Who is this Duckworth and where is my crowbar?

I could certainly play up the experience in Kyber Pass to be an overwhelming adventure of danger and risk. However, it's more of a trip for history (and modern politics)(and amazing culture) than anything else. No fear, really, or real danger as Jenny beat our guide in a rock - throwing contest toward the visible Afghan border.

The pass screams of invasions - with lookouts built atop the scattered hilltops and remnants of forts throughout. Not to mention the sheer feel of the place - no greenery inspires understanding of the waterless lifeless wasteland. Except, of course, for the adobe houses that quickly pop out of the landscape after the line separating Pakistan's law from Tribal Law.

So in this historical place with wafts of hospitality juxtaposed against obligatory revenge, our armed guard seemed more of a guide - and a childish guide at that. In fact, we realized that to travel with an armed assistant here is normal. Back home, for instance, we do not cringe at the pistol carried by the security guards at the bank - we do not think banks are unsafe places simply due to their need of security. So it is with our escort. We were, however, happy to have him as he did let Jenny hold his grenade for a photo opp.

Yesterday we bought a ticket on the black market and miraculously managed to push through the throngs of spectators vying for entrance into one of the biggest spectacles in Cricket - a one day competition in the rivalry between Pakistan and India. Fearing occasionally for life and limb, we pushed our way in until security guards took us into their control and literally beat back the crowds with sticks to make way for us to enter the stadium, whereupon they beat back crowds with sticks to make our way to the "Ladies' Enclosure," where my chromosomes did not seem too big a hindrance to my accompanying Jenny to a safe seat (thought I did get smacked in the face once by a guard...slight misunderstanding). From here, we witnessed the chaos in the men's sections as fans perched atop barbed-wire strewn fences; and we occasionally heard small riots break loose in the corridor nearby. I believe the security guards in the enclosure outnumbered the spectators, and inspired more havoc than safety as such numbers simply crowded the already over-crowded stadium ever more. Still, they swung their sticks at anything that moved.

The match was riveting, we are told, though we often had to keep ourselves from falling asleep. Just when the going got good - with 20 more chances to get 18 more runs and win the game, the prissy british rules of this silly sport kicked in and said that the "lighting was bad." So the Duckworth/Lewis method gave an underwhelmingly unexciting win to the home team. I wanted to riot. 8 hours of "sport" for a "judge's decision." We are told that this was one of the most exciting matches we'll ever see....I am content if I never witness cricket ever again.

However, we were on Television at least twice during the event, and today every single person in Peshawar recognizes us. The already high celebrity afforded by white skin and a US passport is thus hightened to previously unimaginable proportions. Super.