Afghanistan and Pakistan 2025 – Trip reports

Part 1: Family vacation in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Khyber Pass challenges – and the first meeting with Tali_ban

It’s half past two in the morning when we, dazed and with sweaty palms – and after seventeen hours on the road – touch down in the big city of Peshawar in northwestern Pakistan. With its almost five million inhabitants, the city is Pakistan’s sixth largest. At the same time, it is the capital of the troubled Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province (formerly known as North-West Frontier Province). A province that various foreign offices strongly advise against all travel to – “due to the very high security risk, which should entail professional advice”.

Right now, we feel very alone – and not particularly professional.

“Where are you going in Pakistan,” asks a smiling male fellow passenger in the same moment and very fortunately. He is wearing a daypack from which the shaft of a tennis racket sticks out.

I choose not to tell him about our plans to travel over the legendary Khyber Pass and into Afghanistan. Not because I don’t trust him – he seems both friendly and sincere – but because I’ve learned from previous trips that I don’t want to let too many people know about our plans when we visit dangerous countries.

Instead, I say that we’re going to travel around northern Pakistan a bit and ask about his tennis racket, and of course I challenge him to a match.

Sulaiman Khan Mahsud is on his way home from his job (for the World Bank) in London and turns out to be the son of Riaz Khan Mahsud, who is Peshawar’s commissioner. The commissioner is appointed by the country’s government and has administrative responsibility for legislation, police and taxes. Hence a highly influential figure. A kind of provincial department head, if you will.

Sulaiman kindly offers to have his driver take us to our hotel. And that’s quite fortunate because here in the province the authorities require that all tourist transport – even when it takes place in the middle of the night – must be accompanied by an armed escort. An escort that we fortunately now do not need because we are driving in the commissioner’s son’s luxury car that is waved right through every checkpoint.

Unfortunately, we don’t have any Pakistani Rupees even after we in the middle of the night have visited four different ATMs  (including two at the airport). Here we get different variations of “technical error” or “no funds” messages. And this despite that we are trying for an amount lower than the maximum withdrawal amount of 20.000 PKR / 450 Danish kroner (possibly world’s lowest cash withdrawal limit?).

We go to bed at 4 am. I fall asleep at 5 am. And wake up at 8 am and can’t sleep anymore. I’m nervous and not feeling well. Later this day will turn out to be one of the most mentally stressful travel days I can remember having experienced while traveling.

“You are not allowed to leave the hotel without a police escort,” insists the friendly Sheezad at the reception at Shelton Guesthouse when we are ready to leave at around ten o’clock. We are under tremendous time pressure because it is Friday and the Afghan consulate where we are about to apply for a visa closes for applications as early as 12 o’clock – as far as I have been able to find out online.  After that they will close for the weekend – and by that time our plan is to be somewhere in the Spin Gar mountains that form the southern part of the Hindu Kush mountain range. Within this mountain range we plan to cross the infamous Khyber Pass – perhaps the world’s most notorious border crossing.

Despite Sheezad’s admonitions I just order a regular taxi on the Pakistani app Indrive. Rather stupidly I end up ordering one without air conditioning. A minute later, the world’s possibly smallest car is ready and in forty-degree heat – which according to our weather app “feels like fifty degrees” – we naively set off without wasting time waiting for a police escort.

As soon as we reach the first checkpoint, we are already sweating. Charlotte and Ava are both wearing (as is required in the Afghan consulate) long robes and veils over their clothes and are sweating in the damp car with the stagnant air like wrestlers in a desert.

After showing our passports and Pakistani visas to the armed military guards, we are fortunately allowed to pass through the first checkpoint.

At the next checkpoint, we are not so lucky. Here the commander insists that we must have a police escort. Hence we have to wait for fifteen minutes for this inside what is perhaps the hottest car in the world. Then a covered white pickup truck arrives – with two officers with Kalashnikovs sitting on long benches in the back and two (presumably pistol-armed) soldiers in front.

With sirens hailing, our escort first drives to the city’s largest bank. Here, the ATM has the pleasant advantage that it actually contains banknotes. And the impractical disadvantage that the touch-sensitive screen (despite just under a trillion attempts) refuses to recognize when we press “accept”. Only when Charlotte (who can make everything work) in typical Charlotte fashion presses “cancel” does the cynical device spit out its promised maximum amount of just over 400 DKK (20,000 Pakistani Rupees + 1,000 Rupees fee – approx 60 USD) and we can rush on towards the Afghan consulate.

As soon as I announce where we are going to the police chief, I get the unpleasant feeling that he does not think our family should be allowed to travel over the Khyber Pass by land via the Torkham border.

The Afghan consulate is well protected inside a so-called “cantonment area” – a secured compound that houses private properties for military personnel and administrative buildings such as consulates.

Foto: Jes Smergelkrog

When we arrive, the police chief leads us around the queue and through the VIP back entrance directly to the consulate. This is where Tali_ban rule. There are large Tali_ban flags and four white booths with a Tali_ban man sitting behind each of them. In the corner there is a huge counter with another two Tali_bans sitting behind it. Up against the opposite wall are a row of simple white plastic chairs on which my 18-year-old daughter Ava, my 16-year-old son Jonas and my wife Charlotte, who is just about 38, sit. In the one end of the room, a tree mysteriously grows up through the building. It feels like it’s fifty degrees hot inside the office. Fortunately, a couple of huge electric fans create some air.

The police chief walks me up to the counter with the two Tali_bans. I’m stressed and nervous and feel like I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Normally I would say that I act rather cool when in these situations where I’m under a lot of pressure. But I’ve traveled for 17 hours, slept for three hours, sat in a hot car, ignored a police escort and had one forced on me anyway. I’ve had trouble withdrawing money. And now we arrive just minutes before the weekend closing time to meet with one of the world’s most notorious organizations.

Add to that lots of worrying about whether our Pakistan multi-entry visa is now working, if our electronic Afghan visa application is now filled out correctly and whether it is even a good idea to take your family to one of the world’s most dangerous countries. Not to mention the alleged difficulties of crossing the notorious Torkham border.

On top of that comes my daily neck pain (after a herniated disc) – which fortunately has somewhat decreased – and which I have now learned to both live with, play sports and travel with. But which is at the same time super annoying to have to endure on a daily basis.

Maybe I also suffer from a mild form of PTSD after being in extremely difficult situations in Libya (long military interrogation and civil war with gunfire in my street), in West African Guinea (hour-long interrogation by ten soldiers armed with automatic weapons for taking a photo of a military installation), in Ethiopia (documentation of illegal stick fighting) and in Ivory Coast (documentation of secret Satanic seven-year ceremony).

Still, I can’t help but keep seeking out these challenging countries and situations. Because I find them exciting. Because I want to show that the world is infinitely less dangerous than people think. Because they give me good stories to tell. Because we always end up having completely unique and adventurous experiences when we dare to go where most others don’t. Because Afghans (and Pakistanis) can easily distinguish between people who come to wage war and people who come as guests to visit their beautiful and hospitable country.

Anyway, back to the story at the consulate. I don’t function well without enough sleep. And now I’m so tired and stressed that I can barely think and speak coherently. It’s bad timing. And bad planning that we’re coming here right before a weekend, which puts us under tremendous pressure.

“Chinese people can’t get visas to travel overland. Only by plane” says a large sign on the back wall behind the two Tali_ban consulate workers.

A little internet research will reveal that the ban probably has been prompted by several deadly suicide attacks here in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in recent months. However, the attacks have all been primarily targeted at Chinese people. According to the Pakistani military, they have been made with the political aim of “destroying Islamabad’s close ties with Beijing.”

Unfortunately, our escorting police chief speaks first. I have no idea what he is saying. I am not even sure if he speaks Pashto or Dari. But I have a clear feeling that he is concerned about our safety. And that he is saying that to the Tali_ban.

The Tali_ban consulate employee then asks me a few simple questions about our plans. When I have answered him, he pulls out a list and says:

“You cannot get a visa to cross over land. Only for air.”

Then he pulls out a list that states which nationalities cannot get a land entry visa. Neither Germany, the UK nor the USA are on the list.

Unfortunately Sweden, Senegal, Monaco… and Denmark are.

“How long has that list been in effect,” I ask.

“A few days,” comes the answer.

“Why?”

“Because there are security problems.”

I spend way too much time researching before my trips. That’s where I pay the price for the great experiences we get. It doesn’t get less hard to decide to go to dangerous places when you do it on an informed basis. On top of that all official authorities in almost all countries strongly advise against coming here. When the Tali_ban themselves also advise against traveling to their own country via the Khyber Pass, then perhaps we should listen. Even though crossing the Khyber Pass is high on my bucket list.

I usually operate with both a plan b and a plan c. But not here. I simply did not foresee this situation. Not a single other traveler on the forums I follow (primarily “Every Passport Stamp” and “Afghan Travel Experience”) on Facebook has reported not being able to get a land visa via the Torkham border to Afghanistan. Not one.

“The Tali_ban are in charge in their country. It’s their decision,” says the Pakistani police chief, conveniently absolving himself of responsibility.

My stressed-out mind is racing. I wonder what will happen if we just drive to the border anyway (it’s only 42 kilometers) even if we only get an ‘air only’ visa. But I feel rather sure we won’t be allowed to cross.

At this moment, it dawns on me that we could end up spending approximately three weeks of our summer vacation here in Peshawar where it feels like 50 degrees and we can’t go outside a door without a police escort. “Boy, this could be a shitty vacation for which my kids will forever hate me,” I think.

“Can you fly from Peshawar to Kabul?” I then ask the Tali_ban guy.

“You can fly from Islamabad,” he replies.

Fortunately, Charlotte has an eSim with mobile internet connection and can quickly see that there is actually space on the flight from Islamabad to Kabul on our chosen travel days and that it costs less than 2,000 kroner (300 USD) return.

Crossing the Khyber Pass is high on my Bucket List. It may not be a particularly pleasant trip though. It is notorious for: long waiting times (especially on the Pakistan side of the border), thieving beggar children, creative money changers, forced polio vaccination (which most travelers spit out), intense humid summer heat, long queues that people try to skip and endless administration.

Several travelers also report that when they leave Pakistan they are asked how much money they are bringing. And if they have more than 300 USD per person they are required to exchange the excess at a bad rate. Considering that Afghanistan is a cash only country with extremely few banks where you can take out money (if you are lucky), you are put in a rather paradoxical situation. A situation we had intended to solve by hiding about 3,000 USD in my underwear.. However, we never got that far.

When entering Afghanistan, several travelers have also reported that the Tali_ban search their phones, including their photos, WhatsApp messages and contacts. This is allegedly due to an incident with an American porn star, which we will return to in a later post.

The total trip time from Peshawar via Torkham and the Khyber Pass to Kabul is usually 7-13 hours. On sometimes very bumpy and dusty roads. So, with all these challenges it may actually end up being a good thing that we are forced to fly. Flying also means that we do not risk being hit by the massive monsoon-season floods that have claimed several lives in the province in recent days.

The Tali_ban tells us that we can collect our ‘air-only’ visa after 2pm, and we go out into the heat. We are just about to agree on where we can have lunch with our soldiers when Sulaiman Khan Mahsud and his friend Sayd Ahmed Jamal (who is the assistant commissioner for Peshawar) happen to drive by (!). It turns out that Sulaimans father’s house – “The Commissioners House” – is located in the same compound as the Afghan consulate – more or less next door.

Sulaiman kindly takes us home while we wait and treats us to a great lunch and smoothies. The family mansion is enormous and features  also includes a private park (which is lit up at night), a private grass tennis court (where I later play a match against Sulaiman) and a private mini- Zoo (!).

“Is there a lion in that Zoo,” one of my travel friends asks me when I tell her about the visit.

“No,” I answer.

“Not impressed then. Tell them to get one,” she continues.

The air conditioning in Sulaiman’s father’s stateroom is not working, so it’s unbearably hot. Ava is feeling unwell possibly with a small heatstroke and has to go to bed in one of the guest rooms. I should probably have done the same. I’m hot, tired, exhausted and too stressed to eat. While I’m constantly thinking like crazy about whether we should take the chance and travel overland after all.

I think I may have become addicted to going to wild places to seek out good stories. At the same time, I suffer from anxiety that I’m fortunately almost always able to suppress. But when I haven’t slept or am very stressed, this anxiety might break out. Fortunately, it typically passes quickly. And my travels almost always end with me being completely on top and succeeding at the wildest things. I then tend to ‘forget’ the hardships, anxiety and doubt, nightmares and restless nights – because my brain only remembers all the good things.

At 2:30 p.m. we get our ‘air only’ visa to Afghanistan (costing 80 USD per person). With our VIP police escort, we drive – with sirens fully turned on –  the twenty minutes back to our guesthouse. I am so exhausted and stressed that I can’t sleep. Charlotte has to take control of buying plane tickets with KAM Air to Kabul.

I have always been afraid of flying (though it has gotten a lot better in recent years) especially with local companies in third world countries. Now there is no way around it. Buying tickets is far from easy on a paper-thin internet connection that very much needs to work the moment the transaction is sent through. Fortunately, we get the tickets.

The next few days are spent sightseeing in Peshawar. We see the impressive Islamia College. The bazaar with the many burqa-clad ladies and the city’s famous old houses (Haveli-style, built by the Sethi family). We have lunch – delicious Mutton Karahi served in a huge pot – with our four guards in a private air-conditioned room above a butcher’s. For eight people with drinks, the meal costs us only 140 kroner (20USD).

All our excursions are of course with (free) police escort. We also have our armed guards at all times while walking the city streets.

It’s hard to describe how nice, hospitable, curious and immediately warm-hearted the people we meet randomly on the street are. Maybe because it’s in their nature. Maybe because it says in the Quran that you should help strangers. Maybe because so few tourists come here.

I’ve learned a little Pashto, a little Urdu and a little Farsi and when I speak out these few words, there’s no end to how many meals, home visits and cups of tea we’re offered. As often before, we encounter an out of this world hospitality when we go to places so few others visit. Probably it also helps that we have our children with us. Thereby we (hopefully) signal respect and that this is a no more dangerous place to visit than we can bring our kids. There’s also no end to how many photos with the locals we (happily) get to pose for.

Sulaiman’s father – the commissioner – has promised to check if he can take us on a day trip to the border and the Khyber Pass the next day. Unfortunately howevere the military considers this so dangerous that we are allowed to go even if we are joined by the commissioner. So unfortunately, despite our best efforts, we do not get to see the infamous Khyber Pass.

A few days later, we take a private air-conditioned taxi to Islamabad airport. Along the way, we are followed by no less than four different military pick-up trucks with heavily armed guards in the back. In total, this means that up to twenty soldiers are watching over us during a mere two-and-a-half-hour drive.

The plane is an hour late and it is raining with unadulterated monsoon force when we board for Kabul. We may not have crossed the Khyber Pass – but our perhaps greatest family travel adventure still awaits us ahead.

All pics with iPhone13Pro

Part 2: Five days in Kabul – “Like in a Counterstrike game”

The sun shines mercilessly as we are on our way in a taxi to meet with the Taliban.

Around us, the sea of mainly turquoise and white-painted Toyota Corolla taxis seems to go on forever. Between the tightly packed vehicles, cyclists and pedestrians move past us in every direction. Even though most of the cars have stopped just a few centimeters apart people walking or cycling still somehow manage to find space to move around.

With my wife Charlotte and our two teenage children Jonas and Ava, aged 16 and 18, I am presently stuck in one of the notorious roundabouts near the enormous Haji Abdul Rahman Mosque in Kabul, Afghanistan. Unfortunately, the air inside our car is just as stagnant as the taxis around us. Despite being at an altitude of almost 1800 meters in the world’s 12th highest capital city, the midday heat is brutal.

Few tourists and hopeless traffic

The completely gridlocked traffic situation around Kabul’s three central mosques – and on the road that leads up over the mountain – is certainly not made any better by the several creative drivers trying to move against the direction of the traffic. It is also not made easier by the fact that a Taliban compound takes up a large area right in the heart of the capital. An area that the Taliban have allegedly taken over after NATO soldiers left the country in connection with the “Fall of Kabul” in 2021.

As I said, we are on our way to visit the Taliban. We will meet them inside the compound where the Ministry of Information and Culture is situated. Our plan is to apply for permission to travel around Afghanistan individually (ie without guide and translator etc.).

There are not very many tourists in Afghanistan. Of the few who come, few travel around on their own without a team to take care of them. And of those few who come, none seem to be families with children like us.

Like being in a war movie

From the first Taliban checkpoint at the compound entrance where the taxi drops us off, Google Maps tells us that we have to walk 700 meters to reach the Ministry. These 700 meters turn out to be one of our most memorable walks we have ever completed.

The military road we are on is crazy in every way. Here are high walls topped with barbed wire. Bunker-like buildings. Little houses with armed guards. Soldiers in desert camouflage clothes sitting on tattered chairs. Men with black turbans. Military personnel carelessly walking around with their powerful automatic weapons casually strung over their shoulders. Checkpoints with x-ray devices. And behind some of the high walls are palace-like buildings that look like something a prince in a fairytale could live in.

To begin with, we walk in a small alley on the side of the road. Past containers and checkpoints. Later we walk onto the road itself. Here Taliban members – who themselves determine which rules and laws that apply – drive past us at alarmingly high speeds.

“What did you do on your summer vacation,” my son asks rhetorically – and then answers himself: “I visited the Taliban.”

A little later we all agree that the area looks like a level in his Counter-Strike game on his computer back at home.

We constantly get our passports checked. Almost all the Taliban-people we meet are nice, respectful and welcoming. Although many of them, with their long beards, heavy weapons and black turbans, also look rather intimidating. For fear of the consequences, I don’t photograph them (yet – the very few military pics in album are from later visit where I have obtained permission).

“Manana malga-ræ” and “tashakor dost” thank you my friend in Pashto and Farsi respectively, I tell them all.

In front of the entrance to the ministry, there are three guards armed with automatic rifles. They again check our passports and I fill out our information with a ballpoint pen. The information includes our fathers names and is written in the Arabic reading direction from right to left. We then enter through separate entrances for men and women. Here we are X-ray scanned like we were at an airport and patted down in all but the most intimate places. Me and Jonas by a male soldier and Charlotte and Ava by a woman who, unlike almost all other women in this country, is apparently allowed to work. Through a highly secured courtyard we finally reach a huge building that houses the ‘Ministry of Information and Culture’ – or the Ministry of Tourism as we call it – on the second floor.

Tea with the Taliban

Inside the office, four local men are sitting. One of them is the minister’s secretary, Yassir. I greet him respectfully, ask a few questions about his family (he is married and has a two-month-old son and a three-year-old daughter) and tell him about our purpose and which provinces we intend to visit.

“Do you have a guide who can show you around?” asks Yassir.

“We always prefer to travel around individually,” I say, adding that we also know a local guide named Kaiser, who we can call if there are any problems.

“What is the name of his company,” asks Yassir.

“I don’t know,” I say, in full accordance with the truth. “I think he is self-employed so the company probably just has the same name as himself.”

I don’t tell him that I only coincidently met Kaiser at the hotel last night when we arrived. And that he is currently working as a guide for another tourist group.

Finally, I say that we are used to taking care of ourselves when we travel. That I am a journalist, have travelled all over the world and write articles – without political content – for the travel sections of various Danish newspapers. And that I would like to write that Afghanistan is a country where you can now travel freely.

“But if you don’t have a guide, then you don’t have anyone to explain the places you visit?” Yassir continues.

“I think we can easily research that ourselves on the internet,” I answer.

That seems to satisfy Yassir. And suddenly he offers all four of us tea. And asks us to wait for a personal interview with the Taliban’s tourism director.

“This means that you can tell your friends that you have drunk tea with the Taliban, just like Simi Jan did,” says my son, referring to Danish correspondent Simi Jan who reported from Afghanistan and wrote a book titled “Tea with Taliban” about it (and participated in my latest books about Modern Danish Adventurers).

The tourism director (who may also be the tourism minister, but they consistently refer to him as the director) is called Haji Mohamed Thajeb Sayeb and seems to be a both very kind and powerful man.

The photo I couldn’t take

His office is huge and it’s as if everything in there has been deliberately chosen in just two colors. White and navy blue. Along one wall stands what may be the largest desk in the world. Along the other three walls stand enormous blue sofas that look new and very expensive. The carpet is white and spotless and one of the thickest I can remember walking on. Director Sayeb is wearing a spotless traditional white shalwar kameez suit with a navy blue vest that matches the sofas and a similarly blue scarf. He is a large man with a wide, round and ever-smiling face with a huge white beard. His impressive and photogenic appearance is complemented by a gigantic blue turban. Behind his desk flies a huge white Taliban flag.

“There is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God,” proclaims the Shahada (the Islamic creed) inscribed in black in the middle of the enormous flag. The white background color, I later read, symbolizes “the Taliban’s pure faith and governance.”

To begin with, I tell him about our plans in Afghanistan and about my children and how we like to travel to far flung places. Director Sayed then tells us a little about the country’s rugged mountains. About beautiful gardens, green valleys and rushing rivers. About the country’s various natural experiences and beautiful mosques.

“We would like to see the view from Wazir Akhbar Khan with the large flag during sunset in front of the mosque,” I say to keep the conversation going.

“Just remember that you have to report to our local office every time you come to a new city,” the director continues, while secretary Yassir dutifully hands out a sheet with so-called ‘Tourism directions of foreigners’. The rules that he shows me proclaim, among other things, that ‘tourists are not allowed to take pictures of illegal military areas’ and that ‘tourists are not allowed to do sightseeing in residential areas without the permission of the authorities’.

“Your son looks like you. And your daughter looks like your wife,” Director Sayed then continues before saying: “Now I will sign your permission and then you can go tell your family and friends to come to Afghanistan and visit us.”

The picture of Sayeb in his office is one I have dreamed of taking. It feels a bit like a small piece of world history here in the office. A powerful Taliban-director with a huge turban in a magnificent office in front of a giant religious flag signing a declaration – in a room that as far as I understand from Yassir has previously been used by NATO forces until they eventually gave up their fight against the Taliban.

Considering that I have just received a document stating that one is not allowed to take pictures of military installations (with the subtle and kind addition: ‘and no problem for touristic places and attractions’), it might not be the smartest move my that I now ask Haji Mohamed Thajeb Sayeb if it is ok that I take a picture of him here in his imposing office.

Director Sayeb answers as always kindly, but now also firmly: “Personally I have nothing against it, but Taliban rules stipulate that one is not allowed to take pictures in our official offices.”

And so, the meeting ends. With this closing statement and the handover of the signed document

Before we leave, I am allowed to take a picture of Yassim in the front office. He also gives me his WhatsApp number in case we get into trouble. Although the visit was nice and cordial and the Taliban director’s office was cool and air-conditioned, I am so agitated that my shirt is dripping with sweat. Afterall it’s not every day you meet with a Taliban director. I’ll meet him again later it turns out. We will get back to that later.

Desert army vehicle on display

We take a different and shorter route out of the compound. To see something new as it turns out that we have originally entered via the back entrance.

At the main checkpoint leading into the area, a dented desert army car with several bullet holes in the windscreen is positioned. A sullen-looking soldier sits on top of it. It’s an insanely cool picture. But I don’t dare take it. Later, however, I return. And, after simply asking the soldiers whether I can take it or not, I am actually allowed to photograph this scene. Fearing what reactions it might provoke (and knowing that in Guinea in West Africa a similar picture cost me many hours of harsh interrogation), I’m taking it so quickly that I don’t get everything in the frame. But check out what I did get in the picture in the album.

Our first five days in Kabul are spent sightseeing. Apart from visiting the Taliban the first thing we do is to buy long new abayas (robes) and hijabs (veils) for Charlotte and Ava. We have already brought some of these from back home from home. But here they are thinner and lighter. And even though beautifully decorated with silver embroidery, they only cost around 100 DKK / 15 USD each.

In more than forty-degree heat, we first walk from the central Shahi Do Shamsira Mosque and along the Kabul River, past more merchants than I can remember seeing in any other country, before we end up at the Pul-e Kheshti Mosque. Here we get a much-needed break from the densely packed crowds. Inside the gates to the mosque all is peaceful and quiet.

“But that’s a Muslim name!” says the armed guard when he sees my laminated passport copy and it dawns on him that my name is Jakob – or Yaquuuub as he says.

“Name of the prophet Jakob is both in the Bible and in the Quran.” I say in a routine manner, as it is a message I have delivered many times before. Then I rattle off some memorized respectful phrases – supplemented with the occasional ‘you are a good man and I am a crazy camel’ in Urdu, Pashto and Dari respectively. Fortunately, it usually brings out smiles and laughter.

Ka Faroshi Bird Market

The heat is crazy and the sun is relentless as we walk through the legendary Ka Faroshi Bird Market. The market is famous for daytime partridge fights, where you can bet on the outcome. It sounds cliché to write that coming here is like stepping back in time But at the same time it is a comment that is hard to avoid. Among countless bird cages with larks and canaries and all sorts of other winged creatures, old men sit and rest in their wheelbarrows and a young boy walks by with a dozen severed and hard-grilled goat heads and corresponding hooves.

For lunch, very apropos afterwards we eat skewers with lamb kebab at a nearby balcony restaurant. With bread, soup, salad and drinks, it costs us only 55 kroner (8 USD) for the entire family. We also visit the city’s zoo (admission 9 kroner, 1.2 ISD) and Babur’s Garden (where the warrior emperor who captured Kabul in 1504 is buried). Taxi rides between attractions typically cost only 10-20 (1-3 USD) kroner for the entire car. Several times we experience that the drivers say that they don’t want payment for the rides because we are guests in their country. Of course, I insist and always leave payment on my seat when I get out.

The bookstore in Kabul

“We don’t sell many books anymore,” says Sulaiman Shah, whom we meet in the bookstore ‘Shah M Book Company’.  Sulaiman has taken over the store from Shah Muhammad Rais, also known as ‘The Bookkeeper in Kabul’. It was in this bookstore (which has since moved to a different location) the Norwegian author Åsne Seierstad stayed before she published her famous novel about the patriarchal life of an Afghan family in 2002.

Later, the family sued her for violation of privacy and for several factual inaccuracies. A lawsuit they initially won, but then lost on subsequent appeal. Shah Muhammad Rais has since sought asylum in both Norway, Sweden and England (where he lives today – he has two wifes – one in Canada and one in Norway). While Sulaiman, despite declining book sales, is now struggling to keep the Kabul bookstore running.

Of course, we also visit ‘Chicken Street’ in the central Shahr-e Naw district. In the 70s, the street was a popular meeting point for travelers on the hippie route and was  infamous for the availability of hashish and opium. Today there are no chickens in chicken street (rather illogically they are now in the adjacent Flower Street). In stead the street now mainly boasts shops selling souvenirs.

Snow leopard skin and a woman in a man’s world

The souvenirs include Afghan rugs and Lapis Lazuli (blue gemstone). Not only are there no chickens here, unfortunately there are not really any customers either. No more hippies, no more NATO troops and not really any tourists.

Presumably that is why the shop that sells animal skins has such a small revenue. On display are skins from buffalo, leopard, wolf and – God forbid – even from the Afghan snow leopard. The skin from one of the world’s rarest – and highly endangered – animals costs only 1,000 US dollars. Despite an estimated population of just between 100 and 200 specimens of this very illusive mountain cat remaining in this country.

In Flower Street we eat dinner at a very local restaurant. Ava has some small stomach problems and has chosen to stay at our hotel. Fortunately, we are allowed to sit in the restaurant’s main room, which is usually reserved for men. It takes a lot of persuasion, though since women – not even foreign women – normally are not allowed here. While we eat a few men with giant turbans cast their evil glances in Charlottes direction. The larger the turban – the meaner the glance.

When we walk home, the beggar children on the street are, as always, wildly insistent. They pursue us for a long time. Many of them seem to have severe mental problems and we feel sorry for them. But as a principle I only give money to adult beggars. Fortunately, on a few occasions Charlotte gives them our doggy-bag leftovers from our meals at the city’s excellent restaurants. Still here in central Kabul it does not seem as the locals are as poor as I had feared before coming. Things seem to be slowly progressing, and it seems like situation for the average Afghan has bettered along with the improved security situation.

Famous YouTubers playing with fire

At home on the roof terrace of our excellent Khyber hotel, we meet the most amazing travelers (who are typically quite impressed that we have brought our children on an individual trip to Afghanistan).

One of the advantages of going here to the world’s (according to several media) ‘most dangerous country’ is that we get to meet some of the world’s coolest travelers. Many of them are content creators primarily on YouTube. First we meet the super cool Toronto-based Chris Must List (must list – as in bucket list). He has more than half a million followers on YouTube, has been imprisoned in Cuba and Trinidad, has almost been shot in Haiti and has a wife who is a racing driver. We also meet cool Alex Wanders (alexwandersyt on insta). Chechen Amina (Amina_finds on insta) and Australian Marco David (Marco Roams on YouTube).

As it turns out during his trip Marco will get into rather serious problems with the Taliban. Stay tuned for that story in a later post.

A few people have asked me if we feel afraid when we are in Afghanistan. The short answer is: We don’t. Maybe we should. But it feels like the Taliban has the situation under control. More on this later.

Over the mountain to the Blue Mosque

One day late in the afternoon we drive up over the Koh-e Asamai mountain (part of the Hindu Kush Mountain range) located in the central western part of the capital. On the other side of the mountain the road leads down to the Blue Mosque or “Ziaret Sakhi”. Located in the opposite valley, surrounded by a huge cemetery and with favela-like dense settlements up the mountain, it looks like something from a fable.

In order for us to enter, the Taliban demand that we show our travel permit. Later we get a photo taken with the whole family in the same position as when we stood in front of the Blue Mosque in Mazar-e Sharif in 2014.

As the sun sets we feel like this is the perfect place to end our first five-day visit to Kabul. Among families who constantly come and talk to us, take pictures of us and invite us to their homes to visit or eat. Some of them also simply come and share the food they brought with us asking for nothing in return. The Afghans are really strong candidates of being the most hospitable and friendly people in the world.

As friendly as the Afghans are to visitors – as little friendly we all know they can be to intruders. So let’s end this post with a quote from a one-eyed Taliban from Helmand which very well captures Afghanistan: “If you come as my guest, I will do anything for you. But if you come as my enemy, I will kill you.”

(Quote taken from Simi Jans book “Tea with Taliban” and from the interview I made with her in my own book)

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All pics with iPhone 13Pro. Delayed posting.

Part 3:  Towards Bamiyan in a defect taxi driven by a Farsi speaking driver

Our taxi driver Yahya is smiling all over his head when I catch sight of him early one morning in front of our Khyber Hotel in the central Shahr-e Naw district of Kabul. He is 27 years old – exactly the same age as his wife, whose name is Latifa. Together they have two sons Farhad and Farzad, aged 5 and 3.

Yahya’s job is to drive his turquoise-painted shared Toyota-taxi the 200 kilometers between Kabul and Bamiyan. A trip that usually takes five to six hours.

Across Afghanistan with a private driver

The normal price for a seat in a shared taxi on this route is 600 Afghani (8 USD). But for 3,000 Afghani (40USD kroner) we have rented the entire car.

Booking Yahya directly means that we can be taken directly from hotel to hotel and avoid having to go to the two chaotic bus where the shared taxis usually depart and arrive. For the same daily price of 3.000 AFN, we have similarly hired Yahya to drive us around Afghanistan for the next few days. On that basis, for less than 200 USD we have ensured that the whole family can be driven around Afghanistan with our very own private driver.

In many ways, it’s a perfect deal. However, it also has two clear drawbacks.

Firstly, Yahya doesn’t speak English. As in, not a word. Unless, that is, the word happens to be the same in English as in Pashto or Farsi. To give you an example, he doesn’t understand the word “toilet”. Therefore we communicate primarily through Yahya’s translator app. It works by translating English speech into written Farsi (with Arabic characters that Yahya can read) or by translating spoken Farsi into written English (with Latin characters that we van read). The problem, however, is that Yahya’s app only works as long as he has a mobile internet connection. And he typically only has that when we are near a major city.

Our own translator app, on the other hand, works all the time. But offline it only works with Pashto to English and requires that you write the words – even those in Pashto – using our Latin alphabet. This means that we can write things in English that he can read (with arabic characters) in Pashto. But using this app he can not write to us – since he does not know the Latin alphabet.

During the three days we find ourselves in Yahya’s car, we often feel a little ‘lost in Translation’  – see pictures in the album for examples. But fortunately most situations we can solve relatively easily. For example by stopping and asking random people for their help.

The second challenge is that our Toyota Corolla clearly has a defect. It jolts along as if it were on kangaroo petrol. And although Yahya is good at keeping it going, it is constantly on the verge of stalling, especially when we are driving in low gear.

Friendly Afghans with heavy weapons

On roads only partially paved and clustered with everything from sheep to heavy trucks, we move forward. On the way we pass countless check points manned by the Tali_ban. Here we see thick walls, barbed wire, heavy arms and sometimes also gun cars or Humvees. They look scary. But our permission from the Ministry in Kabul gets us easily through each checkpoints – and gradually we get used to the high level of security.

We also find out that many of the Tali_ban who man the checkpoints are surprisingly nice.

“Can I take your picture?” I therefore start to ask them.

About two-thirds of them decline. Sometimes when there are three soldiers, one of them says yes while the other two say no. Rarely all four soldiers say yes. But in front of the Humvee on the first picture in the album – they surprisingly all agree. Happily I hurry to take the shot form a few angles.

After six hours on the road – among friends who were once enemies – we finally reach our Noor Band Qala hotel in the mountain town of Bamiyan. Here we quickly find out that they are serious about protecting us. The hotel is surrounded by a high Wall with barbed wire and has its own shooting tower!

Terror in Bamiyan

It is probably no coincidence that it is precisely here in Bamiyan our guesthouse has a shooting tower. Since the Tali_ban took over in 2021, there has been – as far as I have been able to research – only one terrorist attack targeting foreign tourists. And that one attack took place right here in Bamiyan. Three Spaniards and three Afghans lost their lives after being shot (according to Al Jazeera/Le Monde while walking around the city market – according to other media while sitting in a bus). The incident happened in May 2024. Islamic State – Khorasan Province (IS-KP) claimed responsibility for the attack.

Some might think it is pretty crazy project that we have decided to take our kids to a country where terrorists operate. But let’s just look at the statistics: Approximately 7,000 tourists reportedly visit Afghanistan every year. Over the past four years, there have hence been approximately 28,000 tourists in the country. Out of which three have been killed in a terrorist attack. Statistically this means that the risk is approximately 1 in 10,000. You may find this a fairly significant risk. But this attack has already made the Tali_ban further tighten security. And I guess that in our modern world there is nowhere in the world you can be completely secure. Also you can be hit by terror in London, in Nice, or at a German Christmas market.

Compared to before Tali_ban took power the risk of terror fortunately is now considerably lower. The security situation is now completely different from the year 2014 when we made our first family trip to Afghanistan. Back then we stayed under the radar out of fear of what might happen and only allowed ourselves a very short visit.

From the City of Screams to the missing Buddhas

Bamiyan’s attractions include both the The City of Screams (Shahr-e-Gholghol) and the UNESCO World Heritage Site with the intricate name: “Cultural Landscape and Archaeological Remains of the Bamiyan Valley”. At the latter, two giant Buddha statues stood until Tali_ban leader Mullah Omar had them destroyed in March 2001. The site is still often officially referred to (e.g. on Google Maps) as the “Buddha statues of Bamiyan” even though there are now only two large holes left in the rocks where the Buddhas once stood.

In Bamiyan we experience the first major challenge caused by traveling on our own without bringing a guide/fixer/translator (like most other tourists do). The Tali_ban office where we are supposed to register our arrival turns out to be closed both now on a Thursday afternoon and the following Friday, which (like every Friday here) is a public holiday.

Fortunately, a nice man we meet helps us set up a little meeting with the Tali_ban. For only 500 Afghani (45 kroner) and very much without a receipt our permit is quickly registered. The Tali_ban representative simply and by hand writes something in Arabic on our original travel permit. Hence, we avoid having to wait two days to get our permit.

Soon after it turns out that the entrance ticket (500 AFN – 45 kr per person) for our visit to the two historical sites can, for reasons unknown to mortal man, only be purchased at the City of Screams.

Genghis Khan’s revenge

The story behind the City of Screams – a bunch of archaeological ruins scattered over a mountain – is that Genghis Khan’s favorite grandson was killed here by a shot from an arrow fired from the then besieged mountain city. Genghis Khan’s reaction was brutal. He draconically wiped out all the inhabitants of the mountain, and – for good measure -also all the inhabitants of the surrounding region (at least and unlike the Tali-ban he left the Buddhas standing).

While Yahya drives our taxi to the mechanic to try to repair the now barely functioning car, we inspect the “Buddhas of Bamiyan”. The two now defunct statues at the site were originally erected in 600 AD. during the Buddhist Kushan Silk Road rule. One statue was a 35-meter-tall woman (called the “Queen Mother”) and the other a 55-meter-tall man (called “Saisai – the light shining through the universe”).

“What do you think of the statues?” asks a local guy on the spot while he records us on video.

“They seem to hvae disappeared!” I answer cheerfully. And for the record, I uncontroversially continue by saying a little about how Afghanistan is a lovely country to be a tourist in, how it is full of very hospitable people, that you can get lots of good food and that there are many exciting sights. As always, we get countless pictures taken with the locals. The locals seem to enjoy standing in long queues in order to get a selfie with a Danish family.

Even without the Buddha statues, the place is a highlight of our trip and the view from the top of the City of Screams over the cultural area is incomparable. At the “Queen Mother”, a nice Tali_ban guard asks if we would like to have a door unlocked so we can go up the stairs that are carved into the rock and we happily accept.

Important advice

In the evening, we have dinner – while Yahya fortunately manages to get the car fixed – with Alex from the UK (@alewandersyt), his girlfriend from Chechnya Amina (@amina_finds) and their local driver and guide Noor and Mohamed (@mohmmadtourguide and @peacehope.afghanistan.tours). who we met at a chance encounter earlier the same day. This meeting turns out to be important for us. The resason being that Mohammed tells us that it is crucial that we depart very early when we will be visiting the Band-e Amir national park.

“That way you will avoid meeting the Tali_ban,” he says.

In this way we do not risk that Ava and Charlotte are being denied entry in this more conservative region. A region where there has also recently been an episode with a female American porn star. An episode which has caused the Tali_ban to significantly tighten the rules for foreign women. Learn more about this in my next post.

At the market in Bamiyan

The next day our family visits the Bamiyan city market. Here, fruit and vegetables are sold directly from the backs of countless trucks, here are bakeries with bread hanging in strings from just about everywhere in the ceiling, nuts galore and several color-coordinated spice pyramids. Even though I only have my iPhone, it is a paradise for anyone taking photographs.

“Ichtallei maschi,” I say constantly to whoever we meet. Meaning: Salam aleikum or welcome in Pashto. “Singaee,” I then add. “How are you?”. That and perhaps the presence of my children usually brings smiles to many of the surrounding faces.

The vast majority responds with hospitable greetings. In a small shop, a young boy in a long white robe answers a little more controversially:

“Bior kicheiton kuchekunem,” he says while his friend, who is sitting in the corner behind the counter shows me the devil sign pointing two fingers on each side of his head. I don’t quite understand, which in turn makes him translate: “Come to kill the enemy,” he says. As always, I shall try to refrain from political statements – but just say that it is quite easy to guess how he learned this sentence.

Surrounded by armed soliders (who are also out shopping), we stock up on fruit and popcorn for our upcoming onward journey. As we walk home, we have a view of the sunset over the mountain which once held the giant buddhas. In the cool evening air, people play football and volleyball on large artificial grass fields. The air is clean and fresh and full of adventure. Few places on earth feel as magical as here.

Part 4: Playing by Tali_bans book in Afghanistan’s oldest national park

Dust rises in great clouds behind us as we race along the uneven gravel road through Afghanistan’s bone-dry desert landscape. Our driver Yahya steps on the gas, and we drive as fast as we can. In the middle of the road, here in the barren no man’s land of Bamiyan Province, burqa-clad local women occasionally stand begging. Some of them have their children with them. As most people know, Afghan women are not allowed to work—hence these poor souls are instead forced to stand here with their outstretched hands under the ever-blazing sun.

Work and education may be very restricted for Afghan women, but contrary to popular belief we also experience that a number of Afghan women actually have more traditional jobs —we we’ll return to that in a later post.

“Tell him to drive faster,” says my wife Charlotte perhaps for the fifth time. As always when in public she – like our 18-year old daughter – is covered in both abaya and hijab.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning, and we’ve already been on the road for an hour. We hadn’t actually planned to set off so early. But since another group’s guide, Mohammed, told us yesterday that if we weren’t inside the national park before the Tali_ban began manning the checkpoints, it was far from certain that Ava and Charlotte would even be allowed to enter.

So earlier that morning, we got up at twenty past five, and after passing a couple of unmanned checkpoints, we are now tearing along the 15 or so kilometers of gravel road that lead from the main asphalt highway and the final stretch into the national park.

Luckily, we win the race against the Tali_ban, and soon after we are able to peacefully park at a viewpoint offering a vista unlike anything I can recall ever seeing.

An oasis in a desert dream

At the foot of the majestic Hindu Kush mountains, we see a sandstone fortress by an emerald-green lake. In front of the fortress lie dozens of moored, freshly painted swan-shaped pedal boats ready to set out. A lone yellow motorboat, with a fluttering Tali_ban flag mounted on a pole at the stern, cuts solitarily across the mirror-still water. Most of all, the place looks like an amusement park in a fairytale—or an oasis in a desert dream.

Everything still breathes peace and quiet as we arrive at the lakeshore and immediately set off in one of the swan boats (2,5 USD per person per hour). Our swan has four seats. From the two rear seats, one can propel the boat forward using small pedal wheels. Between the seats, a small rudder lets you steer. Luckily—and contrary to what we had feared—today local women, families, and children are allowed to enter the park and use the boats. Still, the majority of boats are manned by men. Men of all ages, typically dressed in loose-fitting shalwar kameez and vests. On their heads they typically wear either turbans, or round Pashtun caps.

Meeting ’The White Tali_ban’

Shortly after we return to shore, the Tali_ban arrive. Today, a few of their leaders are dressed entirely in white, including mighty, white turbans. Normally, most Tali_ban wear black head coverings, while the white turbans, as far as we understand, signal that the wearer has at some point in his life been on pilgrimage to Mecca. I have also read somewhere that the so-called “white Tali_ban”— which are apparently who we are meeting here — are more conservative, and that one should be very careful not to get into controversy with them.

Upon the Tali_ban’s arrival, it immediately feels as if the more relaxed and cheerful “it’s-weekend-and-everything’s-fine” family atmosphere shifts dramatically. Now, different rules suddenly apply.  Exemplified by one of the officials who is now brusquely signaling that I absolutely must not photograph the local women.

Rather stupidly I end up doing so anyway… Shortly afterward two pretty, young local women in traditional regional dresses ask if they may take a picture with my daughter Ava. It’s a lovely scene, and so I decide to capture it myself as well. A grave mistake it turns out—because a nearby Tali_ban sees it and quickly steps toward me and hit my camera arm with his clenched fist.

I’ve had run-ins with police and authorities many times in many countries and therefore have some experience with such situations. I’ve been detained, subjected to hours-long interrogations, and threatened by angry guards armed with automatic weapons. But I cannot recall ever before being physically hit by an official law enforcement officer.

From enjoying a peaceful Friday outing, I suddenly, instinctively fear that the Tali_ban might now detain me and in the worst case search the camera roll on my phone.

Thankfully nothing happens. I am not even asked to delete the picture — a picture that Charlotte standing right beside me shortly after paradoxically is allowed to take. So apparently, foreign women in Afghanistan are, unlike men, permitted to photograph the local women here in Band-e Amir.

We actually know why some of these strict rules at Band-e Amir apply. My previous research has shown that according to Britain’s Daily Mail back in 2023, the Tali_ban temporarily banned women from visiting the national park. This was done “because wonen did not wear their headscarves properly” and “because going sightseeing is not a must for women.”

This ban was later lifted—only to be reintroduced at least in regards to foreign women in March 2025. This was after American porn star Whitney Wright visited the park and posed with an AK-47.

Fortunately, the – seen with the Tali_bans eyes – totally unacceptable associations one might get when linking a western porn star to visiting Afghan tourist attractions now lies several months in the past. And the restrictions appear to be slowly lifting. So, fortunately and as mentioned, our two girls are allowed into both the park and the swan boats.

Some strict rules, however, still apply. One of them is that all women on the day of our visit, are suddenly ordered by the Tali_ban to remain inside a designated enclosure. Ava, already affected by the altitude (the park lies at about 3,000 meters above sea level) and the ever-oppressive heat, is far from pleased at having her freedom of movement so drastically curtailed. Her small altitude issues combined with the discomfort form wearing her long, heavy, black, and stifling clothes certainly don’t make things easier.

A little later, a couple of local women move a few of the chairs slightly outside the enclosure in order for them to allow themselves slightly more space. Instantly, loud, piercing whistles echo through the desert air, and the women are forcefully ordered to immediately return the chairs to their original positions.

From Band-e Amir, we return for another overnight stay in Bamiyan. From there, we will later set course for the provincial city of Ghazni. A city located just under three hours’ drive from Kabul. Here, we’ll visit a city far less accustomed to tourists than the mountain-lake town of Band-e Amir.

Part 5: With Tali_ban in Ghazni

Walking through the bustling streets of the Afghan city of Ghazni feels a bit like being in Central Asia after having travelled back in time. Even though the city, with its roughly 190,000 inhabitants, is barely a four-hour drive from the capital, Kabul.

Here in Ghazny—a city which typically serves as the first stop on the main road toward Kandahar—the locals initially stare at us with eyes as wide as tank wheels. Some even pause in the middle of their daily activities, slightly bewildered.

Coal braziers and blue burqas
Local boys carrying small so-called kangaries follow us persistently. Their small hands are typically held out trying to get money. Some are simply glaring at us with longing eyes. The coal braziers they carry contain burning embers, and the boys ritualistically carry them around for people who want to light a fire but lack matches or a lighter. The braziers also serve as small portable heaters, which can be practical in a country where coal is often cheaper and easier to obtain than electricity or gas. In winter, these little natural stoves provide warmth, but now, in the middle of summer there’s little use for the boys’ glowing tins.

Here in Ghazni, we see noticeably more women wearing the traditional blue burqa with perforated face screens than we have elsewhere in the country. Fortunately, people here don’t seem to mind much if we photograph them. Our general experience, though, is that this can quickly change once more tourists start coming.

Independent travel in the Ghazni province
Unlike when we walked through the streets of Kabul or through the tourist towns of Bamiyan and Band-e Amir here in Ghazni we feel we stand out much more. Many people still welcome us warmly though, but you can almost see them wondering, “What on earth is this strange family doing here?”

I don’t know how or why, but it’s as if locals have a special instinct for sensing when newly arrived travelers like us have just stepped off the incoming bus or taxi.

“Manana Malgare” (“thank you, friend”) is one of the first phrases I’ve learned in Pashto. And I can say “friend” in three other variations in Dari and Pashto: Dost! andywol! rafik! I call out to anyone within earshot, adding a few more words from the country’s two primary languages. Soon enough fortunately, we get used to our surroundings and the atmosphere becomes more relaxed.

Our driver, Yahya, has brought us here to Ghazni and has since returned to his home in Bamiyan. That means we’re now entirely on our own, relying on public transport to continue traveling. Since we are without a guide/fixer/translator, it’s also our own responsibility to register at the city’s Tali_ban office to obtain permission to be here. However, we decide to postpone that visit until our second day, as we have arrived in Ghazni in the late afternoon.

By coincidence, our new travel friends, the English couple Alex (@alexwandersyt) and Amina (@amina_finds), along with their guide and driver, are also in town. Using WhatsApp, I quickly arrange with our friend Mohammed to meet at their hotel so we can all go out for dinner.

“In ten minutes I will be at Uranus,” I cheerfully write him. Ten seconds later, I realize that — despite using the hotel’s correct name — I’ve just written a sentence that’s rather easy to misunderstand. You are very welcome – dear reader – to try saying it fast three times yourself.

The next morning begins with one of those small episodes you almost only experience in the Middle East and Central Asia. As we’re having breakfast at our restaurant in the Hotel Taj Continental (30 USD per night per double room including breakfast), a random local guest comes over and says:

“Welcome to Afghanistan. I’d like to treat you to coffee, smoothies, and milkshakes because I think it’s great that you travel as a family in my country.”

As always, when I get such offers, I try to insist that this is far too much and that we can easily pay for our drinks ourselves. But our new friend won’t hear of it. He’s already paid at the bar, he tells us, and hurriedly leaves without expecting anything in return.

When it comes to hospitality, I don’t think I’ve experienced anything like it outside of equally hospitable countries such as Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Oman.

At the Local Tali_ban Office
For 1,5 USD on the following day we take a taxi to the local “Ministry of Information and Culture”-office—also known as the local Tali_ban office. As soon as we have removed our shoes, we are ushered into the office of Tali_ban chief Mosamel Hotak. Like his three colleagues, he is extremely kind and welcoming. Within perhaps twenty seconds, he signs our travel permit and also issues a brand new document certifying that we are allowed to stay in Ghazni. We’re also permitted to take as many pictures of him, ourselves, and his staff as we want.

“Do you have your own guide who can translate?” Mosamel Hotak then asks.
“No,” I reply.
“Then my colleague will go with you.”

Thus, we are assigned Ahmed Shah as our free local guide and translator. This is not up for discussion. In a way, it’s both nice and a little exciting to have our own personal tourist guide and Tali_ban escort. Presumably, Ahmed Shah also serves as a kind of guard. But unlike in Pakistan’s Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, our escort here is not armed—or at least not openly carrying a large automatic weapon. I suspect he may have a smaller firearm hidden under his loose tunic, but we never see it.

Ahmed Shah speaks decent English and tells us he is married and has a two-year-old daughter. His now-deceased father was a farmer, while his mother is fortunately still alive. Unlike his father, Ahmed has benefited from free education and has studied Pashto at Kandahar University.

We start with a visit to the somewhat illogically named “Ghazni National Museum,” which is actually an archaeological museum. From there, we continue to the city’s main library, run by a smiling Tali_ban-boss with a huge turban. Both his office and anteroom are lavishly decorated with Tali_ban flags, which we are free to photograph as much as we like. When the librarian (whose name I have forgotten) shows me around the many books, I mention that I have written two books myself.

Almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret telling him this. Not because my books are particularly controversial, even though they do contain my personal, factual, and non-political account of our short family visit to Afghanistan in 2014. As well as an interview (also factual and respectful, in my opinion) with the journalist Simi Jan, which touches on the Tali_ban’s takeover in 2021. All in all there is nothing controversial in these books that I think the Tali_ban would in any way object to—but you never know, and it would have been easier to simply not mention them.

Outside, we hire a tiny taxi for the rest of the day for 60 DKK (9 USD). Ahmed takes the passenger seat, while we squeeze our family of four into the narrow back seat.

With our private guide, we first visit the city’s two famous minarets. Each roughly twenty meters tall, they are richly decorated with terracotta reliefs, Arabic calligraphy, and Islamic patterns some of which may be dating ack to the construction in the 12th century. From there, we continue to the massive mud-and-stone fortress (built around the year 1000) that towers over the city and offers magnificent views.

“Are your books covering Afghanistan?” Ahmed Shah asks rather perceptively as we walk the last stretch up the hill.

“No,” I answer for simplicity’s sake, and then tell him that I worked as an engineer for many years but now make a living writing travel features. Luckily, that explanation seems to satisfy him.

Regulations and conversations with the Tali_ban
At the top of the fortress, we soon meet a local family who invite us to their nearby home for a cold drink.

We gladly accept—but the Tali_ban has other ideas.

“You are not allowed to visit locals in their homes because there we can’t guarantee your safety,” Ahmed Shah says firmly.

Instead, we invite him to lunch. We share our favorite local dish—mutton karahi (made with 1.5 kilos of meat), a wonderful stew of lamb in a semi-spicy, rich, slow-cooked tomato sauce. For five people in a nice restaurant, drinks included, the total comes to just 1400 AFN (20 USD).

That same day we also visit the city’s bird market and its military museum, where a lot of old Russian and American tanks stand lined up along the Ghazni River.

During our two weeks in Afghanistan, I speak with quite a few Tali_ban members. One conversation—with someone whose name I will deliberately omit —starts by me asking:

“If women aren’t allowed to work in Afghanistan, how come we’ve still seen several of them working both in security checkpoints and as waitresses in restaurants? And we’ve heard of women working as nurses in hospitals too?”

“Because there are regional differences,” he answers promptly. “And because exceptions are made where sufficiently powerful local Tali_ban leaders are locally in charge.”

“Do you think most people in Afghanistan support the Tali_ban’s restrictions on women—including the rule that they can only attend school up to 6th grade?” I then ask.

“I believe 95% of all Afghans would support women’s right to work and get an education, and only 5% would be against it. But within the Tali_ban itself, I think 70% want to keep the restrictions, and only 30% are against them.”

“What does your wife do?” I continue.

“She’s a housewife.”

“Would she like to study or work?”

“Yes, of course,” he says. “And I would like that for her as well.”

“Do you think the Tali_ban might ease the rules in the future?”

“That’s very possible, yes.”

During our stay in Afghanistan, we are also at some point – unexpectedly – approached by a Tali_ban member who we had earlier encountered. When he arrives at first that makes me nervous since I am wondering if he thinks we’ve done something we shouldn’t. But after a bit of tea-drinking, he finally reveals the real reason for his visit:

“Can you help me get a one-month visa for Denmark?” he simply asks.

It’s a question I’m used to hearing when I travel. But never in my wildest dreams did I expect to hear it from a member of the Tali_ban.

I briefly explain Denmark’s strict immigration rules, say that I can’t help, and then, on a sudden impulse, ask if he’s familiar with the books The Bookseller of Kabul and The Kite Runner—two books that, for better or worse, depict Afghanistan, two books that I don’t even know if Afghans are allowed to read.

Strangely enough, the Tali_ban member claims to know neither of them—or perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit that he does. “But if you can buy them in Kabul, then they’re not illegal,” he says.

As it turns out, Khaled Hosseini’s three novels (The Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and And the Mountains Echoed) are actually listed on the Tali_ban’s list of banned books – which may explain why my guest has not heard of them. But I’ve personally seen The Bookseller of Kabul for sale—in Kabul, at, well yes you guessed it, The bookseller of Kabul —so perhaps Tali_ban censorship isn’t quite as all-encompassing as many people think.

Our last afternoon in town we take a walk on our own. We browse through the bazaar, spot a small, rusty ferris wheel at a makeshift funfair, cross the city’s dried-up, trash-filled river, and buy a huge watermelon for the equivalent 10 AFN (15 cents).

In the evening the children discover a mouse in their room. This sparks a long investigation, ending with the hotel’s kind and helpful staff member, Osman, locating a mouse hole under Ava’s bed. While the mouse is inside, Osman fills up the hole with old rags, so the cheeky little rodent won’t further disrupt our Afghan adventure any further.

Back to Kabul
The next day, we head back toward Kabul. It’s easy to arrange. Normally, we would take a private taxi to Ghazni’s shared-taxi stand, then a shared taxi to the equivalent stand in Kabul (17 km from the city center), and finally another taxi to our hotel. But since we’re four people—enough to fill a car—we simply hire a private taxi all the way from hotel to hotel. It costs only 3,000 Afghanis (about 40 USD) for the roughly four-hour, door-to-door trip—which actually turns out a bit cheaper than going via the stands.

Our driver, Fayaz, aged 28 years is younger than I’d prefer—and perhaps for that reason, he drives a little too fast. At one point, we’re forced far out into the gravel shoulder at high speed because an oncoming car is recklessly overtaking a truck. And because Fayaz doesn’t care to slow down in time.

The road is mostly paved but has sections under construction that force us onto long, rough detours. Here, on bumpy gravel tracks, the law of the jungle rules: massive trucks, tuk-tuks, and regular cars—half hidden in huge clouds of dust—compete aggressively for the often all too narrow space.

Even here in the private taxi, Charlotte and Ava must wear full coverings—and with temperatures outside approaching 50°C in the sun, the ride is a truly sweltering experience.

Arriving in Kabul, it feels good to be back at the phenomenal Khyber Hotel, with its fantastic, cooling rooftop terrace (again, only 30 USD per double room per night with breakfast). Here we’ll spend the coming days visiting the landmine museum, being interviewed on Afghan TV, being invited to a wedding, being photographed by a man with a 60-year-old camera, trying to get into a water park, and visiting the iconic Tali_ban-controlled Wazir Akbar Khan viewpoint.

We’ll also have a couple more… let’s say unusual encounters with the Tali_ban, including one that feels somewhat dramatic. More about that in the next post. Stay tuned—and thanks for reading.

Part 6: ”No retreat, baby, no surrender.” Tali_ban searches our Kabul hotel, visit to a land mine museum and interview with Afghan tv

Returning to Kabul – A Journey Through Today’s Afghanistan

It feels almost like coming home to long-lost family when, after our Afghan road trip, we return to the Khyber Hotel in Kabul.

Everyone is there to greet us: receptionists Mohamed, Hedoyat, and Hamid Allah, the manager Hafiz, driver Faisal, and the room boys Bilal and Ferdavs. And there seem to be no limits to what they will now do for the Danish family who has returned.

Especially 20-year-old Ferdavs, who clearly has a soft spot for our daughter Ava. Perhaps it’s simply that he is unaccustomed to seeing attractive foreign girls almost his own age here. Eagerly, he invites us to tea on the rooftop terrace. On top of this the hotel director Hafiz insists on treating us to lunch every day—and, quite out of the blue, through a friend, suddenly invites us to a wedding.

“There’ll be about a thousand guests. It’s held at a huge wedding palace, and of course you must come,” Hafiz’s assistant tells us cheerfully, delivering the invitation.

Naturally, we accept. This immediately sends Charlotte (and the children) on a frantic gift-hunt through Kabul’s markets, returning with two pretty boxes: one with chocolates, the other a bright red, heart-shaped container we can use for our cash gift.

A Legendary Viewpoint

Before the wedding, however, we make an excursion to the celebrated viewpoint in Kabul’s Wazir Akhbar Khan district—a place that has taken on an almost mythical quality for me, as much of Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner unfolds here.

Today, the district is an enclave of Kabul’s wealthy, dotted with embassies from the very few nations still maintaining diplomatic missions in Afghanistan. (Both the American and Danish embassies have been closed since 2021.)

At the top of Wazir Akhbar Khan Hill, the white Taliban flag flutters from one of the tallest flagpoles in the country. In the park below, not a single local woman is visible. The men around us wear towering Taliban turbans, made by wrapping long black cloth tightly around their heads.

It is, in truth, an enchanting place — especially at dusk, when the sun sets in painterly shades behind Kabul’s mountains.

Nearby stands a mosque faintly reminiscent of Jerusalem’s Al-Aqsa. Behind it, astonishingly, lies an abandoned swimming pool nearly 2,000 meters above sea level. Its diving platforms still jut into the air like ghostly troll fingers—five and ten meters high—stretching out toward the abyss.

A quick internet search later reveals that during the Soviet occupation of the 1980s, soldiers trained here at altitude. Like the Americans decades later, the Soviets failed in their ambition to conquer Afghanistan. “No retreat, baby, no surrender,” as Bruce Springsteen sings, seems to have remained—through decades of resistance—the enduring motto of both the mujahideen and Taliban.

As always, those we meet are overwhelmingly warm and hospitable. Yet this has not always been the case: in September 2022, a car bomb exploded just outside this mosque, killing seven and injuring 41.

Later that evening, as we prepare for the wedding, word arrives that our hosts will not attend after all. They have suddenly been told their invitation has been taken back. Which of course means our invitation is void as well. Perhaps Taliban restrictions on private gatherings were at play here, though no explanation is offered. Another theory is that many weddings defy the Taliban ban on music—and the presence of foreigners might have drawn unwanted attention.

Visiting the Mine Museum and a TV Station

The next day, we hire a taxi for half a day (at the modest price of 14 USD). Through Mohamed at reception, we have arranged for our non-English-speaking driver to take us first to the city’s military museum—the Omar Landmine Museum. Unfortunately, he misunderstands, heading instead over the mountains toward the National Museum. I redirect him via GPS and Google Maps, but we still waste an hour in Kabul’s paralyzing traffic because of this mistake.

The museum is surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire and guarded by heavily armed men. In 2017, it was attacked by Islamic State fighters disguised as policemen. A suicide bomber blew himself up at the gate while three others stormed the building with guns and grenades. One guard was killed and 20 wounded.

Today, the museum is run by Imran, an Afghan who studied IT in Pakistan but returned home to aid in mine clearance and heritage preservation. Since the withdrawal of international forces, he has had no funds to pay staff and receives virtually no salary. Tragedy has struck his family: all four of his children were born with the same illness, for which he and his wife could not afford medicine. They have since died, and the couple has given up hope of having more children.

Imran shares statistics about the mine situation in Afghanistan. Not all appear to align with outside research, so best taken with caution. He says that “1,500 de-miners have died over the past 35 years”; that “three children die every day from mines”; that “Afghanistan was once the most mined country in the world but has now been surpassed by Ukraine”; and that “85 percent of the country is now cleared of mines, yet accidents are again on the rise—often in rural areas, frequently during children’s football games.”

Next door, behind the same security walls, sits Shamshad TV—one of Afghanistan’s largest privately owned broadcasters. The 2017 attack was also directed here, yet the channel defiantly returned to air shortly after security forces repelled the gunmen.

Under the first Taliban regime (1996–2001), all television, cinemas, music, and most media were banned. Today, TV is permitted again, though there are still no functioning cinemas, and music remains officially prohibited—even though Taliban themselves play it from their vehicles and checkpoints. CNN also reports that smoking shisha or sporting a Western haircut can still earn punishment.

Inside Shamshad, the setup looks surprisingly professional. We are even interviewed on camera as a family—though I quietly wonder if this may send the wrong signal to present Afghanistan so uncritically as a travel destination. Yet our participation does not equal endorsement of the regime’s policies, and I am sure my readers will be able to draw their own conclusions.

The Last Box Camera Photographer?

We then head east to the Kabul suburb of Karte Naw, home to 77-year-old Haji Mir Zaman—believed to be perhaps the last professional box camera photographer in Afghanistan. His wooden camera, known as a kamra-e-faoree, functions simultaneously as a camera and a darkroom.

Zaman learned the craft as a teenager in his cousin’s Kabul studio and has practiced it for decades. During the Taliban’s first rule, when images of living beings were forbidden, photographers like him helped preserve the tradition in secret.

He shoots by removing the lens cap manually, with exposures lasting up to 40 seconds, before developing the paper negative inside the box. With digital photography now dominant and supplies of chemicals and paper scarce, this art form may soon vanish altogether.

When we arrive, we first meet his quick-witted 15-year-old grandson Sahel, who rushes off to fetch his grandfather and tells us he has 12 children and 55 grandchildren. In summer he tells us, 50–100 tourists come each month; in winter, perhaps 20.

Zaman himself, unlike most Afghans we have met, is not a particular friendly or charming person. He insists on being photographed only with the least appealing side of his camera showing, and paradoxically dislikes being photographed himself. Female tourists have also accused him of inappropriate behavior. Still, it is a unique experience to witness his craft.

Box camera photography info: Price per portrait (due to material scarcity): 2,000 AFN, or around 30 USD. Production time: 10–20 minutes. Group photos are not allowed.

The Taliban searches our Hotel

As our taxi pulls up to the Khyber Hotel entrance, I spot two heavily armed Taliban fighters rushing inside.

“Sh*t, I hope they’re not after us,” I think.

Inside, chaos reigns. Ten to fifteen men in black or camouflage, automatic rifles in hand, bark orders at the staff. Mohamed working in the reception quickly tells us we cannot pass and asks us instead to sit quietly in a corner near the exit.

Clearly, the Taliban are after someone. On a phone screen, they show Mohamed an image, pointing angrily. Only Jonas manages to glimpse it.

“It’s a Westerner—and I think he’s live-streaming,” our son quietly whispers.

The soldiers demand to find this man immediately. Mohamed quickly provides his passport details, explaining—in Pashto, we later learn—that the man they are lokking for has already checked out and likely already left Afghanistan.

The Taliban are not satisfied with this, insisting on searching every room. The hotel manager refuses, voices rise, and the soldiers start quarrelling among themselves—we are later told, this is due to different functions within the Taliban (military, police, governmental etc). Eventually, they grudgingly accept that their target is gone.

The Explanation

That evening, on the rooftop terrace, we meet Canadian traveler Chris Must List and his Afghan guide Kaiser, who piece together what happened.

The Taliban had been looking for Australian YouTuber Marcus David Romer—known online as “Marco Roams.” He had traveled with Chris and Kaiser through the country the week before. Now in Dubai, Marco had live-streamed himself while drinking a beer, with “Afghanistan” in the posts streaming-title. Worse still, he had earlier filmed himself in Afghanistan with a “non-alcoholic” beer bottle, obscuring the first three letters to suggest it contained alcohol— which is strictly forbidden in Afghanistan.

Believing he was still at the Khyber, the Taliban stormed the hotel. Only by chance was Marco already gone.

“On our trip Marco didn’t always seem to be in balance,” Chris tells us. During their travels, Marco insisted on leaving his travel partners mid-journey, arranging his own $150 taxi ride despite his name being tied to their travel permits—causing headaches at checkpoints until he eventually rejoined them. After visiting Kandahar, Helmand, and even the Tora Bora mountains together, Marco finally departed Afghanistan.

Chris, hearing our story and recalling Marco’s actions, now gets visibly nervous and therefore considers removing his YouTube possibly controversial videos from Afghan gun markets etc. Kaiser however reassures him he has broken no laws.

A Final meeting with the Taliban

As if the day had not been tense enough, I write to Yassir at the Ministry of Culture and Information, requesting a final meeting with the tourism director. My secret aim is to try to ask a few questions about women’s rights.

His reply is chilling: “If you want trouble, come here. Otherwise don’t bother.”

A not-so-subtle warning. Should I cancel? Play it safe? Or ask my questions anyway?

In the end, I reply that I only wish to thank them for their help, share feedback, and gather facts for a positive travel article.

The next morning, drenched in sweat from a long detour led astray by Google Maps, I arrive at the ministry. Yassir greets me warmly with tea and cake. Most other visitors are tourist guide being here on behalf of their clients. They are not offered tea and cake. A little later, the tourism director, Haji Mohamed Thajeb Sayeb, ushers me into his imposing office with its vast desk and plush blue sofas.

I recount our journey, praising the hospitality we experienced and the beauty of the country. I deliberately omit mentioning the Taliban fighter who struck me at Band-e Amir, or the one who asked me for help migrating to Denmark.

He tells me Afghanistan now receives 5–7,000 tourists annually, with up to 1,000 per month in summer. Roads to Band-e Amir and Ghazni, he assures, will be paved within a few years. An tickets may one day be introduced at the Bamiyan Buddhas site.

I dare not ask directly about Afghan women. The closest I get: “Can foreign women travel independently here?”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly. “We do not distinguish by gender. Security is good. Foreign women can travel anywhere with the right permits.”

Photographing the director is still forbidden—though for a moment, he almost relents.

Before I leave, he calls national TV, who arrive within twenty minutes to interview me in the courtyard about our journey. He does this because he thinks it is an interesting story that we are “One of the first Western families in decades to travel independently through multiple Afghan provinces.”

A Farewell to Kabul

That afternoon, we visit the National Museum. Jonas and I also attempt to visit Kabul’s water park and it’s water slides, but unfortunately authorities have closed it for the day (I have a friend who has been to a similar water park in North Korea and would have liked to have a similar story to tell).

Our farewell dinner is at Ziyafat, Kabul’s most lavish restaurant: five floors, capacity for 1,000 guests, gilded chandeliers and looking like something straight out of One Thousand and One Nights. A full family meal with drinks costs just 20 USD for the foru of us. In the family section, several women work as waitresses—contrary to much of what outsiders assume about Afghanistan.

On our final morning, we meet Danish traveler Jes, who has just crossed northern Pakistan by motorbike. He tells us about what he has heard of the persecution of the Hazara minority and of a 19-year-old female photographer, Zalfa, who secretly documents women’s lives in Kabul and trains others in her hidden studio. Taliban once smashed one of her cameras, but so far have not found her. We wish we had known of her sooner and had time to visit her.

Security and Departure

Kabul Airport has the strictest security I have ever seen, perhaps rivaled only by Erbil in Iraq. It takes no less than four separate security screenings to be finally ready to board.

Once again, I am a little afraid of flying with private Afghan airline Kam Air, but the aircraft fortunately looks new and the weather is clear. The wheels cling worryingly long to the runway before finally lifting, climbing steeply over the vast Hindu Kush Mountains.

And so, safe and sound, we leave what some still call “the world’s most dangerous country”—after a journey that has been nothing short of extraordinary.

Fact Box Afghanistan

  • Opium: In 2022, the Taliban banned all opium cultivation. Production then allegedly fell by 95 percent. Prices soared, but Afghan farmers still lost billions. Myanmar has since overtaken Afghanistan as the world’s top producer. Observers fear synthetic drugs like methamphetamine and fentanyl may fill the void.
  • Visas: Available in Dubai, Islamabad, or Peshawar. Easiest in Peshawar, which does not require a Letter of Invitation.
  • Accommodation: Khyber Hotel (Kabul), Noor Band Qala (Bamiyan), and Taj Continental (Ghazni) all excellent, around 30 USD per double per night including breakfast.
  • Transport: Shared taxis and buses run between major cities.
  • Independent vs. guided travel: Independent travel is the most adventurous, but requires you are able to deal with Taliban officials  and drivers who rarely speak English.

Part 7: Islamabad og Peshawar – Jingle Trucks and a visit to Farman’s Gun Factory.

Landing at Islamabad Airport, everything seems to run smoothly. Fingerprints taken, multiple-entry visa approved, stamps in place. All good—until the very last checkpoint.

Here, sprawled on a chair, sits perhaps the most arrogant officer I’ve ever encountered. Dressed in camouflage and radiating hostility, he grills us with aggressive questions.

“Do you have a contact here?” he asks aggressively.
“Yes,” I reply, “the Commissioner’s son.”
“Where do you know him from?”
“We met him on the plane when we first came to Pakistan.”
“On the plane you just arrived on?”
“No, on our first flight to Pakistan a few weeks ago, when we arrived in Peshawar.”
“What were you doing in Peshawar?” he asks again, with renewed aggression in his voice.
“We needed a visa for Afghanistan.”
“Don’t you have an embassy in your own country?”
“No.”
“So where did you get the visa?”
“At the embassy in Peshawar.”
“There is no embassy in Peshawar.”
“No, sorry, I said it wrong. I meant the consulate in Peshawar.”
“Why didn’t you get the visa in Dubai?”
“Because it’s cheaper in Peshawar.”
“How much money are you carrying?”
“I don’t really know,” I say, terrified that the idiot will demand to see all our cash—knowing that there may be restrictions on how much you can bring in or out of Pakistan.

Then follows a long lecture in which he insists he cannot understand why a family would travel to Afghanistan. Or to Peshawar. He says that in some Pakistani provinces, not even he can travel freely, so why should anyone want to go there?

“You make your choices. We make ours,” I almost answer, but luckily I bite my tongue.

Our friend—let’s call him Brutalis Militaris Maximus—is at the same time detaining an African man who has only his two thumbs left; the other eight fingers are missing from the knuckles up and seem to have been deliberately cut off. Which doesn’t exactly make fingerprinting easy when entering a new country.

“Make yourself comfortable, this is going to take a long time,” the officer tells the African man, before finally—after another round of x-raying our bags—reluctantly waving us on.

Welcome to Pakistan. Which, incidentally, gave me almost equally poor arrival experiences back when I first visited in 2018.

Troublesome money exchange and devastating floods

The center of Islamabad is a strange place. We are staying in what looks like a boring residential area. But it is actually part of the so-called “Blue Area,” the city’s central district—so named because the architect had marked it blue on the city’s original master plan. As on our previous trip here, we use the excellent InDrive app to order cheap taxis that take us everywhere for almost nothing.

Pakistan must surely be close to world champions in complicated access to cash. As I have described earlier, ATMs in the northern part of the country almost never work, and if they do, you can only withdraw ridiculously small amounts. Exchanging 200 Euros for Pakistani rupees at an official exchange bureau has about the same level of bureaucracy as applying for a mortgage in Denmark.

Over the next few days, we first visit—in what feels like a billion degrees of muggy summer heat—the super-photogenic Pakistan Monument and the Daman-e-Koh viewpoint with its many monkeys. We also stop by the Zoo, but according to our InDrive driver, it has been closed for the past 3–4 years “because the management didn’t feed the animals enough, so many of them died.”

From there we continue to the village of Saidpur, one of the region’s oldest settlements, which has been inhabited by Buddhists, Hindus, the Gandhara people, Greeks, Ashokans from the Maurya Empire, Mughals, and was also part of British India. Today it is a peaceful tourist area—though only four days before our visit it was far from peaceful. Heavy monsoon rain in the Margalla Hills caused the river running through the village to overflow its banks. A total of 157 mm of rain fell, several cars and motorcycles were destroyed, and the damage is still clearly visible. In the so-called DHA-5 district nearby, a father and daughter drowned when their car was caught by the floodwaters.

Meeting Uzbekistan’s Foreign Minister

We also visit the country’s national mosque, Faisal Mosque, which Jonas thinks looks like something out of a Star Wars movie. Here we are led through the VIP entrance into the mosque’s enormous interior, where we happen to meet the Foreign Minister of Uzbekistan. Naturally, we hurry to tell him how much we enjoyed our visit to his country.

“Did you bring your children?” and “Have you tasted plov?” he quickly asks. We confirm both, explaining that we ate plov (a dish of rice, meat, carrots, and onions) cooked in one of the country’s legendary giant cauldrons.

From there we continue to the Natural History Museum, before ending the day by shooting balloons with air rifles and riding in a kitschy horse carriage in front of the city’s impressive Ethnography Museum. Here we also see a car arrive, and no fewer than 13 people quickly pile out—five from the two front seats and eight from the backseat. Unfortunately, they refuse to let me photograph them.

The next day, our driver, Tajer, takes us in his fine new air-conditioned car to Peshawar.

“Af pagel he. Me pagel ne-o,” he teaches me to say on the way. “You are crazy. I am not crazy.”

On the road, we notice that the two middle lanes of the motorway are blocked off with heavy concrete barriers, so no one can drive on them.

“That’s because the road between Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa provinces must quickly be able to convert into an emergency runway if the conflict between India and Pakistan escalates,” Tajer explains, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Farman’s Gun Factory

Later that day, for the first and only time, we are allowed to leave our Shelton Guest House in Peshawar without a police escort. According to the receptionist “This is because it’s the weekend and the soldiers are off duty.” This is convenient, since we plan to visit several of the city’s gun factories which, though legal, might not appreciate having nosy policemen sniffing around. The factory we visit is called Farman & Sons Gun Factory.

Outside, it’s over 40°C, and inside it feels at least twice as hot. The factory consists of countless small rooms resembling a World War I-basement converted to somewhere you can fix your bike. In each unbearably hot room, numerous mostly young boys are handcrafting weapons. There are lathes and files in every imaginable size.

It may sound strange for a whole Danish family to just wander into this blazing-hot inferno of an improvised gun factory, without either security forces or a translator. But that is exactly what we do. And as usual, we are met only with kindness and hospitality. Everything is free, and everyone wants to offer us tea. After a few friendly workers have shown us around, we are invited into one of the showrooms. Here we are shown ordinary pistols (copies of Glock and Beretta) that reportedly sell for about 135 USD (1,000 DKK), and a copy of an M4 carbine assault rifle costing 325 USD (2,200 DKK).

Just as we are being served both chips and cola, the power goes out. A moment later wi find ourselves in complete darkness, hoping we neither melt nor get shot. Of course, neither happens, and after the kids have had their picture taken with the shop’s biggest gun, we are led to a more modern air-conditioned showroom, this time facing the street rather than hidden deep inside the labyrinth of what might be the hottest factory in the world.

It is legal to sell firearms in Pakistan if, like Farman & Sons, you have a license. We were told that buying automatic weapons though are only permitted for police or military personnel. However, civilians in the tribal areas along the Afghan border can apparently also acquire them without a license.

“There are 60 authorized gun factories in these streets,” explains our friendly guide Ahmed—fittingly one of Farman’s sons.

Several times during our tour, we hear loud gunfire.

“We test our weapons in a sandbagged shooting room,” Ahmed says with a shrug, as if firing automatic weapons into a closed room full of sand on top of a Pakistani gun factory were the most normal thing in the world.

Grass Tennis and Tomahawk Steak

That evening, Sulayman—the Commissioner’s son, whom we met on the plane when we first arrived in Peshawar — kindly invites us over for a game of tennis and a steak.

The Commissioner’s residence grounds is more like a park than a garden. In addition to a mini-zoo, it also has a grass tennis court. Behind the court, nets catch stray balls, and four servants also stand ready to fetch balls for us. Above us, the birds sing and squawk so loudly it feels like we are inside the giant aviary at Singapore Zoo. Naturally, the paths, running tracks, and tennis court are fully lit, which is lucky, as it means we can play in the evening when the temperatures are less extreme.

My grass-court debut goes reasonably well—especially in the first three games, when by mistake I’ve been using Sulayman’s racket. I realize this when I’m leading 2–1 and insist he take it back. Instead, I get a racket with quite a bit off trampoline effect. It’s makes it especially difficult to serve when adding spin to the ball. After a fierce match, I end up losing 6–4.

The city’s best steakhouse offers views of the skyline along with enormous Tomahawk steaks. Over dinner, we thank Sulayman Khan and his friend Sayd Ahmed Jamal for their wonderful company and incomparable hospitality. They really made a difference at a difficult time when we first arrived in the city. It is amazing how help always finds its way when you need it—and how many kind, welcoming, and hospitable people there are in this world of ours.

The next morning, we wait a long time for our usual police escort to arrive—probably because it is weekend. And one delay rarely comes alone: soon after, we must cancel our first booked InDrive taxi because the driver calls to say he’s been involved in a minor accident on the way. That people crash here doesn’t surprise us, considering how close they drive to each other.

Wildly Decorated Buses and Jingle Trucks

Our delayed departure means we arrive at the chaos around Daewoo Bus Station when the sun is high, and the heat is close to unbearable.

The station, with its countless traditional and wildly decorated old buses, turns out to be a true mecca for photographers. But photographing only with a mobile phone is a challenge. In the heat, the battery drains at lightning speed. To make things worse, the phone keeps going into power-saving mode and dimming the screen so I can hardly see anything on it, despite desperately trying to turn it back up. Meanwhile, the iPhone itself gets so hot I can barely hold it.

Our driver for the day, Ajmal, with his white Toyota Aqua, then helps us find the parking grounds for the equally decorated old so-called Jingle Trucks. As usual, I call out all my learned words in Urdu/Pashto and Farsi when we arrive, and as usual, the locals offer us food, drinks, shade, and invitations to their homes.

The trucks, like the buses, are decorated so richly they look like rolling galleries. Many drivers reportedly spend an entire year’s income decorating their beloved trucks — perhaps because they spend more time on the road than with their wives at home.

Small bells are often hung under the bumpers, jingling as the trucks move—hence their name. Every inch is typically covered with paint, metalwork, wood carvings, 3D figures, or mirror mosaics. The painted motifs usually depict flowers, animals, landscapes, or religious icons. Both Charlotte and I have been fascinated by these buses and trucks for years, and I cannot imagine a better place to see and photograph them than here in the capital of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, considered one of the birthplaces of this spectacular art form.

After seeing more richly decorated buses and trucks than we thought existed in the whole world, we invite our five armed guards for “Mutton Karahi” at our favorite restaurant. We are also joined by our local friend Kausar Hussain, who has been giving us advice before our trip. Kausar was one of the very first journalists to help foreign media document Afghanistan and has worked with the BBC, The New York Times, and many other major media. He is also an excellent photographer — in a separate post I’ll soon share some of his images, which I’ve been lucky enough to get permission to publish.

The Final Police Escort

Finally, in the middle of the night, we need to get to Peshawar’s international airport—a journey of just 10–15 minutes, once again with a police escort.

The security check before entering the airport almost takes longer than the ride there. Around us soldiers insist on photographing our passports identity pages before calling some central office to confirm that we are indeed on the passenger list for the outbound Qatar Airways flight. No reason to make getting either in or out of Pakistan too easy.

Enjoy the photos—and don’t forget to scroll to the Jingle Trucks in the album.

 

All pics with iPhone 13Pro. Delayed posting.

Next post: Stopover in Doha, Qatar, where we row a gondola, see how the Football World Cup has changed the country, visit The Pearl (Doha’s version of Dubai’s Palm), take sunset shots from the “Rialto Bridge,” visit a falcon hospital, and are offered to buy a stuffed lion at the bazaar. It will also include a quick guide on how you can get a free stopover when flying long-haul.

Part 8:  Three-day free stopover in Doha, Qatar: “Anyone in need of a stuffed lion, an expensive falcon or a sugar glider?”

The last stop on our trip is Doha, Qatar, where we have three “free” nights. Since we’re flying with Qatar Airways, the price is the same whether we add a stopover in Doha during our layover or continue flying directly. So of course, we planned a stay here in the city.

At the end of this post I have made a quick guide to get such a free stopover (I’ve shared this info several times before, but people always ask, so here we go again).

But first, here are a few quick facts about Doha/Qatar:

  • Just over 3 million people live in Qatar
  • At least 80% live in or around the capital, Doha
  • It’s estimated that up to 90% of the population are immigrants
  • Immigrants typically come from: India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Egypt, the Philippines, and Pakistan
  • The average hourly wage for immigrant workers is estimated at around 2 USD (according to Wikipedia and The Guardian, among others)
  • A taxi driver we rode with said that to be allowed to drive a cab, he must pay 6,000 DKK (3,500 QR) annually to renew his work license
  • Migrant workers rarely see their families, who usually live in their home country.
  • In July, the average temperature in Doha is normally 40–45°C. During heatwaves it rises to 45–50°C. The heat is humid since Doha lies by the sea
  • Government system: Emir Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani is head of state, head of government, commander-in-chief of the military, and controls both legislative and executive power

In Doha, we’re staying at a hotel with the self-confident name: Wonder Palace Hotel. Here, the kids get a well-deserved dose of rooftop swimming pool. The pool is fully exposed to the sun, and the water temperature is a rather warm 35–40°C, but the kids are still happy and having a blast.

From the “Wonder Palace Hotel,” we go on excursions. A nearly brand-new and fairly cheap metro has been built, but taxi-rides cost only about 2 USD for short trips – or 8 USD for the 22 kilometers to “The Pearl.” Uber also works flawlessly; their cars typically arrive almost instantly, and in this kind of heat, it’s really nice to be driven straight to the door. So we stick with them.

Everyone has heard of Dubai’s “The Palm”: artificial islands shaped like palm leaves off the Emirates’ coast. Far fewer know about Qatar’s “The Pearl,” inspired by the country’s old pearl-diving tradition. Here in the Persian Gulf off Doha, a similar artificial island has been built (see first picture), supposedly resembling a pearl from the air (?). On the island are erected modern luxury buildings around three artificial bays laying “like pearls on a string.”

There’s no one here. Literally no one. Even though the area was built providing apartments for about 40,000 people. Every single balcony seems empty. There’s no life. We have everything to ourselves. The absence of people may be explained by the fact that only non-Qataris are allowed to buy (or rent) property here – and that foreigners in general don’t want to come here during the sweltering high summer.

“People don’t bother coming here when it’s this hot,” says the owner of a traditional carousel set up along The Pearl’s promenade correspondingly. He’s just opening for the rides now that it’s past 5 PM and the temperatures are somewhat more bearable.

Part of “The Pearl” consists of the so-called Qanat Quartier. Here a fairly accurate Venice replica with several canals and even a nearly one-to-one copy of the Rialto Bridge has been constructed. Even though the kids aren’t big fans of waiting for the sun to set when it’s this oppressively hot they eventually agree. That way dad can, with a little help from Photoshop Express on his phone, bring out a few more colors in his photo.

The intense heat was also the reason why the 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar was exceptionally held in November and December. Beforehand, countless migrant workers had built a new metro and a series of wild stadiums – design-wise inspired by things like Bedouin tents, shipping containers, and the round white Arab cap called a gahfiya.

Back at our “Wonder Palace Hotel,” we overlook the largest parking lot I can remember having seen. The lot was also made ahead of the World Cup, in order for spectators to park here and continue to the stadiums on dedicated buses. Today, for obvious reasons, the lot is nearly empty – but in the evenings, it’s fortunately used by migrant workers playing football and by driving school students who now have an incredible amount of space to practice.

We also stop by the country’s National Museum, spectacularly modeled after a desert rose. And twice we visit the bazaar “Souq Waqif.”

Here you can buy a stuffed lion (I forgot the price – maybe around $2,000), pet a sugar glider, and even visit both a falcon shop and a falcon hospital. Falcons (peregrine, saker, and hunting falcons) cost from 2,000 up to a million Qatari Riyals (about 600 USD to 250.000 USD). And if, for example, a peregrine falcon (the fastest animal in the world) breaks a bone, it can be patched up at the nearby bird hospital. We’re lucky to get a tour of this hospital; the place is clinically clean and super modern. It looks most of all like a private (human) hospital in Denmark.

After dragging the kids along to meetings with the Tali_ban in Afghanistan, to weapons factories in Pakistan, and around with armed escort in both countries, we figure they deserve a visit to the shopping and entertainment center Villagio Mall. Here you can sail in an electric gondola under a painted, arched ceiling resembling the sky (just like at The Venetian in Vegas). There’s also an ice rink and an amusement park with roller coasters, a laser-tag venue and an indoor electric go-kart-track.

During our visit, Charlotte wonders why there are so many emergency exits everywhere. Wikipedia gives us the explanation. In 2012, a major fire tragically broke out in the mall. 19 people died, mostly children who were in a daycare unit attached to the center. Afterwards, several members of the mall’s management were convicted and imprisoned because they had not ensured that people could somehow escape in case of a disaster.

Quick guide to getting a free stopover in Doha (for example):

  1. Search for a long-haul ticket on e.g. Momondo. Example: CPH–PEW (Peshawar) return.
  2. Choose your approximate dates/find a cheap departure.
  3. When you’ve found your flight/possible dates, search on Momondo again, but this time under “multi-city” instead of “round trip.” Search for your chosen dates (but of course set your final return leg to be three days later if you want a three-day stop in Doha). Make your new multi-city search as one combined search for example: CPH–PEW, PEW–DOH, and DOH–CPH. Note: If one of the flights doesn’t operate daily, first check on flightconnections.com to see which weekdays it does, so you only search valid dates.
  4. Check if the price including stopover is now the same as without. If not, try a few alternative dates.
  5. When you’ve found the right price, buy the tickets on the airline’s own website (or on Momondo if you want to go via a broker).
    Note: This little trick only works if the airline allows free stopovers (and has coded their system correctly). From my experience, you can get free transport to an extra city in up to about 75% of long-haul cases.
  6. You’re welcome.

Part 9: Trip costs and best ot trip photos

Trip costs:

For a gallery of the best pictures from the whole trip to Pakistan, Afghanistan and Qatar please go HERE.

Tour highlights:

  • Driving around with multiple heavily armed police escorts in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa-provinsen in northern Pakistan (paid for by Pakistani administration).
  • Playing tennis on a grass court at the Commissioners House in Peshawar.
  • Seeing the College Islamia, the Bazar and the old Sethi-houses also in Peshawar.
  • Visiting the Bookseller in Kabul.
  • Making five interviews with the Tali_ban including with the Kabul Tourist Director
  • Visiting Bird Street, Chicken Street and The Blue Mosque at dusk all in Kabul.
  • Meeting cool YouTubers: Chris Must List, Amina Finds, Marco Roams and Alex Wanders.
  • Visiting Mir Zaman with his super old wooden box camera outside Kabul.
  • Seeing the ‘City of Screams’, the (disappeared) Buddhas of Bamiyan and the Band-e Amir National Park in Afghanistan.
  • Being escorted (for free) around Ghazni province by Tali_ban.
  • Being interviewed for Afghan television.
  • Meeting Uzbekistan’s foreign minister in Faisal Mosque, Islamabad, Pakistan.
  • Seeing loads of Jingle Trucks and buses near Peshawar.
  • Visiting Farman & Sons Gun Factory in Peshawar and interviewing one of the sons.
  • Having a free (transport wise) stopover in Doha, Qatar on the way home.
  • Visiting Souq Waqif, a falcon shop, a falcon hospital, a copy of the Rialto-bridge and taking a gondola through Villaggio Mall in Doha.

END OF TRIP – Thanks a lot for following.
All pics with iPhone 13 Pro. Delayed posting.