Decades ago, the unknown German former owner of the Volkswagen Microbus named it Gertrude.
He cut a small square out of some green plastic, stamped the name on it and stuck the label to the dashboard.
Then, he set off for Afghanistan or Pakistan, perhaps making his way along the “hippie trail” which passed through awe-inspiring mountain ranges and offered travellers a supply of cheap drugs, attracting thousands of tourists in the 1970s.
No-one remembers him, but Gertrude can still be found in the Pakistan mountains.
Why she was left behind, nobody knows, says her new owner Mahmood Jilani, manager of a large development organisation.
But whoever it was had looked after her well; she still has her original 1976 “Westfalia Camper” orange-and-green checked seat covers, as well as her mosquito nets, curtains and a “pop top” roof which creates extra headroom.
Winding her way around hairpin bends in the spruce-covered mountains, she makes up part of a rattling convoy of 25 VW vehicles, most of them Beetles in an assortment of colours, but also vans and a Karmann Ghia sports car.
Men waiting at the roadside to hitch a lift hoot and wave as the convoy motors past, while children hang out of car windows coming from the opposite directive, crying “Zindabad!”, which means something like “Hurrah!” or “Long live!”
The convoy is made up of Pakistan’s Volkswagen Club, which has 250 members in Islamabad and Karachi.
Most of the vehicles are Beetles, known as “Foxys” in Pakistan, probably from an affectionate abbreviation “Volksis”.
The club was founded by 52-year-old Nasir Sheikh, who’s actually too tall to really fit in the small cars he likes so much.
He’s probably the most knowledgeable man in Pakistan when it comes to VW Beetles.
In 25 years he’s repaired almost 60, as well as a few VW Microbus, also known as Kombis. Just for fun.
For a living, he works as a personnel manager.
When their cars break down — which happens a lot since most are old, the oldest dating from 1957 — Sheikh is the one the club’s members call on.
In Pakistan, cars are rarely scrapped. Instead they’re repaired, again and again.
There are around 1,000 Beetles in the country, according to Sheikh, though it’s not clear how many there might have been in the past.
Many arrived with missionaries, hippies or foreign diplomats and were then driven home again.
Between 1953 and the mid-1970s they were also imported by a large car dealership, Modern Motors.
In the Volkswagen archive in Wolfsburg, Germany, you can see a photo of the Modern Motors boss, NA Chaudri, dating from 1967, when he came to Europe to collect the 10,000th Volkswagen — a white Beetle — to be sold in Pakistan.
Chaudri’s best customer was the Pakistani state, founded in 1947. He turned the Beetle into a police car, complete with sunroof so that officers could look out of the top and shoot during car chases.
“It was the perfect car for the founding years of the country,” says Sheikh. The poor roads weren’t an issue for it.
The VW club members are fond of the past. When the Sunday convoy arrives at the top of the mountain, the drivers swap tips and stories.
Amad Shadab, a professor of medicine, reminisces about the VW bus that belonged to his father, a tea and dung trader.
In the 1950s he drove it around the country, visiting villages and projecting films about agriculture onto its side.
Shadab’s family also had a Beetle. He and his then girlfriend, who later became his wife, used to drive about in it and ... he blushes and fails to finish his story while his wife laughs.
When a neighbour wanted to sell his 1967 Beetle they eagerly put in an offer.
Many of the enthusiasts also want to chat to Khaled, a thin, shy-looking man of about 60, who was one of the last mechanics to learn his trade at Modern Motors.
A week later, Khaled shows off the “projects” he’s working on in his open-air workshop in Rawalpindi.
Dozens of old Beetles are gathered there, and though it’s pouring, Khaled simply wipes the rain from his glasses as he goes from car to car.
Vehicles that would be worth more than 10,000 euros ($11,380) in Germany as collectors’ pieces sell for between 3,000 and 5,000 euros in Pakistan.
Khaled charges the equivalent of 4 euros an hour for his work — not bad for Pakistan.
But replacement parts are gradually becoming a problem. Many of the wrecks that could be used have already become too rusty.
But what Khaled can’t find, Sheikh usually can — the club never lets a Beetle die.
Indeed, the hallway at Sheikh’s home has become something of a storeroom for spare parts.
Steering wheels from the 1950s, bulky hubcaps from the 1960s and books with recipes for original paintwork can all be found there.
Most things Sheikh gets from the United States, formerly a huge market for Beetles.
“Unfortunately, I can’t order a lot from Germany,” says Sheikh mournfully. Everything is too expensive and that pains him.
“Spare parts from Germany — that’s what is really wanted.” — DPA