More Views from the Helicopter to Panjshir

The last shot of the river is where the helo landing zone is; this was taken just as we were taking off.

Panjshir - Things on Poles

A windfarm on the top of one of the mountains overlooking the river valley, and the US and Afghan flags at the PRT. OK, so this isn't the most Dickensian entry I've done. It's just a hook for the pictures, dammit.

Lunch in Panjshir

The photo on the right is before they brought out the rest of the food : cucumbers, tomatoes, yogurt, tea and candies, etc. One bowl had ground cumin and curry to sprinkle over the rice. The meat on skewers was lamb, as was the meat mingled in with raisins and nuts in the rice. However, a word of warning to would-be extravagant travelers: this cost an outrageous 300 afghanis, which is damn near six dollars. As you can infer from the bottom photo, the restaurant itself sits on stilts over a river, shaded by what appeared to be very young eucalyptus trees except that the leaves didn't have that panda-bear aroma. (However, you take off your shoes before you sit on the rugs, and there was definitely some sort of bear-like aroma wafting its way around. It couldn't have been me; I've showered this month.)
The first photo is for my tree-hugging environmentalist daughter, so if you don't notice this, expect never to get a special photo just for you again. Notice - in this remote village of maybe a few hundred people, the riverside restaurant uses low energy light bulbs.

Massoud's Tomb

Massoud is the hero of the Tajiks and of many Afghans for his heroic role in the resistance against the Soviet invasion. He was also no friend of the Taliban. Of significance at least as important as 9/11 in Afghanistan was 9/9/01, when Al Qaeda assassinated Massoud and crippled the leadership of the Tajik part of the Northern Alliance. Two men posing as journalists blew up a bomb hidden in a video camera; he died a few days later. Since 2003 the locals in the Panjshir valley near his home have been building a monument where his tomb is located. Here are views inside the still-unfinished monument, shots of the valley below it (it is on a very high hill in terrain that ranges from 8,000 to 14,000+ feet above sea level), proving that Afghanistan is not all brown and gray, and a shot of some of the destroyed Soviet equipment that litters the Panjshir valley to this day, left there as a memorial and as a boast of Afghan victory over the invaders.

Trip to Panjshir

Today we flew to Panjshir, just north of Kabul, maybe 30 minutes by the helicopter you see here. It's a Mi-8, a Russian model. I liked it. It seemed dubious for about twenty seconds whether it would actually get off the ground, but once it did, it was a very smooth ride, much less choppy than a Blackhawk. It takes off unlike other helicopters I've been on. It doesn't ascend vertically into the sky; it scoots off horizontally building up speed for 6-8 seconds and gradually ascends, more like a plane.
You'll notice the porthole window behind me is open. That was in case they needed to throw me out to reduce ballast.
Actually, I'm the one who opened it; I wanted the breeze. And to throw out the person sitting just out of camera range.
We visited PRT Panjshir, whose mascot is nominally the lion but I believe is really the Expedia gnome pictured here, since he's the one welcoming you at the door.
Panjshir is by all measures the safest province in Afghanistan. It is famous as the valley where the Soviets were defeated for years by Massoud, the leader of the Tajik mujahadin, and the one part of Afghanistan the Taliban did not successfully conquer.

Cats on the Compound

At the dinner, I am given the background on several of the cats that live on the compound. First is "Bob." People love Bob. Bob is a she. Bob likes to run alongside a person walking between the hooches, then Bob jumps up on the sandbags and runs along the top of those to escort visitors to whatever building they are heading to. Bob is popular. Heidi is confused why Bob has a man's name when she's a girl.

Then there is "Mr. Winkie," who is universally hated for his spiteful and violent demeanor. "Which one is Mr. Winkie?" Heidi asks. Ed closes one eye in an exaggerated manner and says, "The one with one eye."

Then there is the beloved Spot, who tends to lounge in the sun all day long. "Which one is Spot?" Heidi asks. Ed looks at a loss for words before finally answering, "The one with spots."

I am going to try to get a picture of Mr. Winkie.

The Kabubble

That's what they call it if you never get off the compound and your view of the country is filtered through the Embassy perspective - you live in the Kabul Bubble.
Last night again we left the bubble to go through the city. One street was lit with garish colored neon lights and all the shop windows were filled with colorful, slinky women's dresses. They looked like they were ready for a slew of high schoolers to descend upon them for prom dresses. Just off Butcher Street there was an endless row of stalls with men grilling whole chickens, grocery stores with stacks of luscious-looking fresh fruit (we don't get a lot of that on the compound). More potholes and unpaved streets, and then finally we got to a restaurant to meet with some Afghan partners. The power fluctuated all evening long and the lights kept flickering. Finally they went out, and something funny happened.
Two of the people there are married - let's call them "Heidi" and "Ed," though don't assume those are their real names. Ed also has a permanent twinkle in his eye that dirty old men everywhere have, though I'm not necessarily saying Ed is a dirty old man, though I'm sure as hell not betting a paycheck that he isn't. They are sitting next to each other at one end of a long table where the dozen of us are. Lights go off, and room is plunged into total darkness. After the "ohs," there is a brief silence, and then Ed's voice: "Heidi, stop that - not at the table."
Lights come back on and everyone chuckles, though Heidi, not so much.
A few minutes later, the power goes off again. This time a male voice from the other end of the table: "Ed, stop that - not at the table." Lights come back on, and a smiling Ed, placid in his seat, says," I bet you didn't realize I could get back here that quick."