For Better or Worse, The Return to Islamabad

After a two-month sojourn, I've returned to Islamabad. Nothing has changed. No new faces, places or, for that matter, aces.

I departed Washington DC late last Wednesday evening after one final happy hour in an actual bar, not the makeshift kind one tends to find in dry countries, where the wine flows like wine, but only behind closed doors, and the improvised beer and spirits leave one reeling for days. It was a bittersweet moment. On the one hand, it meant escaping boredome, having something to do with my day, but on the other hand, it meant returning to Pakistan and dealing with the same issues which had pushed me to take off two months in the first place. Well, I think you all know which option I opted for...

Following a relaxing flight to Islamabad, I found myself in Istanbul, where I enjoyed my last non-halal meal for quite sometime, and then found the gate for my connecting flight to Islamabad. Almost at once I felt as though I was back in Pakistan - the smells, the food, the lack of general queues and personal space, as well as the sudden urges by the nationals to assist the sahib, i.e. me and all other foreign looking individuals, in any possible manner. It was almost too much to take in; I nearly turned around and passed through the gates of the Golden Horn in search of the life that keeps escaping me - the one outside Pakistan.

Enough with the doom and gloom. I returned for a number of reasons, and not even the individual sitting next to me on the flight was going to persuade me otherwise, even if he continuously attempted to play with my iPod or lay claim to my food and drink once it had been served.

After wading through immigration and locating my luggage amongst the makeshift cardboard suitcases and oversized bags of unsalted sunflowers seeds, I arrived back at my flat around 5am. I was tired, but couldn't sleep, and decided to head to the office instead of dealing with the dust, bugs and hassle of unpacking.

It was nice to be back in the office, at least for the first hour, when I had the place to myself. Then the chaos struck, and the office I remembered leaving sprang back to life. Staff arrived, the cleaning began, and the Grand Central Station of Islamabad was back to life, full of concentration-inducing noises, smells and distractions. I spent the remainder of the day in productive brain-storming sessions, de-briefings with experts in on mission, and meetings with donors, as well as an attempt to assess what had been accomplished and what had not been since my departure in early December. To say the least, it's going to be a fun uphill battle attempting to ensure that everything is on track over the coming months, regardless what the boss says..

Friday evening was then spent over drinks with friends, while the remainder of the weekend was spent resting, cleaning and enjoying the wet, muddy winter Islamabad offers this time of year.