Final impressions

Now that the dust has settled some of our adventurers sit back and remember the journey, from the cathedral of Cologne to the amazing reception in Afghanistan.

Sophie Ibbotson:

After 7400 and something miles on the road, 11 countries, thirty or so different beds and innumerable shashliks, it’s a little strange to touch down in Heathrow knowing that you’ll be staying put for a few days. After the initial luxuries – a bowl of Wheatabix for Bryn and a hot shower for everyone – have been attended to, there’s a chance for reflection and to recall for friends and families the highs and lows of a truly epic journey.

Distilling so many experiences into a handful of anecdotes is nigh on impossible, but I thought I’d end my contribution to the blog with a brief summary of the things that, one way or another, made the trip for me:

- Watching the sunset and then the floodlights come on over Cologne
cathedral on our very first night of the trip.

- Drinking tea in a tea house in Krakow’s Kazimierz, the city’s ancient Jewish quarter.

- Listening to an old man sing and play a strange stringed instrument in the grounds of St. Sofia’s Cathedral in Kiev.

- Celebrating VE Day at the Kremlin with young troops from Poland, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Tajikistan.

- Sleeping out under the stars in Kazakhstan and Tajikistan, enjoying the remoteness and un-spoilt nature of the places.

- Being given dried apricots by two ladies grinning with gold-toothed smiles in Tashkent’s main bazaar.

- Walking at dusk through the Shah-I Zinda avenue of medieval mausoleums in Samarkhand.

- Shifting the balance of power in our favour when dealing with corrupt Kazakh traffic police, escaping their clutches, driving out of sight and immediately hitting a sheep. The sheep, I’m relieved to announce, was unharmed.

- Watching the pride and excitement with which villagers in Nechem demonstrated their Afghanaid-built water pipe and the impact it has had on their community.

- Being shown the pot of geraniums that a female participant in Baharak’s micro-enterprise schemes has brought with the profits of her small business.

- Sitting in Babur’s Garden in Kabul – a little spot of paradise – and envisaging what a peacetime Afghanistan could actually be like.

Steve Dew-Jones:

Faizabad - Afghanistan
In less than one hour we are scheduled to arrive in Kabul. For Bryn and I this was to be only for connection purposes, but a cancellation to the proposed flight from Kabul to Dushanbe has meant that we will be ushered into Afghanistan’s capital city along with everyone else.

Yesterday’s journey to Faizabad was quite spectacular by all accounts and the city itself is set in a stunning location: sitting inside the valley between arrays of snow-capped peaks – the very same peaks that I can still see as we fly overhead.

“Mountains, mountains, Afghanistan,” a proud Pashtun friend of mine once said to me, as he contemplated what he considers to be his true homeland, regardless of the fact that he had ended up being defined as a Pakistani living in Baluchistan.

He has a point. There hasn’t been a moment yet when we haven’t been surrounded by breathtaking peaks of all shapes and sizes. Given that it took so long for us to see one at all – and in that time we had to endure the eternal flatness of the Kazakh Steppe – we certainly are not growing tired of the sight of them just yet. What a beautiful country this is, and full of a vast collection of natural resources. It’s just a shame that so few Afghans have the expertise or materials to make the most out of them, but this is one area that Afghanaid is sincerely hoping to tackle. Yesterday we visited an underground apple storage unit, which has meant that, instead of selling apples for only two months in a year, a group of local farmers can successfully store their produce for more than six months.

My mind flickers back to last night’s conversation with Habibullah. “Disaster” is all that he sees ahead for his precious country and there truly seems little alternative. If the foreigners pull out, the Taliban will run riot; if they stay, the war will perpetuate indefinitely. All in all, it seems as though the work of Afghanaid is just a drop in a tumultuous ocean.


Kabul - Afghanistan
Peace Jirga: Day One. Quite what a “Jirga” is I do not know, but this is the name that President Karzai has allocated to the three-day-long peace talks that begun day.

All advice suggested that we should stay indoors as a “lockdown” was prescribed on Kabul’s city centre. Contrary to advice, we decided to climb the walls on the edge of the city, only to return to see a large black cloud of smoke ascending from the other side of the city. In any other city and at any other time we might have written it off as a harmless bonfire, but this is Kabul and political unrest was always likely on the first day of Afghan peace talks.

As it turns out, several rockets had been fired at the university where the talks are being staged and landed only 100km away from their target. Sadly, the fracas rather put paid to our planned afternoon’s excursion to Kabul’s golf course. Golf balls flying through the air is one thing; rockets quite another.

Before today I didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about. Kabul seemed just like any other city: bustling, exciting, full of people just going about their business. An incident yesterday really summed up the atmosphere of the place to me: two men were casually strolling across a main road and failed to notice an oncoming car. The driver slammed the brakes and narrowly avoided them, but instead of venting his anger at their stupidity, the man simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and the others burst into laughter.

Every person warmly greets us with “Salam-o-alecums” and big smiles. There isn’t even an air of resentment for the part that Westerners have played in the ruination of their country. No, all we receive is hospitality. Even on top of the hill today, when we met with a group of local police and we were invited in for a cup of tea. What a wonderful country. Let’s hope that this “Jirga” thing works out so that this country can finally be freed of the horrors of war.

Mountains, Mountain, Afghanistan
By Steve Dew-Jones

“Mountains, mountains, Afghanistan,”
What a wonderful phrase.
And none more befitting
For a country that truly doth amaze.

Not a moment has gone by
When a peak has been out of sight,
From snow-capped tops to rolling hills,
Each towering in height.

From Ishkashim to Faizabad,
Badakhshan didst capture
The hearts and minds of all of us,
Whose gratefulness moved to rapture

When host upon warm-hearted host
Didst welcome us with glee,
Into homes of varying sizes,
For another cup of tea.

Far from a country that needst terrorize
The minds of all who enter,
Afghanistan is a country of hospitality,
Light-heartedness and splendour.

“Salam-o-alecum,”
Each smiling face will mutter,
Just a simple “peace be with you,”
Not the utterings of a nutter.

So yes, this country’s been ravaged
By all the horrors of war,
But don’t write her off just yet,
For no country’s without its flaws.