By Dennis B. Armstrong
January-March 2000
Lemar-Aftaab
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"Well, when are we going to leave?" I said after beeping the horn of
the small brightly painted bus. I had waited almost two hours. This, after all was
Afghanistan and time ran slowly here. I had just traveled over the border
from Iran on a cool February morning in 1971. I was on the "hippy trail" to India and
on to Australia. The bus wasn't full but had a mixture of young European and
American people, all thrown together on this momentous journey. |
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[click on images to view larger photos]
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On hearing the beeps the bus driver ambled over to find out what the
fuss was about. "Going soon", he gesticulated in a carefree manner.
The little bus would be taking the passengers to Herat-- eventually! An hour and half-later, gears
grinding we bounced down the road. In Afghanistan you had to have patience. Iran had been full of
construction projects driven by the oil revenue so everything had to be done quickly and efficiently.
Afghanistan had no such luxury but was driven by the moneys of the Afghan construction workers working in Iran.
After a long day on the bus we arrived in Herat. In the darkness we could see a two story stone
building-- the Super Behzad hotel. Inside the simply furnished hotel, I met with two Australian
girls who were going on to Europe. We swaped information, what to see, what to avoid.
Next morning I went hunting for souvenirs, and to take photographs.
The "souvenir" shop had none of the usual plastic rubbish but articles of
use to the majority of Afghans, pots, pans, horse bridles and more. The large bearded proprietor produced with relish a
Winchester rifle (circa 1890). With a deft movement of the lever, he showed me how it worked.
"It work well", he said.
Seeing his enthusiasm made me realize he probably knew how to use it as well. $150 US dollars was
what he wanted, this being the first price before haggling really began. But I had no use for it or the other
arms displayed there, Henri Martini rifles, single shot, probably used in the Afghan wars of the 1800's. I was looking for something
which had a more peaceful role, and wouldn't frighten my mother to death when I shipped
it back to England.
Further down the road was the jewelry workshop where skilled workers were making traditional
silver items. I was fascinated. How could they produce such detail with such simple tools? Truly
craftsmen at their trade. Shop windows gleamed with beautiful items of intricate designs. I had
already bought an Isfahan silver pot in Iran, so reluctantly decided to pass on this opportunity.
On the way back to the hotel, I passed a small shop. Although the window was empty I was
surprised to see a weaving loom with weavers making fine cloth to sell to the tourists. They invited me in to
show how it was done. The weaving looms were all made from local materials. There was no
electricity, everything had to be done by hand during daylight hours.
While I was there, lunch appeared. It was delivered from the local kebab shop, delicious lamb
kebab with chapatti bread and of course tea, which seemed to be more popular than the Arabic
coffee available. I purchased a small piece of cloth from the weavers.
The highlight of Herat, architecturally has got to be the majestic mosque which towered over the barren landscape. It was a
striking building with blue mosaic patterns of great beauty and skill. It had a large central
courtyard for the Friday prayers and was surrounded by four towering minarets.
Herat to Kandahar to Kabul was the route of the "new" road which I believe the Americans had
constructed. The bus went every day except Friday. I cannot recall much of Kandahar but spent
some days there. I wanted to buy an Afghan coat and was told they produced the best ones. I
haggled to swap my jacket, a black corduroy one in part exchange. This took quite a long time but I came away the proud owner of an Afghan coat-- a must
for any self discerning "hippy"!
The smells in the bazaar were incredible, large open tubs of aromatic spices and oils. Anything you
could think of, as well as rice, flour and other goods. This was before supermarkets when everything
was weighed separately, as you asked for it.
On to Kabul-- again by bus. This time I was sitting next to a goat! He was too valuable to put on the
top with the rest of the luggage, so he traveled inside. I got to know him very well, as we passed a
good few hours together, before he departed with his master to their village.
Kabul was all hustle and bustle after the smaller cities, I remember walking quite far before seeing fields.
There were many street traders, with portable "shops" usually made from a pair of old bicycle wheels. They sold all manner of
items, including cigarettes, sweets and tea to the many passersby. The "shops" were brightly painted and each trader appeared to
outdo the other in the decoration and attention to detail. The regular shops were also more
abundant and specialized. I spent some time touring the carpet shops and learnt about the Afghan designs, the Afghan Gul and
Tree of Life and their symbolism.
At that time there were very few private cars; the bicycle, horse, donkey and camel were in regular use.
Buses, small trucks and the usual 4 wheel drive car were the main motorized transport available.
For the tourist there were tours of the city available by horse and two-wheel cart. The horses' bridles
were decorated with tassels of red and pink, and the carts in many colors of red, yellow and blue.
Time to move on, as money was getting shorter and many miles still to go before reaching Pakistan.
The bus to the Pakistan border was regular, about twice a day.
And finally to the Khyber Pass, a name that has great significance to the English. The frontier started here! It was not
difficult to see why the English had so much trouble trying to defend this outpost of the Empire. The
landscape, with small and medium hills everywhere made defending it an impossible task. The many
hill forts bear witness to this.
Did I see poverty? Yes. Did I see starvation and malnutrition? No. Compared to India, few beggars
were seen, and then only in Kabul. In Afghanistan, I saw a society that was coming to terms with
the modern world but wished to retain the customs which had served it well
over the last decades. A proud people, proud of their independence and country.
So what were my thoughts on leaving Afghanistan? Time unfortunately has erased that, but my memories are rekindled with my
photographs. I prefer the images so please enjoy them too.
I wish the Afghan people well and hope their troubles may soon cease.
PS. Did I get to Australia-- well that's another tale!
Afghanistan Geographics links:
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