Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Amu Darya to retrace our train journey across the Soviet Union? The Poles
smuggled us here with false papers, so going back is a problem. If they grant us
permission in Kabul, maybe ten more days to get to Warsaw, then three days to
England. It is only time and we have plenty of that. I drift off again.
As if from a dream, the distant sound of engines gathers strength. Beyond the
fields, at the base of the hills to the north, lies a rough road that links Faizabad
with the upper reaches of the Wakhan and then on to the smuggling route into
Soviet Asia across the Amu Darya. Could this be Wojciech Kurtyka - known as
Voytek - and the rest of our expedition returning from the Mandaras valley?
Voytek has been gone two days. I make a quick calculation - no, that is not enough
time to get there and back. We follow the plume of dust rising from the road half a
mile away as it grows in size to reveal a military jeep and a lorry half full of soldiers
heading west.
The vehicles stop at the nearest point on the road to us, about a quarter of a mile
away. Three men get out and set out at a fast march across the fields in our direc-
tion. We have camped far enough from the road to give ourselves a chance to run if
required. A threatening encounter at Bandikan a week ago is still fresh in our
memory. We have no official permission to be here, which in the eyes of bandits is
as good as not being here at all. We have no choice now but to wait and see what
unfolds. In any case, these men are clearly military. We can tell by the height and
sweep of their peaked caps that two of them are officers. By his braids one appears
to be a colonel. Perhaps a cell in a military camp won't be too bad.
As the men approach Alex sits up to have a better look. We can see clearly that
Voytek is not with them.
'What do you think? Are these guys going to arrest us, shoot us or are they just
stopping by for a brew?'
'Hopefully just checking us out, but maybe they will do all three.'
I stand up to greet them, while Alex does his best to bring order to our posses-
sions. First priority, get our British passports ready to wave if required. Being
'
Inglestani!
London!' has proven to be one of our strongest cards during our entire
illicit time in this region.
The colonel covers the last yards with grace and authority.
'Hello, where are you from?'
Around forty years old and with 1950s movie-star looks, he is clearly the senior
man here. His Horse Guards moustache dates from the era of the British Army's
fatal retreat from Kabul. It suddenly occurs to me to question how the English mil-
itary of past centuries developed the fashion for moustaches.
'
Inglestani!
London,' I reply like an obedient dog.
