The Prodigal Son Returns
Disclaimer. The only way I can mange this is by breaking the trip down to manageable chunks. This is Day 1.
Guess the very first item I consumed in Pakistan? Let me ask it in SAT exam style.
a) BBQ (Chicken or Beef)
b) Biryani (Chicken or Mutton)
c) Mithai (Gulab Jaman, Halw etc.)
d) Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich
e) Halwa Puri
If you guessed a, b, c, or e, You’d be dead wrong.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, I may have travelled to Peshawar just to eat Chapli kababs (stay tuned for a future post) and braved seriously unsanitary roadside dhabas just like any local, but the epic food fest started out with a ‘firangi’ delicacy. You make it by applying a paste of peanuts (preferably Skippy’s) on a piece of bread and an application of strawberry jam/jelly on the second (opposing) piece. Nirvana, when all you want is a light, but fulfilling snack before you hit the sack after a 18 hour journey. It helps that its 2 am and food/people are packed in for the night. Demanding either is unnecessary and a bit of an overkill.
After a few restless hours of stretching my legs, it’s straight to business. This involves attacking the first Halwa poori joint in town (Jamil Sweets in F-10). But the line is long. About 45 minutes long to be precise. So what do you do when you have so much time to kill? Simple: Find another (comparatively less popular) Halwa Poori joint. Eat there while the more popular joint finishes with customers ahead of you.
If Halwa Puri hopping becomes a thing in Pakistan (just like bar hopping is a thing stateside), please make sure to credit yours truly.
After consuming a double dose of Halwa Puri, you need to walk it off before consuming lunch. And there’s no better place than Damen-e-Koh. I met up with my high school friend Adnan, who lives in Pindi. Adnan took me to the aforementioned area with a lot of dating couples (of both the married an unmarried variety) and then helped cross out the first restaurant on my list-
Front Entrance
The Monal. Monal is a conundrum, but let me first explain what the heck it is. No wait, they do a better job of explaining themselves. Check out their ‘About Us’ page below. http://monal.themonal.com/?page_id=651
We had timed our late lunch perfectly. After being situated on one of Monal’s many hillside terraces, we experienced both daytime and nighttime views.
Walking towards one of Monal’s several outdoor terraces
Its hard to describe in words the ambience and view until you actually experience it. So, I’ll spare you my woefully inadequate description, and instead encourage you to view the following images to get a sense of the location (and the drive) to Monal. http://www.lightimage3d.com/Monal360/Monal360.html
Post meal high. One of several throughout the trip. Call it High One.
While at Monal, my phone died. This was not good because I was not in a position to contact my phupo/cousin on my whereabouts. All they knew that I was out with a friend. Not where or for how long. And if your foreign cousin doesn’t pick up his phone, nor do you have the phone # of his friend, AND you’re the over-emotional type, there is but one result.
‘You Freak the Hell Out.’
We left Monal to go straight back to my phupo’s house. My phupa was standing outside their house. I thought he was chilling.
He was not.
If your wife (my phupo in this case) takes to her bed because her limbs are paralyzed with parayshani, with a tasbeeh in her hand, praying her nephew comes home in one piece, the only way to make yourself useful is to stand outside. My phupa is a smart man.
My 40 year old something cousin wasn’t faring much better.
Half embarrassed, half amused, my phupa escorted me to his room so I could convince phupo that I was indeed in one piece. And that I was in good hands. Rinse and repeat with my cousin. (I love my family). My immensely talented cousin sister cooked a delicious dinner that brought the family together, shortly after which I retired to my room.
Let me at this point remind readers that in Islamabad, there is no central heating in houses. Even if it gets slightly nippy outside, the inside temperature compels you to blast a heater in front of your face. It took me two days to master the damn thing. I had overpacked with warm casual and formal wear. It wouldn’t get anywhere remotely that cold in other parts of the country, which left me with a limited wardrobe of lighter shirts. Fun.
The trip had begun.
Originally published at khashmi.wordpress.com on December 15, 2014.
