Back to Bamiyan III: a night at Band-e Amir

We stroll down the pathway over high cliffs along the waterside, trying to find an access path to the lakes. Finally we reach a canyon through where we can walk down to water level. Sunshine is too bright; so we just relax in shade. The playful hamsters are nearby; there are no human beings around during next four hours.
Back at Band-e Haibat, we try find out about possibilities to stay overnight. First we are shown a smelly cellar in chaikhana. It doesn’t look like an inviting place. Near bazaar there is another possibility: four rooms are available in a long narrow house. All rooms have a window and even a door with a bolt. There are mats on the floor and blankets in the corner as well. But the atmosphere is as damp as in the cellar we already saw.
The owner understands our hesitations and he offers us haima. What is a haima? It turns out; that it is tent – quite a new one. We look at each other: do we really wish to stay in a tent? There was a warning example when two camping German journalist were killed. Inja jang nes, hatarnak nes, nafara hub as – there is no fight or danger, here are good people, the Hazaras persuade us. Of course, the situation is different: the journalists were camping away from village near a riverside in Wardak province. The tent is erected in front of the house and our driver is going to sleep in his car, just two steps from us. We agree the price – 14 dollars -, and we are supplied with a huge pile of blankets. Later we meet with the journalist of National Geographic Magazine, who is going to sleep in the room we rejected. The journalist proposes sarcastically that one can write two phrases on our tent: “kill me” and “rape me”.
Our night in tent turns out not dangerous, but miserable. First there are curious children around the tent; their movement looks like a shadow theatre. At ten o’clock in the night the Afghan family next to us decides to boil water in order to have a tea. Gas burner is placed next to our tent; so I am ready to rush out in the case our tent catches fire. During the night family members who visit toilet, stumble on our tent. At four a clock in the morning there is time for tea again and I decide to stop to pretend that I am sleeping.
I go to walk around Band-e Haibat. The water from numerous waterfalls is sparkling in the morning sun and the colourful mountains are reflecting in azure blue abyss (an average depth of the lakes is more than 80 meters). There are lots of fish. I heard that it is common to fish using electricity from batteries and explosives such as grenades.
After chai-e subh (breakfast) we drive to the place where the lakes are joined with a white travertine dams. Our driver Safiullah lies down while we ramble around the tiny shallow lake containing the light greenish water. But burning sun is high again and there is no place to hide. We are both quite exhausted because of poor sleeping, so we decide to return back to Bamiyan.
Our driver offers us to visit some other places on the road, but I feel really sick – it seems like I got a sunstroke. Back in hotel, I fall down into bed. Aga Sher, the caring owner of hotel, serves me a cup of herbs tea and a mango.
(End)