Feb 18, 2011 Kabul 0800 hours
Writing the time like that seems appropriate with all the helicopters flying overhead of where I am staying. But first let me back up.
The flight was mostly in the dark, which was a shame as we were flying over mountain range after mountain range of Iran, Pakistan and then into Afghanistan . By the time light started to appear on the horizon we were 30 minutes away from landing. What looked like nothing but darkness at first started to take shape a light ray at a time; mountains started to unfold themselves to the day ahead. A sea of white, massive rock jutting out in every direction as far as my eyes could see, and at 8800m that was a long way.
Higher elevations were shrouded in white and occasionally the elevation must have dropped to valleys that were a hundred shades of brown rock and dust reminding me of Utah. Snakes of age-old creeks and dried up river beds had left their mark with deep valleys; contours like the backs of turtles with high ridges funneling and sloping away with the force of gravity and time. The mountains are different than the mountains in Canada; they look older, more weathered, mounds spanning tens to hundreds of square kilometers with high peaks instead of individual or bands of sharp peaks. There hasn’t been fresh snow for a while as the southern slopes of the lower mountains were a bare deep brown from the high elevation winter sun. All the other aspects were still brilliant white deepening the contrast. Couple the contours with the swaths of white stripes of slopes; it looked like skeletons lying on the mountains.
As the sun breached the horizon, in glorious red, the mountain views extended further and the contrasts more evident than each moment before and still not a road or any evidence of civilization below. As we approached Kabul a few small settlements perched on the sides of mountains appeared, but no lights, just lighter shades of brown set apart from the darker surrounding landscape. No wonder people can hide easily in these unending mountains.
Before reaching the city, the Kabul valley opened up and I could start to distinguish miles and miles of land that was squared off by what I imagine being rock walls for agriculture. Although, now in winter they were completely void of any vegetation I can only imagine the sight of them in the summer all green with growth. At the city limits, there was what looked like massive Army bases, all shiny, new and organized, next to crumbled, bombed neighborhoods. As we continued to fly, the number of transport truck graveyards astounded me. Hundreds of them in dozens of lots parked and covered in a layer of dirt and dust; left unused and the highways running along side empty.
All the while my eyes were torn between looking at the city unfold beneath me and the surrounding mountains. We did a full turn in the air and the mountains were 360 degrees and still as far as the eye could see. Kabul sits at 1800m, so I guesstimate the mountains to be 4000m and up. As we descended to the airport, there were reams of army and UN planes and hundreds of helicopters, medium Bell 212 types to Big helicopters; the ones with 5 blades, 7 window sections just for the pilots and can probably move a whole platoon, hundreds of them. Only a few actually had UN markings on them that I could see, otherwise they were plain white or army brown.
As soon as the wheels touched the ground I had a rush of exhilaration, closed my eyes and said “Oh God.” Not sure which one I was summoning or why. The smile on my face just kept getting bigger. I quickly adjusted the scarf around my head to secure it better and collected my things. As we entered the airport I instantly remarked to Pete that it was already a way higher quality airport than Delhi. He laughed, yep it is. Marble tiles underfoot, floor to ceiling windows and a very organized and orderly customs processing area. I was impressed.
With my head covered I felt better, but was uncertain what to do with my eyes. Our culture it is respectful to look people in the eye, but here I am pretty sure that is not the case so I carefully kept my eyes averted to the side of people or down, but all the while peering up trying to take everyone in without meeting their eyes; or looking at their eyes while they looked elsewhere.
Once outside, the cool air (-1 degrees), the smell of wood and kerosene smoke and a heavy smog made me think of Beijing in the winter. There were no crowds of people trying to offer us a ride or take our luggage, just a few slightly sorry looking souls that would quietly offer their services. My heart broke within minutes of arriving watching or turning them down. Life is very obviously not easy.
As we made our way out of the airport, there were armed police and soldiers at every point, no vehicles or people without authorization were allowed near the airport. We trekked quite a ways through protected yet empty parking lots and streets to arrive to our pick up point. As soon as we left the protected zone a small crowd of men and women were gathered waiting and a soft voice said to me “You are most welcome to Afghanistan.” I looked up quickly and then down, smiled slightly, so as not to offend the man with to forward a response, and kept going. Immediately, it was a different feel from Asia I have so far experienced, and the antithesis of what most of us would expect. Very calm and unhurried atmosphere, not the overpopulated mad pace that is common-place in India, China, Haiti and I would even say to some degree, Calgary.
It was surprising to see that most women wear a burka, sometimes holding a baby in her arms or a child’s hand in her own. The burkas were different than I had originally imagined. There are more layers underneath, long flowing clothes and then the blue burka is an over garment that covers their entire body. Some of them are a bit shorter on the front to about their midriff and flows to the floor at the back or is entirely floor length, with the little screen at their eyes, not wide enough for any peripheral vision, that they see the outside world through. I was afraid to look too long or to seek their eyes out as well.
Our appointed driver was there waiting for us. Pete was familiar with him from his past trip and solidly shook hands with him. I had asked Pete earlier how they greet each other and what I should do and he wasn’t quite sure. He says he shakes hands but wasn’t sure what I should do. So instead of putting my hand out I said Salam and smiled. That seemed to suffice, but I will ask about what is the best protocol. As for the drive to the guesthouse, I was almost too excited to properly take it all in, but what I did notice were the state of the main roads we were on were is excellent condition, there were many men on bikes - I wanted to say people, but realized there were no women riding around - that were very much like the Chinese bikes you see in China, obviously, and in Africa. There were obvious relics of communist Russia still standing and it was very sanitary, well, compared to Haiti. Actually, all the infrastructure and organization so far was reams ahead of what I know of Haiti.
Knowing that I will be able to take more in when we get out over the next 4 weeks, I was okay to let the details pass me by until I am more able to take it all in. I was still captivated at being able to see mountains in every direction.
At our guesthouse, which is right next to the office, I was shown to my room where I promptly opened the curtains (not sure if I should, but I wanted to let the light in) and grinned. It was perfect. I have a bed, closet, desk, a little fire heater and a full wall of windows. My desk looks out over a roof and courtyard and is facing east for the morning sun. What a spot to write. We aren’t that far from the airport, so there is plenty of helicopter traffic overhead, sometimes flying low enough to make the windows rattle, already reminding me at once of Spy Games, with Robert Redford and Brad Pitt – don’t ask me why since they were in eastern Europe and Beirut, and heli-skiing (Oh to take those helicopters and explore the slopes around here….yeah right, fat chance of that).
Pete and I sat in the little sitting area outside our rooms getting our cel phones set up and waited for breakfast to arrive, not that we really needed it; I felt like we basically ate our way from Canada to Kabul. When our host brought up the breakfast he made a move to take it in to Pete’s room and we motioned for him to bring it over to the table we were at. He paused, tilted his head and then set the tray and thermos down. Realizing that it was a serving for one, we looked at each other and I said uh oh I think we may have scandalized him already by eating together. The second tray arrived for me shortly thereafter and he left us to our breakfast of fresh tandoori style bread (that I had to try – commenting that I will be wearing so many clothes that no one will notice how bloated I am) and some tea. I then asked Pete if I should keep my hair covered inside and he shook his head no. And then added with a laugh, well you have already scandalized yourself, so why stop there? But, no really, I think you are fine.
Even with the little heater, it is not strong enough to hold off the chill. My fingers are a bit stiff typing. Actually it kind of feels like being at home in Millarville, as I sometimes keep the heat lower to reduce my costs. Little did I know, I was inadvertently acclimatizing this whole winter for being here; mind you 12 degrees in my room is a little lower than what I keep at home. I have to admit that I am already mourning that I had to take my sleeping bag out at the last minute, I would love to have my legs wrapped up in it right now as I type. I do have lots of layers on and my sheepskin boots are a good stand in for slippers at the moment; I am in no way unhappy about the coolness, as I much prefer this to hot and humid – any day.
Well, my eyes are crusty with fatigue and my body aches to be in a horizontal position after with sitting or standing for the last 38 hours. So, rest it is.
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