Night has fallen and everything is quiet except for a dog barking in the distance and the ticks of my bukhari* as it cools along with the coals slowly smoking inside. There are no cars to hear, because the strip of paved road is on the other side of the valley near the airport, and there’s no reason to drive around after dark here anyway. It’s also cold, below freezing I believe, and so everyone is inside. There’s still some snow lingering in thin lines on the north sides of the foothills and the higher mountains are completely blanketed. We’re at 2800m here in Bamiyan, Afghanistan, so spring is creeping in rather slowly. I hear spring has sprung with a vengeance back in California; despite the drought, or maybe because of it, the flowering plants are donning their finest and batting their petals at the pollinators.

Even if it were a good temperature for blooming, I’ve seen little evidence of plant life here so far except for the stands of something akin to aspen growing on the banks of the streams. The only birds I’ve noticed are corvids – magpies, crows, and ravens – and I can’t say I’ve actually heard a bird song yet. But maybe this is a migratory area and the songbirds will fly in with the spring winds! One can only hope. I’m in luck regardless because I love the corvids, and ravens have a wonderful knack for living in grand places. I’ve heard their quorks from Death Valley to the high valleys of the Sierras and the steppes of Mongolia. I’ll file that thought away for another post on ravens.

It’s comforting knowing the mountains are out there in the dark, covered in snow. I’ve been watching the clouds roll up and tease their way along the ridges, trying to make it over but not quite managing. To the southeast, there are the tall and jagged peaks of the Hindu Kush, the high spine running through Afghanistan and Pakistan that marks the southern end of the Himalayas. The highest peaks around here are up to 6,000m (19,700ft!), though I couldn’t point out to you which ones they are. Unfortunately, I seem to have landed in a group of non-mountain folks, and no one is interested in exploring with me. Security protocols state we must always be with another international staff member or a few national staff, so I’m plumb out of luck at the moment. But the adventures out there are myriad, and, perhaps, a bit on the dangerous side for more reasons than mountain weather.

Bamiyan sits on a stepped plain in the midst of the mountains. There are foothills on all sides, most with natural caves staring blank and dark from reddish sandstone. The giant Buddhas were here, and their empty niches are the most impressive openings in the walls. Apparently, thousands of years ago the honeycomb of caves were used by hundreds of Buddhist monks as living quarters, meditation caves, and guest rooms for weary travelers. Some of the caves at the edges of the cliffs are still inhabited, but the rest has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. I hope to go next weekend. At the Buddhas, they sell tickets for another historical tourist attraction here: the City of Screams.This is a large-ish hill situated above the bazaar and at the other edge of the wheatfields which abut our compounds’ outer walls. The story goes that there was a conquering warlord living there in the fortress built on top (you can still see much of the ruins) and he had a daughter with an eye for the local men. Apparently, one night she arranged a tryst with a particularly handsome fellow and when she went down to open the back door a rebel force swept in and killed everyone inside, taking back the hill from the conquerer and simultaneously earning it the name “City of Screams.” I don’t think it’s been inhabited since then.

Even the dog has stopped barking at this point; it’s really getting late. I hope this is a satisfying taste of Bamiyan so far. More to come shortly!

Love,

Mila

*a bukhari is like a wood stove made of some much much thinner metal and round, with two vents that lead to a pipe. mine burns wood, but the more modern ones burn coal.