Kandahar
The first thing you notice – Kandahar has a completely different character compared to Herat, You might think that cities in a country, even if they are located far away from each other, are alike, but that's not the case. After all, Bern is quite different from Zurich or Basel.
In Kandahar you meet dark and proud nomads, who don't seem to care about the guests from far away countries. The foreigners are taken note of and not charmed or sweet-talked, as is part of everyday life and business in Herat. They are a necessary evil that one has to put up with.
An old town with character
Wikipedia explains how the city is connected with the famous Kandahar ski race:
The [Arlberg-Kandahar Race] (AK) is a traditional sporting event in alpine skiing. The race is named after the two initial organizers of the race, the Arlberg Ski Club in Austria and the British Kandahar Ski Club in Mürren, Switzerland. The latter bears the name of the English military commander Frederick Roberts, who after his return from Afghanistan received the title Earl of Kandahar ("Earl of Kandahar").
So there is a relationship with Afghanistan after all, even if it is not immediately apparent.
However, Kandahar has a long wartime history continuing to the present day. Where the name originates is controversial, certain details point to Muslim origins. Today (2023), the population of the country's third-largest city (after Kabul and Herat) has risen to half a million. The situation after the return of Taliban rule is understandably unclear.
The city was founded by Alexander the Great, one of his many legacies on the road to India. Because of its strategically important location in Central Asia, the city was a frequent target of conquests: Thus by the Arabs in the 7th century, by the Turkic Ghaznavids in the 10th century, by the Mongols under Genghis Khan in the 12th century, and by Timur in 1383.
So we are standing on historically relevant ground.
Pomegranates and cream bars
But first of all we are interested in the city's culinary offerings - as we all know, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, even if memorable sites beckon off the beaten path. That will have to wait. Because Kandahar is best known for its pomegranates. Not that we haven't found any yet, they've been on offer in every reasonable market for days and weeks.
But these ones represent a quality that is apparently unbeatable. They are redder, juicier, sweeter than any we've eaten before, and even though we're getting sick of them after all this time, we reach for them.
And another surprise: there is actually such a thing as cream bars sold in a few places.
Cream bars? In Afghanistan?
The world is indeed full of surprises sometimes. Our craving for sweets, which has hardly been satisfied for weeks, awakens all the sugar-conditioned taste buds in our mouths. You have to close your eyes and let the sugar-sweet thing slowly and happily melt on your tongue.
More than crazy - what will we remember of Kandahar after all these years?
The cream bars.
A devilishly fast dog
Then it's off to the nearly 500 kilometers that still have to be covered to Kabul. In contrast to the route from Herat to Kandahar this road was built by the Americans, more or less in competition with the Russians. For once, an advantage for the country when two powers are fighting (but this is the exception, as the development of the next decades will show).
And surprise surprise - the Russian petrol really smells to high heaven, but it does its job, the VW motor runs perfectly.
After all, the desert, or rather semi-desert, is at best a quarter-desert, almost like in eastern Turkey, lots of stones and sand, but with the occasional appearance of real nature in the form of all kinds of plants.
And then, out of nowhere, a shadow on the road, fast as the wind, approaching. Hardly recognizable at first, and suddenly, oh and ah, it's a dog, an Afghan, coming closer like a flash of lightning, gliding past us seemingly weightless. One believes to be in a slow motion, smooth movements of the muscles, the head lifted, the tongue in the wind.
Where is he heading for? On this lonely deserted road? No one knows, we hope that at least he has a destination in mind.
Crazy!
Ghazni in the midst and yet apart
The then small town Ghazni on the way to Kabul, nothing special and yet worth remembering. There is so much to tell, so much to see, but in the end it's just a transit town, we hurry through, Kabul is calling, it's already within reach, we don't want to linger here.
But the city would have so much to offer.
And then finally – Kabul
Afghanistan's capital Kabul is in fact a comparatively small city in the middle of uninhabited territory, but the smog dome hanging over the city like an evil cloud bears witness to dust and smoke and the nasty exhalation of numerous vehicles.
Just before we reach our destination, Kabul lying in a hollow ahead of us, we stop to celebrate this very unique moment, prompting Beatrice and Ruedi to do a euphoric little dance in the street.
What follows is less of a celebration, let alone a reason to dance. We soon lose sight of each other in the chaotic evening traffic that doesn't seem to know any rules.
And so we get to know the city quite quickly, because the search for the hotel turns out to be, how shall I put it, just as chaotic as the traffic and life in this obviously crazy city.
Meanwhile, darkness has fallen over the city, there are no street names, at least not in our writing, and all the people we ask about the Jam Hotel have absolutely no idea what we're talking about.
And so, in the end, the only promising solution remains the same: as soon as you find someone who knows the address, you invite him to come along and show us the way. Of course, for a fee, no matter how gladly paid.
And one more thing at the end: it has gotten cold (remember the Afghan coats of our friends), and so our warm sleeping bags are a particular experience.
A new old city
And so we are indeed here – in Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, one of the most mysterious and unknown cities of all. The largest city in Afghanistan and the economic and cultural center of the country.
And - imagine that - with over 3500 years of history, it is one of the oldest continuously inhabited regions in the world. And of all places in this remote area in the heart of Central Asia.
But what exactly did we know about Afghanistan back then, in the distant 1974?
Not much. A warlike nation in the Hindu Kush, never really conquered or vanquished, neither by the English (who seriously tried and failed) nor by other aggressors, ruled by a king whose power was limited, if not made impossible, by the various tribes.
In fact, its sphere of influence does not extend further than the borders of Kabul, all other regions, including the big cities, are basically ungovernable.
Not that we feel any kind of "Winds of Change" on this autumnal day at the end of October, we are much too interested in other things. About life in this chaotic city. The inhabitants, the culture, the daily life.
And yet the signs are there, below the surface, with a bit of imagination and the nose in the wind one could have guessed the looming changes.
I refer to a Wiki entry on Afghanistan in 1974:
It is announced that another attempt to overthrow the regime has been discovered and quashed; its leader has been executed and 11 participants imprisoned. Shortly afterward there is trouble in Tahar province, where the Muslim Brotherhood, which dislikes President Daud's secularizing policy, is very influential. The government is obliged to take stern action; 70 members of the brotherhood are arrested, along with the governor of the province, the revenue commissioner, and the superintendent of police, and all are brought to trial on charges of plotting against the state.
Colorful and noisy
Undeterred by all the social and political changes on the horizon, we set out to get to know this city which is crazy in every sense of the word.
It is a town enclosed by inhospitable surroundings, though this is actually true of the whole country. Mountains in the distance encircle the flat built city, few skyscrapers, a few roads crisscross it, especially in north-south direction.
But if you stand in the middle, you don't notice any of this. Life is colorful and noisy and dusty, the nearby desert makes itself felt.
People are used to it, they don't know anything else. We, on the other hand, still have to get used to it. To the constant noise level, to the honking cars with murderous exhaust fumes, but also to the stores along the streets, to the colorful people mingling.
After all, Kabul is also the first significant destination for every hippie on the trail to India.
Hippies and Chicken Street
If anything is known about Kabul at this time in the whole wide world, then it is this, at first glance, narrow alley called Chicken Street. It is the center of all things tourists, i.e. hippies, are interested in.
Everything is available to delight the hippie heart. Colorful dresses in Batik look, the same coats, hookahs, carpets and antique weapons, everything just like in Herat, but more of everything and crazier.
We stroll through the alleys, admire the displays, wrinkle our noses at the sight of the meat on display, hanging in the open air and filling it with acrid odor.
The offer (not the meat) is tailored to the particular tastes of young people, the largest, the most diverse, the most colorful.
It's almost like the Shangri-La of the hippie generation, a kind of paradise where everything your heart desires is available, perhaps just a retreat from everything you reject.
But many of the young people at the time have a different local specialty in mind, it's no coincidence it's called black Afghan.
Whether this does any service to the onward journey is questionable. At the latest in Goa or Kathmandu, the curtain will be drawn for the one or the other. The pitiful sight of the last stranded hippies in Goa testifies to a very different, a rather sad story
Our intentions are of a completely different nature. But the city with all its noise and bad air seems, as we quickly notice, quite exhausting. Which, not surprisingly, leads to finding ourselves in one of the Traveller cafés, which again perfectly tailors its offerings to the tastes of young people.
Song from 1974: Steely Dan – Rikki don't lose that number
And here the trip continues… up to the Bamiyan Valley
