Page 322 - The Kite Runner

TWENTY-FOUR

If Peshawar was the city that reminded me of what Kabul used to
be, then Islamabad was the city Kabul could have become some-
day. The streets were wider than Peshawar’s, cleaner, and lined
with rows of hibiscus and flame trees. The bazaars were more or-
ganized and not nearly as clogged with rickshaws and pedestrians.
The architecture was more elegant too, more modern, and I saw
parks where roses and jasmine bloomed in the shadows of trees.
Farid found a small hotel on a side street running along the
foot of the Margalla Hills. We passed the famous Shah Faisal
Mosque on the way there, reputedly the biggest mosque in the
world, with its giant concrete girders and soaring minarets.
Sohrab perked up at the sight of the mosque, leaned out of the
window and looked at it until Farid turned a corner.

The hotel room was a vast improvement over the one in
Kabul where Farid and I had stayed. The sheets were clean, the