It's Not Baroque. Please, fix it!

Wazir Akbar Khan is the Beverly Hills of Kabul (under construction), packed with monster homes and psychoses. Speculating on where these mansion-builders get their money could be hazardous to my health, so I won’t. However, the phrase “more money than taste” runs repeatedly through my mind as I bump down Wazir’s muddy dirt roads, past tall concrete columns, mirrored mosaic balconies, and the remains of rusted out tanks. Tastes are different and someone must think all that flash is pretty, but will they please get the scrap metal out of the road?

I take pictures of mansions that look like psychedelic wedding cakes as I sit in an SUV at a narrow crossroads. We wait for a Toyota Corolla to navigate a steep and muddy incline. Our turn is next. I wince as they smash their bumper in the dip, threaten to stall, and then with a splatter of mud lurch out of the hole and past us. The Afghan woman in the back seat of the Corolla laughs and gives me a thumbs-up, which I return. I’m in a good mood for the rest of the day.