Gone Huntin' News out of Afghanistan is often overshadowed by the horrible stories of bloody conflict in Iraq. But Afghanistan is no party either, with armed terrorists hoping to take down the fledgling government and American troops still patrolling the country. But, unlike Iraq, Afghanistan is at least safe enough for a war zone reporter and producer to venture out among the people. As evidence, I relay to you this lovely epistle, sent from blogger #1 JJ Sutherland, currently in Afghanistan. I spent today in Kabul's bird market. A 10-foot-wide packed dirt alley walled by two-story mud shacks. The first floor is the store. There are birds of every type and color. Canaries, finches, doves, fighting cocks, quail... the ones with the needle looking feathers... the ones that are the size of your thumb... the ones that I can't even describe, let alone know the name of. And the cages, metal and wood. All made there. They were beautiful, not in the ornate Chinese way, but in the simplicity of form and curve. I can't quite figure out how to ship them back. I was there because I had read Steven Coll's Ghost Wars. In it, he describes how Arabs would go to Afghanistan, for months at a time, to indulge themselves in the sport of kings. Falconry. Of course, my translator doesn't know the word "falcon." But he does know the word "hawk." But more importantly as we walk down this crowded market, he knows the word "hunter..."
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Gone Huntin'

What are the rules for bringing a bird of prey back to the U.S.? Cristian Lupu hide caption

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Cristian Lupu

News out of Afghanistan is often overshadowed by the horrible stories of bloody conflict in Iraq. But Afghanistan is no party either, with armed terrorists hoping to take down the fledgling government and American troops still patrolling the country. But, unlike Iraq, Afghanistan is at least safe enough for a war zone reporter and producer to venture out among the people. As evidence, I relay to you this lovely epistle, sent from blogger #1 JJ Sutherland, currently in Afghanistan:

I spent today in Kabul's bird market. A 10-foot-wide packed dirt alley walled by two-story mud shacks. The first floor is the store. There are birds of every type and color. Canaries, finches, doves, fighting cocks, quail... the ones with the needle looking feathers... the ones that are the size of your thumb... the ones that I can't even describe, let alone know the name of.

And the cages, metal and wood. All made there. They were beautiful, not in the ornate Chinese way, but in the simplicity of form and curve. I can't quite figure out how to ship them back.

I was there because I had read Steven Coll's Ghost Wars. In it, he describes how Arabs would go to Afghanistan, for months at a time, to indulge themselves in the sport of kings. Falconry. Of course, my translator doesn't know the word "falcon." But he does know the word "hawk." But more importantly as we walk down this crowded market, he knows the word "hunter."

For the whole of JJ's story, and his meeting with a falcon, click here.