I'm sitting in Kabul swapping anecdotes about our often surreal, often funny, often infuriating daily experiences with a new friend. Let's call him "Bob".
"Bob," I say, "you should start a blog.""What," he asks me, "is a blog?"
That's how it always starts. Go on over to Kabul Dispatches and say hi to Mullah Bob. He's a hoot!
He probably already has more readers than I do - because he's from New York. Bastard.
. . .
We were in the bazaar and I saw a man with red hair, green eyes, and freckles: he could have been Irish, possibly even from Boston. This Afghan man was hobbling around on rusting crutches because he'd had a foot blown off by a mine.
Afghans can be fair or dark, blond haired to coal black, while staring back at you as you walk around their town are green eyes, blue, all shades of brown, and even gold.
Alexander's armies - and Brezhnev's - carried a wild collection of genes to mix with those of other migrations and invasions. The jumble has given birth to some absolutely stunning people. I keep expecting to find talent (cough) scouts from the modelling agencies, but apparently the hotels haven't quite polished up that fifth star.
Posted by Martial