This morning he took me on a walking tour of Herat: we went to the old citadel which was closed, so we walked around it and to the mosque. For this we walked along endless small shops, a photograper’s paradise.
It was so wonderful to be able to walk around freely and poke my nose in all sorts of shops and exchange greetings with people. I did not feel threatened at any time, so many smiles and invitations to take pictures and walk into shops. I think the Heratis are as curious about me as I am about them.
At one point we even took a taxi, something we are not allowed to do in Kabul. The driver played Badakhsan traditional music which I recognize from having played it for hours during my trip in 2002. My guard is also from that part of the country and he grinned from ear to ear. Listening to one’s own music can make you happy that way.
I had my camera on all the time, clicking away as I saw one wonderful scene after another. People here mostly don’t mind having their picture taken. Occasionally a middle-aged bearded man says no, but that is rare. I do ask each time if it is OK to take a picture and most people grin and pose. A picture is called ‘aks’ in Dari, reminding me of my honey each time.
Around noontime we made our way to the airport. My male colleagues had to stand in line for each subsequent check point but I breezed through them with great ease. There are so few female travelers, may be one for each 20 or 30 males that there are rarely lines.
At one of the checkpoints for females I found three of the ladies sitting around the table where one is supposed to open one’s luggage. But there was no room as they were having lunch. It smelled delicious and I said in my best Dari that the smells made me hungry, at which I was promptly invited to sit down and eat with them; to hell with luggage checks!
Once again the security arrangements were like Swiss cheese. No one ever asked me for an ID. Last names and birthdates don’t really exist in traditional Afghanistan, which is why you will see that many Afghans are born on January 1 of a year that, given their appearance, is a good estimate of their age.
Identity cards are not used either, only by those who work for expat organizations or who travel abroad. You can make a serious looking ID card in the market and make up any information that is printed on the card; add a fake leather holder and a lanyard and you have an identity that looks official.
In between check in and luggage drop off there is plenty of time and opportunity to slip something bad in a piece of luggage and then leave the airport grounds unobtrusively. And of course, from an American point of view, nearly all of one’s fellow passengers look like the 9/11 hijackers. If the same cast of characters were to board a domestic flight in the US they would all receive extra special screening treatment. Everything is relative and contextual.
We left only one hour late and for 70 dollars (330 dollar less than the UN flight -one way) we made it in record time to Kabul, one hour in the air; with the UN flight, during my last trip, the same trip took an entire day. Granted, it was crowded in the plane, with no legroom and nothing served except water, but for one hour that is manageable. It took us more than that time to get from the airport to our guesthouse even though it is Jama’a today, a day of rest. Not for us as the weekend is essentially over.
Sylvia's Journal 
Recent Comments