The entrance fee to the Lake Qargha park is 1 dollar. The ticket, sponsored by Azizi Bank urges the ticket holder to Please Have The Ticket With Your Self (our driver did). We went to a guarded restaurant owned by a local commander who is on good terms with our security team. Apparently he owns everything around as far as the eye can see. He earned his reputation by resisting the Russians quite well if I understood the explanations in local language by our driver and guard. It was a safe place that required an additional entrance fee of 2 dollars per person.
Inside the walled entrance we found a beautiful landscaped restaurant with a variety of sitting areas, some under green arbors, other under trees, some with rattan furniture, others with office furniture or ballroom chairs. And then there were of course the ubiquitous carpeted platforms, in the sun and in the shade, in places covered and shielded by cloth canopies and satin pink, green and red curtains that made me think of a boudoir.
There was an aviary, a pool with large carps and a peacock strutting around as if he owned the place. There was also much debris from the Friday visitors: limp bread in the carp pool, wet tissues and plastic bottles blown into corners and on the ground; and under some of the trees, the black and yellow splotches of the overripe mulberries and apricots that dropped by the handful, it is that time of the year.
We sat high up overlooking the receded turquoise waters (in the winter, our driver told us, the water comes up to the railing, at least 9 feet higher), while the wait staff cleaned the place up with large hoses, drenching the grass under our feet.
We were the only guests till lunch time. We read for awhile and then took an exorbitantly priced boat ride across part of the lake. AB had been eyeing the jet skis parked on the beach but then realized that the motor might not be all that trustworthy as it briefly sputtered on and then died again; the 8-seater boat, though expensive, was more reliable.
By lunch time ominous dark clouds had gathered on the horizon, coming down from the Paghman mountains. A powerful dust storm blew everything that was loose off the tables, including the heavy ornamented table cloths and tissue boxes. Menus swirled around, umbrellas toppled and rolled down the gentle slopes and the few guests that had arrived by then quickly ran for cover inside.
The enormous music installation and large TV screen was turned off but the CDs rolled around in the wind. We were waiting for the rain storm and wondered about the giant TV screen and electronic equipment that stood unprotected on the porch. But no rains came and the wind eventually died down, just when we had finished eating.
After lunch a colleague joined us and then went for a swim. We watched the Afghan men watch the mixed couples have fun in the water in a way that is unthinkable for Afghans. None of us felt comfortable swimming, certainly not me; even with clothes on, one does tend to show one’s shape with wet clothes. Axel and AB didn’t want to swim in the lake because, despite its turquoise waters, is rather polluted. I overheard the manager of the hotel make a
comment about those foreigners who frolic without shame, men and women alike and I was glad I had not gone into the water.
At 4 PM we were dropped off at home, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. We took a nap while SCH, who had been working all day, watched the Number 1 Ladies Detective Movie. And then we went out for dinner. It is her last night here. How time flies. In just over a month we are heading home again.
Sylvia's Journal 
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