Pamir Airways was flying daily at 15:30 with a 50 minute flight duration, for a mere 3500 Afghanis – about 90 dollars. I checked out of the Barat and walked down to the corner ofd the square, where cabs waited. The first cab I came to demanded 500 Afganis – absurd! I didn't even bargain, but walked on a little way down the street and tried again. This one wanted 400 Afghanis. I counter-offered 150. He dropped to 250 and I went to 200, and there we stuck. I walked on and repeated the haggling. This one came down to 200 Afghanis, which I considered reasonable. He also had a few words of English, which helped at the airport.
The cab drove out through ever-rougher places and the road crumbled into dirt before reaching the airport – the driver must have followed back ways as I can't believe the airport was connected to Herat only by a dirt road. At the airport the cab passed through a couple of security posts and dropped me at the passenger waiting area – a wood-and-grass shelter leaning on a shipping container, with a few metal benches along the walls of the shelter. A security guard was sleeping on one bench: more sleepers occupied others. Once again I couldn't believe that this was the waiting area, particularly when I saw glossy cars and 4WDs sweeping past me into the terminal area. But it was. I found a seat and did my best to relax despite the oppressive heat.
Gradually the shelter filled with passengers, until the flight was nearly due. Then the guards waved their arms and suddenly everyone was on their feet and streaming for the gates. Me they stopped and frisked – perhaps I looked suspicious to them.
I was frisked seven or eight times while making my way into the terminal building. My pack was searched three times. They took everything out and squeezed each item, they opened containers, they turned my electronic gizmos on and off. The contents of my wallet were inspected. A guard fingered a $50 bill suggestively, but desisted when I grinned and said "no".) They made Uzbek customs look like pikers!
But ... I'd be more reassured if the friskers had found my money belt – none did. Or if they'd found the mobile phone and money cache in my day pack. Or if they'd discovered the packet of crystalline white powder (laundry detergent) tucked in my clothes bag. If I'd been a terrorist bomber, my friends, that plane was going down! Fortunately I was just a tourist, and was no danger to the plane. For all their plodding thoroughness the searchers were so incompetent that I was amused, not annoyed, throughout the whole futile process. But I did get tired of re-packing my bag.
The third open-bag search was just outside the terminal. One stupid guard finally penetrated my a,usement by singling out my tiny, nearly empty tube of UHU glue and obsessing over the "Flammable" label on it, suggesting that carrying this aboard undeclared was a heinous offense that might prevent my boarding. I told him "so keep the glue" but he still obsessed. Eventually his superior came over. SHe told me off for not declaring the glue, because it might be a danger to the aircraft. But as soon as the guard turned away, his face saved, she handed me back the offending tube of glue and waved me through.
Inside the terminal my e-ticket and Passport were compared and a boarding pass issued. Then my bags went through a security scanner and I walked through a metal detector, after which a guard waved an explosives detector wand over me.
I appeared to be satisfactorily non-explosive, because I was sent on down the line, out of the terminal and into a large shed where my fellow passengers (who had less baggage and so got through the mill faster) lounged in plastic chairs. I was relieved of my checked baggage on the way to the shed.
By and by the plane arrived. Our guards slammed the shed doors shut, then opened the caretaker's door and ushered us through one by one after inspecting our boarding passes. We were lined up on the tarmac near the plane for no obvious reason before we were finally allowed to board.
The plane eventually departed about an hour late.
We passed over flat green land initially but then encountered rugged brown mountains. These persisted for a while, cut by green river valleys, then gave way to more green flats. Herat is in the middle of one of the largest fertile regions in Afghanistan, which probably accounts for its longevity.
At Herat I tried to arrange a shared taxi but I was the only person bound for the centre of town so I ended up chartering the cab. The agreed fare was 250 Afghanis. In town the driver tried to claim that my chosen hotel, the Mowafaq, was 50 Afghanis extra, but he didn't persist when I reminded him we'd agreed to 250. I already had my pack on my back by then so there wasn't much he could do about it.
Alas, the Mowafaq was closed for a "holiday" (perhaps for Ramazan). I was left with a choice between the Jaam Hotel and the Marco Polo. Due to the state of my bowels (which fortunately proved to be a false alarm) I chose to upgrade to the MP rather than down to the cheaper (US$15) Jaam.
The Marco Polo was in a huge complex set around a courtyard. Armed guards challenged strangers at the entrance. Checking in, for $40 I got an en suite with breakfast, reliable hot water, aircon, fridge, TV, wi-fi internet, and breakfast. By Afghanistan standards this was an amazingly good deal, the best I encountered. My room had no outside windows but opened on a corridor with large windows that looked onto the courtyard, so it had plenty of natural light. The aircon kept the air fresh in the room, which was just as well as the courtyard was baking hot.
I ate all my meals at the Marco Polo. As breakfast was included in the price and I had got out of the habit of eating lunch due to Ramazan, all I paid for was dinner. The dining room served tolerably tasty food at all hours of the day.
Herat was easy enough to navigate. I used Park-e Gulha (facing the Mowafaq), the Friday Mosque and the Marco Polo as my reference points and only got lost once. That was when I walked north from Park-e Gulha looking for the Afghanistan International Bank (AIB), reputed to have an ATM. I walked a long way without finding it. Eventually I found a local who was able to redirect me. It was actually located on a corner of Jad-e Bihzad a block west of Choq-e Gulha and a couple of blocks north of Jad-e Walayat.
It did have an ATM that accepted Visa cards (and also claimed to accept Maestro), and issued either USD or Afghanis. When I was there it was out of Afghanis and the $50 notes it issued me were a bit on the tired side. I took them straight to an AIB cashier, who converted them to crisp new Afghanis for me.
Kabul Bank, located on the south side of Jad-e Walayat between Chowqs Gulha and Cinema, also had an ATM. This claimed to accept MasterCard and issue dollars. It declined my (Visa) travelcard.
The Musallah Complex
There are six minarets, all more or less ruined and leaning. There used to be more, but time and inadequate repairs are taking their toll. The minarets are all that remain of a set of grand religious buildings constructed between about 1440 and 1500, give or take a few years. The buildings survived quite well until the late 19th Century, when modern weapons and the perceived needs of the defense of Herat led to their demise. Only the minarets were not seen as representing a danger to the line of fire of the defending British guns and so were not demolished.
Most of the minarets are behind walls and fences but the fences too are decrepit and it's possible to get qute close to them. However, even from the road they are an impressive sight, still with traces of the delicate blue tiles that once made them splendid.
The Citadel
Herat to Chaghcharan
At the time it was considered unwise to attempt to get to the Minaret of Jam or to Chaghcharan by road from Herat. Sections of this road were under permanent Taliban control and a Westerner's chances of getting through were poor. My only rational option – short of not being in Afghanistan in the first place – was to fly to Chaghcharan and continue from there. Kam Air stood ready to help me achieve my aim, for a cool 4,000 Afghanis ($100).
Negotiating security at Herat airport was considerably easier than at Mazar. I was frisked, and my bag was scanned but it was not opened. The main problem was not security but that the same aircraft flew several routes out of Herat and it was running late. It was due to depart at 10:00 but finally took off nearer 14:00. Although the route was operated by Kam Air, the plane itself was a rear-loading Soviet vintage device leased from Tajik Air. Meantime I chilled out in Kam Air's office at the airport, playing with my iPaq, which I plugged into an electrical socket to avoid draining the battery.
The plane flew across the green plains, then the mountains. It flew much lower and slower than the Mazar to Herat flight, and I was able to keep myself entertained by looking down into the steep little river valleys we crossed or flew up. Finally we crossed one last ridge and descended into a larger valley. We followed its bends for a while then buzzed in to land on a large brown airfield across the river from a ramshackle-looking town.
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