As Afghanistan falls, I reflect on my experiences traveling there as a 23-year-old on the "hippie road" from Istanbul to Kathmandu. Yesterday and today it has become a poor but powerful country. He is still despised and despised by foreign powers.
In this 1978 diary, travel with me on a bus from Mashhad ( Iran) to Herat, the western capital of Afghanistan .
Saturday 29 July 1978: Mashad in Herat
My Spanish friend woke me up at 5:45. I think I would have slept all morning if he hadn't come. We went to the train station and I looked down at breakfast. A pint of milk and a small cake was enough and he was on his way.
It was the beginning of a new world. Afghans look Asian and Mongolian rather than Iranian and Afghani, and their packages are twinned with bus terminals. Our bus left at 7:20am and was full of Western passengers, the first we have seen since the Istanbul-Tehran bus.
Jean and I were quiet and vulnerable. I'm sitting there, the warm wind blowing my hair in my face, hoping I'll fly miles and sink further than Europe.
At 10:30 we reached the desert border between Iran and Afghanistan. What a place! It's stuck somewhere in the middle. We handed over our passports and entered the building. An interesting museum greeted us with a message. Many of the exhibit cases include the stories and hideouts of many hapless drug dealers. It was an interesting read: who smuggled what and where and ended up in jail. I have a terrible fear that someone will put drugs in my bag and cheat me. It would never be fun.
We easily passed through Iranian customs and drove through the desert and winding roads to a place full of abandoned and wrecked VW vans and orange minibuses. We just stayed there. The wind and heat were intense. There were barren fields everywhere, and I said to Jin, "So this is Afghanistan." We found shadows in one of the wrecked VW buses and started peeling apples. Then a bus came and we got on it. He stopped to quickly check his passport, he couldn't believe it was that easy. It wasn't like that.
A few minutes later our bus stopped at the Forschungshof and we sat waiting for the bank and the doctor's office to open.
And here I sit. Time is only good for journaling, finishing and thinking. As I chase giant ants and shield my eyes from sand and wind, I think about all the fun things I could do. I think of my friends back home, my parents in fresh green BC. Relaxing on their yachts and having fun in Europe . I'm glad it's finally over, but I'm really looking forward to the end. I hope you have a healthy, stress-free and safe flight to Europe.
The wonderful little bank opened and I had to sign three times to exchange my 100 franc note, write down the serial number of the note and ask several times for the correct return. I went with 775 Afghanistan.
The next few hours tested my patience as I went from dusty desk to dusty desk to do everything as we entered Afghanistan. The luggage "search" was all visual, our gun permits were checked, we were searched by the police and customs, we arrived at Fanta and finally we were all on the Kamala bus and on our way - or so we thought.
100 meters away there was a police checkpoint and most of the Polish passengers were lost on the bus and had to go through more paperwork. Then we enter the dusty areas of the Afghan desert.
The landscape was dry and barren, surrounded by brown hills and occasionally broken by a mud hut, an old ruin, or a herd of goats or sheep. Moving to a new country is always good. So far this summer I've only gotten two new ones. But what awaits us is new.
Just as we seemed to be going somewhere, an argument broke out in front of the bus. Afghanistan has decided to double the price of the trip from 50 to 100. We tourists refused. The rough-looking Afghan driver pulled out a knife as he turned and headed for the Iranian border. You could say they were after our keys.
A commotion ensued and everyone tried to solve the problem. A gentle but authoritative Pakistani man asked us to pay, but we all figured if we paid there was nothing stopping us from doing it again. We have now landed 60 Afghans with them and paid the rest when they came to Herat. After this episode we were all concerned and I think if they tried to make more money they would have been in big trouble with the daily bus load of difficult passengers.
We stopped at a tea shop with a spring and the locals left with warm goat skins. There was a sign that said "Hotel" and I expected the worst. Many people are known to "highly recommend" certain hotels. It was an innocent tea break, and it gave Gene and I our first good taste of Afghanistan. The flowing well provided everyone with cold and dirty water. I was intrigued and completely chilled. We shared a 25 cent watermelon and my weak hungry body ate it. I felt like I was doing myself a disservice by not eating more. I gave up real food for two days and only drank liquor and watermelon. To protect my mental and physical health and to protect my spirit, I decided to eat good food and stay in good hotels from now on.
To me, the tea house was like an Afghan tea house. Old men dressed in traditional clothes, who look like they are working hard but are just sitting idly, sitting on carpets on the floor and drinking tea and smoke. The room filled with smoke and his dark glass eyes smiled. Some tourists joined them, and I sat on a watermelon sled and looked out the window as if I was watching a TV documentary. Word gets out: our driver is impressed and the crew will be delighted. What a strange society. I think you give up when you're behind materially - sitting in the shade eating watermelon , drinking tea and smoking hashish.
We got back on the hot bus, got to Herat and said , "You know, this place looks great." We were definitely in a new and different culture and Jean and I loved it. I patted him on the shoulder and said: " Okay, let's go!"
Herat was “hard to love” according to our little travel guide. As for cities in this part of the world, I love Herat because it is very green and has many parks. Fed up with cheap, junk food, I checked into a high-end hotel. We have reached an agreement.
The Mowafaq Hotel in the heart of Herat was just what we needed. In the right location, showers, pools, clean restaurants and free from the scammers who plague cheap hotels make us feel human again. I'm a little laid back, but I love a place to walk barefoot and relax when I need to. Our double room was only 200 Afghanis ($5) and we were willing to spend more.
We had a Sprite and Jean and I stopped at this little fabric shop in the central square of Herat to buy local clothes and be 'locals' for the trip. Loose local clothing is very important and makes a fun souvenir. Jean bought a piece of hashish from the man for about $1. We'll wait and see what we can do.
Now we were clean and ready to party. Good job and very successful, with a nice cold shower and a real sit down toilet (you don't appreciate the little things in life like a toilet until you have one). As I left the bathroom, I thought, "Well, yesterday's diarrhea was swift punishment for bragging about passing hard stools for two months, and now I'm a new person."
Next, we ordered the two local specialties served on Saturdays and noticed that the menu had a small note on each side. Since the revolution, all prices have dropped by 10 afghanis. This means that each meal costs only 50 Afghanis ($1.25) for soup, bread, rice, meat and cold water. We were both thirsty and the cold water attacked our self-discipline like a forbidden fruit. We went in and it was good. I couldn't help but feel "insecure" about it like I always do when I drink questionable water, but that didn't take away from its goodness to begin with. A large pot of black and green tea completed the meal well and I couldn't believe how good it was.
The people here are friendly, the soldiers and police came out after the last revolution. Taxis decorated with flowers, drawn by horses, run through the streets. Standing on the wide porch under the stars, we thought the only thing that set this place apart were the constellations.
My hair is soft, there is air conditioning in the lobby and a mosquito net on our open window. Lights on, teeth clean, belly full, feeling healthy (and hopefully tomorrow) and I think I'll go to bed early tonight. It's important to live well and have fun, and you can't really know what fun is without moments of sadness and discomfort.
(This is journal entry #1 of a five-part series. Stay tuned for another clip today as I explore Herat, Afghanistan's western capital at age 23.)