Part 9. Travelling north, A chance encounter with the law.
The journey up to Band e Amir was gruelling, rough tracks up into the mountains, those mountain passes with no room to pass another vehicle in either direction, steep chicanes and overhanging rock. Made worse by the age of the old diesel lorry that we used as transport, again the only westerners in a squatting room only, open flatbed. It seemed to take forever, but was at least 6 or 7 hours. When you got a clear view from about half way up it was breathtaking, the mountains had huge pillars of rock, hundreds of feet high, valleys and jagged ridges covered in snow, the stuff of dreams and adventure movies. The relentless upward gradient and beating sun left us completely exhausted.
By the time we arrived at the tea shop accommodation, which is pictured in my first blog in this series, a plain room covered in rugs and carpets on the floor walls and ceiling with a big wood burner in the centre. Another essential truck stop on route from Mazir e Sharif and further away, lots of tribal men with horses, crouched around playing games or chatting/trading, hard to say what exactly, but friendly and warm towards everybody.
We laid out our bedding with our bags at its head, as advised to, to ensure a sleeping place and changed into clean clothes and rested for about an hour before the Policeman from yesterday arrived in a big land rover to pick us up. He spoke to the owners and said that all our gear would be well looked after. The girls (I really wish I could remember their names, sorry) were a tad nervous, would this be a safe experience, was it a genuine social invitation or an entrapment. We rehearsed various scenarios but couldn’t bring ourselves to turn down the offer of a unique opportunity. We agreed to be cautious, not to get separated, to refuse any drugs and see what happened.
His family home was about 20 mins drive and as we came round the corner and he pointed at it, we were speechless. It was a modern, steel and glass mansion, built off the mountainside with girders that held up the huge veranda that overlooked the lake about 20 metres below. It was like something from a James Bond movie, I had no comprehension of how you could end up in place like this without being a millionaire film star or an evil villain.
Inside it was furnished more traditionally with rugs and cushions, drapes and classic low furnishings. We were introduced to his wife, brother and children and asked to join them for drinks on the veranda. He was probably in his late 30s or early 40s and he and his wife spoke English well, having been to university in the U.S.. The brother offered us hashish or opium, which we politely refused, feeling like we were being tested in some way and we settled for long freshly squeezed fruit juices as opposed to the alcohol offered, that was apparently kept for visiting non Muslims.
The conversation was quite formal but relaxed, he was especially keen to talk to the girls about their University experiences, qualifications and expectations of employment. We ate salads and fruit dishes with the family, who ate no meat that night in deference to our vegetarian preferences and declined the offer of beds for the night as we were still a bit (needlessly) suspicious and had all our belonging down in the tea shop.
His wife translated his brother’s advice on the best way to visit the lakes and invited us back for dinner the next day.
The brother drove us back in time to settle in at the accommodation. It was already getting very cold as the sun went down and they told us that it would go down to about -12c overnight, one of the boys would keep the wood burner well stoked throughout the night. About 12 people bedded down along the edges of the room, in small groups, the lanterns were turned out at about 10pm and we chatted quietly in the light of the central wood burner until we fell asleep.
And back to that picture of the tea house that inspired this blog, simple and welcoming.
Photo: Curt Gibbs 1978
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