Mazar e Sharif & into Uzbekistan
The journey from Bamiyan was supposed to end in a town called Samangan, but due to several complaints about the dire accommodation there, we were rerouted to the northern city of Mazar e Sharif which was to be our final destination in Afghanistan. We’d come over the Salang pass, and like our Shandur trip a few weeks ago, our high altitude trip was also hampered by appalling roads under construction and delays for excavation work. We’d started at 5am and only reached our hotel in Mazar at 8pm, a total of 15 hours on the road (our longest road trip yet), frazzled and in need of some decent food. Luckily we managed to get a local restaurant to deliver some Mantu, a local speciality that resembles momos or Italian dumplings – heaven….
However our final few days in Afghanistan were spent with a change of guide. Jalal was mysteriously called away to Kabul in an ‘emergency’, so we spent our final hours here with an eager and highly opinionated young guy called Farzad.
Back to Samangan to visit the strange buddhist stupa carved entirely from rock. Like Lalibela in Ethiopia or the stone churches of Georgia and Armenia, the stupa was made by carving away the surrounding rock, leaving a massive and perfectly smooth granite dome. Nearby caves were also carved out of the rock to house monks – cavernous chambers that echo at the slightest sounds, strange beehive shaped dug-outs and an arcade-like structure that looked like it could house underground shops. We were caught in a short but violent storm and drenched to the skin (first time we’ve been rained on in 2 months!). The echoes of the thunder in the caves was quite incredible.
Buddhist rock-carved stupa, Samangan
Underground arcade, Samangan
En route we had a good conversation with Farzad about the state of Afghanistan, and although he’s not one himself, he seemed distinctly pro-Taliban, arguing that crime and corruption has now pretty much disappeared (it was apparently horrendous before) and praising the regime for not exacting revenge on foreign assistance workers (Farzad’s dad being one who escaped any punishment even though he worked with the invading American army in the 2000s). He also seemed to think the Taliban were doing a great job of looking out for tourists. Of course as with all protection rackets, the only people you’re being protected from are the ones offering the protection themselves. Still it offered an alternative perspective which we welcomed, though it did nothing to change our minds about the regime and its grip on society.
A lovely stop at the Blue Mosque in the afternoon – a larger, but similar construction to the Shaki Shrine in Kabul it contains thousands of tiles shaded in every blue you could imagine, based on an unusual Persian design. Places like this are truly magnificent, particularly at sunset when we visited to catch the golden light bouncing back from the glazed blocks and tiles. Both mesmeric and moving in equal measures. The mosque has an adjoining bird feeding platform where hundreds of doves are fed seed by hand every evening. Kids love to climb over the fence onto the platform and scatter the birds, stomping gleefully and waving their arms. Again, quite the sight in the setting sunlight. As per usual, of course, Helen was the only woman able to enjoy it.
Blue Mosque, Mazar
Blue Mosque, Mazar
Blue Mosque, Mazar
Blue Mosque bird feeding platform
A quick tour around the nearby Balkh region on our last morning, this time with an armed Taliban guard for company. He sat in the front seat, bare feet up on the dashboard listening to special Taliban authorised music (most is considered un-Islamic and therefore banned). The sights were minor but of some interest, particularly the ruined house of the 11th century poet Rumi whom I have a liking for. We tried to encourage the guard to shoot one of the ice-cream carts that roam the streets all over the country playing distinctly annoying plinky-plink noises, but he was less than impressed at our frivolity.
Balkh district mosque
Kids of the Balkh district
We had even less fun at the Uzbekistan border. For some unknown reason the Taliban decided that no-one could leave the country with more than $500 in cash per person. This proved to be a big problem for us as we had a lot of dollars in our emergency fund. We considered smuggling it though and risk losing it all. We tried to work out a way to pay it into my Western Union account, but the local office refused to help. We considered changing all of it into Uzbek Sum and losing loads on the rubbish exchange rate at the border. We even considered abandoning the crossing, going back to Kabul and flying out. Eventually we decided to give the cash to the tour company to bank and send us the money. We now have an anxious wait to see how and when this can be achieved. Farzad totally lost the plot with stress as we considered and explored our options and had to be told to calm down.
The rest of the border crossing was long but not unfriendly, though having to smile and be polite when you’ve potentially lost a load of money was not great. I talked to an Uzbek border guard on the bridge between the two countries whilst Helen’s bags were being checked. “What do you think of Afghanistan?” I asked him. Thumbs down and deep frown. “Bad”, he growled. “Taliban?” I suggested. A comic roll of the eyes and a deep sigh. Enough said.
Being back in Uzbekistan after 17 years felt like a weight had been lifted. We stayed in a lovely homestay cum hostel, went for beer in the evening (you can imagine how good that felt – it was like the final scene in the film ‘Ice Cold in Alex’) and had a nice meal in a great little restaurant. We saw people, men and women together, dancing in the restaurant to some loud music and it felt like the most wonderful thing we’d ever seen. It’s difficult to describe the level of oppression we just caught a mere glimpse of in Afghanistan, and we felt an incredible sadness for those that just don’t know such spontaneous joy. It was coupled with a sense of our incredible privilege for the lives we get to lead and barely give a second thought about.
Footnote: We’re struggling to fully process our time in this complex country, but really there’s only one thing that dominated our experience and that’s the insidious reach of the terrorist organisation that runs the country. Under the facade of ‘protection’ we’ve been checked and checked and checked again, followed from afar, approached directly, had armed escorts where none were needed and groups of security police visit the hotels we’ve stayed in. We’ve been made both welcome and unwelcome. We’ve been treated to wonderful hospitality and yet one of our party of two has been constantly stared down or completely ignored. This is a fully-fledged police state where some seem to resignedly accept their fate or seek to justify and legitimise it through, in our opinion, a misguided sense of tolerance and relief that the expected spate of revenge killings did not take place when NATO troops left. But some remember the pre-Taliban days of rampant criminality and all-pervasive corruption, both now largely eradicated. They feel safer, despite the restrictions and of course even the current climate is still a respite from conflict. It’s an extremely beautiful place in parts. It has shocking roads, in the main, making travel hard and long. It has a government with an utter disregard (even disdain) for the country’s heritage. The food here is bad at best, awful in the main (with exceptions of course, but rare ones). It subjects you to the emotional equivalent of four seasons in one day. Hardly a day passed where we’ve not felt angry, frustrated, awestruck, beguiled, touched by generosity, hassled or exhausted.
Personally I’m glad we came – it’s been a potentially unique experience and one which I would have seriously regretted missing out on, despite the troubles and my relief at not being there now. Helen has a different view. She felt that the clothes she was obliged to wear were restrictive and impractical and removed any sense of individuality. It was lonely being a woman in a world of men who do not take your opinions seriously or even listen to you at all. It’s supposed to be a mark of respect that women are not addressed or looked at by men, but to Helen it felt isolating and disrespectful. For her, for the majority of the time, it was a trial and one she’s glad is over. Yet it also seems churlish to overtly criticise. We were the ones having the best of it – privileged tourists who can leave and resume their lives away from this messed-up / awful / fabulous country.
Simon (29th May 2025)