My 1978 “Hippie Trail” Journal: A Second Dreamy Day in Herat

With Afghanistan in decline, I’m reflecting on my experiences traveling there as a 23-year-old backpacker on the “Hippie Trail” from Istanbul to Kathmandu. Yesterday and today, it is a poor but strong land that foreign powers misunderstand and insist on undermining.

Take another dreamy day with me in Herat, Afghanistan, in this journal entry from 1978.

Monday, July 31, 1978: Herat

I didn’t stir for nine hours. After breakfast we picked up our rental bikes and started a little adventure. Nice to have wheels. We could stop whenever we wanted and, if people got too intense, we could make a clean escape. The wind cooled us and things happened much faster than when we were hiking.

Rushing through the part of the city we already knew well, we headed towards the old ruined minarets we had seen two days earlier on our approach to Herat. After seeing this historical place, an old man let us enter the mosque for 10 Afghanis and we saw the tomb of an old Afghan king.

We had now seen the great historical site and we left with some studious types in the shade. We had a good conversation and learned something about the culture and language. We also learned from our friend that we are spending too much money for everything.

Happily on the beach on the road, I took a series of wonderful photos. This is the photographer’s moment I’ve been waiting for. I found boys tossing melons, colored girls sitting on curbs, lazy youths lying on hot wagons, and many other trifles of Afghan life. People are genuinely friendly and proud, shaking my hand firmly and evenly. I had a little fruit thrown at me but, overall, it’s one of the friendliest countries I’ve experienced. Any women who go out into the streets and who are post-puberty are completely hidden, with only a small gridwork in the cloth covering their face.

We were determined to pedal in the same direction until we reached the edge of town. After wetting our whistles with Sprite, we made our way down the busy, dusty street until the city became a mud village like the ones I’d seen in Egypt and Morocco. Taking side roads, we found ourselves in a new and different world. The quiet brown dirt roads became high walls, long and narrow. The walls were occasionally broken by small shops and rustic wooden doors. Young and old sat down as if they were waiting for a stranger on a bike. I’m sure we were a rare sight for them. I wonder if they enjoyed our presence or if we were violating their peace.

I experimented with different greetings, from the salute to a baby’s wave, to the solemn “kiss the hand over the heart” that religious-looking vows offer us. It gives very good results. I had a pocket full of candies for gifts and I felt better than giving him money.

You know, in this happy society everyone seems contented and I have seen no hunger and very few hard beggars. They have modest requirements for their modest productivity and things seem to work just fine and there is more than enough tea, hashish and melons for everyone.

We walked around until we were full and realized it was hot and hard work. Then, on the way back, we stopped at a pile of hay on which some bullocks had drawn a wooden weed-chewing tool and beaten it romantically. What a dreamy tourist and photography opportunity! I jumped at the chance to drive the cart and had an unforgettable blast. I had to sit on the platform driving the oxen around and I think the farmers got as much of a kick out of me as I did out of them and their hay. This is optimality.

We got our bikes back two hours later and paid one rupee each. We picked a melon and retreated back to our hotel. Feeling hot but happy, we stopped at the pool, stripped down to our underwear and got chilly. Instant refreshment! Wow! What a wonderful day we have! We walked around, did a few dives and took some good photos and I thought “my goodness – this is what a vacation is supposed to be”. Drip to the room we hung out for a while and went downstairs for lunch. Good sleep, good food, and my vitamin pills were my formula for the rest of the trip and success. I don’t think I could go wrong with this recipe, but we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?

After some rest and a few cool showers, the sun was a little lower in the sky and we headed back out. While I was haggling for mink with a nice guy I had fallen in love with, Martin got off the Istanbul-Tehran bus, and we chatted, and he recommended the Endless Bazaar. We said we were going there.

I had my zoom lens on and it was such a thrill to zoom in on these lovely people. I can hardly wait to see my photos. We morphed or melted from scene to scene, soaking in all the images of the market. What a sensitive experience. We will move from the souks or neighborhoods of water pipe makers to tin pounders, weavers, bead makers, bead makers, blow workers, knife sharpeners on stationary foot wheels, chain makers, and nail benders. Everything was done by hand. Old and young worked furiously at the same menial task all day — for life. I will never again complain about a long day at my job – teaching piano lessons.

Each shop was about five yards apart and every five yards there was a new scene—a new glimpse of Afghan life. Some things we could not even understand. At one point, the little kids wouldn’t stop asking for “bakhshish” (gifts of money) and we had to enter a large mosque where a policeman chased them and we had to take off our shoes and pay to check the place out. It was impressive.

Now we were tired. Back at the hotel we went for a swim and a strange dog knocked my glasses out of my bag and the glasses fell off. I was worried but it came back – apparently as good as new. I think about breaking my glasses and wearing my high school hornrim that I brought for spares.

In the living room we tried some more hash and went out to mingle. The intensity of mixing was slightly higher. Little things, like the guy weighing the tomatoes, especially tickled me and I was more accepting of insects and willing to roam a little more freely. I didn’t know if it was because of the marijuana or because I was in such a good mood.

We took a ride in a funny little three-wheeled taxi that looked like a souped-up ice cream truck for a ride to another part of town and I got into some really interesting photography. Essays on current lighting and lantern lighting. I made the men pose exactly how I like them. I’ll even raise their chin a little or move the lantern closer. They may be unusual, or they may not be, but my subject and I both had a memorable time trying.

We wandered around some more and then boarded a small horse-drawn two-wheeled taxi. Charging across the city as if in a chariot, we really entertained, or at least entertained, our driver’s songs. We confidently surprised him by giving him 10 afghanis and he barely had time to catch up when we got out. These tourists were not taken for any ride except on horseback. I decided that if you try to agree on a price before boarding, they know you are new to the game and will rip you off. If you just go ahead and say “home james” and pay them what you think is fair, you’ll be fine.

On the way home, I bought a beautiful goody for five afghanis (1 cent). Then we stopped to check on our friend with Mink. I knew I would find myself bargaining furiously once again and it did. This was my third time in her shop and I knew I would be kicking myself if I went home without this mink. I love it just as much as I loved old “Grandpa” (a cat I befriended and took home back in second grade — who gave me Grandpa). I finally went for 460 afghani ($12) and came away with a perfect skin.

Now we were hungry and waiting for our hotel. We are living in a very wonderful way. Seated where the waiters know us, we ordered a hearty dessert with tea and melon. We are drinking water and my stools are solid, so we had more of it. I feel great. I am in control and whatever I want, I can get it. wow

At the room, I took a long shower, cleaned my pack, enjoyed my little souvenirs, and hit the sack. I thought nothing of how the cockroach got its name. (Maybe I’m tall, after all.)

People enjoy the same things all over the world. The old cleaner ignored my request for more toilet paper and said dreamily, “Look, isn’t it beautiful?” We both stood on the roof of the hotel, watching the sun set behind the distant mountain.

We were sitting in a park talking with some well-educated Afghans when one asked, “Aren’t you traveling with your women?” I said my girlfriend was at home and she replied, “Oh that’s too hard – I could never do that.” I feel like I’ve been “on the road” for a long time.

(This is journal number 3 of a five-part series. Stay tuned for another excerpt tomorrow, as 23-year-old me travels 500 miles across Afghanistan and visits the capital, Kabul.)