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...
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...
posted by T.M at 8:12 PM
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