Afghanistan's only pub offers expats an Irish escape

Afghanistan’s only pub, the new Irish Club, has been a runaway success with many foreigners desperate for a drink and a little bit of nightlife.

In Taliban times, a fully stocked Irish pub serving whiskey and cold beer in the heart of the ultra-Islamic country’s capital would have been unimaginable.

It still is for many Afghans, but the Kabul night-spot has been a life-saver for many expatriates working in the city.

“Walk in that front door and you’ll find a very different world in here,” said Allan Ferguson, a 57-year-old Australian businessman, as Irish folk tunes blared out of the bar’s speakers.

“You could be anywhere – Ireland, Australia, America. But walk outside, and you’ll be back in Afghanistan.”

The Irish Club opened on a secluded side street in the centre of Kabul last month on – what else – St Patrick’s Day.

There is no sign out front, and not even a number on the door.

It is hard to find, and in a country where terrorists are still a real threat, that is exactly the way the Irish owner wants it.

“We wanted to keep a low profile, so we didn’t advertise whatsoever,” Sean Martin McQuade said.

“But people know where to find us. News travels fast by word of mouth.”

Judging by the club’s growing popularity, he was right.

In a mock-Tudor style house behind the blank outer wall, immaculate Afghan waiters in black trousers, white shirts and black bow ties serve up beer for £1.25 (€1.80) and cocktails for £1.90 (€2.74).

Customers – mostly aid workers, diplomats and journalists – crowd around a wooden bar topped off with green marble imported from Ireland.

Afghan carpets are strewn about the floor.

Posters for Guinness Draught are tacked all over the walls.

Small lanterns – handy during the sporadic power cuts - are placed on every table, filling the bar with warm light.

“We are the first people to stick our necks out and say this can be a cosmopolitan city,” said Quade, who has worked as an engineer in Afghanistan for the last 11 years.

“But we don’t want to disrespect anybody.”

He said he had sought the approval of a neighbourhood mullah to open the bar.

In return, he promised to help rebuild the pot-holed road in front of the club and to help relocate an adjacent school to a bigger, better site.

The bar is officially licensed by the state to sell alcohol – but only to foreigners.

Just inside the bar’s entrance, an Afghan bouncer keeps locals out, checking IDs and making sure patrons sign in.

“I am sad we can’t let them in, but this is a Muslim country and it’s the government’s wish that we don’t encourage their sons and daughters to participate,” Quade said before taking a swig from a tall glass of Foster’s lager.

The Taliban are no longer in power, but Muslim conservatives continue to hold sway in Afghanistan.

Just a few months ago, the country’s chief justice banned cable television, complaining that its images violated Islamic morals.

Fazel Ahmed Manawi, the deputy supreme court justice, said any Muslims found drinking at the Irish Club will be punished.

“We have got a lot of foreigners living in our country and unfortunately, this is a necessary thing for them,” Manawi said.

“But this bar should remain a place only for foreigners.”

There are Afghan staff, of course, but they have all been given Irish names - Kevin, Jimmy, Michael, George – “to protect them from possible retaliation”.

Most of the staff, too, are keen on keeping a low profile.

“Our families know what we do, but we tell other people we just work in a restaurant or a guesthouse selling food and soft drinks,” said 22-year-old “Paddy”.

The club does serve pork chops and steaks for lunch and dinner. And rooms are being refurbished for what will soon be a full-blown inn.

Out front, several soldiers – paid by the bar – prowl the street with automatic weapons.

Afghan drivers, slumped in 4X4 vehicles, wait listlessly for aid workers and diplomats to emerge, hoping their nights on the town do not last too late.

The risk of a terrorist attack is always present, but in a city with little in the way of nightlife, few patrons seem to mind.

“We all accept a certain level of risk in coming to Afghanistan,” Ferguson said with a shrug.

“You can’t live in a cocoon.”