When Afghanistan fell, I reflected on how a 23-year-old traveler traveled the "hippie trail" from Istanbul to Kathmandu. Yesterday and today it is a poor but huge country, which foreign countries stubbornly do not understand and underestimate.
This daily entry from 1978 takes me 500 miles across Afghanistan and explores the capital, Kabul.
Tuesday, August 1, 1978: From Herat to Kabul
We woke up at 4 am and it was midnight. No one should be awake at this hour, but I sat on the edge of the bed. We took a watermelon and boarded the Qadri bus to Kabul at five o'clock.
The bus was clean and on time and we were on our way. It was already dawn when the sleepers on the sidewalks moved. Our loud bus honked like it was about to leave in 800 miles. The road was good and we kept up a good speed, stopping only for a small amount of coke all morning. The countryside was deserted and very hot. A herd of camels, a rebellious nomad or group of silent tents, a brick ruin melting like a sandcastle after a wave, and an isolated power line accompanied the narrow but well-paved road built by Batia. USA and USSR. Through the Afghan desert. It wasn't exactly a scenic drive, but by the end of the 14-hour drive I was enjoying the vastness of this country of 10 million people.
We made a quick stop for lunch where Jane Fanta and I ate some peanuts, grabbed my zoom lens and ran. It was the best trip of my life. Our driver really wanted to keep a good rhythm. The company did not change all day. The same sleepy towns of lazy, clumsy camels and grey-brown mud castles drifted by with mesmerizing mountains of mud in the background. In the afternoon we stopped three times to pray in Mecca, and in the evening we entered Kabul. Jen wasn't feeling well, so we took a taxi to the touristy "chicken street" and found the best hotel we could - not that good, but hey, Hotel Sina.
Jane fell fast asleep during a bad dinner with a friendly student from Philadelphia who had come here to study the language. I am impressed with our excellent hotel in Herat.
Well, I'm in Kabul. Imagine - next to my dream - the Khyber Pass and India. I think I'm more from Seattle than halfway around the world. I will have to watch the world. I hope Jane will be better - and I'm still fine - tomorrow morning.
Wednesday, August 2, 1978: Kabul
Going to bed without a clock is bad. I slept well but woke up very early. Elgin was very sad, so he stayed in bed. For breakfast, I ate watermelon, a large carrot, two hard-boiled eggs and tea in the Sinai courtyard. Today I relaxed from the start because I knew we had two days in Kabul and there was no real excitement. I was talking to a German girl who was recovering from an eight-day encounter with "Tehran Belly" and wanted to go home. If you are traveling to India, this is a very good idea. If you are sick, it is more heavenly.
On Friday morning I went to work, went to the Pakistan Bus Company and got tickets to travel through Khyber in Pakistan. Then, with very sharp shoe polishers, I entered the Pakistani embassy and was delighted to learn that Americans do not need a visa to travel to Pakistan. We are doing well. Wow - Khyber Pass, Pakistan, then on to India!
Back at the hotel, Jane left. It was very cool. I brought a special magic tea and two boiled eggs and stayed for a while. He was prone to fasting and sleeping.
It was now so hot that I intended to cover Kabul, what an unenviable task. I had no map or information. I cannot go to this complicated capital. The city looks like a huge city spread over several valleys connected together. Unfortunately, he seems to like his river dry, very shallow with a large rocky channel. It was hot and dusty, there was little shade, and I felt too obvious to be just wearing pants. However, I walked and walked, covering a large part of Kabul.
I wandered through busy neighborhoods, searched in vain for a tourist information point, and took a taxi to the Kabul Museum. The trip was long and the 40 afghan I paid was hard to come by. He wanted 60. 40 seemed very fair and in the end I paid 50 and lost. Then I found out that the museum I came to see was closed. Frustrated and disillusioned with the people bothering me and those gathered around me, I boarded a crowded bus and went where I wanted to go. It was a crowded place. The only real city in Afghanistan has many magnificent buildings and excellent institutions. But family chaos takes over everything. Around the modern shop are old men carrying donkeys with tomatoes, little girls selling small limes and piles of watermelons, on which a man sits smoking weed while he sleeps.
I checked into a fancy hotel and sat in a fancy bar, had a dumb coke and a pretty girl's bread, then went into an "Afghan boutique" - the closest thing to a western outlet - and found a nice restaurant with a nice view. troubles of Kabul.
The old man sat me down and said: "I am a teacher. What is your name and nickname? He was very glad to dine with the American, but I am afraid I was not there. very good humor and little gossip. He told me he would never forget his meal with "Mr. Rick." I taught him the do ri ley measure and what a radish was. It was the only thing on my plate that fascinated me. He left, and I finished my food under the silent eyes of the other guests and went home.
Evidence of the recent revolution is everywhere. Our bus is registered (I think) in Kabul, copies of the headers are posted on the day of the crossing, it closes at 11am, and soldiers with balanced spears are everywhere. I saw what was left of the tank outside, left in pieces and left as a reminder that the old order was dead.
Later we went to Sina's cozy little patio for a light dinner. I was working on melons, the two of us ate boiled eggs and tea. Gene was drinking Senna's tea. The rest of the day was lazy and boring. I was looking forward to the next day in Kabul, but there was no earlier bus and that would have been better for Jane.
Thursday, August 3, 1978: Kabul
Today was antimalarial pill day and marked the end of the third week on the road. We were at the gates of India, most of our business behind us and most of our adventures ahead. Our health was very poor at best, but we both firmly believed that nothing could stop us now. I swallowed my super vitamin zinc pill with black tea and ate toast and eggs before going for a walk. I had no big plans for the day, just to pass the time and have fun.
I was walking down Chicken Street, a high pressure tourist area in Afghanistan, countless "come into my shop, just take a look" and realized that through all the junk everyone was trying to see, it wasn't really there.
I went to the American Center to read a bit and get out of the afternoon sun, then asked Jane to join me. It was the first time he had left the hotel for two days. We relaxed and read the old news. The latest news from Time magazine has been censored by the new government here. They censor any issue that contains articles about the Soviet Union. That left us with some old news to read. It's totally different, but it's better than nothing. Reading American magazines on the road is like watching an American movie on the road: it brings you home and immerses you in it.
After a short stay at the hotel, I put on Jane's white baggy afghan pants, grabbed my camera and left town. It's okay not to know or care where you're going. I got on an old bus, paid the Afghan and went as long as I wanted, and that was the end of the line. The bus driver invited me for tea, I accepted and a group gathered around him to watch. Guys, I must look weird to these guys - they can stare at them all the time. Last night I wrote a poem called "Afghan Eyes" about a little girl from Herat who stared at me for five hours.
I zoomed in and walked around a group of tents where an entire community lives. Too bad they are really camera shy. However, I managed to find a lot of Afghans willing to take pictures, and I did my best to please them. Back on the bus, I quickly returned to the world of "street chicken" tourism.
Jin got tired of being locked up and ended up starving. I was having problems with my small intestine, and after several alternate toilets, we slowly walked down the street in search of dinner.
The steakhouse caught my attention when we arrived in Kabul and we are going to try it now. I didn't mean anything special, I just meant it. I actually had a very good steak and veggie dinner for less than $1, with soup and a cup of tea. Both of our sites worked well. After dinner they exchanged money - took out Iranian and Turkish and got 50 Pakistani rupees.
After this good meal we felt better and went home. Spent the afternoon in the yard reading this magazine, adjusting my bag strap and enjoying a Fleetwood Mac tea and bar. It would be nice to move again tomorrow.
To be so rich (even a humble traveler) in this poor and troubled corner of our world, to be so white puts me in a strange position as a traveler that I would like to change. A bit sad, but I realized today that I tend to build a wall between myself and all potential friends in this non-European part of the world. I enjoy talking to people and making friends in Europe. This is the main reason for traveling there, but something is coming. I think there is a lot of doubt, misunderstanding and fatigue. Also, it seems that most of the people I meet here only speak English to tourists to make money. I wish I could speak the local language, but I can't.
(This is part 4 of a five-part series. Stay tuned for another episode tomorrow as I travel from Kabul through the legendary Khyber Pass in Pakistan.)