Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:11 PM
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Hold on to your hiking boots, because if you thought Afghanistan was all endless desert, prepare to be blown away by Band-e Amir. Located deep in the Hindu Kush range, this national park—established in 2009—boasts six lakes so wildly turquoise they look like someone spilled a vat of Gatorade. Each lake has its own hue: deep sapphire, emerald green… even a hint of violet when spring melts the snow. It’s like nature decided to show off. 🌈🏞️
Local legend claims these lakes were formed when a mountain dragon dug out a giant bathtub to cool off, and its magical breath tinted the waters those impossible colors. Geologists, of course, credit the limestone bedrock, which releases minerals that reflect sunlight in dazzling ways. Dragon or science, the result is undeniably breathtaking. 🐉🔬
From April to June, Band-e Amir attracts city slickers from around the world, armed with DSLR cameras and serious zen intentions. Afghan families pack picnics of aushak (dumplings stuffed with onions and mint) and set up food stalls along the shore while kids chase ducks and locals fish for Schizothorax—a native trout species. It’s a vibrant mix of photography buffs, foodies, and nature lovers all in one place. 🐟🍲
If you’re up for a moderate trek, you can climb to viewpoints that look like Renaissance paintings—snow-capped peaks framing vibrant blue lakes that seem almost too beautiful to exist. Local tales claim that back in 1979, during the Soviet–Afghan War, a group of soldiers stumbled upon Band-e Haibat and, in a moment of surreal contrast to the conflict, jammed on makeshift drums with their AK-47s laid aside. Whether fact or legend, it captures the lakes’ magical aura. 🎶🏔️

Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:11 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:10 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:10 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on May 17, 2025, 4:04 AM
A dog doesn’t understand death. Not the way we do. He understands silence. He understands that someone who was always there is now not.
He waits by doors that won’t open. He listens for footsteps that only memory still makes. He sniffs at the air for a scent that’s already fading.
But he never hears the words: “She’s gone.” “He passed.” “Never again.”
So in his heart, you’re still alive— just elsewhere. Delayed. Caught in some long errand beyond comprehension.
And isn’t that what we humans do too? We know the facts, we say the words— but inside, we keep waiting. For a call. A knock. A laugh in the next room. As if love had no burial rights. As if memory was a leash tied to a ghost.
Perhaps the dog suffers less because he doesn’t know it’s forever. But perhaps he suffers more, because he never stops hoping.
And maybe that’s what grief really is: the stubborn part of us that waits, ears perked, at a door that will never open again.
Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in daily-page on Dec 15, 2025, 12:25 AM
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Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in united-states on Nov 24, 2025, 3:36 AM
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Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in united-states on Nov 22, 2025, 4:25 AM
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Created by: kwrites in moments-of-joy on May 29, 2025, 3:21 AM
I am stuck in a narrow, crowded road. I can see the beginnings of a traffic jam. This part of the city was, after all known, for its nightmarish traffic situation. One could get stuck among honking cars and two-wheelers, for hours on end. I throw up a silent prayer to the gods, to spare me from a traffic jam. I just dont have the energy to navigate cursing drivers, and pedestrians who didnt have a lick of road sense. "Why couldnt people in this blasted country just follow the damn traffic rules?" "Why did I choose to come here for school?" I can feel my thoughts spiraling as I quietly resign myself to being stuck here for hours. A sudden cool breeze, breaks my reverie. This wasnt just any kind of breeze, it was the sort that brought the sweet promise of rain with it. I feel a new sort of awareness, as I sit up a little straighter. I take in my surroundings as if for the first time. A broad smile, splits my face, as I breathe in the wind carrying the scent of the earth. It reminds me of home, of the many many evenings I spent dancing and laughing in the rain with my siblings. I tilt my face up to the sky as if to greet a long lost friend. I relax, as the first drops, of rain hit me, causing delicious shivers to race up my body......
Created by: gerardfil in andorra on May 27, 2025, 2:29 AM
No, seriously. The Consell General (our parliament) is inside a building smaller than most banks.
It’s wedged right into a bend in the road in Andorra la Vella. It has a parking garage underneath.
In theory, you could run for office, park your car, and walk into the chamber in under three minutes.
I once tried to explain this to a coworker from Berlin. He laughed for five straight minutes.
And yet, it works.
Our political system is one of the oldest in Europe — we’ve had co-princes since the 1200s. One is the Bishop of Urgell (Catalonia), and the other is the President of France.
It’s weird. But stable. And very us.
Maybe you don’t need a palace if you’ve got snow, fiber internet, and municipal hot springs.
New Parliament of Andorra, headquarters of the General Council of Andorra since 2011.
Created by: gerardfil in andorra on May 27, 2025, 2:28 AM
When I was a child, I thought every country had ski lockers at the supermarket.
That’s Andorra. Small, yes. But we live vertically — and very much on our own terms.
I was once asked by an American tourist if we use euros “like France does.” I told him we do. Then I told him we’re not France. Or Spain.
We’re both. And neither.
Catalan is our official language. We learn Spanish and French from childhood. Some of us speak Portuguese at home. Our newsstands carry newspapers from Madrid, Toulouse, and sometimes Lisbon.
And yet, we are something else entirely.
When I travel, people ask if I’m Spanish or French. I always hesitate. “I’m Andorran,” I say. Most smile politely. A few ask if that’s in Africa.
It’s okay. We’re used to being overlooked. But the snow knows who we are.
We belong to mountains. And to each other.

Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in united-states on May 11, 2025, 12:54 PM