The destination of my trip was Jalalabad, a town approximately 100 miles east of Kabul. The town is situated much lower than Kabul and thus enjoys a warm climate. Although they towns are only a short distance apart, the landscape changes dramatically between Kabul and Jalalabad. The first - and infamous - leg of the journey on the Jalalabad road goes past military camps and the grey-brownish industrial area of Kabul. Few kilometers outside of town, the road enters a narrow valley, which turns more and more narrow and rocky the further one proceeds. Than, all of a sudden, the road ends into seemingly nothing. It felt a bit like floating on a river that leads straight to a steep waterfall. But there was no rush - instead, Indian music best known from bollywood films filled the car. Wondering if the car would spread out hidden wings and fly down the walls, the road finally became visible again, sneaking down the rocky gorge like a mountain python. Despite the fact that the road is relatively wide and well tarmacked, it was still scary to sit in the car and watch other cars and trucks overturning as if they would be on Route 66... (I have never been there myself, but whenever I saw pictures of route 66, it seemed to be one endless, straight road with nothing but desert to its right and left...)
Once down the hill, the valley got wider again, and we continued our drive along the Kabul river. It's waters are of an icy blue, and every now and then green fields border the river bank. Beyond the green fields, there is nothing but mountains. I guess it was the view of these mountains that finally made me feel to be in the right country (sounds weird, I agree... but than again, it doesn't need much for me to be happy: some mountains, some interesting scenery, some funny street signs, some nice people :)
At one point, our car made a strange noise, as if the wheel would would have suddenly decided to go on leave... We stopped, and what I saw on the opposite side of the road was not very promising: a broken down car. Those are the kind of coincidences which I don't really like. Anyhow, our driver just muttered a brief "mushkel nes" (no problem), and drove on. I wonder what commentthe driver from the car on the opposite side of the road made to his passengers before ending the journey once and forever.
After two hours of driving, the first palm tree stood like a lonely messenger of the sub-Indian continent in the middle of a otherwise empty field. Not much later, olive trees, akacia and sugar cane diffused a mediterranaen-tropical flair. For a slight moment I stopped thinking about the country I am in, ignoring the white painted rocks that signalled cleared mine fields in a proximity of the road.
Jalalabad itself was filled by a hustle and buslte that only countries like Afhganistan can have. All types of wheel based-moving whatever things combined mediaval, Asian and somewhat modern transportation systems, ranging from carosses to ritschkas, cars and trucks. The local bazar was full of people (mainly men), selling whatever can be sold. Fascinatingly, bazars in Afghanistan are still organized according to trades, meaning that each trade has one section in the bazar. So you can walk past ten shops with textiles that all look the same for the imbicil outsider, and end up in the metal section, where each shop again seems to sell exactly the same items.
While the fields immediately around Jalalabad burst in green, few kilometors beyond the fertile grounds of Kabul and Kunar river, a desert of stone begins. Build into this desert like pieces of skin are tiny villages, and it remains a question to me how people manage to survive in this harsh environment. Some few sheeps every now and then, but other than that? The only real color that these villages have are the signboards of all the international and local NGOs that have supported their existence (and thus, justified their own existence). Every few hundred meters they try to convey the endless tale of development; sometimes, they stand next to a water well, in other cases next to a tented school. Sometimes, there is just the board.
There are still hundreds of impressions which I collected over the past few days and which I would like to get down on paper before they fade out. But its already half past ten, and my eyes will be totally red tomorrow if I don't stop looking into this piece of electro... in front of me. So for now, enjoy the pics below and I will write more, soon. Johanna
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