My Marrakesh

Afghanistan: and a tale of the ending

As I got in the plane, as I fastened my seat belt, as I lifted off the runway, I thought of all that I was leaving behind. 

 I thought about how we all skim along the surface -- how little we ever know, really know,  about each other.  Looking down with my forehead pressed against the glass, I contemplated all those lives, just dots, just points of light from a plane window.  But behind the points of light,  people, real people, who suffered, who were elated, who hoped.   I felt a kind of wonder, a kind of distress, a kind of sadness that I would never know them.  That I would never sit in their living rooms listening to their stories -- of the important things, the things with meaning, the things that counted.  That I would never hear the moments that had changed them, that had made them think differently, that had altered their views of the world. 

Distance would separate us, time would separate us, circumstance would separate us.  Religion, color, culture, politics and fear would come between us.  And we might never meet but for the briefest, most cursory encounters.    And we would stay -- all of us --  just skimming,

skimming the surface.

PS.  Thank you so much for those of you who voted for My Marrakesh in the Bloggies.  I appreciate your support!:-)

Kabul: and a shopping tale - part 2

It was the kind of shopping that made you very happy and yet very sad.  Because a beauty like this was meant to be seen and shared by many.  Not just by those on assignment in Afghanistan.  Or those stationed in Afghanistan.  Or those covering Afghanistan.  But by those simply visiting Afghanistan for pleasure, for loveliness, for adventure.   

That's the Afghanistan that I am waiting for.  Please, please let it be so.  Some day soon. 

Until then....a glimmer. 

Hand embroidered key fobs.

Woven lattice fringe on an Afghan carpet. 

 The prettiest hand embroidered shawls.

Afghan kilim covered pillows.

Lovely little clutches embroidered by hand.

  Woolly handmade tassels with hand embroidery and shells.

Hand embellished jewelry rolls.

 Hand etched, old polished vessels.

 Silk, hand beaded blouse.

 

Kabul, Afghanistan: and a tale of cafes, restaurants and bars

Oh, I had seen that look before.  In a different place, in a different war.  

It was the look of captivity. The eyes of those who needed to get out before paranoia and claustrophobia set in. 

Too much time indoors, too much time waiting for bad news, too much time staring at a screen. 

Too many sad memories from too many tragic tales from too much needless violence.

Thank goodness for the sanctuaries.  For those spots where you could forget for an hour or two that anything could happen at any time because you were in Kabul.

Le  Bistro.  For brunch or dinner.

 

  


Cabul Coffeehouse & Cafe.  For a snack, coffee, or lunch.

 
   

L'Atmosphere.  For drinks, dinner, and a laugh.

Le Bistro:  One street up from Chicken Street, Behind the MOI, Shar-e-Naw, Tel:0799-598852

Cabul Coffehouse & Cafe: Street 6, on the left, Qale-e Fatullah, Tel: 0752005275

L'Atmosphere, Street 4, Taimani, Tel: 0798224982, 0798413872

Kabul, Afghanistan: and a shopping tale -- part one

Oh it was a little wearying.  All this talk of the Taliban.  The endless warning messages in code from the security company of where not to go.  The obligatory clearance of all meetings in advance.  The bodyguard's surreptitious patting of his loaded pistol. The reminders to wear the personal tracers at all times, just in case....just in case you should disappear.

But beyond the barricades, beyond the barbed wire, beyond the checkpoints and badges and flak jackets....there was beauty.  The kind you could touch and feel.  The kind that you could pay for, pulling crumpled bills out of your wallet.  The kind that you could pack in your suitcase and would remind you -- perhaps for forever -- of this place.  A place that was unlike any other, forgotten but yet on the nightly news. 

It was a handmade beauty.  Stitch after stitch, bead after bead, gem after gem.  An assurance of all that Afghanistan was and all that it could be.  A hidden detail.  A secret promise.  A whispered sign of better days to come, if you could manage to see it (somehow) through the smog that shrouded Kabul.

Just squint your eyes.  There, there (!) it is.

 Intricately crafted pom poms in the prettiest colors, made by hand.
  
Hand strung carved beads made from stone.
Hand beaded silk blouses.
Metal vessels etched with birds and deer by hand.
Intricate wool tassels hand tied with tiny shells.
 Hand woven scarves with long fringe.
 
  Hand knotted Afghan carpets.

Hand embroidered little bells.