The people I see on the Hindu Kush...

Photo right: breakfast of lamb kebabs, fresh bread and strong tea at the foot of the Hindu Kush.

Headed back over the pass. This time it is only myself, the driver and our HR local manager returning from vacation. It is an absolute magnificent day for a drive in die Hindu Kush. In any other situation, this could be a great trek on an adventure vacation that Chris and I would surely be first in line to sign up for. With something of a National Park feeling to it, the mountains rise up and pierce the bright blue sky.

Through the open windows on the backseat of the old Toyota with its rug-covered seats, I watch people go by as we crawl up to the top of the world at an angle surely a few degrees outside the normal road standard. The river changes lanes on the mountain as herders steer their cattle in green pastures on the left, while a group of turbaned men sit down a la Monet for a picnic edge-side.

Soviet-era tanks litter the hillside along with the green flags planted sporadically in memory of Northern Alliance soldiers who perished in these parts while fighting against the Taliban in the 1990s. All remnants of the impossible-to-forget recent history that only adds a thin layer on the disaster that is Afghanistan's past.

Photo left: A decorated truck emerge from one of the landslide tunnels with the 22,000 foot mountain tops in the background.

It is cool up here. A pleasant relief from the 36 degrees Celsius weather in Phuli Khumbri. The Toyota chuggs along past brightly painted long-haul trucks, so decorated I am told for protection, a tradition originating in Pakistan. The smells are many - over the driver's Super Seven cigarette smoke there is a strong rubber presence as the trucks make the hours-long descent in their lowest gear. Sweet-smelling soap of vehicles being washed road-side permeate my nostrils as I close my eyes and take it all in. There is still the dust. There is always dust. But not nearly as bad as it can be. We are almost to the top, past another group of men. The scent of hash trails them as they throw a glance in our direction, but only briefly.

This time of year is also the time when the Kuchis ("those who are on the move"), a nomadic tribe of Baluchi and Pashtu speaking tribes of Afghanistan are out in force. You can spot them easily across the pastures and hillsides. Simple little tents made of white canvas perched on traditional Afghan rugs and nothing else. Their brightly colored costume-like outfits turn the green fields into a paint palette of bright fuchsias, reds, oranges and blues. The men coax small herds of sheep roadside while women and children gather around a water source with a myriad of water jugs.

Chugg-chugg up the mountain. I am mesmerized by this place with the people from all over. Mongolians, Pakistani, Indian, Asian, Uzbek, Tajik...a world in a country. Being excluded from lunch based on my gender by a provincial politician who visited a refugee shelter site with us that afternoon, I suddenly realize that I am quite hungry...I start to look forward to dinner in one of the Kabul restaurants with Chris where we can talk about it all over a glass of wine.

Photo: Green pastures along the Salang Pass