The border between Pakistan and Afghanistan proved our biggest hassle to date. The Afghani customs men were most unenthusiastic about the whole task and in no hurry. Clocks were switched back another 30 minutes, giving us a bit of extra time, but we didnt finally emerge from Customs until 4.30pm local time, meaning a 3 hour delay. Plenty of money changers were on hand, and lots of guns were also freely available for sale at the border, with some pretty mean looking characters wandering around selling them.
Once on the road again, Andy, Paul, Bob and myself took one look at the seating options in the local bus, and took to the roof once again, a decision this time we were to severely regret. Our final arrival in Kabul was not until 12.30am next morning, after some fairly slow driving due to mechanical troubles. The trip was a steady climb up several thousand feet, with the road bordered on both sides by high jagged rock faces, which took on eerie shadows in the moonlight. The cold really set in as night progressed and we rose higher into the mountains, and there was no place to hide and no stopping the
bus, so by the time we reached Kabul the four of us were totally frozen and thoroughly miserable. On arrival, we booked in at the Metropol Hotel where we had a ‘feast of tea and cookies, our only meal of the day.
I woke early next morning, not feeling at all flash – maybe just a reaction to getting frozen and the lack of food on the bus trip yesterday. After a short wander around town to change some money, I took to my cot for the balance of the morning. I was up again around midday, and we four wandered down to Checkon Street, madly trying on Afghan coats and slippers and everything imaginable made from yak wool. I finally succumbed to purchasing a set of warm bed socks, but the girls bought several kaftans and Bob a couple of shirts. We then made it to the backpacker hotspot Sigis for lunch, to a background of ‘Dark Side of the Moon, but unfortunately I couldnt hold down any food. We wandered around a bit more after lunch, but I was an early casualty and returned to the hotel.
high mountains and rockiness, with many primitive homes built into the hillside. It is a fascinating mix of old and new, and the people look a real melting pot – contrast with bearded tribes in robes, with rifles over their shoulders sharing the same footpath as slick looking businessmen in suits.
We had dinner that night at Marco Polos (after being unable to get a start at the famed Khyber Restaurant), a sizzling pepper steak with Afghani red wine, a bit expensive at 200Afs (almost 4 bucks), but well worthwhile after a couple of days without food. It was a nice clean joint, but they had available very few items from the menu, which was a bit frustrating, though maybe our arrival time of 10pm didnt help.
There was nothing doing for the group next morning so we four hit Checkon Street again at midday, and everyone went mad on purchases – Julie a yak coat and top, Peta a couple more dresses and a bag, Bob a few oddments, and I picked up two shirts and cheesecloth long pants, sandals, toiletries and most remarkable of all, a biro for 2Afs. (Editors Note –
Julie wrapped up her yak coat and carried it unopened on the bus all the way to London. When she opened it there, some 2 months later, it was full of weevils and had to be tossed out!). I managed to sell off my watch for 500Afs, which gave me a bit of spare pocket money. The chocolate ice creams, with a large serving only costing 10Afs, had plenty of starters.
That nights entertainment of an Afghani meal with music and wine and dancing turned into a for yours truly. I couldnt stand the food and only managed to sink half a glass of wine before I felt crook again. The band was quite entertaining (4 artists, including a couple of string instruments not unlike sitars), but a further twisting of my ankle well and truly finished me for the night.
