Back home

I arrived yesterday morning in a cold Geneva. The flight from Tashkent went smoothly. Nobody to care about my dollars at the airport, the border control was quick. I had then enough time to sleep on my camping mattress. Somebody woke me up. 10minutes later, I was in the plane to Moscou. Sleeping. A few hours later, I recognize the terribly awful house building of Le Linion. I was back home. Back in a too cold Geneva. I found some croissant and I sat down on the perron, waiting for the train which will bring me back home. I opened the honey-glasholder. Samarkand's honey with swiss croissant. That was a good transition despite the cold wind. I had no time to realize that my trip was over that I walked into the streets of Les Paquis. The street's party went on: it was a kind of bazaar, but the weather was cold and the people had all the same clothes. Such a strange feeling...

But today, as I red one other blog on a travel in Afghanistan, I realized how good it is to live in a country like Switzerland when I read his last post on Sept. 8: Nobody waited for me at the border asking me why I went to Afghanistan. Nobody to ask for my military background. The swiss borderguards needed 3 seconds to give my passport back. "welcome back".

The end is at the door...

It about 12 hours, my flight will leave Tashkent. At least if the Tupolev 154 can flight today.

I will remember a few things from this trip.

The first one will be for sure the truck trip between Osh and Murghab. From the loading of the truck to the arrival in Murghab, it lasted more that five days, but they were beautiful days. Actually, they were just usual days I spend with Kirghiz and Pamiri. We just weighted the tomatoes, loaded the stuff of the businesswomen on the truck, repaired the mechanical problems, waited for help when the truck slipped down. Usual days were everything is slow and senseless. I hadn't deep experience, but I spend almost a week where I shared the live of the locals: the harassment of the police, the bribes, the quality of the road, the age of the trucks, the solidarity and the tensions. I just lived with them.

the second thing I will keep from this trip is the deep hospitality of the Tajik, and in particular the Pamiri. As I arrived in a village like Batchor or a "pasture" like Sumantach, I was invited for a chai and very quickly, my backpacked was brought in the interior of the house, and it was obvious that I could sleep in their house. In Sumantash, it was obvious that the family was very poor. They had only Chai, bread and fish to eat. And fish when the son could catch some. As I was there, he could only catch three. But two were in my plates. I was embarrassed, but it was like that. The next morning, they accepted my gift, but I still had the feeling that I received more than they did.

The beauty of the women was particular in Tajikistan when we compare it when the almost absence of women in the street in Afghanistan. But from my few days there, I will remember the amazingly beautiful landscape and the return in some past. It really had the feeling, I did not live in the same time that in Tajikistan, even if the numbers of SUV was high. The pictures of those men with their blankets and the bazar of Feizabad brought me in some other times.

The last thing I will keep from my 5 weeks is the B & B Bahodir in Samarkand. It was the second time I came there, but it remained the same. Highly hospitable, this small heaven on earth was the perfect rest time after the Pamir and the Fan mountains. Cheap, comfortable and clean, it was the opportunity to meet other tourists, after almost 3 weeks of loneliness, to rest and to taste the offered watermelons and grapes.

That's the last post of my 2005's trip. What will come next? I have a few ideas...

Tango in Tashkent

You couldn't imagine the happiness as I saw it. Tango in Tashkent!!!!! I jumped in the office and ask when it would take place. I imagined myself dancing with somebody I couldn't speak with, in a city totally foreign to the culture of tango. It would have been the end of my starvation, the begin of a new time, the time of the coming back.

But if I wanted to dance Tango in Tashkent, I would have to wait until Oct, 8th. And actually, it was not a milonga, but a theater whose name incorporate Tango. The advertisement showed two dancers.

All my dreams of Tango felt down. I bet the responsible of the theater to give my of the these posters. She refused, even after I told her, I was a tango dancer lost in Uzbekistan for a few days. No, It was impossible.

Sad, I went to the many restaurants of Tashkent. After the italian and the korean restaurant, I have planned to go today evening to the Jewish restaurant of Tashkent. Tashkent is like Dushambe, its only attractions are its restaurants. The korean restaurant was just so bad that I was ill during one night. I just come back from the italian one, full of expatriate clients. Its Bruschette were not really italian, but the moment of a bit, I had the feeling, I wasn't in Uzbekistan. Today evening, it will be a jewish evening before I go to the airport.

Tomorrow midday, I will be in Geneva. The end of my journey. Let's Tango!

Jours feneants a Samarkand

For all of you who haven't had the chance to see Samarkand, here are two pictures of the main sightseeing of the city. It is called the Registan and is formed by 3 madrassa. I will not make the history of these madrassa, nor explain the history of Timur (Tamerlan in french). Just enjoy the beauty of the building as I did. Yesterday and the day before, I didn't do many things. I just walked in the streets of the old, as well as the new city. Samarkand is a little bit squizophrenic, as Bukhara is. The old city is surrounded by the soviet city. But, strange thing, the new city of Samarkand is not ugly at all. It is formed by some parks, like to Gory Park at 1 km of the old city.




There is a lot of trees, which cook up a quiet atmosphere along the pedestrian alley which cover 1-2 km. There are a lot of small ice cream or soda shop at its sides. The quality of them can not be compared with the one of Mazar E Sharif, but it is always good to eat some ice cream in the shadow of the trees... At 5 pm, I did my tourist job. Using the special light of the evening, I took pictures and walked around the old buildings like the Registan or Bibi Khanoum.

And, last but not least, I found a barber and got ride of my beard. The new Tristan is born!

Prise de Commande

En fait, avant de venir poster les photos, j'etais au bazar de Samarkande. L'offre de fruits, de miel et d'epices est tellement grande que je me disais que je pourrais faire mon petit business...

Alors ceux qui veulent de la coriandre, du cumin, paprika, chili ou meme safran, il faut me le dire avant demain soir. Malheureusement, Aeroflot limite le poids de mon sac et comme deja 4 kg sont reserves pour mon miel, les premiers arrives seront les premiers servis... Demande de Tapis et autres Suzanni ne seront pas pris en compte, pour d'evidentes raisons logistiques....

Pictures from Pamirs: The truck adventure

Here are displayed some pictures of the trip between Osh and Murghab. I used a very old truck of the Agha Khan fundation. This fundation brings food and devellopment's help to the Pamir region since the civil war. The truck I was using where bringing milk for the schools of the Wakhan corridor, in order for them to be able to drink milk on a daily basis. (it has been expained to me by the head of the AGF in Ishkashim as we were waiting to cross the border to Afghanistan). But each truck has free room for local businesswomen (mainly women) who bring stuff from Kirghizstan to Tajikistan and sell it in the bazar of Khorog. It this sense, the benefit of the AGF are manyfolds. If those trucks would not exist, many business would simply die off.

The first pictures shows one of the truck drivers with his daughter. His was mathematician in the soviet time. His daughter spoke a very good german.

Here is an example of Chaikhana on the road between Osh and Murghab. During daytime, truck drivers and passengers eat here whereas during the nights, the tables are taken away and we can sleep on the floor for almost nothing. Blanket are furnished by the chaikhana owner.

The road at the kyrghiz side was in a very bad shape, due to the floods of last spring. But the AGF drivers are really bad also. They are bad mechanician, even if the soviet mechanic of the old Zyl truck is so easy that the kyrghiz use to say that a hammer would be enough to repare it. Our truck stopped more than 10 times during the first couple of hours because of small avaries. The second truck of the convoi managed to slip down between the kyrghiz and tajik border. We needed the whole afternoon to unload it, recover it and load it again.

Pictures 4

Here are some pictures of the Pamir:

Yashil Kul or Lake Yashil: The natural dam, which can be seen in the foreground was formed by an earthquake I don't know when. I trekked at the Northern shore of the lake Yashil during 5 days.





The first one has been taken in the village of Badchor, in the south east of the lake Yashil. I was invited to stay for the night in a family whose mother had her 7th kid twenty days ago. The oldest son was 18...




In the same house stayed the grandmother, who took also care of the last boy. I slept in the some room than the mother and the kid.



Family in Charsem in the Gunt river to which I had to give some pictures from Dorothea. The father had one son, living now in Dushambe, and 4 daughters. I will not comment anymore on their beauty.




Typical Pamiri house, with 5 pillars, which corresponds to the five imams of the chia muslims. Note the only light source from the top and no windows.





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Pictures 3: Afghanistan

Here are some pictures from Afghanistan. I haven't taken many pictures there.

The first pictures was taken in Ishkashim, at the border with Tajikistan. The grandfather with some grandchildren

Between Feizabad and Kundunz, the road has been litterally constructed in the rock. But the truck driver want to put as many things as they can on their truck. Some too much stuff. We needed half an hour to bring these truck out of the hole...

This man was traveling from Ishkashim to Kunduz for a new birth (24 hours). He brought with him a small sheep to offer. But the sheep did not want to stay on the top of the minibus and jumped many times down the minibus. Therefore, the man stayed with his sheep on the top during more than 10 hours...

3 passagers of the minibus Feizabad - Kunduz. The father and the son from Tajikistan and an old man







more pictures in the next post...

Pictures from Tajikistan 2: Fan Mountains

Some small pictures from the Fan Mountains, in the North of Tajikistan, at the border with Uzbekistan.

The lake have such a deep blue color that you would be tempted to jump in. But my feets told me that the water was too cold for such sport.


Actually, I took care of my feet. During the cold nights in the Fan Mountain, they wore the typical Pamir Sockers offered by a family in Khorog. They were soo warm, soo good..



The Chimtarga peak (5400m) with one of the Kulikalon (big lakes in Tajik) in the foreground.



The only obese family of Tajikistan: The father wanted to feed me litteraly before heading to the mountains...



Tajik sheperds in Kalikalon who wanted me to sleep in their Yurta...


Further Pictures soon...

Pictures from Tajikistan !!!

Here are some pictures. I couldn't bring some of the in landscape form, sorry...

The first one is the biggest lying Buddha in Central Asia, after the Taliban came in Bamyian

For the three next, you will have to rotate your head. It should shown the landscape between Dushambe and Penjikent and the bad quality of the road. The first of these pictures shows the canyon in which the road have been constructed.






The next come in the next post...

Pictures

None of the internet cafe I have met so far accept my Nikon CoolPix.... And therefore I can propose no pictures ....

It is only a question of trust

I've arrived today morning in Samarkand. It is even more beautiful than last year, since the northern wall of the Registan has been restored. The Damas minibus let me just at the corner of the Registan, as if I would have left it the day before. I have a strange feeling to be back home, as in Osh. I found the Bahodir B & B, the ice cream and my habits. Bahodir is still as nice as last year and his B & B has grown.

The four last days, I was in the Fan Mountains, South of Penjikent, in the North Western part of Tajikistan. The valley has been strongly affected by the flood of last spring, but the landscape is just amazingly beautiful and the people just so hospitable. Example:

I was walking down from the village of Artush (last village before my trek in the "great lake" ) at 12 am, since no bus was scheduled until 3 pm. The first 4 wheels car I have met stopped and proposed my a seat. My legs hurted me so much that they answered YES without asking for a price. Half a hour later, we were down the valley, at an other village. The driver let me at one road crossing, refusing the money I gave him.

I was waiting since 2 minutes at this crossing when an old men came to me with grappes. He just gave them to me and left. 30 seconds later, a second man came, now with biscuit. And left. After half an hour, a minibus came: the driver gave me the front seat and he drove to Penjikent. Once arrived in Penjikent, he drove until my hotel and as I wanted to pay, he refused and said, it would be for the "swiss-penjikenti" friendship. He left me with some grappes....

That's the picture I will keep from Tajikistan.

Cultural tentative

I have arrived in Penjikent, at the Uzbek border, near Samarkand. I hesitate to vote for this city as the worste tajik city... and I have to stay in the region for 3 days, since my uzbek visa is valid only from Monday.

Two days ago, I was in Dushambe for my culinar and cultural days. At least, I tried. I honestely wanted to go in a museum and spend some hours to know Tajikistan better. The weather was perfect for such a visit: too hot and no wind. An even better reason was the sleeping Buddha. The biggest in Central Asia after the arrival of the Taliban in Bamiyan. I therefore decided to head to the Tajik Museum of Antiquity.

The entry was fine. I was asked to take off my shoes and the ground of all rooms seemed to be covered by carpets. It gave a quiet atmosphere. (And there was air conditioning...). After the hints of the head of the museum, I began with the prehistorical period. Just some piece of stones. And some explainations in Russian. Just a warm up.

As I was heading to the room of the Bactrian Epoch, I felt a shadow in my back. Nothing special. I proceeded and saw with satisfaction some explaination in English. Everything was very interesting. The face of Alexander was beautiful. Second bactrian room. The shadow is still behind me. And the lights of the first bactrian room get suddenly switched off. Surprise.

After two minutes in this room, a regular noise began to appear in my back. My moving shadow was doing some noise. Regular noise like a stone which is broken. Quickly, it makes my angry and I can not concentrate on the exhibition. I have to see what is my shadow. I decided a tactical turn to the previous table of totally uninteresting bactrian coin and saw what it was.

It was one of the tajik women who was in charge of the bactrian rooms. She just decided for I do not know which reason to follow each of my steps, switch of the lights when I left a room and eat her kurut. ( ball of old cheese. usually very hard and long to eat. Central asian bonbon).

I decided to leave the bactrian epoch in the hope that I would escape from my spy. I arrived in the arab epoch, listening carefully to the kurut noise. 10 seconds, 20 seconds. Halleluiha! She left. 30 seconds

Scrutch!

Chit, she found me. But since this room is not hers, she decided to pay a visit to her friend of the arab epoch. And they begin to speak together. I got really nervous and all stone and other jewellry of the arab epoch disappeared. I had to flee. My last hope was the sleeping buddha!

I almost runned to its room. The buddha was just beautiful, it gave a feeling of peace which was the exact thing I needed at this moment. I sat down to rest from my emotions. 1 minute, 2 min. Soo quiet... when...

Scrutch! Blablabla... They came to MY room. And they spoke even louder than before. I couldn't stay. I fled out of the museum.

The head of the museum came to me as I wore my shoes: How was the exhibition?

I lied.

A

Je vais demander l'asile politique au Tadjikistan

First, I would like to apologize for the poor quality of my english (and french ) spelling. I should read what I write.

Et je devrais ajouter des photos. Plus encore pour ce post. Mais aucuns des ordinateurs ne semblent accepter mon vieux appareil numerique... Je tenterai une fois encore en Ouzbekistan, dans une semaine.

J'aurais encore beaucoup de choses a dire sur l'Afghanistan, en particulier sur ses magnifiques paysages. Mais il faut un peu changer de sujet... Depuis que je suis de retour au Tadjikistan, je me suis rappelle que je voulais ecrire un post sur les femmes tadjikes et leur beaute.

Je ne sais plus combien de fois je suis tombe amoureux. Cela a deja commence a Osh, dans la famille de mon chauffeur. Il est pamiri et sa femme est kirghize. Leur fille a le visage kirghize, mais une expression toute tadjike. Le regard est franc et direct. Les yeux sont brillant et souvent claires lorsque les cheveux sont noirs.

La seconde fois que cela m'est arrive, ce fut sur les contre-fort du col de Kyzyl Art. Un des camions de mon convoi s'etait renverse. D'autres camions de la fondation Agha Khan sont arrive apres quelques heures. Dans l'un d'entre eux se trouvait une femme, 25-30 ans, dont j'etais certain qu'elle etait italienne ou espagnol. Heureux de rencontrer une touriste dans cette galere, je m'en vais ouvrir la porte de son camion et lui demande d'ou elle vient (en anglais). Elle me repond en russe, que malheureusement, elle ne parle pas anglais. Elle aussi, elle avait ce regard direct et espiegle, les yeux claires et les cheveux fonces. La nuit suivante, nous dormons tous dans la meme Chaikhana. Le lendemain, au petit dejeuner, sa soeur me parle d'un Suisse qui a marie une Tadjik... Il a du gout!

Ca m'est encore arrive a Charsem, dans la vallee du Gunt. Dorothea m'avait demande de distribuer des photos a quelques familles rencontrees lors de son dernier voyage au Tadjikistan. La famille etait compose d'un frere, absent et de quatres soeurs dont la plus grande a 24 ans. Toujours ce regard franc et espiegle, ce visage aux tres fins. Encore une fois, ces traits mediteraneens. aaaahhhhh...

Et hier au soir, et ce matin, dans les rues de Dushambe. Plus de femmes en burqa. Parfois un manque de gout total dans l'habillement et le maquillage ( les resultats de 70 ans de communisme russe), parfois meme dans leur robe traditionnelle horrible, mais trop souvent simplement belle...

Je vais demander l'asile politique au Tadjikistan!

Back to the Civilization

Today, I crossed the Pianj river for the second time. I am back in Tajikistan, back in the civilization. Do not understand me false: I do not mean that Afghanistan is out of the civilization, or late in the "progess". No.

But Paul Clammer, the author of KabulCaravan was right. When you travel in Afghanistan, you sometimes have the feeling you live in a different century. Ok, you have a lot of SUV or big toyota on the street of all cities, and not all of them are belonging to NGO's or foreigners. But on the other sides, when you are walking in the Bazaar of Ishkashim, Feizabad or Kunduz, you really ask yourself where you are. First, you have these small wooden boxes, on both side of the road. They are the shop of many of the sellers. Sometimes, you do not even know where they sit, since the numbers of items is big. And when you see them, you are deeply an warmly greeted. They sit in one edge of their box, on some carpet or on some old car seat. In Ishkashim and Feizabad, they were mainly old mens, with their "turbans" (I do not remember the name) and their beard

These old mens are a picture by themselves. Their faces are often graved by the chamol( wind in tajik) and the experience. With their slower movement, or my a small sign of the head, they greet you. Their glance is often direct, their body bent by the weight of the age. Their bard is white and which betraies wisedom.

You have also the men you can meet early in the morning, outside of the chaikhana on a Bandar (border in farsi, where the bus starts). Their faces are hard and their stand is proud. They do not have any luggages. Only their clothes and a blanket. It serves as a bed during the night and as cover against the terrible chamol of the badakhshan. They stand at the side of th road, waiting for their vehicule: The day hasn't yet begun, but the city is living. They were probably mudjahidin during war times. or maybe they are still. I will never know.

That's all the pictures I will keep from my short escape in Northern Afghanistan. And much more...

Mazar E Sharif, my small heaven

It was 10am as I drunked my 4th mango juice!

After more than 2 weeks of either Kebab or Pulao (rice and meat), or tea and bread, I can tell you, I had enough. You can find some watermelon in Khorog or Afghanistan. But the one of Khorog come mainly from Dushambe, and they can not be compared with the one of Osh. The afghan arbus ( tajik - turkmen word for water melon) on the other side are so small and with so few juice that they look like apples. I exagerate.

But here in Mazar E Sharif, you can find all around the Ali's shrine many juice's shop and ice cream's shop! That's amazing. You have mainly the choice between lemon's juice ( 10 Afg = 20 cents for 3 dl), banana's juice and my favorite: MANGO JUICE! Since today morning, I've drunked more than one liter. They are served with some amande and mocca cream on them. They prepared on the spot or prepared in advance and cooled down in a fridge. After a scientific pannel of different juice's shop, I came to the conclusion that the best one are the one at the corner of the Amoo Hotel, opposite to the shrine.

In the hot weather of Mazar E Sharif, they are a small heaven scattered all around the Ali's shrine, which is of a beautiful blue color. Today morning, I meet 2 young afghan who wanted to speak english. I told them that the weather was too hot in comparaison with Feizabad: They laughed! The afghan TV said that the temperature should not be over 33 degrees. It is almost winter for them!

I'll go back to one of these shop and find some place in the shadow of the Ali's shrine to spend my afternoon..

Tomorrow morning, I'll be back in Kundunz before leaving Afghanistan for Tajikistan.

Afghanistan

Il y a tellement de choses a decrire sur mes premiers jours en Afghanistan.

La premiere chose est evidente: Les paysages. La route entre Ishkashim et Feizabad est simplement impressionnante. Il y a simplement deux montagnes, l'une a gauche d'un fort cours d'eau, l'une a droite. Les deux plongent litteralement dans la riviere depuis plus d'une centaine de metres d'alitude. Entre elle, il n'y a pas la place pour une route, c'est la raison pour laquelle il a fallu la creuser a l'explosif. A chaque passage d'une de ces gorges, on se demande ou passent les roues de notre Toyota Hiace. On hesite entre fermer les yeux ou prier. Prier: C'est ce que font tous les passagers a chaque fois que la camionnette s'arrete et repart. Le voyage prend plus de 9 heures, avec une pause pour manger et dormir a Baharak.

Les Chaikhanas la-bas font aussi office de dortoir. Tu arrives le soir, apres des heures de routes en tres mauvais etat, dans un de ces cafes ou tu as le choix entre les Kebabs et le Pulao (plov en Ouzbekistan, plat a base de riz, de carottes et de viande.). Puis, lorsque tu as fini, les nappes qui recouvrent les sols sureleves sur lesquels tu as manges sont remplaces par des couvertures et tu dors. Enfin, si tu le peux. Car il y a pratiquement toujours une TV satellite qui hurle une musique soit indienne soit iranienne. Comme ces hommes n'ont jamais vu de femmes sans burqa (je vais y revenir), ils sont hypnotises par ces femmes dansant langoureusement... A Baharak, j'ai eu de la chance, une coupure de courant a sauve mon sommeil a 22h00... Hier, a kundunz, j
'ai eu moins de chance... Et a 4 heures du matin, tu te fais reveiller par le tenancier du lieu: il ne fait pas encore jour et tout le monde se leve, comme si de rien etait, et reprend la route pour quelques heures encore...

Encore un post pour eviter de me repeter...

To Mazar e Sharif... like a fugitive...

I wrote a long post but a power cut here in Mazar E Sharif erased everything...

I was saying that I finally arrived in Mazar E Sharif, the secret destination of my travel, after some adventures.

Since I felt myself clever enough to travel in the tajik badakhshan without the compulsory GBAO permit, I encounter problems with the tajik GBAO and I had to travel away from Tajikistan to Afghanistan like a fugitive:

From Kyzyl Art, the kyrghiz-tajik border, to Khorog, no problem. No policemen, no KGB officer asked me for the GBAO permit. Since I traveled in Zyl (very old kirghiz truck) or Marshrutka (collective transport), they were to busy to get some money or some fuel from the local driver for checking my documents.

But arrived in Khorog, we tell me than 2 tourists were caught by the KGB and deported to Dushambe because of the lack of GBAO permit. I was the next on the list.... I had to go the the police building to register myself, but I knew that there, I would meet some KGB officer. That would be the end of my journey. But thanks to my "connections" in Khorog (Dorothea, all your letters have reached their destination), I managed to get through the administrative stuff without being caught. But the officer did not want to give me a GBAO permit for all region. He was also afraid of the KGB officer. The only solution? Cut my plans, and travel away from Tajikistan to Afghanistan. I was a fugitive who had to go to the border at Ishkashim, make no wave and cross the border as soon as possible...

What I did...

[Afraid of the power cut, I will post a second message in a couple of minutes.]

Afghanistan II

Pas encore de coupure d'electricite. Il fait tellement chaud, ici a Mazar E Sharif, que je passe mon debut d'apres midi soit dans ma chambre d'hotel soit dans un chaikhana soit comme maintenant dans un cafe internet climatise.

Une autre chose marque, lorsque l'on voyage en Afghanistan. Ici, c'est un monde d'homme. Et jusqu'a maintenant, je n'ai pas vu une seule femme sans Burqa, meme les ismaeliennes! Certains connaissent mes points de vue sur la Burqa. J'ai toujours dit que si c'etait une volontee de la femme ou une tradition d'un pays, je ne voyais pas de quel droit, nous, les occidentaux, nous pourrions leur dire que cela n'est pas bien. Mais une fois de plus, de la meme maniere qu'a Hama, en Syrie, la realite sur le terrain est si differente.

La premiere fois que j'ai vu une femme en Burqa, ce fut le premier jour, dans mon Flying Couch (nom pour les toyota hiace. ). La femme habitait dans un village proche d'Ishkashim mais etait malade. Il lui fallait donc aller a l'hopital le plus proche, a Feizabad. 10 heures de transport! Donc elle y va, accompagnee par son mari. Mais elle n'existe pas. Ce n'est qu'une ombre bleue. Rien qu'une ombre. Assise derriere moi, je ne l'ai pas entendu parler (ok , elle etait malade.). Lorsque le terrain le demandait, on devait sortir du vehicule. Sa burqa la genait dans ses mouvements pour sortir et lorsqu'elle etait dehors, son mari la parquait, sur un caillou a quelques metres des autres passagers (tous hommes). Assise, elle n'etait qu'une boule bleu dont la forme etait faite par le vent. Elle n'existait pas. Malgre tous mes theories rationnelles, ces images me sont insoutenables. Le mari etait extremement sympathique et aidant avec moi, et il semblait aimant avec sa femme, mais le simple fait de la voir, seule, inexistant, sur son caillou me revoltait...

Voila pour mon moment feministe.

Une derniere chose sur les afghans: On dit que si tu es invites, ils peuvent mourir pour te proteger. Par contre, si tu n'est pas le bienvenu, ils peuvent te tuer. Je ne sais plus ou j'ai lu cela. En moins extreme, j'en ai eu l'illustration. Hier au soir, nous sommes arrives la nuit tombee a Kundunz. Un des passagers du flying couch, originaire de la vallee du Panshir m'a dit de venir avec lui. Nous dormirons ensemble, m'a-t-il dit, car ici, ce n'est pas sur. Nous sommes donc alles dans un chaikhana. Le tenancier n'etait pas chaud pour accueillir un etranger. Le Panshiri insista. En mangeant, il m'explique a quel point la region n'est pas sur pour un voyageur solitaire. Mais il me dit qu'avec lui, je n'ai rien a craindre. Il prend mon sac a dos et le met a ses ostensiblement a ses cotes pour la nuit. Il me sourit et ferme les yeux. Le lendemain, a 5 heures du mat, c'est lui qui me trouvera mon taxi collectif pour Mazar e Sharif. Je ne sais pas s'il exagerait le risque a Kundunz, mais il prenait tres au serieux le fait de garantir ma securite, a moi, parfait inconnu.

Il y aurait tellement d'autres choses a raconter, mais l'appel du the est trop fort... Demain peut etre, je reviendrai.

PS: SkyPe est genial. Il permet meme a une famille afghane a mes cotes de communiquer avec un fils a l'etranger. On arrete pas le progres!