'THIM DAYS IS GONE' [‎69r] (137/248)

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Herat, I eventually had it discounted and left a little wiser
than I had arrived.
Without doubt, the worst way of crossing a foreign country if one
wishes to make contact with the people and learn something of
their way of living and thinking is in an air-liner at 30 000
feet or more, especially if you stay at any chain* of
international hotels, each one identical to the last, all round
the world. The next worst way is at 80+ mi 1es-an-hour on a motor
way. Fortunately neither of these options was open to me and I
headed south for Kandahar planning to cover 400 miles of
unmetalled road in a day. This, it turned out, was wildly over-
optimistic although in ideal conditions it might have been
possible.
The road from Herat to Kandahar curves around the foot-hills of
the mountains of Ghor on the left while to the right lies lower
flatter country, and every so often it crosses a nullah or
normally dry river-bed. However as we left Herat it started to
rain steadi]y, persistently, and doggedly, and the nullahs began
to flow. At first they were merely inches deep and one could
drive through without difficulty. Then they began to carry a
foot or more of water and it became advisable to take off one's
shoes and socks and wade through to test the depth. This became
tedious when repeated every mile or so, also time-consuming, and
it soon became obvious that we had no chance of reaching Kandahar
by night fall.
Inevitablyimpatience overcame discretion, and I drove into a
stream, which turned out to be deep enough to flood the engine
and stop the C3r - There was nothing to be done except to wade
not without difficulty, to the bank, sit down, and watch the
water rise.
Fortunately it was not long before a bus arrived and the
passengers , manfu1ly dismounting, put their shoulders to the car
and pushed it to the bank. We spent a most unpleasant night with
only the remains of our day's provisions to eat and no prospect
of early rescue, as the rain prevented any further lorries or
buses from travelling.
The morning dawned clear but cold and the rain had stopped, but
the rivers were still high enough to inhibit further transport
from trying the road. The problem of food was solved by two
passing shepherds who sold us (yes, sold! Sher Oil was appalled
by such lack of traditional Muslim hospitality) some coarse
flour. This we kneaded into dough with water from the stream and
wrapped about half an inch thick round a stone the size of a
grape fruit, which had been heated in the fire we had built. It
was then put back in the fire and the ashes raked over it.
The result was what the locals called Nan-i-Kakh , and not to be
recommended to any but those with extremely strong teeth and a