1. 29 November


    So on we were for the next days, going to the valley of Massoud, famous for the victories against the red army when they invaded the country in the 90’s, these guys are from a tiny village in the valley, now working in construction they plan to build clinics there. The entrance of the valley makes you understand how hard the place was to attack, a deep canyon, a road on the side of a cliff, and this for a few kilometers.. Going up slowly, we take a hard turn for a neighboring valley, the road became a trail, passing through each of these tiny villages hanging on the side of the mountains, colored by the land and the mud putted together to build each of the houses, little by little going up, showing their snowy tops, the sceneries one after another are gorgeous, the place is beautiful, the place is fabulous. The women by the river washing their clothes, the children all around them, the men a little further up with their cows, their goats, or on their donkey, some kids are playing football, others work in the fields, the olds chiefs invites us for tea and yogurt, the room is dusty the dust making the light smooth, eight or nine, and after an hour, we were making our way back. Lights falling down quickly, the blue replacing the yellow, each village lights up, the last men go back home, the temperature reaching zero, nobody talks, the time is right.  We will spend the night in their hometown, a tiny town in the valley, and the next day we were on to another side of Panjshir… Seven o’clock, we are en route, the valley is higher, more open, villages are a little bigger, and we meet again these amazing scenes along, with the women, the kids, the old mens, there is more snow, we barely talk, contemplatives. A few horses are going downhill also, it is Friday, day of Buskashi, so on the way down we stop by. Famous game played in the north of the country, the men are on their horses, dressed in their greatest outfit, having their greatest hat, a goat killed a day before is putted on the ground, the goal is to catch it and keep it for a while. It is violent, each of them fighting for victory, hard, all horses excited, going fast, sometime some fall on the ground, the horses wouldn’t walk on them but still… Each catcher earning respect from the valley for a while. A last stop in another valley, and after these great days we make our way back, looking by the window, us, surrounded by nostalgia, overwhelmed by all these, already great memories, time standing still…

    So on we were for the next days, going to the valley of Massoud, famous for the victories against the red army when they invaded the country in the 90’s, these guys are from a tiny village in the valley, now working in construction they plan to build clinics there.

    The entrance of the valley makes you understand how hard the place was to attack, a deep canyon, a road on the side of a cliff, and this for a few kilometers..

    Going up slowly, we take a hard turn for a neighboring valley, the road became a trail, passing through each of these tiny villages hanging on the side of the mountains, colored by the land and the mud putted together to build each of the houses, little by little going up, showing their snowy tops, the sceneries one after another are gorgeous, the place is beautiful, the place is fabulous. The women by the river washing their clothes, the children all around them, the men a little further up with their cows, their goats, or on their donkey, some kids are playing football, others work in the fields, the olds chiefs invites us for tea and yogurt, the room is dusty the dust making the light smooth, eight or nine, and after an hour, we were making our way back.

    Lights falling down quickly, the blue replacing the yellow, each village lights up, the last men go back home, the temperature reaching zero, nobody talks, the time is right. 

    We will spend the night in their hometown, a tiny town in the valley, and the next day we were on to another side of Panjshir…

    Seven o’clock, we are en route, the valley is higher, more open, villages are a little bigger, and we meet again these amazing scenes along, with the women, the kids, the old mens, there is more snow, we barely talk, contemplatives. A few horses are going downhill also, it is Friday, day of Buskashi, so on the way down we stop by.

    Famous game played in the north of the country, the men are on their horses, dressed in their greatest outfit, having their greatest hat, a goat killed a day before is putted on the ground, the goal is to catch it and keep it for a while. It is violent, each of them fighting for victory, hard, all horses excited, going fast, sometime some fall on the ground, the horses wouldn’t walk on them but still… Each catcher earning respect from the valley for a while.

    A last stop in another valley, and after these great days we make our way back, looking by the window, us, surrounded by nostalgia, overwhelmed by all these, already great memories, time standing still…