“Yes, mom and dad think I’m an idiot for visiting Afghanistan, but a ‘Kim’s View’ in every country means EVERY COUNTRY.”
The Tajik soldier opened the border gate and I started walking across the Panj River bridge. I puckered up as my adrenalin spiked. It was game time. I told everyone I’d get a Kim’s View in every country on the planet. It was time to walk the walk in Afghanistan.
The Panj River, at the foot of the brown, barren Pamir Mountains, has been the natural border between Tajikistan and northeast Afghanistan since the British and Russian empires battled here. Next door are the Himalayas.
I boned up $200 at the Afghanistan consulate in Khorog, Tajikistan—just down the street from Pamir Lodge where I was staying—and wrote a letter saying I was fully responsible for my own safety. Voilà! I scored my Afghan visa in less than an hour. Getting a visa doesn’t get much easier than that, Kim.
In Khorog I met Wasim, a former Afghan translator for the coalition forces, when he drove by in his friend’s black BMW, rolled down the blacked-out window, and asked me and my hostel mates if we wanted a ride into town. Another stroke of good luck, Sis.
Wasim wanted to be my guide but it was too dangerous for him to be seen with an American now, so he took me to the tourist office to find a guide. The tourist office staff suggested I hire their local Afghan guide, Iqbal, who’d meet me at Khorog’s border market and show me around the small village of Bar Panja. They said, “You should stay the night with a host family.”
“How far away are the Taliban?” I asked.
“The Taliban control the area twenty-five kilometers from Bar Panja.”
“OK, no sleepover.”
The plan was to have lunch with Iqbal, visit the local market, find a decent Kim’s View, and then hightail it back across the bridge before the border closed at four o’clock.
My Afghanistan visit got off to a rough start. Iqbal was nowhere to be found at the border market. When Iqbal finally showed up he was quite nonchalant and I wasn’t sure if we were on the same page.
The main entrance at the Khorog border is only for Afghans who can cross without a passport to buy and sell stuff. Iqbal made it sound so simple, “You can’t enter here, just go around the back. I’ll meet you on the other side of the bridge.”
Around back the Tajik soldier wouldn’t let me pass. I was stuck at the border market on the Tajikistan side while Iqbal already crossed the bridge.
Wasim miraculously showed up at the market. He knew all the Tajik soldiers and he escorted me through the back gate all the way to the small immigration office just before the bridge. The Tajik immigration officer pointed at Wasim and said, “he’s a good man.” I said, “Amen brother, Wasim is a great man.”
Wasim apologized for not being able to guide me and returned to the market. As I walked across the Panj River bridge I said to myself, “OK hotshot, it’s go time. Don’t get kidnapped.”
Iqbal met me at the military post on the Afghan side of the bridge and after getting my passport stamped we took a minibus to the Bar Panja village.
Lunch was chicken and vegetable stew at the only restaurant in the village. The United States was pulling troops out of Afghanistan at the time. I asked Iqbal about the war and the Taliban, “Do you want the US military to leave Afghanistan?”
“No, I don’t want the Americans to leave, our military is too weak to defeat the Taliban … the Taliban are not Afghans.”
I didn’t expect that answer. The Taliban are not Afghans. That says it all, Sis.
Iqbal explained that the Taliban are mostly foreign fighters from Chechnya, Uzbekistan, and China’s Xinjiang province. After lunch we walked through the local market and took a few awkward photos with locals. I asked Iqbal to help me get a photo of the best view in Bar Panja.
Kim’s View of the Panj River and Pamir Mountains isn’t a Hall-of-Famer, but getting it was a special experience for me. The drop-off in quality of life just across the Panj River is tragic. We need to visit again to get a better taste of Afghanistan.
My Panj River adventure lasted less than five hours, but I scored style points for my do-it-yourself, half-day Afghanistan tour. And I proved to mom and dad there’s a safe way to do stupid things.
The last Afghan soldier at the bridge was friendly and let me take photos. I never felt in danger in Afghanistan, but the moment I started walking back across the bridge to Tajikistan I finally unpuckered. KV
