archives click to see previous phlog entries purchase                   click to visit George Stranahan's online gallery at FlyingDogArts.com

We knew before we even went to Pakistan that it was an Islamist nation and that alcohol was forbidden. Therefore we were advised to take plenty of Crown Royal for the customary bribes of public officials. No official asked for it, but all gratefully accepted the gift. When we withdrew to the tidy little bar at the Flashman Hotel we happily signed a mimeo sheet declaring that our father was or is a Christian, good for an unlimited amount of drink. As we prepared to hire porters for our trek we were advised that they would likely go on strike in mid trek unless we provided “enough” hashish. Enough, per porter per day, was a staggering amount, and we had not dared to bring any through customs. Where to buy such a quantity of hash? We were directed to this alley and took our translator. We followed these men into a crowded and strangely noisy room. “They’re stoned out of their gourds,” was my first thought, but the voices were quite musical and the words sounded poetic, there were boys here too. “Whirling Dervishes,” was my second thought. The translator said, “No, no. They are chanting Jihad, Jihad, death to the infidel dogs.” Had we just signed our lives away back at the bar? “No, no,” he said, “They don’t mean you. They want to sell you what you came here for.” Things are not as they seem. Nor are they otherwise.  Lankavatara Sutra