BAMIAN

This was our first vacation. I don't know who decided to go to Bamian 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 Bamian 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.

Bamian, 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.