Hapy’s Tour 2026

It is Monday.

This timeline is being written from the office.

And almost no one is here.

Except Hamza, Touseef, and Taimoor.

The rest are sleeping at home.

Which makes sense.

Because this was not a weekend trip.

This was a three-day unpaid internship in:

car mechanics
mountain survival
fake Airbnb patience
trekking
rain management
misinformation campaigns
Velo side effects
and emotional damage

We reached Lahore at 2:40 AM.

Everyone went their own way.

No emotional goodbye.
No closing ceremony.

Just tired men disappearing into the night like defeated warriors.

We refueled and left Islamabad at 10 PM.

Reached Bhera at 12:30 AM for a bathroom break.

Then straight to Lahore.

No detours.
No experiments.
No new plans.
No more "bas 10 minute."

Everyone just wanted to reach home.

We left for Islamabad at 7 PM.

Reached Islamabad around 8 PM.

Then went to Malang Jan in F-9 for pulao.

Because after mountains, mud, mechanics, and nicotine poisoning, the only logical next step is pulao.

After multiple emergency vomit stops, we reached Patriata at 5:50 PM.

We took the chairlift.

It was actually a good experience.

Taha didn't take it because he was tired.

Honestly, fair.

The man had already unlocked enough suffering for one weekend.

After the chairlift, we had tea at a local chai stall.

Tea after chaos always feels like closure.

In the car were Touseef, Hamza, Ubaid, and Qamar.

Qamar asked Hamza:

"Velo se neend khatam ho jati hai?"

Hamza, with the confidence of an unlicensed pharmacist, said:

"yessss."

Qamar put Velo in his mouth.

First few minutes:

"yar burning ho rahi hai."

Everyone:

"normal hai first time."

Famous last words.

A few minutes later, Velo attacked.

Qamar's body started rejecting all life choices.

He said:

"gaari roko, ulti aa rahi hai."

We stopped.

He puked.

We continued.

Then again:

"gaari roko."

Again.

Then again.

Then again.

Total four stops.

Qamar did not take Velo.

Velo took Qamar.

At this point, the Civic had found competition.

For two days, Civic was the main villain.

On Day 3, Velo entered as the final boss.

Lesson:

Never take wake-up advice from Hamza.

He will give you nicotine and call it productivity.

We reached the hotel around 4 PM.

Clothes were muddy.

Everyone changed, took a short break, and prepared for Patriata.

At 5 PM, we left.

At this point, the trip was almost over.

But Qamar Bhai had one final side quest.

We started coming down around 1 PM.

Downhill was easier.

So naturally, Hamza, Zain, and Touseef decided to use their extra energy for public service.

They started scaring people going uphill.

"It's raining on top."
"Bohat mushkil hai."
"Upar ja ke phas jao ge."
"Abhi toh kuch bhi nahi hai."

Pure misinformation.

One girl even started crying.

The boys laughed.

Was it ethical?
No.

Was it funny at the time?
Unfortunately, yes.

This was not our proudest moment.

But it was very on-brand for tired boys coming downhill.

We reached Mushkpuri top at 12:30 PM.

The view was beautiful.

We sat there.
Took photos.
Ate pakoras.
Enjoyed the silence.

For once, nothing broke.

No mechanic.
No overheating.
No locked steering.
No Airbnb drama.

Just mountains, pakoras, and peace.

A rare premium experience.

This was the real test.

Muddy path.
Long climb.
Tough track.
Everyone breathing like they had personally invented oxygen.

But the team kept going.

everyone was awake by 8:30 AM.

We had breakfast at 9 AM.

Then at 10 AM, we walked toward Mushkpuri trek.

reached hotel, ordered biryani at 9 PM.

After eating, everyone got sleepy.

By 10 PM, the whole team was done.

Again, no late-night boys trip scene.

Just tired men respecting gravity.

We completed the trek around 7:42 PM.

It was dark.

We sat down for tea.

Then it started raining.

Because of course it did.

The mountains looked at us and said:

"abhi complete kahan hua hai?"

We rushed back to the hotel around 8:20 PM.

Cold, tired, slightly wet, and fully humbled.

We started Ayubia trek at 6 PM.

2 km one side.
4 km total.

Simple, they said.

Peaceful, they said.

Then Taha and Taimoor bailed halfway.

Honestly, fair.

After the Civic's performance, everyone had the right to resign from at least one activity.

The rest continued and completed the trek.

Hamza and Zain went to find another mechanic.

At this point, they had become official Hapy Vehicle Operations Department.

They brought the mechanic.

He started at 1:30 PM and fixed the car by 4:00 PM.

Because of this, Miranjani was cancelled.

Which hurt.

But also, at this point, if we had attempted Miranjani, someone's knees would have filed legal action.

So we found a hotel, checked in, got fresh, took showers, and planned Ayubia trek.

Shorter trek.

Less dramatic trek.

A trek suitable for people with trauma.

We ordered Patakha Chicken.

And it was worth everything.

For a few minutes, everyone forgot:

the Civic
the no-water apartment
the missed plan
the mountain delays
life in general

That chicken did more for team morale than the Airbnb host, Civic, and three mechanics combined.

After a 4-hour emotional damage session, we reached Nathia Gali at 12:15 PM.

Everyone was hungry.

Not normal hungry.

Angry hungry.

The kind where even quiet people start looking dangerous.

So we went to Taj Hotel.

We left for Nathia Gali.

Plan:

breakfast
hotel
Miranjani trek

Then the Civic's steering wheel locked.

On a mountain road.

While driving.

This was the one moment where the comedy paused.

Because this was actually dangerous.

We stopped immediately.

Zain tried to figure it out.

He couldn't fully fix it, but found a temporary hack to make the car drive.

So now we were driving a Civic that had:

overheated
leaked
lost acceleration
and now had steering commitment issues

The 1.5-hour journey became 4 hours.

We stopped every 2 km for 15 minutes.

At this point, the Civic was not a vehicle.

It was a toxic relationship we were refusing to leave.

Everyone finally got up.

Some wanted to shower.
Some wanted to wash their face.
Some wanted to at least feel like humans.

But there was no water in the apartment.

No water.

In a mountain apartment.

After a full day of garage, sweat, smoke, and regret.

This was no longer accommodation.

This was character testing.

We had already contacted the owner the previous night, but nothing happened.

So we checked out at 9:00 AM.

The apartment had one job:

provide shelter and water.

It chose vibes only.

few woke up early.

The plan was Miranjani trek.

Beautiful plan.
Ambitious plan.
Completely disconnected from reality.

Touseef, Zain, and Taha were not waking up.

Ubaid tried multiple times.

At some point, waking them up became a separate trek.

We returned to the apartment around 9 PM.

The plan was:

"2 baje uthenge aur cards khelenge."

This was the funniest joke of Day 1.

Everyone slept as soon as they reached.

No cards.
No boys night.
No deep mountain conversations.

Just eight people entering shutdown mode like government websites after office hours.

We went to Habibi for dinner.

This was not dinner.

This was emotional support.

Everyone had only eaten breakfast, so the food felt like compensation from the universe.

After dinner, we stopped on Murree Expressway and took photos.

Because when a trip goes this wrong, documentation becomes important.

No one will believe suffering without pictures.

We reached Dunga Gali at 4:15 PM.

The Airbnb host had said check-in was at 12.

But when we reached, he told us the apartment was still occupied and we had to wait another hour.

Amazing.

After overheating, leaking radiator, dead accelerator, three mechanics, and mountain stress, the apartment also said:

"main bhi Civic ke saath hoon."

We were tired.
We were hungry.
We were standing there like refugees with jackets.

Eventually, we got the apartment.

The plan was to rest for an hour or two.

Then hunger slapped everyone.

We stopped the Picanto.

Zain came over and started diagnosing because Zain knows car stuff.

He looked.
He checked.
He tried.

The Civic said, "nice try."

After one hour, we called a nearby mechanic.

He arrived, touched two things, did something mysterious, fixed the issue in five minutes, and demanded Rs. 2,000.

We argued.

He won.

Because mountain mechanics don't charge for work.

They charge for your helplessness.

At 4:00 PM, we were finally free again.

Touseef was driving.

Hamza was in the passenger seat.

Suddenly, the Civic started slowing down.

Hamza thought Touseef was stopping the car.

He looked at him and asked, "kya hua?"

Touseef looked him straight in the eyes and said:

"gari ny race chor de hai."

This sentence should be printed and framed.

Because only in Pakistan can a car's accelerator resign mid-mountain and the driver explain it like:

"haan bas isne kaam chhor diya hai."

Hamza replied:

"hainn?"

Valid.

Deep.

Emotionally accurate.

The accelerator had left the group chat.

As we entered the mountains, the weather got colder.

The views were beautiful.
The mood improved.
Everyone started enjoying again.

The Civic was also driving fine.

Which, in hindsight, was just character development before betrayal.

After hours of diagnosis, the mechanics finally found the issues:

spark plugs
radiator leakage
fan drama
general Civic mood swings

Parts were fixed and replaced.

At 1:30 PM, we started again.

Everyone was tired.
Everyone was sweaty.
Everyone smelled like petrol pump and regret.

But the boys had one thing left:

hope.

Bad idea.

Hamza and Zain went to G-8 to find a mechanic.

They came back with one, because in Pakistan every mechanic is available if your situation is embarrassing enough.

He checked the car, found leakage, temporarily fixed the heating issue, but couldn't fully figure out the fan problem.

So we slowly drove to a workshop.

Reached at 11:27 AM.

At this point, our original plan was dead.

Dunga Gali was waiting.
Mountains were waiting.
Airbnb was waiting.
And we were standing in a garage watching four mechanics stare into the engine like it contained the meaning of life.

Meanwhile, Qamar Bhai was working on his laptop while standing in the garage.

That was the most corporate thing ever.

Car is dead.
Trip is delayed.
Sun is burning.
Qamar Bhai: "just checking one thing quickly."

This is why clients fear Hapy.

Even roadside breakdowns don't stop delivery.

We pushed the car to the wash area.

The petrol pump guys washed the front of the car with the energy of people trying to remove family trauma.

Very aggressive.
Very unnecessary.
Very Pakistani solution.

Car overheating?
Wash it.

Laptop slow?
Restart it.

Life falling apart?
Chai pee lo.

We thought the car would cool down.

It did not.

The radiator was leaking.
The fan was not working.
The car was missing.
We were melting.

Islamabad was hot af.

Even the sun was like:

"aaj inko aur zaleel karte hain."

At the petrol pump, the car started missing badly.

Then Touseef looked at the heat gauge.

It was at the top.

Not "slightly high."
Not "keep an eye on it."
Full top.

The heat gauge was basically saying:

"allah hafiz."

We parked immediately, opened the hood, and smoke came out.

The Civic had entered BBQ mode.

At this point, our trip officially changed from:

boys tour

to:

automotive emergency response training.

After breakfast, we left for Total petrol pump in F-8.

As soon as we sat in the Civic, it started missing current.

We did what any responsible group of grown men would do.

We ignored it.

Someone said, "cold start hoga."

This is the official Pakistani diagnosis for every vehicle issue before disaster.

We went to Cheema & Chattha in F-11.

Parathas were eaten.
Tea was taken seriously.
Everyone was happy.

The Civic was parked outside pretending to be fine.

Like a toxic friend who says "main theek hoon" but is clearly about to ruin the whole day.

We reached Islamabad at 8:15 AM.

Everything was smooth.

The Picanto was normal.
The Civic was normal.
The boys were normal.

Honestly, this was suspicious.

We stopped at Bhera for tea.

Everyone acted like one cup of chai could fix waking up at 2 AM.

It couldn't.

But Pakistani men don't need sleep when they have tea, bad posture, and misplaced confidence.

So we continued.

The boys gathered at Thokar at 3:00 AM.

Two cars.
One Civic.
One Picanto.
Eight boys.
Collective sleep: 11 minutes.

At 3:15 AM, we left Lahore with full confidence, full excitement, and absolutely no idea that the Civic had already decided:

"main tour pe nahi ja rahi."