Karachi Chronicles Chapter 9

Acquiring a brilliant keep sake is part and parcel of travelling overseas. As a collector, or borderline hoarder if my mum has a say, I definitely like getting little knickknacks at every new destination. Some of my main go-tos are stickers and patches, generally specific to the place I have visited. On this trip, during our short stay in Sri Lanka, I managed to purchase a patch and was off to a flying start. Little did I know, finding the right goods in Pakistan would prove slightly more challenging.

With a particularly heavy security detail, which I will elaborate about in another chapter, it was basically impossible to just head down the road and hit the shops. Staying only a couple of kilometres from Sadaar Bazar and Burns Road Food Street, this was a bit of a tease. Fortunately, quite a lot of our needs were catered for in-house. If the hotel didn’t have it, our hosts would organise for the right people to visit us in-house. There were visits from cricket gear salesmen, tailors, currency exchangers, doctors and food vendors. Unfortunately, this type of set up doesn’t really work for the kind of stuff I was looking for.

Most of the thrill comes from seeking out the perfect item under my own volition. For example, while on a trip to Amsterdam in the late 2010s, I stumbled upon a makeshift market setup in some random park. Sauntering through, I spied this Rasta looking guy with massive dreads, who was chilling back on a throne and smashing red wine out of a jar. Initially drawn to this out there character, I decided to peruse the table he had set up under his ragged, blue tarp. Sure enough, bang, right there was a cool and unpriced Amsterdam patch.

Regrettably, this occasion didn’t have a happy ending, as the Rasta guy asked for too much as we bargained over the psychedelic looking patch. Having already bought another patch around the corner, I called his extortionate bluff and moved on. Although I did still walk away from Amsterdam with the win, the thrill of the chase and style in which you go about it is also part of the process. While in Pakistan, I’m sure I could have asked someone to locate me a cheap patch but that wouldn’t be the same as perusing the bazaars, finding and then haggling for it myself. Don’t take this as a criticism because I was already happy just being in the country, but to shop for patches, I just need the romance.

About two weeks into our stay, we managed to get the green light and go out shopping. Understandably, due to our security arrangements, it wasn’t going to be one of the many bazaars Karachi has to offer. Instead, we were escorted to the upscale Dolmen Mall, down near the beach in Clifton. On arrival, after passing through a couple of security checkpoints we entered the expansive, multi-storey complex. Bright, well light and immaculately kept stores flanked the sparkling white floor. It was a scene that reminded me of Dubai, funnily the place I was located when my interest in coming to Pakistan was first roused.

Many of the first shops I encountered gave a very airport duty free style vibe. I’m not a massive fan of duty free shopping as I'm usually tired or in a hurry when near them. For some strange reason I have a mental association with duty free and one of the tour members. Formed while meandering through the duty free area in Melbourne, en route to Colombo, when I first had a chat with Tim MacDonald. Since then, whenever his name comes up I remember scuttling through the stacks of spirits while exchanging currency and pleasantries of which the context eludes me. I do specifically remember the excitement of the moment as we bustled towards the departures gate, hurtling towards the unknown loaded with anticipation.

Better known as Doc and being a psychiatrist, he can probably explain the technicalities of this mental trick better than I. Doc, characterised by his sharp wit and youthful good looks, plays his club cricket up on the Gold Coast. As an allrounder, he’s a solid middle order batsman and a very handy off spinner. One of the few spinners on the trip, he bowled plenty of overs, with the highlight probably being his five wicket haul against the UAE. Narrowly surviving a vicious shoulder charge during our first encounter with the USA, he also deservingly wound up as our leading wicket taker for the tour.

After moving around the shops and bypassing the food court, I finally found an area of stalls that were more to my persuasion. Kind of like myself, rough around the edges and packed with a moderate amount of potential, but not everyone’s cup of tea. Mostly overlooked, with an array of different offerings but good enough to get the job done and possibly surprise if looked at long enough. With the small window of shopping time rapidly closing, I hastily worked my way through these stores, grabbing a few small assorted items. Still not completely satisfied and with the clock ticking, nearing the last minute, I found what I was looking for.

Just like crunching a cover drive for four off the first ball you face, as soon as I spotted this place, I knew it was on. Lurking off to the side of an escalator and partially blocked by a pillar was a stall covered in all sorts of hanging jewellery. However, that’s not what drew my attention to this place, which could have easily been dismissed on first glance. Hanging off to the side was an array of very distinctive headwear. After rushing over to admire them, I would soon learn they were known as Pakol. Traditionally from the Northern areas of Pakistan, they are the flat, rolled up hats that most Westerners would associate with Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Straight away, I knew that the perfect souvenir for my trip had just been found. After a crash course in the storied history of the cap from the friendly shopkeeper† and a quick perusal of some of the fine Kashmir fabrics, I was set. Some of the more elaborate designs featured feathers but I was told these are usually for special occasion so I chose a more stock option. As soon as the money was exchanged I whacked that dark beige hat on and triumphantly marched off to make the most of our few remaining minutes.

Not long after, I was riding down the escalator and out of the corner my eye someone passing in the opposite direction flinched. Wheeling around, I was met by a lady sporting a mix of confusion and happiness across her face. Exchanging a nervous smile, she quickly retorted, “sorry, you look good, I thought you were the Taliban or something!*” It no doubt came from a good place and I think was meant as a complement. Needless to say, I was chuffed as not only had I got a great keepsake but also managed to blend in, even if just for a split second. This fitted my whole ethos of the trip, as based on what information I had read in the guidebooks, I purposefully took very conservative and neutral clothing to try and mirror that of the locals.

Now feeling at one with my surroundings and with only fifteen minutes remaining before our departure time, I had one last destination in store. That was to visit the massive supermarket on the way out to suss what local offerings they had and to hopefully grab a few Pakistani delicacies to take home. Eventually after striding down a few more sets of escalators, I arrived in the basement area and came to my final destination.

Under time pressure, I didn't waste a second and charged in like an episode of Supermarket Sweep. Initially, I was taken by surprise at how expansive the shop was. Doing an preliminary circuit around approximately half the floor space, passing white goods, toys and homewares, it became apparent I couldn’t possibly take it all in. I decided to cut to the chase by swooping up and down the food isles, which basically followed the similar layout you’d experience the world over. Focusing on non perishable items that I could take home, I started grabbing a whole range of sweets. One of the favourites was Bisca, a Pakistani version of the Twix.

Sufficiently loaded up but a bit unorganised, I proceeded to the checkout. As I was being served, I could hear the two people helping me clearly talking about me. Although I couldn’t understand it, as it was in another language, from the way the young lady was laughing and looking I knew the joke was on me. Remembering I was still wearing the hat, I suddenly realised what was so funny. It was the dorky foreigner pretending to be a local. Cheekily I decided to play along as our transaction finished and asked her, “does my hat look good?” She firmly replied with a solid, “No!” After my earlier compliment, it didn’t take long to be cut back down to size. I guess one out of two is still a pass mark and I had no time to dwell on it as I rushed to meet the bus, just in time.

Having only a short amount of time on our first visit, we ended up returning to the mall on our penultimate day to tie up a few lose ends. After two trips to the mall, I was sufficiently stocked up and had enough supplies to keep everyone at home happy. However, after scouring the place and everywhere else we went during the trip, I had to admit defeat and leave the country without a Pakistan patch. Eventually, I would make amends for this the following year, when I snagged a patch of the Pakistan Flag from the Fremantle Markets during the nationals in Perth. Although the shopkeeper didn’t share the same enthusiasm as I did about visiting Pakistan, I would still chalk this up as a minor win. Maybe not a decisive one, but a victory and some closure, none the less.

† Although I wasn't aware at the time, the store's name was Sahib Behram Traditionals.

* Once again we are in 2025, so I better clarify the following. I’m not suggestion anything about anywhere, just relaying what was said to me by a complete stranger, verbatim. As mentioned the style of hat originates from the Afghanistan and Pakistan region and that’s probably were the association came from. Assuming, I would understand the meaning was probably the reason she used the T word.