Showing posts with label Kabul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kabul. Show all posts
Monday, 3 August 2026
Thursday, 23 July 2026
Friday, 10 July 2026
Thursday, 28 May 2026
Saturday, 21 February 2026
Sunday, 15 February 2026
Kabul to Peshawar via the Khyber Pass - Meeting Hellmut, 1972
Taken from "All About My Hat, The Hippy Trail 1972"
Peshawar and the Khyber Pass
It was 180 miles from Kabul to Peshawar, across the Khyber Pass.
Keith read quietly from his guide book:
“Peshawar is the capital of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, formerly known as the North-West Frontier Province, and the administrative centre and economic hub for the Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan.
"Peshawar is situated in a large valley near the eastern end of the Khyber Pass, close to the Pakistan-Afghan border. Known as "City on the Frontier", Peshawar's strategic location on the crossroads of Central Asia and South Asia has made it one of the most culturally vibrant and lively cities in the greater region. Peshawar is irrigated by various canals of the Kabul River, Kunhar River and by its right tributary, the Bara River.
“Being among the most ancient cities of the region between Central, South and West Asia, Peshawar has for centuries been a centre of trade between Afghanistan, South Asia, Central Asia and the Middle East. As an ancient centre of learning, the second century BC. Bakhshali Manuscript used in the Bakhshali approximation was found nearby.
“In 1947, Peshawar became part of the newly created Pakistan after politicians from the Frontier approved the merger.
“Over 99% of Peshawar's population is Muslim, mostly Sunnis, with Twelver Shias the significant minority group. Despite the mainly Islamic nature of modern Peshawar, the city was previously home to a diverse range of communities, such as Hindus, Sikhs, Jews, Zoroastrians and members of the Bahá'í Faith. A significant number of Sikhs, in addition to smaller communities of Hindus and Christians, continue to exist in Peshawar”
“That is very interesting, I did not know that history”, said a voice with a German accent belonging to a man that sat opposite us.
“My name is Hellmut. You want smoke some joint?”
He had lit and was offering them a joint – on the bus!
Well, I could tell Al liked the smell so he quickly accepted it with a “Danke” (thank you in German, Al thought). He took three rapid puffs and passed it to Keith who took three puffs and passed what was left back to Hellmut.
Al was feeling quite self-conscious about smoking on a bus heading to Pakistan. He thought everyone was looking.
He turned round to look back down the bus.
Almost every seat had a man leaning out and looking back up the bus at him!
And, Al noticed, they were all grinning and smiling and nodding, as if to say “You are stoned now, as we are stoned too."
Al thought those men probably did not smoke cannabis but it must have been in their blood, handed down over the centuries.
He relaxed, chatted with Helmut a while. Helmut said he travelled that route every year for ten years. Then as the calming effect of the lovely hash took over, he sat and started to enjoy what was to be an incredible journey through the Khyber Pass.
The over-laden coach trundled on, struggling up hills and rounding bends with sheer drops, then down and up again. At the end of most down bits there was a small waterfall. At the end of each up bits there was a beautiful view, often including the same road below them, winding around the boulders in between the fields.
At some places there were what looked like caves in the sides of the hills.
We passed small groups of men that seemed to be just sitting and looking; we saw young boys driving herds of sheep or goats or camels and several times we had to stop to let them pass us.
Occasionally we saw groups of women carrying baskets, bundles or clay pots on their heads, trailed by urchin-looking children – her children always waving at the coach.
The women here were dressed very differently and, Al thought, more practically than those in Burkas. These showed their faces beneath head-scarves decorated with beads and chains and quite colourful too. These must be tribal mountain women, Al thought.
The coach was moving quite slowly and Al had a chance to take a couple of photographs through the window, of the valley below. He wished he had more film, but thought he would not be able to afford it.
Hellmut was quite jolly company and did lot of talking. They smoked another couple of joints.
He explained that he travelled this same route for years and the border post guards knew him. He always gave them a little money and they left him alone. He also said that every year he visited Afghanistan and Pakistan, India and Nepal, and arranged for shipments of hash to be sent back to London where his partner lived. He travelled for six months, then went back to London and his partner did the same. They were paying off customs everywhere, including the UK, and they were making a lot of money. But, he said, he preferred to stay in cheap hotels, not the big ones, and then he met people.
So Hellmut too, was heading for the Hotel Rainbow.
“Very very cheap”, he said, “But it is OK for a few days, but do not eat their food – it is better to go out to eat in a secret local restaurant that I know, it is good and clean.”
Hellmut said that after Peshawar, he was heading to Lahore and then would fly to Amritsar where the “Golden Temple” was and where travellers could sleep and eat for free, courtesy of the Sikhs. The same plan as Al and Keith's, they used to call it the “Hippy Trail.”
“Hey listen to this about the Khyber Pass man,” said Keith, who read again from his travel guide:
“The Khyber Pass is a mountain pass connecting Afghanistan and Pakistan, and India cutting through the north-eastern part of the Spin Ghar mountains. An integral part of the ancient Silk Road, it is one of the oldest known passes in the world. Throughout history it has been an important trade route between Central Asia and South Asia and a strategic military location. The summit of the pass is about 3 miles inside Pakistan at Landi Kotal, about three thousand five hundred feet.
“The pass itself is entirely in Pakistan. The nearest major cities on the route that goes over the pass are Jalalabad in Afghanistan and Peshawar in Pakistan, with Torkham as border crossing point.
“For strategic reasons, after the First World War the British built a heavily engineered railway through the Pass. The Khyber Pass Railway from Jamrud, near Peshawar, to the Afghan border near Landi Kotal was opened in 1925.
“At the Pakistani frontier post, travellers are advised not to wander away from the road, as the location is a barely controlled Federally Administered Tribal Area.
“Crossing the Khyber has always been something of an adventure. Even in peacetime, this was a fairly wild region where banditry and tribal warfare were part of local history and almost every adult male went armed. “
It was quite a journey until they reached Peshawar, but once there, with Helmut leading the way, they soon found and booked into the Rainbow Hotel. Reception gladly changed Afghani money into Pakistani Rupees.
The room for Al and Keith was small with two beds, but the view out of the window into the street below was good.
It was May 5 1972.
View from Rainbow Hotel, Peshawar
Wednesday, 5 November 2025
New Book: Heads, Hats and Tall Tales, Travels in India, Nepal and Egypt: 3 Books in 1
Memoirs of my travels in India 1972, India, Nepal and Kashmir in
1981 and 1985, and Egypt in 1989, 1990 and 2010, along with a murder
mystery and poems - includes the nitty-gritty from my previous books
"All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972", "Back to the East, India, Nepal
and Kashmir", and "Myhat in Egypt Through the Eyes of a God" - all in
one book.
It's a very different world today.
Alun Buffry
was born in Wales in 1950 and studied Chemistry at UEA. In 1972, he
travelled overland to India, with little money or support, becoming ill
in India and spending time in hospitals in Delhi, Kabul and Tehran.
After returning to the UK later that year, he became a follower of Prem
Rawat, then also known as Guru Maharaji, whom he still follows today. In
1991 he spent time in HMP for cannabis offences. After his release he
started writing his books which contain personal accounts of his life
experiences and travels, as well as poetry and science fiction..
In
1999 he co-founded the <a href="http://www.ccguide.org/lca/lca.php"Legalise Cannabis Alliance (LCA)</a> with Jack
Girling, He stood for Parliament in 2001and local council elections in
Norwich As well as many published letters, interviews and speeches, he
spoke in a debate on cannabis legalisation at the Oxford Union and
testified before A Select Committee in Parliament.
His other books are
"From
Dot to Cleopatra", a concise history of Ancient Egypt, "The Effie
Enigma, The Motherless Mothers" (Sci-fi), "Out of Joint, 20 Years of
Campaigning for Cannabis 1991 - 2010", "My Piece of Peace£, "Time for
Cannabis, The Prison Years", Inside my Hat and other Heads" (poetry with
others), "Words of Weed and Wisdom" (poetry with others), "An
Alliance-of Eyes" (poetry with others), "Damage and Humanity in Custody"
with William D Hutchinson, "If Only Suomi" time-travelling romance",
"Legalise and Utilise Commemorative Edition", "Cannabis: Challenging the
Criminal Justice System" with Don Barnard.
<a href="http:/www.buffry.org.uk/abefreepublishing.html">SEE HERE</a>
Sunday, 7 September 2025
GRATITUDE - my speeches and poems, September 7th 2025 at Inner Space, Norwich
WELCOME - I arranged this afternoon just for a chance for us to meet up somewhere that is nota funeral! I have a called the event gratitude so what does it mean to me.
To me true gratitude is a feeling, not just a thought like saying thanks. When I was child i had to write thank you letters to Uncles and Aunts that had sent me a Christmas or birthday present. If I hold the door open for somebody I expect them to say thanks. We say thanks to waitresses and bus drivers. In Spain I say "Grassias" and they answer "De Nada" - it's nothing.
I am not saying
we should not say thanks like that, but it's not like true gratitude
- like "Thank God that didn't happen".
It's
not always easy to feel Gratitude.
I remember 16 or so
months ago, saying "The Universe has treated me well".
Whether that was some higher power, passed soul, Karma or good
luck, I never really felt Gratitude. I had a purpose - looking after
Lesley. I had a great rented bungalow to live in. I had my health,
my friends and some money.
I
never felt Gratitude though.
I forgot that pendulums swing both ways.
I lost Lesley when she passed - that cut deeply.
I had to move house.
Then I got ill. I caught covid in September. Last October. I went for two weeks to Italy with Jacqui and suffered a suspected heart attack due to physical and mental exhaustion. I was hospitalised for five days and ended up spending aaltogether ten weeks in Italy with my Goddaughter, Melissa, and her family
This year in April I went back to Italy again and suffered the loss of sight in my left eye due to a
detached retina, and had an eye operation. I spent another ten weeeks in Italy recovering before coming back by train.
And I did ask why? What had I done to deserve that?
It
took a kick to make me feel gratitude for what I still had - my other
eye, my friends and my health was nowhere near as bad as it is for
many and I am getting better.
People ask "how are you?. I
say "not too bad, or fine, even if i don't feel it". "It
could be worse!" "I should say "Do you really want
to know? Where shall I start. Well. when I was four years old "
Then the story of the good and bad that happened.
The
swing of the pendulum of events is inevitable - we are born and
inevitably die and we need to try to focus on enjoying life in
between and feeling Gratitude for or to whoever or whatever.
PREM RAWAT said QUOTE "Gratitude is the highest expression But it can only happen when there is truly a reason for it. If you’re not thankful…? Just by saying it, it’s empty. What are you thankful for in your life? And it’s, Oh, I am thankful for so many things. I am thankful for my family; I am thankful for my job; I am thankful for this, and I’m thankful for that. I have to say Really, are you thankful for being alive? Are you?
"How many times during the day do you say, My goodness! I am alive. Thank you for this life” END QUOTE
True Gratitude allows us to appreciate all that we have been given. Gratitude for my life and for your lives and the BREATH that keeps us going - and gratitude for knowing those that I have known and who are no longer with us.
I
will read a few
poems
,
RIVER ALIVE,
I CAN
SEE YOU and POSITIVITY
The first poem, River Alive, is the story of my life, and I wrote it whilst sitting besides a river near the village of Aru in Kashmir in 1972.
RIVER ALIVE!
Whether we laugh, or whether we cry,
the river of life goes rushing by,
down the hills and mountain sides,
into valleys, long and wide,
towards the ocean that is its goal,
it's journey travelled by our soul.
When I was but little boy,
the river rippled and dashed with joy,
and as I grew and longed to learn,
the river for the ocean yearned.
As young man travelled round the world,
the river twisted, turned and twirled,
eager to find it's resting place,
eager to travel in time and space.
And as the seeking man grew older,
the river found the bigger boulders,
but on it travelled without care,
it knew it's destiny's not there.
The rushing water's now quite slow,
the river old has nothing to show,
it's happiness is calm and deep,
as old man takes his final sleep.
The ocean that is never ending,
is to the sky it's waters lending,
to rain again on mountain top,
to make sure life's rivers never stop.
The rivers message lies in this
Ocean of Mercy, Peace and Bliss.
I
CAN SEE YOU
I
can see your shadow in the sun.
I can see you, since time itself
began.
I can see you on that empty chair.
I know you’re
always there.
You
may have passed from my direct sight.
You may have travelled to
that divinest light.
Yet I see you rustling in the trees.
Yet
I see you in the buzzing bees.
You
went before me, travelled on.
Yet I hear you in every loving
song.
I never thought so soon you'd go.
You never went, I
truly know.
I
can see you in my mind.
In my heart it's you I find.
My
time will come, I'll see you there.
And peace and bliss I know
we'll share.
POSITIVITY (2015)
Always to be
found in this the same place,
Throughout our universe of time
and space,
On I will travel, at my own pace,
Can you now
see it, in my face?
Never to
question how or why,
Upon this earth I find I,
Content and
amazed beneath earth's sky,
Yet soaring above white clouds on
high.
Hidden
within us there is a clue.
It looks like I, it looks like
you
For once we were one and that is true,
Now one of so
many amongst quite a few.
There is a
Love, there is a Light,
Forget any guilt, ignore any
fright,
Focus within on a wondrous sight,
The future is now
and it's ever so Bright.
A boy who looked about fourteen approached them and spoke. It was apparent he spoke very little English but was asking them what they wanted. “Tea with milk” - that seemed to be understood.
“Two soft boiled eggs and toast,” said Keith.
The boy looked dumbfounded.
Al decided to try to communicate through sign-language.
He knew the local word for water was “Pani”.
So he made a shape like a saucepan in the air with his hands, pointed into the invisible top and said “Pani.”
The boy nodded.
Feeling good about that, Al took out a box of matches from his pocket and made like to strike one and hold it under the imaginary now pot of water.
The boy smiled.
Al made a shape like an egg in the air and pretended to place the imaginary egg into the imaginary pot of imaginary hot water – he signalled with two fingers and pointed to himself and Keith.
Meanwhile Keith had come up with his own idea of how to order eggs.
He was crouched down and started flapping his arms and making a noise like a chicken clucking. He pretended to lay and egg and pick it up, then a second egg. Then he pointed at Al and showed four fingers.
The boy smiled and bowed and walked off.
Keith shouted after him”And toast!”
A short while later the boy returned. He motioned to Al to follow him.
Well Al already knew that often several eating houses would share a kitchen and that it could be even 100 yards away.
So he followed the boy feeling confident he would see eggs and bread in the kitchen.
Down the stairs, turning right out of the door, up the market street passed stalls selling cloths, about 50 yards or so.
The boy stopped and pointed up a short alley. Al could see that it opened on to some sort of yard, but he felt a little uneasy about this. So he motioned the boy to go first, which he did.
When they came out of the alleyway, Al saw that it was a courtyard with closed wooden doors all around and two sets of wooden steps leading up to a wooden veranda with more closed wooden doors. Al looked at the boy and shrugged.
The boy smiled and pointed at one of the doors up the stairs.
“Strange place to have a kitchen!,” said Al; the boy obviously did not understand.
The boy waved Al towards the steps, so he ascended and walked along to the door and knocked.
There was no answer. He knocked again, with greater force.
Still no answer. The boy was shouting something.
When Al looked down he saw the boy seemed to be motioning Al to go in, so he slowly opened the door.
He was expecting to see a number of cooks at hot steaming stoves.
Instead he saw a hole-in-the floor toilet!
Al laughed out loud– so much for his eggs in hot water act – so much for Keith's flapping and clucking!
So much for boiled eggs on toast.
He resigned himself to going back to the restaurant with nothing. He didn't even feel the need to use the toilet..
But as he and the boy were walking back up the street passed the stalls selling cloth, the boy shouted something at the stall-holder and gestured towards Al.
The stall-holder motioned for Al to approach and suddenly produced a telephone, on which he spoke. He handed the phone to Al.
A voice on the other end said “Hello, Kann ich Ihnen helfen, was Sie wollen?”
Al recognised that as German. Something like “can I help what do you want”. They had tried to teach him German in school for two years but he had had no interest and failed the exams. But he inevitably knew some words and that included the words for four, eggs, water and bread.
“ Er … vier Eier in Wasser mit Brod, bitte” - meaning 'four eggs in water with bread, please.'
“Yah, gut!”
Al handed the phone back to the stall-holder who then listed and told the boy.
The boy laughed and pointed back up the street to the alley where the toilet was again, then at Al.
As they walked back to the restaurant the boy kept laughing - he was making a clucking sound!
As it turned out, after Al had returned to Keith and they had laughed about the adventure, they were pleased to see the boy return with tea along with four eggs and a pile of toast. Albeit the eggs were hard boiled but the lads did not care.
Thursday, 7 March 2024
Press Release: Norwich author has facebook group with almost 80,000 members
Press Release: Norwich author has facebook group with almost
80,000 members
7 March 2024
No Embargo
In 2014, Norwich author and UEA Chemistry graduate published his
first of many book on Amazon: "All About My Hat The Hippy
Trail 1972".
The book, strangely telling from the
point of view of a"hat", recounts Buffry's experience after
graduation and setting out eastwards in a small van with several
other graduates and little money. After several months he
arrived in India via Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and
Pakistan, meeting many people of different cultures, religions and
lifestyles on the way, a journey where drugs became an integral
part
of the experience.
Such a journey would be near-impossible
today, with many more dangers than in 1972, despite that we now
have
the likes of mobile phone and the internet, guide books and
gurus,
Alun Buffry says: "I did not set off either to
run away or to find anything but simply wanted to travel and see
part
of this wonderful world.
"Although I
ended up ill with dysentery and infectious hepatitis, penniless
and
hospitalised in Delhi, Kabul and Tehran, I would not swap the
life-changing experience for anything. Now at 74 years, I look
back
in amazement that I actually survived.
"In 2015,
after writing my memories of those days, I founded a Facebook
group
called 60s, '70s &' 80s Trails to India and Beyond. Remarkably
it now has almost 80,000 members from all over the world and
contains
a wealth of stories and pictures from people that made similar
journeys and people that live in the countries we visited."
Since
the publication of the book, Buffry has written over a dozen more,
recounting his other travels and experiences including his time in
prison for cannabis, poetry and science fiction. Having taught
himself to format and present his books, he has also offered a
free
service encouraging others to tell their own stories, most of
which
are also on Amazon and Kindle and linked though his web sire at
ABeFree Publishing.
Contact Alun Buffry at
alun@buffry.org.uk or find him easily on Facebook.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0993210716/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05
https://www/buffry.org.uk/abefreepublishing.html
Sunday, 13 August 2023
Life on the Brim: The Autobiography of a Hat: 3 books in one
Three stories in one book - my journey to India in 1972, several visits to Egypt and a fictional time travel murder mystery set in Ancient Egypt - all written through the eyes of my hat!
Saturday, 25 March 2023
Wednesday, 10 August 2022
August 1972: Leaving Diane, leaving Kabul, trying to stay alive
Taken From All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972 ISBN 978-0993210716
The following morning, fighting with his conscience, finding that Diane was not going to join him, Al left. He went straight to the bus station and caught a bus to Herat, via Kandahar. It was normal for the bus to stop one night at Kandahar and he would sleep on the bus.
In that way he arrived in Herat the following day, spent one night there, bought a ticket to the border and from there a ticket all the way to Tehran.
Al crossed the border at Islam Qala and on to the Iranian side at Tayebad on September 3, 1972. He had been in Afghanistan this time for forty days and forty nights.
It was about fifteen hundred miles from Kabul to Tehran, Mashhad being about half way.
That five hundred miles to Tehran from the border took a day and a half, overnight Al slept on the moving bus.
By the time he reached Tehran, he felt filthy dirty not having washed properly for four or five days. He was very tired and very hungry and thirsty. He found a small hotel near the bus station, booked a room for one and before long was asleep.
Friday, 5 August 2022
August 1972: Consulting the I Ching in Kabul at Sigis: Diane remains resolute
Taken From All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972 ISBN 978-0993210716
Then came the day that Diane was given her replacement passport – now she just needed the entry visa.
That same day in the morning there was a message at reception for Al to go back to the embassy.
Off he went. Things are working out,” he thought. He took a taxi to the embassy, just to be positive.
Al arrived at the embassy and was shown in to the office he had been in previously and met the same embassy official.
The guy told Al that the authorities had been in touch with Al's parents and they had sent some money, £170, enough for a flight back to London and some change.
“Well,” thought Al, “that's about six weeks wages for Dad.”
Then he thought: “Well God, if you are there, please let them be able to afford that, not let them get into debt.” (I can tell you now as it seems the best time, but Al did not know for weeks afterwards, that round about that time they had had a small win on the “football pools” whatever that is – it was in fact as if his prayer had been answered.)
Al told the embassy chap that he did not want to spend all that money getting home and agreed to take seventy pounds in cash, English money, and leave the rest at the embassy.
“That way,” he said, “I can get home and get my friend Diane home too.”
He took the money and arranged that he could get the rest transferred to any country on route or get it refunded to his parents.
He already had his visa, Diane had her passport, all that was needed was to make the return bus ride to the border.
He went back to meet Diane at Sigis restaurant, that had become their regular haunt. They would go for a “slap-up” meal.
After a milk shake and a smoke, Al found the name of a good restaurant and took Diane for a big meal. Well, it ended up that the only vegetarian food available in this top restaurant in a big hotel, was Kabuli rice with vegetables on the side, yoghurt, bread and fruit. They could have eaten exactly the same in a local cheap restaurant for a fifth of the price and in a better atmosphere.
Al said to Diane, “So tomorrow morning we can get the bus to the border and back and sort out your visa, then we can get tickets and head back across Iran. It'll be fun.”
“I've told you loads of times, don't you listen,” she said, “I'm not going, it's stupid, they know I am here. If they say I can't get out of the country without a stamp to say I came in, that's just daft! So what I can't even fly out. What about if they wanted to kick me out, they'd soon do that. End of!”
The following morning, Al got himself up and when he woke Diane, told her if she wanted to go to the border today, get up and go with him.
Diane refused. They had a noisy row.
Al realised that she was not going to cooperate.
Al turned to his "I Ching" and, throwing three Afghani coins, asked "what should I do? Stay with Diane or make the journey home alone?"
It seemed very sound and clear advice from the book that he had to make the journey home; the alternative suggested led to disaster.
Later that day he told Diane “Tomorrow I am getting up and going to the bus station. If you want to come, we will go to the border. If not, I'm going to catch a bus to Herat
“Look, here is half my money that's left, thirty pounds” handing her the English notes and a few Afghani notes.
“So it's up to you. Fifty pounds should get us both back to London if we share.”
“Thanks,” she said, “Maybe I'll see you in England one day. I'm not going to the Pakistan border and if they aren't going to let me out to Iran, I'll have to stay here.”
Al struggled but he could not understand why she was being so stubborn, it was only a bus ride.
“If I stay here I am going to die,” he said.
After that they did not talk about it and drifted back to a day at Sigis getting high.
Tuesday, 2 August 2022
August 1972: Tripping in Kabul: bad news
Taken From All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972 ISBN 978-0993210716
“Well anyway,” said Al, “we've got to get some money or I'm going to die here. I don't have much energy. I'm going to go to the embassy and see if they will lend me some money or something. I've got a bank account but there's no money in it, maybe they will give me an overdraft.
"I reckon if I can get one hundred pounds it will get us both home.
“If we can get to Istanbul, I know the Pudding Shop . We may be able to get a cheap lift to UK or Germany or somewhere from there - they have a noticeboard where people can ask for a ride."
“I'll do that tomorrow. We might get some money before you get your passport. I've got enough to last a while, it's cheap here.
“Here, you better have some.”
He counted out some notes that were part of what he had left out of what Diane had given him. It was ten pounds.
“Don't give it away,” he said.
That evening they went to Sigis just down Chicken Street, sat ate, chatted with other travellers some going one way and some going the other, drank milkshakes and smoked joints. All for less than one English pound.
The following day Al went to the embassy for the UK. He was sent in to see an English official who asked lots of questions. Then he said that the embassy could not contact a bank and asked was there anyone that Al could ask for funds to be sent, what about his parents, where did they live.
Al provided the information. The official said it would take about a week and if there was no other way, they could not give Al a loan but they could fly him back to the UK.
Al told him about Diane.
The official said that when she got her passport and entry visa stamped into it, she should come to see him or she could come in sooner, they would have to see her before he could say how they could help.
Al went back to meet Diane at Sigis and told her what was happening.
“I'm still not going back to the border though,” she said.
They had lunch and smoked a couple of joints of hash.
Suddenly Diane said “Hey, you want some of these?”
She held out her hand and in her palm were four or so small squares of blank paper.
“What's that?” asked Al “looks like paper!” he laughed.
“It's acid,” she said, “LSD, you know, Lucy in the Sky. I got some from a French guy. He reckoned they're really good! Want to try?”
Al found her manner too seductive to resist.
“How many do we take? How strong are they? How long do they last? I've never done it.”
"I don't know,” she said “I've got four. You take two and I'll take two.”
“I think I'll just take one first time,” he said.
With that Diane popped one small square of paper into Al's mouth. “Suck it and see,” she laughed.
Al laughed and then frowned as he watched Diane put the other three squares into her own mouth.
She washed it down with a fizzy drink.
“So this is going to be a trip”, thought Al.
He thought about the books he had read: “Aldoux Huxley and Timothy Leary, about LSD and other psychedelic drugs: there was that book by the guy that gave acid to dolphins and then took it himself and put himself into an “isolation tank” and had met beings made out of light. What was his name? Oh yeah, John Lily's Eye of the Cyclone. Oh and the Carlos Castaneda's tales about a Shaman that took psychedelic plants to make contact with beings on other levels.
“The Beatles of course – was that before or after they had gone to Rishikesh with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi?
“The whole hippy thing was a lot to do with LSD and love and peace and flowers, so that is obviously what it's about, a good time, a spiritual time, just probably stronger than hash.”
He looked up from his thoughts and started to look around the courtyard.
It looked different!
Al thought that he hadn't noticed the bells hanging from the edge of the roof, or the bright red flowerpots that held the small trees. And there seemed to be more flowers than before. Yet he'd been there several times before.
Some of the people there, the Westerners, started to look quite funny the way they were dressed. Bandanna’s! He hadn't noticed them – in Kabul – they looked really out of place!
Weird that people came here to Sigis to eat food they could get back home.
Some of the people looked like people Al had known, or like mixtures of two of them. Several times he felt like shouting out to them, but then they moved and turned into themselves again. How strange, how funny.
Al turned back to look at the people again.
That guy looked familiar.
As he looked at the guy, the guy stood up and walked over.
“Hi!”, he said. “Are you Al?”
Al felt a little uneasy at that – how did the guy know his name?
“You from Norwich? I'm Pete, remember me, Pete Roscoe?”
“Wow,” said Al, “You are Pete Roscoe, yeah, I remember you of course, I thought you were somebody that looked like him, I mean you!”, he laughed.
Al had known Pete Roscoe back in Norwich but had had no idea that he too, would be heading for India. Pete had also known John and Keith.
“How you doing man?” said Pete, “How long you been here, where you going?”
Al answered: “I went to India with Keith and then I got sick, Infectious Hepatitis and dysentery, nearly died, had no money, on my own, in Haridwar in the Northern Foothills. But I got to hospital in Delhi. I've been in hospital here too. Just waiting to get some money to get home. I'm with Diane. I want to get her home too."
He turned to introduce Pete to Diane. She was staring into a glass of fizzy drink and quietly giggling.
“Hi Pete!”
Al knew that Pete had known John and maybe Mike, so he asked: “Have you heard anything about John and Mike? Keith and I left them with the van in Antalya in Turkey and caught a boat to Iskenderun. We hitched from there across Syria to Baghdad. I haven't heard from them. We were supposed to meet them back in Istanbul but decided to carry on to India. Are they back in England yet?”
“God what a drag about John. You don't know what happened, do you?”, asked Pete.
“No,” said Al.
“Wow man, I hate to tell you this,” said Pete, “John was killed in a crash the night you left them in Turkey. Mike had broken his legs and some ribs and was in hospital there for several weeks. I heard they crashed into a parked truck on a bend at night – John was driving. He swerved out and probably saved Mike's life but was killed himself. Everyone was real sick about it, man.”
It may have been because Al was still in some doubt that this was actually Pete Roscoe. Maybe that cushioned the blow for him. He was tripping on acid and just been told his best friend John had died hours after he had last seen him.
So Pete and Al chatted a while longer, Pete was on his way to India. Al gave him some advice about being really careful about what he ate and drank, to keep hydrated, and not to drink the Ganges.
Then it was time that Pete said he would have to go as he had people to meet. They agreed to meet in the same place at lunch time the next day.
Al ordered another two teas with milk. It tasted weird. Different. He didn't drink his.
Then he felt it time to go and explore the streets.
“Come on Diane, let's go for a walkabout. I want some of those spicy potatoes and corn on the cob I've seen..”
So they went outside to see the street.
“Where are we?” asked Diane.
“Sigis, Chicken Street!” said Al.
“Or is it? Hang on, it's not Chicken Street, we must have come out of a different door!,” exclaimed Al. “Wait a minute, there's that Kabul restaurant place, it is Chicken Street. Wow, it looks different, I never noticed all those ribbons and flags. Hey be careful where you walk, there's holes all over the place. Hey look at that donkey, it's only got three legs!”
“Hey this is great, let's go look at Flower Street!”
“Okay,” said Diane. She wasn't saying much but she had a big grin. She took hold of Al's arm.
“Don't let me fall down a hole, it's really tricky up here with the wind.” she said.
Al couldn't feel any wind and we were not high up at all, from the road – well I guess if we're 6000 feet above sea level we must be “up here”.
“Six thousand feet and climbing!” he said for no real reason.
So they strolled down Chicken Street towards Flower Street, looking in the shop windows and at stalls that Al thought he had never seen before. Everything except the road itself was much more colourful and shiny than he remembered, except the road had many massive piles of dung on it. As he looked, he saw a donkey adding more to it!
All the local merchants seemed to be nodding and smiling at them today! Al thought they all looked like – well they were on something. They were tripping too! Well, thought Al, I guess you've got to be on something to live here, it's like magic.
They reached the end of Chicken Street where it joined Flower Street.
It looked really busy with people that obviously weren't tripping.. It didn't look magic at all. Dark and damp with too many hidden spots, thought Al. Despite the flowers it was not inviting. Noisy too. Chicken Street had seemed very quiet – probably all the shoppers were down here.
“Let's go back or down by the river, we could see the Mosque,” he said.
“Yeah let's go that way, to the Mosque,” laughed Diana. “It doesn't matter where we land, we'll be OK.”
It seemed like hours before they reached the Mosque and Al had to sit down.
He sat on a low wall outside a building where he could see the Mosque and got lost in thoughts about the good and bad of religions and how the bad side made it hard to believe, yet so many had fallen for religions, as if it was some sort of spell to control people. Al did not want to be a part of religion. He wanted to be apart from them all. “If there's a God,” he thought, “it's not in religion.”
He heard Diane shouting “Get off, go away. Help!”
He turned to see Diane standing on the wall and below her were three dogs. They were jumping up at her in a friendly way, thought Al. “It's OK, they're just trying to be friendly, just get down and pet them!”
“No they're trying to bite me, they won't leave me alone. They might have rabies!”
“But they're only little,” said Al.
“No they're not, they're massive. They're not dogs – they're wolves. Help! Please!” She was really freaked.
Al just shooed the dogs away. They went off down the street, stopped and looked back. Al shouted “Go!” Off they went, hunting for food probably.
He helped Diane climb down. She hugged him.
“Well obviously, cos she took three, she's right out of it”, thought Al.
He grabbed her by the arm and they went back to Sigis where they could relax in a good friendly atmosphere and listen to some good rock music.
“Kabul streets at night”, he said, “Not good on acid!”
That was a good decision. Diane calmed down and they both enjoyed the rest of the trip, going back to the Peace Hotel with a nice piece of hash to smoke, until they dozed off as dawn was breaking and the Mullahs were calling the so-called faithful to prayer, from their minaret towers.
The following day, Al went back to Sigis and, sure enough, Pete Roscoe was there. It was the real Pete and they chatted a while about what they had been through and, of course, the devastating news about John and Mike. Pete said everyone was really worried about Al as news had reached Norwich that he had been ill.
Diane gave Al a book, called the "I Ching". He had in fact seen it before. Keith had shown him the book in Norwich before they had left. It was the "Book of Changes", an oracle, not so much a fortune teller, more of a clarifier. Al learned from Diane that by throwing three coins six times and recording the results, one could "ask" the book a question, for advice, and the coins would reveal a set of lines that led to readings.
And so the days passed, pretty much day to day, up and down Chicken Street, getting high, meeting people, eating western foods and waiting. No more acid though!
RIP JOHN SULLIVAN 1949-1972
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)