Kabul in winter is actually quite like Boston. The temperature hovers around freezing and the sky threatens precipitation far more often than it drops it.
But some days the cold air clears just enough, becomes nearly crisp, and the infinite sky is revealed unmarred by even a wisp of cloud. On those days, the mountains come out to play.
They are stunning. Just . . . wow.
. . .
Kabul’s height of 1800m is occasionally staggering - literally. I’m from sea-level, a mollusk stranded just beyond high tide and oozing down toward the water is my natural direction. When I’m a mile up, I always find that I sleep longer and deeper than normal. I also forget that running up three flights of stairs will be momentarily puzzling in its sheer breathlessness. The fourth day of training was especially bad, as I unexpectedly ran out of breath in the middle of a sentence.
Posted by Martial