Elliot writes about Afghanistan with a passion that takes you along with him. You can practically smell and see the shops where one can buy shampoo, faux leather watch straps, sticky honey, blank staring heads of goats, army green grenades, prayer carpets, cooking pots, rotting vegetables, astringent medicine, wooly socks, or steel rockets...anything to suit your needs. His mission? To prove to the world that is was possible to travel alone in the places others shunned. (As an aside, what does he think of our world now? It is still possible?)
Besides passion, Elliot also writes with lyrical elegance. His statement about time being a river was stunning. It left me pondering my fishing abilities for days. Words like spectral, silent, ghostly, and luminous describe a simple ride through town, but those words also make the journey extra eerie and dangerous. He takes this imagery a step further by adding a touch of royalty by saying they are "kings in the night on our wild chariot" (p 47). It is a romantic image in a dangerous town for Elliot and his companion are out after curfew and could be shot on sight.
Speaking of danger, the section on the diabolical designs of landmines was difficult to read. I cringed as I read about explosives that were made out of plastic so that they would avoid detection by x-ray in a victim's body. Or mines that "jumped in the air to about the height of a man's groin before exploding" to cause a man the most damage and bleed to death...I could go on. My favorite section was when Elliot needed to distract himself from paralyzing fear. He fantasized about riding on the back of a giant fantastical simurgh and seeing with landscape from high above.
Elliot met with people with eyes open; people who supported the Taliban and even defended their actions, pointing out how order has been restored. Perception is truth to most people.
Personal observations: Can you imagine receiving a fax from someone chatting about curtain colors after you have been in the center of incoming tank rounds? It sounds inane.
When Elliot described people ripping off parts of Russian tanks and selling them for scrap I instantly thought of the opening scene to one of the Star Wars movies. ( )

Wat ik gemeenschappelijk heb met de auteur: een irrationele interesse en "liefde" voor Afghanistan en de Afghanen, maar bij mij zou het nooit zo ver gaan dat ik in oorlogsgebied ga reizen of in de winter door de bergen zou trekken. In die zin biedt de auteur mij een kans om via zijn ervaringen toch wat te reizen in Afghanistan. Hij trekt via de weg (mee”liften”) o.a. naar Kabul, Panshir, Badakhshan, Mazar-i-Sharif, Bamiyan, Herat, …
Toch vroeg het heel wat doorzettingsvermogen om hem uit te lezen. Niet mijn genre van taal (moeilijke woordenschat en lange zinnen), veel uitweidingen over de geschiedkundige achtergrond en zo. Zijn ervaringen zijn ook al gedateerd natuurlijk. Hij reisde lang door Afghanistan in 1996 - 1997. Intussen was de taliban 5 jaar aan de macht, was er 20 jaar democratisering binnen context van burgeroorlog en Amerikaanse inmenging en opnieuw taliban.
Ik denk dat het boek enkel een aanrader is voor wie tuk is op reisverhalen of -zoals ik- een hele grote interesse heeft in Afghanistan. ( )

A lyrical and poetic travel book. It is beautifully written and you understand how he immersed himself in the country ( )

14/03/13 1 of 19 books for $10

An English schoolboy with no connection to the place, falls mysteriously in love with a far country. As soon as he is old enough, off he goes. And a wonderful, wonderful book results. Just now and then he strains a little too hard with the lyricism of his writing, but I read 99% of this with unalloyed pleasure. Elliot has every quality a traveller should have, including that blind trust in fate - that confidence that the right person or truck will soon turn up. Interlaced with his own fascinating first-hand accounts is just the right amount of history and background. This is travel writing par excellence: you are with him as he fights alongside the mujahedin; you lean desperately in your chair to stop the bus going over the precipice; you endure the smell of sweat and goat as you sleep toe to tail with strangers. All in all, the title sums this book up perfectly. ( )