Keeping In Touch

One of the best things about life at ISAF HQ is that we have (free!) internet access in our rooms. I'm able to do video chats with Kim pretty much every day, which is fantastic.

The bummer is that the internet connection tends to be a bit slow and more often than not, the image looks like this. Either that or there's something psychedelic in the water over here.

Apparently the video signal from my end comes through alright, so Kim doesn't have the pleasure of watching my colors change like magic. Maybe I should send her some of that water.

I'm really not complaining - it's a million times better than not being able to see her, sometimes the image is clear, and some of my buddies at other camps pay $70/mo for connections that are just as bad.

Given the time difference, I don't get to see the kids as often. They're either sleeping or at school when I'm awake and available to call (bedtime here is lunchtime there, so that's when we talk most). But on weekends we're usually able to work in some time.

Anyway, when I think about the wartime experiences of the past (and I'm talking 5 or 6 years ago even), the ability to have real-time video is pretty darn amazing.

A Day In The Life

Here's the story of a typical day at ISAF HQ.

Most days, my alarm goes off at 0600 and I leap out of bed, singing a happy song. OK, maybe not the singing part, but I do get out of bed almost every single day. That's just how I roll.

After performing my morning ablutions (see, I'm learning the lingo!), I'm at the Dining Facility (aka DFAC - now you're learning the lingo too) with my roomie Alex by 6:30 or so. After using the clearing barrel to make sure my pistol isn't loaded (it never is) and scanning the lunch and dinner menus (look, it's taco night!), I enter the foyer where I scan my meal card, wash my hands at a conveniently located trough-style sink and grab a tray. I've said enough about the food in a previous post, so let's skip ahead a bit.

I'm usually at my desk by 0700, or a little after. Work ensues. Promptly at 1100, my team and I head out for lunch. Why so early? Probably because we're all hoping an early lunch means the day will go faster (and the week & the month) and we'll get home sooner. At the DFAC, it's the same procedure - clear the weapons, scan the card, wash hands, grab a tray, get some chicken. We eat a lot of chicken over here. Once we're seated, since I've got an international team, we say dobra tek (Croatian), dobra hooch (Czech) and/or Bon Appetite (American) before we eat. It's a nice tradition.

On the way back to the office after lunch, we stop at the Post Office - 7 days a week! See, one of the benefits of being deployed is mail delivery on Sundays (one of the un-benefits is having to work on Sundays). Anyway, our Officially Designated Mail Guy goes inside, while the rest of us wait at the back door like cats behind a DFAC, waiting to see if we can get any goodies to carry back to the office.

We're usually back at the office before noon, where more work ensues. If it's a slow day (or even if it's not), the tv on the wall is usually on, tuned in to football in the morning (remember there's a 9.5 hr time difference), the Indian version of the Discovery Channel (you can tell by the commercials advertising cars for 5000 Rupees), or a Polish music video channel (check out Malgoska by Wet Fingers for an example - these guys crack me up).



I hit the gym around 3:00 on most days, then dinner with the gang is promptly at 5:00, the minute the DFAC opens (dobra tek!). Then things get weird - I go back to the office after dinner. It's usually quiet and mellow at this time of day, but I do get a lot of stuff done. I punch out between 7 and 8, and if all goes well I get to see Kim for a little video chat as she gets ready to eat lunch and I get ready for bed. Then I watch an episode or two of Arrested Development, read a few pages of a book and get to sleep.

And that's about it... now you know what most days are like over here. Fridays and Sundays are a little different. More about them - and about my actual job - in a future post.

I Get Around

I walk on a lot of gravel around here at the ISAF HQ compound.

I don't know if you have much experience walking on gravel for extended periods of time, but it's an odd, slightly-off-balance feeling. I'm sure it's a great way to strengthen my ankles.

And when I'm not walking on gravel, I'm leaping over rough terrain like this picture.

But I also walk down the middle of the street pretty often (since, as I said, the alternative is gravel). Don't get nervous - the middle of the street is safer than it might sound, because the camp is a walking camp. The speed limit for vehicles is 5 kpm, so basically the vehicles don't go any faster than the pedestrians. Plus, each one has a ground guide walking in front of it (fully decked out in body armor, weapons, sunglasses and those curly wire ear buds like a Secret Service agent - yeah, they're your basic bad a$$).

This doesn't mean it's impossible to get hit by one of these cars, just that reasonable measures are taken to prevent such an impact.

So, it's nice that I don't have a long commute by train or car. I kinda like being able to walk around everywhere. But boy, I do miss sidewalks.

Ablu-what?

Much to my surprise, there are no bathrooms or showers here at the ISAF HQ compound. There are, however, many doors marked 'Ablutions," which I think is an Afghan word meaning closet. I hope to find a bathroom or shower sometime soon, because it's been a week and I'm starting to get desperate.

Kidding! Of course I know that ablution is a fancy European word for bathroom. Sadly, they used up all the fancy when they named the thing and had no fancy left for the inside. Let me tell you about that.

From what I can tell, the shower stalls are cleaned often, but let's just say they're not exactly thoroughly cleaned. The result is not terrible, but if this was a hotel, you'd definitely ask for a different room. The shower curtains have long since outlived their useful life (the word "ew" comes to mind). The floors of the shower stalls appear to have been specially treated to minimize friction, and I know that if I get injured over here, it'll be because I slipped and fell in the shower.

Actually, I've moved to the second floor now, where the shower floors have sufficient texture to prevent any falls. Not sure why the first floor showers aren't the same way, but I feel safer already. Now I only have to fear the water. I'm not kidding when I say you can boil a chicken in those showers. This culinary feat is made possible not just because the water is so dang hot, but also because the drain is pretty slow. By the end of my 2-minute shower, I'm up to my ankles in hot water. The other main danger is bumping up against the water control lever, which can instantly transform a comfortable shower into an ice bath or a sudden scald.

Then there's the, um, let's call them "the other stalls," which have quirks of their own. For starters, they're just the coziest little spaces you ever did see. When I sit down in the restroom to, ahem, have a rest, my toes stick out from under the door. Did I mention there's not a lot of space in there? There are guys around here much taller and larger than I am and I don't know how they do it. These facilities are really helping my posture, because if I don't sit up straight, I'll be resting my cheek & forehead on the stall door. Not knowing what else has been previously rested against that door, I make sure I sit up very straight indeed.

One final quirk is that we keep the shower section's door open all the time, to help with air flow (it's a long, narrow, 8x18 space, just like our dorms). The mirrors fog up quickly if more than one or two showers are going, but keeping the doors open helps. I guess that's just one more reason the dorms are segregated by gender.

I think that's all I have to say about that.

The Spot Where My Bed Is...

I haven't quite come up with a good name to refer to my accommodations - should I call it my bunk, my rack, my room, hooch, cabin, villa, cell... I'm stumped and am open to suggestions.

 

Regardless of what you call it, the place where I sleep (for lack of a better term) is surprisingly quiet and comfortable, but not large or fancy by any means. My dwelling (dorm? domicile? nest?) is one component of a larger modular structure. The overall building is composed of a series of what appear to be shipping containers stacked side by side and on top of each other (two layers high). There's a central hallway and the showers / restrooms at one end.

 

I share an 8 x 18 room (burrow?) with an Air Force Lt Col I met at CAST. It's good to be a Lieutenant Colonel (or an "OF-4" to use the NATO term), because many of the lower ranks have three to a room. In fact, I spoke with another Lt Col this afternoon, and he is in a room of 3. Yikes! Fortunately, he's at a different camp, so I'm optimistic they won't pack us in quite that densely here at the HQ. And so far, I've tended to get back to the room before my roomie does, so I've been able to chat with Kim without feeling weird about having another dude 5 feet away.

 

At the risk of sounding critical, I must say the walls of my abode are currently under-decorated and largely unattractive. The previous inmate left behind a few maps of the local area, along with an inexplicable poster featuring "Coffee Shops Of Seattle" with all their funny names (Happy Go Latte and Brewhaha, for example).  I've added some artwork from the kids, which is great, and am hoping to get a larger collection of decorations before long.

 

There's not much else to say about the place. It's small. It's got a/c and heat. It's dry and doesn't smell too funny most of the time. It ain't glamorous, but for now, it's my home-far-far-away from home.

And Now, Some Complaints...

The team sport of complaining about military chow is a time-honored tradition, a beloved activity enthusiastically embraced by military personnel from every nation. In keeping with this proud heritage of this profession of arms, I hereby offer my complaints about the offerings of the ISAF Dining Facility (DFAC).

 

1) Sometimes, there are two people in line ahead of me at the espresso machine, so I have to wait a minute or two. This morning, I decided to get (gasp!) regular coffee, and it wasn't nearly as good as the espresso!

 

2) The fresh grapefruit wedges are cut too thick, making them difficult to eat. (UPDATE: The grapefruit cutter has been either retrained or replaced, because now the wedges are perfectly sized. Please disregard complaint #2)

 

3) My french toast was not very hot this morning. Also, they do not serve real maple syrup, only maple flavoured "syrup" (note the British spelling of flavour). (Also, Note to my family in NY & VT: send maple syrup!).

 

4) I never have enough time to finish the entire crossword puzzle on my placemat. Plus, I get placemat #0014 pretty often, and honestly, I can only partially complete the same crossword so many times before it starts to get boring.

 

5) The soft-serve ice cream machine only dispenses one flavor per day. Today it was vanilla, but I wanted chocolate.

 

6) There is no ice for my drink. Compounding this insult, instead of "iced tea," the tea dispenser is labeled "'chilled tea." As everyone knows, that just isn't the same thing.

 

There, I have now fulfilled my obligation as a military man and complained about the chow. 

Having done that, I really should admit the food here is pretty good. It tends to be a bit heavier fare than I usually eat (and I'm trying to be careful about that), but there's always salad and lots of fruit and veg. For some strange reason, there are no raw carrots, only cooked ones. There are, however, a ton of cucumbers. Seriously, how many cucumbers can a guy eat? 

All in all, I don't have any real complaints, although I do miss carrots...

 

Welcome To Kabul

I've resigned myself to the fact that there will be a significant lag between events happening and events being written about here on this blog. So I've been here for almost a week and I'm finally posting this shot of the "Welcome To Kabul" sign.

One of the funny things about internet communications is that I can quickly post stuff on Facebook or send an email almost immediately... but I still want to write longer blog posts and letters, to capture more of the details even though they end up feeling out of date when I write them.

Anyway, when we got off the C-130, we were greeted by this sign over the passenger terminal. They brought over a big pallet with all our bags strapped onto it and we began the latest bag drag exercise. We hauled our stuff inside, made a call to our various contacts, then hauled the bags out to the front of the terminal to wait for transport.

Mine didn't come that night after all, so I spend this night in a rather unpleasant little tent with 20 of my closest, um, let's call them friends. Got to sleep after midnight and was up at 0500 to meet the drive team who took me from the airport to the ISAF HQ compound

It was a surreal moment, walking off the back of a C-130 in full body armor in the middle of the night, hauling big bags of various military equipment (most of which I'll never use, of course). Never thought I'd do something like that. Between the dark, the fatigue, the disorientation and unfamiliarity of it all, I must confess it was a bit scary. But having been here for a while, it's really not so bad.