“Why you want to go Afghanistan?”
“For a holiday”
The Consular official at the embassy raises his head, looks at me quizzically from beneath bushy knitted eyebrows, and then regards me as if I am a specimen that has escaped from the Natural History Museum.
“What you will do in Afghanistan?” He demands almost as if he is my father
“Visit Kabul, Mazar-e-Sharif, see the Buddha statues in Bamyan, fly to Herat, and go to the Pansjir valley – and visit Chicken Street in Kabul and watch the children flying kites on the rooftops” I tell him
The official is now looking at me really funny. I almost detect an exasperated sigh which is rather odd because you’d think he’d be happy for me to visit his country.
“Please sign this waiver form that you understand the risks and will not hold us accountable. Also please put your credit card into this machine and pay £70. Thank you”
The embassy is not very busy. In fact, I’m the only one there.
Lonely Planet eat your heart out…