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By Paul Beckett
OK, so this came as a surprise. Abbottabad is beautiful.
Asif Hassan/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images
A view of Pakistans Abbottabad city where Osama bin Laden was killed.
I traveled there last week with a colleague. More than any feeling of being in Pakistan we all know it is a deeply-troubled, financially-strapped mess of a nation let alone being close to the refuge of the worlds most wanted man, this felt like India. But India at its best. In fact, it was nicer than most of India.
Founded in 1853 and named after British Gen. Sir James Abbott, the town sits about two hours by car north of Islamabad. The road out of the capital is wide, well-paved, well-signposted and orderly. The closest equivalent in Delhi is probably the new complex of highways outside the new Terminal 3 at Indira Gandhi International Airport, and they are barely a year old.
Nor was there anywhere on Pakistans roads a menace equivalent to Indian drivers. There was no law-of-the-biggest, no Scorpios racing up your tail, lights flashing, horns honking, trying to force you off the road because you drive a smaller car. I paid attention to the traffic on that drive less than I do on a 30-minute commute to Connaught Place.
When you climb the hills to Abbottabad, you can immediately see why it is favored as a spot to see out your later years in life not by Osama bin Laden necessarily but by the droves of retired military officers who choose to spend their later years there.
It is ringed by high green mountains. The air is crisp. And the town is clean. Not just the streets but the wild spots, where all too often in India they are sullied by trash. Small culverts at the side of the road clean. Behind small shops in the dusty markets a slight spotting of garbage but more like what was left behind by a sloppy cleaner than discarded by an unthinking or uncaring citizen.
Abbottabad may be like this because of its strong military roots. Its been called a garrison town with a heavy military presence. That doesnt really capture it. It is not in lock-down. There are not patrols on the streets. Rather, military institutions are deeply interwoven in the towns fabric. There is the national military music school, the national military hospital, as well as we all now know the Pakistan Military Academy Kakul, Pakistans equivalent of West Point.
That history may account for the carefully manicured lawns and the immaculate childrens playgrounds, which were cleaner, I am sorry to say, than the one we frequent in Defence Colony in Delhi. The chief of polices office was scrubbed, the walls shining white, and behind his head was a list of every one of his predecessors going back to the towns founding, the way golf clubs list their captains.
The area around bin Ladens compound was a less-organized mix of large houses with high walls despite what U.S. officials claim, this was not a house that stands out in the neighborhood and fields growing cabbages and other crops. There were some hard-top roads but mostly dirt lanes (again, mostly litter-free.) Frankly, confusingly, this was a nice spot in which to spend a few years in hiding, in plain sight or not.
The only sign that this was where American Navy SEALs had landed almost two weeks prior were the policemen, army officers and intelligence agents who approached when we arrived, prevented us from reaching the compound, and banned us from taking any pictures. In town, when we tried to see local officials, the atmosphere was, admittedly, much more tense: Clearly, they had no interest in prolonging the towns embarrassment and frequently told us while shooing us away that everything was now being handled by military intelligence.
From Abbottabad, we took the long route back to Islamabad through the mountains. It was stunning, very reminiscent of Sikkim. Rivers in deep valleys with wide gravel beds appeared to be the lifeblood of the local communities. Men washed trucks and cars in the water, women washed laundry. At one spot, the gravel was so wide, a fairground with Ferris wheel had set up shop. The road and, yes, the road was markedly better than those in Sikkim twisted and climbed to offer spectacular views of snow-capped mountains. Small villages with tourist hotels served tea. They were well kept.
Would I rather live in India than Pakistan? Yes, I would. Pakistan seems to be perpetually in crisis. It is wracked by a violent and pervasive insurgency that threatens the stability of the state. Undoubtedly it has its dreadful areas where tens of millions live hopeless, miserable lives. India, in contrast, has momentum, its future looks bright. It is a democracy while in Pakistan the military is constantly part of the power equation. But the trip was illustrative of one big point: If Pakistan can build roads this good and maintain towns this charming, why on earth cant India?
Paul Beckett is The Wall Street Journals South Asia bureau chief.
India Journal: The Unexpected Charm of bin Laden’s Hideout - India Real Time - WSJ
OK, so this came as a surprise. Abbottabad is beautiful.
Asif Hassan/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images
A view of Pakistans Abbottabad city where Osama bin Laden was killed.
I traveled there last week with a colleague. More than any feeling of being in Pakistan we all know it is a deeply-troubled, financially-strapped mess of a nation let alone being close to the refuge of the worlds most wanted man, this felt like India. But India at its best. In fact, it was nicer than most of India.
Founded in 1853 and named after British Gen. Sir James Abbott, the town sits about two hours by car north of Islamabad. The road out of the capital is wide, well-paved, well-signposted and orderly. The closest equivalent in Delhi is probably the new complex of highways outside the new Terminal 3 at Indira Gandhi International Airport, and they are barely a year old.
Nor was there anywhere on Pakistans roads a menace equivalent to Indian drivers. There was no law-of-the-biggest, no Scorpios racing up your tail, lights flashing, horns honking, trying to force you off the road because you drive a smaller car. I paid attention to the traffic on that drive less than I do on a 30-minute commute to Connaught Place.
When you climb the hills to Abbottabad, you can immediately see why it is favored as a spot to see out your later years in life not by Osama bin Laden necessarily but by the droves of retired military officers who choose to spend their later years there.
It is ringed by high green mountains. The air is crisp. And the town is clean. Not just the streets but the wild spots, where all too often in India they are sullied by trash. Small culverts at the side of the road clean. Behind small shops in the dusty markets a slight spotting of garbage but more like what was left behind by a sloppy cleaner than discarded by an unthinking or uncaring citizen.
Abbottabad may be like this because of its strong military roots. Its been called a garrison town with a heavy military presence. That doesnt really capture it. It is not in lock-down. There are not patrols on the streets. Rather, military institutions are deeply interwoven in the towns fabric. There is the national military music school, the national military hospital, as well as we all now know the Pakistan Military Academy Kakul, Pakistans equivalent of West Point.
That history may account for the carefully manicured lawns and the immaculate childrens playgrounds, which were cleaner, I am sorry to say, than the one we frequent in Defence Colony in Delhi. The chief of polices office was scrubbed, the walls shining white, and behind his head was a list of every one of his predecessors going back to the towns founding, the way golf clubs list their captains.
The area around bin Ladens compound was a less-organized mix of large houses with high walls despite what U.S. officials claim, this was not a house that stands out in the neighborhood and fields growing cabbages and other crops. There were some hard-top roads but mostly dirt lanes (again, mostly litter-free.) Frankly, confusingly, this was a nice spot in which to spend a few years in hiding, in plain sight or not.
The only sign that this was where American Navy SEALs had landed almost two weeks prior were the policemen, army officers and intelligence agents who approached when we arrived, prevented us from reaching the compound, and banned us from taking any pictures. In town, when we tried to see local officials, the atmosphere was, admittedly, much more tense: Clearly, they had no interest in prolonging the towns embarrassment and frequently told us while shooing us away that everything was now being handled by military intelligence.
From Abbottabad, we took the long route back to Islamabad through the mountains. It was stunning, very reminiscent of Sikkim. Rivers in deep valleys with wide gravel beds appeared to be the lifeblood of the local communities. Men washed trucks and cars in the water, women washed laundry. At one spot, the gravel was so wide, a fairground with Ferris wheel had set up shop. The road and, yes, the road was markedly better than those in Sikkim twisted and climbed to offer spectacular views of snow-capped mountains. Small villages with tourist hotels served tea. They were well kept.
Would I rather live in India than Pakistan? Yes, I would. Pakistan seems to be perpetually in crisis. It is wracked by a violent and pervasive insurgency that threatens the stability of the state. Undoubtedly it has its dreadful areas where tens of millions live hopeless, miserable lives. India, in contrast, has momentum, its future looks bright. It is a democracy while in Pakistan the military is constantly part of the power equation. But the trip was illustrative of one big point: If Pakistan can build roads this good and maintain towns this charming, why on earth cant India?
Paul Beckett is The Wall Street Journals South Asia bureau chief.
India Journal: The Unexpected Charm of bin Laden’s Hideout - India Real Time - WSJ
