OK, so this came as a surprise. Abbottabad is beautiful.
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 world’s 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 Pakistan's 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 [...]