< Magazine Index > < Index For This Edition > < Subscribe >

Before the coup, before the Russians invaded, before ensuing tribal conflicts, before the US reprisal against terrorism, Afghanistan was a country on the "Overland Trail."  Many travelers passed though on their way to India or Europe. It was a country, which had not fully entered the twentieth century. It may be true, today. Entering the country from Iran meant using the border crossing between Mashad and Herat at Islam Qala. This became notorious among overland travelers, as it was a rip-off difficult to avoid. The local Customs officer owned the "hotel" in "no-man's land" between the borders and all buses were forced to overnight there.  Entry from Pakistan was through the Khyber Pass. It was quite a trip riding on top of a truck. Landi Kotal was a "duty free" village on the way where drugs were freely available. It was also possible to from Pakistan through the Khojak Pass (between Quetta Kandahar).

. Mr. Ginger made his first trip to Afghanistan in 1976. Since then, he has traveled there on several occasions, the most recent being this year, before the terrorist attacks on NYC and Washington. Ginger's experiences in Afghanistan paint a picture of a people firecly proud of their Asian heritage, and a country where war is no stranger. This article and the accompanying article entitled, "The Fierce Afgan Game of  Buskashi," originally appeared on the Bootsnall.com website, reprinted with their express permission. .. Additional Resources Asian Directories  BootsnAll.com  Contact Mr. Ginger  Afgan Game of  Buskashi . Books on Afghanistan . .

The main route for overlanders was Herat - Kandahar - Kabul, or vice versa. Both the Russians and the Americans had built the roads. On the Russian section they had built a gray concrete hotel complete with swimming pool, but it had no water. It was used as a bus stop for passengers to get tea - no one actually stayed.  Mostly, the buses stopped at a "chaikana" or teahouse. I remember being on a bus with some Americans whose request for Coca-Cola was met with much derision. One girl asked, "Where is the toilet?" and was taken into the chaikana and shown a door. She went through it find herself in the desert. She asked again, "Where is the toilet?" The owner of the chaikana waved his hand at the vast expanse of desert and replied, "The whole world is a toilet!." There was a certain etiquette observed in chaikanas. A customer would be bought an enamel pot of very hot tea and some glasses, usually not too clean, and the customer's first duty was to rinse glasses out with hot tea.

I was to meet some interesting people in chaikanas.  I got talking to an American girl who told me that she and her husband and her two kids had been travelling for six months. They had a limited budget, just like the rest of us. Her two kids were aged two and four. Her husband had calipers on both legs and used sticks to get around. The sticks had elbow supports. Back home, I used to have people saying to me, "Aren't you lucky to be able to travel?" and "If it wasn't for the mortgage and the kids' education, etc., I would like to travel."  Even after telling them of the American couple and their kids, I knew that they never would go anywhere. You either have the travel bug or you don't. I have only been to Afghanistan in wintertime so my image of Kabul has always been small hotels with wood stoves in the rooms - the room rent usually did not include firewood. I usually stayed at Sigi's in an area of small hotels and restaurants catering specifically for foreign travellers. When I say restaurants, my image is that of a small room crammed with people all talking at once about their experiences, an atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke and cooking smells, a quilted blanket across the door.

Most of the people who ate there did so because they had had their fill of curries or kebabs, depending on which direction they had come from. The favored food at the time was a kind of omelet with onions. Of course, if real Western food was required, the Khyber Restaurant was the place to go. They actually served hot dogs and hamburgers, Coca-Cola, and espresso coffee.
 

Changing money was a novel experience. Afghanistan (then) was the only place I have been to where the "black market" rate was actually lower than the bank rate. After India, where people constantly pulled at my sleeve muttering, "Change money, change money?" this was a surprise. The reason for this was simple. To change money in a bank took a long time, with a lot of paperwork and running around, and ther is always a bank charge.  The process took so long that most travelers were prepared to accept less than the going bank rate by changing money on the street, just to get it over with.

The last visit I'd made to Afghanistan was in early 1976, just a few months before the first military coup, which subsequently led to the Russian invasion. I had traveled north from Karachi to Quetta in order to cross the border into Afghanistan over the Khojak Pass. I arrived too late to cross and was forced to spend the night in a little hut near the border post. I froze that night and was up bright and early next morning. I had my passport stamped and, as there was no transport for another three hours, I walked five miles across the pass in the snow. It was very cold but there was bright sunshine. 

After negotiating the Afghan side of the border, it was on to Kandahar by bus. When I arrived, the usual hotels' touts met the bus and one guy came up to me saying "Welcome back - how's your leg?" I realized that I had stayed at this guy's hotel four years ago when I had twisted my knee. How he remembered me I'll never know. 

After a day in Kandahar it was off to Kabul and "Chicken St" - the hangout for travelers. There were few foreigners there as it was winter and not too many wanted to brave the cold. After a couple of days, I went north to Mazar-i-Sharif. The route was through the Salang Pass and it was very cold on the bus, even with heater on. I met three Americans and we took a room in the "hotel" when we arrived. A quilted blanket across the doorway was more efficient than a door, when it came to keeping in the pitiful amount of heat our stove radiated, and firewood was scarce and expensive. We managed to survive the night mostly due to our choice of sleeping bags.
 

Next day, we wandered through town to "see the sights". There were many shops with signs in Russian Cyrillic script, which was not really surprising, as we were not too far from the Russian border. As throughout much of Afghanistan, the plight of women could be plainly seen. The practice of covering a woman from head to toe is Islam at it's extreme. The purpose serves to shield the women from the envious. Only close family members are allowed to see a woman unveiled at home.  Another rather sartling feature of Afghanistan street life are the hashish store vendors. By chance, we heard that there was a buzkashi game that afternoon, so we all decided to go. I had heard of the game but, as it was played almost exclusively in the north, few travelers had actually seen it. After some detours we eventually arrived after the game had started but managed to get a good position on top of a low bank - some good-natured pushing and shoving, plus our status as farang was a help. As the horsemen thundered by we managed to take quite a few photos and thought it would be a good idea to get some shots from ground level. Not long after we jumped down off the bank the horsemen came back and milled around us. I shut my eyes and hoped that we would not be trampled but the horsemen were expert and charged off into the crowd. People ran in all directions and the horsemen eventually went back to the field without anyone getting hurt. It was probably the most exiting sporting event I have ever been to - and had almost been a part of.

After the game we refused to pay what the "bandit" asked and eventually were given a lift with the military in their jeep. I was to part Company with the Americans and head for the heat of India. Sadly, the film of the buzkashi was later lost and only my memories remain.
 

In this romantic adventure of wild Afghanistan, master storyteller James Michener mixes the allure of the past with the dangers of today. After an impetuous American girl, Ellen Jasper, marries a young Afghan engineer, her parents hear no word from her. Although she wants freedom to do as she wishes, not even she is sure what that means. In the meantime, she is as good as lost in that wild land, perhaps forever.... "An extraordinary novel....Brilliant." THE NEW YORK TIMES ~ Click Here - to order.

This book by Joseph Kessler, "The Hosemen" was made into a blockbuster movie in 1971, starring Omar Sharif and Jack Palance. "A tale of a foreign country (Afghanistan), a foreign game (buzkhazi), and a foreign mind. Kessel approachs the wants and desires of anyman/everyman and allows the reader access to the whys and wherefores of these motivations. He plays the reader like an expert fisherman, and one vacillates between loving and hating the protagonists. A must read for anyone who likes adventure and/or treatises on the human condition." Amy Leider ~ Click Here - to order.

This extraordinary debut is an account of Elliot's two visits to Afghanistan. The first occurred when he joined the mujaheddin circa 1979 and was smuggled into Soviet-occupied Afghanistan; the second happened nearly ten years later, when he returned to the still war-torn land. The skirmishes that Elliot painstakingly describes here took place between the Taliban and the government of Gen. Ahmad Shah Massoud in Kabul. Today, the Taliban are in power, but Elliot's sympathies clearly lie with Massoud. Although he thought long and hard before abandoning his plan to travel to Hazara territory, where "not a chicken could cross that pass without being fired on," Elliot traveled widely in the hinterland, visiting Faizabad in the north and Herat in the west. The result is some of the finest travel writing in recent years. With its luminous descriptions of the people, the landscape (even when pockmarked by landmines), and Sufism, this book has all the hallmarks of a classic, and it puts Elliot in the same league as Robert Byron and Bruce Chatwin. Enthusiastically recommended for all travel collections. Ravi Shenoy ~ Click Here - to order.

.