Cramped ride to Bamiyan

Riding on the "motors" was not the most comfortable experience. On this particular day, we set off at 4:30 a.m. from the village of Doabi Mikhe Zarin, swaying up a jagged mountain canyon in a particularly cramped vehicle. At last we reached a wide, open, green valley, a kind of plateau. It was surrounded by red mountains, snow-capped even in July. One of the Afghani men who had been riding with me since Pule Khumri pointed at some cliffs. "Bamiyan!" he said. The town, known for its Buddhas carved into the cliffs, could not have come soon enough.

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