It has been pointed out that a few times in this blog I have used the phrase "...can only be described as a totally indescribable..." Well, this is another one of those posts.
Friday night I was invited out by a few friends here, to an International Dance Party hosted by the Dutch contingent here on KAF. I wasn't really quite sure what to expect, but considering that I have done ZILCH in the way of personal fun and relaxation, I figured it was time to go out. Work and sleep be damned!
I was meeting the rest there, which was fine other than not knowing where "there" was save for a faint concept. No matter, as once I was within 200 meters I could hear the bass penetrating the dusty Kandahar air. Like a homing pigeon, I headed towards its origins. A large tent, indistinct from all the other tents around KAF, baring the group of people standing out side and a sign above the door - DUTCH CORNER. This was the place.
The first part that started my head into the eventual spiral of utter confusion and sensory overload was the bouncer at the door. Like every bar and club in California, two guys stood at the door looking over the patrons as they came and went. Only, they were not checking IDs or collecting cover - no weapons allowed. Luckily I had been made aware of this and was prepared.
Upon entering the vestibule of the large vinyl tent with its wooden floor, I could hear the music blaring and see lights pouring out from around the corner. I was not ready for what lay inside.
Turning the corner, a full discotech / rave / dance party was in progress. A stage with two DJs mixing beats and keeping the party going. A dance floor packed to the gills with people of all nationalities dancing and letting loose, some on raised platforms showing off their moves. Bright colorful lights, strobes, glow sticks, black lights... In a place where the only colors you see are various shades of tan, walking into a room that looks like the jumbo box of Crayola crayons exploded is a bit of a shock. I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz after the tornado. There were people walking around with bottles of beer, and a bar in the back with people bellied up to it. Come to find out the bar was selling near-beer, but from the bottles piled up on tables and clasped in hands - you wouldn't have known it.
It may be difficult to understand why I am taking the time to write all this. Bars and dancing and music are all things that seem so normal to most people. What you have to remember is that normal is a different beast out here. Carrying around weapons, running to bunkers during rocket attacks, shaking moon-dust out of your uniforms... that's normal out here. What I saw in that room Friday night was the furthest thing from normal you could possibly find out here. I didn't know what to do with myself, I spent a good 20 minutes just standing there looking about in a shocked state of awe; fascinated at the spectacle before me.
After linking up with my friends and choking down a near-beer (they're near palatable), and after the short-circuit in my brain cleared, life was good. I danced and laughed and enjoyed myself for hours - the first time I've had the chance in a long, long time. I met new people, drank a few near beers, and sweated my ass off in that tent. When it was finally time to leave, I stepped back into reality, with the dust and the tactical vehicles and the void of color as far as the eye could see.
A well needed break from this place, for all of us in that room. For one night, it was like we were home, surrounded by friends, not a care in the world. If you took out all the camouflage uniforms and added a few more girls, it could have been any bar or club in any city in the world. For a second, all this insanity that is around us didn't seem to matter anymore... And that second - well that was good enough.
26 September 2009
24 September 2009
21 September 2009
The Afghanistan Effect
It's been a little while since I posted last, and for that I apologize. It is not for lack of desire to keep the postings up-to-date, but more so a feature of life here. Days have begun to run together, and the only reason I know what day of the week it is has more to do with what meetings I have that day than anything else.
So what's new then? Overall, it's been a pretty good week or so. Only been roused from my sleep by alarms once, so that's a plus. There was some gunfire and explosions the other night, so going to bed with that in the ear is always interesting. I'm not sure if they were training sounds or anger sounds, but based on the lack of knowing one way or the other, I'm led to believe it was training. Within the past week, we have had two more ramp ceremonies - well, we have had more than two, but two that stand out. They were for service men assigned to units subordinate to ours. While none of us in my unit knew any of the departed, it still brings a slightly more personal sting.
Strange as it may seem that I started that paragraph with an indication that this past week has been "good" based on what I wrote, that's pretty much how I feel. Perhaps it makes me callous, perhaps it makes me a less decent person - I'm not really sure. All I know is that personally, the past week has been overall good. I can only imagine how that must sound to people back home - I try to think how I would react to what I'm writing if I were still back home... But I'm not, and try as I may, I have a hard time imagining it.
This is life... This is what we do here. For the lack of any better term, I'll call it the Afghanistan Effect.
For fear of giving anyone the wrong impression - I'm actually in quite good spirits. I guess I'm just happy in an otherwise miserable place...
So what's new then? Overall, it's been a pretty good week or so. Only been roused from my sleep by alarms once, so that's a plus. There was some gunfire and explosions the other night, so going to bed with that in the ear is always interesting. I'm not sure if they were training sounds or anger sounds, but based on the lack of knowing one way or the other, I'm led to believe it was training. Within the past week, we have had two more ramp ceremonies - well, we have had more than two, but two that stand out. They were for service men assigned to units subordinate to ours. While none of us in my unit knew any of the departed, it still brings a slightly more personal sting.
Strange as it may seem that I started that paragraph with an indication that this past week has been "good" based on what I wrote, that's pretty much how I feel. Perhaps it makes me callous, perhaps it makes me a less decent person - I'm not really sure. All I know is that personally, the past week has been overall good. I can only imagine how that must sound to people back home - I try to think how I would react to what I'm writing if I were still back home... But I'm not, and try as I may, I have a hard time imagining it.
This is life... This is what we do here. For the lack of any better term, I'll call it the Afghanistan Effect.
For fear of giving anyone the wrong impression - I'm actually in quite good spirits. I guess I'm just happy in an otherwise miserable place...
14 September 2009
PT - Afghani Style
I think I am going to write a get-slim-quick book when I get back, based on my experiences here in Afghanistan. There are a number of advantages to these types of books. 1 - You need zero qualification, knowledge, or training to write the book. 2 - Your plan doesn't even really have to work, it just has to sound good. 3 - People are obsessed with this type of thing, so you're bound to make money.
My book will feature the Afghanistan Diet. I'm still working on the concept, but here are some of the pointers:
My book will feature the Afghanistan Diet. I'm still working on the concept, but here are some of the pointers:
- Work 16 hours a day - it limits over eating because you hardly have time to eat, let alone over eat.
- PT for at least an hour a day, every day. You must PT in a gym that has minimal ventilation and where the ambient temperature is no less than 100*F inside. Bonus - part of that hour is spent inside the smaller cardio room attached to the gym, where it is easily 15* warmer and "humidity" (translation - the moisture content of the air based solely on sweat) is at least 80%.
- Wear boots everywhere you go - they're like ankle weights that you don't even know you're wearing!
- Walk everywhere - cars are for people more important than you, and who cares if the meeting you have is a mile away - get moving!
- At least once a week, put on 75lbs of gear and walk around outside for a while.
- Drink at least 6 liters of water a day. It'll flush out your system of all the bad stuff, and it'll keep you full so you're not so hungry. Bonus - if it's hot and dry out, you hardly have to urinate!
- Give up all forms of booze, totally and completely... this part may be hard if it's around you, so lock yourself away someplace where it's not allowed!
07 September 2009
Suck it, Six Flags!
Today... Today was a good day.
I took another trip to one of my FOBs which meant a ride in a CH47 Chinook piloted by the Dutch. The base was huge, much larger than anything I've ever been to prior (although smaller than KAF). Their DFAC (That's dining facility, remember? Try and keep up here.) was incredible. They had a full out Labor Day spread, with easily the best food I've had since leaving the US. I had a delicious cheddar burger with grilled mushrooms and onions and some spinach and tomato, plus Mac & Cheese and some steamed vegetables. I also broke my diet and had a piece of lemon cake. Granted, reading what I ate as I write it, doesn't sound too amazing... but trust me, compared to what I have been eating - it's top cuisine.
The trip back was definitely the exciting part. It's quite a long ride back to KAF, and I wanted a seat by the tail of the helicopter because the Chinooks fly with the tail gate open so the gunner can sit there and watch our 6. So I was hanging out back there with my little POV Video Camera recording our flight and then the assistant gunner also started filming some shots from his window of us flying pretty dang low. Then we got to some mountains that on the way out we flew over. This time - we flew through. We were low and fast - I'm talking rotor tips only 30-50 feet from the hill side, maybe 30-50 feet off the ground ourselves. And we were booking it, too. We'd change altitude rapidly, climbing hundreds of feet and then shooting back down within seconds. It was like the worlds most exciting, dangerous, military endorsed amusement park! I've included some of the video footage below - watch it and get lost in the moment; you can almost hear CCR yourself! (See, I tie a lot of things back into my posts for you loyal readers).
After getting back to the office, I found a surprise care package from my friend Moriel, which was a welcome gift indeed - cookies (delicious btw - thank you Mori), granola bars, magazines, and a barrel of monkeys!
On the down side - I've been getting crazy sick, coughing pretty much nonstop and unable to breathe through my nose. I left work early (1915, if you can call that early) to go home and try to get some rest. I hope to be asleep before much longer.
I took another trip to one of my FOBs which meant a ride in a CH47 Chinook piloted by the Dutch. The base was huge, much larger than anything I've ever been to prior (although smaller than KAF). Their DFAC (That's dining facility, remember? Try and keep up here.) was incredible. They had a full out Labor Day spread, with easily the best food I've had since leaving the US. I had a delicious cheddar burger with grilled mushrooms and onions and some spinach and tomato, plus Mac & Cheese and some steamed vegetables. I also broke my diet and had a piece of lemon cake. Granted, reading what I ate as I write it, doesn't sound too amazing... but trust me, compared to what I have been eating - it's top cuisine.
The trip back was definitely the exciting part. It's quite a long ride back to KAF, and I wanted a seat by the tail of the helicopter because the Chinooks fly with the tail gate open so the gunner can sit there and watch our 6. So I was hanging out back there with my little POV Video Camera recording our flight and then the assistant gunner also started filming some shots from his window of us flying pretty dang low. Then we got to some mountains that on the way out we flew over. This time - we flew through. We were low and fast - I'm talking rotor tips only 30-50 feet from the hill side, maybe 30-50 feet off the ground ourselves. And we were booking it, too. We'd change altitude rapidly, climbing hundreds of feet and then shooting back down within seconds. It was like the worlds most exciting, dangerous, military endorsed amusement park! I've included some of the video footage below - watch it and get lost in the moment; you can almost hear CCR yourself! (See, I tie a lot of things back into my posts for you loyal readers).
After getting back to the office, I found a surprise care package from my friend Moriel, which was a welcome gift indeed - cookies (delicious btw - thank you Mori), granola bars, magazines, and a barrel of monkeys!
On the down side - I've been getting crazy sick, coughing pretty much nonstop and unable to breathe through my nose. I left work early (1915, if you can call that early) to go home and try to get some rest. I hope to be asleep before much longer.
04 September 2009
A somber moment in time
The below was stolen from a friend of mine out here, Mike Andrews. I've added and removed things to fit my experience, but I have to give credit where due.
We arrived early today at the Kilo ramp of the airfield and watched as a crowd gathered outside of the gate. A C-5 Hercules aircraft sat on the ramp with its cavernous rear entrance facing the terminal. There was an odd silence amongst the Army, Navy, Marine, Air Force, and international service members, broken occasionally by the roar of a jet engine or the harsh sound of helicopter blades as NATO troops left for operations. Today, however, was not about the living, it was a day to remember the fallen.
We fell into formation, two sets of four ranks of US troops stretching for well over 200 yards, in the sweltering heat of midday in Kandahar. The international armed forces fell in behind us, each by their country, but today we were all there for one reason: to honor our departed brethren. The sun reflected off of the tarmac, making it feel much hotter than the 95 degrees that was indicated on the thermometer mounted to the wall of the terminal. We stood in silence and watched as four Marines uncased the United States and Marine Corps flags and two ranks of Marines formed facing each other on either side of the extended ramp protruding from the rear of the aircraft awaiting its precious cargo.
“Ceremony, atten-HUT!”
The sound swept across the airfield like thunder as all of us in the US ranks snapped to attention. The echoing calls to attention in heavily accented English and many other languages followed as each element behind us locked to in turn.
“Left, face!”
The phalanx of warriors that we had become turned as if as one and marched smartly to fall in behind the Marines that were already standing sentry along the strip of runway that was now hallowed ground. As we covered in behind the Marines, I could tell this was not like the many other formations I had been part of. The look on the faces of those across from me - almost vacant, deep in thought and retrospect. I began to feel a tightening in my throat as the sweat from the noon sun rolled down my face.
“Parade, rest”
We all snapped from attention, and the Chaplin from our unit read a passage from Ecclesiastes and said a prayer. He then read the names of the fallen: a 19 year old Lance Corporal, survived only by his mother and a 21 year old Navy Corpsman survived by his estranged parents. The two that would have been considered boys in the US, fought and died as men in Afghanistan. So many experiences they never got to live, so many hopes and dreams dashed in an instant. All of that was replaced now by a cold metal case carefully wrapped in the flag of the country for which they loved and defended to the bitter end.
The command of attention rang out and bagpipes began to solemnly play the Marine Corps Hymn. We were given the order to present arms and almost in unison the entire group slowly raised their right hands to shield our eyes in a final sign of respect. As the twelve Marines carried two flag draped coffins down the ranks and into the belly of the plane, I fought back the urge to cry. The somber tones of a bugle sounded the first notes of Taps and I heard a groan, as if the aircraft was joining in, as the tail ramp slowly raised and the final journey of these two began. The explosive sound of the door crashing shut came as the final notes drifted across the runway. We dropped our salute after the flags were marched past us. The Marines left first, then our foreign allies and then we slowly marched from that place, no longer meant for mourning, but for the operation at hand. While time stood still for a moment that day, the war did not.
A sobering experience to say the least. I am glad I participated and paid my respects, but I don't know how many more of these I could weather before the reality of it all starts to take its tole. I know I will be back to pay my respects at another time for another fallen brother, but I wish so deeply that this opportunity would never present itself.
We arrived early today at the Kilo ramp of the airfield and watched as a crowd gathered outside of the gate. A C-5 Hercules aircraft sat on the ramp with its cavernous rear entrance facing the terminal. There was an odd silence amongst the Army, Navy, Marine, Air Force, and international service members, broken occasionally by the roar of a jet engine or the harsh sound of helicopter blades as NATO troops left for operations. Today, however, was not about the living, it was a day to remember the fallen.
We fell into formation, two sets of four ranks of US troops stretching for well over 200 yards, in the sweltering heat of midday in Kandahar. The international armed forces fell in behind us, each by their country, but today we were all there for one reason: to honor our departed brethren. The sun reflected off of the tarmac, making it feel much hotter than the 95 degrees that was indicated on the thermometer mounted to the wall of the terminal. We stood in silence and watched as four Marines uncased the United States and Marine Corps flags and two ranks of Marines formed facing each other on either side of the extended ramp protruding from the rear of the aircraft awaiting its precious cargo.
“Ceremony, atten-HUT!”
The sound swept across the airfield like thunder as all of us in the US ranks snapped to attention. The echoing calls to attention in heavily accented English and many other languages followed as each element behind us locked to in turn.
“Left, face!”
The phalanx of warriors that we had become turned as if as one and marched smartly to fall in behind the Marines that were already standing sentry along the strip of runway that was now hallowed ground. As we covered in behind the Marines, I could tell this was not like the many other formations I had been part of. The look on the faces of those across from me - almost vacant, deep in thought and retrospect. I began to feel a tightening in my throat as the sweat from the noon sun rolled down my face.
“Parade, rest”
We all snapped from attention, and the Chaplin from our unit read a passage from Ecclesiastes and said a prayer. He then read the names of the fallen: a 19 year old Lance Corporal, survived only by his mother and a 21 year old Navy Corpsman survived by his estranged parents. The two that would have been considered boys in the US, fought and died as men in Afghanistan. So many experiences they never got to live, so many hopes and dreams dashed in an instant. All of that was replaced now by a cold metal case carefully wrapped in the flag of the country for which they loved and defended to the bitter end.
The command of attention rang out and bagpipes began to solemnly play the Marine Corps Hymn. We were given the order to present arms and almost in unison the entire group slowly raised their right hands to shield our eyes in a final sign of respect. As the twelve Marines carried two flag draped coffins down the ranks and into the belly of the plane, I fought back the urge to cry. The somber tones of a bugle sounded the first notes of Taps and I heard a groan, as if the aircraft was joining in, as the tail ramp slowly raised and the final journey of these two began. The explosive sound of the door crashing shut came as the final notes drifted across the runway. We dropped our salute after the flags were marched past us. The Marines left first, then our foreign allies and then we slowly marched from that place, no longer meant for mourning, but for the operation at hand. While time stood still for a moment that day, the war did not.
A sobering experience to say the least. I am glad I participated and paid my respects, but I don't know how many more of these I could weather before the reality of it all starts to take its tole. I know I will be back to pay my respects at another time for another fallen brother, but I wish so deeply that this opportunity would never present itself.
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