Find yourself a city

I've been thinking about what makes a city--comparing a place like Kabul to a place like New York, where I spent the fall. On the surface these two places seem almost totally opposite. One's glossed over with wealth and flashy style, the other seems to have just enough worn infrastructure to keep all its parts moving together. But despite all the apparent differences, both are teeming with life and kinetic energy. Walking around Kabul is a dizzying experience, with the constant barrage of activity swarming around you. Fast-moving cars barely missing each other, people desperately trying to get your attention to buy calling cards or ask for money, street cooks flipping kebab on a stick in the hot afternoon sun. After all the strife this city has seen--70% of it destroyed by constant rocket bombardments during the civil war in the '90s--the unrelenting pace of city life finds a way here, through the sheer will of the people.

It's the same force, the same pace, as one can find in New York; it's just that in New York, the cogs and gears of collective activity fit together more smoothly. I remember walking from the subway station at 42nd and 3rd to my office near the UN thinking, How do 8 million people live on top of each other so harmoniously? The simple answer, I think, is that the people want it to work. They have come there from around the country to take part in the wide array of activities and options that only a city of that size can provide. No matter how many people are crammed onto Manhattan island, New York is a marvel in the amazing amount of things that happen there everyday.

In Kabul, it's the same principle of its inhabitants willing, driving everything to work together. As in New York, thousands of Afghans have converged here from around the country to find opportunities that only the capital city has to offer. And it's even more remarkable here, given the layers of obstacles and challenges that present themselves to the average city-dweller, like power-outtages and the general security problems. I went for a hike to the top of a hill near my area a couple days ago, and looked out across the entire city. I've heard over 3 million people live here, but that it really only has the infrastructure to support 300,000 (by who's standards?). Regardless, life rapidly goes on as people move amongst each other, going where they need to go, in a kind of chaotic harmony.

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In other news, I can't believe I found the NBA Finals in Kabul, Afghanistan. For as excited as I've been to dive into a new culture here, to really immerse myself in a new and different place, my heart sank when I found out a week or so ago that the Lakers and the Celtics have made it to the Finals and I wouldn't get to watch it. Having been in Boston this past half-year, I'll admit I jumped on the Celtics bandwagon--they're a lot of fun to watch. Paul Pierce is ferocious, Ray Allen's a silent killer, and Kevin Garnett is literally insane. Like, clinically. He's also an amazing ballplayer.

Anyway, I was at a bar called La Cantina Monday night. Brace yourself, Kabul has a Mexican restaurant. It's owned by Australians, and it's one of a small handful of well-hidden bars around town. Another place is a replicated British pub (with Guinness on tap, I've heard), another is a swankier French joint called L'Atmosphere--affectionately referred to as 'Latmo'--and another is straight-up BBQ called "Red Hot Sizzlin." But so far I've only been to the Cantina. I walked in to meet a few other 'ex-pats' (people out of their native country) for drinks, and found Game 2 of the Finals on satellite ESPN. I parked my backside on a stool with a couple of other Americans and started watching, with a cold beer in hand, taking it all in with a big smile. Sometimes, the little things from home are so much sweeter abroad.

Then I looked around and saw there were only ex-pats at this bar. It was kind of like reverse culture shock, after feeling like the only Westerner when I've been out shopping and cruising around Kabul with Maiwand and Basir (the two Trust in Education employees). I turned to a guy next to me and asked, "Why are there no Afghans in here?" "Cuz they're not allowed," he says. Turns out, it's illegal for Afghans to be in bars in their own country. Now, I had known that alcohol is forbidden for Muslims--but to make it a national law? In asking further, I found out there's actually a Sin & Vice squad that patrols the city enforcing this rule. It's one of those stark cultural differences that kinda hit me all of a sudden. And for a former bartender who appreciates a fine ale from time to time, it's one of the harder ones to imagine, but I understand where I am.

Another interesting cultural difference: the Aussies in the bar couldn't stand how long a basketball game gets in the final two minutes, when the coaches call endless time-outs to stop the clock, huddle up with their teams and plan for some miracle shot. The Aussies were just dying for these guys to finish so they could go back to watching the Euro Cup. It is kind of interesting how little soccer has caught on in the States, given how fanatical the rest of the world is about it. At one point Monday night, there was 33 seconds left on the clock, and Doc Rivers called for yet another time-out--maybe the third in the space of a theoretical minute on the game clock. "Crickey," groans one Aussie in a pained tone. "It'll be another 45 minutes now."