Where the Streets Have No Name

I spend a lot of the day on the road. Traffic in most third world countries is chaotic, with cars making four lanes out of two, and Kabul is no exception. However, to the credit of the Kabul traffic police, the roads are not quite as insane as, say, Cairo. Or perhaps it’s simply because the excessive volume of traffic slows the drivers, making the roads less terrifying. Pity the bikers, however. The number of bicyclists here rivals Amsterdam. They weave in and out of traffic in a manner that can only be described as suicidal, and yesterday, during a snowstorm, was no exception. Traffic had been reduced to a crawl, and cars on bald tires spun slowly through intersections, miraculously avoiding collision as if in a well-choreographed waltz.

And like the song says, the streets in Kabul really don’t have names (and I thought U2 was speaking metaphorically!). Recently, a system of numbering the roads was implemented. However, most addresses still go something like this:

Opposite the NGO Counterpart; or
Near the Cinema Bahresitan.

Even if your driver knows the landmarks referenced, “opposite” and “near” are loose terms, resulting in much driving about in circles, down muddy side-streets and past suspicious guards armed with Kalishnikovs.