In Islamabad. I was slightly miffed at immigration to be thought Chinese by an official speaking to me in Urdu. The new airport was quite impressive, despite being the yellowish beige that all Pakistani airports, at least the new ones, seem to be. It was quite enpty, sparkling clean and quite well organized with actual queues for immigration and a man directing people to them. The luggage came out not looking as though it had been tipped out of a dump truck straight onto the conveyor belt, there was truck art on the walls, and I am told the lavatories have sensor operated taps.
I arrived at the house to find a dholki in full swing. I showered, dressed and came out, took one look at the merriment and fled back into the room, changed into my nightclothes and went to sleep very soundly through the music just outside.
In the morning the groom’s sister arrived as did a few of his gora friends and much tea has been had since. Tonight is the first of the wedding events, a dholki, and while I am somewhat dreading the sociability, not to mention stressing about my lack of toenails, it will be nice to feel part of things after seeing them from the other side of the world.