"Do you know where I can smoke a shisha?" I asked the friendly Afghan helping me on a recent trip to Herat. He looked somewhat surprised, slightly shocked even.

A shisha is a water pipe, often containing fruit-flavoured tobacco. His apparent shock I put down to the fact that foreigners don't usually make such requests and it would have come as a surprise to him. Cultural barriers here often seem very strong and perhaps I was crossing one?

Common in parts of the Middle East and Asia, the shisha is also known as a hookah, a nargile or in much of the English-speaking world by the onomatopoeic hubbly-bubbly. Having a smoke is a good way to meet local people and see a different side of a place. In London, Damascus or, I hoped, Herat.

Herat is Afghanistan's second city. In the west of the country, it is close to the borders of Iran and Turkmenistan. Compared with Kabul it has the feel of a fairly organised city with paved roads, constant electricity in much of the city and traffic lights. The policemen still use the same whistling which travel writer Robert Byron described in 1933 as "fit to scare the Chicago underworld".

My last visit had been in 1999 when the city was firmly in the grip of the Taliban. Two central memories remain. The first, eating vast quantities of delicious black grapes. The second, an Afghan colleague shouting, and I mean shouting, "donkey" in English every time a black-garbed Talib appeared.

Fortunately he was not with us when I had my first meal in an Afghan restaurant. We arrived in a dimly-lit room, two expatriates and an Afghan colleague. Shown to one of about 20 empty tables, I thought we were alone. Then it became clear that dozens of young men, dressed in black, were sitting eating on a raised platform running round the edge of the room.

The meal was slightly uncomfortable as every mouthful we ate seemed to be watched with an intensity more common in rural areas where the sight of strangers eating will often attract a crowd of children and bored adults.

Shisha, like music, chess, television and legs, was considered by the Taliban to be un-Islamic. Beards had to be of a minimum length and women had to wear the all encompassing burka, usually blue, when they ventured out. Cigarettes were allowed. Indeed in some places they seemed to be compulsory.

Burkas remain common in Herat, as indeed they were before the Taliban. But beards of varying length are now on display and there seems to be a fashion amongst younger men not to sport them at all. Music is common today, although loud speaker systems remain depressingly poor quality. During the Taliban days drivers turned up the volume as loudly as they would go. Approaching check points, they would switch off and hide the cassettes. Even possession of a cassette could be an offence.

The city now has a strong Iranian influence, reflected in part in the growing number of shisha cafes. Many of the goods in the shops have arrived via the excellent highway linking the border with Herat. Iranian television stations and music can be seen and heard in many places. Some younger women in the town sport the more adventurous Iranian dress styles.

I found, by chance, a shisha café with comfortable beds for seats and cushions on the floor. I ordered an apple-flavoured pipe and some sweet green tea. I passed the time of day with a couple of men in their late 20s who spoke excellent English. I asked them if they were optimistic about the future. They answered no, as almost everyone else does.

The following morning I returned to the same office where my request for a shisha had met with such surprise. I was greeted with more enthusiasm than usual by my friend from the day before. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I have something for you".

He then produced two neatly rolled hashish joints and quickly advised me not to smoke them in the office "because of the smell". Taken aback somewhat, I quickly placed them in my trouser pocket wondering why on earth he had given such a present to me. I must have looked surprised for he said "but you asked me for them".

After a while it turned out that in this part of the world a shisha is called a chillum and shisha was something I had in my pocket.

Returning gifts is considered very rude in Afghanistan and who am I to disturb cultural norms? Of course, I destroyed them at the first opportunity and now know my chillum from my shisha.

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