Wandered the old walled city solo, posed for at least a hundred cell phone “snaps,” had tea in a handful of homes, squeezed into one of those jittery hand pushed kiddie ferris wheels (those things are WAY more exciting than you’d think!) and temporarily joined a biker gang. True story.
I’ll still post the occasional update here, and in a few months I’ll be back full-time. But for now I’ll be spending a lot of time in culture shock.
I’m currently stuck in a Chicago airport hotel, en route to Karachi to accept a reporting fellowship with The Express Tribune, which is Pakistan’s affiliate with The International Herald Tribune. Wish me well!
I'll miss you, Booger!
As newspapers report more blasts every day, and as one of those blasts killed a would-be colleague, I have to admit it, I’m scared of moving to Pakistan.
And I’m defenseless. I don’t speak Urdu or Punjabi or Pashtu or any language except English and a poor smattering of Spanish. I’m American, and I look American. I’m female and tiny. My only defenses are my wits, and as my last post proved, those are sometimes off-mark. My friends and especially my family implore me—why are you going?
Keep reading at The Express Tribune.
