The Air Car - zero pollution and very low running costs

"According to an article on Gizmag, Tata, India's largest automotive manufacturer, has developed a car that runs on compressed air. It costs less than $3 USD to fill a tank on which it can run for 200 to 300km. The car will cost about USD $7,300 and has a top speed of 68mph. About once every 50,000 km you have to change the oil (1 liter of vegetable oil). Initial plans are to produce 3,000 cars per year."

Out on a Friday II

After visiting cemetery we drive towards Bala Hissar Fort. Unfortunately there is no possibility to visit fort because it is a military place. Nearby there is a lovely shrine - it the place for the only working fountain I have seen in Kabul - it is located south from the fort. There a lots of graves on neighbouring hills. It is a lovely peaceful place with view to a shallow lake and the snowy peaks of surrounding mountains. We have been here some weeks ago: it seems that afghan families like to visit graves, to sit and have a tea or climb nearest hills.
After more than a hour of climbing on steep hills we reach the summit. Mountain Sher Darwaza is not high (2200m), but we started out from ca 1600m. It has been quite a tiresome ascent.
There are quite a few of us: my husband, his colleagues Willy and Stephen. Our driver Karim brings along his little son and daughter. They look like Teletubbies in their colourful costumes, but they are amazingly tough. Sometimes Karim and Stephen carry the children on their shoulders, but most of the time the kids just push forward bravely, without any whining.
Time to time we stop on stony platforms, built by mudjahedins. The platforms were used to fire missiles at Kabul city. There is a magnificent view from the top of the mountain: I can see the ruins of Darulaman’s king palace in south, the airport to the north and the main stadium to the east. To the west, there is mountain called Asamayi, with TV-masts on top. Usually masts tower above our heads, but today we look down at them…
One can hear city noise from the distance, mixed with voices of mullahs calling. We walk down alongside the ruins of ancient city walls.

Out on a Friday I

The saddest part of winter was that there ware no possibilities to go to a walk outside Kabul on Fridays. How you can walk if you can’t see even the signs that indicate mines. Two weeks ago there was another reason: there were demonstrations organized by mudjahedins. The so-called “white city” was declared, which means that international staff was prohibited from movement outside of their compounds. Last Friday was a beautiful clear day and we decided to spend it in a sporty way.
First we go to wander in British Cemetery. It is a nice garden on foot of Bibi Mahro hill, founded in 1839. Cemetery is hidden behind a high mud brick wall and it is well maintained by an old guard named Rahman.
It is quite interesting to read texts on tombstones. There are buried some famous explorers like Hungarian-born sir Mark Aurel Stein or dane Henning Haslund-Christensen. There are also graves of French archaeologists and of lots of children. There are tombs of Henley’s family, killed in a car accident on Salang pass in 1969. American engineer, employee of Chinese embassy, Jesuit from India.
One wall is covered with names of ISAF soldiers who have been recently killed in Afghanistan. And there is another wall with names of British military officers who fell in battles during British-Afghan wars. But the most popular place seems to be Bettina’s grave. This young lady was killed some years ago in Ghazni.

Alcohol policy in Islamic Republic of Afghanistan

I remember my first Friday outside of Kabul: it was a sunny day in March that we spent at Quargha lake, eating kebab at a local picnic place. We were sitting in a Pakistani-style shelter, enjoying our meal. Next to us four young Afghans were drinking vodka, trying to shelter the bottle with their coats. When the bottle was finished, Afghans just threw it away. The empty vodka bottle rolled down the hill, stopping just alongside our shelter. I really didn’t like this situation: it seems like we just finished the bottle.
Some days ago I got an email containing information about police raids in Kabul restaurants. As a result many of Chinese “restaurants” (actually, bordellos) and Samarkand bar – popular dancing place among young internationals – were closed down. Nine internationals were arrested. There are rumours about new law waiting for approval in parliament. After its acceptance police can arrest any international who seems to be drunk.
Actually, I have been expected something like this. It was really weird to visit supermarkets for internationals (like Blue or Supreme), filled with alcohol bottles. Choice was superb and prices were cheap. Markets were full of men wearing bullet-proof vests and helmets, buying alcohol by boxes.
One can hear two versions why alcohol disappeared from the markets in last autumn. First, Islamic Government is really concerned with availability of alcohol. Secondly: it is a question of money. Considering the low prices, it was clear, that taxes were not included. When government started taxing alcohol, shops refused to pay. Alcohol moved out or it is just hidden, as informed people tell.
Sometimes we go to eat at an Indian restaurant close to our house. This place needs some cleaning, because it is really dirty. But in some odd way, food is excellent. There are always plenty of Sikhs or Afghans drinking whisky by bottles. The restaurant is selling bottles to everyone as well. We have witnessed a situation when Afghan bought a bottle of vodka, poured down the vodka into an empty plastic bottle signed as mineral water and cycled away….

The day when Soviet army left Afghanistan

This Thursday there was a public holiday in order to celebrate the day on which the Soviet army left Afghanistan. There were hundreds of Estonians who fought in Afghanistan as Soviet army soldiers. Around fifty of them died and many were injured. Soviet-Afghanistan war is still painful topic for our little country of 1,5 million people.
I have met three Soviet army Afghan veterans. First was my fellow student at university while we were studying geology. He is now a politician. I remember a special night when he told bloodcurdling stories about his soldier-career. Afghanistan associated for me only with words “you must kill or you will be killed” for years.
Second meeting took place in my hometown Tartu last year. Taxi driver was asking about my destination of the trip and I answered “Kabul”. It was a short discussion, but still memorable. Driver showed me his neck marked with gruesome scars. He encouraged me to leave this country where “everybody dreams to jag your neck”.
Third man is writing to me from time to time. His letters engender the feeling of recognition. He writes me about smells and flavors, wind and rain. I would like to meet this guy.

Masculine Friday with dog fighting

Standing on the steep slope, I try to press my feet into slippery mud. There are thousands of Afghans – no women except me – around. Afghans are whistling and shouting. Boys walk in the crowd, carrying baskets with cigarettes, boiled eggs or sweets. Some soldiers with kalashnikovs and truncheons are going around; they are pushing back the crowds. All men stare at the dogs and their masters in the middle of natural arena: it is a dog fighting time.
Karim, my husband’s driver, asked us to join him to see the traditional winter entertainment in Afghanistan. He is driving us on Friday morning. Little daughter and son are with him, sitting on first seat (once we went on a joyride with all five of Karim’s children packed on the first seat). Approaching the fighting place, we see lots of cars and thousands of men. Dog fighting is popular among Afghans; many are coming from far away parts of the country.
Fighting dogs or war dogs in dari language (sag e jangi) recall me the dog named Babur, the companion of Rory. (The places in between by Rory Stewart) The old dog has been received as a gift from villagers of Ghor province. Those dogs look similar: muscular mixed breeds. Some of them have cut down ears and some of them don’t have tails. Those dogs look surprisingly well groomed: their claws are coloured with henna and collars are made from colourful fabric or leather. Their masters, sitting aside, pat and caress their wards. This is a really unusual view in Afghanistan where dogs are usually humiliated and avoided.
I don’t see bleeding or fighting to death. Karim says with smile that sometimes there is a quarrel between the owners and soldiers have to take care that angry men don’t shoot each other. Later I witness such a situation: the owners start to squabble in the middle of the fighting place, completely forgetting their fighting dogs.
When the owner decides to cross swords then an announcer with wooden stick starts going around. Sometimes the announcer is holding a bet of cash money in his hands. Then men drag colourful cloth in the middle of arena. When the cloth falls down, the dogs are dashing towards each other like fireballs. There is not much biting. It rather looks like wrestling: one dog tries to press another dog to the ground. The owners stand by, patting or drawing away (if winner is clear or there is a danger of injury) their dogs. Public sympathize and the waiting dogs as well. They try to rip off their leashes to join the fighting as well.
By midday the fighting is over – soon there will be praying time and everyone goes to the mosque to hear mulla’s speech. We are moving back to our car when Karim says suddenly: Actually, the dog fighting is a violation of islamic law.

Whisher

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