Into the mountains

We woke up Friday morning to the typical sounds of the street below. Clip, clop of horses pulling wooden carts lashed together combined with cars driving crazily through the streets. The call to prayer rings through the air-some pull out their rugs and bow to Mecca; others continue on their business. Across the street three little boys huddle on the side of the road. They will stay there all day moving in and out of traffic.

It is a big day-we are going on a tour with an airline employee. He and his driver arrive at 9am along with the driver's little boy, age 7. He is dressed in his Afghan best-white suit with green belt and velvet vest inlaid with mirrors and trimmed with gold. He is very excited to be a part of this adventure. We climb into the car and head out of the congested inner city. We drive past the markets filled with all kinds of vegetables, melons, goats and sheep tethered waiting to be slaughtered.

As we continue to head out the road we pass the Teachers College and the Red Crescent Compound. There are security guards everywhere along with trucks of Afghan soldiers. We pass acres of refugee settlements made of mud walls and ceilings made of tarps or scraps of fabric sewn together. The poverty is overwhelming. These are refugees from the southern provinces-including Helmand. They have been here for a while as the stability of their homes has been lost for a long time. Hopefully the new surge will make a difference and they can return home.

Now we are out of the city. Small plots of land no bigger than my garden at home are planted with crops-wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. The homes are now made with adobe like bricks and as we drive we can see places where they are making them. Along the road there are random mounds of rocks with sticks with scraps of green and red fabric flying. The driver tells me they are tombs. It is Friday-the only day off in the week and many others are traveling to the mountains. Families are picnicking along the roadways and every so often people are pulled into the creek along the road for a car wash.

We pass through Kabul's golf course and reach Lake Quarga. It is beautiful glacial blue green water. We stop and reserve a paddle boat and our host brings us bowls of ice cream. We paddle around the water eating ice cream and gazing at the high mountain peaks. I feel like I am in Colorado, but the scarf on my head reminds me again where I am .

As we return to shore I see a little girl who had been walking up the road with her brother carrying a tray . Underneath the cloth are breads baked to sell. She cannot be more than 6 years old. Another small girl is gathering stems of dry grass to bundle and sell for fuel. Little boys carry sacks to scavenge for plastic bottles. It is obvious that some are lacking food and I feel completely overwhelmed. Everywhere I go see small children working-it makes me feel ashamed of so many spoiled Americans.

Now it is my husbands turn to get back to his roots. There are horses for hire and so he climbs on an Afghan pony. The children of the owners are fascinated with my camera and want to practice their English. Ok and with a thumbs up they smile at me. He would have ridden forever but there was more to see. We continue to drive higher into the mountains. Now we are passing through a village and the markets are open . There is so much fruit-piles of cherries and plums; sacks of flour with American flags and the ever present Coca cola.

We reach our destination -a mountain stream surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying a holiday picnic. The driver parks in the stream-we take off our shoes and climb out for a snack of Afghan raspberries-white and purple. We notice some high school boys cooling their watermelons in the steam. They see us and pose for us and then present me with one of the melons. They spoke great English and wanted to know all about America. They reminded me of my students at home -hopeful to go to Florida someday.

We head back in the car-and the serenity of the day is disrupted by two truckloads of Afghan soldiers with machine guns. The picnic is over-it is a reality check. Things are not normal yet. It is time to head back t the safety of the hotel and the armed guards. It was an absolutely lovely day while it lasted.