The Buddhas of Bamiyan
The city of Bamiyan is a beautiful, mountainous place sited at the Western edge of the Hindu Kush and at 3,000m was a blessed relief from the stifling temperatures of Ghazni and Kandahar. It’s about as touristy as it gets for Afghanistan and everyone seemed to be staying at our hotel (a small party of Belgians and a mixed bag of various Asian nationalities), about 15 of all told.
Our reason to be here was to see the massive standing buddhas, or in reality the massive spaces where the massive buddhas used to be before being spectacularly destroyed by the Taliban in 2001. The buddhas were gigantic reliefs chiselled out of a rock face in the 6th century as Bamiyan flourished as a major Silk Road trading centre and had been subject to several attempts to deface or destroy them in the past. Genghis Khan reportedly talked about it as he was murdering the inhabitants of Gholghola, the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb fired cannon shot into them, but only the use of modern high-powered explosives really did the job properly.
Bamiyan city
Our initial thoughts whilst visiting the site, in all honesty, were downright depressing. There are large stone remnants of the biggest buddha (58m tall) collected at the foot of the cavity it once stood in. Carved elements are still visible in some places. The two huge feet, now badly eroded, remain as stumps and scaffolding now fills the space above them – an attempt by UNESCO to stabilise the cliffs that very nearly came down with the statues, so disproportionately huge was the blast . A few caves are still accessible (there are over 2,000 at the site), some bearing the carved remains of lintels and other stone adornments. A rather pathetic and rather pointless series of sheds house the rest of the buddha remains, though hardly anything recognisable can be discerned from this expensively protected rubble. In an act of awful irony, a Taliban official merrily sells tickets so you can visit the scene of their wanton destruction.
The other major buddha was 38m tall and the outline of the head and body can still be seen in its enormous niche. Here it’s still possible to ascend to the viewing platform at the top through a narrow and rather treacherous set of steps that are disturbingly exposed to sheer drops at times. There are small remnants of art on adjoining temples in the cliff – faintly painted buddhas (faces scratched out of course) and the odd hint of a fresco, but nothing much to get excited about. Kids roam the whole site, chasing down tourists and demanding money, but in a rather half-hearted way that predicts the raised eyebrow refusal they inevitably get.
The space the 58m ‘big’ buddha once occupied
Body parts of the big buddha
Outline of the 38m buddha
Yet for all you might pontificate about the atrocious crime that took place here – the destruction of great art being the worst form of barbarism etc etc – the place is, in the best sense of the word, pretty awesome. The space left by the previous incumbents is quite amazing to stare up into, the caves still dotted around the cliffs are tantalisingly mysterious and inaccessible (you wonder what the hell might be up there) and you leave feeling that you’ve been exposed to some dramatic recent event, terrible though that was. It’s a rather strange paradox that this place is the big ticket sight in the entire country.
We had less mixed feelings about Gholghola. Again, ironic really, this being the scene of breathtaking treachery leading to the annihilation of an entire population. Gholghola was the ancient seat of Bamiyan, a citadel neatly perched on a prominent hill, built concurrently with the buddha statues. As a Silk Road centre it fell under the eye of the rapacious Mongol, Genghis Khan, who laid siege to it in 1221 as he rampaged across Central Asia. The legend goes that the daughter of the besieged king, in a fit of feminine pique, betrayed the city by revealing a secret entrance in exchange for a promise of betrothal to the Khan, allowing the Mongol hordes to do their bloody business. Any romantic notions of marriage must have been short lived as she too was slaughtered with the rest. Its known as the ‘city of screams’ as a result. We wandered around the site, simply admiring the views and the remains of the buildings. Strange how the passage of time renders everything benign eventually.
Gholghola
Gholghola
I met the bloke, Ali, who runs the company we’re travelling with that night at the hotel and we discussed the state of the tourism industry in Afghanistan with some of the other tourists there. Ali formed his company in 2019 and things started well, but once the Taliban looked set to regain the country in August 2021 he went into hiding. The Taliban made it clear that anyone who’d worked with foreigners of any sort were targets for ‘revenge’ and Ali seriously thought he might be killed. A later change of heart by the regime and knowledge of others returning to the industry encouraged him to come out of hiding and start again. His business is flourishing now, relatively speaking, and he considers this to be the start of a golden age for tourism here. I couldn’t agree (though I didn’t burst his bubble) – it may be open again after 50 or so years, but the levels of restriction, particularly for women, are far too much to encourage all but die-hards & experimenters such as us….
Whilst in the area we visited the Band-e-Amir national park, a group of 6 lakes famed for their amazing vivid cobalt blue colour. Quite the place and surrounded by cliffs that make it resemble a mini grand canyon. A few tastefully designed walkways allow visitors to get close to the water. Rather less tasteful are the swan-necked pedalos that Afghans go mad for and manically pedal away in like there’s no tomorrow. We were lucky enough to be allowed to enter the park. We found out later that the women in the Belgian group were denied entry the same day in another example of nonsensical and artibrary decision making by the Taliban clergy.
Village stronghold in Bamiyan province
One of the Band-e-Amir lakes
Helen decided against the climb up to Zuhak, aka the Red City due to the striking colour of the soil from which it’s constructed, allowing Jalal and myself to explore the site like 2 kids excited at a new find. Built alongside Gholghola in the 5th century, it also was ransacked alongside Gholghola by the lovely Mr G Khan, though this time via a good old fashioned starve-out. A lot of the site has been reduced to mud slop and blobs, but some features remain pretty sharp for their age. We enjoyed hiking the steep ramparts and up the cliff to a small gun post at the top – wonderful views of the Hindu Kush and a tattered Taliban flag fluttering in the strong wind. Yet another important slice of heritage clinging on to existence through the efforts of UNESCO whilst the current government couldn’t give a monkeys.
Zuhak fortress
Zuhak fortress
Views of the Hindu Kush, Zuhak fortress
Footnote: On the way to Bamiyan we stopped at a roadside stall to buy some honey. Whilst we were negotiating a price, we were beckoned over by a group of farmers with a couple of donkeys. We walked down and across their fields to meet them and had a fabulous chat (translated through Jalal) about their family, their potato crop, the cost of donkeys and the state of the world all with green tea and some bread they fetched for the occasion. A wonderful, impromptu encounter with people you’ve never met but who treat you like honoured guests all the same. I suspect this will be the time we remember best about this country. Genuine and generous folk sharing simple food and their perspectives on life. It reminds us of why we fell in love with travelling in the first place.
The potato farmers, Bamiyan province
Simon (26th May 2025)
Whilst I still think you’re mad for venturing here, I’ve enjoyed reading your mixture of feelings about the place and your footnote is a lovely way to end the tail, amongst all the turmoil there’s still genuine welcoming people.
Alas, not the end – there was a sting in the tail as you’ll see from the last Afghanistan post from Mazar e Sharif. Still that encounter was lovely and one we’ll remember fondly