The Afghanistan embassy wasn’t far from the tourist Inn where I was staying in Peshawar. I’d been told visas were easily issued and mine was, more or less. After the High Commissioner had quizzed me about why I wanted to go, the embassy sent me on a whole heap of errands. They first needed a bank draft for $30 US of course, so it was off to the Union Bank, who sent me to the money changer, then back to the bank, then to the bank officer and then the visa officer who told me to come back at 1pm. The visa was ready the same day.

Just on the Pakistan/Afghan border, splitting the mountainous Suliaman range, the Khyber Pass is one of the most exciting and historical passes in the world. It’s been the most important invasion route from Central Asia to India for thousands of years including the conquering armies of Alexander the Great, the Persians and Moguls in their conquest of the subcontinent. During the entire 19th Century the Khyber Pass was also the main invasion route for the then powerful Russian Empire which was threatening British India. Afghanistan played a major part in the Great Game that acted as a ‘buffer’ state between the two empires and Britain actually invaded Afghanistan twice when she thought it was coming under Russian influence.

The Khyber Pass lies in Pakistan’s Federally Administrated Tribal Areas - a lawless region which is only governed marginally by Pakistan and ruled mainly by tribal law. Many Al-Queda fighters took shelter here after the December 2001 bombings of Torra Borra in Afghanistan. The region is also quite unstable on the Afghan side due to the poppy eradication scheme sponsored by the US. Although no foreigner has ever been killed, the Pakistan Government “requires you to take a permit and an armed escort” (which wasn’t the kind of escort I’d been hoping for), for travel to the Khyber Pass. Foreigners are also ‘encouraged’ to take a hired car provided, of course, by the Pakistan Tourism Agency since this is the “only way to the top.”

After some investigation I found out that Pakistan doesn’t require you to have an armed escort if you are returning from Afghanistan into Pakistan. Not only that, but after having lunch with a government official (working with the tourism dept) its possible to get away without taking an armed guard if you’re going all the way into Afghanistan (and not sight seeing at the top). I would still need a permit though and there was also a local bus service from the Rose hotel on Khyber Bazaar. So on Saturday 26th February with permit in hand I jumped on a crowded wagon bound for Afghanistan. I was dressed in full Schwar Kamij with a Chitrali hat, my video camera stuffed in an old rucksack (that I’d just bought for 3 quid from the bazaar) and my cameras, clothing etc.. were packed in a tacky Chinese bag from Lahore. The same official I’d spoken with the day before had advised me not to speak all the way to the border. I didn’t need any further encouragement as I sat at the back of the Toyota Hilux.

Schwar Kamij (Pakistan national dress) - full long sleeved cotton shirt from neck to knee covering loose fitting bottoms.

We set out on a clear patch of dual carriageway heading out of Peshawar which quickly deteriorated into bumpy gravelly road till the border. After passing through the relaxing environment of ‘Smuggler’s Bazaar,’ we approached the checkpoint at Jamud Fort where Pakistan ends and the tribal region begins. The guard just glanced in the windows and waved at the driver as we passed through and under the stone archway welcoming you to the “Khyber Pass.” The Suliaman Ranges bordering the tribal areas had formed the remote NW border of the British Empire for 150 yrs. The area is still wild, arms are everywhere and people seem to do pretty much as they want. I’m not sure if they seemed wilder just because I expected them to be. The road soon began winding its way over the mountains towards the Pakistan border at Torkamabad. Everywhere I looked were monuments to war, whether British Forts or the gravestones of British Army Officers who’d died in previous Afghan wars - Afghanistan eventually won it’s independence from Britain in 1919. Although I did look, I somehow missed the giant fortified home of Ayub Afridi, a drug smuggler so rich he’s reputed to have offered to pay off Pakistan’s foreign debt if charges against him are lifted. He’s Pakistan’s most famous drugs baron and is also apparently on the CIA’s most wanted list.

After two hours we reached the last Pakistan outpost before the Afghan border at Torkhamabad. I didn’t really know what to expect. The place was a mad blend of shepherds, smugglers (sorry . lorry drivers), and mean looking tribal men all milling around doing … something. The main street of Torkham runs all the way into Afghanistan and is lined by bakeries, vegetable shops, grocery stores and customs offices. Although I’d sat quietly on the bus those 2 hrs my cover was blown when a small boy came to offer to carry my bags and a former passenger said “he’s foreign, no Pashto.” Not wanting to argue I agreed to the urchin putting my bags on his wooden ‘trolley,’ and we set off to custom,an indiscreet building set away from the main road. Compared to the hub-bub of the 19th commerce outside, the customs cabin was like a stock exchange. Flat screen computers glared in the dark (after another power cut), and illuminated digital cameras swayed like poppies on thier desks. One custom’s official demanded to know where my guard was to which I replied “Yes I’m going to Afghanistan.” He just smiled and didn’t raise the issue further. The kid was still waiting outside and we soon left customs and crossed the border into Afghanistan. He must have been the coolest kid I’d ever met and should have had a fat cigar in his mouth and a busty woman on his arm for the mature way he tried to act.

I didn’t actually realize that we’d crossed the border at first. There is no gate apart from a few policeman loafing around checking the odd passport when they aren’t on a ‘break.’ However Toyota drivers were soon jumping around shouting “hello, hello, you want ride, only $10.” Bugsy Mallone had started shouting down the street “an angreji is coming,” acting as a magnet to every bored looking Toyota driver for a mile or so down the road so I surprisingly took my leave of him.

From the border I caught a bus straight to Kabul. I was sat in the middle so that I coiuld keep my ‘camera bag’ under my seat. My pleasurable cultured companions on this voyage were quiet hashish addicted uncertain man on my left, dirty drug baron on my right and his equally druggy mate by the window. Drug baron was the most civilized of the group as he continued hawking and spitting on the bus floor for much of the journey. Then a beggar boy cam along to make the wise decision of selling drug baron and his mate sugar cane sticks, which he then proceeded to chomp through like a cow and spit the remains in a heap on the floor - nice. Then all three had a good old hashish session by breaking off tiny pieces from a huge wad they each had in their pockets. As they popped them into their mouths, they slid slowly back in the chairs as their eyes glazed over.

For me, the Khyber Pass was only as significant as its history. Geographically it was nice to look at but absolutely nothing compared to the road from the border to Kabul. The first city before Kabul was Jalalabad, a dusty city that was conquered several times by the British during the Great Game. But one of the things I really noticed was the devastation. People crept along in the shadows between ruin after ruin and what homes did remain were like castles. Afghanistan is suffering a drought in many parts of the country and there was no sign of greenery anywhere.

You no problems in Afghanistan.

For the first 2.5 hours I sat quietly not wanting to draw undue attention to myself on the road to Kabul. I mean after all . this was Afghanistan. But then after a while drug baron was soon staring at me hard and kept asking me in Urdu where I was from. Luckily he didn’t ask me out and in the end I just told him and he said, “you no problems in Afghanistan.” In fact the whole bus was more or less Pashtuns traveling from Pakistan on business and I needn’t have had any worries. Drug lord was a soap importer/exporter and also sometimes guided Japanese tourists into Afghanistan.

The Afghan national dish is called ‘Kabuli Palau,’ a mixture of Palau rice, carrots and raisins with the leg of a whole cow inside - a exciting surprise for any vegetarian. The restaurant we stopped in for lunch was a dusty log cabin in a small village a few hours from Kabul. Afghans traditionally sit cross-legged on the floor eating with their right hand. Rice is served with a good old cup of meat juice and a ’salad’ of meat balls, beans and gravy. As one local wandered in with a rooster under his arm, one of the restaurant’s slightly strange staff started plucking it on the back and clucking at it.

The road to Kabul then became one of the most impressive, marvelous journeys I’d ever been on. Kabul river gorge cuts through the remaining mountains to Kabul where the road is simply an engineering marvel. Originally built by the Mogul Emperor Sher Shah Suri in the 16th Century, the road commands respect. It hugs the sheer sides of precipice cliffs that disappear up hideously vaulted peaks high above the road. They are so high, you can’t see them even if you strain to look from the bus’ window. For whole sections the road just appears to be part of the cliff. Giant buttressing walls descend below the road to the tiny ribbon of a river and huge concrete structures with 3m thick walls cover stretches of roadway. Each structure has already been almost totally covered under avalanches of scree threatening to engulf the road.

The snow capped mountains that followed us from Peshawar continued until we reached the rocky plain of Kabul. My first impression was of a giant fortified workshop. It was grey and drizzling and locals were hunkered down around broken cars and bits of aeroplane. Welcome to the ‘Ariana Graveyard,’ so called because of the damage caused to Bagram airport during the ‘91 to ‘96 Mujaheddin wars.

I didn’t get much chance to see the city that first day as I was intent on finding a hotel. It wasn’t something I’d been looking forward to and this turned out to be correct. Kabul has a reputation as an expensive city for travelers and almost every hotel I checked turned out to be over $20. Nothing was priced in Afghanis since foreigners here apparently can’t cope with the conversion. I tried numerous tactics to get a room by pretending to be a prestigious freelance travel writer and even a Pakistan Pilgrim… which actually almost worked in one Pakistani run hotel until the bleedin’ owner interrupted the conversation with suspicious questions! Eventually, I persuaded ‘The Park’ to give me a room for $12.5 a night which is still incredible - ever since that day, the best I could find was a room for $10 at the Pappa Salis in Shahre Nau. My first impression of Kabul that night was of a hectic people in a city making a fresh beginning which I’d still hold true.

My first day in Kabul had a beautifully clear blue sky and the surrounding mountains stood crisp against it. Behind the hotel medieval homes climbed up TV hill which was one of the most exciting things in Kabul. Never in a million years would I have expected such tradition in the capital city of a country. Twenty three years of war has stymied progress to the extent that lots of things here have never changed.

Just before dawn the cockerels hadn’t begun their annoying crowing yet and it was bloody cold. Kabul was just beginning to stir beneath me in their incredibly old style mud-brick homes that tippled into each other down the hillside. Donkeys were still slumbering in their yards as I clambered up slippy mud alleyways clutching at handholds in the frozen snow. Many of the homes just seem to grow out of the mountain and the giant boulders that litter the colony form a choppy series of steps down to the city.

I eventually burst out of soil village into the blinding light of a clear day. The roosters were now in full swing (wish I had my shotgun), and strangely European children were playing around. I’d somehow got myself stranded in the middle of a snowfield, but the view of the fresh face of Kabul was amazing. Kabul is really just a large castle-like construction site surrounded by piercing white mountains. They are the Hindukush and Kabul was breathtaking. Afghanistan has that same bleak feeling here that Tibet has. Both countries share a mountainous and dry climate and are famous for mineral exports. The city itself is a bit of a mess. Although not as bad as it used to be, whole sections are still laid to waste after over twenty years of fighting. Broad muddy avenues are lined by squat buildings that look almost Soviet. The whole city is set out like a grid sprawling itself along the Kabul river to settle in several hollows between the nearby mountains. Yet beneath the surface the place pulses with a new life. Imported cars clog the roads more and more every year. Businesses now operate everywhere, cinemas have reopened (after the Taliban blew half of them up) and culture is once again alive. Construction is going up slowly but it doesn’t seem much after nearly 4 years of freedom. The people have to develop before the country can.

The past

Kabul has long been “the crossroads of Asia” as most books term it. Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and the Mogul empire all dominated Afghanistan over the past 2000 years. After two wars with Britain in the 19th Century the country won it’s independence in 1919, when Britain bombarded Jalalabad and Kabul from the air. Zahir then remained king from the thirties until 1973. However from 1978 Afghanistan remained in an almost total state of permanent war. In 1980 the Soviets attacked with 100,000 troops stationed in the country at the height of the war and then after they left in 1989, the Mujaheddin alliance broke down and bitter infighting began for control of Kabul.

A ‘talib’ is a religious student and in 1994 the ‘Taliban’ emerged as a united force. They quickly swept to power across much of the country surprising even their chief backers, Pakistan (who provided many of their fighters). The Taliban’s popularity quickly waned though as their sole purpose emerged to dominate the country under a strict interpretation of Islamic law. Although the ‘Lion of Panjshir,’ Ahmed Shah Masud, was the Taliban’s greatest enemy during most of their time in power, it was of course the Americans who toppled them in just over a month in operation ‘Enduring Freedom’ in 2001. During their reign of terror the Taliban instituted draconian law:

Taliban law

• Watch TV - and you will be shot
• Women - completely banned from anything or anywhere full stop
• Nail Polish - God forbid!
• And of course, make sure you are never ever caught with any item made from human hair!

Afghani people are in many ways a reflection of their environment; harsh, tough and practical. They have an incredible sense of humour that often goes too far, but in this environment there’s no moping around. Everybody is surprisingly mixed. Pashtun people make-up most of the population and come from East and South Afghanistan. They were the ones that principally gave the British trouble in the 19th Century and the ones that formed the basis for the Taliban movement. But Afghanistan is basically bits and pieces of all the surrounding countrie, including the Hazaras - who were left over from when Genghis Khan invaded! There is that same feeling of Islamic brotherhood that I felt in Pakistan and Bangladesh. I’ve never really seen a fight in Afghanistan or anywhere in the Subcontinent. People share a common sense of humour and life is fun rather than a chore.

Everybody in Afghanistan eats meat and vegetarians (I’ve yet to meet one). You can eat meat kebabs from one of a million restaurants outside on the street, or there is rice and meat, meat fat stew, meat soup . and oh yes, whole roasted sheep’s head.

Begging in India is a gruesome affair. Beggars lie with dismembered limbs hanging off their bodies, Polo victims moan from the side of the street and poor people live everywhere. Yet in Afghanistan begging is giving a new meaning. It’s an art form here. In Islamic society a devout Muslim is supposed to give a portion of his earning as ‘zakat’ to the poor and boy do they make full use of that fact here. Welcome again to the land of “hello dollar.” Women fully clothed in Burqa chase you down the street screeching “Baksheesh, give me baksheesh.” But that’s not where it ends. At traffic lights, restaurants, parks and any public place beggars will approach you. Beggars form dragnets down roads in rich areas of town where they shout through open windows. Beggars even have their own rounds where they call off the street into private restaurants and then make a circuit of all the people inside. Everyone in Afghanistan is in the same boat so nobody really minds as yet and it’s nowhere near as bad as Delhi. Everybody is out to make money. Boys and girls sell a few packets of chewing gum, matches or clean shoes (which is a waste of time on these muddy streets). They’re everywhere and will only finish when they’ve sold everything.

“For 20 years people don’t work very good. Kabul had a holiday for twenty years.”

Rohid, Esmatullah Restaurant

Kabul is different to the other cities of Afghanistan. It’s always been more of a cosmopolitan place than the rest of the country which is even more traditional. Although change is in the wind, most women still walk in public wearing the full Burqa with only a mesh to see through. Change is slow and attitudes remain the same - even after four years.

Danger in Kabul

So if anybody has been reading the news over the past 23 years, Afghanistan has been in a state of almost permanent war. The people are tired and want peace and it’s an almost optimistic time in Kabul. Although largely peaceful, the city is still far from safe. You’ve only got to take one look at the sand-filled bunkers, watch towers and bunkers of the American embassy to know that. Foreigners are still killed, sometimes on a weekly basis and the streets are patrolled by the ISAF (International Security Assistance Force to Afghanistan). In other words tanks, armoured personnel carriers and pickups still police Kabul. But I challenge anybody not to be shocked by Kabul. Yes, it’s dangerous and everybody knows that, but it has its own identity that I would never have expected.

Most Afghanis don’t size you up, but welcome you as a friend. Your average Afghan is no longer a Mujaheddin warrior but someone just content to get on with their own lives after so much fighting. I thought that Afghanistan was one big junkyard of rusty tanks, terrorism and starving refugees when I was in England. Books are written on the problems of Afghanistan, but what about the amazing lives and values of a people with a genuine culture, deep tribal traditions and unique way of life. People live in a harsh unforgiving environment where religion gives meaning. They fly flocks of pigeons from their roofs high above the hillside and sip chai with the sunset.

Much of Kabul still feels fortified. The old city wall still winds its way along the mountain ridges on the south side of town and forts still dot the city. I’d like people to imagine a Kabul as I’ve described here other than the one they see on the TV. Of course the problems of Kabul should be highlighted but so should the brighter side of life. Kabul is famous for it’s carpets and they’re sold everywhere and exported around the world. All the markets feel as though they’ve never changed in a thousand years. The ‘bird market’ sells hundreds of birds a day down one long windy back alley in the middle of the old city. Grizzled old men wearing fur caps sit hunched over sipping green tea (milk tea is only for the rich), and scruffy urchin kids dodge the puddles and throw stones at each other. There’s a giant turkey market with some of the biggest turkeys I’ve ever seen contradicted by a VCD market which has just opened at the other end.

First week in Kabul

During my first week in Kabul I was mostly out wandering through the maze of houses and markets that blanket the city. High above the city one day I was invited into one man’s home for tea. Muhammad Inshaw was a typically hard working afghan that was using the invite as a brake from digging a drainage ditch outside. Although it was sunny the wind still carried a chill and it was nice to relax in the warmth.

An Afghan home is like an oasis of heat compared to the bitter Winter outside. The home had two carpeted rooms simply bordered by cushions for reclining on; rolled bed rolls in the corner and a curious heap in the middle of the room. Muhammad invited me to sit down and put my legs underneath it and I was shocked to discover it was a table covered by a quilt? Yet it couldn’t have been more relaxing especially since there was a burning coal brazier underneath whose heat was kept safe by the quilt. After chai and sweets Muhammad walked me back down to the bottom of the hill where dozens of people were gathered around a water pump holding empty containers to load onto donkeys and take up home. There’s little water sanitation in Kabul.

Bizarrely that same day I also had a wacky meal in a city restaurant where two patrons just couldn’t believe that I didn’t eat hashish. But the real shocker came when I gave the equally unbelievable statement that I didn’t sniff . yes . glue or randomly cocaine (at least I presume this was what they meant as they dragged one nostril across the side of his hand.

Also got another Indian visa (final success after the awkward idiot in the Islamabad High Commission was giving me trouble over the fact that I wanted to go to sell a horse!!) I haven’t really visited many of the sites of Kabul, since they were closed when I went but the ruins of West Kabul are quite spectacular including the imposing Darulaman Palace built in the 1920s and collapsing in the 21st. If you ever want to get an idea of what a war zone is like (outside of Beirut) this is the place. The Darulaman palace was bombed along with most of West Kabul during the mid-Nineties Mujaheddin wars. The whole avenue leading up to the Palace used to be lined by grand buildings and now its only rubble. You can still see the mortar holes and bullet marks in most of the buildings. Another war reminder is Bibi Mahru hill, just behind most of the Ngo headquarters in Wazir Akhbar Khan. It was one of the most mined places in Kabul and its easy to see why since it was a key point for conquering whole stretches of city. Tanks are still half-buried into the hillside and if you look closely you just about can make out the outdoor Olympic sized swimming pool that the Soviets built on top.

Everywhere you look in Kabul you can see a UN marked 4×4. NGOs operate everywhere and there effectiveness remains to be discussed another day. Kabul is now a city free to make its own choices but one that is still one of the most traditional and thus amazing cities on the planet. One boy I met not long after I’d arrived told me about his opportunistic adventures. Apparently he enjoyed making regular visits to Bagram airbase where he reputedly sold unfortunate Americans old Afghan money for $17 at a time. That’s a lot of money for a boy to make in one go in Kabul.