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Coming in to Kabul, we fly over craggy snow-covered mountains. These are the Hindukush, and I can almost touch them. Then the mountains lose their peaks and turn brown and sandy. Groupings of walled compounds form geometric patterns on the plains. Are they meant to hold animals or people? I can’t make out any houses. But everything’s the same color, mud and sand, and blends in. When we land we are surrounded by the mountains, and greeted by a gigantic sign that reads: “Welcome to the Land of the Brave.”
As we drive into the city from the airport, we pass distressed or ruined buildings mixed with many new structures under construction. And lots of billboards advertising things. Even a digital one with filmed commercials! Which seems incongruously modern. Most buildings are simple drab one-story structures, and the roads are of dirt and stone. And there are donkeys pulling carts. But also plenty of fancy cars. I see some women still in burqas, and men in traditional clothing (long tunic with loose pants and turban or traditional cap, or the pakol wool hat made famous by Massoud, the Mujaheddin 'Lion of Panjshir').
Most women wear a scarf loosely slung around their head with some hair visible in front. That’s not so strict compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere in the Muslim world where the head scarf is tightly wound around forehead, cheek and chin. From burqa to a loose scarf is quite a jump. But, as mentioned, there are still women wearing the burqa. At the airport, there was a young girl without a head scarf and sporting Mahnolo Blanik-like high heels, looking very hip and beautiful. She was next to an equally hip and handsome-looking young guy in jeans and T-shirt. The new Afghan generation? I wonder if once she went outside she put on a scarf. I put mine on as I stepped off the plane.
I’m not getting much of an impression of the city as a city at first. I think we’re still winding our way in to Kabul when suddenly we stop: here we are at the hotel. Huh, where? Seems we’re in the middle of nowhere. This is Kabul? Apparently we are already right in the center of the city. But the road is still dirt and stone. We’re in front of a non-descript building with a little door on the side – would never guess this was a hotel! Perhaps this is a good thing. Hotels have been known to get bombed.
Next day we go to the Ministry of Economy and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs so that Bond Street Theatre can register as an NGO (Non-Governmental Organizations, which most humanitarian orgs are). These buildings are more stately and there’s also a newly constructed shopping mall. Soldiers and police are stationed in the area holding machine guns, with one mounted on top of a truck. A gigantic photo of Karzai flanked by children graces the side of a building.
Later in the afternoon, we go for a walk in the neighborhood where we’re staying, which is in the Shar-e-Naw section of Kabul. There’s a park and a cinema at its entrance. Men hang out on the street corner as money changers, waving large bunches of bills. Apparently they are legit. We go in a little clothing shop to check out the wares, and the shopkeeper offers us tea. Wherever you go, you always get tea. On our way back, we stop at a breadmaker’s shop on the corner. There are piles of flat round “nan” (the traditional Afghan bread, which kind of look like pizza without any toppings) piled up in the window. The shopkeeper is sitting in the window too, while behind him young men prepare more nan. I want some, I exclaim, and take out my dictionary so I can ask for bread. The old man puts one large round nan in a bag and hands it to me. He waves with his hand and won’t take any money. How much, I try to ask, consulting my dictionary again. They all laugh and he good-naturedly waves his hand again. Oh, it’s a gift! Tashakor!
We eat it right away as we walk down the street, it’s so fresh and warm, mmmm! Then turning onto the street to our hotel, we come upon the kids begging whom we had seen earlier and I give the rest to them. The next day three other street kids follow us, one of them the same boy I had seen before, still smiling and sprightly with lots of charm. I can’t shake them and eventually start goofing with them – since the boy keeps talking to me and I have no idea what he is saying, I start making the same sounds back for fun, speaking gibberish, which they all find very funny so we play with this for a bit. Then I make 'batman' eyes with my fingers, and he reciprocates by turning one of his eyelids inside out and excitedly gesturing for me to look, “Madame!” Eww! He giggles. When we pass a street vendor, I decide to get them each a plate of dumplings (served with tomato sauce). They’re happy, we shake hands and I go on my merry way with Joanna and Michael.
We’re on our way to a dinner meeting and figured it’s close enough we can walk, and I’m pretty sure of the way. No problem. Unfortunately, I end up leading us all astray into a no man’s land of desolate streets in the complete opposite direction from where we should be. And it’s getting dark. Uh-oh. That really was not so smart. Luckily a friendly soldier and a nice young Afghan man on a bike come to our rescue and lead us down to a main thoroughfare where they get us a reliable cab. It is not advisable to take taxis as foreigners but it is better than walking the streets of Kabul in the dark! And the adventures have begun.
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Coming in to Kabul, we fly over craggy snow-covered mountains. These are the Hindukush, and I can almost touch them. Then the mountains lose their peaks and turn brown and sandy. Groupings of walled compounds form geometric patterns on the plains. Are they meant to hold animals or people? I can’t make out any houses. But everything’s the same color, mud and sand, and blends in. When we land we are surrounded by the mountains, and greeted by a gigantic sign that reads: “Welcome to the Land of the Brave.”
As we drive into the city from the airport, we pass distressed or ruined buildings mixed with many new structures under construction. And lots of billboards advertising things. Even a digital one with filmed commercials! Which seems incongruously modern. Most buildings are simple drab one-story structures, and the roads are of dirt and stone. And there are donkeys pulling carts. But also plenty of fancy cars. I see some women still in burqas, and men in traditional clothing (long tunic with loose pants and turban or traditional cap, or the pakol wool hat made famous by Massoud, the Mujaheddin 'Lion of Panjshir').
Most women wear a scarf loosely slung around their head with some hair visible in front. That’s not so strict compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere in the Muslim world where the head scarf is tightly wound around forehead, cheek and chin. From burqa to a loose scarf is quite a jump. But, as mentioned, there are still women wearing the burqa. At the airport, there was a young girl without a head scarf and sporting Mahnolo Blanik-like high heels, looking very hip and beautiful. She was next to an equally hip and handsome-looking young guy in jeans and T-shirt. The new Afghan generation? I wonder if once she went outside she put on a scarf. I put mine on as I stepped off the plane.
I’m not getting much of an impression of the city as a city at first. I think we’re still winding our way in to Kabul when suddenly we stop: here we are at the hotel. Huh, where? Seems we’re in the middle of nowhere. This is Kabul? Apparently we are already right in the center of the city. But the road is still dirt and stone. We’re in front of a non-descript building with a little door on the side – would never guess this was a hotel! Perhaps this is a good thing. Hotels have been known to get bombed.
Next day we go to the Ministry of Economy and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs so that Bond Street Theatre can register as an NGO (Non-Governmental Organizations, which most humanitarian orgs are). These buildings are more stately and there’s also a newly constructed shopping mall. Soldiers and police are stationed in the area holding machine guns, with one mounted on top of a truck. A gigantic photo of Karzai flanked by children graces the side of a building.
Later in the afternoon, we go for a walk in the neighborhood where we’re staying, which is in the Shar-e-Naw section of Kabul. There’s a park and a cinema at its entrance. Men hang out on the street corner as money changers, waving large bunches of bills. Apparently they are legit. We go in a little clothing shop to check out the wares, and the shopkeeper offers us tea. Wherever you go, you always get tea. On our way back, we stop at a breadmaker’s shop on the corner. There are piles of flat round “nan” (the traditional Afghan bread, which kind of look like pizza without any toppings) piled up in the window. The shopkeeper is sitting in the window too, while behind him young men prepare more nan. I want some, I exclaim, and take out my dictionary so I can ask for bread. The old man puts one large round nan in a bag and hands it to me. He waves with his hand and won’t take any money. How much, I try to ask, consulting my dictionary again. They all laugh and he good-naturedly waves his hand again. Oh, it’s a gift! Tashakor!
We eat it right away as we walk down the street, it’s so fresh and warm, mmmm! Then turning onto the street to our hotel, we come upon the kids begging whom we had seen earlier and I give the rest to them. The next day three other street kids follow us, one of them the same boy I had seen before, still smiling and sprightly with lots of charm. I can’t shake them and eventually start goofing with them – since the boy keeps talking to me and I have no idea what he is saying, I start making the same sounds back for fun, speaking gibberish, which they all find very funny so we play with this for a bit. Then I make 'batman' eyes with my fingers, and he reciprocates by turning one of his eyelids inside out and excitedly gesturing for me to look, “Madame!” Eww! He giggles. When we pass a street vendor, I decide to get them each a plate of dumplings (served with tomato sauce). They’re happy, we shake hands and I go on my merry way with Joanna and Michael.
We’re on our way to a dinner meeting and figured it’s close enough we can walk, and I’m pretty sure of the way. No problem. Unfortunately, I end up leading us all astray into a no man’s land of desolate streets in the complete opposite direction from where we should be. And it’s getting dark. Uh-oh. That really was not so smart. Luckily a friendly soldier and a nice young Afghan man on a bike come to our rescue and lead us down to a main thoroughfare where they get us a reliable cab. It is not advisable to take taxis as foreigners but it is better than walking the streets of Kabul in the dark! And the adventures have begun.
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