Himalayas & China 2005: 4 - Kabul to Bamiyan, Afghanistan

Saturday, September 17, 2005

We met our new guide, Abdul, had breakfast and were on the newly paved highway north by 7 AM. After about an hour of driving we arrived at the town of Charikar, capital of Parwan Province, where Abdul and the driver, Rachmad, stopped for their breakfast. This left Marilynn and I free to wander around the town for 15 minutes. We strolled past the area of the barbers, where half a dozen barbers squatted on the sidewalk in front of their customers cutting their hair. Business was good - they all had clients.

Across the street we spotted a maze of narrow lanes under canvass roofing filled with stalls selling shoes. They weren't very busy, so we went in. Marilynn had her camera, so asked one interesting looking fellow if she could take his photo - the response was an enthusiastic yes, all in sign language, of course. That started it! Every person in the shoe market had to have his photo taken. There were poses with their stalls, with me, sitting, standing, group photos, dozens of photos. That they could see the immediate results in the digital camera screen caused enormous excitement. When we left the whole crew came to the bazaar entrance to wave us off. Afghan men love to have their photos taken - women usually do not.

We turned down the street towards our van, passing shoemakers practicing their trade using the ancient methods, and arrived at the area of the photographers. There were five of them, varying in age from a very old man to a fellow in his early twenties. Their equipment was a box, about a foot wide by a foot and a half long; all were painted red and all on tripods. There was a covered lens in the front, sleeves on the side to allow the hands to be inserted and a place in the back to look through the lens to line the client up.

We had to try this. First we were posed on a bench. By pushing and shoving the photographer achieved the positioning he wanted, regularly disappearing behind his camera to peer through the lens to ensure it was just right. Distance was corrected by moving the entire set-up back or forward. When all was ready, he came to the front of the camera, warned us that the moment was here, removed the lens cover for a precise few moments, then put it back on.

Next his hands were inserted through the sleeves in the side of the box where his developing and fixing chemicals were, doing the whole process by feel. Meantime I'd moved on to another photographer for a portrait. At this point our guide and driver appeared, as we were somewhat beyond the 15 minutes we'd been allowed. Soon, though, we had our photos - absolutely clear and in the style of the photos of our ancestors. We were also presented with the negative. It had been suspended from a clip a precise distance from the lens. Polaroid, eat your heart out!

A stroll through any town here is to take a trip into the past. The equipment and methods used by wool carders, shoemakers, photographers, tailors, barbers and other trades have not changed for hundreds of years. It is amazing to see methods being skilfully used that we have only read about. It does make the thought of visiting a dentist a little daunting, though!

Just out of the town we went through an area where fields of grapes were growing. The plants were all relatively new, as during the reign of the Taliban all grape plants were destroyed out of fear that wine may be produced. It was interesting to learn that the Taliban never were able to take over the north of the country, in spite of many pitched battles.

A custom we found unusual is that men, never women, give each other a kiss on the cheek when greeting one another.

We passed a number of checkpoints on the highway out of Kabul before turning onto the dirt road to Bamiyan. Several soldiers and an armoured car guarded the intersection. The road was dusty and rough as it twisted alongside a river towards one of the two passes through the Hindu Kush mountain range, which has peaks as high as 6,300 meters (20,670 feet). Because of the river, the narrow valley was fertile and quite heavily populated. Immediately adjoining the green of the valley floor were dry mountains, with no sign of vegetation. The side valleys are totally barren. The road wound through one fascinating village after another, some quite large.

As the hours rolled by the day became hotter and hotter, likely surpassing the 36 degrees reached yesterday in Kabul. The van had no air conditioning, and the rear passenger windows didn't open. When the front windows were closed it became stifling hot inside, but they had to be closed when we came up behind vehicles before passing them, or when we passed a vehicle going the other way. The entire inside of the van and its occupants were soon covered with fine, powdery dust.

After a few hours we stopped at a pleasant spot beside the river for a lunch of melon and some biscuits we had purchase along the way. The river was much smaller now, and from this point on the river and the road both narrowed until the river was a small brook, and the road a rut for each of the tires. The terrain was very mountainous, with the road cut into cliffs above the river. One big advantage was that now there was little traffic, so the windows could be left open to let in the cooler mountain air.

All along the route could be seen the refuse of war. Anti aircraft guns, artillery, and dozens of Russian tanks - some destroyed, and others looking like the crew simply opened the rear hatch and fled. A scrap metal dealer would have a field day! The narrow, steep sided valley with one track through it would have made the tanks sitting ducks to the Afghan fighters with portable anti-tank weapons.

At the base of the Unai Pass was a cold, clear spring right beside the road. We drank our fill of its cold water. As we climbed the pass (3,300 meters, 10,827 feet) we came upon three oil tank trucks. The first one was stuck against the bank, and the others could not pass. Marilynn took one look at the situation and demanded we stop so she could walk past the trucks - no way was she riding in the van along the narrow bit of road left to us. It likely had something to do with the sheer drop of a couple of thousand feet!

It seems that this pass was well fortified in the ancient past. There were ruins of many substantial fortresses and watchtowers along the way, some in amazingly good repair considering their mud block construction. Mud is used for everything here - houses, buildings, wall fences and even telephone poles. These are done with four pieces of re bar joined with mud. It must be amazing to see in winter, as this area gets a lot of snow, and snow covered mud dwellings somehow makes an unlikely picture. The mud buildings are substantial, and have wood framed glass windows.

Along the way we passed a number of farms harvesting wheat. The stalks were cut by rows of men squatting down and severing the wheat with small scythes. The heads with the grains are carefully removed and the stems piled for winter storage. The wheat and chafe are separated by throwing the mixture into the air using wooden pitchforks, allowing the wind to carry off the chafe. The larger farms have bulls dragging either logs or sleds of woven wheat stems over the chafe piles to flatten them so the remaining seeds of wheat can be separated. We stopped several times to video and photograph the process. Our request for permission to take pictures was never refused. The Afghan men, although fierce in appearance, are very friendly and welcoming.

We passed grape growing areas lower in the mountains, with young boys selling grapes by the roadside. Later it was the higher apple area, and again the fruit was offered. We bought a bag of apples for about twenty cents. Almost every type of fruit and vegetable are grown in Afghanistan in one valley or another.

After crossing the 3.700-meter (12,139 foot) Hajigak pass we came to a small village where the road was blocked by a rope that was guarded by a large contingent of military and police. We were informed that the road to Bamiyan was closed until after the elections. After an argument we were informed that we could dispute the decision with the area commander of the police located in the village up the hill.

First Abdul made the climb, and after a while came back to say he could not get permission, but perhaps if I came along and talked to them it might help, so I climbed up to where there was quite a gathering of people. The very pompous area police commander, in a dark blue shirt with epaulets liberally sprinkled with enough silver stars to form a constellation, stood there flanked by his top aid and an number of heavily armed police.

In desert camouflage near him was the major in command of a New Zealand army detachment and two of his men - also armed to the teeth. They were in charge of peace keeping in this area for the UN. Another New Zealander, who was the head of a team of observers for the election, was arguing with the police commander, presenting him with loads of documentation and official permits. He was not being allowed to pass with his convoy of four Toyota Land Cruisers.

The New Zealand major was trying for common sense and the police commander was having none of it. As far as he was concerned no one was passing. As Abdul and I stood there waiting for an opening to talk to someone a soldier came up to report the observer's vehicles contained weapons. That really threw a monkey wrench into things, as the order from the supreme commander was no weapons into the area, in spite of the observer-to-be rolling out loads of documents and permissions to carry the weapons. They had three Beretta pistols and three AK47 automatic rifles. I must admit to wondering what part the artillery played in observing an election!

The New Zealand major finally sent the observer down the hill to see a lieutenant named Cam who was in radio contact with the New Zealand base camp. I decided that having anything to do with the stone faced police commander would be useless, so approached the major, a delightful fellow from the South Island of New Zealand. I explained our predicament and so he sent us down to Cam as well.

Cam was easy to find in the centre of a detachment of New Zealand troops, as the election observer was talking to him. He was making notes and inspecting documents. When my turn came, the only document I could produce was the itinerary from Bestway Tours, however it did wonders as it said we had hotel reservations and indicated the tour was legitimate. It was placed with the official documents of the observer. Cam had also had a slight misunderstanding when Abdul said the Ministry of Tourism cleared us, so when he radioed in our situation he mentioned we were accompanied by an official from the Ministry of Tourism!

By the time Cam had finished talking to me, a third party showed up - the financial manager of the UN camp in Bamiyan. He was not being allowed to pass either. Poor Cam, caught in the middle of all this, was on the radio to his headquarters and listing all of our qualifications to them. This was a lengthy process, as the radio was continually cutting out.

At this point the major showed up, so we had a chat. I mentioned we were really not keen on being turned back. It was now after 5 PM and we had been warned that night travel was very dangerous, not to mention trying to navigate that road in the dark. The major said we absolutely must not try to drive back, that it was extremely dangerous, and that if worse came to worst we could sleep in the vehicle and head back in the morning. He offered to provide us with self-heating field rations, and the instructions of how to use them. The also supplied me with an ice cold 7 up while I was waiting. No shortage of hospitality with these fellows!

Now a fourth person showed up, also on official military business and also refused passage. It sounded so funny when Cam radioed in the summary of the lot of us - three authorized high officials and two tourists! From the sound of it I thought we were finished, but after about an hour word came back that the army general in charge of the area and the police general, the boss of stone face, had all been contacted personally by the commander of the New Zealand troops, and that the observers with their weaponry and we tourists had been cleared to pass. The others were still in process.

The police would still not let us go. The major was furious. He yelled something like, "What the bloody 'ell to you want? General so & so of the army and your boss, general so-&-so of the police have cleared these people! They are to be let through!" A very grumpy stone face finally admitted defeat and the rope barrier was dropped for the four advisor vehicles, but raised again in front of us. Another tirade from a very frustrated major finally had us on our way.

One of the New Zealanders had been talking to Marilynn in the car. He hadn't a lot of good things to say about the police. Apparently the police had been doing target practice and his comment was: "It was scary! The Taliban are quite safe."

After a while we caught up with the observer's convoy. At a wide point in the road they stopped to let us go first in case we had any problems. They were all in touch by radio, so it was great to know that in case of breakdown we would not be stuck in this remote area.

In Bamiyan we stopped at a mechanics shop and waited while the driver cleaned and reassembled the air filter, then drove through town and a heavily defended roadblock to our hotel. The roadblock was likely due to our being close to the UN compound - they checked the vehicle for weapons.

There was no check in, as we were the only guests. There were also no lights, no hot water, no towels, no toilet paper and no dinner ready. A generator was started to provide lights, and tracking down a staff member produced towels and the local course toilet paper, but as the hot water tap did not even produce cold water we held out no hope that it would produce anything warm.

Cleanliness left a lot to be desired - we would not venture into the bathroom without shoes as the floor was so dirty. Marilynn braved a shower, which simply ran onto the bathroom floor - likely the only cleaning it ever got. Eventually a basic dinner was prepared - the apologetic hotel manager promised us better fare the next night. Apparently the fellow who took the message about our arrival had the night off and didn't inform anyone we were coming. Once having eaten we collapsed into the twin beds - flat boards with a thin futon type mattress. We were too tired to care much - adventure travel at it's finest!