Trails to India 

It’s May 1976
I arrive at the border between Iran and Afghanistan while I am on my way in an old Citroën 2CV4 traveling to India and Nepal. While entering the Iranian customs building to get me stamped out of Iran, it is staggering to see the many showcases with all kinds of brought-in articles from which people tried to smuggle drugs from Afghanistan into the country. Books, clothes, shoes, bags, spare tires and even car batteries are opened with force to show everybody that they will always find it. Rumours are going around that the Iranian custom officers are very well paid by the United States if they catch drug smugglers. They even will drill holes in cars when they suspect something hidden as has happened with some Swiss I would meet later on. Some travelers would even be taken into custody while Iranian customs carry some drugs hidden in their own hands while searching just to get the reward. These bad stories and facts make me rather uncertain although I am heading for Afghanistan and not driving in the opposite way. There will be nothing to worry about.
I pass the Iranian side very easily although they ask me why I am leaving already after a month even though I got a 3 months’ visa for free while entering from Turkey. When telling them about my great experiences in Iran they show me their happiness. “Please, come back another time because you will always be very welcome!” They have no idea that I will enter their great country again after eight months from Pakistan through the Baluchistan province.
After driving through “nowhere land” for some kilometer in between the two borders, I am stopped by an Afghani officer in full local dress. There is no one else to be seen. I have to get out of my car and have to follow him to his simple office. I fill out some papers, my passport and carnet are stamped and he asks me about my “yellow booklet” to show him my injections against yellow fever and small pox. I forgot to take it with me so I walk back to my car to get it. He decides to follow me. We both arrive at my “Ugly Ducky” and I have to open all 4 doors, the back and even the hood. He does not touch anything but he is unmistakably curious what I am carrying with me. While looking at my small 435 cc engine he asks me for permission to have it examined. Although he is not talking about hidden narcotics, I do not feel quite well when he starts knocking on different parts of the engine with a screwdriver for about five minutes. I wonder if he ever has seen such a funny car with such a small engine. He asks me to get the engine started. Then he turns a little screw on the carburettor of my car. I do not have the guts to say anything but when he is finished I ask him what he has done. He starts laughing. “Please, let us smoke one of your cigarettes and listen to me very well”. In quite good English this friendly officer explains me that I am very welcome to his beautiful and peaceful country but that it is actually quite mountainous and while driving a car so high above sea level, the mix of petrol and oxygen has to be corrected. “Our petrol is far from good quality but from now on you will drive very economically. Your engine will not ping, for sure”. We shake hands and suddenly I realize that he still has not seen my yellow booklet. I show it to him on the spot. “No sir. Not necessary anymore. It’s good that you could not show it to me at my office so we had to go back to your car. Otherwise I may have forgotten to correct your engine. Welcome to my lovely country Afghanistan and enjoy!” I am completely flabbergasted. In my mirror I see him waving me goodbye for a long time while I slowly disappear in the semi desert direction Herat.
Of course I do enjoy this great country for a month. The visa for Afghanistan I got for free in Teheran. I have in mind to visit Jam in the centre of the country where a famous minaret is to be seen. The bad road seems to be blocked because of landslides so I follow the “normal” route by visiting Herat, Kandahar and Kabul. In Bamyan I stay for a few days to admire the two big statues of Buddha hewn out the big cliff. The locals are very friendly and they show me how to bake bread in their subterranean ovens. I am invited to see how they grow vegetables and a kind of grain. I feel quite happy in this small hamlet although I hardly see women in the streets. If they walk around, they are fully covered by a black or white “burqa”. This dress concerns the Afghan variant of the chador with which the face is not completely covered. Here women look through a face veil as part of their burqa.
My quite exhausting trip from Bamyan to the lakes of Band-e-Amir is impressive. I nearly freeze to death at the six blue lakes where I spend a night in my car. The views are overwhelming. There is hardly any people living here but I notice a small police office and even some donkeys carrying wood.
In Kabul I apply for a three months’ multiple entry visa for India which I obtain easily for a small fee. Do not expect an Indian Embassy in Pakistan! Many travellers overland are not aware of this fact and they have to drive back from Islamabad into Afghanistan again after applying for a visa for Afghanistan first. Many travellers give up their trip to India because of their lack of wisdom.
In town I meet a Dutch couple who has been living here for a number of years and I decide to leave two spare tires at their place. I got these already used but still fine tires for free from some very good hearted people in Isfahan. The tires had been fixed at the front of my car for a long time therefore opening the hood is quite a nuisance. I promise them I would collect both tires again after coming back from my trip to India. Despite this promise I never met them in my life again because I took another route back home not passing Afghanistan. While travelling from India back into Pakistan I decide to visit Harappa and Mohenjo Daro, two very interesting old cities in the Indus Valley. Being in the south of Pakistan I decide not to go back to Afghanistan but I prefer to take the southern route from Pakistan into Iran. That means following the abandoned railroad through Baluchistan on a very bad track for days.