Things to Do in Kabul in February

The Gardens of Babur, Bagh-e Babur, sit on the western slope of the Sher Darwaza mountain and have survived more or less everything the last five centuries threw at them. In February, the terraced Mughal gardens are stripped bare of leaf cover. But the bones of the place, the stone retaining walls, the central water channel, the marble mosque, show more clearly without summer foliage softening the geometry. Snow dusts the upper terraces and the tomb of Babur himself, the Timurid emperor who founded the Mughal dynasty and asked to be buried here rather than in any of his grander capitals. The cold keeps the grounds quiet, and the crunch of frost under your boots on the gravel paths is sometimes the loudest sound. Morning visits, when low winter sun rakes across the terraces and the snow on the Asmai Heights catches gold, are worth layering up for. Dress warmly in multiple layers and bring a wind-resistant outer shell, because the exposed hillside catches gusts that the city center blocks.

The museum on Darulaman Road is the single most important indoor destination in February, and arguably in any month. The collection spans 50,000 years of Afghan history, from Paleolithic tools to Kushan-era gold to Islamic calligraphy, and the story of the collection itself, hidden by staff in bank vaults and private homes during the civil war and Taliban's first period of rule, is as compelling as anything in the display cases. February's cold makes the unheated galleries bracing. But the advantage is solitude: you might have entire rooms of Gandharan Buddhas to yourself, their faces worn smooth in a way that looks less like damage and more like meditation. The Bactrian gold collection, when on display, is worth any amount of cold hands. The building's own war damage, visible in patched walls and replaced windows, contextualizes every artifact. Plan at least two to three hours. The drive from central Kabul takes twenty to forty minutes depending on traffic and checkpoints.

Kabul's old commercial district, centered on Mandawi and the streets radiating from Pul-e Khishti Mosque, is at its most atmospheric in winter. The narrow covered sections of the bazaar trap warmth from the press of bodies and the charcoal braziers that vendors keep burning beside their stalls, and the contrast between the freezing open streets and these pockets of heat is startling. The smell shifts every ten paces: raw wool, cardamom, diesel exhaust, the iron tang of a butcher's stall, then suddenly the sweetness of fresh halwa being pulled on a hook. The spice sellers near the river stack pyramids of turmeric and dried red pepper that glow against the grey February palette. Ka Faroshi, the bird market, is one of the oldest continuously operating markets in Central Asia, where partridges and canaries are kept in wooden cages and men bring fighting quail wrapped in cloth inside their coats to keep them warm. February is when the wool and carpet traders are busiest, and the handwoven kilims and war rugs, the ones depicting helicopters and Kalashnikovs in traditional geometric patterns, hang from every other shopfront.

The ruined neoclassical palace at the end of Darulaman Road is Kabul's most visually striking piece of twentieth-century history. Built in the 1920s as part of King Amanullah's modernization program, bombed and shelled across four decades of conflict, it sits on a hill overlooking the city with the kind of damaged grandeur that silences conversation. In February, snow collects in the empty window frames and along the roofline, and the building photographs like a European war memorial rather than a Central Asian ruin. The scale is what strikes you first: this was meant to house a parliament for a constitutional monarchy, and walking through the roofless halls, your footsteps echo off marble floors cracked by mortar rounds. Tajbeg Palace, the smaller royal residence nearby, is in similar condition. The drive out passes through Kabul's southwestern suburbs, which themselves tell the story of the city's cycles of destruction and rebuilding. Best visited on a clear morning when the mountains behind the palace are visible and the light is sharp.

February is when Kabul's food tradition makes the most sense. The cuisine evolved for exactly this climate: high altitude, bitter cold, limited winter produce. Kabuli pulao, the rice dish that gives the city its culinary identity, is cooked in massive quantities in restaurants along Shor Bazaar and the streets behind the Pul-e Khishti Mosque, the lamb rendered so tender it separates with a spoon, the rice glistening with rendered fat and topped with caramelized carrots and raisins. The dish is heavier in winter, fattier, built for warmth. Mantu, steamed dumplings filled with minced lamb and onion and topped with a tomato-lentil sauce and garlic yogurt, are a cold-weather staple that taste nothing like their Central Asian cousins. The yogurt cuts through the richness with a sharp tang, and the garlic hits your sinuses before the first bite reaches your mouth. Ashak, leek-filled dumplings with the same yogurt-and-meat sauce, are lighter but no less warming. The best eating happens at lunch, between 11:30 and 1:30, when the big pots are freshest and the bread is still hot from the tandoor.