As the first rays of dawn stretched themselves across the earthen tones of Afghanistan, I vividly remember the day I embarked on what would become an unforgettable journey. My 1978 escapade christened “The Hippie Trail.” This legendary path strung like a rainbow over several countries, yet it was the 500 miles that lay sprawled between the ancient city of Herat and the capital city, Kabul, which etched its essence into my being. The trail moved its way into the marrow of my bones, infusing unforgettable lessons and images.
With each new desert dawn, the tapestry of the trail unfurled itself, introducing mesmerizing mosques, bustling bazaars and friendly faces that narrated stories as old as time. The rambling roads lured me into a dizzying labyrinth of experiences – from the scorching days spent amongst nomadic families to the chill of the star-kissed nights cradled by the rugged Afghan mountains. The trail presented a stark contrast between the serenity of the landscapes and the vitality of the cities. I still carry with me the smell of freshly baked naan from roadside stalls and the sight of bulbous domes of the intoxicating Blue Mosque as its azure tiles danced in the morning light. My ‘Hippie Trail’ Journal captures the essence of an Afghanistan that was joyously alive, rich in culture and human connections. Traversing from Herat to Kabul, this journey was a pilgrimage into the heart of a land that has always held an irresistible allure for the wanderers and adventure seekers of the world.
