Sylvia's Journal

I was the only one in an entirely orange outfit; then there were the Dutch embassy employees, some women wearing an orange scarf and most of the men in suits wearing a tiny little orange ribbon. There was one Afghan gentleman wearing what is known as Karzai’s signature robe, the blue/green chapan; and then of course the military (Dutch ISAF) in their usual camouflage outfits.

One things that was very noticeably was the height of the young Dutch men who towered over everyone else. Dutch males are competing with Sudanese males for the tallest in the world. A few of these skinny giants were with us last night.

It was the Queen’s Birthday Party. It is actually the queen mother’s birthday (April 30); but the current queen was born at the end of January which is not a good time to celebrate outdoors in Holland so we kept her mother’s birth date. Last night wasn’t even the 30th of April. The Dutch embassy had to organize the event around Mujahideen day (today), a bridge vacation day, tomorrow, and Friday when everything is closed.

Security notices had been flying around the internet to be careful. Two years ago Karzai was nearly killed on this day. Apparently, it is a day when AOGs (armed opposition groups) flex their muscles.

After consultation with our security people we got permission to go into town and were even allowed to pass barricades because of the Dutch passport and the invitation. We arrived just when high government officials and other Afghan and foreign dignitaries as well as many military (ISAF) men were leaving the compound and the place was opened to the Dutch community living in Kabul.

Beautiful carpets were laid out over the gravel and mud to welcome us through barricades and past grey blast walls, metal cages, armed men and other signs of war. Overhead crimson canopies were erected to hide other protective constructions and so everything looked quite festive.

Large pictures of Holland’s famous sights (tulip fields, cows and windmills, stately houses in Amsterdam along the canals, orange-dressed fans in a football stadium, close up of a tulip) were strung along another blast wall with potted geraniums in front.

And then there were the Afghan waiters (all male of course) with orange aprons or dressed in traditional farmers costumes with their wide pants, striped fronts and small black caps, quite cute. They were carrying around trays of small canapés (salmon, pate) that would have been more at home in a fancy French restaurant.

And then came the long awaited trays with fresh (raw) herring. I stood close by the service entrance and was able to take one of the few whole herrings that were placed on top of the small pieces on toast. I was very selfish and managed to get two entire herrings.

The herring tray was followed by a tray with small glasses with oranje bitter, an orange colored gin that is only served on this day of the year I believe. For those wanting the plain gin, uncoloured, or Heineken or wine, all was available in unlimted quantities.

We met interesting people, among them two Afghans who had lived in Holland and spoke better Dutch than we did Dari; we talked with the military who are all deeply upset about the decision by the Dutch people to pull out of Afghanistan (Uruzgan). They all believed they have done transformative work there and made the province, among the poorest of Afghanistan, a better place to live in, especially for young girls who are now going to Dutch-built and supported schools.