Mud, Sweat, and Tears

Did I say last month that the streets of Kabul were a muddy mess? Ha! HA! Last month, the streets were merely wet and dirty with snow. Yesterday I made the error of going for a walk after a rain. The endeavor consisted of hurling myself out of the way of cars racing through puddles, mincing through the shallowest bits, and slipping upon piles of mud. It was all surprisingly tiring, and out of sheer desperation to escape the onslaught of squelches and splatters, I acquiesced to my friend’s suggestion we step inside a carpet shop.

The reason I avoid carpet shops is I have a hard time saying “no” once the stacks of carpets are unfurled (and this occurs at lightening speed). All the work the eager salesman goes through hefting carpets about and then having to fold them up after I leave oppresses me with guilt. I was doomed from the start. I bought one.

It was a lovely carpet though, a hand sewn kilim, and even prettier when I got it out of the dimly lit shop (mud coated windows, naturally) and into the room at my guesthouse. I left for dinner feeling quite proud of my purchase.

And then, tummy full, I got back to my room, opened the door, and recoiled from the barnyard stench. My carpet reeks of sheep! I hadn’t noticed in the shop, or walking back to the guesthouse (the carpet was in a bag, after all), but it stunk the whole room up. Eyes watering, I stuffed the carpet back in its bag and shoved it into a cabinet I never open. After considerable airing, the room is now back to its vaguely sewer-like smell (attached bathroom, dubious plumbing, still the best room in Kabul). I’m now on a quest for incense to detox my room. I’m not so far from India – there must be some incense somewhere. I'm not picky. As long as it doesn't smell like sewer, farm animals, or car exhaust, I'll be happy.