Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I was sent away. They talked on in hoarse, argumentative whispers for another
ten minutes, then gathered themselves up, and without a word, floated in their
ragged robes back toward the waiting villagers. The man with the mauled face and
stripes returned, again drawing his finger across his throat, snarling. The sun fell
below the horizon, its dying embers reflected briefly on the highest summit snows.
Alex and Voytek remained comatose. I drew the remaining expedition barrels
around the mouth of the tent, and barely had the energy to get into my sleeping
bag. The darkness and the river roared in my ears as I slipped into unconscious-
ness, my final thought our lives were at an end.
The heat of the mid-morning sun finally woke us and drove us from the tent. It
was another beautiful clear day. A band of sheepherders stood nearby and others
appeared with ponies and donkeys. It was back to business as usual and we were
soon bargaining to save ten cents a day on the cost of a load.
One of the elders approached. He made me understand that the mullah had de-
clared a fatwa in our favour. God had sent us to test the people. The will of Allah
had allowed us to climb Bandaka and it was the greed of the villagers that had tried
to cheat us. They had learned a lesson. Voytek charged over.
'What did that man want? We cannot offer more money, we must be very care-
ful.'
'You're right Voytek, we need to be more careful.'
We were at the end of the climb and the beginning of a return journey that would
lead back over the mountains and down many dusty roads through the Soviet
Union to Poland. We walked out during Ramadan, which meant early starts and
long hungry days. Otherwise it was pretty uneventful, except on the last afternoon
when I paused to watch the string of ponies and Alex and Voytek ford a fast-flow-
ing river an hour before Zebak. When I eventually set off to follow, I missed the ex-
act line across the river and found myself in danger of being swept away. Alex and
the Afghani drivers sat not more than a hundred yards away on the other side
laughing, until Alex realised it was actually a serious situation.
'He has the Afghanis,' he said to the pony men, meaning the local currency. In
fact, I had all of our remaining money. Three of the men bolted to the river and
crossed twenty yards upstream, signalling me towards them with warm, toothless
smiles.
The expedition trucks arrived at Zebak during the afternoon after our encounter
with the Afghan colonel. We were in Kabul in five days, and after a delay of anoth-
er week, even the Russians relented and welcomed us back onto their train in the
