Sylvia's Journal

The Indian prime minister interfered with my weekly Friday morning massage. Our office car park is on one side of the main road that leads to the parliament and our house is on the other. No one could cross the road for hours. Eventually, after a helicopter ferried the Indian and his entourage low overhead back to wherever he came from, the road was opened again and I could proceed to my much delayed massage. It was however too late to have our planned brunch at the Serena hotel – Axel had to pack and that takes time.

When he left I blew him a kiss from the terrace – that is as much open affection I could show. As the car was already moving the flying kiss entered the driver’s window by mistake – this everyone liked.

Our house suddenly felt very big and very empty. Luckily we had organized a repeat party from last week as the restrictions on US government personnel had lifted. I asked the artists to come again and show their wares and tacos were once again on the menu. I ordered a Nuristani wooden lattice, cut out of one piece of cedar wood – intricate and fragrant.

Although some of the company was the same the hoola-hoop crowd was missing and there was no interest in blowing giant bubbles or hoola hoop practice – we simply sat around the table and discussed everything that is happening in Afghanistan while sipping Chianti, a rare treat.