We were sitting on the cliffs as darkness fell, obscuring our view of the niches across from us where the giant Buddhas had for centuries smiled upon the fertile valley. It had only been a few years before that they were blasted away by the Taliban.  The young man who sat close to me, a translator I had hired in Kabul, was curious about the ways of the West, asking me if I had a girlfriend. My answers baffled him, as I told him not all men have to be with a woman; they can find companionship in other ways. For the twelve hours on the rough and tumble, largely unpaved road between the Afghan capital and Bamiyan, I had spoken in the same riddles whenever he asked about my relationships, his face twisted with confusion as he tried to comprehend me.

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