To Jurm and Back Again

Strap yourselves in, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
I wanted to title this post 'At Play in the Poppy Fields of the Lord' or 'An Awfully Big Adventure', both of which would have been appropriate. Instead I urge you to see the films that bear those titles (drop 'poppy' from the first).
Yesterday we set out for Jurm, Poppy Capital of the World, at 5:30am.
This part of the world is so remote and inaccessible that the one tortuous road running through it is lined with vast fields of gorgeous, illegal poppies.
I've posted pics of this rare sight on flickr. You'll notice the nice touch of hedging the fields with lush marijuana bushes.
Along the road up into the Hindu Kush and onto the high plains I spied the usual sights -- men holding hands, kalashnikovs casually slung over their shoulders; and the more unusual ones of grubby little tots carrying crude implements for milking the poppies, brightly coloured women bowed over the tall poppies carefully gathering the precious white latex that once dried can be used to create opiates, including heroin.
All along the way little boys sat atop donkeys laden with dried poppy stalks, the seeds pressed to make oil.
We also came across a simple cave shrine, how old, no one knows.
I saw green meadows the likes of which I never suspected to find in Afghanistan.
It was spectacular.
On reaching the completed canal reconstruction, I interviewed a colourful old dude who swore he was 50 (looked at least 75) and we all waited for the governor...for 3 hours!
Fortunately it was a beautiful spot overlooking a fine green valley.
All that was missing was a hammock, a good book and refreshments.
The villagers brought some melon but as I've been feeling green thanks to the dreaded lurgy (giardia, I'll spare you the unsavoury details), I thought it best to avoid anything contaminated by less than pure water.
Eventually the governor arrived and brusquely took it all in before hustling us off in the dust of his motorcade to the opening of a school.
Having not eaten all day I was disappointed, though not in the least bit surprised, to be fed a huge plate of oily rice concealing joints of mutton. For once I was not the only woman present, an American from the donour organisation kept me company. As she put it: 'There's nothing quite like eating a sheep for breakfast.'
The opening of the school was the usual endless speech making by officials and then the relief of hearing the patient kids sing.
I caused a bit of a riot when I took a photo of some of the schoolgirls. On seeing their images on the LCD of my camera they let out a collective shriek that brought the proceedings to an unceremonious halt. They then threatened to crush each other and me to death. This despite soldiers yielding big sticks (and kalashnikovs of course) to keep them in check.
We stopped at another project site that was incredibly beautiful and were treated to an impromptu picnic by the richest villagers I've ever seen in Afghanistan. All the kids dolled up in little denim suits, carrying bags of candy. Hmmm...satellite dishes perched atop adobe dwellings. Poppy pays.
Kids scrambled up the biggest, oldest mulberry trees I've ever seen and shook the white mulberries free.
All wonderful.
Until the return trip.
I'll spare you details of the 3 and half hours of unadulterated torture. When we got back at about 9 last night I was so exhausted that although I hadn't eaten all day, I couldn't get the fork to my mouth, kept missing.
Collapsed into a painful sleep...whiplash and a thousand aches and pains.
Was it worth it?
You bet!