I should mention, that my guest house has a wide open garden space with cheap gray plastic chairs interspersed here and there. The garden is framed by gorgeous pink roses – big and beautiful beyond which are walls roughly 40 feet high – all concrete and bomb proof. In order to enter the guest house one has to pass through a security checkpost with heavy iron doors on each side, and then another tightly closed door on the inside. On the outside, the guest house looks like a crudely constructed prison. On the inside it looks like the interior designer was incredibly color-blind. The dining hall is an eyesore with bright blue walls and sharp pink curtains. Those are offset by corridor walls of a bright, pukeish green. Each door is a different shade of cream, and the rooms inside have no color combinations to speak off – just a motley collection of furniture arranged in no particular order.
I’ve been told that this place – Aasa 3 – Is one of the better places to stay in Kabul. I truly wonder, but I suppose since this is my first experience of its kind I have no choice but to take my hosts at their word. Plus after a sleepless night and a horrendously busy day spent in meetings after meetings I feel like I could lie down to sleep on a sharp-nailed-plank if I had to. And I might just have to – sleep on a plank that is. Sans nails. Thank God.