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return.
I had imagined a lonely journey— long days of solitude, a few landscape photos to show for it. Instead, I found the most intense and unexpected humanity. Mischievous but respectful children, curious adults hungry for contact. I never ate alone, never paid for dinner, and every time I fell, someone helped me lift the bike.
The warmth of the Afghans had revealed itself even before I crossed the border. In Mashhad, while waiting for my visa, I was summoned to the Afghan consulate for what was described as an“ interrogation.”
Unbelievably, it ended with the official asking if I knew the TV series La Casa de Papel. I didn’ t. He grinned, pulled out his phone, and played Bella Ciao. We hummed it together, softly— careful not to be overheard, so the others outside would believe it was still an
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