Afghanistan, one day, inshaallah when there is peace, and Pakistan.
During the heydays of the Hippie Highway in the 60s, it was one of the most beautiful places on the trail, snowy mountains against an azure blue sky, crossing from Iran to Herat and staying for days lapsing into weeks and months, before finally picking up the will to cross the Khyber into Pakistan, and finally India - the last stop, where the trail splits to the beaches of Goa - endless golden stretches of Palolem, Varkala, Anjuna, the holy city of Varanasi by the Ganges, up the Himalayas in Nepal and legendary Katmandu...
I long for those days gone. And my own stories, my own epic, now that its been 2 years and they have melded into the past... like a faded photograph, a dream, another life. Maybe there is no going back - you are, afterall, only 18 once. But it was such a beautiful time of my life, where you really lived, and opened your eyes, uncynical, un-bitter, innocent eyes wide open in wonder to all that overwhelming sights, sounds, smells, touches of this world.
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