But arriving in Kabul reminded me of the old film of Lost Horizon – a Shangri-La set in a peaceful plateau surrounded by forbidding mountains and approached through the narrowest of ravines.  Its modern airport was a complete surprise, presumably another prestige gift from the Russians, judging from the strains of Tchaikowsky’s violin concerto that poured forth incessantly from the loud-speakers, at a constantly fluctuating pitch.  (Poor David Oistrakh, I thought!)