The Road to Bamyan

...we fill up and move out of Ishkashem towards Faizabad, following the wonderful valley of the Kokcha river. Soon we notice a new local specialty — cannabis plantations! Big fields next to the road, sometimes even next to Taliban checkpoints. The stuff's officially illegal, of course, but rumor has it it’s an easy ways to make money in this very weak economy. We’ll keep that in mind…

In Faizabad we meet again with Shadāb and his family. Because of some administrative tasks and not wanting to bother them too much, we decide to stay at a hotel. Still, all together we go to a fancy restaurant — and after a long fight, we manage to invite our former hosts. Good we ended up in a hotel, because some iron fever caught one of the heroes and a couple million defeated virus corpses were thrown out of the temple, forcing us to stay another night.

As revenge for last night’s invitation, and as relief after this harsh night, IronChris gets a facial hair refurbish and a full face massage and cleanup at Shadāb’s “VIP Fashion” barber shop.

After long good byes, we then continue, back to the T-boy's Kunduz hotel (the manager remembers and gives IronChris a hug), and manage to have an afghan pizza for dinner, and push south next day.

On the map we find a “Taliban sanctioned camping place,” whatever the hell that means, and decide to give it a try. After talking to the guys with guns, they point us to a spot, and we end up in a private family’s backyard, happy to set up our tent and call it a day. We are introduced to the four generation large family and learn that our host, once a policeman under the former government, later trying to resist the current one, is now banned from working. His grandparents, obviously marked by time, trauma and also shelling, fought side by side with Ahmad Shah Massoud in the early days of the Mujahedin against the Soviet invasion.

Later, on the way to bed, we are again introduced to some new guys, with guns this time. The “Intelligence" tell us it’s forbidden to camp here for security reasons. Great. After a spicy discussion with RidingKismet, they act generous and allow us to stay inside our hosts’ home instead of forcing us to a hotel. So we pack up in the dark, under the usual curious eyes, and the wannabe authorities don’t leave us alone until they’ve seen us step into the guest room. That’s Afghanistan, in the end.

Next morning we apologize to our hosts for the late-night visit of armed fuckers and move on. The famous Salang Pass is waiting — notorious for one of these tunnels of absolute darkness and carbon-monoxide charm. We get ready with medical masks and a wet scarf covering the mouth, and extra light for RidingKismet.
Fortunately, the tunnel is under construction, half replaced by a dirt road. Well, we prefer dust on our skin to soot in our lungs — good deal. After some roadside kebab we turn right and ride up the winding road to Bamyan in the golden hour. The bends are tight and wide, up the hill and down the valley, and we surf the evening light illuminating the rocks to our sides.

Again, some grumpy black beards wants us to fill some form and sign here and there, before we finally arrive at our very cozy hotel.
Bamyan, at last.Leggi altro