Return to Kabul

There is an end to everything, even to two wonderful weeks at home in Italy. I eventually had to pack my bag again and fly back to Kabul. Now, if you look at the map, Kabul isn't really that far away. It's only our minds that trick us and make us believe that Afghanistan is somewhere far away (which mind would like to admit that after all, a destroyed and unsecure region like this one is closer to Europe than let's say New York or South Africa). But still, despite the fact that Afghanistan isn't all that far away, it still took me two full days to reach my - for now - second home Kabul.

I left the house of my parents at middayof day one, carrying with me their continous requests to stay in Afghanistan for "only" one year. I travelled by train to Munich, and from their by metro to the airport. Four hours I waited at the Airport, then my half empty plane (it's the first of January, a day not many people seem to choose for travels) took off with destination Dubai, where I reached on the second day. It was six thirty in the morning but the air outside the plane was already sticky. A glossy taxi with on board audio-visual entertainment (one area they seem to invest their petri dollars in...) drived me first through the pepped up avenues that lead from the airport into town. Then we turned to the right, into a less shiny neighbourhood. I had booked a cheap hotel, and a cheap neighborhood seemed what I would get as a bonus. But the neighbourhood wasn't that bad after all. Not far from the old port, and in close proximity to the suq, the market. Just that high prices took most of the fun out of it, and half naked tourists cavorting in between the market stands crashed the brief impression to be in a somewhat authentic town. After my first visit, Dubai remains how I had suspected it to be: an artificial bubble for rich people.

After one day and one night in this bubble, I eventually moved myself and my few belongings to terminal two, where planes to destinations like Iraq and Afghanistan and Pakistan are departing. For one or the other reason, the Dubai Airport authorities decided to divide all "normal" destinations from the less secure destinations. To go from one to the other terminal, one has to check out, get a transit visa, pay 20$ for a taxi, and drive to the other terminal. A way to avoid reminding the average traveller that after all, Dubai isn't that far away from Iraq and Afghanistan?

The plane to Kabul was, as always, full, and as always, it didn't take off on time, but with an obligatory delay of 20 minutes. Surrounded by square shouldered (and generously paid) private security contractors, I flew back to Kabul, enjoying breakfast with view over snowcovered mountain ranges of Iran and Afghanistan. After two hours, we started descending, and while for another ten minutes, white and blue remained the dominating colours of ground and sky, all of a sudden we dived into a brown, foggy, intransparent soup: the sky above Kabul. Training hard not to be overrun by one of these security guys, I found eventually my way out of the airport, and breathing in the brown air of Kabul, I knew that I was back. And I also knew that I wouldn't get rid of my running nose and my cough before leaving this place again. This is Kabul.