by Habib Khan, Quetta: The decline in tourism in Pakistan is often blamed on unstable political conditions and so-called terrorism, but I believe there’s a lot more to it.
In the 1980s, I hired a taxi cab in Karachi, and the driver revealed that he worked for a 5-star hotel. He casually mentioned that earlier that day, he had taken a foreign tourist intending to visit the Makli graveyard but instead transported him to a graveyard in nearby Malir, deceiving the tourist into believing it was Makli. What struck me was his shameless attitude; he laughed sarcastically when I pointed out that his actions severely damaged his own livelihood.
In 1999, during a hiking trip to the Sharran (شڑاں) forest in the Kaghan Valley, I met the caretaker of the Sharran Youth Hostel. He claimed to be a qualified guide and offered to take me to the Rajkani (or Rijkani) summit for a minimum fee of 1,000 Pak rupees, payable in advance. I agreed and handed over the money.
As instructed by the guide, I woke up at 5:00 AM, had a light breakfast, and set out for the Rajkani peak, its snow-covered majesty visible from the hostel.
Barely an hour into the hike, I noticed the guide slowing down and evading my direct questions. We continued in silence until he stopped, sat down and claimed he wasn’t feeling well.
“You were fine earlier, and we’ve only been hiking for 90 minutes,” I pointed out.
“I want to tell you something, Sir,” he said, “I’m a heart patient. You must understand.”
“Why didn’t you mention this when you accepted the 1,000 rupees?” I asked.
He apologized, but insisted, “I really can’t go further.”
“Our agreement was to reach the top,” I countered. “You have to keep moving.”
“But, Sir, I’ll die,” he pleaded.
Certain that he was bluffing, I replied, “Even if you die, I’ll bury you here, but I won’t turn back without reaching the top. Get up and move.”
He reluctantly stood up, suggesting, “My relative’s house is nearby. Let’s go there, have a cup of tea, and decide what to do next.”
With no other option I agreed, and we headed towards a nearby level ground where two rooms were visible.
There, we met two young boys who introduced themselves as former construction workers from Karachi, returning home due to their project closure.
Not only did they make excellent tea, they also offered to replace the guide and escort me to the summit, and they led the way with playful energy frequently pausing for me to catch up.
We reached the summit by 1 pm, enjoyed the crisp wind for half an hour before beginning our descent back to the youth hostel, where we arrived at sunset.
The next day, while heading back to Paras, (a 16 km descent) the guide accompanied me and on the way he confessed, “People from Karachi usually turn back after an hour or so of climbing. I often successfully use this trick.”
There was no point in telling him how such practices harm local tourism.
During that trip, I made two other observations:
Firstly, almost all schoolgoing boys in the region used Naswar, a widespread issue confirmed by adults, and surprisingly every one of them claimed their own sons were exempt from this habit.
Secondly, it was Cricket season and the World Cup was going on, and again surprisingly, not many seemed interested in Pakistan’s overall victory. Their sole concern was to just beat India.
“O jee sanu cup shup nahi chahida aye. India nu hara levan te samajh le cup jitt liya.”
