Petrol-smugglers in Mirjaveh at a Wild West border
The next day saw us climbing out the windows- the manager was nowhere to be found and we needed to leave promptly, escorts or no escorts. We packed the bikes using only the windows. The manager appeared, looking alarmed. He told us we had to wait until 9am for the escorts to appear. We told him politely where to stick it, and zoomed off in a cloud of dust. We’d had enough of the bloody escorts. We reached Mirjaveh border- the last checkpoint border before Pakistan. We had to hang around while the escorts played silly buggers. It did mean that we got to watch the most bizarre border crossing I have ever seen. It was a chaotic place. Thinking about it, that’s like saying Myra Hindley was a bit of a weirdo. Everywhere you looked there was a smuggler, running the border with his contraband in hand. Mostly it was petrol, in big jerry cans. The army guards seemed to mainly look the other way as youngsters ran across the lines, splosh...