People play a key role in travel adventures of the memorable kind.
\u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

Memorable Moments Live On in Rekindled Travel Stories<\/h2>\n

Sometimes a journey is so memorable that you can relive every detail\u2014every sensory impression\u2014decades later. My travel adventures in Afghanistan were such a journey.<\/p>\n

The powerfully felt \u201cOh, I see\u201d moments<\/strong> are rooted deeply in my memory.<\/p>\n

\n
• The colors\u2014from the lapis blue of the Band-e Amir lakes to the jewel tones of the women\u2019s burkas.<\/li>\n
• The tastes and smells\u2014from juicy mulberries washed fresh in the mountain streams of the Hindu Kush and crispy nan (Afghan bread) to the smoky incense of the wood fires.<\/li>\n
• The summer heat\u2014from the unrelenting sun above and the baking earth under\u00a0my feet.<\/li>\n
• And the characters\u2014weathered by hard life, but hospitable and generous with what little they had.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n
  

  The journey begins (Herat, Afghanistan).
  \u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

  The Call of the Silk Road<\/h4>\n

  The year was 1972. I found myself moving east\u2014from Italy to Greece, Greece to Turkey, Turkey to Iran, and Iran to Afghanistan. I met each country\u2019s eastern border with the explorer\u2019s cry of \u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

  The Silk Road beckoned, so I began to follow this ancient trade route from Europe to China.<\/p>\n

  Afghanistan was key to\u00a0the plot\u2014exotic and wild . . . and beautiful\u2014before so much war took its toll.<\/p>\n

  

  Afghanistan: Exotic, wild . . . and beautiful.
  \u00a9 Rusian Olinchuk\/Hemera<\/p><\/div>\n

  Travel Adventures on The Northern Route<\/h4>\n

  With a fellow adventurer, I chose the road less traveled from Herat to Kabul. The Northern Route, as it was known, was so \u201cless traveled\u201d that, in fact, there was no road. Only tracks in the desert sand, laid by drivers in the know.<\/p>\n

  

  Water on the Northern Route was scarce. We got so thirsty that we couldn’t wait for our purifying tablets to take effect. (But we lived to tell about it.)
  \u00a9 manxman<\/p><\/div>\n

  There were no buses, only small open-air Russian trucks, which were packed with layers of people, chickens, and fat sacks of grain and potatoes.<\/p>\n

  There was no transport schedule. You waited in each town where you were deposited until there was room for you on another passing truck.<\/p>\n

  When we got a ride, we sat stoically in the back of the truck, covered in desert dust. We watched the kilometers of endless sand and studied our fellow passengers\u2019 faces.<\/p>\n

  

  The women were veiled, making it difficult to know what they were thinking or feeling.
  \u00a9 luxG4\/iStock<\/p><\/div>\n

  On one trip, after five hours with no stop, an Afghan woman passenger\u00a0beat on the cab of the truck to brake. From under her burka\u00a0she brought a sick baby, a surprise to all of us. We had no idea he was there. He had been a young stoic until then. The truck\u00a0stopped, and the baby was cradled back to peaceful silence.<\/p>\n

  After days on trucks and weeks of waiting in small villages for a place on the next truck, we arrived in a soon-to-be favorite town\u2014Tashkurgan (now known as Kholm), famous for its labyrinthian Silk Road bazaar.<\/p>\n

  Tashkurgan<\/h4>\n

  We seemed to be the only visitors to this sleepy town, certainly the only Westerners.<\/p>\n

  We found our way to the one hotel\u2014an unfinished giant cinder block built by the Russians, with plumbing fixtures that had never been connected and, thus, no\u00a0running water.<\/p>\n

  A grandfatherly Rip Wan Winkle came to greet us, rubbing his eyes as if he\u2019d been asleep for 100 years.<\/p>\n

  His name was Mustafa, a gentle soul who treated us like family and would have done anything for us\u2014anything, that is, except allowing me to photograph him.<\/p>\n

  We spent our days at the bazaar,\u00a0ogling<\/span>\u00a0intricate tribal embroidery, silver and amber jewelry, carpets, and quilts.<\/p>\n

  

  Afghan embroidery
  \u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

  We did not have to walk from stall to stall. Since we were the only visitors in town, we were treated as royals.<\/p>\n

  We were given throne-like chairs and tea in the center of the market, and each of the merchants paraded his wares in front of us. If they saw our eyes light up at something, they brought more of the same. A cavalcade of treasures.<\/p>\n

  As the only travelers in town, we had real bargaining power. The dialog went something like this:<\/p>\n

  Me: I\u2019ll offer\u00a0270\u00a0afghanis ($4) for that embroidery.<\/i><\/p>\n

  Merchant: Yes. OK.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

  Although ordinarily this would clinch the deal, I realize he is too quick to agree.<\/p>\n

  Me: How about 135\u00a0afghanis ($2)?<\/i><\/p>\n

  Merchant: Yes. OK.<\/i><\/p>\n

  He is anxious to make a sale and doesn\u2019t realize that the bargaining has taken a different kind of turn.<\/p>\n

  

  A Bukharan silk design on an Afghan coat.
  \u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

  One afternoon we wandered out to a teahouse (chaikana)<\/em> on the main road a few kilometers from town. We were so involved with the locals that we let darkness fall around us.<\/p>\n

  We began walking back to town on the lightless road, feeling our way by the varying textures of the earth and trying to move away from the barking packs of wild dogs (or were they howling wolves?) that pierced the blackness around us.<\/p>\n

  Still far from town, we saw the glimmer of a lantern in the distance. Friend or foe, we did not know. We stopped, unsure whether to move toward or away from the light. The glow moved closer. We stood frozen in place.<\/p>\n

  Finally, the light revealed the kind face of Mustafa, who had been worried about us and had come searching. We had never been happier to see a familiar face. That night, our bond grew stronger.<\/p>\n

  On our last day, Mustafa allowed me to photograph him. He had been reluctant because he was ashamed of his tattered appearance and weathered face. He didn\u2019t know that this made him all the more dear to me.<\/p>\n

  

  Mustafa
  \u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

  Bamiyan and Band-e Amir<\/h4>\n

  The last of the travel stories in this Afghan adventure takes us west of Kabul to the country\u2019s interior. We are rewarded here with the ancient Bamiyan valley and the Band-e Amir lakes.<\/p>\n

  Nowhere else do I feel such painful sadness at the changes that have come to this country.<\/p>\n

  

  Valley of the Bamiyan Buddhas
  \u00a9 picassos<\/p><\/div>\n

  Bamiyan was known for the monumental standing buddhas carved into the sandstone cliffs, guarding the peaceful and fertile fields below. The buddhas had survived many sieges of the valley since their creation in the 4th and 5th centuries. They stood strong against different warriors. Everpresent.<\/p>\n

  But in 2001, the Taliban planted dynamite in the cliffs and the statues were destroyed. I\u2019m certain all of us who had looked up at these ancient treasures felt a somber\u00a0emptiness\u00a0that March day.<\/p>\n

  A bit farther west, the Band-e Amir lakes were a rugged, but beautiful paradise. Six deep blue lakes cascaded into each other amidst a stark backdrop of Grand Canyon-like colored sand.<\/p>\n

  

  The Band-e Amir Lakes
  \u00a9 Maximillian Clarke<\/p><\/div>\n

  At the time, there were just two small tent camps, one on each side of the lakes. We shared ground with adventurous travelers from all over the world.<\/p>\n

  The lakes provided water to drink and endless\u00a0pools for swimming. Aside from the tents, there was no other shelter from the sun. At nearly 10,000\u00a0feet, we baked by day and froze by night. Paradise is not always kind.<\/p>\n

  Now Band-e Amir has been declared the first National Park in Afghanistan. Although it is difficult to travel there and is not without risk, its great beauty is\u00a0valued by all who visit.<\/p>\n

  

  The beauty of a fertile valley near the Hindu Kush
  \u00a9 Meredith Mullins<\/p><\/div>\n

  Nothing is as Certain as Change<\/h4>\n

  The travel stories from my\u00a0journey remain vivid and bring a poignant nostalgia. Afghanistan will never again be as it was then.<\/p>\n

  Perhaps the most profound \u201cOh, I see\u201d moment as I rekindle these details\u00a0is the commitment to\u00a0cherish<\/span>\u00a0all moments of travel adventures. The\u00a0world changes. The places we treasure may soon be only\u00a0memories.<\/p>\n

  Comment<\/a><\/i>\u00a0on this post below, or inspire insight with your own\u00a0OIC Moment\u00a0<\/em>here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":null,"protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":25290,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[221,518],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25288","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-adventure-travel","category-afghanistan-mappoints"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25288","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25288"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25288\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25327,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25288\/revisions\/25327"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25290"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25288"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25288"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25288"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}