Islamabad - Week Twenty-One

It seems my posts are entirely of markets and what I find there. To be fair, we really can't travel to any historical/cultural/natural places to explore Pakistan, so I find myself in markets with some regularity. R and I go at least once a week to stock up on fruits and vegetables, and I'm tempted into shops nearly every time we go. Often, I have fun just looking and admiring the gorgeous handiwork.

Cashmere from Kashmir.

Pottery from Multan.

Islamabad - Week Twenty

Just waiting for the motor pool vehicle at the market. Today we bought a few potatoes, a few onions, some radishes, three tomatoes, a green pepper, a red pepper, a bunch of carrots, and a red cabbage - all for under $4.

But Haagen Dazs is over $12 a pint. :)

Islamabad - Week Nineteen

No photos this week, the embassy is on lock down.

I remember a scene from the movie, The Green Mile. You probably remember it, too.

John Coffey: Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head, all the time.

Every day another headline, and it seems like it's on the increase. The ugliness that is terrorism and racism, and all the other isms you care to name. Diplomats feel it, even though we're living outside of the country. We are especially attuned to the way the U.S. is perceived overseas, because we encounter those perceptions every day. Every damn day. We're not in an echo chamber of our own countrymen agreeing that America and its ideals are worthy and worth fighting for. We hear counter-arguments, whether directly or not.

The embassy's on lock down because of a terrible accident. A U.S. diplomat here in Islamabad ran a red light on Saturday (or appeared to, you just never know for sure with the digital age), and he hit a motorcycle with two people on it, killing one and seriously injuring the other. It was a traffic accident. He was careless, but of course he didn't mean to do it. In the U.S. he would be held accountable, but it wouldn't turn in to an international incident. It's different here. Things can spiral and living/working here can become just a little more dangerous.

When danger looms, I question whether it's worth it. I question whether I am making a difference, whether the work is important. And so far, I'm honestly able to answer yes. I'm not going to get all philosophical, but I do believe in leading by example. If I live (and can model) American ideals, it may just be the spark to help another believe that they can strive for that freedom, too. I can only hope so.

I know the driver of the vehicle will relive that moment for the rest of his life, that he'll mourn the life he accidentally took, and the injury he caused. I can't imagine that it will do anything but haunt him, that he'll forever wish he could relive those few seconds and do things differently. I can't imagine the anguish he's going through, or the suffering of the motorcyclist's family.

I had met the driver about a month ago, and he seemed like a level-headed, dedicated professional. I liked him. My heart goes out to him, but it goes out to the motorcyclist's family, too. There are no winners here.

So, while I post photos of the market and of events and of every day life, I don't want to give the impression that living and working in Islamabad is anything but serious business.

But you have to take joy where you can find it.

Islamabad - Week Eighteen

My new favorite restaurant in Islamabad: Behbud Cafe in the F-6 Markaz. R and I recently had dinner on the rooftop terrace and then did a bit of window shopping.

The jewelry here is amazing - it's mostly for weddings and is extraordinary. Most shops discourage photography, so I was in stealth mode when I took this photo. One can purchase every imaginable gem here - loose or in an ornate setting, and lots of expats succumb to the temptation. So far, I've remained strong. Well, I did buy a lapis lazuli necklace. And a quartz necklace. And an amethyst ring. And moonstone earrings. Wait, what were we talking about?