The roads weren't as bad as those in Sierra Leone but they were damn close. I had to lie down for a couple of hours so no-one would see me, and my back was destroyed by the bumps and the position. The scenery, however, was beautiful when I could eventually sit upright. The land changed from dry to green... the road followed a verdant valley with fast-flowing mountain streams and relatively lush farmland bordered by stark mountains. 
We stopped along the route to take pictures and talk to the locals about their stories. Many had family members killed by the Taliban. Others had been forced at gunpoint to join.
About 8 or 9 hours later, we had to stop. A group of men had blockaded the road with large stones. We got out to investigate. It was a local disturbance--the Hazara were upset at placement of the government outpost in the area. It sounds like a small issue but apparently it was the proverbial straw... they felt the Hazara had been ignored by the government during the last couple of years and this was their way to express their frustration. Never mind that the only people that they were hurting were mostly their own--the government types almost never went to Hazarajat, and if they did, it was always by plane.
We spoke to their elders at length and made a point of elaborately noting their frustrations and promising to tell the world about their plight in the hopes that they might let us pass. In the end, they agreed that they would, but that it would still be impossible to get to Bamian because they had dug up the road further on and it would take hours to repair. The only alternative was a dangerous 6-hour drive on a broken mountain road which Mokhtar's father advised us not to take, so we had no choice but to turn around, 2 hours away from my destination.
Along the route I had got all the interviews, visuals and tape needed for my story, but I had hoped to see the sights in Bamian which were historic and beautiful, including the enormous and now empty hole in the cliff where the famous Buddhas had been carved into the rock before the Taliban blew them up.
It was the most frustrating 9-hour ride back to Kabul, second only to the drive through Bunubu (Danny you know what I'm talking about!) as worst drive ever. I tried to play some African music for Mokhtar and his brother using my mp3 player on their radio, but gave up after half an hour because they didn't like it, so we spent 9 hours listening to two tapes: one Afghan singer and one old Bollywood music soundtrack from the 70s. If it wasn't Hell it was close. But I do have to be thankful--I got decent tape, saw beautiful landscape and met interesting people which I wouldn't have done had I flown, and of course, most importantly, we arrived home safe.
But still... @#%!@#%!!!!!!!!!
