Hammams

Will: I spent the morning with two of our architects in the old city. We walked across the pul-e-paysagi bridge and up to Jade Maiwand. This is a large road that cuts right through the old city on the south side of the river. It was a great feeling of exhiliaration simply to be able to walk. I saw a man cycling with the dismembered parts of a cow strung out all over him and his bike. The intestines were slung over the handlebars, the hooves round his neck and the head and skin strapped to a carrier rack at the back. There were huge stockpiles of wood and carts full of bright red oranges. We entered the first hammam, built in the 60s and were able to have a look round, but not to take photos. It was not hard to imagine whiling away the winter hours here in the warmth with the sound of men’s voices reverberating around the arched hallways and water trickling back down into the drain. One man was astride another in the corner lathering him up. I didn’t look to closely but this sort of male intimacy is quite normal. The hammam is open from 04:30 until 18:00 and people come and wash here daily. The proprietor wanted to give us something to remember him by and so despatched a small boy who returned minutes later with cans of Fanta. Outside there was a stall selling large pants with zipped pockets in the front and pumice stone. It also sold a brown rock which when wet produces a sort of shampoo. We walked on and Mohammad Nazir hailed a car. We piled in but the traffic was so bad that we ended up walking again to Pakhta Firushi bazaar where they sell a lot of pakhta – a cotton like white insulating material in great sacks. We turned off the main street down a small alley heading south. Although Jade Maiwand must have destroyed much of the traditional fabric of the old city, behind the ugly facades there still exist some real treasures. We entered an old hammam called Kitab firushi. The first hall was not particularly impressive. There was a man washing his son. But the second atrium must have been at least 150 years old. It was a perfectly vaulted hall with light streaming in from three sky lights. There was a tiled fountain in the middle of the room and private niches around the edges. From here we jumped in a car and headed up to Kot-e-Sangi to a combined men and women’s hammam. It was was larger by comparison and run by a large Hazara man with a black skull cap. We went round the back to look at the furnace. There were four fires all continuously fed by electric fans. A small Hazara man with a blackened face and one yellow rubber glove stood in a pit and stoked the fires. The grey water streamed out of the hammam full of gunge, hair and shampoo sachets. He said he used 2000 kilos of Balut wood every day and then pointed to a massive wood store in the corner of the compound.

On the way back Mohammad Nazir asked if we could stop for lunch. He looked delighted when I said yes and he proceeded to take us to his cousin’s restaurant. It was the opening day, the big launch. The small room was full of brand new glass tables and metal chairs. The tables had tomato sauce bottles for show (they were empty) and there were extraordinary pictures on the walls of cottages in front of waterfalls and giant mushrooms or a girl holding a lamb standing next to a water jug. The relatives were there including a local mullah dressed in a smart chapan.  There was also a raised platform for those inclined to the more traditional way of sitting. I was asked to come and take photos of the blessing of the food. The mullah and few elders stood over a large copper bowl of rice and with outstretched arms gave thanks. Large bowls of very tasty Kabuli pilau then emerged with very succulent chunks of mutton buried amongst the raisins, shredded carrots, and rice. A large young man entered with a swagger and demanded to know who the foreigners were. He probably didn’t realise but he was wearing a girl’s fitted jacket, white with a faux fur collar from Top Shop and jeans that looked like they should belong to a painter and decorator. The funniest things of all was that he was wearing a Nottingham Forest football scarf! At the adjacent table there was a whole family, minus the women of course. The grandfather sat serenely in his chapan. The son looked fearsome with a jet black beard and with large hands, helped his son to eat the rice that was placed in front of him. They were all cousins of Mohammad Nazir.