Driving from Peshawar to Rawalpindi to Islamabad is like going from a rustic barber's shop to a run-of-the-mill hair-dresser to a posh hair-styling saloon. The contrast is far too stark to miss. One a city that still retains an old-world charm, another a rather crowded hub and the third a manicured, organised capital.

Islamabad is like an enlarged lego set - similar sized houses lining the well-planned colonies; wide several-laned roads infested with trendy automobiles; picturesque set of trees overlooking avenues; recreation parks straight out of suburbs in England. In many ways it's an enlarged Chandigarh, another of those cities planned like clockwork and one that looks the same whichever way you look at it.

It's no doubt impressive but somehow it felt too good, too artificial, too chocolaty. It was a sudden shift coming from pastoral Peshawar, a land that opened up infinite possibilities, one where old blended beautifully with new, one that had a distinct soul. Someday I would love to go back and soak in a bit more of its character.

Now to the posh hair-stylist.