Adventures in Afghanistan
Herat
Saturday, 27th March 1976
Now I have a decision to make. Whether to go, or whether to stay! But there is a lot to explain.
We are in Afghanistan, Herat – and it is incredible! Like a different world – so different from Iran, so fascinating! Perhaps I should tell the story from the place where I left off.
Last time I wrote, Paul and I were sitting waiting for our Turkish friend. He took us to the shower in the morning and said the car would be ready by 11 o’clock. Twelve o’clock came and went, one, two, three o’clock. We were feeling so fed up that we left. I think his car was not yet ready – he was putting the engine in himself!
Then our bad luck finished for a while – for good I hope! We got a taxi to the bus stop and straight away, practically, a bus came along for Meshad. It was a tiny mini bus and held about twenty passengers. Some of them got out along the way, as did the one Iranian woman. The rest were men and they sang loud Iranian songs all night and offered us oranges. By morning we were exhausted, but after arriving in Meshad at 6.30 a.m. and catching a taxi to the right bus station, we got a bus leaving straight away for the border.
At the Iranian border there was a building at the back where we sat waiting while they checked our passports. Against one wall we could see a large glass case full of things discovered by the customs officers – containers of every kind that had been used by travellers for hiding hashish and other drugs as well as precious gems. The names of the smugglers were written on labels. They were probably doing long jail sentences in Iranian prisons – I pity them with all my heart. This case of smuggled articles probably served as a warning.
After the border, everything changed suddenly. There was a little mini bus to meet us with two Afghani drivers to take us the five miles from that border to the Afghani border. How different these people are, not only in their dress: scruffy turban-like head dresses and baggy pantaloons and tunics, but in their characteristics too. They are strong, wild, rugged people, but I feel respect for them – the men do not stare in the same unpleasant manner at me as the Iranians did as I walk along the streets. They are altogether nobler people, or at least so they appear, though perhaps I should not judge. They lead a hard, wild life here – they look almost like unkempt gypsies.
The Afghani border had one or two buildings set in the middle of desolate, desert-like country. The weather was freezing! That was yesterday. We had to fill in forms to show how much money we were taking in, and also show our vaccination certificates. One poor guy did not have a cholera vaccination certificate and was told he would have to stay there twenty-four hours after having a shot in quarantine. What a horrible place to stay. I went to the toilet there – it was a little mud building outside with a hole in the ground, but at least it didn’t stink like those in Iran and Turkey.
After we were finished at the border, the same bus took us to Herat. The gravel road was narrow and the land we passed through was some of the most barren country I have ever seen, with only a few camels, goats and Nomadic tents scattered here and there. We saw groups of men riding camels laden with goods going along the same road. There was little traffic. On the bus there were a few Germans, English and Dutch as well as Paul and me. Our luggage was piled up on the roof.
The mini bus to Herat had a flat tyre when we were half-way there and we stopped at a little brick building in the middle of nowhere – most buildings are not of brick, but of mud. Tea was made for us – in glasses as usual – from a little teapot set on a stove that we all huddled around. We chatted to the Afghani men. They have a great sense of humour and answered my many questions. At least there seem to be quite a few people who speak English here. There were not in Iran.
We arrived in Herat late last night and all of us piled into the little hotel right next door to the bus station. The owner came out to meet the bus. The hotel is a simple wooden building with little furniture inside – bare wooden tables and benches in the restaurant – more like a hostel than a hotel. It costs 20 afghanis a night – about 20 pence. Paul and I got one room between us for this price. I am sitting in the little restaurant now. The food is very good. Last night I had rice, spinach and beans. The bread here is huge, oblong-shaped and flat – it is whole-wheat bread cooked in stone ovens on the ground with an open fire at the back.
I was longing to explore Herat last night but it was already night and too dark. I woke up this morning with the sun shining in – what a surprise – at least it wasn’t raining or snowing. There had been deep snow near the border and for some way into Afghanistan. Paul got up very early this morning and went out but I didn’t wake up until about 10 o’clock. I found out later that he had gone horse riding around the town. While I was lying in my sleeping bag – I slept on the same mattress as Paul but a little way away from him! − suddenly the owner of the hotel came into the room. He said he didn’t know anyone was there! He said his name was Josef and he invited me to come for a free breakfast and talked to me about Yorkshire, where he says he stayed when he visited a woman tourist who once stayed in his hotel. Then he took me around the town.
What a surprise I got when we went out – what a beautiful little town! The buildings here are square with flat roofs and look as though they are made from sand. The town looks like a picture out of the Bible, from Biblical times, and the way of life here looks as though it has not changed since then. It is like stepping back two thousand years into the past. It is amazing here – so fascinating and picturesque. What a wonderful film setting it would make. It is like a place completely cut off from the rest of the world, both in time and space.
We caught a pony and trap, as one would a bus, to a little place where I changed some money. It was a restaurant, and Josef, the owner of my hotel, bought me some hot milk and tea. There was also a plate of sugared nuts. Then we caught another pony carriage to the bazaar – an incredible place with low arch-like stone or mud square buildings, open at the front, each displaying different goods. Inside, at the back, you can see the men and boys at work – some are carpentry shops, others are blacksmiths, others are bakeries, etc.
There are open ‘shops’ and stalls of nuts, raisins, dates and cakes of all kinds, although not like European cakes. There are Afghani dress shops full of long embroidered dresses of different colours, and fur shops.
This afternoon I went around the town with Paul. He bought a coat today for one hundred dollars – fox fur. He can probably sell it for three times that much in Europe or the USA. Everywhere we went, people pointed to our clothes and said, “How much?” They wanted to buy our western clothes. I sold my denim dress for 100 afghanis. Now I am wearing jeans and my black zipped jacket. We saw women’s burkhas for sale (like long cotton cloaks) and one of the stall sellers asked Paul if he would like to buy one for me! We met a couple of western people walking around. The girl told us that her boyfriend had been made an offer for her. An Afghani man wanted to buy her – he had offered several hundred sheep for her!
Back at the hotel, Josef the owner, also asked me to marry him! Then he made me an offer. He said I could stay here free in his hotel for a few days – free food and accommodation – and that he would take me sight-seeing to the little villages around about, and out horse riding and bicycle riding – then I could catch the ‘Overlander’ bus that comes in five days’ time all the way to India.
I thought I had better make things clear to Josef, as they apparently were not clear for Paul. I told Josef that I would not sleep with him. He promised me he did not expect that.
I would like to stay here a bit longer. I want to discuss it with Paul. I feel determined that I am not going to become dependent on anyone on this trip. Perhaps Paul would rather travel alone now he knows that our relationship would be virtually platonic. Certainly he has grown a little colder to me.
Sunday, 28th March 1976
I am still here in
Herat. It is about 8 o’clock in the morning and I am sitting in the restaurant eating my breakfast – yoghurt, jam and flat whole-wheat bread. Paul left at 6.30 this morning. He took the bus for Kabul. I have decided to stay here longer.
From the window I can see the dusty, brown, dirt road and watch the people go by every now and again – sometimes a man or a group of men, sometimes a woman completely veiled. Not all the women here wear the kind of burkha that covers even the face, but many of them do. There is material with tiny holes or a mesh on the face part through which the woman can see out, but nobody can see her face. She is completely covered from head to foot in the roughly dyed garment. The colours vary – red, blue, purple, but are mostly dark.
There is no point in wondering whether I have made the right decision in staying here. I have done it now. I feel that I must play my life as an instrument – by ear, now! I must follow my instinct and hope that it will be a good guide to me!
Today I hope to go horse riding around the town like Paul did. That should be great fun. Whatever happens, I think I am glad I stayed and didn’t leave with Paul. It would be so easy to develop an attachment to someone. I would always wonder just how frightened or insecure I would feel if I were alone. Now at least I will know!
Evening
Today was sunny but not terribly warm. However, I wrapped up well and I was not cold.
At 10.30 this morning I went out to get my horse. The owner of the hotel, Josef, took me there. He is a rough gypsy-looking man with a beard (like all the Afghanis) and wears pantaloon type trousers and a tunic as well as a turban-like scarf around his head. After walking down some dusty streets we entered the stables through an arch near the Afghani (not the ‘tourist’) market. How strangely primitive it is – mud walls and straw – all in the open air. We passed little open workshops where men were dyeing bundles of wool – rough sheep’s wool in big pots – and we stepped over puddles. I asked for a quiet horse and was given a large brown one, rather too big for my liking. I am not used to riding and have only ridden a horse once in my life! I insisted on paying although Josef wanted to pay for me but I feel that I am taking enough from him, and anyway, I am not giving anything in return!
I hired the horse for one hour although I did not keep it that long. The horse was brought out for me and Josef helped me up onto it. From the one riding lesson I had had years ago I could not remember how to make the horse walk and stop. I believe the poor horse sensed I was nervous. It walked so very slowly that I thought it must be very old, and I bore with it, shaking the reins a bit sometimes to encourage it to go faster. Then suddenly I discovered it wasn’t so very old after all – it started to charge off down the street at top speed. I was terrified out of my wits and screamed! All the people looked at me and some little boys were laughing. One had thrown a bucket of cold water at its back legs. I pulled the reins and the horse slowed down. Some more boys brought along another bucket of cold water and I shouted at them just as they were going to throw it, but when I wasn’t looking, a boy with a donkey hit my horse on the back with a stick. Again it charged off down the street and I felt very saddle sore!!
I had ridden the horse all around the courtyard of the large mosque and market place. In the grounds, sheep and goats were grazing. When we came back around near to the horse’s stables again, the horse started to run once more to get back into them and I held on for dear life! The stable owners led it out again for me, but after that, the horse was so nervous – it sensed I was – that after ten minutes I brought it back, greatly relieved to tread on solid ground again, though my legs were shaking like jelly.
Some shop owners then invited me into their shops to drink tea (of course with the intention that they might persuade me to buy some of their goods) and I accepted. In one shop I tried on a long, embroidered Afghani dress. There was a curtained off area in the corner. The owner of the shop peeped around the curtain just as I was undressing and he saw me in my bra! Afterwards he offered me a dress free (but I was afraid that there would be another form of payment expected afterwards!) One of the shop owners asked me if I had an Afghani friend – meaning Josef. Probably the news had got around the whole town that he was entertaining me in his hotel.
Today, later, when Josef came to find me and walk with me, he wanted to buy me a dress and was very offended when I refused it. I feel I am using him to take me around as it is. He tries to kiss me, but really I don’t like him touching me. He is not so unattractive, but I am not attracted to him – he is so rough looking. Perhaps it is his habits. He spits on the ground a lot!
I think I should not always be trying to ‘get what I can’ out of people as I do when I am abroad and meet the locals! I thought it would be nice to be taken around Herat but really I would much rather go around by myself!
Tuesday, 30th March 1976
It is a real effort to keep up with all the news. There is so much life to live and now I feel I really am living in the present! Here life demands of me to be alert with all my senses awakened. Here, I must live totally, consciously, with absolute awareness – in this dangerous new world I am in. This is life at its rawest, most vital, most primitive. Everywhere around me people are living because they must. They are creatures of the earth, drawing their crude, simple survival from Mother Earth, struggling for what life might give them. Here I am thrown back to my original self. I can’t act a part or a role – I have to be me as I really am.
Herat overwhelms me with this feeling. I walked around the town for three hours and the emotion it evoked in me was too much for me – it was overwhelming. I had to go back to my little hotel. I had to speak to some Europeans again – to do something familiar. Not only did I feel that I had stepped back two thousand years or more in time, but that I myself had changed, and I was frightened. I had the feeling that I might get stuck in a different space and time and might not be able to get back to the present, to my own conception of reality. This country is so different from anywhere I have ever seen on this Earth. People here are so cut off from the rest of the world it seems; as though they are living in a time warp.
I walked through the old Afghani markets and was the only European. I wore a scarf over my head. The women that walked the streets were all covered from head to foot except a very few old women who crouched down by a well or in a doorway here and there. There were just a few beggars. One old woman with only her eyes and top of her cheeks showing, crouched down with her hand stretched open. I gave her a ten afghani note (only about ten pence.) She closed up her hand slowly and stared up at me through the cloth wrapped loosely around her head, though I could not see her whole face. I think she was really poor. None of the Afghani passers-by gave her anything.
I saw the workers at the back of their little shops – though they can hardly be called ‘shops’, they are just open, narrow, square buildings, very small, each with a high arched front. There was primitive-looking jewellery in some cases and women’s burkhas for sale. I went to look in an old mosque on a hill. On the hill opposite is an old ruined castle, very picturesque, and in the distance are mountains.
A soldier came up to me in the mosque courtyard. He spoke good English which he said he had taught himself. Within minutes he was asking me if I would like to marry him as he was a bachelor and would like an English wife! When I declined the offer he asked very politely whether I’d like to stay a night in his house.
Before I left the soldier, he talked to me about the people crouched down on the ground at the mosque entrance. There were three very old women. I actually got a glimpse of their faces though they drew cotton material across their heads which covered all but their eyes. Perhaps they were not so old. There was also a blind old man. The soldier told me that the women are very poor and that they clean the graves and ask for a little fee from the mourners – this is their living. They stared up at me as I stared at them. I felt we are like creatures from two different worlds – or should I say di
fferent universes – what could they know about the west? For them it is another world that does not exist, one that they will never know.
I must have looked like an unreal character out of a book or a film to them – from the far-off west, in my western clothes: jeans and black-zipped anorak. As my feelings overcame me, I felt afraid. I wanted to go away quickly from this place. I gave the soldier a few afghanis to share among the women and blind man and he gave it to them and told them what I had said. He told me they would buy food for that evening with it. Everything is very cheap in Afghanistan but there is a tourist price and an Afghani price. A few afghanis (one afghani equals a penny) go a long way for them.
I felt a hypocrite giving them money. My life and theirs is so different. I feel that we can never ‘reach’ each other. How could I ever explain this feeling except by saying that in these moments I was overcome by fear?
As I hurried back to the hotel I reflected that life here is very cheap and that death here is as natural as life. It seems to me that human beings here are as creatures crawling on the Earth. They live and they die. They exist and they suffer, and they struggle with life. In the west we have it so easy in comparison − we don’t realise it. I suppose it is as life was hundreds of years ago in Europe.
When I got back to the hotel in the evening, Josef, the owner, became a problem and would not leave my room. I became angry and said I wanted to pay my bill, food and all. Actually I remained very calm, but he didn’t! He had promised me that there would be no strings attached, but he was not being honest.
Finally he took the payment. Afterwards he wanted to give me the money back and ‘talk’ about it, but I would not have it. I locked him out of the room and refused to answer, so he went away in a rage. I am glad I had not accepted that dress off of him; all he had bought me really was coffee and milk in shops and paid for me to travel in the horse carriages.
The Road East to India Page 4
