Excerpt from my upcoming autobiography

This is an excerpt from my upcoming autobiography. For us, this trip, taken in 1973 was an unusual welcome to this ancient land.

We had just boarded the mini-bus to take us from the border to Herat.

In retrospect having not had any hashish in all of the time we’d been in Iran, we probably went overboard in Afghanistan.

Not yet having acquired the art of emptying out cigarettes and refilling them with a mixture of tobacco and hashish, we all broke lumps off the chunk of hashish, chewed and swallowed it.

We had been travelling from Tehran, with a seemingly mismatched couple of young guys. One of them asked me for a piece of hashish, I could see the look in the other’s eye too.

I asked them whether they had eaten hash before. One said no but he’d smoked it, the other said he’d never even smoked any.

I advised them, that, eating hashish was not like smoking it. The experience was very strong, that within an hour you would feel the strangest sensations and may feel half insane, paranoid even.

I said,”maybe, on this ship of fools” and I gestured around the bus, “in the middle of nowhere, it’s maybe not the best time to experiment.”

They argued their case fervently and with a shrug of capitulation I broke off a couple of pieces for them to eat. From the look on their faces, as they chewed, I don’t think they were enjoying the taste.

The mini-bus was crowded, everything was hard, sharp, rudimentary. A piece of plywood for a seat. Everything and everyone was covered with sand. The journey took discomfort to a new level.

There was an acrid smell of sweat, animal smells from the chickens and goats. Dark eyes bore into ours, as if to challenge, which was then broken by a laugh, as they turned away and spoke to another passenger.

A turban came through the window, followed by the head and body crawling over us. I gesticulated at him, barking that there was no room.

He was like a gymnast, fascinatingly, he soon had his foot through the window and then onto a chicken, that squeezed itself somewhere else, whilst squawking loudly in complaint.

With one foot on the floor and the help of gravity, our gymnast was soon part of the scrum, that was Herat bound.

We were getting very stoned and covered in dust. Constantly you needed to stretch to defend your space, hard bodies pressed back. I was rushing on the hashish, it was cutting through the high we’d got from sharing a joint.

I looked at my mates, they both smiled but I could see that the hashish was creating havoc in their brains too. Oh well. I tuned into my breath and attempted to take stock.

Twilight then night fell.

The engine was still belching. The smell of diesel mixed with the assortment of odours that assaulted our senses was overwhelming.

I removed an elbow that was digging in me and pushed away another body that was resting on me.

Darkness wrapped around us like a blanket. Outside the wind was getting up. It was chilly. The days heat had evaporated. We were inadequately dressed and our packs were on the roof.

After chugging endlessly through the dark, cold desert, we came to a stop. There were shouts and responses, none of which we understood.

We followed the crowd, as bodies unfurled and made for the door. We all got out, leaving the chickens and goats to themselves.

It was dark but above stars blinked in the moonless night. Thankfully my pack was still on top of the bus.

There were warm glows coming from curtain gaps in what seemed like a large mud house, that appeared out of the gloom.

We could hear loud, vibrant music. The light was flickering from a shadowy doorway, that everyone made towards.

The door opened into a darkened parlour lit by oil lamps. A live band of musicians played amazingly loud, vibrant music.

The conversation momentarily stopped as the occupants saw us. Dark eyes hidden by turbans looked us over, guns, knives and swords were everywhere. We looked back. The scene looked unreal to our drug filled eyes and potentially dangerous.

There wasn’t a woman in sight. Most of the men returned to eating, talking or puffing on their ubiquitous hookahs, while some continued to take our measure. They all looked like bandits to me.

The couple who had joined our party and taken the hashish with us followed us in and suddenly one of them let out an almighty scream, turned and ran.

Whether it was the hookahs, the smoke from the pipes full of tobacco and sometimes hashish, the darkness, the shadows, the music, or most likely the hashish, which he’d swallowed, he fled. Quite honestly, I could understand his fright.

The locals laughed and there was a rush as they got up and began chasing after him.

I wasn’t going anywhere, I seemed to have plenty to deal with, without the trials of the dark wilderness out there. My friends obviously concurred. We all remained inside and sat down.

The remaining diners continued to look us over. Nonchalantly I hailed the waiter. Our transaction was successful, though our vegetarian diet, would have to go on hold that night. The food was hot and warming.

Eventually, they returned with our intrepid travelling companion, who had run out. Everyone applauded and laughed.

He’d quietened down somewhat. His eyes were still wild, though he looked sheepish and embarrassed at the attention he was receiving.

Luckily, these men knew the desert, knew hashish and inebriated reactions to what was really a very pleasant caravanserai.

Minus the paranoia, these men were good company. Armed or not it didn’t seem they were going to shoot or rob us.

One Afghan who had caught my eye several times, came over and handed me a cigarette. It was obvious that he’d refilled it.

We greedily shared it between us. With a meal in our bellies, the music and ambience, the scene from hell, had turned to heaven. The glances, were no longer threatening, just curious.

I noticed the driver and the conductor finishing up and I signalled the waiter, who charged us a few Afghani’s for our meal. Afghanistan was so cheap at this time you couldn’t believe it.

We went outside, climbed on the roof of the mini-bus and grabbed our jackets from our packs.

We claimed our seats from a goat and a chicken that had presumed it was theirs. The conductor took our money for the trip. The bus filled, we were off into that wild night of dreams.