After utterly failing to complete the drive of one the world’s most dangerous roads, then abandoning our home of three years we figured our situation couldn’t possibly get worse and yet it did.

Our search for an axle in the lost city of Nushki ended as we had expected. It was completely futile. After sitting around with the Levies who were obviously at a loss to what to do next for around an hour in the blazing sun, they decided the next step was to go and score some weed. That out of the way, we were escorted to speak with the mayor of the small bustling town about our dilemma. We were assured that if we continued with the guards to Quetta it would be arranged for Peggy, our camper van to be towed to where we decided to stay. It all seemed so fanciful and peculiar. The questions raced around my head. How would they know where we were in Quetta? How would they find a tow truck? Who would pay for this tow truck? How much would it be? We later discovered that in Pakistan all this can be explained with one answer “Insha’Allah” – God willing.

Then things got worse. We asked if we could return to the camper van to sleep in it. There was absolutely no chance; it would result in almost certain kidnap and even if we had guards, if it came down to it, they would just be shot. The Levies risk their lives every day to escort people through this barren landscape, spending the night there was not an option.

Our guards escorted us to a place we could sleep for the night and upon arrival at the ‘Hilton Nushki’ we were greeted with leers and sneers from the other guests, or prisoners, a more accurate description. It was explained to us that it was just too late in the day to complete the journey to Quetta and the only safe place for us to stay was the local prison. The friendly Warden enthusiastically led us to our room for the night. It was an unused office connected directly the stations only toilet, dust swirled around the floor, the smell of human feces and urine emanating from behind the filthy toilet curtain was enough to take you off your feet. We put our bags down and considered our next move in silence. We just didn’t have any energy left to even deal with our situation.

It was virtually pitch black all around the prison; we were enthusiastically told by our host “no lights at night, to make difficult army drones, no see building, no boom”.  Needing to get out of the malodorous room before involuntary and inappropriate gagging ensued we asked to be shown around. Our tour took us directly to the roof, from there we could see the ramshackle town and hear motorcycle engines whine, unintentionally competing for supremacy over the sound of the hustle and bustle. In an apparent moment of clarity our escort suggested “sleep roof, cooler here”.

Exhaustion had kicked in at least an hour ago and the decision on where to sleep was relatively easy to make. It was clear to see that the dusty roof was the stomping ground of a large colony of ants and the flies must have decided at some point to emulate the colony and swarm together in large groups, but it was clearly the better option over the pitch black toilet thoroughfare downstairs.

Little was said out loud between Lisa and I as we lay down some recently loaned praying mats. They offered virtually no protection from the hard ground but once again guilt and respect kicked in as we watched other guards retire to the roof and settle down on the cool concrete for their usual nights rest. Sleep somehow took me but when I awoke at sunrise I found Lisa staring lucidly out over the town. Clearly she had not been visited by the sandman. I cracked my bones and rubbed bruised patches received from my uncompromising crib. I was unsure if this was the time to mention the ten or so mosquito bites dotted around Lisa’s face but lucky for me Lisa noticed mine and as quick as her expression turned to shock it transformed into realization that she must look the same. “That was wild” we said in unison. Laughing and hugging we overheard shouts from outside of the prison, precariously peeping over the wall unsure what the racket was about (and definitely not wanting to pop our heads into firing practice after all we had endured) we saw the Levies waving their arms and shouting “let’s go”.

Hopping into Marco and Lena’s camper van we noticed that they had set us up two camping chairs to sit on for the remaining 4 hour drive to Quetta. This might seem like an obvious thing to do, but the last 72 hours combined with the kindness, compassion and general selflessness we had received in Pakistan was enough to bring those held back tears of gratitude rushing to the surface.

Quetta as we arrived was straight out of an India Jones movie, I have been lucky enough to visit the Far East and this place made it look like a fair ground. Whilst staring around taking in the madness I noticed Lisa’s face. At first I was confused why she looked so unreservedly shocked. Three years on the road, this girl is well traveled. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that, as much as we had traveled it had all been in the west. Mexico and Central America had been a little raw but Quetta is actually the Wild West.  The biggest city for roughly 800km in any direction perched at the edge of the Baluchistan desert and only 100km from the troubled Afghanistan border. It is a haven for anyone needing anything in a 60,000sq km war torn, terrorized area. According to the UN a tourist gets kidnapped on average every 7 days in the area. If that isn’t enough information to get your thoughts racing you need to get out more.

Our bad luck streak had run out and by some miracle a 5* hotel had been built in Quetta back in the 70’s before the major trouble had started. Although it was outside of our usual price range this was well and truly a moment to use our rainy day fund and we felt that we had earned some comfort and a safe place to rest and recover from the last few dramatic days.

We settled in to The Serena Hotel and considered our next move and waited to see if Peggy would magically arrive as promised by the Mayor of Nushki.