GOING PLACES: Carl O'Brien, Afghanistan's first Irish tourist since the US-led invasion in 2001, joins a former postman, an IT worker and a lawyer for a holiday with a difference
The customs official in Heathrow smiles incredulously, but then narrows her face in alarm. "Yeah, but really, where are you going? ... Of course you are ... Really? ... But why on earth would you want to do that?" She seems puzzled, but sympathetic, the way you might react to someone embarking on a death-defying Guinness Book of Records stunt, who is clearly doomed to fail.
No one seems to believe me until they see the visa stamp on my creased Irish passport: Afghanistan, tourist visa, two weeks. Not that the officials in the Afghan embassy in London had any trouble with the idea. The consul beamed with delight to have his first Irish tourist and hoped it would be the first of many more. "You have come at just the right time," he smiled. "It's melon season. Didn't you know that?"
After three decades of devastating war, visitors are tentatively beginning to return to Afghanistan. When you arrive, it soon becomes clear it's a country unused to tourism. The closest thing you can find to a Lonely Planet guide in the musty bookshops of Kabul is a dog-eared publication from 1977 by the Afghanistan Tourist Organisation.
Leafing through the yellowed pages, I see black and white photos of a city which seems cosmopolitan, almost genteel. One picture is of a group of stewardesses for Afghanistan's national airline, Ariana, smiling coquettishly and dressed in short skirts and stilettos. Another section helpfully points out the best boutiques, restaurants and jazz clubs in the city. Back then, the country was a magnet for adventurous travellers interested in Islamic culture, art and history. With plentiful supplies of opium, it was also a mandatory stop-off point on the hippie trail through central Asia.
But that guidebook is for a country which no longer exists. With its quaint travel advice and tips, there is nothing to suggest the horror and devastation that was to unfold over the next 25 years: a decade-long war against the Soviet Union, followed by a protracted and bitter civil war, and later the terrifying rule of the Taliban.
Today, an edgy calm hangs over Kabul, but the reminders of war are everywhere: from the bullet-scarred airport and the bombed-out palace of King Amanullah, to the mined fields and rusting hulks of abandoned Soviet tanks.
In dusty, chaotic streets, international troops patrol in convoys of armoured vehicles, while SUVs with darkened windows whisk VIPs and their bodyguards across town at breakneck speed. There is little appealing about the capital, which seems to be perpetually enveloped by a crepuscular gloom, rarely pierced by the Afghan sun.
The Kabul Museum, which used to have one of the finest collections of antiquities in central Asia, has had almost three-quarters of its finest collections looted. The city zoo is a depressing place, with two lions donated by China, replacing Marjan, a one-eyed and almost toothless lion who survived years of ill-treatment.
Herat, on the other hand, around 500 miles to the west and close to the Iranian border, is a pleasant and slightly ramshackle city of bustling bazaars, tree-lined streets and ancient monuments. Even the drivers appear to obey the rules of the road, unlike those on the traffic-choked streets of Kabul.
The people, too, are extraordinarily friendly, exuding a warmth and curiosity you don't feel in the capital. The country's Islamic heritage is the basis of its famous hospitality, with families regularly offering to provide a meal or a cup of green tea for visitors.
In the 15th century, Herat was at the centre of the golden Timurid era, when poetry, art and architecture reached their zenith. Blending Persian, central Asian and Afghan cultures, it is one of Central Asia's cultural highlights. The Friday Mosque, or Masjid-i-Jami, is one of the finest Islamic buildings in the world, combining intricate Timurid mosaic with graceful architecture.
Yet for every well-maintained attraction, there are countless pieces of heritage which have suffered through war and are in danger of being lost forever. The Musalla Complex, the remains of an old madrassa built in the 1400s, is one of these. The azure tiles which adorned the minarets lie scattered amid the rubble and litter on the ground, while at least one of the towers totters precariously, tethered only by pieces of rope.
The precarious state of much of the country's heritage is one of the main reasons why some tourists are anxious to visit the country sooner rather than later.
Phil Haines of Live Travel in London, who has previously organised visits to Iraq and North Korea, was among the first to enter the country as a tourist last year. Last month I joined him and three other Afghan enthusiasts from the US and Britain on a two-week tour of the country.
It was a mixed bunch, with a shared interest in Islamic culture. There was Dave, a former postman and Millwall football club supporter, Anthony, an earnest young IT specialist based in Washington DC, and Andrea, a 50-something lawyer from Philadelphia. Everyone was aware of the security risks and the likelihood for our travel plans to change.
While many pockets of the country are peaceful, violence can still find you quickly. In Herat, the first signs of trouble came without warning. Afghan troops swarmed through the crowded streets, army snipers took position over key buildings, and US Black Hawk helicopters hovered nosily overhead.
Rumours quickly spread through the bazaars as locals speculated over why the army was suddenly descending. A group which formed around a shop selling televisions soon got their answer: President Karzai had deposed the powerful warlord, Ismael Khan, as governor of Herat, and "promoted" him to the lowly position of Minister of Mines.
"It's not a really big surprise," Abdul Latif, a 21-year-old business consultant, said wearily, queuing up at the local airport to buy a ticket out of the city. "He was always going to do something. I just hope there won't be much trouble." The airport was closed down. Roadblocks in and out of the city were hastily established. Hours later several hundred Khan supporters shouting "death to Karzai" and "death to America" roamed through the streets.
As darkness fell, the crackle of small arms fire echoed across the city and bright orange tongues of fire reached up into the night sky. Eight people were killed and around 20 wounded over the course of the night.
For all the instability, there are benefits: the lack of tourists. There is an eerie solitude surrounding some of man's most ancient and remarkable achievements, such as the Buddhas of Bamiyan, which would ordinarily be overrun with visitors. Set in a tranquil valley in the very heart of the towering Hindu Kush mountains, Bamiyan remains one of the most captivating settings in the country. Despite the efforts of the Taliban to destroy the fifth-century stone sculptures in 2001, they still exude a haunting, spectral presence.
A labyrinthine network of shrines and tombs within the cliff walls are still accessible, while the remnants of brightly coloured murals and mosaics on the ceilings of the caves are still visible.
The colossal statues attracted pilgrims for centuries, far beyond the time when Buddhism languished in India and the arrival of Islam in the 7th century. Today there is a debate on whether to rebuild the statues and recreate some of their original splendour. If anything, however, they serve as reminders of the destructive nature of man.
The remote countryside, in places such as Bamiyan, also has a feudal, almost biblical feel to it, with people travelling on donkeys and ploughing fields by hand. The only hint of modern life creeping into the area are the children's bright blue UNHCR schoolbags and copybooks.
Despite the collapse of the Taliban regime three years ago, most women still wear the burka.Hopes at the time of the war that women would be liberated after the Taliban fell, have never materialised. They are still very much second-class citizens and, in some regions, continue to be denied basic health and education services.
The real enduring memory of Afghanistan, despite the tragedy that has unfolded there, is the warmth of the people: the gnarled soldier who melted into a smile when met by a friendly face; the student who brought us back to share dinner with his family; the shopkeeper who asked us for tea without seeking to sell anything.
They are people whose spirit remained unbroken through decades of conflict and totalitarian rule. And they are the people who, with the support of the international community, will carve out a future for the country from the rubble of the past.
GETTING THERE
A small number of travel agents visit with small groups. One is Live Travel (www.live-travel.com, 00-44-208-8946104) run by Phil Haines. Ariana Airlines (www.flyariana.com) flies from Istanbul to Kabul for around €490.
WHEN TO GO
September to October are when the weather is most comfortable, generally between 25 and 30 degrees. Winter is particularly harsh, with temperatures typically ranging between 8 and -8 degrees from December to February.
MONEY
The local currency is the Afghani, but the dollar is enthusiastically accepted almost everywhere.
ACCOMMODATION
For a country where costs are ridiculously low, accommodation is often alarmingly expensive. In Kabul, due to the demand for places to stay among the NGOs and media, expect to pay around $50 a night for basic accommodation.