After the fall of Afghanistan, I reflected on my travels as a 23-year-old traveler on the "hippie road" from Istanbul to Kathmandu. Yesterday and today it is a poor but formidable country that foreign powers misunderstand and insist on underestimating.
In this journal entry from 1978, hide with me as I explore Herat, the capital of western Afghanistan.
Sunday, July 30, 1978. Herat
I woke up at 7:30 and stopped falling back asleep at 8:15. At the restaurant I enjoyed two fried eggs, yogurt and a cup of black tea. After cleaning the camera lenses, Jin and I went to explore Herat.
At first we had two things to do: exchange money and buy bus tickets. The couch was really something. It took me almost an hour to change my $100, but it was interesting to sit and watch the banking process in Afghanistan. I saw Afghans with ragged suitcases, tribesmen walking in with five or six $100 bills (I dread to imagine where they got them), a uniformed security guard with five or six bank robber-length bayonets and rags. and the atmosphere 3858 Afghans came to me. First, the guy gave me 3 grand. I said "more", he gave me 800. "More" and I got 50 more afghans and then asked for and got the last 8 afghans.
Jin and I booked a trip to Kabul with the recommended Qaderi bus company. The 800 kilometer journey costs only 5 dollars or 200 Afghanis. I hope you will take our place and not be disturbed.
We could walk freely. I fantasized about zooming in and plunged into a dreamy road of colorful flower stalls, horse taxis, busy traders, fruit and cloth stalls. Every person who passed looked like they stepped out of a travel poster. Strong, powerful eyes behind weather-worn leather faces. A long, bushy, poetic beard and a snake-like turban surround the head protectively. Old women, completely covered in bags, carried children and, strangely enough, called for photos. I shot almost the entire video and if I'm lucky I'll get some great photos.
We left the main center and entered a dusty residential area that is coming alive. People are very proud and there is no one who does not deserve to be photographed. Everyone invited us to come, except those who were too proud to know us. I really didn't know how people would accept us short-legged, pale-skinned, skinny-bellied weirdos who came to see their world, take pictures, and buy junk to tell everyone. how cheap it was I couldn't help but feel that we curious tourists have grown old with these tough and proud people who work so hard and live so simply.
There were eleven moments and scenes that remained forever in my memory: the image of Afghanistan. We were very thirsty and shared a watermelon in the shade before moving on.
A little tired, we returned to our lovely hotel, a plate of potatoes, a plate of soup and chai (tea), a shower and a short nap. We are very good now, for a change. I cashed out that $100 and it's great to be able to spend money whenever I want and not worry.
Now we are back in the sun. The temperature was still high during the day, from time to time we walked with our heads under the faucet. After sending our cards, we saw some weavers. Industrious people continuously operated these ingenious primitive looms. Very interesting to see. Then we made a big circle, approached a big mosque, looked around and found ourselves in an area where many shops are sold.
A fake friend took me by the hand and took me to his shop and before I knew it I was dressed in a nice native white pants, shirt and turban and I was crazy. I was determined to reduce them from 500 to 152 Afghans. I was almost there, but I was surprised when he let me go empty-handed, a little sad. I want a cool, loose, low-cut dress like this, and maybe if I swallow my pride, I'll be back tomorrow.
Walking like a glove, we headed back to the hotel and back through the shops. I tried and failed to buy cheap zakis fur. I actually bid 200 afghan for a spectacular fox afghan hat and ended up buying it, and proudly knocked a guy down from 600 afghan for 40 for three beautifully embroidered bags. During the two-month trip, I did not buy any souvenirs. I am afraid that I have opened a dam now.
Back at the hotel, Gene pulled out the batch of hash he had bought and I decided that would be the time and place where I would lose my "marijuana virginity". I've never smoked any cigarettes and smoking weed has always turned me off so to speak because there's always social pressure and I wouldn't feel comfortable doing it because everyone's partying and I'm the only one. "square". That pressure and the sight of smoking weed only strengthened my resolve to stay away from weed. But it was different.
In Afghanistan, hashish is part of the culture. It's as innocent as American dinner wine. If I ever had such a high point, it wouldn't be in a dark room at University College with a group of people I didn't respect. I was never going to feel good.
After leaving Istanbul, Jin and I talked on the bus for three hours over marijuana and hash. If I feel comfortable in this situation, I decided that I would like to smoke hashish in Afghanistan. Well, here I am in Herat, I feel great and I love this city. We have about half a domino of pure hashish for 40 afghanis ($1). It was so soft that it had to be cut with a knife.
In the room, Gene mixed it with tobacco and poured the product into a funny old wooden pipe that we collected. He extends his hand - immediately says: "Okay." I went in not knowing what to expect and hoping not to fill my mouth with ash. I don't like smoking, but other than that, it didn't stop. It didn't even smell like grass. The only problem is that nothing happened. I have smoked enough but virgins are not effective. It was fun though, I did it.
We went out for a walk. Walking from store to store is very easy. Mingle with the crowd, browse the shops and just browse. It's a small place, but that doesn't matter because no street is the same the second or third time you walk down it.
We sat outside our restaurant for dinner as there was a special wedding in the great hall that night. We had a plate of assorted vegetables, lots of meat washed down with tea for $1.50 each.
We stayed up a little longer and took a cold shower. This time I felt a little change. Some colors and objects were more dramatic. It was all on the plus side, I just didn't realize it was an option. I was very relaxed and our ceiling lamp was like a big candle going in and out. But I haven't been there in a long time.
The big wedding started downstairs and the father of the bride proudly shook my hand as he welcomed Jin and me and we sat next to a small group of Afghans listening to soulful music and watching the women dance. They were all quite formal, men in one room, women in another, and a decorated car parked outside.
Now we took a night walk. Carts with torches were moving through the darkness, men were carrying lanterns, shopkeepers and laborers were squatting on soup and bread, many Afghans were going up or coming, it was cool, and the wind was howling as usual. The evening was a wonderful experience and we wandered off.
After a melon, a double wedding, a cold shower with sheets and a nice wet bed, we commented on what a good day it was and, looking forward to tomorrow, wrapped ourselves in wet sheets and went to bed.
(This is post #2 of a five-part series. Stay tuned for another installment tomorrow when my 23-year-old son is deeper in Herat.)