By Nicholas Barrington
This is often the tale of 3 younger westerners--a Briton, an American and a German--who in 1960 got down to penetrate a land that few westerners had set eyes on. not able to depend upon maps and with little info on what might confront them, they have been guided step by way of precarious step into the unknown global formerly immortalized through Kipling's the fellow Who will be King . this is often the modern record--now released for the 1st time--of a rare trip.
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Additional info for A Passage to Nuristan: Exploring the Mysterious Afghan Hinterland
All of our party said they were delighted to be away from such unpleasant people. The situation must have been quite menacing with 39 A PA S S A G E T O N U R I S TA N 40 Old men of Wama. these rough men up on their own crags, in their brown robes, showing their claws. ). Then we went off for a good tour of the upper parts of the village, where the streets were either the roofs themselves or dusty channels running steeply between the houses. On one roof we stopped and talked to an old man with a long white beard called Ghulam Mohammad, who was full of life and intelligence.
Their eyes twinkled gaily over their lumpy little noses and their bushy black beards. They seemed very friendly, kind and simple, and utterly peaceful. Eventually we saw Pashki itself, halfway up the hill, with its two rather prominent towers, and made our way up to the village. Pashki is 2350 metres above sea level. We were taken to a couple of spacious open roofs on the river – that is, the east – side of the village. There we established ourselves on our charpoys, drank in the view, met the no.
On request I was conducted to the lavatory by a man with a burning brand. It consisted of a little log hut, and when I went in I saw that the floor was simply a series of wooden poles with nothing below them. The hut was built at the top of a cliff, and the excrement fell most hygienically 200 or 300 feet down into a gully. The bath was a round room entered by a low door. Halfway up the wall on the mountainside was a spout, along which a stream of fresh water came from a spring inside the rock, and fell in a neat curve into a well, from where it drained away to the rest of the village.