Abbottabad is a large town situated at a point where the Himalaya meets the plains. The city is centered around a densely clustered but clean bazaar, complete with shops selling tall piles of spices, smelly fish, and lots of cloth. North of town is the Cantt area, the traditional British section with tidy streets and lots of trees, now mostly occupied by the military. From there farmland and rural homes stretch out and up into the hills.

We bike past the Cantt Police Station, rumored to be 900m from the site of the bin Laden compound. From there we make a loop, scanning for any sort of demolished building. It's a fairly dense area with lots of traffic that doesn't seem like it could quietly be the subject of a helicopter attack. Our search will require a bit more effort.

Passing a cloth shop, a young shop owner asks if there's anything at all he can do to help. I respond bluntly that we'd like to see bin Laden's home. I regret the question as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

"Bin Laden?" he responds loudly, and we now have the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He points to a minivan and tells us that it will take us to the compound. I don't like the sound of that and we retreat to do an internet search.

We are stopped twice by plain clothed policemen, once in the internet cafe and again while getting some late night kebabs. They want to see documents. On explaining our biking adventure their mood lightens and they wish us well. But it's clear that the city is crawling with undercover police as the government tries to figure out exactly what happened in Abbottabad. Another guest at the hotel tells us that bin Laden's been dead for a long time and that the raid was faked. I don't think anybody knows. One thing is certain: the bin Laden incident was terribly embarrassing to the government of Pakistan. I imagine if the US made such a move in China, there would be serious censorship and traveler restrictions in the area.

We depart Abbottabad for the hill station of Nathiagali, an old summer vacation spot built by the British to escape the heat of the plains. Nowadays it is a chic holiday destination for Islamabad's wealthy. On the way out of town we spy a few shattered compounds, but nothing with the telltale shape made famous by newspapers around the world.

High up in the cool air of the hills, we embrace our defeat by stopping for an ice-cold drinks and Halal chips. In Nathiagali we eat fresh pizza and browse a busy shopping street. Outside of town there are monkeys, who leap from trees to the side of the road to receive a steady stream of fruit from passing families and cyclists.

That night, from the balcony of a plush hotel overlooking the sea of lights dotting the hills, I wonder about the future of tourism in Pakistan. During three weeks in this country we never once feel threatened. On the contrary, we are welcomed as friends. The discovery of Bin Laden will only fuel Western fears of Pakistan, which is a shame since it is a beautiful place to visit. This is not a country of terrorists. As another hotel guest elegantly summed up after a departing family came over to shake my hand: "Look around you, these people love foreigners. Those who can afford it want nothing more than to send their children to school in Canada and the US."

We may not have found the carcass of the world's most despised terrorist, but I think we found a place worth returning to.

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