Day 1: Knights of Kabul

The smell of car pollution stuffs the house and my nose, to open a window would only let more air poisened with buzzling modernity into the heart, the house and my lungs. The cool evening air provides little freshness, and during the day under the burn of the boiling sun, a gasp of fresh air seems impossible to draw. Kabul. In a moment of clarity the idea seems too risky, but in the absence of emotional rationality - the possibility for adventure and perspecives overrode all other arguments my inner conscience might have. On the flight from Oslo to Istanbul, I remember pausing for a moment, searching myself - asking the question another part of me have dreaded asking since I signed on this task: am I too afraid? Question posed, deep breathing - but no echoing coherence in me. So off we go. The moment my feet exited the international terminal, Kabul, a sense of adventure filled me, and even under the layers of clothing and head scarf raising my body temperature way out of my comfort limits - the sense of being alive and about to have an experience that I will remember for the rest of my life, filled me like water in a stream; poised and ready. I get my security briefing in the compound I am staying. Any thread of fear is absent, I feel safe and worry free. These guardians of my safety is entrusted all my, well, life at the moment, and I feel fine.

The evening prayers call out from the mosque on the other side of the road. Beautifully - the echo pours out in the dark night that is poured in the bowl between the surrounding mountains like stale coffee in a dusty cup. Once over, only a few blissful seconds hang in the air like a cloud of swallows, before the unclear beats from a wedding in a wedding hall not so far from here. On our way in from the airport we saw many of them - massive complexes in bright lights, radiating hope and plans for the future. Based on what one have read in the news, one would think that massive funeral complexes would be more suitable. Passing these and getting closer to the city centre, streets are getting more crowded and busy - and some of the women wear burkas, men in loose clothes, giant watermelons from the north, Pakistani mangos. Buzzing and hustling. It strikes me: people live here too. Everyday life has a strange ability to make its claim no matter how insecure the situation may be.

Later at night we have pizza. The entrance of the restaurant is an anynomous gate across the street from the Iranian embassy. A face behind a small gittered hole sees us and lets us in. My collegue is body searched. We walk further in, and we leave our passports and id's in a small room before we pass through a security door. A beautiful garden unfolds. Expats sit in leisure, nipping at drinks, while 90's music is summing all over the lush greenery. We order pizzas, and life is good, given the circumstances. People live here, too. The world's small. I'm watching Thor as the guard outside is doing his graceful evening prayers.