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Kabul - Herat
E.Route : Kabul - Herat : PTD 1325* : PTA 1550* : Dist 683 m.
A.Route : Kabul - Herat : ATD 2031* : ATA 2250* : Dist 662 m.
- Depart Kabul 2031
- 2040 - 2055 Water stop - American centre.
- 2255 - 2305 Crew change.
- 0305 - 0829 Night stop **
- 0920 - 0921 Toll stop.
- 1015 - 1022 Fuel stop.
- 1030 - 1137 Stop in Kandahar.
- 1345 - 1402 Crew change etc.
- 1434 - 1437 Bog stop.
- 1503 - 1506 Toll stop.
- 1558 - 1602 Crew change.
- 1702 - 1810 Chai stop.
- 1939 - 2000 Fuel supply problems***.
- Arrive Herat 2250
P.A.Spd (N) 38.1mph : Gross A.Spd 25.28 mph : Net.A.Spd 38.51 mph.
Stop time 9:00 hr : Speedo TD 11930 : Speedo TA 12592.
Comment : * - journey out overnight 10-11th Aug - journey back overnight 14-15th Sept, extended by **. As we did not fill with fuel in Kabul, the result of finding all petrol stations on the road closed was long delay c. 70 miles before Kandahar, for measurement of fuel supply. As we had enough to take us to K., where fuel stations would be closed at that time, we spent very cold night in the desert. (***) In measurement of remaining fuel, fragments of bog-roll found their way into the tank, aggravating the problems of the fuel pump - the last section done at a painful crawl.
Jim Lindsay's diary:
14 September
We were woken early by the wit and wisdom of the US Marines - "not every day
you can see a pretty little girl putting her pants on" and so on.
Our plan was to travel overnight, so the day was spent getting ready for it.
The coach went into Kabul to check the status of visas and deposit a group at
the Khyber Café, while the rest of us lounged around on the lawn reading
and eating chapattis and jam. The Marines hung over their balcony seeing what we
were up to or treated themselves to a little light football practice.
Dr Hamayun had got us some very special melons and grapes from the royal gardens,
and these left with us when we set out. We left at 2030.
15 September
The initial plan was to travel through the night to Herat but this was thwarted
by fuel problems. The crew on duty when we left Kabul decided not to fill up but
around 0300 it was evident that we were running short and might not reach Kandahar.
I think the logic of stopping then was that even if we had carried on until
Kandahar we would have arrived before any fuel station was open and would have
had to stop in any case. Whatever the reason, we had a night in the desert. Even
in a stuffy coach it was very cold, and the need to go out and water the desert
in the middle of the night - taking care about scorpions - made for discomfort.
When day broke we carried on and did eventually get fuel in Kandahar. Don C and
I found a shop selling car accessories and these included a deafening air horn.
The shopkeeper's little son was about to sell it for 10 Afghanis when the father
appeared and the price shot up, but it was a bargain even so and once it was
installed it gave the drivers a confidence-booster.
We had a poor journey from then on, with Cuddles labouring sadly, and barely
making it up any hills. It turned out later that when someone had used a
dipstick with toilet paper wrapped round it to measure the quantity of fuel
earlier, some of the paper had floated off and clogged the fuel system.
At one of our stops we had some amusement watching Johan crawling through the
landscape trying to photograph some camels against the sunset. Every time he
got into position, the lead camel ambled off again and he had to follow them
further into the desert. We got him back before he disappeared over the horizon.
Our next stop was at the Soviet rest-house, not as good as before and rather
to our annoyance Glasgow got there first and we had to wait for chai until
they had finished with the pots.
The coach finally crawled into Herat Airport and died about 2230. It was another
bitterly cold night.
16 September
A discouraging day. Cuddles looked to be very sick and although spares were
going to be available, the mechanics were not optimistic about her being
restored to full health for the rest of the journey. Apart from the long-term
worry, compounded by the likelihood of being quarantined in Iran after being
through a cholera zone, there was a practical short-term difficulty in arranging
for visa processing for the onward journey.
There was not really a lot to do in the airport, which was well below Heathrow
standards. The biggest excitement of the day was the arrival of one of the
DC-6s of Ariana Afghan Airways. The VIP passengers had to pick their way into
the terminal between security barriers fences strewn with our washing.
In the evening the Mayor of Heart kindly offered us all a pillau dinner, which
was excellent but preceded by the usual chaos and delay over serving.
The tale of an Afghan coat by Liz Y
As we travelled through Turkey and onwards further East, we had to learn the art of haggling. Buying more expensive items could
entail a sort of unhurried social ritual, perhaps sitting down with the shopkeeper to mull over a potential sale.
It was like this in Afghanistan with the purchase of my Afghan coat, which I bought from a small emporium in Herat. The proprietor
was a quietly-spoken man, his face slightly disfigured with pockmarks. He was assisted by a more confident man, who knew a smattering
of English. Johan was with me and the four of us sat in a circle on wooden upright chairs to discuss a price.
I had chosen a coat of a golden tan colour with characteristic silk embroidery to the front and round the neck and cuffs. After some
discussion the price was settling at around four pounds. We could see that the shopkeeper was still hesitant to conclude the deal.
There was a flurried exchange between him and his companion, before we understood that a biro would clinch the deal. So a deal was
struck, I duly paid four pounds plus a biro and the coat was mine.
The problem with the Afghan coats was that the fleece retained a strong animal smell. Perhaps we became somewhat inured to it on the
coach. After all there were twenty-four coats stashed around the interior, but back in the UK things were rather different. I tried
every means possible to rid my coat of the odour including hanging it outside for hours on a windy day in Edinburgh.
Wearing the coat made me slightly nauseous. In the end after I moved to London I offered the coat to a friend at work who had admired
it. It was indeed quite beautiful and she insisted on paying me something for it. Finally I accepted the symbolic price of four pounds
plus a biro and a deal was done.
Sometime later my colleague informed me gloomily that she had worn the coat to a party where it had been stolen. So the coat began a
new life with an unknown miscreant. We kept an eye out for it, hoping to spot it being worn somewhere round the streets of London, but
sadly we never saw it again. Such was the fate of my beautiful but odoriferous Afghan coat.
| Memorabilia Corner Glass vase (ht. 9cm) (Liz Yeats) Necklace with semi-precious stones (Liz Yeats) |
