Letter from Afghanistan
Karachi, Pakistan
November 21, 1976
Dear Mom,
Sorry it’s taken so long
to write. Before I get onto to current flights and countries, back to Kabul
short months ago. In summary, the three days were fabulously exciting - so
completely different. Stepping back into the past is a trivial way to explain
Afghanistan but it fits. In fact, the whole thing reminded me of Quito where I
witnessed the same sensation: locals completely oblivious of time, progress
and influences. I got some sensational pictures which hopefully have been
developed in New York and mailed to you. It’s difficult to explain the
multiplicity of new sights, sounds, smells ... particularly the latter.
From Peshawar we drove up
through the Khyber Pass - a rugged heat-scorched, warred-over small piece of
real estate. Just outside of Peshawar, one virtually leaves Pakistan and
enters a tribal land where the law is of no use and not in the least observed.
This has been the home of bandits for years
- which has not really changed except banditry has been shoved aside by
smuggling. These people (the Pathans) carry flintlocks, are strict
conservative Muslims with their women out of sight or heavily veiled (no
photography of them is allowed) and live little unchanged from when they
slaughtered British regiments -
except smuggling now involves TV sets. The land is desolate with huge, mud
forts. No one has a simple house. Everything is completely walled to prevent
night intruders. Huge structures that had me giggling.
The land outside Peshawar
is flat but changes dramatically when you enter the Khyber. The mountains are
not huge but they are almost impassable. The caravan track has been replaced
by a road, but with dervishes driving trucks, buses and cars very dangerous.
Accidents are frequent and serious as scores of people cling to every possible
protuberance of anything that moves ... including approximately 12 people in
the open trunks of 1955 Chevies. These crates frequently topple over edges of
road and fall in unseemly haste, scattering contraband/people as they go. The
Pathans do not use passports but just walk across the border unhindered. At
the border there is another track in use exclusively for nomadic smugglers
with camels laden with black tents, rugs, TVs and everything else possible.
Other wildlife is basically goats and sheep, lizards and snakes. The Khyber
only takes about 1 hour to get through which surprised me. It’s not overly
impressive in itself but with the people and history piled in, it is
rewarding. The mountains are very close together in parts. Unfortunately, the
rivers that are full in December and January are empty.
As this place was so
dangerous in the past, the British devised a system of small guard-houses high
up overlooking every portion of the Pass. I pity the soldiers who had to climb
in full gear – and also to stay
there for weeks on end. All sorts of regiments were in the area and have left
their insignias imbedded in the rocks in various parts of the Pass. Also a
large fort: the home of the Khyber Rifles, where Bernie spent part of his
youth. It was very good to go through the area with someone who had soldiered
it.
The housing is not limited
to walled towns and forts but also caves. A lot of these were in evidence. The
system of tunnels behind them must be fantastic. No matter what type of home, gun ports
are essential and abound. Some cemeteries around and the graves are just piles
of granite shards with from what I can see no indication of who lies below.
Very neatly arranged though. The people themselves have very distinctive
Oriental features left over from Genghis Khan no doubt. Some tribes in
Northern Pakistan are blond -
Alexander the Great’s influence. As a matter of fact, a lot of the sculpture
hereabouts is a cross between Greek and Oriental
- in particular the Buddha head I bought in Agra in July.
And so off across the
rugged, black-robed landscape of Afghanistan and onto the capital through the
Kabul Gorge which turned out to be much more impressive than the Khyber Pass
- waterfalls, blue blue lakes in a stark brown land, larger walled
towns from the Middle Ages (almost), rugged mountain passes and brilliant
sunshine. I took a fair number of photographs ! Kabul is situated in a dusty
plateau surrounded by the Hindu Kush which are highly visible from the
balconies of the hotel -
balconies very much like Quito and its volcanoes. Cold clear mornings with
valleys and mountains, hot noons and cool evenings overlooking city lights
sparkling in the crisp, clean air. Twinkle, twinkle !
Saturday morning was a
review of the Kabul budget and after lunch I disappeared for the first of 2
long walks in Kabul ... one vertical, the other horizontal. Opposite the hotel
is a fair-sized gravel-sided mountain which I strenuously scrambled up,
arriving at the top exhausted and panting but braced by a refreshing wind,
blazing sun and about the highest point in town overlooking the city and miles
of scrubs, villages and mountains. Reminded me very much of several places
outside of Nairobi. The trail around the base to get back to the hotel
overlooked clusters of boxy structures -
adobe-like and inhabited by beautiful, friendly, smiling, waving Afghanis. A
very special people as I found out the next day when I was more in their midst
on a holiday. Actually the whole was the holiday of Eid, the end of the holy
fast of Ramadan in the Muslim world.
I sat in the hills for a
while watching Afghani life. The houses have some windows (not glassed) but
normally on one side. Nights are very cold and of course in small mud/dung
structures, no furnaces. The houses are built right into the hills with the
flat roof being as much the social space as the small walled courtyards
(animals, washing, cooking, storage) with veiled, shawled women, piped men and
running children scattered around. Also some cooking and heating fires as the
roofs do have a small ventilating chimney. Fascinating to watch the scene.
Lots of dogs of various sizes. I arrived back in darkness, shaking from the
cold, tiredness and a bloody good time. Peter was incredulous of my jaunt
informing me of snakes and other vipers in the vicinity. Had a good dinner in
the rooftop restaurant with the President of Austrian Airlines, his wife, and
the Assistant Manager who is related to the King.
Sunday I walked into Kabul
centre which is about 5 miles from the hotel. Took the long way and had a
great sampling - a children’s
playground where I was swarmed by the squealing but surprisingly shy hordes,
full of beautiful smiles, sparkle (twinkle, twinkle), dilapidated wooden small
ferris wheels (actually spinning wooden crates) and swings, dirty faces,
braids, holiday outfits and outstretched hands asking politely for baksheesh
... the word of Central Asia for small change, tip, bribe. A walk by the river
with two small children herding two huge cows with branches, mother and
daughter collecting cow dung for cooking fuel, rough goatherds throwing goats
forward and beating others over the head if too slow, washing clothes on rocks
by the river, children swimming, city walls, outdoor haircuts. A walk through
a park ... no women but most Afghan men in inseparable couples holding hands
... which is very common in this whole area ... supposedly the hardest job at
the opening of the Kabul hotel was training waiters not to serve tables while
holding hands with another waiter). Not shocking in the slightest ... timidly
affectionate. Games in the park included shotguns and balloons and a jam
session of one guy beating an empty water can (frantically and fantastically)
while chanting and shouting with 2 or 3 others, surrounded by a fairly large
crowd who found my joining the semi-circle pleasant, worth a good stare, and
pushed me gently forwards to have a better look. Feverish festival.
All for now,
Mac
eMail: macmcart@reach.net