Miraculously, our plane heaves itself into the air once more and this time deposits us at Karachi Airport (Thanks be to Allah).

Somehow, we find our way to the Transit desk, where they take away our precious tickets and passports. A brainless official, watched by two other officials, painstakingly completes a form in triplicate while a fourth official sells dodgy computer parts to a fifth.

This form, we learn, entitles us to accommodation and food at the worryingly named ‘Hotel Layover’ somewhere on the other side of town. Feeling naked without any paperwork, we venture out of the airport. The 32 degree air outside is like breathing mayonnaise, and we wait for a bus to take us away, possibly permanently.

One of the sights Karachi has to offer. Photo © Alan Geer 1998

Hotel Layover turns out to be a pleasant enough place, with lots of small rooms opening out onto little courtyards of palms. Alan and Julian, perhaps overcome by the heat, decide to take a taxi-tour of the city. They disappear in a fast-black driven by a manic local with instructions to call the police if they don’t return by six. We eat a rubbery-egged breakfast and retired to bed, trying not to think about malaria and wishing the electricity would stay on for more than ten minutes.

The intrepid tourists return just before dinner, jabbering maniacally about an import-export scam they want to start involving marble chess sets. We play some cards and go to bed in the oppressive heat.