5^th October, Mirjaveh, Iran to Nokkundi, Pakistan

We breakfasted and are ready for our escort to the border. Of course the escort is late. We reach the border to be met by long, long queues of trucks. We zig and zag our way to the first checkpoint…. Iranian, customs clearance. We get our carnets stamped and onward. I ride on ahead and find massive crowds of people waiting for their Iranian exit stamp. I meet an old Iranian guy who appears to deal with customers relations for international tourists. He takes us through the passport control building shortcutting the assembled masses. They must have hated us…….

Pakistan! We have our passports stamped with entry stamps and then proceed to customs. The first office is efficient and friendly. The staff gather information and write it down using pen and paper. The head officers tells us he won’t bother searching our bikes.  We go to another office inside a compound wall. Cars seized by the customs officers have been placed upon the roof….. presumably as a warning! Suddenly we are directed to look at the jail cells, that had otherwise gone unoticed… Illegal migrants rush forward from the shadows, they look lifeless and crushed. One asks me if I am a Nato Soldier… because of the Camo trousers I guess. Don’t get caught passing across the border between Iran and Pakistan… the consquences are grimy and hellish.

Our last border control office processes our Carnet documents. The guy handling the task is nervous and agitated. He works at a snail’s pace and something that otherwise should have taken minutes ends up taking 2 ½ hours. Welcome to Taftan, Pakistan. As we enter Pakistani Balochistan, the sun is already plummeting. We are picked up by our first escort. West Pakistan is even more barren than Iran. There are small villages of mud brick houses. Single storey, single room dwellings that blend in colour and hue with their surroundings.

It quickly becomes apparent that we will make little progress before nightfall.  As the last rays of the days sun fall to earth we are escorted into the village of Nokkundi. This village is simple beyond belief. Our destination is an old desert fort. The Pakistan security force in Balochistan are called the “Levies”.  Our Levies guards lock us inside an old clay building with towers to each corner. This is to be our resting place for the night. A large wooden pole, rammed into the earth, is used to secure the main gate, large boulders are rolled against other doors. 

Nokkundi Desert Fortress (Our resting place)

Jeroen’s bike is making a disturbing siren like noise. We are unable to work out what is wrong. He disconnects the battery and we discover the noise is coming from the battery. The battery is incredibly hot, swollen and near to exploding.

My cell, great view....

My bed ??!!??

Portrait of a Levies guard

I and Martin head into the bazaar of the village in the back of the Levies pickup. The bazaar is ancient. Donkey carts plough back and forth, barefoot, dusty children scatter about. We buy Tuc biscuits, crisps, coke and water. The village is largely unlit, in parts pitch black and intimidating.

We arrive back at the fort and eat whilst watch episodes of “The long way round” on an Ipad. The Levies are fascinated by scenes from Africa, particularly of tribal women dancing. We are told to quieten things down by 9.30. I spend the night in a jail cell, I have no sleeping bag, no mattress, just a stained quilt that the cells previous occupant has used…

An entertaining night, good camaraderie, travel close to edge.

Nokkundi mileometer 22449 (less than 90 miles covered today)