a day in the life

The rains are here in full force now and the temperature has dropped a little more. All is cooler and wet, wet, wet.
So I thought I would explain how my average sort of day goes.
I get up at 6 and have a cool shower. Today, for the first time since I have been here I have put a belt on my trousers, tucked my shirt in and done the belt up. Up until now it has been too hot to have my shirt tucked in or my trousers tight and they have simply been hanging on my hips.

Before I leave I collect the pots from the guards. The system works like this, the maid cooks way too much food every day and leaves it for me in little pots on the dining room table. It is very much like an Indian restaurant with 3 or 4 small pots of side dishes, a pot of rice and a larger pot for the main course. I usually eat about a third of all this and then give the pots to the guards which they feast on overnight. It works well, the maid cooks too much, I eat some, the guards finish it and the maid thinks I have eaten it all, so everyone is happy. As I leave the house it is raining so one of the guards holds an umbrella above my head as I walk out to my Land Rover. The guards here are nothing like those in Kabul. No flak jackets or machine guns, just a couple of senior gentlemen in smart uniforms and no weapons (and no shoes).

We walk out to the LR and then I head off. I am getting to know the road and the people I pass every day. No need for different times or different routes, just a plain, simple drive to the office. So, many of the faces smile back and we wave at each other. The traffic is all pedestrians and bicycles, I never see another car at this time of day. The first junction is a checkpoint, so I slow down, smile at the soldiers and they wave me through. The next crossroads is the ICRC. Another 3 minutes and my commute is over. The roads are clear, the rain is pouring, the tree lined verges are deep in water as there is no drainage, except the fine soil itself which seems to recover very quickly. Everything is turning very green and lush and equatorial.

I arrive at the office and another guard will protect me from the downpour with his umbrella as I cross the sandy/muddy compound to the office.
The office is an old colonial style building at the edge of the compound, with the workshops and stores around 100yards away at the far end of the compound.
Today, I have to address the deminers and all 350 are assembled military style in the midst of the compound in rows awaiting my words.

Once I have finished they pack up their tools and equipment into the Land Rovers and trucks and head off out to the minefields.

Meanwhile I have a Finance meeting to discuss how the finances of the operation are handled. Later this morning I will be taking a trip to the Island of Kuyts to look at some minefields there. Kuyts is heavily restricted and requires a special pass to be able to traverse the causeway that takes us there. It is strange today as the sky is very overcast, there is a cool breeze blowing and the sea is dark grey, reflecting the mood of the weather. With light waves being whipped up by the wind and the dark skies I could be looking at the Kent coast, not the Indian Ocean just north of the equator.

The islands around Jaffna are particularly heavily patrolled by the Army and Navy and are even more badly damaged as they have been the scene of much fighting and used as routes to get to and from Jaffna. The population of Kuyts is less than a quarter of the pre-war population and it shows. However, interestingly although the houses are nearly all empty and derelict, they are big and were once very grand. This area apparently was the home of many of the top Sri Lankan businessmen. However, wealth brings the privilege of choice and they no longer choose to live in such a dangerous place.

After my visit to Kuyts, it is time to go mine collecting and today there is one to be collected from a minefield South of Jaffna. We head out again in the Land Rover for the minefield where we pick up the mine and bring it back for disposal.
So, back to the paperwork and then head home for an earlier night. I was woken by a lot of commotion this morning around 5am and a lot of mortars being fired. It turns out the port to the North of here was attacked by the Tigers and that was the retaliatory fire. Hopefully that won't be repeated.

life in jaffna

Living in Jaffna takes a little getting used to and everyday communications with the outside world is one of those 'getting used to' points.
There are the mobile phones that only work on few, random occasions, even when they claim to have a full signal. It is not about where you are, the way you are facing, whether you happen to be next to a mast, it is just random. Then there is the internet connection. There is no broadband so it is all on dial up. Sometimes it runs 'not too bad', other days you can have a whole day where even an email will not leave the environs of your computer. So, it gets pretty frustrating when you want to connect to the outside world. But in the overall scheme of things these are really only frustrations.

The rains have finally come and we get a torrential downpour at least once every day now, often at night. This leaves the air clear and crisp for a short while, but when the clouds clear and the sun comes back out the air becomes pretty hot and humid. In fact, there is this rather uncomfortable feeling all day of your skin being not quite dry and just, oh so slightly clammy. As if you ran for the bus and now you have a light layer of sweat all over - but it will not clear. All day long your clothes are just wet enough to stick to you. The thought of a cool shower when you get home looms larger and larger in your mind and by the time you leave work is almost an obsession. Showers here are pretty much like I have experienced in other parts of Sri Lanka. They are a big tank on the roof and this feeds straight through a tap to a big shower head that gives a lovely wide and full spray. There is no heating for the water, just the sunshine, so in the evening you get a warm shower and in the morning a cold shower. Either way it is very welcome.


Jaffna is a very unusual place. It is very hot, lots of palms trees and it is a golden sand peninsular. Every direction is coastline and lagoons and yet – there is nowhere you can go in the water. The coastline is all a High Security Zone, you literally cannot go to the beach or enter the water. There is only one beach accessible and that is right up at the North of the islands and you need special permission from the Army to go there, so forget going for a swim!!

Yesterday, I took the day off and went on a tour of Jaffna Town. I drove down to the town centre and then went for a walk about. The first thing you notice is the quiet. Most people are on foot, usually bare footed or with flip flops, on bicycles (every one has the same 1950's upright bike) and the odd small motorbike laden down with a family. Unbrellas are very popular for keeping off the rain and sun and it is very normal to see people cycling along holding an umbrella above themselves.

There are very few cars, so the traffic is very light and almost silent. The only cars I have seen (other than our Land Rovers and NGO vehicles) are old 1950's Austins and Morris'. I have seen an Austin Cambridge, Morris Oxford and an Austin A40. So, Jaffna town is quiet from traffic.

All around though, is the devastation from the wars of 1990 and 1995 is very bad. It is amazing how much damage has been done to the centre of Jaffna and how little has been repaired. Everywhere there are damaged and blown up houses, the walls littered with bullet holes and other walls & roofs missing.

Right in the heart of Jaffna is the Clock Tower. This, I read in the guide book, was renovated with money presented from the British people in 1998 and opened by HRH Prince Charles – for the people of Jaffna. However, the Army and Police have declared this an HSZ and all approaches are blocked off with Earth Bunds (banks), razor wire and guard posts.

But this is the clock tower that was renovated by the British people – with MY money. So I walk up to the barrier, through the gap and continue to walk, smiling, towards the guard post. The soldiers are somewhat mystified and rather surprised by this. I get to the window and explain I would like to go and visit the clock tower. The soldiers are a little surprised and rather bemused by this, but bureaucracy wins through. I offer them my ID, they write it in their book, give me a receipt for my camera and then they let me through. This whole area is weird with many plain clothes men and women wandering around, all armed with machine guns. As well as the soldiers and police.

I get half way to the clock tower and am called into a building labelled 'Immigration Centre', where again, I am asked what I am doing and again I tell them I wish to look at the Clock Tower opened by Prince Charles and again they are bemused, but friendly and ultimately helpful. Finally I am there and sure enough there is a plaque commemorating Prince Charles's re-opening of the Tower . Unfortunately, they have my camera, so there will be no photo, I am afraid. I make my way back, get my camera and leave.

As the sun goes down and the air cools a little, we are off to the ICRC house where, I am told, they have a badminton court.

The court is outdoor, a square of dirt with a net and ropes stretched across the ground for court markings.

We are surrounded by trees and to either side is a struggling 100w light bulb to act as floodlights. Near the equator darkness falls quickly and the gloom soon engulfs the court, but not our spirits. It is great to be able to play a game and we all put in some effort – between gulping bottles of water. The trees that surround us fill up with crows cawing loudly. Above them large bats are swooping and congregating, preparing to head off into the night. The scene is quite spectacular to both sight and sound and amongst all this the shuttlecock continues to fly back and forth in the semi-darkness.

We play for an hour or so, and then off home. It is only 7pm, but I am tired and ready for bed.

and so to Jaffna

Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. It has been an interesting, fraught, incredibly tiring and ill few days. Coupled with that the frustration of the telephone system and internet connections, here in Jaffna, have created an atmosphere of despair. But things are getting better now and I am on the mend.

So let me tell you what has been happening since I left Colombo. I am now in Jaffna. This is a peninsular that sits at the very Northern tip of Sri Lanka. It is made up of islands and lagoons. Although it is controlled by the Government it is cut off from the rest of Sri Lanka by the land held by the Tamil Tigers. So all supplies come either by sea or air. It is the heart of the Tamil culture on Sri Lanka and is very Tamil. Hence the Governement keeps a very tight grip on it, the people and anything that gets in or out.

I was up at 3.45am on Friday to go to the airport to get the flight North. Well, I say airport, actually a military airfield with much security, but smiley, pleasant soldiers who actually were not at all threatening. The first thing I noticed was the fact that every soldier did not even want payment to get out of your way (which is pretty much the norm at Kabul Airport). Instead they smile and try to assist. Now I was due to get the 7.30 flight to Jaffna. However, as a Johnny foreigner in these parts I needed special permission to go to Jaffna. So we get a letter from the Ministry of Nation Building saying they recommend me as a decent sort of chap and they send this to the Ministry of Defence. They then have their say and finally a letter is passed to the air force giving them permission to let me into their airfield.
OK, so far so good, except we get to the airfield at 4.30am and there is no paperwork there and the offices will not be open till 8!

So we wait and wait. The 7.30 flight leaves, and we wait. Finally the nice man at the gate puts through a call at 8, they fax him the permission and I am allowed through.

The next flight is at 11.45, so we head for the terminal on a bus and get to the check in area. Now this is all pretty standard except there is a list of items you are not allowed to take to Jaffna and this includes AA batteries, like in the myriad of small portable electrical devices we carry around these days. But, my man in Jaffna needs batteries.

So, I have to secrete them in my laptop bag and when it is my turn to empty the bag for the nice soldier so he can go through it all, I have to make sure he doesn't quite see the pocket they are hidden in. All goes well, and we head for the plane, I am now a smuggler!!!

The flight is uneventful, just one hour and we arrive at the Jaffna military airport. Now the next bit is just a touch funny. We get off the plane and are herded into a bus with blacked out windows. This is to ensure we cannot see anything inside this High Security Zone. The bus drives for around 15 minutes and eventually we park up and get out. From behind a high dirt bank, I can see the tail fin of our plane about 50 yards away. Where we have been driving for the last 15 minutes no-one seems to know. Then it is time to be interviewed, why are you in Jaffna, what are you doing etc. until the quiz master is happy and you go out and get into, yes you have guessed it, a blacked out coach. Not forgetting it is unbearably hot all this time, and of course, I have never sdone this befroe, so you simply follow the crowd and do what they do. WHen they stop, I stop, when they proceed, I proceed. The next coach trip is a good 20-25 minutes through the High Security Zone until we get to the outskirts. Here we all meet our local contacts, and they return our cases. Did I tell you they also take all mobile phones and cameras away from you before the flight and return them at this point.

What is a High Security Zone, I hear you ask. Well, Jaffna is only about 20 miles from the front line of the war between the Tamil Tigers and the Sri Lankan Army which is now reaching a critical phase. In fact, Jaffna was a Tiger stronghold up until 1995 and held by them. Some of the Jaffna peninsula is still held by the Tigers, hence the proximity of the front line. So the fighting in Jaffna has been fierce and recent, and the signs of this are everywhere with building blown up and destroyed, full of shell holes etc. At night we can hear the artillery guns firing from Jaffna at the Tamil Tigers Front Line.

The Army created HSZ's around their installations all over Jaffna, by simply removing the people who lived there, destroying the houses and mining the area to make it a huge buffer between them and any attackers. Probably half the land in Jaffna is taken up by HSZ's and minefields where the inhabitants can no longer go.

Think about that, half the area in your locality simply swallowed up by the Army and minefields laid. You DO NOT enter these areas.

So, I have arrived, my man is there to meet and greet me and we head back to the house and office.

Jaffna, is quite beautiful and has everything an idyllic paradise should have. It is hot (OK, too hot to work), smiling friendly people, palms and coconut trees, beautiful lagoons - and a war with Army checkpoints at every junction and a 9pm curfew. I will tell you about living here soon.

I had a friend, but now he is dead

Yesterday evening, I needed to get out the mosquito scaring stuff that you plug in overnight to keep the little critters away. This was in my big bag which I had left on the floor of my bedroom. So I went to the bag and started rummaging around. Imagine my surprise when something jumped out of the bag, hit my forehead and fell on the floor. I am not sure which of us was most surprised. Me or the large brown cockroach standing on the floor looking up at me. Well, I sort of imagine that is what it was doing for a stunned second. We eyed each other up and then he/she/it (not sure about the biology of the cockroach species) and certainly had no time to establish its sex, then it made a run fr the cupboard and disappeared around the back. I got a shoe and pursued it, pulling the cupboard away from the wall. Again it mad a dash for it and headed off under the bed.

At this point I decided not to chase it and left it be. After all, I can kill it, but it can't kill me.

So last night it spent the hours of slumber under the bed. I know this because this morning just after I got up, as I came out the shower it got a bit reckless and emerged from under the same bed and made a run for the door. Now, I will never know if it waited for me to come out of the shower cause it felt a bit cocky(roach) and thought it could take me on, whether it was just plain stupid or even simply an unlucky cockroach. I grabbed for a shoe, and chased it across the room. It made for a shaded corner, but there was no furniture, no crack, no pile of clothes (believe me I picked everything up and put it on top of the cupboard) nowhere to hide. I had it trapped and, I confess dear reader. I whacked it over the head with my shoe. scooped it up on a piece of paper while it was dazed and flushed it down the loo.

You see, I can be ruthless and cruel, actually I feel a bit mean. It can't help being ugly and in the end it could never harm me. But now it is gone from here, and so shall I be tomorrow. I get picked up at 4am and head off to the airport for my flight to Jaffna.

Not sure about communications from there, but I will try to write whenever possible.

There a whole blog without one mention of this hot and steamy weather.

HSBC, how can I help you?

It is 2.30pm and it is sweltering here. I really am sorry to complain about the heat to you as you suffer the British autumnal rain and cold. If I was sitting on a beach I would be very happy, but I am sitting at a desk, in shirt and trousers, the fan above me is going full tilt and I have a menagerie of objects holding down the various pieces of paper on my desk, stopping them from blowing away. As soon as I pick up an object, the papers fly across the table to the floor, which is just a tad annoying. If I put my hand or forearm on a piece of paper it immediately sticks to me and becomes damp, so I can no longer write on it. So here I am, sat at a nice big desk, the windows wide open, the fan on full pelt, my shirt and trousers stuck to me, papers flapping on the desk, a sheet of A4 stuck to my forearms try to write on another piece before it flies out the window and you are their in the UK thinking, lucky bugger, he's in Sri Lanka!

I have left the aircon on in my bedroom and sneak off there for a couple of minutes every now and then, just to escape the heat, but relief is very temporary.

I have just had confirmation that the military will allow me to fly to Jaffna on Friday, so that is good. There is another ex-pat up there and hopefully we will be able to go and visit some minefields and get out and about.

But that is not the subject of today's epistle.

I went for a brief walk yesteday evening and found a very large, modern building at the end of the road with HSBC written on the side. So, I asked a few questions this morning and lo, it is an international call centre. So, if you are an HSBC customer and you phone the bank to find yourself talking to someone called “Jimmy” or "Tracy" with a dodgy English/Indian type accent with a lot of chatter going on in the background, just think – I could be just round the corner. So if you have any messages you wish delivered by hand please feel free to send them in to Laneender and I will do my best to pass them on, person to person - just like in the good old days!

starting a new job

You know when you start a new job, you can be a little apprehensive. You have met the people, had the interview, and today is the big day when you head into the unknown.

(Yes, I know the piccie does not seem to be related, but stick with me, I digress but get there in the end).

Well that was how I felt as those immortal words "cabin crew, cabin doors to manual, take your positions for landing" rang out over the speaker system. Curiously, I do not think much about the job until I hear those words and the plane begins to descend into the airport.

Will I get through passport control? will someone be there to pick me up? what will the office be like? what will the people be like? will I get fed? will I have a decent room an somewhere to shower/wash? will anyone provide breakfast? is it hot? is there an aircon in the office or the bedroom? what other creatures will share my space? will there be toilet paper? can I get out and about in the evening? what will the work be like? will I be able to contact home? what will be expected of me? and so they begin to rattle around my brain.

Well it turns out all is well. I think I know what I am doing, everyone seems very friendly, I got no dinner yesterday after all, but today I have and it was fantastic. In fact I was so impressed I took a photo and attached it above. As you can see, I have apple juice, I have a samosa on the blue plate, curry and sauces in the bowls and last, but no means least, the dosa wrapped in palm leaves. Don't they just look the business! It all tasted as good as it looks so I am a happy bunny.

BUT, for those of you in a wet and rainy UK let me tell you it is hot, hot, hot here. I am sweating all over and my shirt and trousers are both damp from sweat. All the time my skin is shining and it is really important to keep drinking water, water, water. You try to sit and work by the fan, but it simply blows all your work away, so a compromise has to be reached between the amount of sweating you do and the amount of paper you want to remain on your desk!!

Everyone has gone home and I have the house/office to myself. I went for a short stroll this evening up to the main road and couldn't help noticing what look like rain clouds. As I sat down to eat my dinner there was a hammering at the front door like a demented Tasmanian Devil had smelt the food and wanted some of the action. At the same time the hammering was at the window, and the back door and the roof. Yes, my friends this is rain - monsoon style. It is coming down by the bucket load, no make that a wheelie bin load, OK by the skip load. Poked my head out the door for a little refreshing and went and sat back down.

Oh well, that will do for now, am going to have a cold shower and set the aircon for night mode, not too hot, not too cold, not too fast, not too slow. Took me a few attempts last night to get it right, but now I have my settings nothing will stop me sleeping tonight - I hope!

there and back again

Well, this blogging lark started in Colombo, Sri Lanka and here I am again. Back at the beginning.

Had a fairly uneventful flight from London to Colombo. 10 hours overnight starting at 9.30pm London time. The plane was very empty and there were plenty of 4 seats across the middle all totally unused. So, as soon as the seat belt sign went off, I made my way over from my window seat to a set of middle sets to make myself comfortable laying across the four of them to get a good nights sleep. Up went the first armrest and then the middle arm rest, hang on, it's stuck. Or is it. No, it is locked. The middle arm rests don't go up on this plane, meaning that across my nice 4 seat bed, right smack in the middle, in the most awkward place you could imagine is a double arm rest. So somehow to try to sleep I have to squeeze my body in one half of the seats, loop my legs over the armrests and then try to sleep with my head jammed up against the end armrest. Of course, I only got a couple of hours sleep and am completely cream crackered this evening. As we came in to land I am looking out of the window at a magnificent sight of this beautiful and green island below me. What a shame it has such a sad history in recent times and it has not developed into the paradise it should be. As war rages in the North and people are dying, disappearing, being displaced from family and home. the sun shines down on the beautiful, golden ,sunkissed sandy beaches that surround the inland verdant green woodland and jungles.

The island is so lush with trees and greenery everywhere. No Kabul dust bowl here, just nature in its beautifel finery.

The office here is a big house to the East of Colombo with the upstairs being the ex-pat living quarters. Although there are no aircons downstairs (and it was very hot today) thankfully there is an aircon in my bedroom. The house is now empty as everyone has gone home so I have showered, and am awaiting the arrival of Chilli vegetables from a local restaurant. I really am too tired to go out and I have a lot of notes to catch up on this evening. Have just been to the kitchen to get a cold drink, as I turned on the light a rather startled Gecko ran up the wall and out of sight behind the cupboard.

At least I am not alone!!

the return of the blogger

Hello again, dear reader,

I am returning to Sri Lanka on Monday for three weeks in Colombo and Jaffna. Hope to be able to keep you updated once I am there.

a good decision

Hello again. Not much has happened recently, so not much to report on.

Today is a national holiday in Afghanistan as it is "Islamic Revolution" day. A day that celebrates the Communists fall in Kabul to the advancing Mujahadeen.
There was to be a large military parade in the centre of Kabul today to celebrate this. I thought it would be an interesting event to witness and wanted to go.
However, speaking to Kabulis we can find no-one interested in escorting us. Many are not interested, many are rather ambivelant to the actual value of celebrating a day that led to the ruinous civil war and the rise of the Taleban and many simply think it is a prime Taleban target and will stay as far away as possible.
This morning we mulled this over and decided the security issues were too risky. It could be a Taleban attack, it could be the crowd getting excited about the defeat of the Russians and deciding any European would be a good target - whatever, we went to the Kabul Coffee House for a cup of coffee instead.
As we sit around chatting a phone rings, it is one of our senior Afghans asking if we are at the parade as it has been a Taleban target. At the next table another phone rings and then another. Soon the whole place is buzzing with rumour.
We decide it would be a good idea to get straight back to the house and remain there for the rest of the day. As it turns out, we walk back through the streets of Kabul, all this area is quiet and just another day. When we get back we hungrily work our way through BBC, Al-Jazeera and CNN news. No-one has too many details but it appears 1 dead and 11 wounded is the tally. In terms of injuries and death, not bad. In terms of credibility the Government of President Karzai has been dealt another very deadly blow. The Taleban are able to attack him in his stronghold in Kabul surrounded by his own military and police.
The foreign forces have been told they have to leave Kabul by August this year, and the Afghan Army and Police force will take over the security of the capital. They have a lot to learn in a few, short months.
Finally, your Kabul correspondent is leaving Kabul for the last time on Thursday to fly to India for a well earned break and then home. This may be the last missive for now, so thanks for reading, thanks for the comments, they are important to me. Thanks for being there. I hope I have entertained and educated a little and you feel you know this far off place, that appears in all the bad news sections, just a little better than you did. It has many bad points, many good points, the attitudes I will never really understand (or accept), but we all deserve a good chance in life and so many here are dealt a pretty poor hand.
Landmines are bad, make no mistake about that. They silently sit under the ground waiting for anyone, no distinction between age, race, creed. Then they kill or maim. They are now banned in many countries and Inshallah countries like Afghanistan can hope that one day they will be rid of this menace. A day when adults and children will be able to walk on the very earth beneath their feet, safe in the knowledge they will not be another victim.

a day out in the country

In Afghanistan there are areas where the Government holds little or no sway. Some of these areas are hostile, like Helmand and Kandahar. Some are not hostile; but they are controlled by their own people and have their own laws. One such place is the Panjshir Valley just North East of Kabul. It is controlled by the Governor of Panjshir and his own militia. Anyone entering the Panjshir needs the agreement of the Governor; otherwise the likely outcome is kidnapping or murder.

To appreciate today’s story, first I will give a brief history lesson, so please bear with me.

On the 9th September 2001, an assassination took place in Afghanistan. News did not get to the outside world until the 10th September. If you look at a newspaper printed on the morning of September 11th you will see this was about to become a big story. However a bigger news story of world-changing events later that day diverted all attention. These two events were inextricably linked though, if only that the same organisation carried out both. The man assassinated was General Ahmad Shah Massoud. He was born and raised in the Panjshir Valley and became its Governor. He came to prominence as a leader of the Mujahadin fighting the Soviet forces. The Soviets openly admitted he was the toughest of their adversaries in Afghanistan.

I am told the Soviet tanks rolled up the Panjshir valley in all out assault, supported by fighter planes and helicopter gunship’s on eight separate occasions, and each time they were repelled. The Panjshir was never taken by the Soviets and Massoud was seen as a hero.

After the Soviets left he was Defence Secretary in the short-lived Government which then fell to the Taliban. Again he retreated to his homeland valley and defended the Panjshir from the Taliban, who also failed to enter.

On 9th September 2001, two Al Qaeda suicide bombers posing as journalists met him in Northern Afghanistan. They carried a bomb hidden in a video camera. He died from the injuries caused by this bomb. It is reputed that Al Qaeda murdered Massoud (who was a constant threat to the Taliban) to gain favour with them knowing that in a few days the USA would be demanding the Taliban hand over Osama Bin Laden and his followers (which history tells us, they did not).

Due to his resistance to the Soviets and the Taliban he is now officially the “Hero of Afghanistan” and his picture is on hoardings all over Kabul, a central circle is named after him and his picture is also openly displayed in the windows of many vehicles. Although the true depth of his popularity amongst all Afghans is somewhat questionable.

This brings us to the purpose of this history lesson.

Last week, I accompanied a colleague into the Panjshir Valley to visit the tomb of General Massoud. We gained permission from the Governor through my colleagues contacts and he was allowed to take a Horaji in, provided we took no armed guards and travelled in a standard vehicle with no armour to visit the tomb and do not go beyond this point.

As we approached the Panjshir Valley we came to a checkpoint operated by the Governors militia. This was the limit of the Afghan Government and Foreign forces jurisdiction. From here we were in the hands of the Governor and his men. We were allowed to pass and headed into the valley. The scenery was breathtakingly dramatic. The entrance to the Valley is a gorge that is literally a one track road and river wide; with sheer cliffs either side. So narrow is the entrance that the rock face is cut back where the roads clings to the side. The road literally sits between the solid rock and the river with the rock overhanging. It is easy to see how this valley was defended against the might of the Soviet Army and how the General and his successors have been able to maintain autonomy. Even the might of the ISAF coalition forces would struggle to enter without permission.

As you wind your way up the valley the scenery becomes one of a beautiful wide, flat and green landscape. Either side of the valley floor with the fast flowing, shallow, cold, mountain fed river are towering, sheer rock faces that stretch up to their snow capped peaks, hundreds of feet above. The valley is fertile and appears to be capable of comfortably sustaining itself.

As you enter there are numerous small, dilapidated mud dwellings across the river that are now abandoned. During the Taliban era these houses were built by refugees (IDPs) fleeing the Taliban as the Panjshir Valley became a safe and impregnable centre of resistance.

The further up the valley you go the wider it becomes and small villages appear. The river is central to the valley and its life with a complex network of concrete and mud culverts channelling the fresh mountain water onto the lush fields.

Across the river are a number of footbridges enabling both banks to be inhabited with the typical small mud brick houses and to the land to be cultivated.

For the first mile or two of the valley the banks of the river and the fields around are testament to the Soviet tanks that tried to invade. Old wrecks of troop carriers and tanks litter the landscape, some even in the river itself. Rusty hulks sit in silence, inactive, stripped of anything that can be removed and sold complete or as scrap.

We eventually reach the tomb of Massoud which is a large and unfinished affair. It is a shame but the scale of the tomb was too grand and the money ran out whilst still only a third finished. Although officially the “Hero of Afghanistan” the Government refuses to cover the cost of completing the tomb and it shall remain unfinished until a benefactor is found.

However, we talk to the guard and he allows us entry to the tomb and, rather surprisingly, allows an Infidel to go inside where the grave itself is. This is a large concrete room below the tomb, decorated simply with two carpets hung on opposite walls depicting the Nabawy mosque in Medina and the grave in the centre, draped in the flag of Afghanistan, a vase of flowers and headstone of black marble.

I sign the visitor’s book and look through the pages; only two other Westerners appear in the book, so this is truly a rare privilege and honour.

Once we have finished we get back into the car and head back out from the valley. On the way we stop at a restaurant and have lunch of rice and salad (just for a change), sat by the river with the rushing sound of the water tumbling over the rocks and boulders. (Don’t ask about the toilet!).
As we leave the Panjshir I realise that in all the time we have been there we have not seen either a policeman or a soldier. If anything, it appears to be more peaceful than in Kabul. It has been a truly memorable and exciting experience, I wonder how it would have been if we had not cleared our little journey with the Governor?

Its party night!!!

It is Thursday evening in Kabul and tomorrow is Friday. The only day of the week most of us can have a lie-in. So Thursday evening is the main evening for ex-Pats to go out on the town. Of course, when the town is Kabul, the choices are somewhat limited. So, we wander round the corner to the bar in the next street, go through all the security gates, searches and metal detectors and find a seat at the bar. The bar is staffed by Afghans with strict rules that alcohol can only be sold to Horaji's. The staff are always pleasant and, there being so few bars, seem to know everyone in their clientèle. Waiters also hover dressed in white shirts, ties and black waistcoat and trousers. The atmosphere is relaxed and convivial, just as any bar may be in the West on a Friday evening.

It has been a cold and wet day. Most people are wearing jumpers, the men in combat trousers and jeans, the women in trousers, jeans and the odd ankle-length skirt, scarves draped carelessly around their shoulders, waiting to be put on as they leave the confines of the bar. The ages range from early twenties to your narrator (who invariably seems to be the oldest around). Most people my age are too senior in their organisations to hang around in bars, but a few of us old nobodies do exist. Nearly everyone smokes and the air in the room is thick. All around are conversations in many and varied languages and accents. Of course, English dominates (with British, South African, Australian and American accents) but, as I go to the bar for a round of drinks, I pick up others in French, German and, what I suspect is, Albanian. Most of the people here that look as big and scary as these guys are generally Albanians or Kosovars!! Any conversations between different nationalities use English as the common tongue. The people come from all over the globe, Europeans, Orientals, Africans, Americans, Asians and Antipodeans. they are all here and represented to varying degrees.

All the people are in small “work groups” of about 5 or 6. As new people come in there is much greeting and kissing of cheeks, except for us. We are a group of three men who, to all intents and purposes come from a completely different planet, but then we have a reputation of being dull, miserable and unfriendly and basically, have no friends!!

Although it is the busiest night of the week the bar is barely half full as many Embassies, Govt. Departments etc. nd NGOs, still do not allow their staff to frequent such places since the Serena attack.

We order our drinks and spend the evening chatting, the crowd begins to swell and for half an hour it is almost busy and then; the crowd begin to leave. Groups of 4 or 5 start to go, one after the other and a rumour begins to spread around the room. People are animated and excited something is up in town and we have to know what it is. I wander to the bar and overhear a conversation of a party tonight in a UN guest house.

A party on a Thursday night is the ultimate goal for the ex-Pat community and a party in a UN guest house means there will be music, free drinks and a late night. All we need to know is which guest house and where. I stand at the bar and piece the story together, I get the street name and find out there is a guest list and access is strictly by invitation. Now, at this point you may feel a little downhearted the phrases “guest list” and “strictly by invitation” may put you off, but this is just a ploy. The guest list at the gate is controlled by the guards who speak little English and definitely do not read and write English. We have been told by “those in the know”, look at the guest list like you are searching for your name, pick a name and sign next to it and walk in boldly. Heck, its worth a try, surely.

We call up our driver and he arrives at 11.30pm to take us to the street the party is in. OK, we don't have the exact address, but when we get to the street there will be a group of Land Cruisers around the gates to the party and we can walk up boldly.

Only two of us go and we sit in the back of the car chatting excitedly like a couple of schoolboys about the gatecrash an “adults” party and wondering whether we can pull it off!!

As predicted we get to the gate and are presented with a guest list. Now, I have been told I bear a passing resemblance to the BBC correspondent in Kabul – Alistair Leithhead, so when I see his name on the list and no signature, I can't resist it and sign next to it. “Tonight Matthew I am Alistair Leithhead”. There is some irony to this which I shall explain later.

We walk boldly in and head for the bar. The drink is flowing freely, the music is LOUD and disco. The house and gardens are HUGE, typically UN. A barbecue has been lit and people stand outside around it, with many more inside. People are laughing, dancing, drinking and having a great time.

Everywhere is the strong feeling of “release”. People who have been cooped up behind walls and guarded in compounds and guest houses for months and are only allowed out with Close Protection Guards have found a safe place to go. (It is generally felt the safest place to 'go out' is a party as these are not at fixed locations and so are unlikely to be attacked by the bearded ones, as by the time they know it is happening, we are gone).

As the evening progresses the music shifts from Abba and Michael Jackson to 'garage' and 'house' and the dancing becomes stranger (to these old eyes anyway, but I gamely give it my best shot).

We finally call our driver at 3.00am and leave at 3.30am as the party begins to wind down and the beer runs out. The downstairs of the house is pretty well trashed. Cans, bottles, spilt drinks, cigarette ends everywhere littering the floors and furniture and as for the state of the toilets. Well, maybe they have been visited by drunk schoolboys who had lost their sense of direction (if you get my drift).

Of course we come back to a house with no electricity and running water so the final events of the evening are conducted by torchlight and with shiny clean teeth I head back to my bed.

And that is our Thursday evening story, oh yes, I nearly forgot. I managed to keep up a conversation with a Swedish woman for 15 minutes who thought I was Alistair Leithhead and was telling me how much she had enjoyed lunch with me the previous Friday afternoon in the Kabul Coffee House. In the end I had to come clean and tell her I was not he. Fortunately, she found it funny and then, I think she went looking for the genuine article. But maybe he could not get in, after all I was already inside and this one must be an imposter!!!!

Chocolate fountains

It has been raining for 4 days here in Kabul and the city is transformed. So we have good news and bad news. The good news being the dust is now settled with the constant wet; however, this brings problems of its own.
As you know many of the roads in Kabul are not tarmaced and the soil is extremely fine. This has led to the rain turning the streets in a filthy mud bath. There is no vegetation on the soil so it is not possible to walk on the grass, just mud.
If you have ever dipped a marshmallow in a chocolate fountain you will understand completely the colour, texture and consistency (unfortunately not the taste) of the mud that is now ankle deep on the streets of Kabul.
It also has the ability to stick like glue, so everything is now coated in the mud. Every vehicle is plastered, every person is coated from the ankles down and every dog is now a fluffy ball of sticky brown goo.
It also is extremely slippery and difficult to walk or drive on. All along the dirt verges there are abandoned cars and lorries where people parked one evening in the dry and have not been able to move it since, as the mud has got thicker, deeper and ever more slippery.
The sight of wheels spinning and a huge spray of mud being thrown into the air is commonplace as the lorries struggle to get a grip on the verge and get back onto the road.
The sight of women with limited vision in their burkha’s trying to pick a route down the street through the mud and puddles, holding the hem of their burkha above the mud in a pair of heeled shoes or plastic sandals is tragically comical. Their plight is made worse by the burkha that does not let them see the ground beneath their feet and they constantly end up walking into the deeper and wetter sections.
Small children are out getting the bread for the family in brightly coloured trousers that simply are brown from the knees down with muddy brown toes sticking out from their plastic sandals.
Unfortunately a change of footwear for each season is beyond the pocket of most Afghans and the same sandals or shoes that got them through the bitter winter and the hot summer will now get them through the wet and mud of Spring.
So we are now watching the weather forecast for the sunshine that will soon follow and dry up the ground very quickly, leaving us with the deep ruts and puddle holes to negotiate through.
However, the softening of the ground is welcome for the demining effort.
As you can imagine, when you are digging for a landmine by hand, digging soft ground is far preferable to hacking away at hard baked earth, when it is easier to set it off and cause very serious damage to yourself. The ability to gently scrape away the soil is a real bonus for a deminer. So, he may be wet, he may be covered in mud, but he is much safer and in the end that is so much more important. In fact, between the frozen ground of Winter and the hard baked ground of Summer, this wet period is the safest and easiest for the deminer in the field.

Men in Black

This has been a bit of a worrying week here in the Demining community in 'Stan. On Monday a convoy of three demining vehicles was stopped by two men on a motorbike who proceeded to strafe the vehicles with machine guns killing seven and putting another five critically injured in hospital. Just as this news was being digested on Tuesday, I was at a meeting in the UN when a call came in with news of another demining vehicle having been attacked (again, in the supposedly quiet North of Afghanistan) with both occupants also being killed. The UN immediately called a halt to all demining operations in the North and various meetings were held to discuss the way forward. In the meantime our friends (the bearded ones, the men in black) issued a statement Tuesday afternoon saying they condemn these killings and that demining should be allowed to continue freely as this is an important and worthy operation for the people of Afghanistan. Hopefully, that has put an end to it and the attacks will cease, but we have ideas about what was going on and almost certainly these attacks were never sanctioned by the Taleban and are probably not Taleban or Al-Qaeda related, anyway.

However, that does not stop us being just a bit nervous and jumpy and I hope today's story will bring a smile to your faces as I tell a tale of derring-do that makes me smile now I am back in the comparitive safety of the house. Today is our Friday holiday day and I had decided it would be a good idea to go to Qagar. This is a dam on the outskirts of Kabul that has created a lake where the people of Kabul go to relax. A chance to see Afghans in their natural habitat and to be part of the Afghan way of life for a brief period. A chance to actually meet real people and to relax with them and enjoy their company. Three of us and an armed guard and driver headed off this lunchtime. We got there and sure enough it did not disappoint. The lake is quite large (a little on the dirty side) and surrounded by the paraphernalia of the seaside (Afghanistan is landlocked so this is quite a unique place). There were families there, some boys swimming in the water (with bare tops, but long trousers) people playing volleyball on the "beach" (the beach being dirt rather than sand), people driving their cars down into the water to wash them, kite flying, some funfair type stalls and some "beach huts". Mothers and daughters dressed in brightly coloured reds, yellows and all the brightest colours of the rainbow were walking round with groups of small children, men, wearing their traditional Shalwar Kameez were standing/squatting in groups, playing volleyball and chatting while groups of small boys played their own games.

We found a young lad on the "beach" who had a quoits game, you know the type, throw the hoops and try to get them to land round the prize. We had half a dozen goes (10Afs per go) and actually won once, a massive 50Afs which we reinvested in more rings and, like all true gamblers, ended up losing it all. We bought a volleyball from the ball seller and played volleyball with the local boys and generally were getting along fine, lots of people coming over to say hello and make us welcome.

After that we wandered over to the back of the area where there was a few stalls and sat on the grass bank to watch the swinging boat which seems to be at every funfair in the world, although this one had some particularly interesting (not) safety features!! (You can see it in the background in front of the "men in black"). While we were sitting there the two gentlemen in the picture above came over and walked past us having a good look as they went. As they turned their backs, they started a conversation which resulted in one of them getting out his phone and starting a call. As he walked off the other stayed put by us. We looked at each other and decided it was time to go, just as our guard agitatedly came over to us and said "Go". We begun to scramble back down the bank and headed towards the car park, I threw the volleyball to a couple of young begging boys whose faces lit up like Christmas had come early, one of our "men in black" followed us down the slope. By the time we got to the car park we were all running for the car and dived in as our guard covered our backs. We headed out of there at a sharp pace. As soon as we got to a clear bit of road we stopped, got out the car, checked the underside and then headed back home.

Maybe something, more likely nothing, but better safe than sorry. Looking back it was almost certainly nothing and just some typically inquisitive people who happened to be wearing black turbans. Whatever, it added a little excitement to our "day out" and at least will give us something to talk about.

This evening we have news that another demining convoy has been attacked in the North, we don't yet know the details. Let's hope they got away with no loss of life or serious injuries.

Dogs and Women

Good day again to you dear reader.
I noticed on the news today the people in the UK were talking to me through what appeared to be a snowstorm. You will be pleased, I am sure, to know the tables are turned and the weather here is a rather fine 65F. Although I have noticed the dust has now been followed by the Kabul haze, which is basically a brown dust cloud that hangs over the city, I presume until next winter now.

Anyway, as ever I digress, this is not the theme of my post. I thought I would answer the questions posed regarding our dog and women. I shall address these in order of importance and tell you a bit more about Inskandar, our dog. We are based in Kabul, but we also have staff in our northern office in Pul-i-Khumri and a house there. This is where Iskandar lives (look up his name, it does have a meaning). There will be a prize for the first right answer!!!

He was a street dog (of which there are many). Afghans are not dog lovers by any stretch and they seem only to have three functions. They are either guard dogs, fighting dogs or stone throwing targets. They get a pretty rough deal. However, Iskandar has been adopted by our man in the North and he is leading a right old life, living it up in the house with regular walks, proper food, lots of attention and a bed for the night. Probably one of the best cared for dogs in the whole of 'Stan.

So what will become of this little cutie. He willl remain the dog at the house in PiK and will continue to thrive. When our man in the North leaves, if the new ex-pat does not want him he shall bring him back to the UK. Fear not, he will not be abandoned.

As for women. There are many ex-pat women in Afghanistan and particularly in Kabul. They always wear trousers or ankle length skirts and long sleeves tops. When in public they always wear a scarf over their heads as is the way here. It is very, very unusual but sometimes you will be on the plane back from Dubai and there will be a woman who has not been briefed properly and will be wearing a sleeveless top or the like on the plane. this causes a stir at Kabul airport and they soon cover up. The funniest thing is the Afghan TV stations which pixelate any female flesh that appears anywhere. I am not sure what they think will happen if this flesh is seen, but I think it says more about the lack of any form of discipline in the male population than anything else. Even in the ex-pat only bars etc, it is very unusual to see a woman wearing a sleeveless top and never a skirt above the ankles.

How do the Afghan men relate to these women? Not very well. Wife beating and abuse is still prevalent and not seen as an evil in any way. In fact there are many roadside posters depicting this as bad and the idea of treating women as people is a concept the Government are trying to introduce. To have an ex-pat woman telling you what to do is very difficult for them. They will always smile politely, but you get the feeling that many of them believe she should be slapped down. Not all, but some. We had one female working for us and there was always great tutting about her telling people what to do. Worse still was the fact that she went out in the evening. I constantly had orders from the top Afghan management to discuss this with her and to get her to stop this kind of activity. A woman going out on her own (to meet other women) is completely unheard of. In fact, Afghan women are not even supposed to go shopping without a chaperone. Of course, she was travelling in an armoured car with a driver and an armed guard, but these men were not her family and therefore she should not be out with them. Yes they have somewhat archaic attitudes and these alone would make for a long missive.

On another observation of Kabul life there is something that puzzles and amuses me about everyday life. Every other car in Kabul is a yellow and white taxi. These are almost 100% very old, battered Toyota Corolla estates, capable of holding up to 15 people (the max I have seen). They are truly battered and have a lack of detail to things like windscreen wipers, stop lights, any proper lighting at all. However, they are covered with accessories. They are reminiscent of our "souped up" cars in our teenage years except the accessories here do not add anything to the functionality of the car. Various coloured lights behind the radiator grill, little lights on the wing mirrors, flashing lights across the back which flash completely randomly, flags flying from mirrors, long aerials, carpets over the seats, fluffy steering wheel covers and.............ski racks. For some utterly inexplicable reason ski racks on the roof seems to be some sort of must have accessory. They are completely useless, I have never seen them used to carry anything, let alone skis. They are completely redundant, but utterly necessary. This is yet another mystery of the Afghan psyche which continue to baffle me.
Anyway, those are todays observations, I hope they have brought some enlightenment. As no-one has asked for a while the yoghurt/honey/banana diet is working well. Bowels are just fine,thanks.

Friday morning

Good morning, it is Friday and our normal day off. This follows on from the Afghan New Year so again all is quiet. Made even quieter by the city power being off and there being no electricity. In the background there is the hum of generators in the distance, but not ours, so we have no power, no water (the pump is off when the leccy is off) and the house is silent. In fact, I am the only one awake.

It is again a lovely sunny day, but rain is forecast, so I shall take the opportunity to wander round to the Kabul Coffee House for a Latte (yes they have, what appears to be, the ONLY proper Italian coffee machine in Kabul) and a Greek Salad. The KCH is in the next street so we always take a short stroll round the corner. They also have a wireless Internet connection so I can talk to the outside world (which I can't do here, at the moment). They have one of those signs that we Brits find rather funny when abroad. It is supposed to say "Wireless Internet now here" but they have run two words into one and it actually says "Wireless Internet nowhere".
I have my book, laptop and specs in my bag and off I stroll. Of course, I have had to change from my shorts to my trousers. Even men are not allowed to show that much flesh on the streets of Kabul.
Today the children are out in force. Outside our house are the kids from our street playing cricket, they have a chair as a wicket, a tennis ball and a small, children's bat. The rules seem a bit loose and flexible depending on your idea of bowling, but they are certainly having a great time. As always they offer to let me play and I stay and watch (field) for few minutes before carrying on. Further up the street some younger boys (only boys come out to play) have a make shift kite and are flying this high, high above the streets. These kites are basically made from a plastic bag and a wooden frame, but from somewhere they seem to get miles of nylon "string" and they fly the kits so high you can barely see them.

The KCH is a really nice little oasis of pleasure here which serves real Italian coffee and reasonable snack type food (salads, omelettes etc.) and has a pleasant garden to sit in, as you can see above (sorry about the quality of the picture but it was taken with the computer webcam!). It used to be a great little secret that was frequented mainly by Afghans and a few, select Ex-Pats, but since the Serena attack and the latest threats from our "Bearded Friends" it has grown in popularity with Ex-Pats as the more high profile haunts have closed. Anyway there is no parade of foreigner's Land Cruisers outside today and it is pretty empty inside.
It too has beefed up security and also has a series of doors, armed guards and searches but hey-ho this is Kabul life.
So, for a pleasant couple of hours I drink Caramel Latte, eat "Greek" salad and work and read. The "Greek" salad is actually a lot of lettuce, two olives, some tomato and cheese that only has colour as its tenuous link to feta, the taste, smell and texture are a far cry from the original, but it tastes good in its own way and that is all that matters, really.
On the way back I drop into a small shop to buy a can of mango drink and a large tub of yoghurt for dinner this evening. The drink is 25Afs and the yoghurt 50Afs (1Af = 1p), so i suspect the prices have been doubled for me, but 75p is not a bad deal.
As I get back I can begin to hear thunder rumbling on the other side of the mountains that surround Kabul and slowly a large black cloud is working its way over the peaks.
15 minutes after getting back and changing into my shorts, the cloud and thunder has arrived and it is now snowing!! If only the human attitudes could change as quickly as the weather!!!!

2 phrases you do not want to hear on an airplane

Hello there, how are you today?
Me? Well, I am back in Kabul and enjoying a lovely sunny day. Incredibly, the temperature seems to have risen around 40C since January and we are now basking in glorious sunshine.
It is the Afghan New Year and there is a general holiday, the streets are empty, no pedestrians, no cars and more importantly, the office is empty.
In some ways it is quite eerie as the warm weather has brought the return of the DUST. Yes, dust is a very important part of Kabul life. It gets everywhere and covers everything. With no traffic or people there is a gentle breeze and as I look out my window there are small billows of brown being blown gently down the empty street. The soil is not only incredibly fine (like talcum powder) but seems to avoid sustaining any life at all costs. So the street is completely bare. Just the dusty dirt road, high walls and little brown clouds. I expected there to be kite flyers out today, but maybe everyone is inside celebrating.
So today I have been sitting in the garden working from home and enjoying the rays. In fact, it was so, so sunny this afternoon I could not see the screen on the laptop and had to resort to reading a book. Currently, I have Bill Bryson's "Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid" on the go. For anyone who grew up in 50's USA or 60's UK it will transport you back to a youth and time before the advent of the computer and "gameboys". A simpler time when children actually went outside and played, a time when we were indestructible and needed no helmets, knee pads, softened play areas and warning labels. When there were few rules and almost anything went. But, as ever, I digress.
Digressing is a good sign, I hope, and shows that my addled brain of February has been revitalised and replaced with one of clarity and a penchant for a tale. I think the Monkees singing "Daydream Believer" is also helping the general mood here. So, although we have not managed to leave the confines of the house and garden today, in the world of Kabul the sun is shining and it is as good as it gets. Even the restaurant/bar round the corner has re-opened and although getting in is now a test of patience and good nature, at least it is open again.
As for the title to this missive, let me take you back a couple of days to my departure from dear old Blighty and my eventual arrival in Kabul.
You are now accustomed to these journeys having their, shall we say, interesting diversions and the fact that they are never quite what they seem. Well this one again did not disappoint. I left Heathrow Terminal 3 at 8pm UK time on the Emirates flight to Dubai. An fairly uneventful journey except there was a good tail wind and we arrived in Dubai a little early. We flew overnight and arrived at 2.30am UK time (6.30am Dubai time). Unfortunately having given us dinner etc, then happily serving breakfast at 1am UK time, I only had about 2 hours sleep max on the plane. However, I arrived OK, went from Dubai terminal 1 (proper terminal for proper airlines to proper places) and I got a taxi to terminal 2 (dodgy terminal for dodgy airlines to dodgy places)
After recent experiences I had booked the UN flight from Dubai to Kabul. What could possibly go wrong? After all, the UN is a reputable organisation, if not a well known airline operator.
We took off at midday Dubai time (8am UK time, still only 2 hours sleep) and headed for Kabul, Afghanistan. OK, only a couple of hours and we will be back at the Kabul Ex-Pat house and can get some sleep.
Now there are many phrases you do not want to hear when you are sitting on a plane. One of the general ones that applies to all planes in all places is "we appear to have a problem with one of the engines". Another, that is more uniquely Afghan, is "we are diverting to Kandahar". Now, even those of us that for some inexplicable reason think that living and working in Kabul is acceptable, know that Kandahar rhymes with Helmand in the list of places that are not good places to be diverted to. OK, it was good enough for our illustrious Prince Harry and whats good for the goose etc. So within 15 minutes of these announcement we are dropping down into Kandahar. So when these two phrases are uttered in the same sentence, we all sit and look at each other as if to say "this was not part of the deal".
We land at the airport/airbase which is a big military base with lots of very interesting things all around us. I shall not specify what aircraft and flying things were there, but suffice to say I saw lots of things I have only seen on news bulletins and I did not even know were here.
We sat on the runway waiting while they checked over the engine and refuelled the plane. Unfortunately, we were not allowed off for a wander round, which would have been interesting, however the thing that was really taxing our minds was the time. It takes an hour to get to Kabul and planes are not allowed to fly into Kabul after dark (its a Taleban surface to air missile thing!) and we can see the clock ticking down while they fiddled with the plane. We were quite intrigued, if we could not go on to Kabul, where could you put up 150 unexpected ex-Pats in Kandahar? We looked and looked, but no airport hotel seemed to be there to greet us.
As we all began to speculate more and more and 4.30pm (Afghan time) loomed large we began to start treating this as a serious question, where would we go? At 4.28pm the pilot announced we were leaving, the tanker withdrew, the man with a screwdriver at the engine ran away and with the seat belt sign still off and the doors still open, the engines fired up. It was a very swift run up the taxiway and we were off, heading for Kabul arriving just as dusk fell.
The airport was closed and we were shown into the UN special lounge, our passports stamped and we were released onto an unsuspecting Kabul. My driver was in the car park, we picked up our guard as we left the airport and we headed for the house. It was just after 6pm (1.30pm UK time), the light was fading fast, and I was back at my Kabul "home" arriving for the last time. In 6 weeks I shall leave for the last time. I shall miss these little exciting diversions, not a lot.

taking a rest

Hello again,

Sorry to have been so quiet of late. I simply have not felt much like writing. I have been to the north of Afghanistan and through the Salang Tunnel and have stories to tell about this and other stuff (we have even adopted a puppy in the North, see piccie) for the last month.

I am back in the UK now after a weeks skiing in Italy before I go back to 'Stan on Monday. Am feeling more like writing so will try to catch up later this week.

Compared to many in Kabul and around Afghanistan, who have been dying in their hundreds throughout the cold spell, life has been pretty good for us, but I am afraid the cold, lack of water and electricity and the general tightening of security and restrictiveness combined with additional workload have all affected the general mood and created an air of apathy towards blogging.

So my apologies for that, normal service will be resumed shortly!!

snow and rice - both slow the traffic

I am sitting here grinning at the poetic beauty and the magnificently clever intended pun in the title above. It is short, sharp and incredibly witty.
I know you are now dying to get to the end of this missive just to share in the joke but be patient, I shall begin by addressing a few questions that have been posed of me.
First of all Clair, I would like to thank you for your comments and also for the fact that your attention has transferred from the exit to the entrance, figuratively speaking.
How do we get by for tea. Well, we are able to buy a variety of teas including standard "English brew". Mostly we shop at Bifpo as we affectionately call it. This is the BFPO office at the British army camp in Kabul, Camp Souter. Here they have a NAAFI that deals in such treats as Nescafe coffee, Tetley tea bags and Hobnobs. (which tea is never complete without). So under the guise of going to see if any important business mail has arrived at Bifpo, on a daily basis we take it in turns to visit the NAAFI and stock up. A little treat to break up the day.
Of course, getting into camp Souter is a trial, but always worth the effort, just to see the red post box that looks like it has been stolen from a country town back home and planted into this dusty, windswept base in Kabul.
There are other delights available here in Kabul as well, but the purchase of alcohol is always a bit fraught in a strict Moslem country. There are some Afghan shops that sell it "under the counter" and you have to know someone who knows someone who knows a shop that sells it. Then you have to go in and discreetly wait for there to be no-one about and then ask the shopkeeper and the transaction takes place in utmost secrecy as the goods are loaded into a bag behind the counter, the money handed over and the goods are not inspected until you get to the safety of your car/house. So you are never quite sure what beer you have bought or, more importantly its sell by date, (post sell by date beer is cheaper) until it is too late. Last night we wanted to get a case of beer and went to a shop we know sells beer, but they had none, but he kindly pointed us in the direction of another shop we had not been to before. We went in the shop and there were a couple of policemen idling away the day away in the shop. They were watching an Indian soap (these are very popular here and many shops, for some reason we don't know, have a small TV on, in fact, this is quite common in Indian shops in the UK, so not so strange).
So, I minced around looking at some pastries hoping the Police would leave but they didn't. In the end quietly, and very discreetly I asked if they had beer. The shopkeeper proceeded to wave his arms in the air and profess very loudly and with suitable indignation "No Beer, No Beer, No Beer" causing everyone in the shop to turn and stare at me. As I waited for the ground to open and swallow me up I went a bright shade of red. Oh well, another lesson learnt. In post-Serena Kabul people are becoming keen to be seen not to be fraternising with the foreigners.
Now where were we, yes, fruit and veg. Wonderful fruit and veg here. Most is sold on little barrows by the side of the road and each barrow will be full of an individual item. You will get a man with a barrow of oranges, next to the man with the barrow of apples etc. The fruit and veg are very good, especially cauliflowers. they have the largest cauliflowers you will ever see. The men generally are not stood next to the barrow, but clear a small area in the corner of the barrow and sit there cross legged all day waiting for business. I am told most of the fruit and veg comes from Pakistan and from the south and north of Afghanistan. It is very high quality and excellent to eat. Grapes are in abundance and, I am told the region around Kabul has 16 different varieties of grape (but no wine).
These are the areas and fields we are clearing from landmines. Each minefield cleared is a new field open for agriculture. As soon as it is clear the landowner will be straight out and the field will be ploughed or fenced. Within a matter of days crops will be planted (no, not poppies) or goats and sheep will be grazing. Another livelihood secured and another family that will shortly be self-sufficient.
Oh yes, you wanted to know about snow and rice. Ok, this week it snowed BIG time in Kabul, a good few inches fell and the normally chaotic, me-first Afghan style of driving came into its own. (A doctors report I read here once said "Driving is still the preferred activity of the Afghan male wishing to commit suicide"). You can imagine this driving coupled with bald tyres, no road sense, thick snow and ice all combined to create a maelstrom of chaos. To add to the excitement they have created gutters at the side of the roads that are around a foot deep and wide, so once you start to slide towards it, your wheel goes over the edge of the gutter and BANG - that is the end of your driving until you and a group of friends can find a way of picking your car out of there. So we have it, cars littering the edges of the road, we have cars coming BACK up the dual carriageway because they can't get across the gaps, we have cars sliding everywhere and, of course, the manic Afghan NEED to jump into the smallest of gaps if it gives you a one inch advantage. Oh yes, and a lack of proper windscreen wipers, screenwash and heated rear windows giving all this a surreal "looking through fog" appearance as everyone tries to see through misted up windows.
Inevitably this leads to a number of cars coming into contact with each other. The customary Afghan way to deal with this situation is both entertaining and amusing. Instead of exchanging insurance details, which obviously don't exist, it requires both the drivers (always male) to get out of their cars and shout and gesticulate until a willing crowd forms. then comes the ritual fight. This requires a lot of slapping arms around and generally appearing to fight without actually throwing a punch. The function of the crowd is to pull the warring parties apart and for everyone to agree that a bloodbath would have ensued without their intervention and both parties are satisfied now that they would have fought to the death and can now carry on their way. Honour is preserved and nothing is achieved - sound familiar!!
So that is how the snow and ice slows the traffic but where is the punchline with the rice, I hear you ask. Ready, here it comes. Yesterday, Condie was in town. Yes, Condaleezza Rice came to visit us and most of the roads in the centre of Kabul were closed for her convoy. Getting home took more than double the normal time. The Rice definitely slowed the traffic. Heck, I am getting good at this!!!!

bizzare at the bazaar

Once again, I feel the need to share with my faithful audience the experiences, the sounds, the smells, the cold, the sights, the feel, the taste of everyday life in Kabul. So, today's ditty is about a visit I made to the bazaar recently.
As an organisation we purchase enough food to feed 3000 people three meals a day. In terms of rice alone this is equivalent to 15 tonnes a month, not counting beans, peas, ghee, onions, potatoes, bread, meat, milk, tea, tomato paste and fruit. Yes, folks my shopping bill is around $20,000 per month. A very impressive one million Afghanis. So I decided to find out exactly how we go about making this purchase.
We send a man to the bazaar, he goes round the bazaar and gets the quotes. I inspect the quotes, choose a supplier and the purchase is made. BUT how exactly do you go about buying tons and tons of food in one go, so off I trotted to the bazaar to see how it all went.
Of course this requires the obligatory armed guard and armoured vehicle for the journey (which I am sure you are tired of me telling you, but it will become a relevant part of the story).
Now shopping in Kabul is fairly orderly, the stationary shops are all in one place, as are the motor parts, the dentists, the computer shops, the TV shops (again this will become relevant) etc. So we were heading for an area in West Kabul were there are the dry goods markets. West Kabul was the most heavily bombed area during the civil war and is still a collection of badly damaged falling down type buildings. Think of a demolition site that they stopped demolishing ¾ of the way through and this is West Kabul.

The bazaar is a rabbit warren of small holdings in narrow alleys with people running around everywhere and the noise of a thousand deals being struck. As you approach it you begin to be drawn into smaller and smaller alleys full of stalls with all kinds of dry goods. Hessian sacks are in front of each “shop” with the tops open and rolled down displaying the goods. Rice, lentils, peas, beans; a whole myriad of products. Each “shop” is no more than either a wooden lean-to or a 20-ton container with the doors open as a shop. Men stand outside each one calling you in, tempting you with chai (tea) and a seat to do your deal. I am led through by our buyer, walking along muddy paths with a gully in the middle, water and various other liquids slowly wend down the gulley as you take care not to misplace your step. There is snow and ice on the ground and slush where hundreds of feet have trodden there way through. Deeper and deeper he leads me, my armed guard following in my footsteps behind me until we reach the appointed seller. We are buying half our rice allocation, 184 sacks of rice.

At the entrance to the bazaar we have parked our enormous Kamaz 6 wheel-drive lorry. It is a beast with tyres almost to my full height. This will take our food back to base, but how on earth are we to get the goods to the truck. We must have come down 300 yards of muddy, narrow paths barely two men wide between the stalls.

From nowhere appears a group of likely lads with wheelbarrows. These lads, I presume, are the equivalent of Tibetan Sherpas. They are young, ragged, smiling, happy and willing. Wearing just barefoot sandals on their feet they march into the dark back of the stall and start appearing carrying the sacks. They carry them on their backs to the weighing scales, each sack is individually weighed and the sack inspected then they each load the sacks onto their wheelbarrows. The boys are small, slightly built but incredibly strong as they pick up sack after sack and carry to their wheelbarrows. All the while there is a ceaseless banter going onto between loaders, buyer and stall holder. I have been sat on a chair with a cup of chai and am left to watch the proceedings. Once they have 5 sacks on their barrows they are each off through the crowds, down the alleys racing to get the sacks onto the Kamaz, they return and the whole process continues. In the meantime, I go to inspect the bean and pea seller, soon the boys will move onto these to make the same transfer of sacks. Next we make a very civilized visit to the tea seller, in the tea corner of the bazaar. Wonderful smells of the various teas on offer, again with large sacks open out front for inspection. We are buying green tea and black tea, both of which have to be tasted and selected before the transaction can complete. The tea seller is a very jolly man with little English, but much humour. We pass a very agreeable 15 minutes trying teas, laughing and gesticulating about the various teas and generally around the bazaar. Things are going so well, what could go wrong?
Next we leave this market and wander down the road the the Ghee seller. Ghee is equivalent to butter, in a way but is used for cooking and is very important in eastern asian coooking. The Ghee seller is in a strange courtyard in what appears to be a block of flats. The snow is beginning to melt and water is pouring from the roofs onto the stairs, the area is filthy and smelly with rotten produce in the gulleys, it is not a place you would walk into without reason.
However, we meet the Ghee seller and all is well, the guard is standing outside the door and we are conversing, when all hell breaks loose. My guard is attacked by a group of men shouting, shaking fists and pushing him back. I go out with our buyer and try to work out what the hell is going on. In the end I have our buyer on the phone to my assistant in the office to tell him in Dari what the problem is and then he can translate and tell me what is causing this to kick off. It turns out some armed men (dressed as police) were in the market earlier and kidnapped a stall holder and they think my guard is one of the gang. This I am being told on the phone while the aggro is still going on in front of me. Once I have the story we beat a hasty retreat; getting your guard beaten up so far from base is not a good move. I grab the guard, the buyer leads the way and we are heading for the stairs with the shouts ringing in our ears and the fists being shaken at us.

We get out onto the street and I call up the armoured car. All is now calm and as the car comes round the corner we get in. The trip to the bazaar is over for today for me and the guard, the buyer finishes the deals, supervises the boys loading the Kamaz and pays the stallholders. This takes around another 2 hours. Meanwhile me and the guard head for the office. You see, I told you the guard was relevant to the story!!

Mountain climbing

Well, I was going to start this entry with a few more words about the security situation in Kabul, but this afternoon we went for a walk up TV Hill, which is not a hill at all, as it is more than 2000m high, but as Kabul is at 1800m it is only relatively a few hundred metres, but it is high, cold, windy, covered in snow and feels pretty much like standing at the top of Portavescovo, but without a nice warm restaurant!! It is called for no greater reason than the TV masts are on it, where is the romance in this world?

Ok, I will admit, we cheated and drove to the top but the views are stunning of the mountains around Kabul, the Hindu Kush to the North and the plain of Kabul laid out before us in the valley.

The journey up was very interesting, not just for the icy frozen road, but also for the houses we passed. As I have mentiond before something like 60% of the houses in Kabul are illegally built mud huts on the sides of the mountains. Well, today we got to see them and their inhabitants close up. We were lucky we drove up, as there is a road for the military and TV installations at the top, but the people who live in these houses have no cars or transport. Some have very basic electricity, but no water supply, gas, sanitation or shops. Everything, is carried from the city up the mountain by hand (mainly on peoples backs). We passed small children carrying supplies up the mountain side to their houses, mostly without coats or hats. Two small boys had a wheelbarrow with a rope at the front; one pulling and one pushing with two five-gallon containers of water in the wheelbarrow.

Life is hard, uncomfortable, tough and all about survival; nothing more, nothing less. Very sobering.

Anyway,we got to the top and the views were quite spectacular and well worth the journey. We walked the last few hundred yards to as near to the top as we were allowed and tried to spot the landmarks down below.

So, Friday was a funday!! and what else has your intrepid correspondant in Kabul been up to this week, you may ask, and if you do I will tell. Actually, I will tell anyway. This week I have visited the British Embassy where, I am pleased to say a photograph of Her Majesy hung majestically in the Portakabin that acts as the security entrance to the Embassy. A fine photo of our noble Soveriegn in full Regalia looking somewhat out of place in a Portakabin, but heyho this is Kabul and needs must. For a moment it felt as if I had stepped back onto the soil of dear old Blighty, but the illusion only lasted a moment as the sign on the door next to HRH is a red circle with a white background and a red diagonal stripe across it. A bit like a No smoking sign except this one had an outline of a Kalashnikov on it. Yes, it means "no firearms) Ok, this is Kabul!!!!

We also visited a Korean restaurant for dinner one evening this week. You remember my description of the bar last week with only four people in it? Well, the Korean restaurant had NO people in it except us. The good thing is it was so far off the beaten track and down a dark side street followed by a dark alley that no-one would ever find us there. When you get there, you get out the car, knock on the gate and get back into the car while you wait. A nice friendly Korean gentleman comes out to the gate, looks through the peephole and then lets you in. There is no sign outside or any indication this is a restaurant, in fact, it is clearly a house with a room set aside for people who wish to come and eat there. Even the takeaway menu has no address on it, it is purely "word of mouth" by invitation only!

We ate a relaxed meal (with Tofu, salads and a lovely soup with an egg in it) Now this was a real luxury for your humble veggie and was very welcome. The whole meal for three including soft drinks came to around £5 per head, so great value as well. We called our car, it came to the gate, we left, got in and headed back home. A bit weird, but weird is the norm here, it is funny how you go through these procedures without really noticing them. I only look back and see them as strange when I come to write about them. Am getting used to weird in this place.

Oh yes, I nearlky forgot, THE big news of the week. our delivery of duvets. Yes, boys and girls we have received a consignment of duvets. Can I put into mere words the joy, pleasure, happiness these duvets have bought to your blogger. The best thing was that I did not even know they were coming. I came home on Thursday evening and there beside my bed was a large package saying 3 in 1 duvet. Yes, in the package were two duvets, one for summer, one for winter and together a pair for Kabul!!! I have 15 big, fat, whopping togs of warm toes, yes readers, I have put BOTH duvets between the two blankets on the bed and dispensed with the sleeping bag. Oh joy, me and sleeping bags are not good bedfellows. You see, I am a very restless sleeper and the confines of a sleeping bag mean I am constantly in conflict with its tight limitations. I can't get comfortable and when I finally do, I feel the need for one more adjustment and hey presto, it all starts again.

So last night before I got into bed I prepared it. A sheet, followed by a blanket were first on and these were both tucked in tight to stop any air gaps that may upset my little toes. Then on went the two duvets, then the final blanket. I got into an ordinary bed (well Ok, it had two duvets and two blankets on it) for the first time since I froze through the night a couple of weeks ago. Oh bliss, I spread my arms, I spread my legs, I wriggled about, I turned this way, I turned that way and finally decided to settle. My toes were warm, my legs were warm, my body was warm, my arms were warm, I am so, so looking forward to going to bed tonight!!!

So there you have it, all is well-ish, I bought a toothbrush and five eggs today (and got change from 50p) and am going to make an omelette; after all, it is Friday and we like to indulge ourselves. Till the next time.

the good and the bad

Hello again dear reader,

I am here writing to you on Friday afternoon. It is my day off and I feel I should tell you a thing or two about life in Kabul at the moment.

I have thought quite a lot about whether to send this post as I was worried the contents may concern you, but events last night made me decide that part of the responsibility of a blog is to tell “how it is” and give you, my avid readers, the opportunity to briefly experience another world (obviously without the inconvenience of having to travel there, which in the case of the return to Kabul was truly an inconvenience to be avoided!)

You may recall a news item recently about a suicide attack in a far-off place. The attack on the Serena Hotel in Kabul. You see, the Serena Hotel is about as well a defended non-military establishment as you will find outside Iraq. The fact that four of our 'bearded friends' were able to get in, let off suicide bombs and generally treat it like the OK Coral has sent an enormous shockwave through the ex-pat community in Kabul. The 'bearded ones' have declared they will attack anywhere foreigners congregate and by breaking through the defences of the Serena they have shown they can do it.

Now in Kabul there are basically two bars for the ex-pat community to enjoy a chat and a beer, one of which is reasonably close to our house. Normally, this would be very busy on a Thursday evening as Friday is the only day off. We went to the bar last night and the first thing we found was hugely increased security. Without giving details, there were a number of armed guards at various stages as we went through a number of security gates, checks and metal detectors until we eventually were able to go inside to the bar. (After that you need a strong drink!!!). Instead of the usual 100+ there was one group of just 4 people and us. We had one drink and went home. You see, it has worked, no-one dares go out and congregate anywhere.

On a lighter note, me and a colleague went for a walk today in frozen Kabul (well, we had no electric, heating or hot water at home so it seemed like a good idea). The roads really are quite odd now. First it rained and made them all rutted and then the big freeze came. So the ruts and the ground are literally rock solid. The maximum temperature we have had for a week now is -10C so the snow and ice are completely solid and frozen. Walking down the road it is dusty, but if you scrape away the dust it is solid ice underneath. Very strange. Anyway as we wandered down a road we saw a group of lads playing football in the street. They asked us if we would like to join in; so there we were in woolly hats, gloves and coats playing footie. I was in goal, the ground is so rutted running around is not a good idea!!! (hope you like the piccie). We had a laugh and some fun then headed home. Don't stay in one place for too long, as they say.