Sylvia's Journal

This morning my driver found all the access roads to the massage place blocked. That’s the confusing thing here; one day a road is open, the next week it is blocked. I was finally dropped off in front of a series of road barriers to walk the kilometer or so to the massage place, accompanied by one of our guards. The weather was beautiful and I didn’t mind to stretch my legs although the views were not great: grey blast walls, barbed wire, armed guards and road blocks.

The blockade had also kept the Uzbeki hairdresser away with whom I had made an appointment. Luckily Lisa had brought in three Philippina colleagues, all skilled in the beauty and relaxation business. I was given a quick and adequate haircut squeezed in between the logistics company one and only office desk and the multipurpose couch (nails, feet and facials). More equipment had entered the place since I was last there: 4 large portable air conditioners on wheels and 2 water coolers. It is becoming increasingly hard to move around the furniture, the spa equipment and the four employees.

While my hair was cut, and a massage was given to another expat behind a curtain a few feet away, a Chinese karaoke DVD was put on for my entertainment. It showed D-rated photo models with long blond hair, ill fitting clothes, big mouths and too much lipstick swaying in a light breeze from tree/handrailing to tree/handrailing or staring wistfully out into the future. All the while the words of this then that love song were displayed in large letters across the screen. The words that needed to be sung turned blue so I could participate if I had wanted.

The haircut was followed by an expert reflexology treatment (lower legs and feet) from the new member of the beauty team and then Lisa finished things off with a similarly expert massage of the rest of me. After I emerged from my treatment she introduced me to the next customer who was being pedi-, and manicured on the couch, as ‘my mom.’ I could have been if I too, like her, had conceived at the age of 12.

Before our next social engagement (a delayed Thanksgiving dinner at Razia jan’s) I sat in the warm winter sun on our dusty terrace, tackling the second digit of the left cashmere glove. While people on the US East Coast are shivering, we are quite comfortable high up in the Afghan Alps.

Razia jan had, as usual, produced a delicious mélange of great people and great food. There was one Afghan-American couple with her living ‘behind the wall,’ at the US compound while the Afghan husband lives in town. She used to be in Afghanistan before so she knows what’s missing – and hopes that the one year tour will go quickly.

We had real turkey, stuffing and gravy, mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Even the marshmallow dollops were not forgotten. The dessert menu was as extensive as the main meal, served with cardamom tea to help the digestion.

We said goodbye to Razia’s lodger Tina who we got to know over the last 6 months. She is returning home (Atlanta) before starting a degree program in Civil Rights Law in the UK. With studies in religion and conflict, augmented with civil rights law, we think it is highly likely she will come back here sometimes.