Jamie The Kabul Guy

Something to tickle your funny bone

2007-01-09T23:16:00.000-08:00

I know I've yet again been very lax in my efforts to not only amuse you but keep you informed on the goings on in Afghanistan. Despite the holiday season I have managed to keep myself extremely busy and engaged with so many different projects. It is for this reason that this entry will simply amuse. Its in keeping with the Christmas spirit (sort of) and I hope will bring a big smile to your face as it did mine.

On the personal front. My first R&R from Afghanistan has been approved and I'll begin my journey out of here on Saturday the 13th. Due to work requirements in February - I'm only going to be able to go home for 2 weeks but it will be a well deserved break - in my personal opinion.

Take care and take care of each other - JR

STUN GUN...ONLY A GUY WOULD DO THIS!

This was submitted by a guy who purchased his lovely wife a "pocket Taser" for their wedding anniversary.

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking a little something extra for my wife Tammy. What came across was a 100,000 volt, pocket/purse size Taser. The effects of the Taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affects on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety-- WAY TOO COOL!

Just to make a long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. NOTHING! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time, I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Tammy what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay...so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be ALL THAT BAD, with only two AAA batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul), while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood moving target. I must admit, I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat.

But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I DID want SOME assurance that it would work as advertised. SO AM I WRONG? So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in the other.
The directions said that a one second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms AND a major loss of bodily control; a three second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water, ANY burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4" in circumference; pretty cute really, (and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries), thinking to myself, "no possible way!"

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as if to say, "don't do it master", reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little ol' thing couldn't hurt that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!@*!!!

I'm pretty sure Jesse Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, OVER and OVER and OVER again!! I "vaguely recall" waking up in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs.The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!"

NOTE: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a Taser, one note of caution: There is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative. SON-OF-A. that hurt like hell! A minute or so later, (I can't be sure of the time frame, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.

My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get up there? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.

I'm still looking for my testicles! I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.

Still in shock,
Numb Nuts

Keep on Keepin on.

Military Friends

2006-12-20T23:26:00.000-08:00

I normally wouldn't repost something I received in my email box but it just sort of struck home and since I had a couple seconds to cut and paste - I thought I would.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Get upset if you're too busy to talk to them for a week.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Are glad to see you after years, and will happily carry on the same conversation you were having last time you met.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Never ask for food.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Are the reason you have no food.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. And Mrs.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Call your parents mom and dad.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Bail you out of jail and tell you what you did was wrong.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Would be sitting next to you saying, "Damn...we screwed up...but man that was fun!"

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Have never seen you cry.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Cry with you.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Keep your stuff so long they forget it's yours.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds' ass that left you behind.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, "I'm home!"

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Have shared a few experiences...

MILITARY FRIENDS: Have shared a lifetime of experiences no Civilian could ever dream of...

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will take your drink away when they think you've had enough.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Will look at you stumbling all over the place and say, "You better drink the rest of that, you know we don't waste...that's alcohol abuse!!" Then carry you home safely and put you to bed...

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will talk crap to the person who talks crap about you.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Will knock them the hell out for using your name in vain.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Are for a while.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Are for life.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will ignore this.

MILITARY FRIENDS: Will forward this.

And: BELIEVE EVERY BIT OF IT !!!!!!!!

This was great so to all serving or who have served.... Thanks for being a Military Friend. No offense against those that have not - there's some good qualities here about you too. Keep on keepin on.

A Kabul Christmas

2006-12-20T02:36:00.000-08:00

Greetings all and please let me take this opportunity to wish everyone that tunes in to read my drivel a very joyous holiday season and my wishes for a prosperous 2007.

Having served in so many places around the world at this time of year I've learned to adapt to the different ways the world celebrates Christmas with still being able to maintain my sense of holiday spirit. This year will be the hardest.

My first long distance duty station away from home was on a small base in Japan. The Japanese, although not exactly Christian, are infatuated with every commercial aspect the holiday season has to offer and it was very hard not to notice the lights and Christmas Trees in every store window. Japanese people exchange cakes with their friends at Christmas and even though the tradition was very different to what I'd grown up with, it still felt like a festive time of year. I celebrated four Christmases in Japan and came home to New York for one during my nearly six years there.

Next was Panama. Panama is a Catholic country and with that comes most of the same traditional aspects of Christmas that one would find in the United States. Nativity scenes mid-night mass, “feliz navidad” being wished to every passer-by. Even a couple Santas dressed to the “T” and ringing their bell for donations. The only difference in Panama besides the language was the weather. Never does it fall below 85 during the day or 70 at night which made "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" just that - a very far fetched dream. I celebrated two Christmases in Panama and even though the weather was HOT, it was great to be able to go swimming in the ocean on Christmas Day. My boss had property right on the coast and I still have photos taken with the date stamp 12/25/94 stamped in the corner.

After Panama I came back to the states for training and spent Christmas 1995 in the beautiful state of New York. Nothing says Christmas like the freshly plowed roads of Mohawk and frozen Fulmer Creek. Not to mention lights on all the houses and the big Christmas Tree in front of the Fire Station.

I moved to Germany not too long after that and my first Christmas there was incredible. No one does Christmas like the Germans. The Christmas Markets are a great way to really get into the season and nothing warms you up like a warm mug of Gluh Wein with a dollop of Amaretto. Each town has its own unique market and people come from all over the country to experience the better ones. Bonn, the town where I lived, had a great market and was crowded right up until they closed a couple days before Christmas. My second Christmas in Germany was not spent in Germany since I'd met my soon-to-be wife that spring and we decided to get married in Thailand just before Christmas. She traveled in late November and I arrived on the 9th of December - just in time to get over my jet lag and say "I do" on the 13th. We spent the following 11 days leading up to Christmas on the Thai Island of Samui and returned to Bangkok on Christmas Eve. Like Panama, Thailand is very tropical so there was no way we were going to have a traditional “white” Christmas but with the foreign influence in Thailand and spending the holiday with my new family - it was probably one of the best I've had.

Back to Germany we went for one more Christmas (so we thought) and all the wonderful traditions Germany has to offer. We left Germany in the summer and moved back to the states where we celebrated Christmas in our little apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. I was on a plane the day after Christmas en route to the lovely winter village of Ft. Rucker, Alabama. That could be a story all by itself but I won't tell it here.

The next year we had an even more special Christmas since over the summer we'd moved to Seoul, Korea and in November welcomed the arrival of our daughter. We insisted on no visitors so that we could have her all to ourselves over Christmas and that's exactly what we had. Her first Christmas was in Korea and even though I'm sure she doesn't remember much - it was pretty fantastic. The following Christmas I was lucky enough to manage to go to Berlin for work and took the family along since my father-in-law was posted there and we'd planned on having my daughter Christened in the Anglican Church in Berlin just after Christmas. Back to the Christmas Markets and the Gluh Wein with of course a hearty dollop of Amaretto. What a great time and Berlin offers probably one of the best Christmas Markets in all of Germany. Berlin itself is incredible but the Christmas Markets in this rebuilt capital are absolutely amazing. The Christening went well too and I think we actually had snow at one point because I remember dragging the kids around the back yard in plastic sleds.

Another Christmas in Seoul and then it was on to London. We never spent Christmas in London though since the first year there we went back to Berlin - I just can't pass up the Gluh Wein. My younger brother managed to come over from the states and enjoy the Royal hospitality of my in-laws and a good time was had by all. The next year was Christmas in Yorkshire visiting relatives which was a great experience except walking around the cold wintry streets looking for a pub that wasn't having a "private party" and could provide a coolie to warm my heart.

Last year was Christmas in Maryland and even though we didn't have the snow, or even the temps really - it was the first Christmas in a home that I actually owned. I spent hours buying lights and then more hours putting them up around the outside of the house. We couldn't be outdone by the old retired guy across the street. I was very proud of our home and it was a great Christmas.

Which brings me to this year. Kabul - the land of Muslim destitution. The Embassy has really gone out of their way to spruce the place up and make it look Christmassy in an American kind of way. We've got not one but 3 Christmas Trees in the lobby. These were sent down from the Embassy in Dushanbe as a return favor for the Thanksgiving Turkeys. (Way to go Chief H.) But despite the attempts of many - it just will not be a Christmas to remember here in Kabul. There's snow on the mountains all around the city and the last of the snowmen are melting on the compound (we had a good 8 inches fall not too long ago). Christmas is about one thing to me - good times with great family. I'm sure I'll probably be able to find the good time - pass him a coolie, he'll be fine - but the rest just isn't here.

To the whole gang celebrating in Maryland - wish I was there but fret naught - I will be back before you know it and we'll have our own Christmas who cares what the calendar says.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to all and be kind to each other - especially at this time of year. Keep on Keepin on. - OUT.

The Empire State meets The Pit

2006-12-01T23:15:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned when I introduced you to “The Pit” – I find it very nostalgic hanging around the fire on a Thursday night since this was truly the way we celebrated the end of the week in the little town where I grew up in New York.

Let me give a bit of background for just a moment so that you know where I’m coming from. I was born in Southern Virginia where my father was sationed with the military. When my dad retired from the Navy we moved to a small town in Upstate New York which is about 10 miles east of the city of Utica where he was born. I spent the rest of Junior High and all of High School there and joined the military shortly after graduation. I still today claim NY as my home since my ability to talk like I’m from Southern Virginia left my speech in 9th grade when I was always asked what part of South Carolina I was from.

Traveling in the military for the better part of the last 20 years I’ve had the opportunity to meet lots of people from all over the United States. Foreigners don’t really count in this discussion since I’ve had to explain to so many that New York is in fact more than just the "Big Apple" and there is an entire state that bears the same name. The citizens of the USA that I’ve met in my travels have been from all over the country and in a place like Afghanistan – you always start conversations with “Where you from back home?”.

When someone asks me where I’m from my responses normally go in this order –
Me: Upstate NY.
New Person: Oh really where?
Me: About dead center between Syracuse and Albany.

Now this is where I get one of several responses –
"Damn, that is Upstate NY”
"I've driven on the NY State Thruway"
"You must be used to snow"
“That’s not NY that’s Canada”
“I’ve never been there”
"Do you like hockey?"
“Really, Whereabouts? My family used to go camping in the Finger Lakes”
"What part?"

If I get the latter then I know I’ve met someone that has a clue about the great state of New York. Not too many have ever heard of Mohawk although I recently met someone from West Canada (here in Afghanistan) which was of course as good a "home boy story" as you can get.

That's the little background so now I’ll get back to the main purpose of this post.

I’ve been working with the State Department as sort of a Soldier Diplomat for the last 12 years. Each branch of the military has its own language which normally revolves around acronyms. The State Dept. is no different and they also have their own language and even a few acronyms. For example – POTUS means Visit by the President of the United States, FLOTUS – First Lady of the United States, CODEL – Visit by a Congressional Delegation and lastly GOVDEL – A visit by a Delegation of Governors.

Having been in this business for sometime now I’ve been lucky enough to be the Military Rep to a ton of these visits. I’ve shaken the hands of 2 Presidents, 2 Vice Presidents, had breakfast with William Cohen when he was the Secretary of Defense, have photos with Colin Powell and Madeline Albright from their time as Secretary of State and even ran a control room across the hall from where Monica Lewinsky spent the night in Bonn, Germany when she was working for Cohen (she was a Defense Intern before getting the “bump” to glory at the White House).

This Thursday was a bit different though since U.S. Embassy Kabul was playing host to a GOVDEL including the Governors from Oregon, Idaho, New Jersey and of course my home state of New York. One of the Embassy social coordinators had arranged for the Governors to meet Embassy staff members from their respective states around “The Pit” at about 9:00 PM. The hope was to get the Governors in a more social setting and to be able to enjoy a coolie with those they represent. Governor Pataki arrived right on schedule and since it was extremely cold that evening it kept most of the Big Apple New Yorkers indoors. WIMPS. I greeted the Governor with a warm Kabul handshake and welcomed him to our pit. I offered him a coolie and he gladly accepted a Heineken, even though the Corona was much better.

The Governor asked me where I was from, in which I replied with a diversion from my norm since I expected this man to know - I said I was from Herkimer County and the booming metropolis of Mohawk. He smiled and said “this weather must seem mild to you”. That meant he at least had an inkling as to where Herkimer County was, even if he didn’t recognize the town name. Or maybe he equated the town to the river of the same name which would at least put him in the same ballpark (north of Cooperstown). He asked me what I did and how long I’d been in Kabul. I had originally planned on wearing my uniform but knew I’d be much warmer in something else. I told him I was in the Army and had been in Kabul for exactly 42 days. Our small talk continued and we both commented that it would have been better to be drinking a Saranac as opposed to the import on offer but hey – only a true New Yorker would appreciate that. I wanted to tell him about the Genny or Matt’s Beer Balls by the fires of my youth but I don’t know if he’d have quite “gotten it”. He owns a home opposite West Point on the Hudson River so his concept of New York and mine are just a little different.

The Governor did not stay long and claimed to be still suffering from jet lag. I think it was the combination of Kabul’s altitude, the warmth being emitted from the fire, the cold stinky air around us and the conversation with a mortal like me that made him a bit homesick. He bid farewell to the true New Yorkers assembled and wished me good luck. I told him to keep the Empire State safe and I’d do my best out here.

I of course did not follow suit and hung around the fire until the last Pit fan left for the evening. I think I even took over running the bar around 11:00 since the volunteer had given up and was nearly frozen when he called it a night. I was departing for Bagram at 6:45 the next morning but was enjoying the camaraderie and fire too much to go home to the warmth of my mink blanket. We ran out of wood around 2:00 AM and I made my way back to my “VIP Quarters” with the cash box and someone’s iPOD mounting station under my arms. Tomorrow was going to come much too early but I wasn’t done yet.

I trust everyone that’s reading this so I’m going to tell you a secret about an idea I have for an invention and this trust will ensure that you don't steal my idea and try to market it as your own.

I once saw a mechanism attached to a car near the steering wheel that required the operator of the vehicle to blow into a tube which read the Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) of the blower. If the BAC was clean then the operator could start the vehicle. If the BAC showed any alcohol whatsoever, then the vehicle was inoperable until such time that a sober person blew into the tube. I thought the idea was brilliant and have come up with a variation that I hope to mass produce in child labor factories all over Southeast Asia (that part’s a joke). Anyway, my invention is based on the very same concept as the vehicle ignition breathalyzer but will be attached to any type of telephone the user desires (cell/home/car). If the person attempting to make calls has consumed an amount of alcohol that renders them less than sober, the phone will lock up and not allow a number to be input or a call completed. You see I have 20 years of “drunk dialing” experience and Thursday night (Friday morning) was no different. The problem is what Afghan Wireless Communications Company charges for drunk homesick calls to the United States makes Verizon Wireless seem like an incredible bargain. Lets just say that the marketing ploy of free weekends and evenings is not really necessary in a country with one Cell Company and limited (Kabul) coverage.

The investment in my new invention will pay for itself after one Thursday around “The Pit”. I'm not sure of a timeline until I reach the production phase since I'm still in the conceptual stages but you have to agree - I'm on to something here.

I'm supposed to be on Field Trip Number 4 in the not too distant future (although at the time of this writing we are having our first blizzard of the year that will make air travel impossible) so tune in soon for that report or some other Kabul subject I choose to write about. Until then....

Keep on Keepin On.

The Last Three Weeks

2006-11-27T06:00:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-08T20:32:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-07T19:52:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-04T23:21:00.000-08:00

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.

Area Fam

2006-10-27T23:43:00.000-07:00

Area Fam is a cool military term for getting to know your surroundings. Its sort of like being hip and instead of saying I need some information - you say "I need the 411". That of course doesn't work in other cultures where dialing 411 on your phone may send an ambulance to your location. So in that country I say - "give me the 411" and it means I need urgent medical attention. Area Fam is short for Area Familiarization or getting out and learning your way around the streets. Something very important when security reasons could force an alternate route or the simple movement of the Afghani President closing just about every road in the city.

In my office we have a great Afghan American guy (I will leave him unnamed) who lived here in Kabul until he was about 16 years old (left just prior to the Russian invasion) and has been back here now for a year as a contractor helping the U.S. efforts in Afghanistan. Last Saturday he asked if I was interested in getting out and seeing the city (code named Area Fam) for a couple of hours. I jumped at the chance to leave my minimum security detention facility and at around 2:00PM we dashed.

The first stop was the top of a hill overlooking the city of Kabul. On the top of the hill is the tomb of former King ZAHIR Shah's father. King Zahir holds the honorific title of, "Father of the Country" however no longer holds any power. The tomb was ransacked during the Russian invasion and even the bones of the King's father were pilfered. The place is still a wreck but because of the large open area, it is a destination for many Kabulites seeking a place to fly their kites or otherwise enjoy the fall during their weekend.

Here I was actually allowed to get out of the car and take some pretty fantastic photos of the city lying below and of the tomb itself. If you looked only at the hilltop (despite the horrible state the tomb is in) the scene could be in any city park anywhere in the world. There were children playing, people riding bikes, ice cream carts luring anyone with enough money for a treat, picnics and couples. At that very moment it was very hard to comprehend that this country is currently still at war against the evil regime of the Taliban. It was at this point that a little boy of not more than 8 years old came up to me and said - "Sir, give me water please". He repeated this about 7 or 8 times. Normally we have at least a case, if not more, bottled water in the vehicle. The problem was earlier in the day I'd taken my predecessor to the airport and left the remaining partial case with the airport guards (unbelievable how valuable clean drinking water is). I opened up the back of the vehicle and realized I had not a single bottle of water. I told the young man I was sorry (he didn't understand) but I didn't have any water. I did happen to have a case of MREs (Miliary Rations or Meals Ready to Eat). I don't know if any of you have ever had an MRE but it is basically a brown plastic envelope of vacuum packed nourishment in varying flavors. I pulled one from the box to give to the little boy and before I knew it I had children climbing on my back and pulling at my arms to get the next MRE. Within 10 seconds the entire box of 12 was gone despite my companion asking them in Dari to relax and stop pushing. The case was gone and there were still at least 10 children with empty hands and probably emptier stomachs. It was truly gut wrenching and one of those times when you have to reflect on my own life and how absolutely lucky I was to grow up in my middle-class family never being hungry or thirsty. I also had to grasp the reality of not being able to help every single child in the city of Kabul on that particular day.

We mounted back up and took off to do a bit more exploring. We passed by the former palace which was home to the King and some other huge wigs (doesn't rhyme like Big Wigs but has a better meaning) which starting with the Russian Invasion and ending with the Coalition ousting of the Taliban has certainly scene better days. Just from its mere size you can tell what an unbelievable place it used to be and could haev easily fit into a Robin Leach lifestyles of the Rich and Famous or even MTV's "Cribs" - but not now. Guarded by one outpost of the Afghan National Army, no one seems to care. The trees which used to line the palace have been stripped away for their wood (anything burnable is used for heat in the winter) and now it lies in complete ruin.

We spent another hour or so just driving around the city's downtown area. Not what I would call a pretty sight but when you think that this capital is home to more than 4 Million people, there must be something positive about it. Since Saturday is part of the Afghani weekend, the locals use this day to spend the little money they have on shopping and other social activities. The streets are jammed with horse drawn carts pulling all kinds of wares and those that can't afford a horse, are pulling/pushing their wares. The Kabul river is dry until spring thaw and the lack of rain causes a dust haze that just smothers the city. I've had more odd colored nose substances here than I have anywhere else and I'm sure this doing wonders for my sinuses and lungs. Definitely not a destination for anyone with asthma or any other bronchial problems.

We returned to the Embassy unscathed and with me completely familiarized with the local area. Being here and getting out truly gives me an appreciation of what I have and what many of my fellow citizens of the United States take for granted. Its a moving experience and one that I continue to grow with each and every day. Stay tuned for the next installment entitled - "The Pit".

One week down and 51 to go

2006-10-25T03:33:00.000-07:00

Who says time doesn't fly when you're having fun. Yesterday completed my first week in Kabul and I have to say if I'd blinked, I would have missed the entire 7 days. As many of you know the standard work week in Muslim countries is Sunday - Thursday. Most of my State brethren take full advantage of the "weekend" but unfortunately the Department of Defense is at war and we work 7 days a week. Wipe the tear from your eye because I will say that things are a bit relaxed on Friday but here I sit at my desk with a million other things I should be doing but wanting to give my hungry readers something to sink their minds into.

Afghanistan is a landlocked country a little smaller than Colorado. Because of its geographic location, it has served as a crossroads for traders and conquerors from all points on the compass, and its people reflect the diversity resulting from these major migrations and invasions. Afghanistan's recorded history begins about 2000 B.C. and traces of its history can still be seen in its ancient cities of Kabul, Kandahar, Mazar-I-Sharif, and Herat. Although the country has been ruled by many different invaders, including Darius, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, and Tamerlane, the Afghan people remain staunchly independent and proud.

Afghanistan's recent history has been marked by war and civil unrest. The Soviet Union invaded in 1979, but was forced to withdraw 10 years later by Mujahidin forces supported by the U.S., Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and others. In 1992, when the Communist-sponsored regime in Kabul finally collapsed, fighting erupted between the various Mujahidin factions. Their struggle for territory and resources gave rise to a state of warlordism that eventually spawned the Taliban. With foreign backing, the Taliban seized power in 1996, controlling much of the country outside of Northern Alliance strongholds in the northeast. Following the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, the U.S. and its allies, together with the Northern Alliance, drove out the Taliban. Since then, the country has been going through a transitional phase as it seeks to restore its institutions and infrastructure with the assistance of the international community.

Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, has an estimated population of over 4 million. It is in the eastern section of the country, 140 miles from the Pakistan border, situated on a high barren plateau (some 6,300 feet above sea level) surrounded by rugged, treeless mountains.

Private homes and most of Kabul's buildings are in walled compounds. The city has several wide, paved boulevards and avenues as well as narrow, dirt streets. The slopes of the city's lower hills are dotted with small, one-story adobe houses. The old city center has narrow lanes with small kiosks, shops, or stalls behind the wide main streets; this is where most of the city's inhabitants usually shop. The Kabul River winds through the city, although it is very often dry.

Did I mention that a Afghani National Police Officer makes about $70.00 per month? A beard, an AK-47 and you too could be living in the lap of luxury.

Kabul's climate is dry and hot during much of the summer. The skies may be polluted in winter as many inhabitants burn whatever is available for heat. The four seasons are: winter (from December to the end of February); spring (March to mid-May); summer (mid-May to mid-September); and fall (from mid-September to December). Winter temperatures sometimes fall below 0 ºF, and during January and February snowfalls can be heavy. In summer, daytime temperatures sometimes reach above 90 ºF but fall rapidly after sunset. Kabul is in a low rainfall area, and almost all precipitation occurs between November and May. Humidity is extremely low and the remaining months are virtually dry. Strong afternoon winds, accompanied by dust storms, frequently occur during the summer months.

Severe earthquakes are relatively rare but tremors are frequent.

I just wanted to give some background information which was provided by the U.S. State Dept.'s Afghanistan "Post Report".

My week was busy as I previously mentioned and I'd really prefer it no other way. The fact that I came here alone means that I didn't have to worry about the normal things that go with a typical PCS move. No delivery of Household Effects, no registration for school, no delivery of a vehicle - you get the picture. What it basically means is that I hit the ground running and was at work 10 minutes after arriving on the compound. My days this week averaged from 10 - 13 hours and were hilighted by 2 trips to Bagram AFB (will be a separate blog), a meeting with the Kabul based International Military Attache Association on Camp Phoenix and capped by the farewell party for my predecessor last night and a couple of beers around the camp fire (commonly refered to as the "PIT") and then to bed. The PIT too will be a separate blog. I can't write about my boring days everytime as there is so much more interesting stuff going on over here.

All in all it has been an incredibly busy yet rewarding week and I have to say, I'm looking forward to the next one just as much. I should move into my apartment during the next week, I'll get some more area familiarization so I can start driving (can't wait for that) myself the places that I need to go. The city has no stop lights so the roundabouts are truly a free for all and since my armored Land Cruiser is bigger than most cars on the road - I win.

The hours are long and you truly have to be on edge all the time. I had a friend tell me yesterday that reassimilation into the normal life after my tour here may be difficult since the administriva that folks get so spun up about isn't nearly as important to those returning from a place like this. No one is not going to die if time sheets are a little late or that memo for the Ambassador is tardy. I'm sure you understand so I won't belabor the issue.

Have a great day and an even better weeekend - until next time. - Peace

The Hooch

2006-10-24T02:35:00.000-07:00

Webster's Dictionary defines the word "Hooch" as: An illicitly distilled (and usually inferior) alcoholic liquor. Even though I prefer the Webster's way of looking at things, "Hooch" is also a slang term used during the Vietnam War to describe a small shelter. Albeit taking from both definitions here in Kabul - a rather inferior small shelter. This is where I live, at least for the time being. The Embassy in Kabul was evacuated during the onset of the Russian invasion of Afghanistan during late 1978 and even though our building stood strong for nearly 25 years, time took its toll. When the American diplomatic presence returned to Kabul following the September 11th bombings and subsequent invasion, the security situation required that all employees be housed on the Embassy compound giving birth to Kabul Hooch.

Having traveled extensively around the world I'd heard the term before and may have even seen a "hooch" or two during my years in South Korea. Nothing prepared me for what I would soon be calling home.

Arriving on the 19th of October and having my passport taken from me, I was escorted to the Embassy compound by my perdecessor and new boss. The Embassy is only about a 15 minute straight shot (pardon the pun) from Kabul International Airport but what a ride it was. Swerving and weaving in and out of traffic at whatever speed we wanted (just my kind of place), I arrived in one piece. By this time the puddle in my lap had dried, although the drive from the airport nearly created a new one. I was taken to the Housing Office and given a key to my Hooch and told that it was right next to the kennels (will not elaborate on that). I'm glad I had an escort since the entire compound (except for the actual Embassy builiding) is filled with these single story conex containers (all painted white) that have been modified into lodging facilities. My suitcases arrived from the airport and I made my way with them to my new (hopefully very temporary) home.

To the credit of "The Hooch", mine has all the creature comforts of home. When you walk inside the door immediately to your left is a sink with hot & cold running water, a mirror, a medicine cabinet and a conveniently placed water heater right under the sink. There is an old Army style locker which has a couple shelves and unfortunately does not have a long enough hanging space to accommodate all of the formal wear that I brought along (one U.S. Army Class "A" uniform). Next to the drab gray metal "closet" is a small fridge and even a microwave to heat up Vienna Sausages and my all time favorite micro treat - Hot Pockets. Next to the mini-fridge is a dresser with ample space for underwear (I brought 25 pair), socks and even t-shirts. Sat upon the dresser is the nicest 13 inch color television I'd ever laid my eyes upon, including a DVD player. Across from the dresser and TV is a small desk with two drawers and comes equipped with an IVG equipped telephone and an ethernet cable that provides "sort of" broadband internet access. At the end of "The Hooch" is the absolute best set of bunk beds I've slept on in the last 10 years. Not since the mighty USS Blue Ridge have I seen bunk beds of this quality. The only difference is on the Blue Ridge they're stacked 3 high and in my "hooch" there are only 2 beds to the bunk. The mattress is the same though, at a massive 2 1/2 inch thickness. I know because I measured it. You see before I left my office gave me this great Leatherman tool that has a ruler on one edge. I'd never in my life figured out what I could use that ruler for - until now. Sheets pulled tight, just like boot camp, I couldn't wait to climb in for some much needed rest. (It didn't end up happening for about 12 more hours). On the opposite end of the "hooch" is a step up bathroom complete with shower and toilet. All of this comfort squeezed into a trailer that you may see on the back of an 18-wheeler except that instead of having the whole trailer - two of these "Hooches" have been squeezed into that one trailer space. My Leatherman ruler doesn't measure that far but I'm guessing around 80 square feet that I have all to myself. I was told though that they couldn't promise me solidarity the entire stay and that I have to be ready to expect a roommate at anytime. I mean after all, there's an empty bed and of course plenty of room.

There are lots of great things about my hooch, like its ability to heat up to an amazing 100 degrees during the day and damn near (if not below) freezing at night. Keep in mind that Kabul is at about 6,000 feet above sea level so the temps can be very different when the sun goes down. There is a small air conditioning/heating unit on the wall above the top bunk that really doesn't do much but make a whole lot of noise. The shower stall is about 1 1/2 feet across in both directions so I literally have to get out and go back in to turn around. The water is supposed to stay hot for 8 minutes but I have the express version which means I have hot water for about 3 minutes. I used to do this when I was younger in the military so not a big deal except now I have no hair and a whole lot more skin to wash. I don't know how a woman could even think about washing their hair in this abbreviated attempt at personal hygene. Above the toilet is an extractor fan that has to stay on at all times or the mosquitos will invade in fligts larger than most modern air forces. I'm normally not too tasty to mosquitos but I think the Afghan version is looking for anything that tastes different than goat.

My days in the hooch are numbered though since once my predecessor departs, I will be moving into one of the numbered apartments which are located on the compound as well. That of course is a different post all together.

My free time in the office has run out and its time to go to bed in my hooch and start the day again tomorrow. Good Night.

How to read.

2006-10-24T02:16:00.000-07:00

Hello and thanks for stopping by. As a military instructor I was taught to never start a class with an apology but unfortunately that's the way this is going to go. Being new to the world of "blogging" I thought for some reason that my additions would follow chronilogically below the previous so that you could read it as a continuous story - if you joined late. This is not the case here and all new additions are added on top of the previous post. With that said, I manipulated the dates of my first 3 posts so they in fact do run the way I want them to (top to bottom) but have decided that its way too much work to change the date of all previous posts each time I add a new post. So to confuse you further my initial 3 posts will remain top to bottom but then each new post will come on top - if that makes any sense at all. I'm sorry for the confusion and hope you continue to read. I plan to add something about every 3 or 4 days at the least, but who knows, if I'm bored I'll type. The problem right now is that I haven't been able to get my laptop in my "hooch" to connect so I have to do this on my office computer - during my free time of course. If anyone reading with more experience at this than I would like to join the team to be Editor-in-Chief, then please let me know (MATT MATT MATT) as I'm just not mentally capable. - Thanks.

The Beginning

2006-10-23T05:35:00.000-07:00

As you may know, I am a Chief Warrant Officer in the United States Army recently promoted to grade Three. By trade I'm an Attache Technician which is a fancy title for Operations Coordinator or Ops Chief for Defense Attache Offices within the Defense Attache System. Our main objective in any given country is to establish and maintain close ties with the host-nation military and represent the Secretary of Defense to the host-government. Our offices our located within U.S. Embassies worldwide.

On the 19th of October 2006 I arrived and assumed my duties as the Operations Coordinator for the Defense Attache Office here at the American Embassy in Kabul, Afghanistan. It is a one-year hardship unaccompanied tour. My family have stayed in Maryland since we own our home and we did not want to interrupt my daughter's schooling more than absolutely necessary (I miss them terribly).

I will leave this initial post at that and start with the day-to-day type stuff tomorrow.

Dubai

2006-10-23T05:29:00.000-07:00

I departed London on the 18th of October and after a change of planes in Frankurt arrived at the "Gateway to the Middle East" following a journey of about 14 hours. The plane touched down in Dubai, United Arab Emirates at about 10:30 PM local time. My onward flight for Kabul did not depart until the following morning so my dear friend Yuri got a great deal on a room for me at the Hyatt Regency Dubai for about $100 less than the government per diem. The room was still almost $200 for the night, but less than per diem, which is the key here.
My only experience in the Middle East was a week in Cairo, Egypt about two years ago. Now if you ask anyone from the Middle East, they will tell you that Cairo is not the Middle East its North Africa but Egyptians consider themselves to be Middle Eastern. Another story completely but I thought I'd mention it. I arrive in Dubai and already the heat is almost overwhelming - and this is at 10:30 at night. I process through immigration and on to collect my two suitcases and then to customs. There is a great story here but I'll leave it to tell over a beer since only those that have ever attended the Joint Military Attache School (where I was most recently an instructor) will understand (and possibly my father-in-law). Right outside of customs there is a wall on the far side of the arrivals hall with little kiosks set up with every single 5-star hotel in Dubai above them. I immediately proceded to the Hyatt kiosk and asked the young lady how I can get to the Hyatt Regency. She tells me that I'll have to wait about an hour for the Hyatt driver or take a local cab. Dubai, being pretty close to first world and my lack of sleep encourages me to take a local cab. As she walks me out of the arrival hall to the taxi rank we leave the airport and I'm hit square in the face with the heat and then with misting water that is launched from what looks like spray guns attached to fans that form a 250% humitdy rate - if that's possible.
I get into a nice Toyota Camry with Abdul the carpet man who asks me every question under the book - Where are you from my friend? Have you ever been to the Middle East my friend? Do you want to buy some gold my friend? (next visit Emma I promise) How about a carpet my friend? On and on this goes for the entire 12KM taxi ride that takes about 40 minutes. Did I mention that its Ramadan? If you don't know what Ramadan is, please "google" it since it would take too long to explain here. I continually tell Abdul that I'm off to Kabul and have a very limited amout of time in Dubai. "Oh sir" he says - "the markets are open all night". Again a polite La Shokran (no thank you) and after much pressure, I arrive at the Hyatt.
To say this place is stunning would seriously be an understatement. The hotel is beautiful and everyone is so helpful and friendly. I'm escorted to my room, following check-in, by the duty manager (nice touch Yuri) and she explains how happy they are to have someone as important as me staying at their hotel (Yuri has come through again) and I tell her - no problem it was the least I could do before heading to the tropical paradise of Kabul. I ask her the dumb American question and say - "is it possible to get a beer in the hotel even though its Ramadan?" She says not in the lobby bar but there is a club near the ice skating rink (a skating rink in the hoetl - is that cool or what) that will gladly serve me a beer. She drops me off, shows me how to hook-up my laptop and leaves me in peace.
I drop my bags, call Emma and head for the beer. Not only does the Premier Club have beer, they have "Sol" one of my favorite Mexican additions to the world's beer market. So I proceed to have 4 or 5 - who knows after the day I had, and then go back to my room. By this time its about 1:30 and I decide that if I go to sleep, I may not get up since my wake-up call is for 4:00. I order a $12.00 club sandwhich and drink every packet of instant coffee I can find. I watch a little football and eat my sandwhich and jump in the shower. I repack my toilitries (god forbid I have shampoo on a plane) and head for check-out. A different Abdul takes me to the terminal for my 7:00 AM flight to Kabul but still insists on selling me a carpet. I'm wise to the ways of a Middle Eastern Shark (if you remember my Egyptian Pyramids story) so make it to the airport with my wallet in tact.
The aiport is pure chaos and I couldn't even find where I'm supposed to be. I don't have a ticket since it was purchased for me by the Embassy in Kabul and I'm only supposed to "show up" and show my passport to be given my "ride" to Kabul. The journey is booked on Kam Air - I'm sure you've never heard of it but it flies from Kabul to lovely places like Almaty, Kazahkistan. I finally found where I was supposed to be and was told by the Kam Air rep that my bags were overweight and I had to pay. I said "not a problem" and asked how much. She said that I had to go to a different desk - pay the 180 Diram fee and the clerk would then give me my boarding pass. The other desk had at least 20 Arab gentlemen waiting (which is a very mild way of saying pushing each other to get to the front) in line to do, I assume, the same thing I needed to do. Then came the 5:00 AM call to prayer which I thought for sure would leave me in-line alone, possibly with no cashier, but at least at the front of the line, but no luck to be had in Dubai. I was told later than there's a prayer wavier for travelers. I pushed with these rather foul smelling gents for the better part of an hour and finally made it to the front to pay my money, receive my boarding card and be on my way.
Terminal 2 at Dubai International is nothing more than a staging area for flights to Kabul and Baghdad. No Soldiers heading out but tons and tons of contractors that are used to support the U.S. efforts in both locations. These guys are some real mercenaries and believe it or not - I saw Willie Nelson heading to Baghdad and he was being closely followed by Eddie Rabbitt. I thought it was the USO Soldier show. Anyways - I digress. Once I passed through my 3rd or 4th security check-point I was allowed into the gate area. I was warned earlier that despite having a seat number most travelers treated the first empty seat as their own since most can't read. I'm not joking on that part. The flight attendant has to literally read nearly every boarding card and direct the traveler to his seat. I say "his" since 80% of those heading this way were male and the plane sat about 200. I was seated in seat 7B. When I saw my boarding card I of course thought that I was going to be squished between two of the aforementioned stinky locals but was pleasantly surprised to park myself between a Filipina heading to Kabul to work in a restaurant and a South African gun-for-hire.

To be continued.....

The Arrival

2006-10-22T04:21:00.000-07:00

My watch read just after 7:00 AM and we were on our way, even though the condensation from the plane's a/c dripping from above made a puddle on my pants right where you don't really want a puddle. We headed for the runway and within 10 minutes were airborne on our way to Kabul with a flying time of 2 1/2 hours. Of course as soon as the plane went "nose up" the condensation from all 7 rows forward found the easiest way out which increased the size of my puddle to that of someone who was really really scared to fly. Once we evened out the water subsided a bit but the helpful flight attendant brought out a roll of clear 2 inch tape and decided to do some patch work above my puddle. I sure hoped this wasn't their fix-all for the engine as well or any other vital organ on the airplane.

I tried to close my eyes a couple times but was awoken after each attempt by the pools of water finding its way around the patch work. Once on my bald head, once on my nose (you get the idea). I wish the water had landed on some of my traveling companions since it had been weeks since their last attempt at a shower. Time for the meal and drinks cart. I had been warned before not to eat the meal and make sure and have something before flying so I was now very grateful for my $12.00 club sandwhich that I had back at the Hyatt. As we left Iranian airspace and entered Afghani the pilot came over the intercom and welcomed us to Afghanistan. He did it in Arabic and then the flight attendant translated into Pashtu (local lingo) and English. For some reason I didn't feel incredibly welcome but I reclosed my eyes and thought happy thoughts.

When we were told to put our seats up and tray tables away, I knew we were close. Due to the capability of small arms (or bigger arms) being able to "take out" the Boeing 737, the approach to Kabul International is one of the steepest I'd ever experienced. Emma my dear, you would have been beyond queasy on this one. We weren't pointed straight down but darn close to it with a last minute pull-up to make sure the front wheel didn't hit first. Ten point landing in my book - especially under these harsh conditions. The overhead sights of Kabul, as well as those on the ground, are not too hard to describe. Mud huts abound and more dust and dirt than you can imagine. The mountains coming in were incredible and the largest were even covered in snow, but the city was drab and lacked anything that I would consider pretty. I saw one cool looking building that from the air looked like a wagon wheel with each spoke being a separate inner building with courtyards between all the spokes and a round courtyard in the middle. This was later identified to me as the largest prison in Afghanistan. Not so cool afterall.

Once we were on the ground and allowed to move someone opened the overhead bin above me where my computer bag had been for the last 3 hours. The smell that escaped from this bin is honestly indescribable. Think of 100 baby diapers (soiled of course), horse poo, dog poo, cat poo and duck poo, rolled into an enchilada with a big hunk of cheese and left out in the sun for 3 days. My computer bag still smells of yuck and to think, me with no frebreeze. The plane did not pull up to the airport but was left about 100 yards from the terminal. At the bottom of the stairs was a man holding a piece of paper that had the American Flag on it and in black letters it said "American Embassy". I gave him a "thank-you god" (or allah) sort of look and showed him my passport. He checked my name off his list and said give me your passport and two dollars. I was very hesitant to turn my passport over and what did he want two dollars for. The other Embassy guy explained that this gentleman was an expediter and would use the money to tip the guys that were getting my luggage off the plane since they do not work for salary. Can you imagine an international airport with no paid baggage handlers? Here's my money and I sure hope to get my passport back.

I was escorted to the VIP area - a gravel lot on the other side of a fence - where I was greeted by my predecessor and my new boss. We loaded the heavily armored Humvee and proceeded to the Embassy through the roughest airport road I'd ever been on and passed some of the most depressing squalor I'd ever seen. People everywhere and nothing but poverty. My first question of course was what did it look like before we started helping them?

That's it for now - more episodes to follow.