Cityscape

It’s difficult to describe Kabul – so difficult that I’d hoped my pictures would do the job for me. But they portray only slices of the city.

Kabul is completely flat, except for the mountains. Imagine a giant frying pan. Now splat three teaspoon-sized mounds of mashed potatoes into it. If the edges of the frying pan were towering mountains, and the mashed potatoes were the hills of Kabul, you’ll see there’s still a lot of flat bits in between. It’s disorienting when one first arrives, because it’s hard to get a sense of what’s around the hills, or where Kabul ends. Only from the air can one really get a perspective on the city, and the damage done to west Kabul by decades of civil war. From the ground, it’s a flattened, crumbling mess. From the air one sees foundations, and the outlines of bedrooms and kitchens.

Big chunks of the city are composed of Soviet-style architecture, i.e. ugly concrete blocks. The Soviets also brought their love of marble to Kabul. I never understood their passion for the material, because it’s slick as an ice rink when wet. I spend a lot of time picking my way across marble driveways and sidewalks, tiptoeing through sludgy mud puddles, evading random holes in the ground. The Afghan men (for there are few women on the streets) probably think I’m acting demure, unwilling to raise my gaze. I just don’t want to land on my butt.

And then there are the hillsides. In most places, hills are the realm of the wealthy, from which they can enjoy the views of their domain. But in Kabul, the hills are dotted with cemeteries, their green flags fluttering in the breeze, and with mud-brick houses. The wealthy of today’s Kabul are building their homes in the Wazir Akbar Khan district. These homes, still in the process of construction, are fantasy creations of colored marble and Corinthian columns, tile mosaics and stained glass. And on the street before these palaces one might find the remains of Soviet tanks.