AFGHANISTAN

Afghanistan in the late 60's was an exceedingly strange place for young travelers. So strange in fact that it bordered on the magical. The naive vagabond was suddenly free from the contraints of prior experience, of the boundaries of what was thought to be possible. The environment and those who inhabited it, served as a blank canvas upon which unfettered minds could paint all sorts of romantic fantasies. While I did my share of fantasizing both aided and not, I also tried, from admittedly unfocused reasons, to "document" some of what I saw before me. This is not to claim that this "document"--the photos herein--is an objective record. Certainly in the taking, the subjectivity formed both by imagination and ignorance did creep in. But if you look carefully, you may learn something about the land and its people, at least for that moment in time. My experience of Afghanistan was from 1969-73, with most of these photos taken in the first years. This was a special time for it was the end of an era of relative peace and well-being at least for us who were passing through. Even for Afghans, materially impoverished and often culturally oppressed, compared to what was to come, it was truly a golden age. I have carried around these memories, both mental and material, for what is now over fifty years. Much has been lost, damaged and forgotten to the vagaries of a traveler's life. What appears here is an incomplete record, not at all an adequate survey of either the country or even my experience. It is what remains--my read on Afghanistan.I can only hope that I have provided a glimpse of a land and, more importantly, a way of life that once was and will never be more. When I look through these pictures I often wonder the fates of theses people. Who survived?What strikes me now most strongly from the comforts of the Berkeley Hills is how these people survived in such a harsh, unyielding land which local; myth holds as "the land of Cain". You may be struck by the poverty, the stark harshness of life. But keep in mind the ability to exist with so little has enabled the Afghans to survive the many centuries with interminable horrors both posed by nature and from fellow humans.Part of these photos ("Road") were taken on a solo journey by foot and horse back from Herat to Kabu on my second visit in 1970."I was burned out! On arriving at Herat after six months and 36,000 miles of travel in a VW camper, I handed over the keys to my companion, bought two horses and set off alone for Kabul via the "central route"--a dirt track that headed east along the Hari Rud valley. I spoke neither Dari nor Pashtu, carried few supplies and no weapons except the foolishness of youth, which of course is two edged. Thus I entrusted myself to those I would meet along the way and, perhaps more importantly (in keeping with local practice) to the 'hand of God". Herat's local Peace Corps resident swore I was crazy, saying "If the bandits don't get you, the wolves will". A month or so later I arrived in Kabul, a bit thinner, bruised and battered, but othwise alive. Along the way I met a number of folks both good and bad. Most had no idea where I had come from, the farthest place was Saudi as that was the most distant they could imagine--Mecca and the Haj. When I got to Chagcharan, about halfway, not more than a one street bazaar, I was asked if my home--at that time NYC--was as big.