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Showing posts from March, 2013

Clubbing in Kabul

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Kabul. There are NO similarities between the Bigg Market, Newcastle in Northern England, on a Saturday night and Kabul on the same. That's none, zero, zilch, now't. There couldn't be two more contrasting cultures in the world, ever, period. If you take a piss in the street here you could end up in a body bag -as some American troops did- rather than taking a nap in Market Street police station. There are no drunks to be seen, no stagg-doos or hen parties, no pink flesh pushed into skirts the size of belts or arses hanging out of pants. That's not to say there are no arses, there are, but there fully dressed as expats, us westerners, out de-stressing.


The expat scene here drinks and dances behind high walls, armed guards, body checks and no gun signs. There aren't many canny, thick-necked bouncers stuffed into suites to wink your way past here. Who needs a muscle man when you have a Kalashnikov? Beer at $10 a can is drunk in big male groups made up of ex-military, se…