we could make it there we’d have somewhere to rest and recover at ease.
So we kept cycling, but it was tough. Not being able to keep down solid food I got energy from sugary drinks, but that isn’t a sustainable way to cycle. By late afternoon I was really struggling, André was a bit better but his stomach was at him occasionally. We really must have eaten something bad. 
A change in fortune is just around the corner though, we met two very nice Pakistan guys, young guys who wanted to buy us a cold drink and of course get a photo. While drinking this cold drink at yet another petrol station (apple juice) one of them invited us to stay with their family. This was Nadeem, he lived close by in the village and we took up the offer, the prospect of getting s good nights sleep in a bed seemed like just what we needed.
Nadeem led us to his village (he requested we put in trousers over our shorts as we passed through it) and to his house, a large building with comfortable couches a welcoming family. We left our bikes in his big garage and collapsed onto the couches where we drank tea and spoke to his family.
They gave us a dinner, which I politely tried to eat as much as I could while André, like a champ, made up for what I couldn’t finish. Nadeems friends came around in the evening to talk with us some more, all of them so curious as always about us, our lives back home and what we thought of Pakistan. 

 

 
We went to bed early, they had hoped to stay up late with us but in this front we had to disappoint. We hit the hay and slept for 10 hours.

Today the suffering started, not right away but by the afternoon I was finding it hard to cycle. I’m not sure what caused it but from here to Islamabad I was very sick in my stomach. 
This morning though, everything was ok. The owner of the orchard returned early with breakfast for the both of us, more curry and more fresh naan. It had rained last night and this morning the air was clear, welcome after the oppressive smog of Lahore.
We continued riding along the Grand Trunk Road, a busy highway alive with activity at all times. Orange salesmen (amongst other produce but orange was the most common) lined the road. Roadside eateries, concrete windowless building with tables, chairs, and bed like platforms of taut rope outside were placed regularly between towns and cities.
This being one of the oldest routes in Asia it’s not surprising that many towns and cities have grown up along it. On this first day there wasn’t an hour that passed that we weren’t cycling through some settlement or another, and it was always exciting. Each one seemed more busy and anarchic than the last. The ever present auto rickshaw weaving between big school busses with some of the pupils riding up top, these towns were where they all gathered to stop and pick up their passengers. And of course, amongst it all, the colourful but noisy trucks, blasting their horns as they pushed through the traffic.

 

 
After an hour of cycling we stopped, a guy on a motorcycle had been talking to André and wanted to buy him a cold drink. At the rest station everyone wanted to take photos with us. We left and I was starting to feel not so great, like I was going to throw up, though I didn’t. It was not pleasant. 
We stopped for lunch at petrol station, where one of the guards (they all have guards with Kalashnikovs) brought out chairs for us to sit in a shady patch of grass at the back. 
During the riding after lunch I at last vomited and by now was feeling feverish too and cycling was getting hard. At one point a man on a motorcycle rode up and after talking a while began extolling the virtues of Islam and how I was going to hell if I didn’t accept the word of Mohammad. A nice guy otherwise, but it wasn’t helpful in my current situation.
After 75km of riding I had to stop. André agreed and we found somewhere, an old petrol station where we could wait unseen around the back for night to fall. Which we did, and as it got dark put up the tents. I was in and asleep immediately.

 

  
 

We left Lahrore in the the afternoon after getting ready in the morning. Richie and Finn had left so André and I will ride to Islamabad and meet them there. The ride out of the city took a quite a long time, not entirely because it was big (which it was) but also because there were a lot of traffic jams delaying progress out. The jams seemed to be caused by either a) police checkpoints, which funnelled all traffic into one lane or b) the numerous auto rickshaws that would pull in and out if the road specifically at places where a lot of commerce went on, like near the markets, this was the cause of all sorts of chaos. 

 
But it was fun, on the trip there had never been riding like this before. It took a lot of concentration to weave through the traffic properly on a fully loaded bike. We got out of the city centre in a bit under an hour and joined up with the route that would take us to Islamabad, the Grand Trunk Road.
Of course these days the the GTR, one of Asians oldest routes running from Bangladesh to Afghanistan is just like any other highway. But the historical significance wasn’t lost on us. As we left the city the farms returned gradually and intermittently. There were loads of satellite towns and villages around Lahore though, so we were still riding through busy Punjab settlements as the sun began to set.
We were getting a bit worried that we wouldn’t be able to find somewhere to camp when suddenly we passed through a town and found flat empty fields to our left and some trees to boot. We pulled off and had a look around. There was an orchard that would be perfect to camp in, if we could find the guy to ask. There were some kids playing cricket in a nearby field but they didn’t know who to ask.

 

 
André went off to find someone to ask permission and returned ten minutes later with the owner of the orchard who let us in and opened up an empty shed for us to store our bikes in. He watched us set up our tents and then left, indicating he was going to bring us something to eat. He came back an hour later with two bowls of chicken curry and fresh Naan. He also brought his neighbour to say hi. Before he left he gave us his phone number in case anything happened. Everyone in Pakistan is at pains to make us feel at ease and their hospitality and concern is an endearing highlight of the country.

  
 

Lahore was our first experience of a Pakistan city as free men, at liberty to stroll around as we pleased. It was everything I wanted from a city in Punjab. Crazy traffic, big old colonial buildings beside Mhugal mosques, terrible smog and delicious street food. Finn and Richie had to go back to Ireland and had a flight the day after we arrived, so the first day they got ready for all that and I tried to find an atm that accepted my card.
We got to see sights the next day, and for me the big draw to come to Lahore was the Wagah Border, 30km out of town. I’ve wanted to see this place for years now, ever since it was shown on Michael Palin’s Himalaya travel show. 
The Wagah border is the border between India and Pakistan and the flag lowering ceremony has become a spectacle of military showmanship over the years. Now when you visit bleachers line the road on either side over the border and every evening they are filled with Pakistanis on one side and India the other cheering on their nation’s manoeuvres. The guards march up and down for an hour or so, blustering about with high kicks and shouts and striking impressive posses. The gates are open, the guard on each side shake hands and as the sun sets the flags are lowered, perfectly synchronised.

 

  
    
  
  

 The Wagah border was definitely the highlight of Lahore as the next day, probably thanks to some interesting street food André and I were sick. We didn’t get s chance to see anything else, had to spend the day in bed. A day of rest though and we were good to go and ready to start cycling again. We were going to cycle to Islamabad and meet Finn and Richie there when they returned.

The extra day in Bam Abala had been a great slice of Punjab life, the hospitality shown to us by the Lasharis unparalleled but now it was time to get back on the road. With only 80km of riding left according to Shahid from Bam Abala to Lahore we should be able to make it there today.
First we had to visit the village school, a large walled off field with a small concrete schoolhouse at one end. Most of the classes were outside in the field with the youngest in the schoolhouse. We went around saying hi to each class and taking a photo with them. In an inspired attempt to entertain the kids Richie had them wave their hands and shout as we took the photo which, of course, they all loved.
At last it was time to go. We got back on the old road to Lahore, which somehow got worse as we got closer to Lahore but it didn’t really make the riding unenjoyable. Really it made the time pass faster, concentrating on navigating the rocks and holes. At some points the road was barely wide enough to for a car but tractors piled high with hay still managed the drive. Other tractors loaded with sugarcane attracted groups of kids who would take advantage of the slow pace on the rutted road to liberate the a few sticks of sugar cane for themselves.

 

 
  
  
The old road eventually merged back with the main road to Lahore for the final 50km. Back in the chaos of the highway after the slow pace of the side road, the contrast was immediate. Trucks, buses, busy towns with auto-rickshaws driving in all directions. As always the motorcycles were unable to contain their curiosity and we had many questions to answer, or rather few questions to answer many times.
There was a huge traffic jam just before we entered the city as the four lane highway was squeezed between one at a police checkpoint. Jockeying for position amongst trucks, cars, donkey carts and auto rickshaws was an experience not to be forgotten soon.

 

 
It was dark as we rode into the city centre along the straight canal road. We had only a general idea of where the hostel we hoped to stay at was located but such masters of navigation are we now that we the first time we stopped to get our bearings we were right outside it.
The hostel was the only one in the city and had just about enough beds formal four us. Not that it was packed with tourists. In what I assume was an attempt to stay in business the owner had rented out the dorms to a group of Chinese merchants. Still, it had hot showers and fast internet, all you really need from a hostel.

I didn’t have my tablet for the day in Bam Abala, Finn and Andre have some photos that we can try and get uploaded.

Amar served an amazing breakfast in the morning: fresh yogurt, eggs, daal, and a spicy spinach dish. After breakfast we went to look around the village and see the dancing horse. Shahid took us first to the mosques, a simple but attractive building. The Pakistan mosques, for the most part, are a lot simpler than those in Sunni Turkey or Shia Iran. The minarets aren’t as tall, the domes not as wide, but the decoration very detailed in its own way, much closer to what I’d expect in India, which I suppose makes sense.
After the mosque we went to see the dancing horse, an event that took up most of the day. We went to the horse pen, but the musicians and master who could make the horse dance took a long time to arrive. While waiting we got to see a competition that a lot of the men in the village like to get involved in: homing pigeon endurance. They release their pigeons into the air and see whose can last the longest without coming down. 
After a long time the dancing horse show was ready to begin. Shahid explained that it in the summer there was a big competition between all the villages to see who had the best dancing horse. The horse was trained to ‘dance’ when it heard the music played in a drum and horn that sounded like a kazoo. I can’t really say that the show was all the amazing in the end, but everybody there (a crowd had gathered once the music started) seemed very proud of their dancing horse.
We went to visit a friend of Shahids, another cousin. He had been paralysed from the neck down after a motorcycle accident eight years ago. He was bedridden now but Shahid explained that two or three Lasharis and friends sat with him at all times to talk and keep him company. The way the village had pulled together to support one their own in difficulty was inspiring. The man himself was curious and friendly and very happy to hear about our experience in Pakistan.
After an hour we left to visit another friend of Shahid’s. This man owned an orchard, and though it was dark by the time we got to him he had a small fire going in the little hut at the edge of the orchard. They had just finished picking the oranges and had saved the best ones in a box for us all to eat. They were the most delicious oranges I’ve ever had. Shahids friend was very interested to talk to us, specifically about Islam and Pakistan and his dissatisfaction with the current situation. It was an extremely enlightening conversation from someone who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
Finally we returned to Amar’s house for one final meal, another barbecue cooked up by the man himself. Amar had worked for a while up in Karakorum we found, back when tourism was still a growing industry in Pakistan before 9/11. Now he was back in warm Punjab and didn’t want to go back up to the cold North again.
More visitors again, of course we were more than happy to speak to everyone. They all seemed so intrigued by us. The headmaster if the local school, the same school that Amar’s Young sin Mehrooz attended, asked us to come visit the school tomorrow before we left for Lahore. Then another cousin, a guy who had spent seven years in England studying came by. He was the most surprised to see us of all. 
Amar had us up late and when we finally went to bed we were tired, full and happy.

In the morning the farm owner returned bright and early to take us back to his house for breakfast. We took down camp as fast as we could and followed him back to his village, about 800 m down the road.
His place was really nice, he lived with his elderly father and possibly mother nut we didn’t see her. We were served a breakfast of eggs and lentil curry and fresh yogurt. After we said hello to all his friends in the village who naturally wanted to see the foreigners passing by.

 

 
We left the village at 10 which wasn’t as late as it could have been, it’s quite easy to get held up for a long time speaking to everyone. We had at last left the main road behind and found riding on this side road much better. The quality might not have been as good, at some points it was really just a collection of stones and holes, but the scenery we got to ride through and the amount of traffic was much more enjoyable than what we had seen before.

  
We were right in amongst the farmland now, with fields stretching right up touted narrow road. Even though this wasn’t the main road it was still pretty busy, we passed through a lot of towns and there was still traffic but now off tractors and motorcycles, very few cars and trucks.

 

 
  
  
So it really felt now that we were cycling in Pakistan and not simply though it. In the early afternoon we passed through another village and out the other side in a clear field next to the road was a big group of people all watching a drum performance. We decided to stop and take a look and right away a man came up and spoke to us. He asked, do you want to see the drumming? Sure we said, and led us through the circle of people where we were the cause of more attention than the drummers themselves.
We had a crew of children following us around within the circle as we moved from one side to the other. ‘They are happy to see you’ explained the guide ‘they have never seen westerners before’. The drumming was very impressive, four or five guys with a huge drum each slung over their shoulder that they played with their hands. It would start off slow and then every now and the two would face off and start drumming faster and faster until one stopped.
Our new guide was a man named Shahid Lashari. He spoke great English and had worked for a time as a taxi driver in Dubai. Now he was back in Pakistan where he owned a few petrol stations and a guava orchard that he took us too after the drumming.
Shahid offered for us to stay with him and his family back in the village we passed through, a place called Bam Abala. Since we had refused such an offer yesterday we wanted to accept today, so we agreed and he led us back into Bam Abala.
When Shaid was talking about his family we presumed he meant with his immediate family. What he was referring to as Family was the whole Lashari clan, the extended family of uncles and cousins that made up about 60% of the entire village. Shahid took us to his cousins Amar’s place. Amar was a brilliantly friendly character with a broad smiling face and large moustache. He had a passable grasp of English but his laugh and smile were more than enough to communicate how pleased he was to have us.
Amar’s place was big, another compound of a house with the place all centred around a courtyard. We spent most of the evening meeting a seemingly endless stream of uncles and cousins who came to say hi to us. 
After meeting everyone Amar cooked us a brilliant barbecue dinner of fish and Chicken Masala along with fresh Naan and rice. It was of course delicious and Amar seemed to revel in pilling more and more food on our plates until we couldn’t eat another bite.

 

 
Shahid and Amar then invites us to stay another day, so that tomorrow we could look around the village, see some of its attraction (they apparently had a dancing horse) and, of course, have another barbecue with Amar. That sealed the deal so we accepted, we would spend another day in Bam Abala.

This was one of those days I didn’t take many photos, sorry! 

Not much to say about today’s cycling. It was much the same as yesterday with us riding mostly through countryside that was full of farmland along the main road to Lahore. Later today we were going to turn off the main road onto a quiter side road we had spotted on the map, but that was 60 km away yet.
We still garnered the same attention from passers by in the road as before. The novelty was starting to wear a bit thin, and there’s only so many ways you can answer the same questions over and over. I have to say that a surprising amount of people knew about Ireland, compared especially to Iran before. Most people knew us from that time we beat Pakistan in cricket, which I vaguely remember but which most people here seem to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of.
We got to Sahiwal, the town we would be turning off the main road at and continuing along to Lahore on a smaller, hopefully quieter road. We missed the turn off initially but that brought us to something amazing: the first McDonalds we had seen in two months! We all ran in to get McFlurrys. Here, it seemed like McDs was an upscale restaurant for the locals to visit, judging by the fancy cars and well dressed patrons.
We doubled back and soon found the right road out of Sahiwal. Sahiwal, like all settlements be it a village or a town or a city in this case was exploding with people everywhere, driving on the road on motorcycles or donkey carts or in one case camel carts. I know the population of Pakistan is big but I’ve never seen so many people so consistently at every settlement we pass through.
We rode for a while out of Sahiwal and as it got dark once again pulled off the road to find somewhere to camp. We ended up behind a haystack off the road where we thought no one could see us. 

  
As it turned out we could be seen, by the guy whose haystack it was no less. He was happy to let us camp there and even gave us some potatoes to cook that he stored in the hay. He left for a bit and we had our tents and everything set up when he returned with some friends who spoke English. They explained that he was offering us to sleep in his house. If we had known early we probably would have accepted, but now it was dark and we were all set up so we politely refused. We offered to visit him in the morning.

In the morning, after providing us with a delicious breakfast of Eggs and fresh yogurt Afzaal and one of his friends took us to look around Khanewal. We went out to see the market and the place was packed with people. Electronic shops and fruit vendors lined the main road and behind them was a warren of alleys and stalls selling clothes, kitchen products, all sorts. 
Afzaal took us to get ice cream at the best ice cream place in Khanewal according to him and it was indeed delicious. Then we went to visit a two story kitchen appliance shop which was indoors and the two men seemed very proud of. Everywhere we went people wanted to shake our hands, say hello and most importantly, get a photo. 
We visited a glasses shop, the owner was another good friend of Alfaaz. Everyone was really happy to see us, they all asked what we thought of Pakistan and were atains to explain that it wasn’t dangerous. 
After the market Alfaaz took us to meet his boss, the producer of the local TV news station and editor of the newspaper for the region. We sat in a nice office with him and his friends for a while drinking tea and answering questions.by now though it was starting to get let, and as much as we appreciated being shown all these places and meeting all these people we still and to get some distance dance cycling.
Before we could leave though, the press club and the news station wanted to interview us for TV. A big group showed up to undertake this procedure. They asked regular questions and then got some footage of us cycling the bikes. It must really be a rare occurrence to see a western tourist come through.
It was bit later than we would have liked when we finally did get going. We were in the main highway to Lahore so the road was quite busy, but out in the countryside the wide open field and grass and trees all made up for the constant, defeating honking of the trucks. It was so nice to cycle past trees again.

 

 
Like yesterday we attracted curiosity like no other with people on motorcycles pulling up to talk to us frequently, and people in cars stopping to get a photo more than once. When we pulled up to a shop in a small town to get food for camp, everyone in a ten meter radius stopped what they were doing (nothing..?) to come stand around us and stare. It’s really the biggest culture shock we’ve experienced on the trips like no other. It’s a bit intimidating at first, but once you get used to it it’s kind of funny.

 

 
Finding somewhere to camp proved to be quite difficult, everywhere was farmland with only narrow tracks wide enough for a motorcycle between them. We pulled off down a side road looking for somewhere decent, a dusty road that was surprisingly busy with people like most places in Punjab.
After much searching we eventually found a patch of land that wasn’t growing anything and set up for the night. As we were pulling our bikes to the campsite a local guy came walking the other way and helped us out setting up camp. Then he gave us his phone number in case anything happened and walked off into the night.

So after resting in the waiting room at Multan train station we decided we didn’t need to stay in Multan tonight. All we needed was to get some Internet access to to check some important messages and plan the route, and also find somewhere for breakfast. We cycled around for a bit and in the end decided our best bet for finding Internet was at the nicest hotel in town, the Ramada hotel.
They had pretty serious security outside but they let us in eventually. For a group of cycle tourers who had been staying in budget accommodation for the last 6 months this place was luxury. What caught our eye the most though was the huge breakfast buffet spread going on. Nothing quite like a breakfast buffet to tempt the hungry cyclists. We were considering splashing out on it when Finn announced his Nan had given him money for just such a treat, so thanks Phyllis, it was the best breakfast we’d had all trip.
While we were gorging on breakfast (and sticking out like a sore thumb in a restaurant filled with very well dressed people) the hotel security officer came over and said he had a friend he wanted us to meet. Not long after a guy showed up who introduced himself as Mohammad. Mohammad was an old school cycle tourer from Pakistan who had been cycling around Pakistan for years and had just recently come back from a motorcycle trip to Turkey via Iran. 

 

 
He wanted to talk to us, he had met hundreds of cycle tourers coming through Pakistan over the years. We talked about cycling in Pakistan and he gave us some advice. We then expressed our desire to purchase a Shalwar-chemise, the local traditional dress of Pakistan that everybody wears. He took us to a store where I found one that looked good. At the the store we went to meet some of his friends and while we were there he organised for us to stay with a friend of his the next town over in Khanewal.
When it was time to leave Multan Mohammad took us to see the main sight of Multan in the way out, the old fort, where we experienced for the first time the Pakistani curiosity, as we paused for a photo and drew a crowd of about 50 people who were just in the park.

  
On the road out of Multan a press crew passed us and stopped us for a TV interview. Once again a big crowd gathered and we almost caused s blockage on the road. I can understand it, I’m not sure how many western tourist they get through Multan especially on bikes so of course they’re all curious.
It continued even outside the city. While riding the 60km to Khanewal for probably 70% of the ride we had guys beside on motorcycles (the main form of transport) asking us questions about ourselves, our home – everything pretty much. It was really cool, totally unlike any riding we’ve done so far and still as much a novelty to us as we were to them so we were happy to engage.
At about 5 km outside Khanewal we met Mohammad’s friend Afzaal who led us through the city to where we were staying. He took us to the local Press club as it turned out he was a journalist, and editor of the paper, and their press club had quite a large hall where they were happy for us to stay.

 

 
  
We talked with him and his friend as best we could for the evening. They brought us a tasty but spicy chicken curry for dinner along with fresh Naan, which is so delicious I could it eat it every day (and kind of have been since we got to Pakistan). The lack of much sleep last night finally caught up to us though and we had to crash early.