Salang Pass
April 5, 2006
One of the rules I had instilled into me early was don’t go out at night in Afghanistan. Well my bus back to Kabul departed at 5:30 am, so oh-dark-hundred I was out on the streets of Mazar looking for a cab to the bus depot. An unexpected bonus of being up so early was I got to see the Shrine of Harzat Ali all lit up.
If you were wondering about why if I was too worried about security to go to Balkh, but I decided that an 8 hour bus trip over the Salang Pass was OK it’s simple: crowds. The road to Kabul is well traveled during the day. Also, on a bus I would be surrounded by people. It is only when you are alone in Afghanistan that you really have to worry. Further notwithstanding the opinion of the Balkh police chief most experienced ex-pats I spoke to in Afghanistan were of the opinion that the road to Kabul was “safe” (once again this is Afghanistan, so I will always use quotes around the word safe). It should be said that one of the people who assured me that the road was safe was, this guy John, and old white-bearded Englishman who has lived in Afghanistan for 25 years, converted to Islam, speaks fluent Pashtu, and feels comfortable traveling to Waziristan (a Taliban stronghold) for his work as a BBC correspondent.
Getting to the bus was uneventful. I even saw the stationary shopkeeper there. He was dropping a relative off at the bus stop, so we talked for a few minutes. I had been worried that I was not going to have anything to eat for breakfast, but then in Afghanistan a parked bus is a public area and food vendors repeatedly boarded the bus. So I was able to pick up a loaf of bread and some juice for breakfast. Beggars also feel free to board the bus, before the bus departed around five beggars had worked the passengers.
Departure times are not fixed here, the bus did not leave until full. Closer to 6am we got underway. Right outside of Mazar I saw a first hand view of the corruption that plagues the country. At police checkpoint the bus was waived over. The driver got out and with little discussion got out his wallet and counted out bills which he handed to the two military officers that he was talking to. The baksheesh (bribe) payment appeared completely routine.
Not too much further out of town the road was under construction. There was a detour to the side of the road the bus and all other traffic had to pull out on to. This was not any sort of side road, just a dusty track through the fields parallel to the main road. It started raining too. It was getting muddy and I was seriously worried that we would be stuck in the mud. When we finally cleared the construction area there was a dirt ramp back to the main road. It was now slick and muddy. The bus nearly tipped over at the driver’s first attempt to regain the main road.
After that we at least would be on asphalt for the remainder of the journey. We were on the flat plains of Central Asia, less than a mile to the south was a solid wall of hills that rose abruptly from the flat ground. There was a small and oblivious gap in the wall of hills that the road followed to head south. We were now heading into that amazingly dramatic terrain that I had seen from the air the day before. This would be some of the most amazing scenery I had seen on the trip so far, yet sadly I have almost no photos of it. The window I had been seated next to was permanently fogged. The bus was full and I was not allowed to change seats. I was also still very nervous about this bus ride. I was not sure if flashing my expensive digital camera was a good idea; didn't want to give anyone another reason to rob me.
My big regret of this journey was that I had not hired a car instead of taking the bus. There was so much cool stuff to see on this drive. The scenery was unbelievably dramatic. We passed areas of gentry rolling eroded hills, past lush green fields, orchards in bloom, swiftly flowing mountain rivers swollen with the spring melt, and always in the background were the towering snow and ice capped peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains. There were too, many signs of the violent recent history of the region. All along the way the side of the road was littered with the rusting hulks of old Soviet Tanks and Armored Personnel Carriers. In many places I saw the fields marked of with rocks painted red and white which indicates a mine field. I couple of times I saw de-mining crews at work digging up unexploded mines. Many of the mountain villages were solidly build of stone or brick with sod-covered flat roofs that made me think more of Nepal than Afghanistan.
On the bus, a 23 year old student who spoke some English began chatting to me. I was not sure how he felt about Americans so when he asked where I was from I said Canada. He said that he was a student studying sharia, or Islamic law. After he graduated from his University in Kabul he would then go to Cairo, Egypt for further studies. He was friendly enough, but I did start to squirm a bit when he started asking what my religion was and what I thought of Islam, etc, etc. Still when the bus stopped for a break at a roadside chaikhana he invited me to join his friends for a meal. He asked me a lot of questions about Canada. Fortunately I grew up close to the Canadian boarder and could fake my way through it ok.
At the highest point of the road is the Salang tunnel, six miles of tunnel through the mountain. It was built by the Soviets in the 1960s. I had heard stories that occasionally cars break down in the tunnel and then all the traffic backs up and you get stuck in there. Close to the tunnel entrance the snow was deep and it was snowing hard, but fortunately the road was clear. We made it through the tunnel. It was an impressive feat of engineering, but it clearly looked like it could use some maintenance. The rest of the drive was uneventful (and the scenery remained amazing) until we reached the outskirts of Kabul. At a police check point two policewomen in dark green chadors and black veils boarded the bus and searched all the women on board. Seeing that I was a foreigner a policeman was called on board. He asked if I was a Russian and demanded to see my passport. I had to comply and produce my identification. All on the bus saw my passport and now knew I was an American-damn my cover was blown! So much for my double life as a Canadian. It was ok getting back into Kabul, but the young student did not talk to me anymore.
One of the rules I had instilled into me early was don’t go out at night in Afghanistan. Well my bus back to Kabul departed at 5:30 am, so oh-dark-hundred I was out on the streets of Mazar looking for a cab to the bus depot. An unexpected bonus of being up so early was I got to see the Shrine of Harzat Ali all lit up.If you were wondering about why if I was too worried about security to go to Balkh, but I decided that an 8 hour bus trip over the Salang Pass was OK it’s simple: crowds. The road to Kabul is well traveled during the day. Also, on a bus I would be surrounded by people. It is only when you are alone in Afghanistan that you really have to worry. Further notwithstanding the opinion of the Balkh police chief most experienced ex-pats I spoke to in Afghanistan were of the opinion that the road to Kabul was “safe” (once again this is Afghanistan, so I will always use quotes around the word safe). It should be said that one of the people who assured me that the road was safe was, this guy John, and old white-bearded Englishman who has lived in Afghanistan for 25 years, converted to Islam, speaks fluent Pashtu, and feels comfortable traveling to Waziristan (a Taliban stronghold) for his work as a BBC correspondent.
Getting to the bus was uneventful. I even saw the stationary shopkeeper there. He was dropping a relative off at the bus stop, so we talked for a few minutes. I had been worried that I was not going to have anything to eat for breakfast, but then in Afghanistan a parked bus is a public area and food vendors repeatedly boarded the bus. So I was able to pick up a loaf of bread and some juice for breakfast. Beggars also feel free to board the bus, before the bus departed around five beggars had worked the passengers.
Departure times are not fixed here, the bus did not leave until full. Closer to 6am we got underway. Right outside of Mazar I saw a first hand view of the corruption that plagues the country. At police checkpoint the bus was waived over. The driver got out and with little discussion got out his wallet and counted out bills which he handed to the two military officers that he was talking to. The baksheesh (bribe) payment appeared completely routine.
Not too much further out of town the road was under construction. There was a detour to the side of the road the bus and all other traffic had to pull out on to. This was not any sort of side road, just a dusty track through the fields parallel to the main road. It started raining too. It was getting muddy and I was seriously worried that we would be stuck in the mud. When we finally cleared the construction area there was a dirt ramp back to the main road. It was now slick and muddy. The bus nearly tipped over at the driver’s first attempt to regain the main road.
After that we at least would be on asphalt for the remainder of the journey. We were on the flat plains of Central Asia, less than a mile to the south was a solid wall of hills that rose abruptly from the flat ground. There was a small and oblivious gap in the wall of hills that the road followed to head south. We were now heading into that amazingly dramatic terrain that I had seen from the air the day before. This would be some of the most amazing scenery I had seen on the trip so far, yet sadly I have almost no photos of it. The window I had been seated next to was permanently fogged. The bus was full and I was not allowed to change seats. I was also still very nervous about this bus ride. I was not sure if flashing my expensive digital camera was a good idea; didn't want to give anyone another reason to rob me.
My big regret of this journey was that I had not hired a car instead of taking the bus. There was so much cool stuff to see on this drive. The scenery was unbelievably dramatic. We passed areas of gentry rolling eroded hills, past lush green fields, orchards in bloom, swiftly flowing mountain rivers swollen with the spring melt, and always in the background were the towering snow and ice capped peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains. There were too, many signs of the violent recent history of the region. All along the way the side of the road was littered with the rusting hulks of old Soviet Tanks and Armored Personnel Carriers. In many places I saw the fields marked of with rocks painted red and white which indicates a mine field. I couple of times I saw de-mining crews at work digging up unexploded mines. Many of the mountain villages were solidly build of stone or brick with sod-covered flat roofs that made me think more of Nepal than Afghanistan.
On the bus, a 23 year old student who spoke some English began chatting to me. I was not sure how he felt about Americans so when he asked where I was from I said Canada. He said that he was a student studying sharia, or Islamic law. After he graduated from his University in Kabul he would then go to Cairo, Egypt for further studies. He was friendly enough, but I did start to squirm a bit when he started asking what my religion was and what I thought of Islam, etc, etc. Still when the bus stopped for a break at a roadside chaikhana he invited me to join his friends for a meal. He asked me a lot of questions about Canada. Fortunately I grew up close to the Canadian boarder and could fake my way through it ok.
At the highest point of the road is the Salang tunnel, six miles of tunnel through the mountain. It was built by the Soviets in the 1960s. I had heard stories that occasionally cars break down in the tunnel and then all the traffic backs up and you get stuck in there. Close to the tunnel entrance the snow was deep and it was snowing hard, but fortunately the road was clear. We made it through the tunnel. It was an impressive feat of engineering, but it clearly looked like it could use some maintenance. The rest of the drive was uneventful (and the scenery remained amazing) until we reached the outskirts of Kabul. At a police check point two policewomen in dark green chadors and black veils boarded the bus and searched all the women on board. Seeing that I was a foreigner a policeman was called on board. He asked if I was a Russian and demanded to see my passport. I had to comply and produce my identification. All on the bus saw my passport and now knew I was an American-damn my cover was blown! So much for my double life as a Canadian. It was ok getting back into Kabul, but the young student did not talk to me anymore.
posted by TravelWriterWannaBe at 11:50 AM
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