We were told by Jamal on our first day that Peshawar would likely be the highlight of our trip, this was after we voiced our fears about visiting the bustling North West Frontier Province city. The stories that I’ve heard, the images that the city conjures up all go a long way towards weaving the sense of danger and exotic’ness you get when one thinks of Peshawar. With the recent bombings still fresh in our mind we set off, albeit a little reluctantly, from our haven in Swat and started south towards the dusty plains of Peshawar. We stopped at Churchills Picket, picked up a police escort, who then picked up a military escort who both then accompanied us on our walk up to the top of the picket which is now controlled by the army. The views were amazing and on a clear day you could see the whole of the Lower Swat Valley. Apparently Winston Churchill served here in 1897 and sent dispatches back to the Daily Telegraph. Hence I gather, the name.

From there we continued south, stopping at a roadside restaurant for lunch where we were seated towards the back of the open aired restaurant as far away from the groups of men as possible. The seats were those bed-like structures, four legs and rope strung between them like macrame. Far more comfortable to lie on that to sit on, but by pulling your legs up under you and sitting in a half lying, stretched out, relaxed kind of pose it was actually more comfortable that just sitting on the ground which was our usual lunch-time position. About halfway through our meal we noticed another group of people arrive, curtains were drawn around the table, then a woman with her kids, and her husband I assume, slipped in as quickly and discretely as possible. As is the culture in Pakistan, women don’t eat in the open where other men can see them. Here curtains were drawn to hide behind, however in most restaurants there are rooms upstairs or at the back of the restaurant set aside for groups that contained women. None of that eating on the street for us, we ate the food from the street, but we couldn’t let anyone see us doing it!

As we got lower and further south it became hotter and hotter. We reached Takht-e-Bahi in the height of the mid-afternoon sun. Takht-e-Bahi is the most impressive and complete Buddhist monastery in Pakistan, you can see down across the plains as far as Peshawar on one side, and up to the Malakand Pass and the hills of Swat on the other. The monastery is very impressive, founded in the first century AD and abandoned in the sixth or seventh centuries, it was surrounded by ruins of houses that became a village in the hillside above it. We were guided around the site by a man who had been giving the same tour for the last 30 years – he’d even published his own guide to the ruins!

During our visit, we were asked politely by a group of kids if they might have their picture taken with us. Of course we agreed and we were promised a copy of the photo in exchange for giving out our address here in the UK. Despite it being the reverse of the norm, true enough last week we received a lovely 8×10 photo sent direct from Peshawar along with a lovely letter and an email address to correspond with. It really puts us to shame, as much as I’ve been writing and posting photos on the web, I’ve yet to have any pictures printed and am even further away from having them sent back to the kids in Pakistan who so diligently wrote out their addresses in order that they might receive copies… I must get right to it.

Anyway, after our visit we headed directly into Peshawar. We got a little lost getting into the city and trying to find the infamous Khan Klub. It’s not the usual place to stay but I would definitely say it’s the best place to stay- if not in the whole of Pakistan, definitely in Peshawar. The Khan Klub is an authentic 200 year old Haveli Residence restored and converted into a beautiful guesthouse in the middle of the old city. It was divine, and the food in the Afghan Restaurant downstairs was amazing. If you asked me where in the world I’d love to go back to… without a second of hesitation I’d tell you the Khan Klub in Peshawar. I will forever hold my memories of this place close to my heart. We went to bed that night happy and looking forward to our big day the next day.

The Khyber Pass. Everyone has heard of it. Most people know where it is, approximately, but we were determined to travel it. To see what thousands through history have seen and witnessed over the years. Today tourists need a permit and an armed escort from the Political Agent in Peshawar to visit the Khyber Pass. We handed over our passports and Hatam went off with his friend Imran the trekker (another guide) to sort out the paperwork on our behalf. From Peshawar to the Afghan border at Torkham is 56 kilometres. As foreigners without an Afghanistan visa, the last point for us was the Michni checkpoint from were we see the Durand Line, marked by large numbers,as it snakes across the ridge marking the border to Afghanistan. All along the way are strategic forts that were built by either the Sikhs or the British and who are now manned by the Frontier Police. Once you reach the first, Jamrud Fort, built by the Sikhs in 1823 to mark the western edge of their empire you are entering into the Khyber Agency which is one of the seven agencies that make up the Tribal areas, populated here mainly by the Afridi tribe. Here, Pakistani law gives way to tribal law not far from the main road, which is why you must travel with an armed Afridi escort. Our escort was Hadar Khan from the Khasadar Force, who started out a very serious devout kind of fellow, but after spending the most part of the day with us, along the Khyber Pass, in the Smugglers Bazaar, and in a back room in a roadside restaurant tearing apart a chicken with us, he turned out to be quite a gentle lad who had a soft spot for Michelle.

It was fantastic day. We had fun buying a Shalwar Kameez with Hatam in the bazaar, even insisting he change into it right there, and shopping for a ‘hot’ or smuggled Sony CD player which was supposed to be a gift for his wife when he returned to his village. The restaurant we stopped at was just a local roadside BBQ house, but the Chicken Tikka and the BBQ mutton was to die for. And after all that, the day couldn’t have possibly ended without a visit to a carpet store.

So that’s what we did. We visited a carpet store with the famous last words ringing out loud & clear, much to Hatam’s amusement. “We’re not going to buy a carpet, we just want to have a look!”

Note: A great editorial from the Guardian on Pakistan, and Michael Palins Himalaya trip that covers a lot of the same area in Pakistan that we did.