There are two kinds of Care Packages that deployed personnel receive: those sent by friends and family and those sent by caring groups, organizations, and individuals to “any deployed soldier.” I’ve been the recipient of both.
Mail Call has always been important to deployed soldiers. It used to be the sole lifeline back to home. Now, everyone has a cell phone, a laptop with an Internet connection, and access to Skype and other video chat tools that shrink the distance between war zones and “The World” back home. Still, receiving Care Packages from friends and family is always welcomed. Back in the day when we didn’t have cell phones and Internet connections, soldiers receiving letters in the field would quickly abandon their loud bravado and retreat into their inner worlds when reading letters from home. What was moments before a loud “circus-like atmosphere” where soldiers grabbed for their mail while ribbing others who didn’t receive any, quickly became a quiet and introspective period while these young men reconnected to a childhood home and a world that was too far away.
I have received two packages since I’ve been here. The first one was sent by my former Admin Assistant from one of my Antarctic seasons. Melissa sent me all kinds of goodies to include a loose tea infuser and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Her box also contained pictures of Thanksgiving turkeys drawn by her two young daughters. Thank you again, Melissa, for your kind gift. The other box was sent to me by my sister-in-law, Tina. Tina always spends time finding just the right item for the right occasion. Her box arrived just before Christmas and contained more goodies and items that I’ve savored. My wife, Suzanne, called Tina just before the box was mailed and told her that I was missing my peanut M&Ms that cannot be obtained over here. So, two bags of those were thrown into the box before mailing. I’m still working off the weight gained by consuming all of this great stuff. Tina also took the time to include a two-page letter. Thank you, Tina.
A lot of thought goes into these Care Packages. One of the NCOs I work with at New Kabul Compound got married just before he deployed. His young bride sent him a box just before Thanksgiving containing everything he needed to have a Thanksgiving dinner without going to the DFAC. The box contained canned turkey and canned cranberry sauce. It also contained prepared sweet potatoes and dinner rolls, complete with a desert.
The Care Packages that arrive for “any deployed soldier” are processed at the Theater mail facility in Kuwait and distributed throughout the Area of Operations. Every camp and FOB (Forward Operating Base) receive these boxes and they generally are available in the MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) or USO tents. Many of these boxes arrived in time for the holidays. These boxes contain all kinds of useful items. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, decks of cards, candy, hot sauce, wet wipes, lotions, shampoos, feminine hygiene products, and Christmas decorations arrive in these boxes. They’re opened and placed where soldiers can dig through them and find items they need or desire.
All of the boxes I found myself digging through came with Christmas cards enclosed. My eyes kept darting to the cards while my hands frantically searched for the real goodies that might have escaped the eighteen-year old soldiers who already had dug through the boxes. No luck there. I felt guilty about the cards, still in sealed envelopes, that hadn’t been read. I grabbed a handful of cards from a couple of boxes and sat down to read them.
Some cards were just signed and enclosed. Some had city and state on them. The boxes I saw were sent by small towns in North Carolina and other small towns in mid-western states. I thought back to my “Hero’s Welcome” in Maine when I was deploying. I immediately envisioned small church groups, high school students, and other caring individuals taking the time to purchase, pack, and mail off these items to us over here. I felt badly that these cards were generally being ignored by the young troops who looked past them in search of gifts and goodies. But then I remembered the strings of Christmas cards that adorned the hallways in the offices near where the Chaplains sit and I knew that they too were taking the time to put these cards to better use.
Of all the cards I grabbed and read, two stood out. These cards were written by parents of of a dead soldier and a dead marine. One mother grieved for her lost soldier son (killed in action in Iraq) but encouraged us, through her tears, to continue the mission. The other card contained a long note from a father who lost his Marine Lieutenant son just eight months before in Kandahar, Afghanistan.
Afghanistan. Eight months ago. Twenty-two years old. I glanced up to look at the young people in the USO tent with me, calling home, talking with their loved ones, huddled over the phone or a laptop like the soldiers I knew in the field years ago. Same posture, just a different communications medium. All of them had combat patches from a variety of Army combat units. Any of them could have been there, near the field where this young marine died eight months ago. Their life goes on while this father continues to grieve for one that won’t return from patrol.
And yet he took the time to pour his heart out, tell us his story, and wish us God Speed and a Merry Christmas. Too bad I was the only one to read it. Life is for the living, as the saying goes. And so we continue to live and fight, vainly trying to distance ourselves from the fate of those who don’t survive.
Despite the sadness connected with a couple of the Christmas cards, I was encouraged and heartened by the knowledge that there were good Americans who cared about the military personnel deployed in harm’s way and were kind enough to take time to send them gifts from home. I, for one, am deeply grateful.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Long, Painful Trip Back To Kabul
The hardest things about traveling military air are the layovers and the incessant waiting. The best thing is that it is free. Normally free outweighs the inconvenience of the “hurry up and waits.” As I get older, though, my preference is to pay for the convenience of direct flights, especially on commercial airlines.
Since I was headed south to Kuwait to attend meetings for work and I didn’t have any assurances that I’d be able to get an R&R in conjunction with my business trip, I opted not to spend $800 for a roundtrip commercial ticket from Kabul International Airport to Kuwait City.
My Kuwait business trip was worthwhile and I finagled an R&R to the UAE. I got really used to staying in nice apartments and hotels for the week I was down from Afghanistan. Then, it was over way too soon and I had to make my way back to the ‘stan.
Returning to Kabul was a grind. First, I had to process through Ali again, turn-in my passport to receive the exit visa from Kuwait (resulting in another night in the tent), and once that was done I was allowed to manifest for flights north to Afghanistan. There are no direct flights to Kabul. One must either fly to Kandahar or to Bagram. Kandahar is a mess and no one without any business there would want to fly there. There were lines of folks in the pax terminal trying to manifest to Kandahar. I wasn’t one of them.
There were a couple of flights scheduled for Bagram. The way it works is this: based upon one’s priority (as a sillyvilian I have next to none) and when one signed up for the waiting list (done after obtaining the exit visa), a rank order of potential passengers to specific locations is created. There are “show times” scheduled three hours before each flight where one has to attend to determine if he is going to get on the flight. Flights are scheduled round the clock so Show Times occur at all hours of the day. In addition, there are accountability roll calls at 1000 hours every morning that you have to attend or you fall off the rank order list.
I attended the accountability roll call the next day at 1000 hours and saw that there were a couple of more flights scheduled for Bagram. Good news. That meant that I was definitely going to get out within the next 24 hours. So, I attended the first Show Time at 1500 hours only to find out that I wasn’t going to make that flight. Next Show Time was at 2000 hours. I didn’t make that one either. The next Show Time was scheduled for 0130 hours. Nope didn’t make that flight but there was another flight scheduled an hour later so I hung around the pax terminal to see if I got on it. I did.
So, it now is 0245 hours, and I am scheduled to fly, and now I have to return to my tent, pack up my belongings in the dark, drag my duffle bags back to the luggage area to get palletized, and then return to the pax terminal to wait for the buses to haul us out to the airfield. I took the opportunity to shave and wash my hair in the sink (at the latrine trailer) before I reported in.
The buses arrive on time at 0445, we arrive at the airfield at 0500, wait around for the pallets to get loaded, board the C -17 at 0530, and sit on the runway until 0615 when wheels come up. An easy 4.5 hour flight to Bagram and we arrive around noon. We file off the C-17 in two lines, marching off the tail ramp wearing our helmets, body armor, bug-out packs, and weapons. 15 years after I retired from the Army and here I am again, indistinguishable from a distance from the rest of the soldiers, airmen, and marines filing off the plane. Form up, left face, forward march...
And then the whole goddamned process begins all over again. We swipe our CAC (Common Access Card) cards, report to the Contractor Office where they make sure we’re going where we’re supposed to go, then go to the flight desk to sign up for flights to Kabul. There is only one scheduled on the board and all kinds of troops are hanging around trying to get on it. I figured that we were doomed. I haven’t slept for over 24 hours and haven’t bathed in over 48. Now I’m condemned to a bare, cement-walled compound where others like me are waiting for flights that may come, or not.
We’re only 55 miles from Kabul. A few years ago we could have driven back without a problem. Today, the road is a linear ambush site littered with IEDs and ragheads wanting to become martyrs. So close, and yet so far.
One good thing about Bagram is that my company runs the data communications sites there. I called my boss who arranged transport and I had to opportunity to conduct some business there and meet with some folks that I had spoken with only over the telephone.
We ate dinner at the DFAC (Dining Facility) and then headed back to the pax terminal to see if there were any additional flights. There were. Two more flights to Kabul were scheduled. All three flights were C-130s. The last flight of the night had no cargo to haul so it was able to transport all the remaining Kabul-bound passengers on the waiting list. We loaded our luggage again onto the pallets, waited two hours in the pax terminal, put on our IBA and helmets, formed-up, right face, forward march…and filed-out to the C-130 at 2330 hours. A quick 15-minute flight to Kabul and I was standing three miles from my safe house.
Three miles and six hours later I arrived. Our drivers aren’t allowed on the roads after 2300 hours. I was forced to spend six more hours sitting up in a tent with patio tables waiting for twilight. My head nearly jerked off of my neck three or four times during the night. I walked around getting fresh, cool air. I tried to do Sudoku. I tried creating this post but only wrote the first few lines before I lost interest. Tried to sleep but was awakened by two Dutch Military Policemen asking me why I was lying on the PX picnic tables at 0400 in the morning.
Next time I’m spending $800 for the privilege of not having to relive any of these moments again. Reliving my Army career here has been difficult enough.
Since I was headed south to Kuwait to attend meetings for work and I didn’t have any assurances that I’d be able to get an R&R in conjunction with my business trip, I opted not to spend $800 for a roundtrip commercial ticket from Kabul International Airport to Kuwait City.
My Kuwait business trip was worthwhile and I finagled an R&R to the UAE. I got really used to staying in nice apartments and hotels for the week I was down from Afghanistan. Then, it was over way too soon and I had to make my way back to the ‘stan.
Returning to Kabul was a grind. First, I had to process through Ali again, turn-in my passport to receive the exit visa from Kuwait (resulting in another night in the tent), and once that was done I was allowed to manifest for flights north to Afghanistan. There are no direct flights to Kabul. One must either fly to Kandahar or to Bagram. Kandahar is a mess and no one without any business there would want to fly there. There were lines of folks in the pax terminal trying to manifest to Kandahar. I wasn’t one of them.
There were a couple of flights scheduled for Bagram. The way it works is this: based upon one’s priority (as a sillyvilian I have next to none) and when one signed up for the waiting list (done after obtaining the exit visa), a rank order of potential passengers to specific locations is created. There are “show times” scheduled three hours before each flight where one has to attend to determine if he is going to get on the flight. Flights are scheduled round the clock so Show Times occur at all hours of the day. In addition, there are accountability roll calls at 1000 hours every morning that you have to attend or you fall off the rank order list.
I attended the accountability roll call the next day at 1000 hours and saw that there were a couple of more flights scheduled for Bagram. Good news. That meant that I was definitely going to get out within the next 24 hours. So, I attended the first Show Time at 1500 hours only to find out that I wasn’t going to make that flight. Next Show Time was at 2000 hours. I didn’t make that one either. The next Show Time was scheduled for 0130 hours. Nope didn’t make that flight but there was another flight scheduled an hour later so I hung around the pax terminal to see if I got on it. I did.
So, it now is 0245 hours, and I am scheduled to fly, and now I have to return to my tent, pack up my belongings in the dark, drag my duffle bags back to the luggage area to get palletized, and then return to the pax terminal to wait for the buses to haul us out to the airfield. I took the opportunity to shave and wash my hair in the sink (at the latrine trailer) before I reported in.
The buses arrive on time at 0445, we arrive at the airfield at 0500, wait around for the pallets to get loaded, board the C -17 at 0530, and sit on the runway until 0615 when wheels come up. An easy 4.5 hour flight to Bagram and we arrive around noon. We file off the C-17 in two lines, marching off the tail ramp wearing our helmets, body armor, bug-out packs, and weapons. 15 years after I retired from the Army and here I am again, indistinguishable from a distance from the rest of the soldiers, airmen, and marines filing off the plane. Form up, left face, forward march...
And then the whole goddamned process begins all over again. We swipe our CAC (Common Access Card) cards, report to the Contractor Office where they make sure we’re going where we’re supposed to go, then go to the flight desk to sign up for flights to Kabul. There is only one scheduled on the board and all kinds of troops are hanging around trying to get on it. I figured that we were doomed. I haven’t slept for over 24 hours and haven’t bathed in over 48. Now I’m condemned to a bare, cement-walled compound where others like me are waiting for flights that may come, or not.
We’re only 55 miles from Kabul. A few years ago we could have driven back without a problem. Today, the road is a linear ambush site littered with IEDs and ragheads wanting to become martyrs. So close, and yet so far.
One good thing about Bagram is that my company runs the data communications sites there. I called my boss who arranged transport and I had to opportunity to conduct some business there and meet with some folks that I had spoken with only over the telephone.
We ate dinner at the DFAC (Dining Facility) and then headed back to the pax terminal to see if there were any additional flights. There were. Two more flights to Kabul were scheduled. All three flights were C-130s. The last flight of the night had no cargo to haul so it was able to transport all the remaining Kabul-bound passengers on the waiting list. We loaded our luggage again onto the pallets, waited two hours in the pax terminal, put on our IBA and helmets, formed-up, right face, forward march…and filed-out to the C-130 at 2330 hours. A quick 15-minute flight to Kabul and I was standing three miles from my safe house.
Three miles and six hours later I arrived. Our drivers aren’t allowed on the roads after 2300 hours. I was forced to spend six more hours sitting up in a tent with patio tables waiting for twilight. My head nearly jerked off of my neck three or four times during the night. I walked around getting fresh, cool air. I tried to do Sudoku. I tried creating this post but only wrote the first few lines before I lost interest. Tried to sleep but was awakened by two Dutch Military Policemen asking me why I was lying on the PX picnic tables at 0400 in the morning.
Next time I’m spending $800 for the privilege of not having to relive any of these moments again. Reliving my Army career here has been difficult enough.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A Day in Abu Dhabi
I meant to go to the bus station this morning and drive up to Abu Dhabi to see what that town has to offer and to link-up with Richard, an old friend from my Antarctic and Kazakh days. He has been working in AD for 2.5 years and still is with Raytheon. I took a cab from my hotel and meant to go to the station, but the cab driver convinced me that he could drive me to Abu Dhabi for less than the bus ticket. He was right. And, he stuck around AD for the day and drove me back this evening.
What a difference a year makes. A year or two ago, cabs were all engaged in Dubai and these other world nationals made about three times what they earn today. Now, any of them is glad to get any business and they are willing to make personal sacrifices in order to earn a living. I paid my driver, Muhammad Nasir, a bonus because he was willing to sacrifice that which I was willing to pay for -- personal convenience.
I found that I liked Abu Dhabi very much. While parts of it are too modern with lots of skyscrapers, the city itself was much more laid back, had green parks, a great marina, and even had an IKEA.
What a difference a year makes. A year or two ago, cabs were all engaged in Dubai and these other world nationals made about three times what they earn today. Now, any of them is glad to get any business and they are willing to make personal sacrifices in order to earn a living. I paid my driver, Muhammad Nasir, a bonus because he was willing to sacrifice that which I was willing to pay for -- personal convenience.
I found that I liked Abu Dhabi very much. While parts of it are too modern with lots of skyscrapers, the city itself was much more laid back, had green parks, a great marina, and even had an IKEA.
A view of the marina and some of the skyline.
The Marina Mall with an IKEA anchor store.
Richard had just arrived a couple of hours ago from Kuwait, a stopover from a month back in the States. Fortunately, he wasn't jet-lagged and was able to pick me up and drive me around. He had to go to the Supermarket for some items. I went with him. An interesting experience. The only market serving pork to non-Muslims is in his neighborhood.
Here is the sign posted above a secluded area of the market where they had all kinds of pork products. And the only place to buy marshmallows was in this same area. What's up with that?
Richard buying ham from Hindus. I guess if we were in India, we'd have to buy beef from Muslims. It's all so confusing...
We next tried to enter the Emirates Palace Hotel. This is a magnificent facility that the UAE claims is seven stars. It probably is, but there is only a five-star rating. It simply means that the UAE is very proud of this hotel, and they ought to be. We drove up the driveway headed to the hotel when we were stopped by security. They wouldn't let us in because we didn't have reservations at the hotel and the hotel was preparing for a large alternative energy conference. So, Richard works his magic and bullshits with the guards. They tell him no reservations, no entry. Richard then tells them that he has reservations. When asked what his reservation number is, he blurts out "7." It didn't work and we were turned away.
Next stop was the Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque, this huge and gorgeous mosque that makes all other mosques pale into insignificance. It makes the Taj Mahal look a second-hand effort.
Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan Mosque
Walking around this mosque is like walking through a living piece of art. It's knock-you-dead gorgeous. We were able to walk around and take a look in between prayers. Some photos follow:
This carpet is supposed to be the largest single-piece carpet in the world.
Richard wouldn't take no for an answer, so when we completed the tour of the mosque, he called the Sales Manager for the Emirates Palace Hotel, a man he knew from many Raytheon business meetings that Richard had booked at this hotel. This guy made the arrangements and we breezed through the guard post at the hotel. We spend the rest of the afternoon sipping coffee and whiskey while listening so a trio playing some kind of Arab music. It was a fine end to my stay in Abu Dhabi.
Richard drove me back to the Marina Mall where Muhammad Nasir was waiting for me to drive me back to Dubai. I really don't want to return to Afghanistan or the Army tent city at Ali Al Salem.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Dubious Dubai
When one is living in a war zone and deprived of the ability to travel around freely, burdened with the requirements to wear heavy body armor, staying alert for signs of trouble, scanning for IEDs, and missing the comfort of home, one dreams of warm vacation spots where women mingle without burqas and alcohol flows freely. Dubai is one of those spots where civilian contractors go to let their hair down, relax, refit, and drink. Nearly everyone on my contract who has been in Theater for longer than a year has been to Dubai. It's easily accessible by commercial air from nearly any location in the Middle East.
After I received permission from my management to go on R&R while I was in Kuwait, I returned to my work apartment, got online, booked a cheap flight on Jazeera Airways, booked a hotel room on hotels.com, and five hours later found myself at the Novotel World Trade Center Hotel in Dubai. In five hours time I went from sitting on my couch in a dry (alcohol-free) desert country to drinking with Dutch businessmen who were former Dutch Special Forces. And I drank a lot. Ahhh...beeer!
I arrived late at night, but Dubai's clubs really don't get going until 2200 hrs. I arrived fashionably late. I talked with the Dutchmen and drank until 0100 when I got a little wobbly and went to bed.
Today I headed down to the central mall where everything seems to be. The Burj Dubai (now renamed the Burj Khalifa to honor the Abu Dhabi Emir who bailed Dubai out recently) looms over this portion of the city. The mall and surrounding buildings have got to be the most modern and cleanest facilities I've seen in years.
For all the money that Kuwait has, it's a shit hole. Afghanistan is a shit hole with no money. Dubai is a modern marvel with no money -- at least for the moment. While I was sitting at an outside table sipping coffee, I watched as crowds flowed past me. Dubai is a central crossroads of humanity in this part of the world.
After I received permission from my management to go on R&R while I was in Kuwait, I returned to my work apartment, got online, booked a cheap flight on Jazeera Airways, booked a hotel room on hotels.com, and five hours later found myself at the Novotel World Trade Center Hotel in Dubai. In five hours time I went from sitting on my couch in a dry (alcohol-free) desert country to drinking with Dutch businessmen who were former Dutch Special Forces. And I drank a lot. Ahhh...beeer!
I arrived late at night, but Dubai's clubs really don't get going until 2200 hrs. I arrived fashionably late. I talked with the Dutchmen and drank until 0100 when I got a little wobbly and went to bed.
Today I headed down to the central mall where everything seems to be. The Burj Dubai (now renamed the Burj Khalifa to honor the Abu Dhabi Emir who bailed Dubai out recently) looms over this portion of the city. The mall and surrounding buildings have got to be the most modern and cleanest facilities I've seen in years.
Looking down into the center of the mall. There was a Guinness World Record attempt going on. This guy was bouncing a tennis ball off the tops of his feet. When we last passed him, he had been doing it for over four hours -- with no breaks.
For all the money that Kuwait has, it's a shit hole. Afghanistan is a shit hole with no money. Dubai is a modern marvel with no money -- at least for the moment. While I was sitting at an outside table sipping coffee, I watched as crowds flowed past me. Dubai is a central crossroads of humanity in this part of the world.
The lower half of the Burj Khalifa, at the moment the tallest building in the world. They wanted over $30 from me to go up to the observation deck. I balked at the cost. I'm no Emir.
There's two realities here in Dubai, and to a lesser extent, in Kuwait. The native Arabs here don't work -- or if they do, they do it behind closed doors. The entire infrastructure and all services here are provided and supported by other foreign nationals. Dubai is run by Indians, Pakistanis, and Bangladeshis. Well, throw in a few Filipinos too. These folks provide everything from taxi drivers, hotel clerks, shop keepers, street sweepers, security details, restaurant workers, to construction workers. Except at the mall, there were no Arabs to be seen. The Dutchmen last night told me that they give Dubai five years. This entire charade will end then. It's a hollow shell. A country without a soul. Dubai is a featureless desert adorned by empty modernity. Its days are numbered.
A view of the other Dubai. Indo-Pak shops and restaurants supporting the real population of Dubai.
I went down to the old center of Dubai, away from the modern hub(bub). I wish I had gotten a room down here. This area of Dubai I call Delhi. I saw the same shops and back alleys in New Delhi years ago. The area was saturated with Indian food shops and restaurants. I would have eaten down here but I've been eating Indian food since I've been in Kuwait and I need a break. There were other areas that reminded me of downtown Los Angeles. I felt at home down in this section of the city and wandered into an Indian barber shop in one of these alleys where I received a great haircut and scalp massage, complete with hot chai.
Okay, I've been here. It's time to go. Tomorrow I'm off to Abu Dhabi for the day. But tonight, more drinking.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Back to Kuwait
Normally I try to avoid meetings. When I found out that a series of meetings were being scheduled with management, I was less than enthusiastic. When I found out that the meetings were to be held in Kuwait and that they would get me out of Afghanistan for a week, I signed up quickly.
One of the toughest parts of traveling military air in theater is the waiting. Civilians get bumped for uniformed personnel or hazardous cargo. It sometimes takes days to get out of Bagram or days to get to Bagram. From Kabul, we drive to the Kabul International Airport -- the military side -- and attempt to sign-up for flights to Bagram Air Base. I arrived at the airport around 0900 and my flight wasn't going to depart until 1430 hrs. That was a bit of a problem because there was a 1500 hrs showtime in Bagram for the flight to Kuwait. If I missed that flight, I'd have to spend a night in an 80-man tent in Bagram, waiting to get to Kuwait.
The workmate I was traveling with is one of those guys who knows everyone and everyone knows him. Waleed found a woman who he knew who worked at the pax terminal. She knew that this small, 12-pax plane leaving around 1130 for Bagram. She manifested both Waleed and I on it and we were in Bagram fifteen minutes later. More importantly, we were in Bagram in plenty of time to manifest for the Kuwait flight at 1500 hrs. We made that flight but waited for three additional hours before the plane arrived in Bagram for us to board.
The other tough part of military travel to Kuwait is having to pass through Ali Al Salem again -- the Life Support Area (LSA) adjacent to the air base where one waits to get out or waits for Kuwaiti visas. Since I was going to stay in Kuwait to attend meetings, I had to get another Kuwaiti visa. It's never a problem, although our flight didn't get in to Ali Al Salem Air Base until 2330 hrs and didn't get over to the LSA until after midnight. That meant that my passport wouldn't be transported to the commercial airport until morning and that I wouldn't see my passport and visa until around 1800 hrs. So, I settled in another 20-man tent and lost another day.
Our quarters here in Kuwait City are fairly upscale. In any event, they're better than crowded tent living. Here are some pictures from our penthouse windows. We are on the 13th floor. That sounds bad, but here like in Europe, there's Ground Level, then 1st floor.... So, we are actually on the 14th floor. Waleed was quick to point out that there are cracks throughout the walls from the settling (into the sand). I have no doubts that this building will crumble to the "Ground Level" if an earthquake happens here. I just don't want to be in the penthouse when that happens. Anyway, some pictures:
One of the toughest parts of traveling military air in theater is the waiting. Civilians get bumped for uniformed personnel or hazardous cargo. It sometimes takes days to get out of Bagram or days to get to Bagram. From Kabul, we drive to the Kabul International Airport -- the military side -- and attempt to sign-up for flights to Bagram Air Base. I arrived at the airport around 0900 and my flight wasn't going to depart until 1430 hrs. That was a bit of a problem because there was a 1500 hrs showtime in Bagram for the flight to Kuwait. If I missed that flight, I'd have to spend a night in an 80-man tent in Bagram, waiting to get to Kuwait.
A stroke of luck. Flying on a Casa 212 puddle jumper.
The other tough part of military travel to Kuwait is having to pass through Ali Al Salem again -- the Life Support Area (LSA) adjacent to the air base where one waits to get out or waits for Kuwaiti visas. Since I was going to stay in Kuwait to attend meetings, I had to get another Kuwaiti visa. It's never a problem, although our flight didn't get in to Ali Al Salem Air Base until 2330 hrs and didn't get over to the LSA until after midnight. That meant that my passport wouldn't be transported to the commercial airport until morning and that I wouldn't see my passport and visa until around 1800 hrs. So, I settled in another 20-man tent and lost another day.
Our quarters here in Kuwait City are fairly upscale. In any event, they're better than crowded tent living. Here are some pictures from our penthouse windows. We are on the 13th floor. That sounds bad, but here like in Europe, there's Ground Level, then 1st floor.... So, we are actually on the 14th floor. Waleed was quick to point out that there are cracks throughout the walls from the settling (into the sand). I have no doubts that this building will crumble to the "Ground Level" if an earthquake happens here. I just don't want to be in the penthouse when that happens. Anyway, some pictures:
As I mentioned in a previous post, there's all kinds of construction occurring in Kuwait City, especially along the beach. All of this view was sand and desert during the original Gulf War.
Right behind the facade of construction lies desert, more desert, and then just sand as far as one can see.
The sewer. In the three months that I've been In Afghanistan, Kuwait has failed to repair the sewage treatment system and continues to pump tons of raw sewage into the Gulf every day.
My company's support folks who live here in Kuwait tell me the goings on within Kuwait when I pass through. Saudi Arabia is suing Kuwait over the sewage issue since the raw sewage has made its way down to Saudi. Besides polluting the beaches and killing sea life along the coast, it's affecting tourism.
Tourism. Who in their right mind would spend their own money to come to Kuwait or Saudi, stay in a poorly constructed hotel near a polluted beach and not have any alcohol? The answer is -- no one. That explains why the Kuwaiti Tourism Director just resigned. I read this today in the Kuwaiti Times. Some lady was appointed to the post of Tourism Director and she didn't last. Numbers are down and she wasn't able to attract any takers. No wonder; Dubai is bankrupt and Kuwait can't fix its own infrastructure. Here's a business tip, Kuwaitis: Everything goes better with beer. Yes, even in your shit-hole country.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Land of Conexes
Back when I was in the Army, there were these rusted-out hulks of metal containers called Conexes that littered the motor pools. We stored all kinds of crap in there. I remember being told that they weren't being made anymore and that we were lucky to have them.
Conexes are a shorter version of Milvans or Seavans. All of them used to be in high demand since the Army is famous for squirreling away all kinds of stuff, sometimes useful, most of the time not. Because the Army supply system was sometimes unreliable, every unit Supply Sergeant had a rat's nest of double secret supplies that could be called upon, if necessary. These supplies also made great trading material for other supplies and materials that a unit needed.
Even in Antarctica, Conexes and Milvans were in high demand, again to store and squirrel away all kinds of stuff where there was no other room for it. On the Ice, we stashed away cabling, tires, connectors, antennas, old radios, car parts, basically whatever folks thought they would need in an emergency -- but usually never did. As a result, all the stuff in these rusted, metal containers usually were covered with dirt, grime, dust, and other filth -- inches deep.
Not until I came to Kabul did I realize that these horrid things had other uses and capabilities. Here in Afghanistan, people live and work in them! They provide the raw building blocks for most of the new structures standing up here to meet the coming surge. When I see how many of these containers have come into country, it makes me wonder why I didn't see this earlier and bought stock in the company. It's probably not too late to get in on the next wave of profits.
Conexes are a shorter version of Milvans or Seavans. All of them used to be in high demand since the Army is famous for squirreling away all kinds of stuff, sometimes useful, most of the time not. Because the Army supply system was sometimes unreliable, every unit Supply Sergeant had a rat's nest of double secret supplies that could be called upon, if necessary. These supplies also made great trading material for other supplies and materials that a unit needed.
Even in Antarctica, Conexes and Milvans were in high demand, again to store and squirrel away all kinds of stuff where there was no other room for it. On the Ice, we stashed away cabling, tires, connectors, antennas, old radios, car parts, basically whatever folks thought they would need in an emergency -- but usually never did. As a result, all the stuff in these rusted, metal containers usually were covered with dirt, grime, dust, and other filth -- inches deep.
Not until I came to Kabul did I realize that these horrid things had other uses and capabilities. Here in Afghanistan, people live and work in them! They provide the raw building blocks for most of the new structures standing up here to meet the coming surge. When I see how many of these containers have come into country, it makes me wonder why I didn't see this earlier and bought stock in the company. It's probably not too late to get in on the next wave of profits.
This new barracks is constructed of seven rows of Milvans, two stories high. There's three guys sleeping in a space of 130 square feet. Make your buddy smile!!
Here our guards camp out in them. We plumb them for electricity so there is light and heat. The Conex next to the guard shack is used for garbage. The difference between sleeping quarters and garbage receptacles is electricity.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Another Year For Broken Resolutions
I had the best of intentions of doing PT (Army physical training) while I was spending a year of my life here in Kabul. I bought Army PT uniforms and hauled all that stuff over here. There’s well equipped gyms at most of the camps and compounds that have both weights and cardio equipment. All the military folks constantly are running and working out. I mostly watch and stare, wishing I had the motivation.
My biggest excuse for not running is the uneven roadways, streets, alleys, walkways, and byways that service the camps. Even Area 10, the location where many of the safe houses are located, has very poor streets full of ruts, holes, trenches, and gravel with various sized rocks. Not a day goes by where I don’t turn an ankle while walking from one location to another. I’m saved from injury because of my combat boots. Those boots have kept me from spraining or breaking an ankle at least once a week (my ankle ligaments and tendons are too stretched from previous injuries).
I have another excuse. Kabul has some of the worst air pollution in the world. Because Kabul sits amongst hills and mountains, the smoke from the wood burning and vehicle exhaust hovers stagnantly over the city and obscures what would be wonderful views of the snowy mountains. Running into pollution is not an option for me. I never could understand those folks who run on busy streets while sucking up bus and truck exhaust while they gasp for air from the exertion. Why would anyone pollute their lungs like this and think that this exercise will provide for a healthy life? Just doesn’t make sense to me.
There’s times here when the winds blow out the smog and smoke and make for pretty good running conditions. About the only place I’ve found to run without breaking an ankle is NKC (New Kabul Compound). This is another US compound in Kabul, newly created, and still undergoing expansion. NKC has a very nice perimeter road inside the walls. Because of the construction, there’s too much mud and water on the road to make for safe running -- at least for me. Others run and that helps to instill in me more remorse for my slacking off.
NKC is overlooked by one of the hills in Kabul. Like all the hills here, one-story mud huts populate the landscape. There’s no utilities servicing these neighborhoods. No power, no water, no sewage. The poor and very poor live in these hovels and they’re the ones most prone to radicalization. To keep NKC safe from snipers, the military has OPs (Observation Posts) out in these neighborhoods. Military patrols interact with the locals and prevent incidents from happening. I’ve been told that the Army provides food and medicine to these villagers to help keep them safely on our side -- for now.
The hill can be seen in the background. Above the blue container on the left is a glimpse of the green mesh curtain that is put up to help prevent snipers from hitting their targets. These curtains also add a bit of privacy to theUS operations here.
Reminders exist that, even with the precautions taken for ensure safety, danger is just around the corner. These signs below are posted at once section of the perimeter road in NKC for the runners and joggers. It’s yet another reason that I think I’ll put off my PT program until I come home!
My biggest excuse for not running is the uneven roadways, streets, alleys, walkways, and byways that service the camps. Even Area 10, the location where many of the safe houses are located, has very poor streets full of ruts, holes, trenches, and gravel with various sized rocks. Not a day goes by where I don’t turn an ankle while walking from one location to another. I’m saved from injury because of my combat boots. Those boots have kept me from spraining or breaking an ankle at least once a week (my ankle ligaments and tendons are too stretched from previous injuries).
I have another excuse. Kabul has some of the worst air pollution in the world. Because Kabul sits amongst hills and mountains, the smoke from the wood burning and vehicle exhaust hovers stagnantly over the city and obscures what would be wonderful views of the snowy mountains. Running into pollution is not an option for me. I never could understand those folks who run on busy streets while sucking up bus and truck exhaust while they gasp for air from the exertion. Why would anyone pollute their lungs like this and think that this exercise will provide for a healthy life? Just doesn’t make sense to me.
There’s times here when the winds blow out the smog and smoke and make for pretty good running conditions. About the only place I’ve found to run without breaking an ankle is NKC (New Kabul Compound). This is another US compound in Kabul, newly created, and still undergoing expansion. NKC has a very nice perimeter road inside the walls. Because of the construction, there’s too much mud and water on the road to make for safe running -- at least for me. Others run and that helps to instill in me more remorse for my slacking off.
NKC is overlooked by one of the hills in Kabul. Like all the hills here, one-story mud huts populate the landscape. There’s no utilities servicing these neighborhoods. No power, no water, no sewage. The poor and very poor live in these hovels and they’re the ones most prone to radicalization. To keep NKC safe from snipers, the military has OPs (Observation Posts) out in these neighborhoods. Military patrols interact with the locals and prevent incidents from happening. I’ve been told that the Army provides food and medicine to these villagers to help keep them safely on our side -- for now.
The hill can be seen in the background. Above the blue container on the left is a glimpse of the green mesh curtain that is put up to help prevent snipers from hitting their targets. These curtains also add a bit of privacy to theUS operations here.
Reminders exist that, even with the precautions taken for ensure safety, danger is just around the corner. These signs below are posted at once section of the perimeter road in NKC for the runners and joggers. It’s yet another reason that I think I’ll put off my PT program until I come home!
A little motivation to pick up the pace!
Back to a crawl...
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