What You See Is What You Get...

...but isn't necessarily what you wanted.

This week I and my 'boss', Mr P, at the workshop went down to Pindi on another shopping trip - mainly for supplies for the hospital, but also to try and reconnoitre the availabilities and prices of various materials for the solar project.

So after many deals and many cups of tea at various shops (including spending £500 on lightbulbs), we parked the van and hopped into a more nimble rickshaw to head into the narrower, busier streets of the metalworkers' bazaar.



















Riding in this thing feels very much like driving a fairground dodgem - the handling is pretty much identical - only it's more in your interest to avoid the other vehicles rather than take them on. And he can get through some minuscule gaps when he wants to. The bazaar is a bit different from your average one - the stalls/shops are much bigger and generally have piles of interesting things, and various guys making things out of other things.

Anyway, to come to the point of this blog post, here's a representative sample of one of the dual-language, triple-participant conversations in one of the shops. To give a little context, I'm trying to track down some plastic tubing for use as a heat exchanger. It'll need to stand up to nearly 100°C, and there aren't many kinds that'll do that.

(opening pleasantries)

Me: "Do you have any PEX pipe?"

(discussion back and forward between Mr P and shopkeeper in Urdu/Punjabi)

Shopkeeper: "What about this one?" (hands me a bit of tube - a yellow one, 1/2" diameter, no markings)

Me (thinks): "It's a yellow one, 1/2" diameter, no markings..."
Me (out loud): "Umm... what's it made of? It has to not melt at 100°C."

(more Urdu/Punjabi discussion)

Mr P: "Okay, how about this one?" (points out a different one - black, 1" dia, again no markings)

Me (internally): "It's black, 1" dia, again no markings..."
Me (out loud): "Do you know what it's made of? I really need to know the material it's made of before I can tell whether it's suitable or not..."

(more Urdu/Punjabi discussion)

Shopkeeper: "Also, I have this one over here..."

Me (in the privacy of my own head): "But what the @£%$!!ing $£^^@ is it made of???!!!!! Aaaargh!!"

What You See Is What You Get...
...but that doesn't necessarily mean you know what it is, and neither does the shopkeeper.











Random addendum: for ages I've been trying to get a picture of one of the painted trucks at night, because in many cases all that amazing decoration is done in reflective paint. But, not wanting to blind oncoming drivers with my camera flash (road travel here being quite dangerous enough already!), I had to take a short movie and grab a frame from it - not the full glory, but you get the idea:

A birthday outing

Saturday being Jenny's birthday, we went into the next big town with a couple of friends. We visited several cloth shops to get Jenny some "birthday suits". The shopkeeper-to-customer work ratio is definitely the right way round: you sit on a comfy sofa and point at what you want to see, and the guy gets them out and unrolls them for you. Then if you don't want them, they do all the putting away. Also, since you take them to the tailor to get made for you, they're more-or-less guaranteed to fit you. Bonus!

Jenny (under the tablecloth (or chaddor)) at the cloth counter.

Trying on a dupatta.

About 1/20th of the selection in one of the half-dozen cloth shops we visited. I like the swirly one in the bottom row. It's a shame the men's fashions are so much drabber - you could make some cracking hawaiian shirts out of some of these...

A visit to the nut man. Nuts and dried fruit are good, but a lot of hard work: you have to remove all the stalks/stones/dust, wash them in a mild detergent solution, rinse, and finally bake them in the oven for 10 mins before they're safe to eat!

A view down one of the bazaar streets.

Our driver purchasing some freshly-cooked-in-its-husk-at-the-side-of-the-road corn.

As promised, a first half-decent pic of the painted trucks. Uphill they are pursued by an impatient queue of wannabe overtakers.

Trumpeter serenades the entry of the cake.

Chocolate-y traybake-y Pakistani-flag-y goodness. Yum.