Afghanistan's eastern mountains, often admired for their raw beauty, are now scarred by loss. A powerful earthquake struck the border regions near Pakistan late Sunday night, killing more than 1,469 people and injuring over 3,700. Whole villages made of mud-brick homes fell in seconds as families slept. Instead of quiet valleys, the country's most scenic highlands are now scenes of destruction. For travelers who once dreamed of exploring Afghanistan's historic routes or trekking into remote peaks, the latest disaster reveals the fragile line between beauty and danger in this terrain.
Rescuers are struggling to reach many villages cut off by rockfalls and blocked passes. Taliban authorities are using helicopters to ferry aid to survivors. Commandos have been dropped by air where no landing was possible, lifting the injured out of rubble-strewn valleys.
A second quake of 5.5 magnitude followed on Tuesday, sparking panic and slowing relief efforts. Aftershocks triggered landslides across narrow mountain tracks already difficult in normal times. Entire families have been forced to sleep outdoors, afraid that weakened walls will collapse once again.
For aid teams, reaching Afghanistan's most scenic but isolated communities means long hikes. Workers from Save the Children carried medical kits for 20 kilometers on foot to reach trapped survivors. These are the same valleys that once lured adventurous travelers with promises of untouched landscapes.
Afghanistan's Kunar province, where casualties have been heaviest, is blessed with dramatic ridges and rivers. Yet that very landscape makes rescue almost impossible. Villages cling to mountain slopes. Roads often vanish into rock faces. Bridges are rare, and rainfall can wash paths away in minutes.
This geography has long fascinated outsiders, whether historians following the Silk Road or mountaineers exploring untouched ranges. But beauty comes at a heavy cost. In disaster, mountains turn into barriers and rivers into walls, sealing villagers off from the world.
Tourists who once celebrated Afghanistan's wild terrain now see its fragility exposed. Nature, as inviting as it appears, can quickly shift from breathtaking to unforgiving.
The earthquake's destruction is not just about collapsed homes. As the UN World Food Programme warns, supplies for Afghanistan may last only four more weeks. Funding has fallen sharply, leaving millions at risk of hunger.
In a country where more than half depend on aid, shortages hit fast. Fourteen percent already face acute food insecurity. Poverty cuts deep, and natural disasters only widen the gap.
For visitors, the message is sobering. Afghanistan, rich in history and nature, wrestles daily with survival. Tourism and culture cannot blossom where hunger and instability prevail.
Organizations like ActionAid stress how women and girls face greater risks in emergencies. Movement restrictions prevent many from seeking aid. Privacy rules complicate access to relief supplies. These layered barriers add a hidden dimension to the tragedy.
Afghanistan's fragile tourism sector faces another setback. International travelers already approach cautiously due to security conditions. Earthquakes, combined with poor infrastructure, underline the risks of access.
Yet here lies a paradox. The very terrain that challenges aid workers is also what makes Afghanistan memorable. Snow-fed rivers, terraced valleys, and historic shrines in the mountains testify to a land of deep culture. These qualities remain, even as quakes and conflict shake the surface.
For responsible tourism to ever return, international support will be essential -- not just to repair houses, but to stabilize communities. Rebuilding villages is also about preserving cultural identity, handicraft traditions, and forgotten routes that once welcomed explorers.
As helicopters drop supplies into hard-to-reach valleys, Afghanistan's future seems uncertain. Rescue teams continue their work while families count their losses. Each stone village flattened carries stories of heritage, culture, and hope.
For the travel community, Afghanistan remains a reminder of why landscapes matter. Mountains inspire awe, but they also demand respect. When nature shifts without warning, it reshapes not only land but also the way the world sees a country. Tourism, if it is to revive later, must adapt to this fragile reality. Safety, infrastructure, and support for local communities will be crucial. Until then, Afghanistan's mountains stand in silence, carrying both the weight of tragedy and the allure that once drew the curious from abroad.