This was our first vacation.
I don't know who decided to
go to Bamiyan or why, but what a lovely province it turned out to be.
Our bus ride didn't take that
long. It was just an all-day drive.
On our bumpy and dusty bus ride,
an Afghan woman kept putting something up to her veiled face. I
thought she might be drinking soup or something; but then she put the
vase-like container outside the window and emptied it. She had
been vomiting. Bus motion sickness. The local population
was not accustomed to bus riding.
Jon brought along a case of
wine. This wine was made in Afghanistan, and although I didn't
know much about wine, I sure knew that I didn't like this wine.
At one stop for prayer, Jon and I
got off to stretch. When we returned to the bus, we saw spittle
on our water bottle.
Someone had been offended by
the alcohol.
When we arrived in Bamian I first
noticed how quiet it was, and then how green and clean it looked.
We "checked in" to
our "hotel", which was a small, dome-shaped and
straw-thatched hut.
Jon and I bunked in one hut with
two single beds. We wondered how many scorpions were here.
I woke up the first night and
removed a burning cigarette from Jon's hand. He had fallen
asleep. I knew that our hut would have been eaten by flames in a
flash. I'm glad that I couldn't sleep that first night.
The next day we walked
around. Then we rented horses.
My horse was difficult to
control.
He walked over a large garden.
I was afraid I would get
shot or something, but nothing happened, and then I looked up and saw
a little Persian girl, dressed in beautifully embroidered clothing,
walking down a small hill and carrying a basket on her head while
holding up a small sickle in her left hand.
Her brightly-colored clothing
highlighted the earth colors.
I wrote my poem Bamian,
Afghanistan based on this brief encounter.
Rain had washed out the roads!
We were "stranded"
in beautiful Bamian!
We were out of money, out of
alcohol, but not out of hope!
We telegraphed Kabul to inform the
Peace Corps office of our problem.
Our message reached the Peace
Corps office so that they would know we were safe and sound, although
penniless.
Betty
had befriended an embassy worker (or maybe he was a businessman) from
Germany, and he agreed to loan us some money.
When
we finally left Bamiyan two days later, it was in a plane that could
fly over the Himalayas.
Afghanistan's
mountain peaks were large and ominous.
It
was a scary take-off and a scary ride, but we finally reached Kabul
airport.
Bamiyan,
Afghanistan
Echoes
of Tamerlane, Genghis Khan, and Alexander
Were
found in turquoise, opal, and amethyst dreams.
Young
vagabonds slept on Persian rugs
Beneath
heaven's pastures far below tall Buddhas on Bamian's plains.
While
bright on Earth
Green
grass grew under falling rain
Above
the sky lit up dark echoed man's last refrain:
We
hail the rains to bring us back to life
We
hail the rains to remove this mortal rule of knife;
But
thunder shouted and sirens cried
People
hurried
They
fought and died.
Echoes
of Tamerlane, Genghis Khan, and Alexander
Were
found in turquoise, opal, and amethyst dreams.
Young
vagabonds slept on Persian rugs
Beneath
heaven's pastures
Far
below tall Buddhas on Bamian's plains.
IT'S
ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES
