The Last Three Weeks

Hello to all and let me apologize for keeping many of my faithful followers in the dark. I'm still very much alive and kicking in the lovely city of Kabul but things have been piling up like crazy, so much so, that I haven't had a moment to myself and certainly not the time that I'd hoped to dedicate to my attempt at info and humor here on the blog.
Over the last 3 weeks a lot of events have transpired here in Kabul. The big one that I know most of you were on the edge of your seat waiting to hear is that I've moved out of my "Hooch" and am now comfortably living in a "posh" one-bedroom/900 square foot apartment that I have all to myself. Nice deep bath, as much hot water as I could possibly use and even a kitchen to prepare my evening bachelor-type meals which often consists of an ice cold Corona and a can of Salt & Vinegar Pringles. Quite a bit more expensive than walking myself over to the free meal at the chow hall but as I've stated in earlier posts, it gets cold here at night.

Of course with the good comes a bit of bad. I mentioned in my "Hooch" post that the heater truly turned the trailer into a small conventional oven - well the expanses of my apartment causes the exact opposite. I have the heat turned up full blast but because of the 16 foot ceilings in the apartment - I can't get it to warm up. I sleep in a long pair of sweatpants, sweatshirt and socks and I still can't find the warmth I need. My Korean "mink" blanket just isn't doing the job so if anyone has a spare 220v (Euro plug) electric blanket that they don't need, please send it my way, my bald head would certainly be appreciative.

The Marine Ball here in Kabul was very nice and as I wrote earlier, my boss was the guest speaker and also the oldest Marine present. He was passed a piece of cake by the youngest present in keeping with tradition. One of our MSG Marines held that honor and was actually born in 1987. This of course was the year that I graduated from high school which explains why he calls me sir so often. I know it has nothing to do with my rank in the military and much more to do with the fact that I'm old enough to be his father - how scary is that? We adjourned from the formalities of the Embassy and headed to the Marine House where they had plenty of coolies and even some pretty tasty chicken wings. I didn't stay long since I was on the road the following morning for my weekly run to Bagram AB.

Since my last post, I've also been on two very interesting "field" trips. The first was only a day trip to the Provincial Reconstruction Team outpost at Ghazni (see my "Field Trip" post about this place) where I left Kabul in a CH-47 (Chinook) and arrived in Ghazni about 40 minutes later. While in Ghazni we were able to visit the Provincial Governor's Compound where we had lunch and then moved to a village clinic project and the site of an under construction dam that will keep water, from a very sad looking river, in the village longer so as to increase the underground water table. Both of these projects are being funded by the U.S. Government so of course very important to the big guy I was traveling with. After our visits off the PRT we headed back in time to catch our return Chinook ride to Kabul. We had to push our departure up by about 20 minutes since ominous clouds were moving in and the word was if we didn't get out then - we'd all be spending the night. One of my colleagues in the traveling party made the mistake of mentioning to me that she certainly did not have enough "stuff" to spend the night in Ghazni, which kind of made me laugh since I'd packed everything into my ruck - "Just in Case".

Thanksgiving also came and went since my last post as well as my daughter's 6th birthday. These of course are the hard times to be away but getting to phone home often has made it a bit easier. Turkey was certainly not in short supply here in Kabul and we had two dinners on the actual day. One was held in my spacious apartment for all of my office colleagues with a roasted turkey purchased from the only 5-star hotel in Kabul (Hotel Serena). After our informal lunch we all relaxed wishing we'd had a Detroit Lions game on tape so that it would truly feel like home. That evening we had a larger feast in the atrium of the Embassy that was provided by the Embassy Employee's Association. It was very good and the wine flowed quite freely - at least for those of us that are allowed to consume it.

A funny story here but Turkeys are so easily obtained here in Kabul that I managed to order 21 extra turkeys from our local cafeteria and send them to the OPSCO at the U.S. Embassy in Dushanbe which is a 5 hour drive away. The Chief up there was a former student of mine and he truly drove me crazy with "Turkey Talk" for two weeks prior to Thanksgiving. I don't know how we did it but his driver showed up, I loaded 21 turkeys into his car and away he went. I've been told they were just as tasty in Tajikistan (yes that's where Dushanbe is) as they were here in Kabul. I know "Chief H" reads this so let me say that even though the effort was a pain, if I helped make one person's holiday away from home that much brighter - then hey - effort well spent.
My third "field trip" was this past Saturday and Sunday. Very early on Saturday morning we boarded a C-130 for the province of Khost in eastern Afghanistan which shares a border with Pakistan. It was a very short flight and we arrived at the PRT in about 20 minutes once airborne from Kabul. This was an overnight trip so I packed accordingly including my recently arrived sleeping bag (Thanks "E" for sending it out. It truly is a lifesaver). Once on the ground I loaded all my gear onto my back and the group made its way to the PRT HQ building for the initial "Welcome to Khost" briefing given by the PRT Commander. As I was about to walk up the steps to the building I heard someone (not in our party) shout my name. I looked up and saw a Navy Desert Camo Uniform being worn by a Chief that looked familiar but I wasn't sure. I glanced at his name tape and when I read the name and compared the face to someone I knew 15 years ago I realized I was in the middle of a very "Small World Experience". This Navy Chief and I were roommates during my first tour of duty in the military on a very small comms base in Japan called Kami Seya. I was there from 1988 - 1991. He was deployed from NAS Lemoore as the PRT S2 and had been on the ground in Afghanistan for about 7 months. He saw my name on the manifest of expected visitors and knew from earlier email exchanges that I'd switched to the Army so after putting 2 and 2 together figured it was me. We had a great conversation and it was really good to catch up after all this time. Thanks ISC TGL for bringing a little bit of right to such a wrong place.
Following our briefings we headed out to the normal visit to the Provincial Governor's Compound and this time the food that was intended for the visiting Americans was scoffed by the invited elders from many of the surrounding villages. I mooched an MRE (Chicken Tetrazini - mmmmmm good) from one of the humvee commanders and enjoyed myself an authentic soldier's lunch. Washed it all (even the enclosed chocolate cookies) down with some flavored powder poured into a bottle of water. Couldn't get any better but I was missing my Corona Coolie. After the visit to the Governor's we headed for a new Provincial Communications Center which was being opened that day. The big boss participated in a ribbon cutting ceremony and then we were on to another U.S. Government funded effort to bring stability to the people of Afghanistan. Once this visit ended the sun was setting and I knew it wouldn't be long until we reached our final destination for the night - the Forward Operating Base at Solerno. We mounted our convoy and rode off into the setting sun which in the clean/warm air of Khost, was truly spectacular.

We arrived at Solerno and were guided to our billets for the evening. The front door to where I was to sleep read "MALE VIP QUARTERS". I couldn't have said it better myself. There was no generator anywhere in the vicinity and when I opened the front door the tent looked like it had been recently swept and would be considered by any standard, clean. There were 4 single beds on each side of the tent and all had fresh sheets, pillows and blankets (didn't need the sleeping bag afterall but I used it out of principle). The beds were separated by 6 foot high closets offering a bit of privacy and I was truly impressed. It sure pays to travel with the biggest of biggies and get treated like a VIP. We were given maps of the FOB and told which way to head towards dinner. I was famished since my earlier MRE was not exactly the most complete of meals. My boss and I headed to the 24-hour Green Bean Coffee shop and on the way passed a SUBWAY sandwich shop and a gym the size of a large airplane hangar. Even before chow I was really impressed with FOB Solerno. After the mandatory large foo foo coffee from Green Bean we went over to the chow hall and had one of the most complete "Army" meals I'd ever eaten. On the main line there was spaghetti with two different types of sauce, veal cutlets, veggies and a ton of fixings. After the main line there was a second line with fried mozzarella, meatballs and a pretty impressive salad bar. In the adjacent freezer they had 3 different types of ice cream cups and even "Magnum" ice cream bars. I couldn't believe how good these guys had it. College Football was on the TV in the corner and I truly had the best Saturday night meal since I'd arrived in Afghanistan.
Leaving the chow hall was a different story. FOB Salerno is what they call a "blacked out base". There is no external white lights anywhere and even though the moon and all the stars looked nice - they provided not a stick of guidance to the new arrivals. I always carry a little flashlight that emits a blue light but if you don't know where you're going in the first place the light becomes only a safety device to keep you from tripping over the numerous obstacles on the ground of a military base. I exited the chow hall from a different direction than I entered so my keen Army sense of direction was truly skewed. I wandered aimlessly for about 15 minutes until I heard music being pumped from the gym. I thought once there I could find my way back to my "VIP Quarters" since I truly didn't want to ask anyone "Where are the VIP Billets"? and have them look at me like I was truly lost. From the gym I turned left and then right and heard the familiar popping of the helo pad so I knew I must be close. By the time I'd walked for a good 30 minutes I came upon what looked like my tent - "MALE VIP QUARTERS" read the sign and I was home. It was only about 7:30 PM but I thought it better to stay indoors than risk wandering around in the dark for the rest of the night lost. I'd picked up a copy of Stars & Stripes while at the chow hall so with that and my MP3 player, I was pretty much sorted.

Sunday morning came and the chow again impressed even the pickiest of palates. They offered everything you could possibly imagine including biscuits and gravy just like Uncle Frank makes. God bless the South, especially at breakfast. Chow was followed by a number of military centric briefings that gave me a much better understanding of what our (U.S.) role here in Afghanistan is and how we're succeeding. I still have a huge appreciation for all that serve and even though FOB Solerno looked like Club Med compared to other places I'd been in this country - these guys (and girls) are still serving alone and far from their families. Its a tough life but I'm proud to be (kind of) a part of them.

The C-130 arrived on schedule and our party boarded for the quick flight back to Kabul. We arrived right at sunset and I think the temp here in the capital was all of about 35F. Way too cold for my bones so I quickly loaded my gear and made a mad dash for the warm back seat of the office Land Cruiser. We arrived back in world record time and I of course began the task of digging out after being away for two days. Even though it was the weekend back in the real world - emails and taskers out the wazoo.
I'll end this here since my stomach is screaming for chow even though I know it won't be as good as what was on offer at Solerno. Too bad really but I know my apartment is my "VIP Quarters" and I'll enjoy tucking in to my semi-warm "mink" blanket in about an hour. Thanks to all that read and to some old friends that took the time to send me personal emails because of this blog. I appreciate your words of encouragement and I'm continuing to do my best. Keep on keepin on - OUT.

P.S. SLR - don't get any older until Daddy gets home - Please please please.

Veterans Day

The U.S. Embassy in Kabul is observing U.S. Veterans Day today since the weekend here is Friday/Saturday. Although a life member of the VFW due to my service in Korea - I have never really felt "veteran like" until today, or rather this year. Since many of the people who stop by to read this drivel is currently serving or has served in the past, lets try and really remember what this day is about. Thanking anyone and everyone that has ever honorably served their country. Remember many have paid the ultimate price and not returned home from foreign soil. We are a total volunteer force and the strongest total volunteer force the world has ever known because of the "SGT Einsteins" and "PVT Smiths" that are motivated in some way to serve. We all know we're not doing it for the money but for something else - and that my friends is the beauty of the United States of America. Now wipe the tear away and move on, there's plenty of ways to celebrate Veterans Day. I, like many of the others here, am sitting at my desk catching up on the mundane routine tasks that any OPSCO needs to accomplish each month. The problem is, none of the local staff is at work today to help me get these things done. You can tell its a day off though since I'm sitting at my desk in civilian clothes. That's how we know its a down day around here. Tonight is the first meeting of the DAO Kabul Poker Club which will congreate around 6:00 PM for chicken wings, bratwurts and beers - and with any luck they'll all leave broke and I'll be able to pay rent for this blog space this month. LOL.


One last note before I close this short blurb. Tomorrow the United States Marine Corps celebrates 231 years in existence. In 1775 the Continental Congress raised the "First and Second Battalions" of American Marines and the Corps was born. Anyone who has ever served at a U.S. Embassy abroad knows the importance of these young warriors to not only our personal safety, but to the integrity and safety of the United States of America. Here in Kabul we will mark the occasion with a simple cake cutting ceremony, color guard, a few speeches and possibly a beverage or two at the Marine House. My boss, former USMC Sergeant during the Vietnam War, will be the guest speaker. Normally around the world this celebration is marked by one of the most important social events of the year with a very lavish "Birthday Ball" where attendees are in Mess Dress Uniforms (or civilian equivalent). The cake cutting here in Kabul will be done in Combat Uniforms and the guest list will be very limited. The larger embassy community will be invited to the house for coolies after and the party may go long into the night. We shall see. I'm sure I'll be home early since Saturday is just another day on the job.

Congratulations Marines for 231 exemplary years in defense of a grateful nation.

My First "Field" Trip

I’m going to start this post by simply stating that my hat is off to the men and women that are serving their country in some of the most austere conditions I have ever witnessed in my life. Of course my hat first goes off to those defending the Constitution of the United States of America but also to the men and women of the twenty different nations making up the coalition force here in Afghanistan. I am a spoiled diplomat in a soldier’s uniform and I learned that to the "nth" degree on Sunday and Monday. This is going to be a long one since I truly just spent an entire week of my life in two days. Grab a coolie and enjoy.


One of my colleagues was putting together a trip to leave Kabul on Sunday morning for the southern province of Zabol. There were a total of five individuals going and were being split between two armored vehicles (Land Cruisers). On Saturday evening I returned from the Italian Armed Forces Day reception and had an uneasy felling about the make-up of the convoy and thought it better if I inserted myself to keep an even number in each vehicle. Also, since I theoretically own the vehicles, I felt more comfortable if I was one of the drivers – even in the rear since I didn’t know my way to Zabol from Kabul or Kabul from Zabol or how to find McDonalds in Kabul (there isn’t one but I sure miss it.)

We departed the Embassy compound at 6:00 AM sharp and following a brief pit-stop at the adjacent ISAF compound to pick up British Army Captain who was making the trip with us, we were on our way. Our office translator/driver was commanding vehicle number one and I was following very closely in vehicle number 2. We had 3 folks in each vehicle and of course the Brit Captain was riding with me.


Our first stop was going to be the PRT (Provincial Reconstruction Team) outpost in Ghazni which is about a 3 hour ride from Kabul. There we would get breakfast and gas and continue on to Zabol which allegedly was a further 3 hours on. Leaving Kabul was relatively uneventful and once we got on Highway 1 (Kabul – Kandahar Ring Road), it was pretty much a straight shot (no pun intended). Highway 1 is an adventure in itself since it is honestly the only paved highway in the country. I use the term “highway” very loosely since it is in fact equivalent of two lanes wide but at times this can be 3 vehicles side by side all heading in the same direction or 2 vehicles in one direction and a third vehicle in the opposite. There is no law to driving here and taking the advice of a predecessor – get to where you’re going as fast as possible – I called the lead vehicle on the radio and said step on it. The method of driving here is truly chaotic and I think I will never again have to give up the wheel to my wife in Paris, Rome or any of the other places where I was once nervous to attempt navigating.

Pretty close to right on schedule we arrived at the PRT in Ghazni. This “base” is stuck in the absolute middle of nowhere and is encircled with more barbed wire than may exist in all of the United States. It is nothing more than a dust field covered in gravel and 5 dozen plywood huts stuck on top. One of the larger plywood huts was the mess hall and I was ready for some good ole Army cooking. The PRT outposts around Afghanistan are controlled by different countries belonging to the coalition and Ghazni happens to be U.S. Army so I knew the chow was going to be quality. We grabbed our paper trays and plastic bag of utensils and headed for the line. One good thing about eating in Afghanistan is all meals are free. I can eat as much as I like and never have to worry about how much this may cut into my daughter’s college fund.

The poor Army Private cooking eggs was having a heck of a time keeping up with the demand and I almost felt bad ordering something from him but the slim pickings on the rest of the line forced the order for “Ham & Cheese Omelet”. This is a major staple of mine at any government messing facility since this is how I rate them. Private Smith was doing the best he could but I couldn’t help but notice the grimace when he saw our group of “diplomats” walk through the door to his chow hall. I ordered my normal and proceeded down the line after about a five minute wait watching him literally demolish my all time favorite. He placed it on my cardboard tray and I picked up some fried potatoes and two sausage patties that resembled small hockey pucks. Cup of joe and I was on my way to the table. The consensus once every one arrived was that PVT Smith was not a cook and had probably just arrived and was put on mess duties as there was no one else. The larger bases here in Afghanistan have contractor provided mess halls but not on these little outposts. I’m sure when PVT Smith was done cooking breakfast he was given a full days worth of additional menial tasks that no one else wants to do. Poor kid – I really did feel bad for him.

After some lengthy meetings and a security briefing from the post commander we were once again mounted and riding off towards our final destination for the day – the city of Qalat in Zabol Province. We were told during our meetings that IED attacks were frequent on a couple different stretches of road so to be careful. Thanks – I’ll do my best.


We attacked the open highway at a very nice pace (often nearing 100 MPH) and arrived in Zabol Province with my skivvies unmarked. Along the way the scenery was actually quite remarkable with mountains literally appearing out of nowhere and reaching 5-6,000 feet skyward. Granted there was no snow on them, no trees or grass. Nothing but rock and the god awful sand that I believe is purposely put here to invade my nostrils and create near cement boogies in my nose. We passed busses with people heading wherever they were heading but honestly packed to the brim. I saw one bus that had chairs somehow attached to the roof and people were actually sitting in the chairs. No seat belts of course. Where were Ponch and John when you really needed them. One bus had not only a car but a small utility truck attached to the roof. Good thing there are no other highways since that could possibly require an over/under pass and these mammoth vehicles aren’t fitting through that obstacle. I wish I had pictures to add but driving nearly 100 MPH with the threat of IED attacks just doesn’t leave time for a Kodak moment. At one point along the journey we came upon a truck that was just as packed as the previously described busses but this truck tried to take a turn or something because it was on its side in the middle of the road. We slowed to see it but quickly beat feet to continue on our journey.


We arrived at the PRT in Qalat in just about 3 hours and were told that the Inn was full and we needed to seek a bunk at the Field Operating Base (FOB) which was about a mile away. At this PRT the main function is police training for new Afghan recruits that desire to become local FIVE OH. It is a Romanian PRT but the police academy is run by mostly retired U.S. Police Officers. There is a support FOB that is also Romanian but has a small contingent of U.S. Army that act as further support to the Romanian Army. Our main goal from our trip was to meet with the trainers and get their impression prior to graduation on Monday in which our Ambassador was flying down to attend.


With no rooms for our "delegation" we headed to the FOB and were greeted by the billeting NCO (U.S. SGT) who truly had just stepped off the idiot ledge and hit every idiot rock on the way down. The worst part is when he hit bottom it was an idiot hole filled with idiot water – I think you get the picture. He informs us that he has a place for us to stay and to follow him. We walk to his “office” and then he walks out. I asked – "SGT should we follow you?" – and he replies – Duh, uh, oh, yeah. Now read back to my description of the PRT in Ghazni and this FOB is the same but dustier and bigger (about 3 times the size if not more). We walk behind SGT Genius and he points to the first white sort of building we come to and he says – "That’s a shower and sometimes there’s no one in it and it has hot water." We continue walking and after about 500 yards he points to another white building and he says – "don’t use that shower, there’s never any hot water and right down there is another shower but don’t use that because its always crowded with our Romanian neighbors." We then turn left passed the loudest generator (the PRT and FOBs have to make their own electricity) I’ve ever heard in my life. It stands about 12 feet tall and takes up a hut larger than many houses. I thought to myself – we must be close to our beds and sure enough, right behind the generator is what I like to call a “coop” but the Army calls a B-hut. The reason I call it a coop is because it’s made of nothing more than plywood and they put as man of us chickens inside of it as possible. He opens the door and says – "the whole place is yours." There are 8 sets of bunk beds in a space the size of my Nissan Altima. SGT Smart Guy says he’s sorry but he’s got no blanket or sheets and I have no sleeping bag. Everyone else brought their sleeping bag but never told me I needed one. I guess I thought we'd be sleeping at a Marriot or at least a Holiday Inn Express. I also thought a top bunk would be warmer so I slapped the mattress of my choice and a mushroom cloud of dust the size of Montana rose from the mattress and my mind says – this is going to be fun. The generator noise, the dust, the stench and the graffiti all over the inside of this coop made me feel very welcome. No Holday Inn Express on this trip.


We had a couple meetings that evening and of course Romanian Army chow for dinner. It was about 9:00 PM when we finally made it back to the coop for sleep. I was able to scrounge up two blankets and a pillow that should make the night much easier to cope with. I found the bottle of Merlot that I’d stashed in my ruck and proceeded to make myself a couple of wine glasses out of the bottom part of plastic water bottles. Perfect Jamie – I bring a bottle of wine and no sleeping bag. Normal Army is under "General Order Number One" which means – NO ALCOHOL. Thank god for small favors and GO#1 does not apply to your's truly. No one wants to join me in my Merlot so I feel obliged to finish the bottle off alone. I climb up into my tree and put my MP3 player in to try and drown out the generator noise. I lie there for the better part of 30 minutes and decide I need to go for a walk and get some fresh air. I put most of my clothes back on and a jacket and head out into the frosty 45 degree night. The moon is absolutely spectacular and lights up the entire camp. The dust is settling and under the moonlight looks like snow – it truly covers everything. I walk with my MP3 player for about an hour and head back to my coop. By this time the temperature inside has plummeted to the same as that outside and I decide it’s probably a good idea to only remove my pants and sleep in my sweatshirt and jacket. Well the blanket that I was able to scrounge is wool and scratches every square millimeter of my legs so I get my two bath towels and try to alleviate the itch from down there. The music is only barely covering the generator and I’m truly cold but I fight and finally doze off. I awake at about 3:00 AM and need to go the bathroom and remember that it’s far away and its really cold out there. I try and fight the urge but to no avail – I have to go. It’s more or less just above freezing outside and the generator is in full gear. Not making any heat but certainly lots of noise. When I get back to my excuse of a bed – there is no need to try and sleep because it’s not going to happen. I lie in bed and think about anything and everything that I can, while listening to whatever random song my 7,000 track MP3 player sends my way.




Morning can’t come soon enough and at 6:00 AM I decide its time to get up and try for a shower. The closest facility is exactly as SGT Einstein had said no hot water. I don’t know about you but 35 degree temps are just not conducive to a cold shower. I say forget it and head back to the coop. I didn’t bring a sleeping bag but I did bring wet wipes and I proceed to give myself a 25 towel shower. Hitting all the important parts, I get dressed and head for breakfast and much needed coffee. If only to warm up my now near freezing soul. The dust is back and our vehicles look like they have been through a desert sand storm. We drop our gear off at the vehicles and get to the mess hall. Grab our paper trays, plastic utensils and I’m in line for guess what? You guessed it – "Ham and Cheese Omelet please." More hockey pucks and potatoes and I get my coffee and sit near enough to the TV to see New England getting their world rocked by Indy. Sorry FRJ but they just ain’t all that. Sort of like the BOSOX.


Breakfast finished its almost time for the big man to arrive at the FOB for his meetings before heading over to the PRT for the police graduation. My translator and I walk up to the flight line and I tell him that our boss is coming in with the Ambassador on the helos and I’m going to ask to go back to Kabul if there’s room for me. Not because I’m absolutely miserable but because I’ve got so much work back in my office piling up (wink wink). He of course understands and says – whatever you have to do Chief. He’s a super incredible human being by the way but not because he says that but just the way he is and how he believes in what he does and what we're doing.


Choppers arrive and the Ambassador’s party gets out and I immediately spy my boss and rush over to say – welcome to poo central. Small talk proceeds about what’s going on, how’d it go and I shoot the question at him – "Any chance of catching a ride back to Kabul with you?" He says – he’ll see. Reminds me of when I used to ask my mother if I could do something she didn’t really want to let me do – "We’ll see."

I’ll save the ride back for my next submission since this is already much longer than I thought it was going to be but I truly lived a week in two days and I’m only half way done with the tail. To cut your suspense – I did fly back with the boss which was an adventure in itself and I’m alive, breathing and enjoying a fine glass (plastic cup) of Port as I type and sleep is much needed. Until the next entry – keep on keeping on and thanks for reading. If your hesitant on leaving a comment please feel free to email me at cworoberts@hotmail.com.



Stay Kewl.

The Pit

Within the walls of the U.S. Embassy compound in Kabul is a secret society of civil servants that congregate on weekends around a roaring fire that burns in "The Pit". Due to the elevation of Kabul, the temperature drops quite a bit from its daytime high and the fire makes the outdoor party bearable. In the three Thursday nights since I arrived the crowd around "The Pit" has hovered around the 50 - 60 attendee mark. A pretty significant crowd at any fiesta, but remarkable here in Kabul.

There are always the same familiar faces (which I think mine is becoming one of them) that attend religously each week and then there are the - "just stopping in for a beer" crowd or the "just arrived from such and such TDY" group. Regardless, the conversation is always jovial and morale is high. The one common joke that is heard throughout the compound is: "It could be worse, we could be in Iraq".

Sometimes there is food, sometimes there isn't. The only thing that really runs strong is the comraderie and the ability to start a conversation with anyone around "The Pit". The conversation normally starts like this: "How long have you been here?" Once the determination of whose been in country longer (a sort of invisible higherarchy to this bacchanalian society) and where each person works - the conversation continues with simple small talk (i.e. where are you from in the states? are you married? children?). Sharing of a cold beverage is mandatory and very few around "The Pit" are consuming beverages of the softer variation since you know those folks can't be trusted. At least that's what we believe in the Attache world. Beers or your favorite mix are sold for $2.00 a pop and the fire is kept roaring by a whole host of volunteers. Wood is normally "acquired" from the various construction projects going on around teh compound or from the daily arrival of crates containing one's household effects.

I imagine I'll be a regular to "The Pit" since our compound doesn't have a bar or rec center that is open all the time and I am a true socialite, even in the austere conditions of Afghanistan :). Thursday remember is the end to the normal work week so beers and stories go on until the wee hours of the morning and as it gets later, it gets colder and the fire gets bigger. I think we had flames shooting out of the top of the chimney (a good 20 feet in the air) the first Thursday I was here. This is truly a great way to unwind after the normal 16 hour days all week long and it reminds me of my youth when we'd celebrate to the rough life of high school on a dirt road with massive bonfires. If only I knew then what I know now, the stories sure would have been better. - until the next installment, keep on keepin on.