Goodbye Afghanistan.

It's Sunday night, my last night here. I'm leaving tomorrow. Unless something remarkable happens on the trip home, this will be my last entry.

I can't even think of anything interesting to say, and I've had a lot of time to think about it. I considered writing about my opinion of the progress we've made here, but it would be only a narrow view of my small part in the big picture. Instead I'll just cut to the bottom line: twenty years. I think it will take another twenty years before we make a difference here.

I've done my part for the war on terror. Now, unlike the courageous men & women in the military, I can go home and not look back. Our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines will likely be back--either here or Iraq. Hopefully I've been able to make a small contribution in the last twenty-two months with MPRI in Afghanistan.

I'm going home to a new job in Dallas; to my beautiful wife Julie; to my family and friends; and to the safety, comfort, convenience, and civility of a modern society.

Fair winds and following seas, my friends.

Out.

I've been thinking about how to best wind down this blog. Yep, I'm leaving. I arrived in Afghanistan on Jan 7, 2007 and I'll be leaving for good on Nov 10, 2008. Which, coincidentally, is the Marine Corps' birthday.

I was looking back at some of my first entries to try to find something to tie this all up and provide some closure. My very first entry is here. However, all I'm finding is that my first few weeks here seem like years ago. Actually it was only twenty-two months. I also looked at some of the first pics I took with my crappy little camera. I remember thinking how exciting, dangerous, and adventurous the whole thing seemed. I even optimistically started a separate folder for Afghanistan pics here, and now there are thousands of pics in my Photobucket.

Is it still exciting, dangerous, and adventurous? Somewhat. I feel the need to start out by once again explaining that I am not a soldier. There are thousands of true American heroes here, men & women of the US armed forces, who face real danger everyday. If they read this they'd probably laugh. I'm just a contractor, living and working in the relative safety of the Afghan capital Kabul. However, compared to my former occupation and to the casual reader browsing this from the comfort and safety of his home or office in places like Rapid City, South Dakota or Irrigon, Oregon this is a dangerous place.

Just last week, the Ministry of Interior was attacked. Within walking distance from where many of us work and live, most of us didn't give it a second thought. Taliban attacked the guards while one of them ran in and detonated his suicide bomb. Five people were killed and the building suffered major damage. That day, just like any other day, I traveled with my team down Jalalabad road to the depot, we worked all day, had lunch, went back down Jalalabad road, I went to the gym, got a go-plate from the dining facility, and went to the house. Just another day.

Each day before we travel, we call the BDOC (Base Defense Operations Center) for the road conditions. Alert conditions are set for each route according to the threat, which means the possibility of hostility. Amber means caution, Red means essential travel only, and Black means no movement at all. Our usual daily route is almost always Red--essential travel only. So on the way to work each day we're looking for possible threats such as vehicles that seem to be tailing us or trying to catch up to us; stalled, unoccupied vehicles; the absence of people/pedestrians (locals almost always seem to know when something's going to go down); and anything out of the ordinary. In addition, we instruct our drivers to drive like bats out of Hell, which they are happy to do. A moving target is harder to hit.

We have pre-prepared "accident cards" in each vehicle. If we should have an accident or wreck, we hand the card to the other driver and depart the area. Under no circumstance will we allow ourselves to be boxed-in or stranded. We always travel with at least two vehicles so if one becomes stranded we can get in the other one and get away.

You get used to it. Much like the cops who can stand around a gory crime scene telling jokes, you begin to get a little numb to the danger around here. I remember the first time I went home on leave. Julie picked me up at the airport (a six-pack of Shiner Boch waiting for me in the truck, God bless her). On the way down I-635 toward the house I remember feeling a little uneasy. We were in a lone vehicle, miles from "safety." I wasn't wearing body armor. There were no pedestrians. We stopped several times (for traffic lights). All of the overpasses seemed particularly threatening--good places for the bad guys to drop stuff on you--there are no overpasses in Kabul, probably all of Afghanistan.

It's going to be weird for a while when I get home.

Family & friends often ask me about the trip from Afghanistan to Texas so I thought I’d explain. Of course this only applies to civilians like contractors; the military uses a completely different route.

First you have to get out of Afghanistan. You can’t go on Expedia or anything like that to get tickets; you have to go to a local agency or airline office. Most people fly to Dubai for the first leg, then make their next flights that were booked online. There’s only one airport to fly in & out of—the Kabul Afghanistan International Airport, or KAIA (pronounced like the automaker Kia). This in itself is an adventure.

First you enter the outer guarded gate to the airport and all traffic is directed to an area where the driver is questioned and the vehicle searched. Travelers must remove luggage from the vehicle and take them into a small office where they are x-rayed and often searched. Sometimes you are patted down and there is a separate enclosed area where women are patted down by female inspectors. Often the inspectors will find something harmless in your luggage and claim it could be used as a weapon. Five dollars takes care of that.

Then you load the luggage back into the vehicle for a short trip to one of the outer parking areas. Unless you have some sort of diplomatic or VIP pass, you can’t just drive to the terminal. Unload in the parking lot and carry your luggage about 100 yards through at least two more checkpoints to get to the terminal entrance. Along the way there are vendors, money-changers, beggars, taxi drivers, and hoards of people waiting for arriving passengers. They wait in the open parking lot because without an airplane ticket you can’t get within 50 yards of the terminal.

Once at the terminal, your bags are searched again and you are patted down. They let you in and you’re greeted by dozens of baggage handlers offering to assist and even take you to the front of the line—for a fee, of course. Inside it’s loud, dirty, and disorganized. Other people are motioning to you to have your luggage shrink-wrapped or banded—for a fee, of course. Stand in line for your ticket and go through another x-ray and search before you can go upstairs through customs and into the waiting area.

The waiting area is small, crowded, and the bathrooms are horrific. Planes are never on schedule, so you have to check in at least two hours early in case the pilot decides to board before the scheduled time. Be sure your connecting flight in Dubai is tomorrow morning, because there is no guarantee what time you’ll arrive. Last time I was there, out the window I could see snipers on the rooftop.

Finally your flight is announced and everyone crowds down a slim corridor outside to awaiting buses for a short trip across the tarmac to your plane. Off the bus and into a line where border police again check your tickets and passport. Women, especially women with children and women traveling alone, are escorted to the front of the line. Interesting thing, flight attendants will rearrange seating on the plane. Unrelated Afghan men & women are not allowed to sit next to each other. It’s a Muslim thing.

There are only a few commercial airlines that fly out of Kabul. Actually, it is more correct to say that there are only a few commercial airlines flying out of Kabul that are allowed to land in many other countries. Mainly because their maintenance is not usually up to western standards.

In the air, at first the view of the rugged and often snow-capped Afghan mountains is breathtaking. Once into cloud level, you settle in for the three hour flight. The in-flight meal is halaal. A halaal meal is one prepared according to strict Muslim protocol. I don’t know exactly what that means, but think of it as being similar to a kosher meal (meat has to be slaughtered/prepared a certain way, certain ingredients are used, etc.)

The Dubai International Airport is huge. There are three terminals. Flights from Kabul, the former Soviet Union, Iran and charter flights all arrive at Terminal 2. From there, you have to take a taxi to Terminal 1. I often get a room overnight if there’s enough time between flights, or go to a mall and catch a movie (or a hotel bar), or sometimes straight to Terminal 1. Terminal 3 is new and strictly for Emirates.

As far as I know, there’s only one direct flight from Dubai to the US and it’s a Delta flight to Atlanta. I usually fly American Airlines which means I go through London.

Interesting story about my trip through London one time. There are two airports in London; Heathrow and Gatwick. Once my itinerary had me landing in Heathrow and departing in Gatwick. Never having seen London before, I decided to take this route because I thought I’d at least get to ride from one city to another and see some sights. However, not only was the bus ride expensive (about $60), but the bus ride is down a highway and not very scenic at all. A few farms and commercial establishments, but we didn’t even go through a city. What a waste of time and money.

To leave one airport and go to another for international flights, you have to go through customs both arrival and departure. Not a big deal, I thought. However, at Gatwick while I was in line going through customs, I came to a young agent who was clearly new to the job. He checked my passport and upon seeing that I came from Afghanistan he became obviously nervous. He told me he’d have to talk to his supervisor and asked me to wait. I could see the two of them talking and looking cautiously my way. Finally the young lad walked up to me and whispered, “Sir, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but considering where you’re coming from…” as he quickly opened and closed my passport at waist-level and off to the side so only he & I could see “…we’ll allow you into the terminal but you’ll have to be searched before boarding the plane.” I almost laughed but instead leaned into him and told him in my best conspiratorial manner that I understood.

I lounged around the duty-free store for a while and ambled to the gate where, to my surprise, the same young man was waiting, with his supervisor observing from a short distance. He asked me to remove my jacket and boots as I placed my carry-on on the table. He so delicately looked through my bag that I had an almost irresistible urge to yell BOOM! but I contained myself. Then he proceeded to pat me down. Keep in mind that I had recently been patted down almost a half dozen times by tough combat-hardened Afghan soldiers and police. In comparison, this was foreplay. Then the supervisor said they’d have to take my boots & bag and put them through x-ray again, and asked me to please wait. I found a seat next to another shoeless and bagless guy. I asked him where he was coming from and he said, “Syria.”

I don’t think I’ll fly through Gatwick again.

Overall, the trip from Dubai to Dallas takes about twenty hours. Add in the total time from Kabul, overnight in Dubai, and the time difference, and the whole trip takes a little over two days. I gain a day from Kabul to Dallas and lose a day going the other way. Takes about two days to overcome the jetlag. Luckily I only have to do this one more time…

But that’s another story…

Out.

I recently returned from vacation in Dallas. This was my third trip home in twenty-one months. I had so much scheduled and so many honey-dos that now it all seems like a blur. Let me see if I can hit the highlights:

Julie met me at the airport. Went to the house and found my anniversary gift from her: a Texas-motif beer box full of ice-cold Shiner Boch beer!

We celebrated my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party with most of their family/friends at Casa Navarro restaurant. Mom cried at least twice so I guess it was a success.

Shane and Diane & Dave Luther came by the house one night to safety-test the beer box. We gave it a thorough workout by drinking as many beers as we could. Amazingly, it held up even under the superior beer drinking abilities of Shane.

Julie & I went on a trip to Virginia to visit some friends, Mike “Caveman” Stutzman and his new bride Joann. We went to the new Marine Corps Museum in Quantico, VA. We never made it to DC to see the sights (spent too much time at the infamous Command Post pub in Quantico), so Julie insists there really are no monuments.

Drank too much beer at Shane & Sam Thompson’s again. Dad “loaned” a keg cooler to Shane, and rumor has it that he singlehandedly finished off three kegs in three weeks. Sam and dad decided it was time to “unloan” the cooler. Chris Thompson really enjoyed some Cuban cigars—don’t ask me where he got them…

Had lunch with longtime friend Charlie Stone who lost 55 pounds since I last saw him.

Shane & I took his seven-year old son Mickey to the gun range to shoot some old .22 rifles. After a little instruction, Mickey did remarkably well. Do we have a future Marine Corps sniper in our midst?

I traded in my Dodge Ram for a 2007 Toyota Tacoma.

We had dinner with friends Ed & Gayla Fussell at Patrizio’s restaurant in Highland Park.

We took our adopted Afghan son Fida to Nate’s Seafood Restaurant one night. Another day we took him to the Texas State Fair and met real son Mike Jungen with some of his friends there. Fida had his first genuine corny dog and had his caricature drawn. Mike did his best to make Fida hurl by taking him on the scariest rides, but I’m not sure which one of them was scared the most.

Played with the dogs who were all happy to see me. Digger the wolfdog now weighs 89 pounds although he looks bigger. We had to rebuild the 4’ dog run fence because he could easily leap over it.

Julie & I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. We didn’t do anything special, just the opportunity to be together was enough. Maybe in another forty-three years someone will throw a party for us.

Out.

We took a group photo today. Here is the MPRI Materiel Control Team, ANA Central Supply Depot, Kabul, Afghanistan. Photo was taken at the Sergeant Major's Park on Camp Eggers.

From left to right:

Johnny Vaughan
Rick Lanicek
Charles Coffman
Phil Holguin
Troy Zimmerman
Marcus Stith
Jim Foster
Mark Orthman
Clyde McLaughlin
Reggie Tyus
Rudy Berrien
Sharon Corbin
Faith Humphrey
Greg Johnson
John Propst
John Davis
Julio Octtaviani

Finally, some much appreciated time off. I spent 18 glorious days home in Dallas, Texas, USA.

I left Kabul on July 9. Sheron drove me to the airport, and being the seasoned Afghanistan traveler that I now am, I took only a carry-on and made it through the airport to the plane without paying any tips/bribes. In the waiting area, I met a Norwegian Air Force officer going home on emergency leave, and a DynCorp employee going on leave to China to see the Great Wall. Got to the airport in Dubai, had some time to kill so I took a taxi to the Emirates Mall, ate some Lebanese food, and watched Transformers. Flew into Heathrow Airport in London and have to catch the connecting flight at Gatwick Airport. London is lush and green this time of year. I didn’t see much interesting on the bus between airports—I could have been in Virginia, except everyone was driving on the wrong side of the road. At Gatwick, two young security officers took great pleasure in making a scene over a single male traveling without luggage from Afghanistan. As they were inspecting my carry-on, I had an almost overwhelming desire to yell “BOOM” but I was able to restrain myself. Julie picked me up at DFW and I was immediately struck by how green Dallas is (everything is brown in Afghanistan, and I mean everything). I was also initially a little nervous about all the vegetation and likely insurgent hiding places. But once I arrived home and enjoyed many cold beverages on my patio with my wife, I started to settle back in to the decadent infidel way of life.

Julie won a weekend out by being the top producer at PrimeLending, so the first Friday we checked into the W, an upscale hotel downtown. We had a very expensive and delicious dinner at the top-rated restaurant Nine. Back to the hotel and the trendy Ghost Bar upstairs, which features a glass-floored balcony where you can look down and see tiny little people walking down the streets on downtown Dallas. Click here for pics.

Saturday is kind of a blur. We went to Shane & Sam’s house for a birthday party. Lots of children, and lots of Shiner Boch. Adults and children all piled into their awesome pool and while the kids played, those of us without kids drank and swam and told stories until it was time to go to my parents’ house. Mom wanted to have a little welcome home party for me. Barbeque and more Shiner. My brother’s friend unwisely presented me with a gift of Patrón, which quickly escalated our insobriety. Shane showed up also and helped me appreciate the fine Tequila. Then Julie, Shane & I went to our friends Dave & Diane’s house. Don’t remember much after that. Slept in on Sunday and went to Mom’s for lunch. Danny made a traditional Czech meal called Kapusta which is a cabbage & potato stew. Not exactly what you’d normally serve on a hot July day in Texas, but this was a special occasion. Shane came over to retrieve his car. Click here for pics.

On Wednesday, I went to my regular monthly Marine poker game. They rescheduled the game during my vacation time. It’s a group of former active duty Marines who have been playing poker on the first Wednesday of every month for years; I’ve been a regular member for about three years now. I won $23.

The next weekend we went to Galveston. Sort of a semi-annual event, the Luther family and ours rent a beach house one weekend in the summer and have a blast. Normally we drink too much; sing & dance; tell lies; and eat like starving dogs. This year was no exception. David did most of the cooking: steaks and garlic mashed potatoes, shrimp and Tilapia, huge cholesterol-laden breakfasts. We absorbed cases of beer and rum & cokes. We terrorized the neighbors with plastic-pellet toy guns. We caught & released dozens of hermit crabs. Daniel Boone’s “Beautiful Sunday” was the unofficial theme song. Mike, DJ, Jeni, and Katie made an eerily realistic sand-woman with piercing lifelike eyes. Julie & I stumbled across it at night and it scared the bejeezus out of us. Julie and I stayed one day longer after the Luthers & the kids all left, and we explored Galveston and had some delicious seafood in the local restaurants. Click here for pics.

We had a new fence built while I was home, a stained cedar 8’ board-on-board privacy fence with bottom board and cap. Northlake Fence & Deck bent over backwards to ensure it was finished before I left again for Afghanistan.

The last night home, Julie had a little party for me. The Luthers, Mike and his friends, and Shane came to the house and sampled many fine adult beverages and grilled burgers. The next day, as usual, Shane came over to get his car.

Overall, Julie & I had a great vacation. I got to spend time with my wife, family & friends; rode my Harley and drove my Mustang; played with the dogs & cats; purchased two new rifles; ate Mexican food and McDonald’s. I also enjoyed a few other things that most Americans take for granted: I went outside without body armor; I drank water from the tap; I drove down the street without looking for suspected bombers, and with my windows down; I didn’t see one single AK-47 assault rifle; my car wasn’t searched once; I went to the grocery store; I watched TV in English; I slept through the night without being awakened by low-flying helicopters or the early-morning Azan (Mullah’s call-to-prayer five times daily); I kissed my wife in public and held her hand.

God bless America.

Out.