When Afghanistan fell, I thought of my trip there as a 23-year-old hippie traveler from Istanbul to Kathmandu. Yesterday and today it is a poor but formidable land that foreign powers misunderstand and insist on underestimating.
In this notebook from 1978, he spends time with me as I explore Herat, the main city in western Afghanistan.
Sunday July 30, 1978: Herat.
The dream woke me up at 7:30am and by 8:15am I didn't try to go back to sleep. In the restaurant I enjoyed two omelettes, yogurt and a cup of black tea. After cleaning my camera lens, Jenny and I set off for Herat.
At first we had two things: exchange money and buy bus tickets. The bank was special. It took almost an hour to change $100, but it was very interesting to sit and watch the banking process in Afghanistan. I saw sacks of beaten Afghans, tribesmen arriving with five or six hundred dollar bills (I'm afraid to imagine where they got them from), a uniformed guard with a spear, good enough for five or six bank robbers, and a building with a colorful poster. and air 3858 Afghans came to me. First the guy gave me 3000. I said "more" and he gave me 800. "More" and they gave me another 50 Afghans and then I asked and was given the last 8 Afghans.
Jane and I booked a bus trip to Kabul with a bus from a company recommended by Qadri. A trip of 800 km costs only $5 or $200 Afghan. We look forward to taking a seat and there is no nonsense.
We were free to roam. I grabbed a Fanta, strapped on a zoom lens and drove down the street through a fabulous lane full of colorful pink horse-drawn cabs, jam-packed with artisans, fruit and powder stalls. Every passing man looked like something out of a travel poster. Strong eyes, strong behind faces of frozen skin. Shaggy beards blow in the wind, long and unkempt, and turbans wrap around the head like snakes. The old women, all dressed in suitcase clothes, carried the children and strangely called the pictures. I shot almost the entire pack and with any luck it should take some good shots.
Moving away from the main center, we come to a busy and dusty residential area. People are very proud and there is no one who does not deserve to be photographed. We were invited by everyone except those who were very proud to have met us. He really didn't know how weird Finns with short bellies, pale skin and weak stomachs came into his world to show off, take pictures and buy useless things to take home and tell everyone how cheap they are. . I can't help but feel that we curious tourists have grown old in front of these dignified and proud people who work hard and live simply.
There were countless moments and scenes that flashed in my memory forever, the image of Afghanistan. We quench our thirst and share a watermelon in the shade before continuing.
A little tired, we went back to our beautiful hotel, had a plate of potatoes, a bowl of soup and some tea, took a shower and took a nap. Now we live well, for a change. You just spent $100, which is good when you want to spend money and don't worry.
Now we are back in the sun. The temperature of the day was still warm and from time to time we put our heads under the tap. After sending the postcards, we check several weavers. Working men wield these primitive looms with tireless skill. Interesting to see. After that we did a big circle, went to a big mosque, checked it out and ended up in a very popular shopping area.
A nice gentleman took me by the hand and led me into his shop, and before I had time to recover, I was already in the baggy pants, shirt and turban of the locals and haggling. He was determined to reduce it from 500 to 152 Afghans. I almost did, but was surprised when they let me go empty-handed and a little sad. I want this fresh, flowy, simple dress, and maybe if I could swallow my pride, I'd come back for it tomorrow.
As if to avoid the queue, we went shopping and returned to the hotel. I tried and failed to get a good cheap mink leather. I offered 200 Afghans for an interesting Afghan fox hat, ended up buying it and proudly lowered the price from 600 Afghans to 40 for three beautifully embroidered caps. I haven't bought any souvenirs in two months of traveling, and now, I'm afraid, I've opened the door.
Back at the hotel, Jane pulled out a piece of marijuana she had bought, and I decided that this was the time and place where I would lose my "marijuana virginity." I've never smoked cigarettes and smoking weed has always turned me off, so to speak, because it's always been subject to social pressure, and I've never felt comfortable, because everyone at the party was doing it, and I was the only one. "Square. That pressure and the usual pot-smoking scene reinforced my determination to stay away from bad pot. But this was different.
In Afghanistan, cannabis is an integral part of the culture. It's as innocent as wine at a dinner party in America. If I ever get to that height, it won't be in a dark room with a bunch of people I don't respect. I can't be satisfied with this.
Jane and I discussed marijuana and hashish for about three hours on the bus after leaving Istanbul. I decided that if I was happy with this whole situation, I would like to smoke hash in Afghanistan. Well, I am here in Herat, I feel good, I love this city. We have half dominoes of pure cannabis for 40 Afghans ($1). It was so soft that it had to be cut with a knife.
In the room, Jane mixed it with tobacco and poured the resulting product into a fun old straight wooden pipe that we picked up. He took a puff and immediately said, "Good stuff." While I stop I don't know what to expect and I hope I don't fill my mouth with ashes. I don't like to smoke, but other than that, there was nothing unpleasant about it. It didn't even smell like marijuana. The only problem is that nothing happened. I have smoked enough, but regular workouts are usually unproductive. Still, it was nice, I did it.
We went for a walk. Walking from store to store is very careless. Communicate with people, look in stores and you will see. This place is small, but it doesn't matter much, because no street will be the same if you go there for the second or third time.
We sat outside our restaurant for dinner as there was a very special wedding party in the Great Hall tonight. We had a mixed meaty vegetable plate and then tea for $1.50 each.
We stayed upstairs a bit longer and took a cold shower. This time I felt a slight change. Some colors and things were lighter. There was a silver lining to things that I didn't realize. He was very relaxed, the ceiling light was like a big candle, inhaling and exhaling. But I wasn't very tall yet.
There was a big wedding downstairs and the father of the bride proudly shook my hand, saying goodbye to Jane and me, and we sat with a small Afghan group, listening to soulful music and watching the women dance. Everyone was behaving quite solemnly: men in one room, women in another, outside was an ornate car.
Now we went for a night walk. Torch carts raced in the dark, men carried lanterns, merchants and workers sat around soup and bread, many Afghans were on the heights or on their way, it was cold and the wind howled like custom. Tonight was a great experience and we walked.
After some watermelon, the wedding double check, a cold shower with our sheets and a nice wet bed, we discussed how beautiful the day was, and looking forward to tomorrow and wrapping ourselves in wet sheets, we headed to the bed.
(This is entry 2 in my diary, in five parts. Stay tuned tomorrow as I, 23, venture to Herat.)