I came to Afghanistan in March 2003 as a photographer with a small humanitarian group, Afghans4Tomorrow. When our work was finished, I stayed and traveled north with our hired driver, Haider. We became friends.

I met his family, stayed in their home in Kunduz and despite having no more than a few words in common, felt like a close relative. I think it is the Afghan way to make visitors feel very welcomed -- feeling more like family than guest. I wished I could return the family's kindness, but I realized I must accept their hospitality gracefully. I showed my thanks by eating everything that was offered. They were pleased that I liked the food. And I was amazed at what can be cooked on a one-burner propane cooker.

My passion is travel. I explore the world to meet people and experience other cultures. Lately, I have been drawn to Central Asia and the Middle East not only because I am interested in that part of the world, but also partly, I will admit, to be defiant. It is not that I am searching out war zones or places for which the U.S. State Department has issued travel warnings. It is just that if I am told I should not or I cannot go someplace, it makes me want to go all the more.

On our road trip, Haider and I visited his relatives in Kunduz and Mazar-i-Sharif. We stopped at many historical sights along the way. In Samangan, we had car trouble. While Haider was minding the mechanics, I wandered through town and, by chance, stumbled into the central market. Men sat chatting by stacks of bagged rice and loose grains piled in pyramids. Hand-held balancing scales rested nearby. My senses were accosted by the fragrant and colorful spice displays.

Finally the car was ready, and we headed toward the historic site Takht-i-Rustam. We stopped and asked people for directions even though signs vaguely pointed the way, wondering if the locals had visited the ancient Buddhist site, built around the 4th or 5th century AD. When we arrived, Haider and I were the only ones at the site, except for an elderly caretaker.

Under the Kushans, Buddhism was practiced throughout Afghanistan, and many temples (centers of the Hinayana sect) flourished. Now known as Takht-i-Rustam, or Rustam's Throne, this historical site was named after the hero of the poet Firdausi's great epic, Shahnama (Book of Kings), written in Ghazni in 1010 AD. Rustam is said to have married Tahmina, the beautiful daughter of the King of Samangan, and to have spent the last night of his bachelorhood drinking and carousing perched precariously atop the round Buddhist stupa or temple.

The stupa is a complex of five caves, now weathered and worn. Inside the first cave the air was still and eerily quiet. Beyond the entry stood a round chamber with a domed ceiling. Overhead the etching of a lotus blossom was visible, though none of the brightly colored paint remained. Two empty wall niches once held statues of the Buddha.

A short walk from the caves was the domed stupa carved into the limestone. The caretaker guided us. Haider translated; he was equally interested in the history. A 2-meter-wide passageway circled the stupa, used by pilgrims for circumambulation many centuries ago. On top of the dome was a relic chamber that once housed sacred objects. Often these chambers served as a mausoleum for the remains of holy persons.

We left a donation with the caretaker and thanked him for his kindness. In the car we spoke about Bamiyan and the shameful destruction of the giant Buddha statues by the Taliban in 2001. Afghanistan is rich with history and treasures that must be protected.

The wind picked up. Silence enveloped us. We drove away leaving a trail of dust.

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