So what’s it like to tour Pakistan?

I walked up to the concierge desk at the Serena Hotel in Islamabad and sheepishly asked if they had a copy of that day’s Express Tribune newspaper. 

Did I want it delivered to my room? No, no. Just the most recent edition.

The staff member pulled out the paper from under the desk and glanced at the front page, looked up at me and looked down again. 

Even with my mask on, there was no hiding; there, splashed across the top of the front page, was a picture of me laughing alongside words I had tweeted the previous day.

“It was worth travelling halfway around the world for that Babar Azam drive.”

It was a random tweet, one of many innocuous and tongue-in-cheek thoughts I would typically type on any given day watching cricket.

And yet, here it was as the splash on the front page of one of Pakistan’s major newspapers, sitting neatly above stories on Imran Khan’s fight to stay in government and the war in Ukraine.

It suddenly dawned on me that covering cricket in Pakistan was a Very Big Deal.

I knew intellectually that Australia’s tour of Pakistan meant a lot in a country starved of visiting teams for so many years, particularly after New Zealand had pulled out of a tour for mysterious security concerns on the morning of a match before England cancelled a tour for seemingly flimsy reasons.

But international cricket had been slowly returning to Pakistan in recent years and the PSL was an increasingly thriving domestic tournament.

Only after spending a few days in the country did I really begin to understand the profound importance of this tour and, alongside it, the willingness of journalists to cover it.

Pakistan’s people have a reputation for being hospitable but nothing can prepare you for the welcome.

It came in the shape of widespread media interest. It was there in the people in the street, at the grounds or in the hotel as they stopped and thanked you for visiting their country; “You don’t know how much it means to us,” was an oft heard sentiment along with, “Please, is there anything I can do to help you?”

Even among the hordes of military and police engaged to ensure the safety of the tour were at pains to make us feel welcome. One guard insisted on taking us on a tour of a mosque standing next to Gaddafi Stadium in Lahore. Another stopped us outside Rawalpindi and said, “We are here for you.”

It was completely overwhelming and unlike anything I have ever experienced while visiting another country.

I had travelled to Pakistan with a fairly open mind; previous experience living and traveling throughout the Middle East taught me the view through a prism of western media does not always reflect the lived reality in a country.

The question most often asked before I left Australia was if it was safe to travel in Pakistan, particularly as a woman; after six weeks touring I can honestly say I felt completely safe, although there were times my male colleagues ventured out to areas they didn’t feel comfortable taking me because there were no women in sight, particularly women who possessed the attention beacon of light blonde hair and white skin (throughout the tour I was certain in danger of developing Selfie Fatigue Syndrome, such was the demand).

Early in the series, a bombing of a mosque in the city of Peshawar – a tragedy that left dozens dead and many more injured – had friends and relatives back home concerned but had little impact on those of us in Islamabad.

And, even as the country staggered towards political upheaval and a stand off between Imran Khan and his opponents that would eventually see the Prime Minister removed from office, a change of venue from Islamabad to Lahore for the white ball matches was carried out with little fuss.

One of the biggest misconceptions about covering a cricket tour is that working hours exist between the first ball of the day and stumps, leaving plenty of time for exploring and socialising; the reality is a steady stream of 12 to 15 hour days that allow little time for tourist activity.

We stayed in the team hotels, although outside their Covid and security bubble, as requested by the PCB for security reasons, and this added a layer of complicated logistics to each day.

The roads and the wifi network were shut down, undoubtedly to the frustration of locals, for the secure convoy that transported the players and officials to and from the stadium both on match days and training days, necessitating a daily race to avoid getting stuck by the road for long periods with no means of filing.

Still, we made the most of every opportunity to venture outside the confines of the hotels. 

It was enough to get a flavour of each city.

Islamabad brought to mind Australia’s capital city of Canberra, with its grand government buildings, wide roads and manicured roundabouts. Rawalpindi is tagged on, as Queanbeyan nestles next to Canberra, a scruffier but more vibrant and colourful neighbour.

Karachi is lively, crowded and chaotic. Here we had the chance to venture out at night to sample a variety of local food.

We stopped off at Burns Road, the famous foodie strip bursting with street food vendors crammed underneath faded and crumbling 19th century buildings.

There were no other westerners to be seen as we sat on the pavement and sampled various barbecued meat, kebabs and nihari – a slow cooked spiced beef stew – served with roti and naan and listened to the bustle overlaid with the ethereal call to prayer.

Another night took me to the university district to sample biryani followed by ice cream surrounded by meandering goats by the roadside and discussing everything from politics to food while making new friends with people I’d only encountered on social media.

But I soon learned Karachi is a city of fascinating contrasts.

Through an unexpected series of events, I ended up in an achingly chic and sumptuous mansion with the high society of Pakistan’s business and film set, many of whom just wanted to talk about my work as we sat by a pool on a lavish balcony overlooking the lights of the city; many of them, of course, were huge cricket fans. 

There is a local saying that (roughly translated) if you haven’t seen Lahore, you haven’t truly been born and certainly the old city, in particular, is a feast for the eyes.

Whether wandering around Lahore Fort or dining while overlooking the magnificent Badshahi Mosque there is an overwhelming sense of the layers of history that have washed over this country for centuries, weaving a tapestry of rich and complex cultural influences.

One of the most fascinating experiences came with a trip to the Wagha border. I travelled with VIP security and, after being served tea, walked into what resembled a stadium bisected by a wall and gates that separate Pakistan from India. 

The atmosphere was akin to a T20 match between the two countries; children in their best clothes with Pakistan flags painted on their cheeks, a smiling and cheerful flag, even some of the chants were familiar and vendors walked around selling popcorn and drinks.

After the crowds were whipped up by various performers, the border guards arrived on both sides. Up close the Pakistan rangers were gargantuan mustachioed men wearing headwear that resembled a turban topped with a large fan, exaggerating their already imposing height.

What followed was a kind of highly choreographed military dance-off, involving fist-shaking, marching, posing and high kicks that that left me marvelling at the performers’ flexibility and wincing in concern for their hamstrings.

It was hard to make sense of it all – especially the coordination that must be required between both sets of supposedly hostile guards – but it was quite a party.

Nothing, however, could top the joyful atmosphere at the Rawalpindi, National Stadium Karachi and Gaddafi Stadium.

The fans embraced everyone: their own team, the Australian players and even the travelling press. At times when they spotted us through the open balconies that are a superb addition to the press boxes, they waved to us and cheered. Some even made signs for us, alongside the welcoming and often genuinely witty placards designed for the players.

It is, of course, those on the field who should be centre stage and they obligingly provided the contests that made for an absorbing Test series in particular (although the lifeless Rawalpindi pitch left much to be desired).

To see Shaheen Shah Afridi’s precocious talents on home soil and his pantomime face offs with David Warner, or the romance of Usman Khawaja’s homecoming centuries; to watch Babar Azam and Mohammed Rizwan’s bold defiance that denied Australia victory in Karachi; to witness the sheer brilliance of Pat Cummins, both as a bowler and a green captain, as he led Australia to a series win on the 15th day, was to be part of a monumental event that will hopefully become a normal part of the international cricket cycle.

The players were keenly aware of it: this was almost certainly the friendliest series Australia have played in for years and they embraced their ambassadorial roles commendably.

I look forward to returning (inshallah, as they say), for there is much more to experience in Pakistan than a busy working tour allows.

But for now I will carry with me memories of the enormous kites that soared above the players in the golden late afternoon light, the generosity and warmth of our press box colleagues, discovering the spicy food and unique personalities of each city and, above all, the hospitality of strangers and friends alike.

Oh, and of course, those Babar Azam drives.