The Gardens of Kabul

Walking the streets of Kabul, one sees unrelieved concrete, mud brick, and dirt. The dirt is the worst – fine particles that turn to slurry when it rains, then swirl into thick clouds of dust at the slightest breeze. Thanks to years of war, drought, and the Taliban, Kabul is barren, inhospitable, ugly.

But behind the grim walls that guard Kabul’s homes are lush gardens. In the early summer, roses of every variety bloom, unripe apples drop from fruit trees, and people loll about in comfy chairs. Sitting in such a garden, sheltered from the choking dust (to a point), it’s easy to forget that one is in Kabul, armpit of Central Asia.

And then there are the restaurants catering to foreigners. No, they can’t beat your average TGIFriday’s, but they’re a great, if somewhat warped, diversion from reality. Afghans can’t afford to eat in them, and many restaurants simply don’t allow Afghans inside so they can serve alcohol. Weirdly, alcohol is legal for foreigners, illegal for Afghans. The same is true in Pakistan, but it’s much harder to get a drink there. I’m always struck by guilt when I go to one of these places, but that doesn’t stop me. Forgetting I’m in Afghanistan for a few moments a day has become necessary to my dwindling sanity.

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