Herat Day 1

We woke up to leave for the airport at 5AM. Farouk was a trooper given that the glass door of the shower shattered all over him yesterday, leaving something of a bloody mess in our shared bathroom. When we got to the airport, we forced poor Alyza to carry all our bags since the line for women's bag screening (of course set apart and secluded) was much shorter than that for men.

(Note here again that many of these pictures are courtesy of Farouk, Alyza, and Ameel)

We worked our way to the terminal, then waited watching old school Ninja Turtles in Dari and Indian movies where everything below the neck was blurred out (censored) for the dancing women. The flight was rather late but uneventuful, except for the approach into Herat as we saw the harsh and arid mountains of central Afghanistan drop suddenly into the green plains of Herat.

After landing at the airport, we did not go through a terminal but rather out a gate in the fence, where little boys with wheelbarrows offered to take your luggage.

The drive into the city really showed the contrast between Kabul and Herat. First, the path is lined with pine trees and green spaces rather than the brown dry dust of the capital. The air is clearer, the temperature cooler, and the roads and other infrastructure in better condition. In short, Herat seems a livable city, in contrast to the harsher and more crowded Kabul.

We drove the the Roshan guest house, which the company was nice enough to let us use and which is above one of the main Roshan stores in Herat. We also were fed well, with delicious omelets in the morning and a feast for lunch that included chicken kabobs (for the carnivores) and fresh naan.

We first set out in the morning to the tomb of Jami, a Sufi poet. Herat is a city of history and culture, and their poets are honored in line with their warriors. The tomb as quite beautiful and serene, with a tree growing to shield it from the sun.

At this point we should turn to our Roshan-assigned driver, who made our day and with whom we traded Farouk's few words of Dari to little effect. We asked to go to the minarets at Musalla and the mausoleum of Gowhar Shad but he instead turned in the opposite direction and took us up a small road to another tomb. At that tomb, which we cannot identify, he walked into a small courtyard filled with rocks/gravel, lay down, covered his face, and started rolling around in the rocks and dirt (seemingly painful). I have not been able to find much to explain this, but as far as we could gather the ritual was meant to cleanse him of "worries" or sins. Unexpected, certainly.

We now went to the minarets at Musalla which surround the mausoleum of Gowhar Shad. The minarets are all that remains of a massive complex destroyed under British rule and by the Soviets in their carpet bombing of the Old City after Ismail Khan led a mutiny against their rule in 1979. They are massive (not quite sure the height in meters), and on their surface there are still spots where the blue tile is still visible. They truly must have been marvelous in their original condition, as must have been the massive complex they and others like them outlined.

Our attempt to enter the mausoleum of Gowhar Shad was less successful, but still lovely from the outside. Gowhar Shad was queen to Shah Rukh, a great patroness of the arts (including the construction of the Musalla complex), and a master of political intrigue.

We next drove to Gazar Gah, a pilgrimage site which houses the tomb of a Sufi saint (and poet). Sadly Alyza was not allowed in (men only) and so missed an amazing sight. The courtyard that housed the tomb (restored by guess who- The Aga Khan Trust for Culture) showed an amazing range of Islamic art styles and was breath-taking. At the tomb itself, the sight of old men weeping before the shrine to the Sufi saint, likely having spent their whole lives waiting to see it, is hard to describe. Apologies for the Blair-witch bumpiness of this video, but I was trying not to be the clearly out of place tourist filming blatantly as people went about their prayers:

We next went to the Citadel, the site of a fort believed to first have been built by Alexander the Great and later the seat of power for successive rulers. After getting charged twice the rate we expected by the ANP policeman (who put the money in his pocket) we got the most amazing private tour of the fort.



We walked all about the site, which (not surprisingly) is being restored by the Aga Khan Trust for Culture and has many parts that still show the original broken condition of the structure.


We were able to scale the walls of the fort and found our way to some stairs at the top of the highest tour, which afforded a fantastic 360 degree view of the city. (Ignore the audio- you can see the minarets at Musalla, but I misidentify the Friday mosque, which you can actually see a few degrees later in the distance).

Next we met Afreen and Katy, who met us at the entrance where we hung out for a while with the ANP police officers while they drank their tea. An emboldened Ameel took a photo with one officer's AK-47:

Farouk then took his turn:

Finally, our driver got a bit too excited and for a brief, odd, yet slightly terrifying moment pointed the AK-47 at Francisco with something of a deranged look before breaking into laughter. Indeed, humor in Afghanistan.

After deciding that our crazy plan to reach the Minaret of Jam before dark truly was insane, we instead went to the Old City and wandered about for a bit. We tried ice cream (which the shop owner tried to give us for free), watched Afreen negotiate for a green burka, and eventually drew such a crowd of interested Heratis as we walked the street that we decided to move on.

Our driven next took us to a beautiful overlook of the city, followed by a tea shop/open garden with families and kids and wandering chickens and peacocks. We stayed here a couple of hours lounging and chatting as some enjoyed sheesha.

Picture of Afghan (men only, of course) enjoying a swimming pool:

We next drove to the Marco Polo Hotel. Afreen and Katy had emailed the management of the hotel (as listed on WikiTravel) and has been told the Marco Polo no longer existed and that they should go to the Nazary. We drove to the Marco Polo (which did indeed exist) and learned the management team had moved to the Nazary and were trying to trick potential Marco Polo guests. We then ate at what was once known as Herat's best restaurant (in the Marco Polo), which though good food was likely past that prime.

Quite an eventful, fantastic day. Tomorrow we hope to see the Friday Mosque (reputed to be the finest work of Islamic architecture in this country) and visit shops for carpets and Herat's famous blue glass before heading back to Kabul.