You can call me Khala

Yesterday was a red letter day. Thanks to a feisty Australian woman in a nearby compound I got to go walkies. I love nothing better than a good hike in the open air, something that is forbidden fruit in these parts -- what with landmines, kidnappers and bombs strapped to donkeys. We set out early and our first delight was crossing the flooded river that flows through Faizabad on one of the contraptions I have long admired. Often beds or the expired frames of cars are suspended on wires and then motored across by little boys who hold on to the frame and run along the wires. It was a blast! And only cost 20 Afghanis (40 U.S. cents) round-trip.
We then made our way up one of the mountains that gives Faizabad its magical ambience and cooler weather (blessed relief). Lots of little helpers along the way and a fantastic, elusive feeling of freedom made for the perfect day.
At the very top of the mountain we met with a delighted gaggle of kids all calling out to me: "Khala! Khala!" Khala means Auntie and as one of the guys put it, "Anyone can be a 'khala', but very few are." With this badge of honour and some smiley photos (visit my flickr site -- click on My Photos under Links) we went on our way.
The cherry on top of this already rich day was seeing the first clouds in months, not counting the monsoon in India of course, and then lightening and then -- Hoorah!!! -- rain. Haven't seen a drop of rain here in at least 2 months.
Splendid :)