Taking refuge beyond the first barricade only eliminates the chaiwallahs and curious bystanders. The coolies traipse back and forth at will, refusing to take no for an answer, despite my visibly light luggage. They also ask to change money. Next were the officials, who were a real treat with their requests for Diwali bakhsheesh and questions about how much cash I had on me. After customs I thought I was free, but no. A uniformed dude in shades, apparently impersonating a Hindi film character, swaggered into the middle of the road and began making smart-aleck remarks based upon my passport information. I shook him off and the border loomed. But there was still one more fellow waiting to impose his bureaucratic will. There was no crowd-only me and an Indonesian couple who were still in the throes of immigration and customs. It took about 25 minutes on a clear day, with all documents in order, to traverse the 100 or so feet to the border.
On the Pakistan side at last, I was relieved to see nobody snarl at me. In fact, the immigration formalities took about four minutes flat and ended with a gracious offer of tea. The black-suited Ranger by the gate greeted me with a courteous "Welcome to Pakistan". And there I was.
