Journey through the mountains

Yesterday morning, we got up early and set off out of dusty Kabul to the Salang Pass. The Pass is a mountain road, cutting through the Hindu Kush, that has been around for ages. As we began our ascent up the mountain road, the air began getting cooler and the peaks taller. The scenery was truly breathtaking and one of my companions said it reminded him of eastern Colorado. It reminded me a lot of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, except less green.

The trip took nearly two hours and we stopped every once in a while along the road; to enjoy fresh apples and apricots, to cool off under a mountain spring, and to meet the various people along the road.

This man is quite interesting. At the edge of a hairpin turn on the mountain road, sat a small house adorned with the green flags representing a martyr and across from the building was this ragged-looking old man sitting on the ground, holding his prayer beads. It happened that the vista from this point was spectacular so we stopped, and I asked one of our Afghan companions what the man was doing.

Apparently, at that site a number of years ago, a bus of tourists was coming down the hill, unable to stop on the turn. A man who stayed at the tiny mosque there noticed the bus and threw himself under the tires, to stop it from careening over the edge. He died, but saved the lives of a number of people, thus the martyr flags. The beautiful, weather-beaten man we saw was sitting on the side of the road, praying for all of the travelers. The scene was immensely moving.

We proceeded onwards and upwards and finally made it to our final destination; a “rest stop” of sorts. There were a few tents set up with vendors selling dried fruits and nuts (I bought a gigantic bag of delicious dried apricots for the equivalent of $2), beverages kept cold from the spring water, and even a restaurant, a chaikhana, where travelers could eat fresh, hot food.

Before lunch, I wanted to hike around a bit, so I climbed down to the river to wash my hands and debate going in (only up to my knees, of course). The water was freezing, but so refreshing. I was requested to splash around while my Afghan friends took photos! 

Because I (a woman) was with the group of men, we were made to sit in a small tented room away from the main restaurant where only men were allowed, and our lunch was brought to us. I made myself comfortable on the cushioned floor and we enjoyed a feast of kebab, okra (getting pretty sick of it by now!), dried fish, fresh bread and a lamb stew. The breeze coming off the river and the mountains was lovely and it was really hard to pack up and get back in the car.

Two hours, a short nap and a few stops later, we were back in Kabul. Last night, I was invited to the home of my organization’s Afghan Program Director for dinner and, as is customary here, we were served a huge feast of traditional Afghan dishes. His wife was a fantastic cook and everytime I took a bite, more food was pushed onto my plate. I have yet to master the art of gracefully saying no in these Middle Eastern and Central Asian cultures.

Before we left, one of the younger daughters presented me with a lovely bracelet, necklace, ring and earrings made of the traditional Afghan blue lapis stone. She was so shy but I managed to get her to sit close to me for a photo. 

The generosity in the people from this part of the world still amazes me. They have so little but give so much. They don’t think about how much money is in their bank account or when their next paycheck will be or if they want to save their best food for themselves. They want to be good hosts and make others happy. And happy they certainly made me. Zundi’s wife said to me last night, in Dari translated for me to English, I am so glad I can make you happy. You have made me very happy.

I only wish I could really communicate how truly happy she and the Afghan people have made me.