With Afghanistan in decline, I think back to my experiences traveling there at age 23 on the "hippie route" from Istanbul to Kathmandu. It is a poor but formidable country, misunderstood and underestimated by foreign powers yesterday as today.
Join me in this latest edition from 1978 as I travel from Kabul to Pakistan via the famous Khyber Pass.
Friday August 4, 1978: Kabul, Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
It was a morning when I was in a psychotic state. I don't think I woke up by mistake, and I didn't. Gene and I felt good. Finally, after breakfast at the Big Sinai Hotel, I left for Pakistan by small bus at 8:30 am.
This bus was the way I wanted to pass Khyber. I've wanted to traverse this romantically wild and historically dangerous crossing for years, and it was way up on my life's to-do list - the top five. I was now sitting in a strange, shiny but badly painted old bus, next to a wide open window where I could half lean if I wanted to. Our seats were big and tall but packed and the bus was full of Pakistani and “Indian” passengers.
I was happy to get out of Kabul and almost immediately we were in a beautiful mountain pass. From here to the border, it was nothing by Pacific Northwest standards, but it was the closest thing to humidity we've seen in Afghanistan. We also crossed a lake, but did not see any boats. How many or how many Afghans were on board?
We stopped in Jalalabad for a quick lunch break and started again after 20 minutes. We got closer to the border and the panic grew. We were hoping it wouldn't be too difficult, but so far we haven't been surprised.
The Afghan border post was time consuming but easy. We would sit and eat watermelon and wish we had money for a coke. In fact, we had planned our savings well and were going Afghan-free. We waited in line to be scanned, filled in the form, had our passports stamped - normal process and reloaded and 100 meters later we entered Pakistan.
This place was not very suitable. We met in a room and were called to tables one by one. The customs officer entered our vital statistics in the register and stamped our passports.
Passport in hand, we knew we were in the middle of the process, but we weren't sure where to go. We entered a dilapidated building and in a dark room two men jumped out of two beds and invited us to sleep. No thanks! We went out and beat up drug dealers and black dealers. Everything is so clear and transparent that it seems legit. We bought 10 dollars or pakistani rupees and tried to check our bags, we were done. Frustrated by the hustle and bustle, we boarded the bus and went through baggage check. We had a lot of hash dealers in the window and one particularly tenacious guy sold us a small bottle of cocaine, 4 grams of cocaine, for $30. I took a photo and asked him to disappear.
Finally we loaded up and ready to go - we crossed the Khyber Pass. I was excited. Physically it was like any other Rocky Pass, but for what you think and dream and think about for years, it's special. I got on the bus. I clung to the window and tried to take it all in: every wildlife turn on the road, every castle-crowned hill, every goat on the road, every frozen-colored car, and every mud hut that passed us by. . I looked at the rude people who lived in this haunted house and asked them who they were, how they lived, what stories they told. Dry, rocky cemeteries line the hills with flags waving in the wind. Threatened cloud. We left the dry Arabian side of South Asia and entered the humid Indian subcontinent. After that, we feel like we are in a blur, but enjoy the green countryside.
We crossed the Khyber pass and passed through a tribal village. All around me I saw people with guns, ignoring buses, trading goods and stories.
A few minutes later we were in Peshawar and saw that the direct train to Lahore was leaving in an hour. We saw nothing at Peshawar, and the magnetism of India grew stronger as we approached. We were trying to decide how, what and where to buy our tickets. It was a new experience: learning to manage the Pakistani railways. A little confused and unsure of our course of action, we bought $3.50 (first class) tickets for the 12 hour trip, opted out of dinner at 60 cents and got a seat first not premium. - Class cars.
The only difference between first and second class is reclining seats and a $1.50 fare. We thought we would get a 12 o'clock shutter. Our car is very crowded. I was happy to be near the window, blowing in the warm, misty air. We left almost on time at 5:50 and enjoyed the breeze.
The countryside was flat, lush and scenic. After a while, I started reading Orwell's Animal Farm. It was good and the time was well spent. Then darkness came and the bugs came The lights worked like on my old bike: the faster you went, the brighter they got. It was not a very bright train. The insect landed on me and I made a bloody declaration, "Death without mercy by the insects on me." I decide to stroke with my thumb or fingers and run the hairs over my arms and legs until they disappear, rub or curl.
It was a long walk. We decided to break the journey to Lahore at Rawalpindi and take the early morning train to complete the journey.
It was almost midnight when he entered the muddy streets of Rawalpindi. There was a 5.15am train to Lahore where we could sleep for four hours - if we could find a hotel. It looked bad: everyone was full and others who were looking for a place were desperate. Luckily I found one with a single door and a shower (Jean didn't tell me about the lizard until later). Otherwise we paid 10 rupees ($1), it was a big hole. But he achieved his goal. I took a cool shower and found a comfortable spot between the bumps and curves of my bed and quickly tried to sleep. Today was a good day: I walked many miles and crossed New Country and Hyber Pass.
(This is the 5th entry in a series of five journal articles. If you missed the trip, check it out on my Facebook page on Tuesday, August 17.)