TRAVERSE 147
TRAVEL- AFGHANISTAN
ROCCO ANTONIO COSSA
PLACES WE FEAR MOST, HUMANITY ENDURES!
Doubts and fears accompanied me throughout the journey, right up to the customs gate where the Iranian officers, zealous and suspicious, tried to unsettle me. For half an hour they warned me that beyond the barrier there was no government, only the Taliban— and that once I crossed, they could do whatever they wanted with me, and no one could help.
A few dozen metres away, on the opposite bank, a Taliban guard sat under an umbrella with a Kalashnikov across his lap, watching. When I arrived, he simply asked,“ Tourist?” I nodded. He called a boy, gave him instructions, and ordered me to follow.
Together we skipped the queue to the stamping booth; in a minute the formalities were done. Or so it seemed. Because from that Afghan customs booth began a long sequence of smiles, conversations, and unexpected social warmth— in the country where I least expected it. No questions, no delays. The Taliban at the exit gate didn’ t even ask to see my passport.
“ Talian? Go, go!” And just like that, I was in Afghanistan.
Children ran towards me, laughing. I couldn’ t resist— I stopped, hugged them, and then set off again, into the silence of the desert, towards Herat.
The hotel I’ d chosen was completely fortified, its windows bricked up— not a good sign. But outside, life went on peacefully, and it made no sense to have come all this way only to hide behind walls.
So, I went out. Within minutes, I was stopped by Barak, a dealer of“ motorcycles”— or rather, strange Chinese hybrids. I had no escape. He shut his shop, bundled me into his car, and drove me around Herat all afternoon and evening, introducing me to his friends and his little girl.
TRAVERSE 147