The flight from Kabul to Delhi is only one and a half hour but it took us 8 hours from door to door. At the entrance of the airport we met our friend Sabina, a reporter I met a year and a half ago in Herat when I spotted a western woman sitting alone at breakfast in the Nazary Hotel. Since then we have become friends, she visiting us more in Kabul than we her in Delhi. I had just written her an email that we were going to be in Delhi. She had not read it yet.
She returned from Kandahar where she met and interviewed all sorts of powerful people who hold the destinies of thousands of people in their hands, life, death and wealth; the latter through the contracts that the military are bringing into the country. I asked her whether she had not been afraid. Life goes on in Kandahar, she reminded us, much like it does in Kabul; in spite of the many acts of violence that are committed there. Places are always scarier from a distance.
We were greeted at Delhi airport by the same young man who had first welcomed us to India in January. Now we are like old friends. He put marigold leis around our necks by way of welcome – we must have risen in status because last time we didn’t get those. Back in Manchester we plant marigolds around our vegetable garden to keep undesired animals out. They smell strongly and not particularly pleasant but they look very festive. 
And now our fantasy vacation has really started. We ordered all sorts of Indian delicacies up to our room for a late supper before turning in. My sore throat and Axel’s respiratory problems have disappeared as by magic. Breaking out of Kabul is a good thing.
Sylvia's Journal 
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