The Ancient City of Herat

I’m not sure how I felt about going to Afghanistan. It has everything that we enjoy about travelling; beautiful scenery, historic cities and architecture, hospitable people and it’s most definitely off the beaten track but, and it’s a massive but, there’s the Taliban regime and all that brings, especially their treatment of women. Was going effectively condoning that? Or would it actually benefit the locals just a little bit?

I spent the first few days in the country with some doubts and nervousness. I didn’t feel wholly comfortable most of the time in Kabul – only in the British cemetery (only open to foreigners and only us there anyway) and at the Shaki Shrine (where families were welcomed together), so I was hoping that Herat wouldn’t be the same.

Thankfully it wasn’t. Despite a huge amount of security visible everywhere; at the airport, the visitor registration centre (where the guy reminded Simon of those Nazi officers in films that pretend you’re best friends right up to the point they have you shot), the hotel and every ‘official’ historical site we visited, the city as a whole had a much more relaxed atmosphere. There were a lot more families out together at restaurants and zipping around on motorbikes and many more women about in general with only a handful of those fully enclosed in a burkha. There were also loads of little yellow tuk tuks and I do think their bright, sunny colour makes a city seem a more cheerful place.

Although I’d bought an abaya both to blend in and show some solidarity with the local women, wearing it proved difficult. Notwithstanding the fact that I was constantly tripping up on it, I felt like I was being poached in my own juices, so I was back to conservative but cooler clothing and the mandatory headscarf until the abaya was absolutely necessary (it’s compulsary in some cities).

If Herat was in any other country it would be a major draw. Located in a strategic position on the ancient Silk Road, at the crossroads of the Middle East, Central Asia and India it blossomed during the time of Alexander the Great before being destroyed a thousand years later by Genghis Khan and then subsequently, after lots more fighting, becoming one of the greatest centres for Islamic culture during the 15th century under the Timurid ruler Shah Rukh. Unfortunately most of the impressive historic buildings are in a very sorry state of repair courtesy of both British and Russian invaders and then the Afghan civil war. We didn’t see any other tourists whilst we were there.

Citadel of Alexander the Great

We started our Herat tour at the massive Citadel that dominates the city and, unlike Kabul, we could enter this one. Huge towers rise above the fortified baked-brick walls with just a few fragments of the blue tile, which once covered the sides in Kufic script, remaining. Multiple small domes stud the roofs of the lower buildings, which have all now undergone a major restoration job that has over-sanitised it somewhat. There’s a lovely little museum on the history of Herat that used to be run by a team of women who brought local knowledge to enhance the exhibits, but no longer – it’s now run by illiterate Taliban whose only interest is in covering up any image of a person – real, historic or cartoon – and switching off the lights to get rid of tourists so they can go drink more tea.

In the golden hour of late afternoon we ventured into the old city, Chahar Su (meaning Four Directions) where four streets lead off the central bazaar area and which originally ran all the way to the city gates. A wonderfully atmospheric and friendly place for a leisurely wander. The smell of freshly baked bread as round loaves were pulled from the blackened tandoor ovens, wafts of mint and cloves from the medicine shops, where dried spices, sticks, rocks and other assortments of unidentifiable substances were piled in metal trays, walls of brightly coloured knitting wool sat next door to vast tubs of black and green tea leaves. All the shopkeepers calling out a ‘Hello’, ‘Welcome to Afghanistan ‘, ‘Where are you from?’, offering us tea, inviting us into their shops and all enthusiastic about having their photo taken. Every few metres, between the modern shops, was a dark brick archway leading to an old caravanserai, the centuries old warehouses and inns of the Silk Road. Worn herringbone brick on the ground floors with dilapidated double wooden doors leading to each small warehouse, hessian bags piled high on the floor and above a rickety wooden balcony giving access to the rooms that were once the inn. Dark and musty inside with shafts of sunlight illuminating the passageway to the larger open courtyard where a fancy brick portico with star-studded columns ran around each of the four sides, the wooden shop doors standing open to the darkening interiors as tailors worked away on their sewing machines as the last of the light fell through the open doors. We spent a very enjoyable few hours ambling around.

Ancient Caravanserai

The once beautifully manicured gardens of the 800 year old Friday Mosque are currently a rubble strewn dusty expanse of ground but inside restoration, paid for by the town people, was underway, painstakingly chipping off the damaged plaster to reveal the original intricate brickwork underneath aiming to restore the building to its former glory. The morning sun hadn’t yet warmed the white marble floor and it was still delightfully cool underfoot as we took in the huge 100 metre long expanse and the stunning cobalt, turquoise, green, yellow and navy mosaic tiles decorating the arches and minarets with geometric patterns, flowers and Quranic script. The colours vivid and bright in the sunlight set against the modest whitewashed walls of the vaulted halls and marble floor. It was quite magnificent. Alongside the metallic tapping of the hammers was a constant hum of voices from the open windows of the madrassa where small boys sat cross-legged on the patterned carpet reciting from the Koran.

Friday Mosque

Inside the mosque there was a palpable feeling of calm. Outside was all bustle and noise in the surrounding market. Fruit & veg stalls jostled with overloaded clothes stalls, akin to a jumble sale where abaya-clad women rifled through the piles of underwear, kids clothes and muddles of shoes, whilst avoiding trampling on the pavement stalls selling an array of knock-off toiletries and interestingly named Donkey Milk soap – bathing like Cleopatra presumably….

Gowhar Shad minarets

On the outskirts of the town and now surrounded by ugly concrete buildings and busy roads stands the once spectacular Musalla of Gawhar Shad. Gawhar Shad was a most remarkable woman in Afghan history, wife of Shah Rukh, she was a great patron of art and culture and commissioned many of Islam’s greatest buildings across today’s Afghanistan and Iran – doesn’t quite sit with current thinking on women. There were originally several great buildings and 20 towering minarets all lavishly decorated with intricate turquoise blue tiles but the various wars, road construction and earthquakes have destroyed most of the complex and now only the mausoleum stands within an overgrown garden along with five minarets that all look in a very delicate state, their brickwork bulging onwards secured with wide metal bands and leaning precariously, all look they could topple any minute and it’s quite surprising they’ve managed to survive over 500 years. Faint outlines of decoration are visible on the brickwork but the mosaic tiles are all gone, lying scattered amongst the rubble surrounding the site. The mausoleum was in a slightly better state, the ribbed dome still covered in bright turquoise tiles and though the interior paintings were faded, hints of the splendour could be seen in the blue and rust red patterns that remained. Such a shame that a UNESCO site lies fenced off amidst unkempt gardens and wasteland guarded by men with AK47s.

Gazar Gah Shrine

Our final stop was the Gazar Gah Shrine dedicated to the 11th century poet Khoja Abdullah Ansari and one of Afghanistan’s holiest sites. Surrounded by white gravestones beautifully carved with Arabic and Persian script, they’re like a work of art when you can’t read the inscriptions – the reality is not as romantic, only someone’s name, dates and cause of death. The square, squat brick building still had many of its turquoise mosaics in place, faded but the gorgeous patterns remained along with subtle paintings of Persian scenes in the entrance portal. The tomb itself wasn’t as subtle. Over an intricately carved marble base now stands a huge green painted shed completely dominating what would otherwise be a serene and pretty place. However, it’s still very much revered.

In the bustling heart of the old city we could almost believe that there’d never been a war and where the people and the architecture make it a joy to be. Herat was one of those delightful cities that were the reason we came to Afghanistan.