the athenian

The Boy in the Bubble

2011-06-25T22:11:00.000+03:00

Coming off the month of embeds is a gradual process in my head. I think it's got to be. Step by step, back into the World. Out of Wilderness to the relative safety and comfort of Salerno, then Bagram Air Field and a drive down to Kabul in a soft civilian car, flak and gear stowed away from curious eyes.

Note to self: not passing.

You get into this headspace when you're in the military bubble that "outside the wire" it's dangerous. All roads and paths must be swept and secured. Movements must be coordinated. Comms must be maintained. Have your tourniquets at hand, and carry enough water to get you through any circumstance. And I guess for many of the areas we've been in, where there's the greatest Taliban presence and threat, that makes a lot of sense.

But it sure is nice to get outside and notice that many or most Afghans in a lot of the country are happy to smile at an obvious foreigner, glad to help you out, and maybe nicest of all - they just don't care that much because they have their own lives to lead and things to do. Not everyone is intent on figuring out a way to kidnap you and sell you down the river, or kill you. Very few, in fact.

Kabul is still full of love and squalor. Open sewers, too many cars crowding the streets, very young children walking begging in traffic, sad eyed women tapping on your window, asking for money for food. Endless bread shops, cell phone booths, fruit stands and random guys on the street corners selling fuel out of jerry cans. Women in burkhas, others in more modern garb but still heads covered, hundreds of toyota camreys, teens on bikes risking life at the roundabout, billboards of dead commandos and ads for banks. Still exotic, but homier and freer and the bureau an incredible sanctuary of friends and a quiet gin and tonic or two.

We settled in and did some work, washed off, ate a decent meal of real food, shot the shit. There's a lot to debrief informally, and a lot to catch up on. Most importantly - planning for a quick picnic.

Yesterday, I finally got up into a part of Afghanistan I'd been meaning to see forever, the Panjshir Valley. It was a miles-long gorge of death for the Russians, and later the Taliban. I suppose the Brits ate it by the thousands before that. But we motley crew of American and other expat journalists and ex-journalists just ate good food and had a dip today.

Stopped at the equivalent of a truck stop for lunch on the way north, but it was amazing kabob and rice and other meat, yogurt, salad and dips. We were by the side of a river, and when I wandered upstream with a colleague and his wife, a half-naked dude playing in the rushing water with his kids invited us to take a swim. All good signs. This was territory controlled by the Northern Alliance during Taliban times, and not so hostile to Americans, even these days, as it might be down south.

In the parking lot, jingle trucks from Pakistan rumbled. Fueled up, we continued north, into the Panjshir proper. On the way up to the valley, I got schooled a bit again on the history here. I've read some of the big books, but seeing the land with my eyes made it a little more real. The dividing line north of Kabul where the Northern Alliance lines met the Taliban's - the acres of formerly mined land - still littered with hulks of old soviet tanks. It's beautiful up there - a green flood plain between tall rocky mountains - perfect ambush territory. I guess it'd also make a fantastic ski destination, with meters of snow during the long winters, but not likely soon.

We'd bought watermelons for our riverside picnic, and though it took almost three hours to make it up, we did get there. Massoud's village, with his tomb standing prominently over a valley that's seen way too much death and destruction, but which has never bowed to outside oppression.

More swimming Afghans - just men, I guess women not only don't get access to education, they can't go for a dip. But me and two of the other hacks stripped down to shorts and took a dive into the fast blue water.

Damn cold. Incredibly refreshing. Fun as hell. What a beautiful setting, and apparently really very safe for folks to visit. I dare say it wouldn't be insane to vacation up there a bit. Made the free feeling feel all the more free, and it was good to hear the sound of children laughing and playing on a playground.

And speaking of that, one final note. When we were at BAF, one soldier told me how he'd been outside the base on some media tour, and had been in a little village. He found himself completely transfixed by the little kids playing in the street, because after months and months on the military base, where his job didn't really get him outside the wire, he hadn't seen a child in forever.

And it makes me think of my little boo, who I haven't seen in what seems like forever. So stoked to be headed home soon, and have her down in DC for a couple of weeks. Fireworks, ice cream, the new Harry Potter film, campfires, water balloons, ponds for swimming, puppies for playing with, cookies to bake, songs to sing. There's so much more to see and do, outside the bubble.

Mortar Sundays and Target Tuesdays

2011-06-22T00:29:00.002+03:00

Today was an incredibly close fucking call. I'll be up front about that. That's the bad news. Good news is that I'm fine.

Khost Province, and the foothills of the Panshir Range.

I've spent this past few days out in the East. The military calls it RC East - rc for regional command. Basically means the 14 provinces around and radiating in a wedge to the east of Kabul, but not including Kabul itself.

Most of my time over here before has been in the south, with some weeks in the capital and a little trip out to the West. The insurgents in the south tend to be what's called the Quetta Shoura Taliban, which is run by Mullah Omar - the folks who used to run the government of Afghanistan, hosted al Queda etc. It's pretty flat out there, and hot and it's a desert.

The east is different. Mountainous and cooler in climate. The insurgency is run by a different cast, mainly a guy named Jalaluddin Haqqani. Long and interesting history as a Muj leader against the Soviets, got tons of CIA money to fight them, after that eventually joined up with the Taliban when they ran things, and now is probably the most organized and dangerous of the 3 main insurgent groups that all get lumped in as Taliban, although it seems Haqqani is more like a Tony Soprano.

So we got out here to Solerno, which is the main US army base for Khost, Paktia and Paktika provinces. A nice base, just outside the city of Khost, which I'm told is a bit more progressive and worldly than a lot of Afghanistan. Haqqani was the warlord here after being a big success against the Soviets, and apparently buffered people here from some of the worst extremes weirdnesses of Taliban rule.

Then we bounced on a helicopter to a combat outpost called Wilderness, where an element of US recon soldiers are patrolling along the main road between Khost to the east and Gardez to the west, which eventually goes to Kabul. Farmers use it to move crops, loggers move timber, insurgents move people and sometimes weapons, although there are a lot of checkpoints. It's so screwed up now, that many people in Khost and to the east go to Pakistan for medical care and markets, because it's quicker. Plus, the tribes know no borders, and the connection to the "nation"of Afghanistan is relatively weak.

The K-G highway goes to dirt now and again, particularly in a switchbacky portion where the Russians got their asses handed to them by the Muj in the mid late 80's. I believe even Alexander the Great got hammered there. Local fighters attack and scoot, or make the road impassable, and circle, and nip.

The army is trying to protect the road while it's being paved, which is necessary because cars and trucks get wracked trying to drive it. Here's a van that still wends along, despite obviously having been rolled...

We went on a long "patrol" up there the other day that totally sucked. Lots of getting a sunburn and watching jingle trucks and Corollas negotiate the bumps, sitting around drinking chai and eating watermelon with the ANA and never got to hike up the beautiful mountains. The patrol that did go found nothing but piles of rocks and a heavy thirst.

It's just super rugged out here, and that makes for lots of ambush sites, and hiding places and the Haqqani folks are expert at using them. In fact, tho the army couldn't find them in the mountains, the insurgents found them. And us.

Re-use, re-fuse: a scrap of inner tube I found that'd obviously been patched a few too many times.

See, that guy Haqqani grew up in the valley just on the other side of a small mountain from the base, and many folks there still consider him a hero. Though everyone thinks he and his sons, who have increasingly taken over the family business, are now taking refuge in Pakistan, many locals protect him, and work for him.

This morning after breakfast, we were in the hooch and heard a big thump. I wondered whether it was incoming or outgoing, and my pal D said it was probably just someone slamming a door. Then there was another.

We grabbed our shit - recorders and cameras and went out the door to the shelter. Yup, incoming.

Spent a minute there, ran back inside for flak jacket, helmet, other mic and batteries, ran out again, then out to get an idea of what was going on. Kind of foolhardy, but I'm here to do my job, and I needed to know what was happening and get sound etc. Right outside the hootch was a big truck, and I took shelter behind that and called out to see where D had gone. Right after that, boom! Something hit about 45 feet away up on the hill on the other side of the hootch, and dust came showering down on me. Way too close.

Recorded some outgoing mortars, which were rocking right behind me, and saw smoke rising from the ridge down across the main road and I headed up past some big barriers and the HQ building to where I could hear a gunner returning fire. Found D up there, and hung at that position til most of the firing was done. 12 rounds came in in all - lord knows how many went out, but it was a lot.

One ANA guy was hit by the first round, the chunk of shrapnel did a number on his head. The medic wasn't hopeful the soldier would make it, but they did medivac him out. And eventually, some air came on station, and a couple of Apache helicopters opened up on the guys they'd seen scrambling away from the firing positions. Apparently got 3 of the 8 or so that were up there.

It's a little hard to get my head around right now, to tell you the truth.

That truck is the one I was behind on the really close one. The guys on the hill are looking at the crater.

I spent the rest of the day working hard, doing interviews, grabbing a ride from Wilderness back here to Solerno, where there's a real mattress and good food, and laughter over how close it all was and what if what if. It's the same kind of emergency room humor anyone uses under stress.

One of my colleagues quoted Churchill, who said something like "There is nothing so exhilarating as being shot at without result." I suppose that's true. Soldiers talk about the adrenaline rush of a firefight, and how there's an addictive quality to it. Well, I've never had much of an addictive personality. I've smoked cigarettes only just a little bit over the years. Never been into hard drugs. Can walk away from booze for months to come here without really missing it. I'm pretty sure this thing I got a dose of this morning is not a habit...

Anyhow, I've been keeping this blog over the recent years because I can't possibly write to all my friends and family that I miss about all the stuff I get to see and hear out on assignment. Many times I feel lucky to have the opportunity to have these experiences, and it seems like the right thing to share what I'm learning. Today, I don't know quite what to feel.

I wouldn't want any loved one of mine in that situation. Been told plenty it's not so smart to put myself there. Today for sure makes me wonder what the hell I'm doing out here. I mean, I feel good that I didn't panic and did my job. I looked the dragon in the face and didn't flinch. I'm glad that I got good sound, and was able to talk with soldiers and get a sense of what they're dealing with. And that I really do have a better idea of what all's going on out here than I did before.

But still. I want to live a long time, and do the stuff that's really important - be a dad and a boyfriend and a son and a friend and play music and cook food and enjoy my fingers and toes and all, you know?

Sometimes when I get all het up over something or other, Lexie tells me to relax. To breathe. Tonight, as I hear gunfire off in the (far) distance, I'm going to take that advice. Let this stew but not fester. Be very thankful for all that I have and still have. Hope the best for the folks around me. Hope for peace in this long tortured land. And look forward to being home soon.

It's a Bird. It's a Plane. It's the Tossprey!

2011-06-18T19:04:00.000+03:00

I'm not sure what possessed me, but I got fascinated with the new Marine aircraft just before this trip. A colleague mentioned he'd ridden on one, and it was amazing. For three decades, this thing has moved from drawing board to testing to the chopping block and back. A couple bad accidents, including an early crash into the Potomac in front of an audience made up of members of Congress that killed nine.

But now, the Osprey, aka the Bell-Boeing V-22, is out in force. The Marines have replaced all their Vietnam era 46's on the east coast, and are transitioning the west coast too. There are a dozen here, and we asked for a gander and a ride, and boy did I get one.

We headed over to the flight line at Leatherneck in the early afternoon, and were briefed in on the upcoming "milk run" - a hop hop hop to the different bases around Helmand province that would deliver equipment, move troops and haul our asses along.

I'll make this short, because we're getting ready to head out to the flight line here at Bagram Air Base tonight, hoping to catch some bird that can bring us to the east - to Khost, where the Haquanni network is causing mayhem, as they have for decades.

I recorded the Osprey winding up, its props pointed straight up on each wing like a helicopter. In flight, they tilt down so it can fly like a plane. Talked with the pilots, and they put me in the jump seat - up front just between and a little behind them. Fantastic.

First leg, amazing. It jumps off the ground, and then once up, leaps forward, banking and cruising way faster than any helicopter. The Marines say it'll be a game changer, and allow inserts and evacs faster than ever. The second jump was great too. By the third, I started to feel a little queasy, and asked if there might be some kind of a puke bag around... no such luck.

But on the next stop, they picked up a garbage bag, and over the next several stops and starts and launches and landings, I worked towards filling it. Damn. I've never got sick on a plane or rotor or in a car or on a ship, but this thing rocked me. Maybe it was not seeing the horizon from that jump seat, or the speed or the banking or the rumbling ride, but I was like a green sailor. Oh well, I still enjoyed the ride, and got good tape. Hope to turn it into a radio story soon.

Meanwhile, I'm studying up on the Haqanni. It's apparently a mess out there. A guy who beat back the Soviets and got paid by the Americans to do it.

My colleague David wants me to mention how he didn't puke at all, and he claims that he was hanging out the back door by one hand while shooting pic with the other. But I didn't see any of that through the bottom of the hefty.

Peace, y'all. Home in a week and a half!

Respect Your Elders. Or You Might End Up Sleeping With The Fishes...

2011-06-15T19:42:00.000+03:00

I had a moment of clarity this week. Something had been tugging at me about a program we’re reporting on – the local police initiative I wrote about here a few days ago. We kept hearing Afghan National Army soldiers saying it’s bad. That the militia members are lazy and high all the time. That they extort money from locals, and if they’re not paid, they make accusations that a person is Taliban. That they’re not interested in the national security, but just their own little piece of Heaven, as Tom says.

The thing that was tugging at me was this word “Elder”. What does that even mean?

Although I’ve been here before and keep up and have heard the term thrown around a ton, it wasn’t until a little over a week ago that I realized I really had no idea what was meant by that word. We’d be on patrol and walk up to a farmer’s house – the Marines would knock and end up chatting with the man of the house, and one of the key questions is, “Who is the village elder around here?”

This is in part because they’re looking to learn the lay of the land, but these days increasingly it’s because the US forces are looking to establish these armed neighborhood watches they used to call ISCI (Interim Security for Critical Infrastructure) and now call Afghan Local Police and the Afghans seem to call Arbeki. The way it works is that, if an Elder can be convinced, he will organize 8-20 or however many young men to “Stand up” a unit. They’ll be armed with AK-47’s, light machine guns and even rocket propelled grenades – often from caches of weapons that the US or ANA have seized.

The young men are allotted $150 per man per month, which is given to the Elder to be passed along. I assume he takes a cut off the top. In addition, the Elder is paid for having organized the thing, and is given funds to buy ammo and equipment for the men.

Well one day, as we were in a really nice house/compound drinking delicious green tea with a man in his 40’s or 50’s whose very elderly and apparently bedridden father lay on a set of cushions nearby. The old man had told us he had a poor memory and couldn’t comment on the Taliban etc. I had asked if he was a village Elder, and he said no. And I asked the terp (the Afghan guy providing interpretation for the Marines) how the whole Elder thing works… he said there are three kinds of Elders: the strongman, the son of the strongman, and the rich man.

Generally, people come to them to get problems hammered out. In large part, because he can make a decision stick by force or force of community.

I kept thinking about these Elders being asked to set up a local police outpost, manned with people of their choosing. And (forgive me, Italian Bostonian friends) I could only think of the government going up to the North End in the 70’s and rooting around for the biggest baddest mo-fo around, and offering to supply automatic weapons etc and ask him kindly to keep an eye on things, and make sure to go after anyone who the mo-fo thought might be trouble.

Because the thing is, especially in Marjah, which is the heroin origination capital of the world, the people who are the richest and most laden with Wasta are the biggest drug lords around. Granted, they’re not necessarily internationally-organized cartel-running dudes, but they make things happen and take a cut. They’re the ones who were until recently paying tithes (whether willingly or less than willingly, I’m not sure it matters) to the Taliban. They’re the ones, despite Islamic codes against narcotics, pushing the shit on the ground level.

So that was my uneasy eureka. The US military is arming the heroin lords of Helmand, giving them free reign to fire on anyone they feel is out of line and asking kindly that they stop with all that poppy growing. And please don’t abuse your power. The military emphasizes this is just a temporary measure, but who knows.

They also point out that their concern with poppy cultivation goes only so far as stopping the funding of Taliban insurgents who are attacking the NATO forces. The US and the Brits are not there to stop regular criminal poppy-opium-heroin. It should be said that the Karzai government says it wants to stop it, but then others might point out that members of the Karzai family are said to take a big cut of the narco-trade money as the drugs move across Kandahar etc. And, of course, you might see the new Local Police initiative as putting the fox in charge of the hen house when it comes to stopping poppy.

But then, you’d probably be called cynical and pessimistic.

One other thing, for those who've read this far - on a Marine front: pretty much the first thing Marines do in a new base as soon as they've Secured the Perimeter and got the War business on is build a gym. Out of just about anything at hand. Herewith, the facilities at PB Dakota, Northern Marjah.

Just Another Word

2011-06-15T14:05:00.000+03:00

First to the personal: I’m out of Marjah and back down at Camp Leatherneck. Here, the chow is better, the confines less confining and the beds are beds, rather than cots or patches of dirt crawling with ants. Might be the least comfortable mattress upon which I’ve ever slept, but they’re trying.

Plan is to be here a couple days, then ship north for an overview from the brass and then a week out in the East, where things are really hotting up. Washington Post has what seems a good piece on it today.

More than half the trip gone now, and I’m thinking about home and moving in with my girl and having Cali in DC and seeing family and friends and enjoying New England summer and Red Sox and Columbia Heights fireworks and having a beer and riding a motorcycle and surfing and cooking. I can only imagine what the Marines and the other troops experience. From what I gather, it’s easiest to just bear down and not think about the closeness of returning to the world.

Speaking of freedom, I still have kicking around in my head the image the other day of a string of detainees being marched out to the flight line at Camp Hanson. Someone nearby whistled, “High Ho” and there were laughs. But it was disturbing to see these smallish bearded men in dirty dish-dashes (manjammies) eyes covered by what looked like blacked out ski goggles, hands zip tied together, being barked at by beefy Marines. In part, because it looked terrifying. In part, because it’s a pretty rough system of justice here, at least on the front end.

Now, I didn’t pry but I surmised that they’re suspected insurgents. I know that there has to be at least a modicum of evidence against a person in order for them to be processed as far as being sent back to the HQ. But there’s also, I’m guessing, a lot of score-settling going on around here. And I’m guessing it’s a tough row to ho, proving one is innocent, even if it’s the case.

And the treatment does seem shit. Yes, you might argue that they deserve worse if they really were planting IEDs that blast kids and villagers apart as often as NATO fighters. But a Navy reservist who kindly gave us a ride from the landing pad to the hooch who works with detainees dripped with disgust as she related how “smelly” they are, and how they’re only showered off every couple of weeks, because “we don’t want to waste our water on them.” Yow.

But what if it's not a Taliban? Some dirt farmer whose neighbor had a grudge or wanted to grab back that patch of land or who diddled the wrong girl or boy in the village or whatever else? Frontier Justice.

Marjah Marjah Marjah

2011-06-10T10:00:00.002+03:00

Hey there. I've taken some happy snaps, and made a few pictures I really like. Both varieties are here for your viewing pleasure.

NPR Forward. Sleeping in the dirt with the Devil Dogs...

The captain of a local government-backed militia unit. Well, you're not supposed to call it a militia, but weren't the Minute Men a militia? Same sort of thing - a group of locals, rounded up by a local elder and lightly armed, barely trained by the government. They're the big hope these days against the Taliban. Some locals don't want them - say the members demand bribes and abuse their power.

The guy on the left is in the militia, which the locals call the Arbeki or something. It has different names in different parts of Afghanistan, but is based on the Anbar Awakening/Sons of Iraq program. You might call it an oversimplification to say we're paying them not to shoot at us. Or, you might not.

Everyone gets tied in knots describing the local housing. "Mud-walled compounds" is clunky. And kind of insulting, although I guess it's accurate. They're basically adobe - and the bricks are mud and grass dried in the sun and mortared with more mud. Some of the houses are really beautiful, and whitewashed inside.

The poppy sap has all been harvested, and the opium base shipped for processing. Most of the dried stalks have been cut down and stacked like cordwood, but some still stand in the field. They sizzle like a field of baby rattles as you walk through.

This is one of the local militia men, or auxiliary police or ISCI guys in a field of dried poppy - Northern Marjah. These guys were on patrol with the Marines, but mostly joking around and chatting with their neighbors. They don't have body armor, and at least these ones seemed like they were just along for the ride. But they did seem to be doing something on the hearts and minds front - giving a local face to the whole Afghan government project.

The Marines stop at just about every house like door-to-door salesmen, hawking the government. This guy talked for a little while, but then asked if he could go back inside his compound. He was concerned people (and the Taliban specifically) would see him talking with the Marines.

My colleague Tom, climbing out of a canal. The water distribution here was laid out by the US Army Corps of Engineers, and paid for by US AID in the 50s. Now it's deteriorated, but still waters the richest opium fields in the world. Some are very deep like this - a couple or a few feet across and a pain in the ass for heavily-loaded Marines to cross over. Hacks too.

An Afghan National Army soldier jumping down into one of the canals. These ANA soldiers have much more training than the militia members, but they're still not a professional fighting force like you'd imagine. And they're mostly made up of men from the north, many of whom regard southern Pashtuns as country rubes. Many of them don't speak the local language.

A lot of the Marines I've spoken with are very positive about the militia program, and thing it's the great hope for turning at least this part of the country against the Taliban. The city of Marjah and Helmand in general are home turf for the Taliban, so building a locally-based government presence is important. But they need a lot of training, is what I'm told.

These are a couple of IEDs that the Marines found buried near the road on our way up to a temporary patrol base (PB Suc) north of the main road from Marjah to Lashkargah. EOD folks dug them up and blew them up.

This was funny - there was a little piece of tape on the IED saying "Made in USA" written in English. I guess the Taliban hoped if someone local dug it up, they'd think the Marines had planted it? Anyhow, they're basically oil jugs, from 1-4 gallons in size, filled with home-made explosives. Basically diesel and fertilizer like Oklahoma City style, and triggered either by a pressure plate that gets stepped on, a battery connected via a buried wire, or remote control.

The smoke cloud after EOD detonated C4 explosives strapped to the IEDs. Oh, that's Improvised Explosive Devices. The Taliban seem to be engineering them smarter and smarter as the Marines get better at finding and dealing with each new generation. The new trick I heard about is that they make the pressure plate weight-sensitive and tuned in to where a normal unencumbered person (a local villager) wouldn't weigh enough to set it off, but a marine weighed down with body armor and ammo, a gun and water will trigger the blast.

A local farmer. A lot of folks here are living very close to the earth and on very little money. I think many of them are pretty hostile to the presence of NATO troops, but they're not necessarily sympathetic to the Taliban. Nevertheless, few I've seen are really opening up and tipping off the Marines, but that's what needs to happen if they're really going to turn this place.

The guy on the left is an Afghan National Army guy they call Rambo because he carries a half-dozen knives. He doesn't wear a helmet because an old injury makes his head hurt when he dons one. He says he used to fight with Massoud's Northern Alliance as a teen. His father fought the Soviets, and his great grand father fought the Brits. I thought the little girl there was really cute. The women-folk above the age of about 10 are hidden away when the Marines come by.

OK, its sooooooo easy to take pictures people like when there are kids involved. It's like radio sound of kids voices - low hanging fruit. But the children are so great looking around here, I can't help but love the shots.
These kids were a little scared by the presence of these guys searching their house, I think. I could see where they're coming from.

Pomegranates growing in the garden in the middle of one of the compounds. When I say "compound" it's basically like a person's house and yard, but enclosed by tall walls to keep out prying eyes (and keep in the animals). The pomegranates are fantastic - grapes and watermelons too.

Marines on patrol in the fields of Marjah. The earth is hard and crusty, and only recently replanted after poppy and wheat harvest.

A Marine is footwear outclassed by Air Jordans in Marjah.

A cow in the courtyard of one compound in northern Marjah. Often, we'll see a couple cows or goats in there, where there's shade to protect them from brutal heat.

The cargo in the back of a Marjah car. Remember the IEDs? These jugs are ubiquitous. You can see how hard it might be for Marines to figure out what's a bomb and what's just water or oil or whatever might need to be toted around.

A little girl and her dad in Marjah. God, I miss Cali so much. Got to talk with her just a little bit ago, and she told me about all the rides she'd gone on at the new Harry Potter theme park in Orlando. My brave boo.

PB Suc. A hardscrabble abandoned compound with a platoon of Marines and about a 20x20 foot patch of shade. It was between 115 and 120 degrees starting at 11 AM and running til 3 or 4 in the afternoon, and hot as balls on either side of that. Thirsty? Here, have a bottle of really hot water. WAG bags are over there... oh wait, we ran out. And don't mind the ants, y'all.

This is a view of Marjah from the air. You can see how neatly the Army Corps laid things out. On the ground, it's a little more chaotic.

A chunk of local bread that an Afghan who was stopped and searched by the Marines shared with me as we waited for the EOD team to search for IEDs. He broke off a chunk and ate it before offering it to me, I think to show me it wasn't poisoned. Things are bad around here, but the bread is delicious.

My colleagues in the foreground, in the little pit we dug for ourselves at PB Suc. That wall on the left started to provide a little shade starting at around 3 PM. Before that, everyone crowds under the Cami netting for siesta. Charlie don't surf, Marines don't patrol and the Taliban don't fight at mid-day. Too damned hot.

Star Light, Star Bright

2011-06-09T21:10:00.000+03:00

We’re stuck, I suppose. Out at an impromptu outpost the guys are calling PB Suc.

I’m embedded with the Marines along with my colleagues. The 2/8 – and right now with Weapons company. Their mission, starting Monday, was to come out to this area that was kind of a black hole. In between where Golf works along the route to Lashkargah and Fox company. It’s an area that they think the Taliban is using to stage attacks from.

The trip up was in a convoy of armored trucks. MRAPs, Cougars etc with mine rollers out front and some Afghan Army guys tagging along in their pimped-out pickup trucks. All was going along fine on this seven kilometer journey, with only an hour-delay to inspect the site of a recent IED that killed two locals and blew apart their jingle truck.

After it was swept and inspected, we trucked another couple hundred yards until we stopped to have the guys check out an abandoned compound where they thought there might be some IEDs. Indeed. One pressure plate in the doorway, and then they found another charge right in the road we were about to travel over. Long story short, they called in a bomb-disposal team that took forever to get there and longer to deal with the three yellow jugs of home made explosives. Boom.

The Marines settled into a different abandoned compound – set a little further back from the road. It was late afternoon, and we borrowed a shovel and pick and cleared a flatish space from the sun-baked rocky earth and scrub. No patrols that night, just joking around and shooting the shit and doing some interviews.

I slept really well, on an inflatable pad under a sliver of a moon and a clear sky. The stars were pretty, but later in the night, when a bug woke me crawling over my arm, the stars were glorious.

Night before, at the bigger base, I’d seen them too, as I walked to the latrines. On the way back, I just lay on my back on a plywood box and marveled at what a dark sky can show. The Milky Way burning a ragged band, and the constellations jumping out at me. And shooting stars like crazy.

Star by star, I wished for happiness for so many friends and family, for safety for me, for safety for my friends, for Cali to have a beautiful life, the stars were so many. And I saved a special wish for me and Lexie – and waited and watched. Saw a beautiful white slash, and then another one flashing across towards it. It was perfect.

Since we’ve been at PB Suc, the stars have been fantastic both nights – so gorgeous I look forward to a truck or a bug or my neighbor waking me up just so I can see the show.

But the days… the days are brutal. We go on patrols early in the morning. No worries getting ready, because you can hardly sleep past 5am. Roosters crowing and birds singing and it gets bright fast. Took me a little while to get my head around going out again. Around the danger of it. A couple days ago, a Marine we got to know in 2009 was killed on patrol just north of here. A good guy. Compassionate towards the locals – intent on making sure his Marines knew not everyone is an enemy here.

I’d made phone calls home, or tried to. Written out my potentially final thoughts and justifications and self-criticisms. Come to grips with the inherent selfishness of it all. Gave myself a break. Accepted that there is something noble and worthwhile here too. And I promised myself I’d be safe and smart out there.

As it turns out, the patrols have been relatively uneventful. Sort of a door-to-door salesman approach to pushing the government of

Afghanistan

and the Marine security plan. We avoid the roads and even footpaths for the most part, unless they’ve been swept with metal detectors and learned Marine eyes and probes. Instead, we stomp across recently harvested wheat and poppy fields, and through muddy patches and over yard-wide and bigger canals of clear water.

It doesn’t take long for the morning sun on the baked cracked earth to make you look for a patch of shade. The locals seem compliant. They allow the Afghan Army dudes and the Marines to go inside their compounds and dump out their poppy seed, so long as they turn their backs as the women are moved around. But I wouldn’t say they’re glad for the visits, and I wonder whether they’ll show up in any numbers to the shoura meeting these guys want to hold tomorrow.

They say they don’t know the name of the mullah at the mosque down the road, often not the name of their neighbor of seven years. They haven’t seen the Taliban in months, and they have no idea who put in the bombs at the intersection. The kids are shy, and sometimes a little friendly. The compounds are sometimes pretty nice, and sometimes ratty. It’s weird to get inside them all as an uninvited guest, but interesting to see.

By the time we get back at about eleven, it’s about 110 in the shade. In the little 20’ by 20’ patch of shade cast by the one cami net that’s out here. Fifty guys crammed in under that thing. Siestas, BS galore and sweating. Lots of sweating.

Menu 23

2011-06-06T12:03:00.001+03:00

As I recall, when you have a new baby, the doctors and nurses tell you there are three important things to make sure the baby is doing right: eating, sleeping and pooping. Same goes out here plus ammo for the fighters, and batteries for the hacks. There's plenty of water, and you need to drink a ton. But seldom do you pee - all evaporates, I suppose.

As you get closer to the fight, food gets worse. On the big bases like Kandahar Air Field (KAF) there is a Pizza Hut, and Tim Horton’s and kabob shops. Even Leatherneck supposedly has a KFC, tho I haven’t seen it. And the Dining Facilities (D-Facs) are pretty good. Kind of fast food buffet, but with some fresh fruit and veggies and real eggs. There are lots and lots of soldiers and Marines who do their deployments at places like that, never go outside “the wire” but still get combat pay.

Anyhow, to eat, you go up to the entrance of a D-fac, sign in on the “Civilian” sheet with your affiliation and the last 4 of your ssn, and then go through the lines and have what you want. I’m told it costs somewhere between 30 and 90 dollars per meal – money the military pays to big contractors like KBR. Usually, if I’m about to head out to the little bases, I’ll grab an extra Cliff bar or packs of beef jerkey and packets of peanut butter, because they’re scarcer than hen’s teeth farther out.

Out at a regimental headquarters like here at Hanson, there’s less variety. There’s a hot meal in the morning and at night – whatever’s on the menu is on the menu. Cali would hate it here. There’s not even the option of PB&J when you don’t feel like chili or corn nuggets. For the third day in a row.

But still, there’s some grapefruit boxes at breakfast, and soy milk (more often than cow’s milk – must be because it keeps better?) and you can get a cup of instant coffee that comes out of a ridiculous pre-fab box.

Lunch here is an MRE, or whatever snacks you’ve secreted away. The Meals Ready to Eat are lying around in boxes – you can look through and grab one you like, or that you hate less than the rest. Today, I discovered a new favorite: Menu 23 - Chicken Pesto Pasta. Never seen it before, and I was hesitant to try it, because I like chix pesto so much at home. But it was actually pretty good, and came with mango peach applesauce and instant chocolate pudding that was no worse than Jello instant at home. Plus, bacon cheese spread, which I’m saving for now.

Push out a little further, and the guys are eating just MREs every day. They even come in a convenient all-day pac that’s called “First Strike” – has everything you’ll need for three carb-and-protein packed meals. Minus the water. Sometimes, they’ll have one meal a day that’s from these big tray-sized instant meals where you add water to heat it up, and it gets doled out by whoever gets tasked with KP. No chow hall, but there's cami-netting that provides some shade.

Last time out, the poor bastards at Hassanabad got shafted, and had to eat their way through pallets of nasty just baby-back ribs. Like reconstructed, really bad baby-back ribs. They’re a little better sorted out now that the Marines have been here for a couple years.

But, they’re still pooping into bags out there – WAG bags. Do your business in a makeshift shitter, and carry your load across camp to the burn pit. Nasty. Here at Hanson, they have pre-fab buildings for showers and toilets and you can brush your teeth and shave without fear of infection.

I shaved off my big beard with a single-blade razor today, and am glad to be rid of the itching. Poor Lexie had begged me to shave before I left, and I’d wanted to keep it on to blend in a little on the bases and off. I should have listened to her guidance. Now nobody to kiss, but I have a clean chin.

And, I got a good night’s sleep for the second time on the trip, which makes for a happy me. Ready to go out tomorrow to see a school they’re opening in an area that’s been trouble.

Degrees

2011-06-02T18:56:00.000+03:00

You could say we’ve been really lucky so far.

Yesterday morning, we were at the hotel in Dubai, slamming down some French press coffee before the shuttle. Tonight, I’m sleeping in the town of Marjah – heartland of poppy cultivation and what’s been a Taliban stronghold.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t sleep the last couple nights. Jetlag and logistics. And a mind, full.

Got maybe a half-hour of sleep the last night in Dubai. A two-hour flight on a contractor airline that brought us right into Bastion, the British air field connected to the Marine’s Helmand HQ Camp Leatherneck.

Two years ago, Leatherneck was a shithole. The Marines that we ended up spending lots of time with were biding time before the big insertion in these big dusty tents. It was hot as fuck. The place was wide open, and we could wander wherever and talk with whomever we wanted.

Now, the place has big dining facilities, and walls everywhere. We had to get special clearance to go into the area of the base where the command works. I didn’t recognize the place.

Landed, pissed away an hour or two waiting for a ride from the landing area, essentially re-organized our gear and got a very quick briefing from a State Dept dude before heading back to the flight line to wait four hours for a fifteen-minute flight out. Kinda blazing, actually.

Got a briefing from the head guy here starting after midnight, crashed for three hours and got up in time to catch a fast breakfast and a ride here to the helicopter pad. Quick flight, and we’re out with the 2-8 Marines – just a day and a half after landing in country.

It’s actually cool here in the mornings and evenings. Mid or high 80’s. Mid day is maybe 110. I remember before the insertion at the end of June 09, it was over 130 degrees. I guess it’ll come.

The place that was the worst of the worst back then – essentially a “no-go zone” was Marjah. That’s where we I am now. It was really pretty from the air. Squared-off fields watered by a canal system the US built back in the 50’s - green and growing. Maybe Vietnam looked lush and gorgeous from afar too. But this is a different war.

When the Marines finally came in here in early 2010, it was a big fight. There were snipers, or at least sharpshooters. Lots of IEDs. A colleague of mine had a guy shot dead next to her.

Should be a good chance for us to get perspective on how things are going. A woman who works for an NGO based in the nearby city of Lashkargah did polling of “fighting-age” Afghan men around here that indicates the Marines have succeeded militarily, but that the people are still on the outside. Alienated from the Afghan government and NATO. Angry and sad.

One Marine commander we talked with last night said that poll gave him heartburn. That the methodology was bad. That in fact, elders are getting on side. Maybe we can make some sense of it. Then again, we’re not travelling with our own interpreters, and will depend on the guys who work for the military.

How to define success? And the question everyone wants to know – when can the

get out of here?

At the flight line this morning, a line of what I can only imagine were detainees were led by in a conga line – eyes blocked by blacked out ski-goggles. Today, Fox company took out four guys in firefights. A couple of days ago, a truckload of 16 Afghans, forced to travel bad back roads, blew themselves up near here when the IEDs they were transporting went off accidentally.

The fight is still game on. Some of the Marines say with more time and more money, they can turn the battlefield victories into real stability and turn things over to the Afghan government.

Looks like we'll get out on patrol tomorrow. Hoping our luck holds up.

A Positive

2011-05-29T07:11:00.000+03:00

Well here goes.

I leave tomorrow for a month-long trip to Afghanistan with T. and D. Should be really interesting - it's just before the Obama deadline to start taking down the number of troops there. We're going to see what we can see and talk to a lot of people and try not to get blown up.

It's been a weird run up. I'm not feeling the green jitters so much. I have a good sense for what I need for gear (about 90 pounds vs 100 last time) and how to get my head on straight. But the recent deaths in Libya of Chris Hondros and Tim Hetherington have everyone a little more serious, and a little more wary. I insisted on better body armor and a modern helmet. I take Cali more seriously when she tells me she's concerned.

Our plan is to head to the South again at the beginning of the trip - see how Helmand is doing. I look at the iCasualties fatalities
and it still seems like a lot of IEDs and other bad shit in Helmand and Kandahar. Better when you flood the zone with thousands of Marines, but what I get in talking with people who know the area is that the people in the region are not on board heart and mind.

Later, we'll likely get a quick look at the north, maybe even Mazar e Sharif. And then a week or so in the East.

Things are so good in DC, and I'm feeling very lucky in life. I've made lots of promises that I'll do my best to make good decisions and be safe.

Thanksgiving

2009-11-17T09:48:00.000+03:00

Winding down, chilling out and really enjoying myself in Istanbul is how I've spent the past few days. Such an amazing town to wander, and a perfect sort of a transition from Afghanistan to the states. Bridging continents, cultures, cuisines. Brunches and soul bands rather than burkhas and suicide bombers.

And, I've been lucky enough to have a hostess who has time off and enthusiam and enough of compassion and sense of humor that my post-conflict spleen seems deflated without damage. Well, I guess we'll see. Anyhow, Yesim is incredible and this is rad.

I heard back today from one of the Fox company guys - they're on US soil, and I guess the last stories from the trip will run this week.

Today, an Emirates jet will take me back to Dubai, then from there on to DC and later the aft of the 18th I'll hop from BWI to Manch. There's more to write but no time at the present.

Second Platoon

2009-11-10T01:13:00.001+03:00

Back in Kabul - safe and sound. Leaving here Thursday and on to Istanbul for a bit - hop from DC straight to NH and back to work Monday the 23rd. That's the simple stuff. Thanks for the thoughts and prayers and "holding me in the light." I think I needed it.

I've been in transit for a couple days, back up from the Arghandab River Valley, where the Army's Strykers are having a hell of a time. In Helmand, the Marines are pushing through tough territory but still haven't tackled the stronghold called Marja. It's the inverse north of the city of Kandahar - heart of darkness. Three feet high and rising.

We were sent to hook up with the 1/17. That's shorthand for the 1st Battalion, 17th Infantry Regiment, 5th Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division. In the 1/17 there are three infantry companies - Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. Each company has 3-4 platoons of 40-50 soldiers. Within that, there are squads. Sorry for all the breakdown, but I wasn't totally clear on all this before this year.

It was intimidating at the front end, because we knew these guys have been hit a lot. Big IEDs. The Marines are losing guys in Helmand. They're in firefights regularly, and encounter buried homemade bombs every other patrol. You know it's bad when you tell them where you're headed next and they say, "Dude, be careful." Reporter friends too - especially those who'd already been with the Strykers. "Don't ride in the first vehicle, or the last one - they like to hit those especially. And not the ones in the middle - they like to break up a convoy." and "If you get hit, don't get out of the vehicle unless it's on fire - they plant secondary bombs around the main one to hit people as they dismount and tend to casualties."

Shit.

After life with the Marines, the Army FOB Frontenac was lush. It was built by the Canadians, who put in a nice dining facility (no MRE's - al hamdillilla) and a skating rink and by most accounts didn't go outside the wire a whole lot. To be fair, the Canadians didn't have nearly enough troops for this area, and they have suffered a lot of casualties per capita.

But in the Arghandab, they had very little impact. For years, the Taliban have had complete freedom of movement. The built up stocks and shelters and apparently laid in a ton of IEDs, each just waiting to be hooked up to a battery when the time was right. One Stryker officer told us just before we went in that they had no idea how bad it really was, and now the more they try, the deeper they go, the worse it gets. He called it infested. He said much of it was essentially "no-go." Then, he kinda took it back - they're not supposed to call anywhere "no-go".

We spent one night on cots in a Frontenac shipping container cum hootch. AC, electricity, good food and internet access. Then, up at 0-dark-thirty for a convoy down to the district center, where there was to be a shoura. We followed in Strykers behind route-clearance trucks, but still it took less than two hours. The battalion commander said it'd be an interesting place, because the district center itself is pretty secure, but just outside it is the Wild West.

For context - the Stryker guys are the Army's premier combat units. Their vehicles aren't tanks - they've got eight wheels, and are heavily armored (much more than an uparmored humvee, for example). These are supposed to be the modern, fast moving, flexible rig that both moves soldiers around a battle space and at the same time, it's a weapons platform for a big machine gun or a small cannon. The guys sometimes just call them "trucks" and by all acounts, they were successful in Iraq, where there were a lot of paved roads etc.

Here in Afghanistan, the roads are narrower, and they're lightly built. Dirt with canals along the sides. And they're mined like crazy with these IEDs. Not only that, but the insurgents caught on pretty quick that the 80-150 pound bombs that they'd been using to blow up Humvees wouldn't take out a Stryker. They adjusted.

Just over a week ago, a bomb estimated at between 1,200 and 1,500 pounds destroyed a Stryker. Seven US soldiers and one of their local interpreters killed instantly. The driver lived, but badly wounded. They were from the 1/17. The 2nd platoon of Charlie company. Their memorial service was held at Frontenac two days before we arrived.

It's said that during the 1970's, this river valley produced enough food to feed the entire nation. Subsequently, the Soviets wiped out many of the pomegranate orchards etc during their battles to control it. At one point, they spent over a month in an all out assault on one village where the Mujahadeen were set in. Tanks and aircraft barraged the place every morning, and waves of Afghan army troops surged forward, but for nothing. After 34 days, the Soviets retreated. Too tough.

These days, the main roads coming south out of the Arghandab to Kandahar are so dangerous that a lot of farmers simply let their grapes dry on the vines. Pomegranates go unpicked too. Somehow, the hash seems to get harvested and shipped out...

It's the mission of the Army to keep at least the main highways open, and to build relations with the local people - to "separate the population from the Taliban." But of course Kandahar is where the Taliban emerged from in the first place. It's more endemic culture than imposed.

The closest analogy I can make is this: Think of Red Sox Nation. Now, it's one thing to convince baseball fans in DC to support the local team instead of the Sox. But imagine going into Southie and telling everyone that in fact the Bo-sox are big-spending, bad-trading sore-sports and everyone should root for the Yankees. It's not so much that the Taliban are living among the population - the population *are* Taliban in many ways. And the word doesn't carry all the heavy/bad connotations. Taliban means "student" in Pashto - it's a respectable term for religious devotees.

On top of that, these folks have seen foreign armies come and go. Brits, Russians, Canadians, now the US. The Taliban endures. That's not to say this is the same as it ever was. Though many of the leaders fought the Soviets, the Taliban are just a subset of Mujahadeen. That's a broad term for the motley assortment of tribal warlords and fighters who the US etc propped up in a proxy war against the Soviets.

Since the Soviets left, there was a big pissing match civil war and in the end the big-T Taliban surged from the south, drove out the other various warlords, and set up government in Kabul. Along the way, they got a lot of money from rich Saudis like bin Ladin etc and gave them shelter - they set up training camps - then carried out 9/11, the US invaded and toppled the government etc. Here we stand. Eight years into the war, and the coalition is just for the first time getting serious about deeply taking the Taliban heartland.

Enter the Strykers.

The district center sits at the base of a beautiful cliff - a modern-looking set of buildings on the North side of a small mountain that the soldiers sometimes use as a sniper position. You'd think it'd also be a perfect spot from which an insurgent could rain down rockets, but apparently it's somewhat secured.

Lots of local elders showed up to talk with state department reps about a new agriculture program. Lots of hashing out of details - who gets what, how much. The main point for the Americans was that they couldn't really do the program until the security situation is better. I wish I spoke Pashto - most of it was lost on me. There were also special forces guys milling around - they're working to bring a couple communities that have resisted the Taliban agenda onboard with the Kabul government etc. Because the provincial governor was in attendance, it was seen as a big deal and a step forward.

Afterward, chow. Steaks and local bread, eaten in a hurry after the troops had got theirs.

Charlie company has been based there at the center for over a month now, sending out patrols and setting up a small patrol base a couple kilometers away. Because the guys from second platoon were still reeling from the loss of those seven guys a week before, they were on light duty - running a resupply convoy down to that PB.

Meanwhile, another group would go across the river to an area where they'd had a lot more "contact" (meaning firefights and IEDs) to check out a school built by the Japanese in 2004 but now abandoned, for possible use as another patrol base. I asked if we could tag along and they said sure. We headed out in a convoy of about 5 Strykers.

I rode at first down inside the vehicle, but with no windows you couldn't see anything, and the only sound was the rumbling of the engine and chat over the intercom. I popped my head up through an unmanned hatch and asked the gunner there if I could look around. He said, "Just keep your head down."

Rumbling along away from the main base, we went between freshly-harvested open fields and over the dry riverbed. The people we passed didn't seem hostile. Lots and lots of kids were smiling and waving and motioning for the soldiers to throw some candy or pens. Adults seemed more skeptical. But it wasn't the people that made me nervous - it was the road. A narrow dirt run between pomegranate orchards, leaves yellowed and dropping, much of the fruit still hanging red on the branches - high mud walls running along the road on either side. There could have been a bomb anywhere along our route. So much cover.

We got to the school ok. A group of Afghan army soldiers were already set in, using classrooms as bunkhouses and kitchens. Desks and schoolbooks were stacked in a couple of the rooms. The Americans scouted around in the yard and on the roof. They pushed one Stryker through a mud wall, trying to create an opening to the main courtyard big enough for the vehicles.

Just then, they got the call. There had been an IED. The guys on the roof heard the boom and saw smoke rising. Just about a half-mile away. The guys from second platoon, returning from their supply run.

As everyone scrambled into the vehicles to go over and help out, another call - 2 KIA, 2 wounded and the vehicle on fire. The First Sergeant - Burrows - was up in the front, and I saw him smack his hand against the hatch, saying "Goddammit."

It only took five minutes to get back across the river - then we drove in over the fields.

With my head up through the hatch, I could see the column of smoke and the Stryker - twenty-plus tons, flipped over onto its top, the front four wheels blown off, half-way in a crater, burning in the middle of the road.

We crossed over the bridge again. There were locals standing around on the span - watching our column of trucks. I'm sure they were wondering what happens next. How will the Americans respond this time. We drove in over the fields towards the site - the road had already proved itself too dangerous.

Almost immediately, we started taking fire from a treeline just to the East. To my ear, it was mostly AK-47s and there might have been a machine gun. The soldiers opened up, returning fire with everything they had - M-16s, 50 caliber machine guns, grenade launchers and 120mm cannons. I hunkered down for a minute, then stuck my hand up, holding the mic, then got my dumb head up again to shoot some pictures.

Gunny Wilkins says not to worry too much in a firefight with the Taliban, especially at a distance. They're terrible shots, for one thing. "Big sky - little bullets." Still, it was scary. Sgt Burrows went out the back for a minute to orient himself and then came back in to fill in the crew. He said he was headed up to do triage at the hit Stryker. I had this overwhelming feeling that if I was going to get sound and pictures and figure out what the hell was happening, I couldn't do it from inside this vehicle 200 meters away. Up opened my mouth, "Can I come with you?"

He didn't seem happy, but said yes. He was concerned that the pictures would end up on insurgent fan-sites or something, but at the same time I guess he knew that the press is supposed to be allowed access. And besides, I'd signed the papers - they weren't responsible for my safety. He asked if I was ready and I said I was - they opened the rear hatch again, and I followed him - running across the road and up along the drainage canal and past the burning Stryker to where second platoon was working on two survivors. They'd been trapped, but their buddies climbed down inside the crater to dig them out. One had a broken leg, and the other a broken ankle and a bruised back. They were lucky.

The two other guys - the ones who were up front - were killed instantly. It was going to be awhile til their bodies could be recovered. Fuel was now burning, and the tires were catching and the cans of ammo inside the vehicle were cooking off - not too dangerous, but noisy as hell. Attack helicopters overhead. Sporadic fire from the treeline.

I won't go into too much detail, but it was a long day. Medivac came and picked up the wounded soldiers - the platoon's lieutenant and a sergeant. Other small attack helicopter swooped over the tree line again and again, looking for the Taliban shooters. A couple of the trucks got stuck in the fields, but all I could focus on was the efforts around the burning vehicle. They hadn't yet swept for secondary bombs. Once I realized that, the possibility of stepping on a mine was a small voice in the back of my head.

After the firefight died down, Charlie company set up a perimeter, and began gathering parts of the broken Stryker, and parts of their dead comrades. It was awful. I did my best to get sound and photos, and to be a human being. I gave out some cigarettes, fetched water and helped carry a body bag containing one of the men back across the road to the field where it would be picked up by a helicopter they call an "angel flight."

We stayed for hours. The Strykers got stuck again and again and had to be towed out by sister vehicles that struggled for traction in the loose soil of the fields.

Two more dead for second platoon. Eleven total for Charlie Company over the course of three months. Plus several sent home badly wounded. It's not that they're fucking up. They are operating in an incredibly dangerous area, and they have had some very bad luck.

Some of the soldiers are very discouraged. They say the Strykers are the wrong vehicle, and that they're unsafe. That the Taliban have figured them out. That they'd rather walk than ride in them. That they've lost their faith in God. That they doubt they'll make it to the end of their deployment. Nine more months.

One sergeant told me he was on his fourth deployment, third time in Afghanistan, and that he'd never seen anything so bad. "I like being a soldier - I've been in plenty of situations where I had to fight. But I don't want to be a mine detector." But his buddy, also on his fourth deployment told me something else. He said people back home don't understand it, but that all of this is testament to how together and professional the US Army is. He said there's never been an army anywhere in the world at any time in history so disciplined.

Historically, something like this happens, he said, where you know the locals know there was a bomb there and they never told you, just watched you and your buddies get blown up - there would be a massacre. Not now, not here. He said the soldiers get it - that you can't win by killing all the Afghans, even though they'd sometimes like to. Both of them had been history majors in college. I was amazed at how well they knew the conflict.

We talked to a lot of the guys in the hours after the IED, sitting there in that field. Later, a group broke off and drove back up to the district center, where there was a short memorial service. The battalion commander was there, grim-faced but following up the service with a sort of a pep-talk.

The next morning, soldiers spent hours trying and finally succeeding in pulling the ruined hulk of the Stryker out of the crater and back towards the base. After all that, we came under fire again, as gunmen targeted the recovery convoy. Small arms. Small potatoes. The kind of stuff that Strykers were built to withstand.

Back at Frontenac, I was smoking a cigar with one of the grunts from recon that night. He said his dad is into yoga these days, and goes on meditation retreats, and that they talk a lot about the war when they have a chance. He asked me, having seen what I've seen, what I make of it. Of war. I said I'm agin it. He quoted me something to the effect of if people knew what war was like, they'd throw down their arms and never fight again.

Anyhow, tonight Kabul is cool like New England, and I just got a note from the mom of one of the Marines. Her son Zach just finished with his last patrol. The next time he leaves the wire will be on his way to Leatherneck, and from there a few hops to the states. Me too. Thanks for the notes, and I'll see you soon.

Gilded Kage

2009-11-03T09:59:00.000+03:00

Well, as it turns out, the bird flew and we weren't on it. May catch a log train to the Stryker guys tomorrow, but for now, it's poking away at the stories we've got and angling for a way out.

One story we're trying to track down: there's word of a Stryker vehicle nicknamed the General Lee. We're told that it's survived ten IEDs with nobody onboard being seriously injured. Supposedly, it's here on base being repaired right now.

I'm thinking of practicing my chimney climbing technique on the twelve-foot high concrete barriers that are lined up outside the media tent. Thinking of going for a run despite the dust. Reading Graham Greene's Power and the Glory on Deacon's recommendation. Good stuff.

A Fish in the Desert

2009-11-01T22:17:00.001+03:00

I think this time tomorrow night, I'll miss KAF (Kandahar Air Field). The Chinese fish, the milk and cereal, the espresso machines and the endless PXes (that's military for stores). Bought a cool shank today at the German PX, some dip and cigars for the guys, a bag to stow some gear in here. Went to the spotless euro gym where you have to carry a clean pair of sneakers in so you won't mar the dustlessness inside. Got a briefing on the spot to which we're heading.

As I've written before, this is a weird place. Plenty of service members from all different countries spend their whole deployments here, doing all the "in the rear" logistical stuff that needs to be done. Getting the same combat pay as the poor fuckers walking point on patrols. "I was in Afghanistan for two tours." The hell you were. It's not their fault, I suppose, but this place is kind of a monstrosity.

Word is that the head cheese of it all, Gen Stanley McChrystal, came down here a couple weeks ago, took one look at the boardwalk, with its Pizza Hut and Burger King and French pastry shop, and the hockey rink and volleyball court and flag football space in the middle of it all and said all of the bells and whistles ought to be shut down immediately. He's kind of like that - a special forces hunter killer without much time for frills. The other thing McChrystal did recently was to order all alcohol off of all the bases. Used to be the French, Brits etc were allowed beer and wine although the US forces have been dry in theatre for years here and in Iraq under General Order one.

Apparently, shutting down the boardwalk won't happen. BK and Pizza Hut may go - they're under American contract. Drag, because a pepperoni pie is kinda heavenly after weeks of MREs. But, the other countries do have a say, and they want facilities for their people to play and relax. Doesn't much look like a war is being fought here. Aside from all the guns.

Barring the food service workers and the shit pumpers (no lie, the waste management company is called "Ecolog" - best name since Blow Brothers - "We're #1 in the #2 business") most everyone, from the overweight military office workers to the drivers and public affairs officers are armed. Assault rifles or handguns. Even when they're in their workout shorts. Some Euro countries don't do that, but all Americans for sure and a lot of contractors too. Like an emasculated old west.

The biggest concern here is possible rocket attack, but in the many nights I've stayed here last time and this, I've never witnessed one. What the armed theory is I dunno - like maybe the inhabitants will all have to run to the walls to push back a Taliban bum rush? Hard to imagine.

Anyhow, headed back out to one of the many fronts tomorrow - the Arghandab River Valley. T. and I will be embedding with an Army brigade who have been hit hard in the past four months. Massive IEDs, like eight to twelve hundred pounds - enough to blow the biggest armored vehicle apart. Their mission is to secure the main roads, and to make friendly with Afghans in one of the most hostile enemy strongholds. Fun.

A colleague from a newspaper was just up there, and aside from telling us how freaked all the soldiers are and how all of the locals are hostile to the coalition and sympathize with the Taliban, also mentioned a soldier died recently of Congolese Ebola after a tick bite. Sweet. Sorry to wine and vent. I guess I'm a little sketched by this leg, but I'm sure it'll be fine. And I am interested to get eyes on this, the real heartland and spiritual home of the Taliban - an area that really hasn't had coalition presence for most of the war.

The thing a lot of people might not realize is that, while in Kabul the Taliban's sharia law is a real imposition, cramping the relatively sophisticated lifestyle of the urban elite, around here the people don't have to make much of an adjustment to comply with the strictest Islamist interpretation. That's how they live anyhow. These aren't folks who are having the Taliban rule shoved down their throats, they're largely the ones who fostered it in the first place. At least that seems the case. Imagine a bunch of New Yorkers running around New England trying to convince people to throw off the evil Red Sox nation. Does not compute.

I'm just getting my head around the situation here - different slightly than Helmand. The province is largely controlled by President Karzai's brother, Ahmed Wali Karzai - a guy almost universally reviled as a corrupt influence peddler said to benefit massively from the drug trade, crooked land deals and skimming off of construction and security contracts. Recent news articles say he's also on the CIA payroll. Any military or diplomatic person here who talks straight with you says he's a massive problem. The poster boy for government corruption. The kind of figure who drives Joe the hash farmer into the arms of the insurgents.

My friend D. advises to take pix of my hands and feet, so I can remember the good old days. Very funny.

Time to sleep, now nine and a half hours ahead of the East Coast. Wishing my ears were still ringing from what I heard was a great Humpmuscle show. Realizing that although I may have a few days of freaking out, the guys in the unit we're about to visit have been living it every day for months, and have months to go. Wondering where it all goes from here.

Fox on the Run

2009-10-29T18:13:00.003+03:00

Well, Fox Company is still at Hassan Abad, but T. and I have moved north again to Dehli. We hope to bounce out of here in the early morn and continue the often complicated business of getting from one place to another.

The ride up here was in the back of that same dusty 7-ton that we took to Barcha. Luckily, this trip was only about a half hour of rocking and rolling and eating lots of dust. Finally, I realized that I had a bandanna, and I got some respite behind that and the rocking aviators Katie left with me. (For some reason, people keep quoting shit from Top Gun at me when I'm wearing them...)

We were the only occupants in the back of the truck this time, and it was interesting to watch the big fields of corn roll by. When we finally got here to Garmsir, I waved out the back to some people like I was on a parade float, but most only tracked us with their eyes. A few waved. A few spit in my direction. One little kid made a motion with his hand that I felt was pretty clearly, "Yankee Go Home."

Yes, I was cranking the Humpmuscle on those headphones, and I am so missing my brothers who will be playing at the Coat two nights hence. Hope you all enjoy the show.

I've got another couple pix down below, from the last patrol I went out on yesterday. We were able to stop and talk with a couple different dudes. One was maybe late 20's early 30's with three incredibly cute kids. They were standoffish til I showed them the images on the back of my camera, and then they were fascinated hams.

The children were curious about the technology, and they kept asking for a pen. Unfortunately, the Marines have found that pens given out around these parts tend to make their way into bombs. The Taliban somehow turn them into blasting caps. Don't ask me how - sounds like A-Team stuff.

Everyone is nervous to talk with the Marines. They say they're being watched, and that the Taliban will come by and hurt them if they're seen being nice to the Americans. The Marines I talk with say that the bark is worse than the bite, and that for all the stories you hear of people getting beaten by the Ban, nobody seems to know first hand of it happening.

The other kids were clustered around an old man who talked with the Marines. There was a huge marijuana shrubbery out in the front yard, and the family is just starting to take in the corn. Mostly little kids, and the boys and girls seemed to keep separate at first, although most of them gathered around the magic screen eventually. Even the teenage boys who had been hanging out on the rooftop at first. Everyone figures the teenage boys are the most likely "Ten Dollar Tabbies" because how else are you going to distinguish yourself around here?

Anyhow, we'll do some more stories out of the Fox experience and Helmand more generally. Next reporting leg is in Kandahar. I'm really hoping that we can get out into the city a lot and not just get stranded with the donut eaters at KAF (Kandahar Air Field).

Of course, several Stryker guys got killed a couple days ago by a massive roadside bomb, so I'm not super enthused about riding with them. Not "V-hulled" vehicles, and although they're fast, they seem IED bait.

I wonder what to dress up as for Halloween - howabout a civilian?

Couple other quick notes - did some cooking last night. Turns out I'm done with MREs. Yet another reason a career in the military might not have worked out. I grabbed a Beef Enchelada, and kind of wanted to puke when I sliced open the brown plastic bag it comes in. Decided to make do with nuts and raisins instead. And I got with Corporal (?) Jackson for dinner.

For the last couple months, he's been kicking out stews and stirfrys and curries and fried chicken for a group of food rebels at Hassan Abad.
Bed of rice, and cooked up veggies acquired via the terps and border police. Amazing to eat real food. I did a lot of the prep last night (who said all that time at The Stockpot wouldn't come in handy in a war zone?). All cooked up on a grill made of Hesco over a fire fueled with broken up palettes. Who could ask for more?

Also - I finally shot a picture today of the charm I've been wearing around my neck along with my dog tag this whole trip and the one before it. It was a gift from Cali - a good luck kittycat, or so I thought. That's what I told everyone. But then when I was back this summer, I told her how happy I was to have had the cat necklace to remind me of her all the time and she said no.

"Dada, that's not a kitty cat - it's a fox." I'll be damned if it wasn't.
Good old Fox keeping me safe all that time.

Defining my AO

2009-10-27T15:16:00.000+03:00

Before I get started, I should make clear what it is I'm doing, or trying to do, on this blog. I started it as a way of keeping in touch with my family and friends, and giving myself a space to write and think and share what I'm seeing overseas that not everyone gets to experience. I'm just a New Hampshire swamp yankee, trying to get my head around things.

In the last while, some folks who have friends or family here in Afghanistan have been following along, and that's great. But please understand that I can't cover the whole company, battalion or country. If what you find here is interesting, great. If not, I encourage you to look farther afield.

Just back from a visit to a place they call "The Rock" or "OP Rock" - an observation post just few hundred feet from this main base at Hassan Abad. There are six guys out there, and they're going native. For some reason, two of them have long overstayed the usual three-day rotation, and ran out of sharp razors (and the inclination to shave) days ago.

One of them is a kid we'd talked with back at Camp Leatherneck, a lance corporal who converted to Islam when he was a teenager. He told me one day on patrol up in Norzai that he'd joined the Marines in part because he wanted to essentially test himself in the fight. To see how it would be, to see how he'd react. Well, now he's had his chance.

Didn't turn out the way he'd hoped. When an ambush finally came, after weeks of quiet patrols, one of his buddies fell, mortally wounded, from one of the first enemy shots. Instead of bounding forward to smash the insurgents, a casualty evac ensued. Marines fired into the tree line from which they thought the rounds were coming, but couldn't tell if they hit anything. In fact, this Marine told me he didn't know, and didn't think the whole company had necessarily killed a single Taliban during the whole deployment.

For one thing, the Taliban police the area pretty thoroughly after a battle - taking their dead off the battlefield much like the Marines. No one gets left behind. So there are no bodies to count. For another, between the IEDs detonated by unseen watchers and the pot shots (they keep calling them "pop shots") after which gunmen flee, there aren't really face-to-face confrontations. The Marines go back and forth between saying the Taliban are cowards and pussies for fighting like that, and giving props to the insurgents for doing what they can with what they have. I hear it over and over, "I'd do the exact same thing if a big foreign army invaded my country."

The captain here is of Chinese descent, and told me how he'd described the dynamic between the Americans and the Afghans here to his dad. The way the US is trying to establish a government to take over the security operation, trying to develop a rapport with civilians etc. His dad said, "Yeah, that's the same thing the Japanese did when they occupied China during WWII." The captain's grandfather had been part of the resistance.

Reminded me too of the old Bill Cosby sketch about the toss of the coin. "British call heads. It's tails. Settlers win the toss - Settlers, what will you do?"

Anyhow, there are all these new guys showing up in the firebase here from Golf company of the 2/2 - the Marines who are replacing Fox as they rotate home. It's almost funny, but not quite so, how clearly you can see the difference between them and the newly-minted veterans.

Their gear is fresh. Their boots aren't yet rotten. And they have a different attitude. Well, they have the attitude that Fox left on the battlefield months ago.

One kid - a second lieutenant from a little town right next to where I grew up - was wandering around last night near the hootch where the maps are, and where meetings are held. I asked him, "You getting settled in?"

He said, "I just can't wait to get out of this fucking place." and I thought maybe he meant he already doesn't like Afghanistan, or maybe he just wanted to get to OP Barcha to the south for some reason. No. "I just want to get out into the battle!" he puffed.

"You haven't been outside the wire yet, have you?" Nope. Not yet.

When I related this to a couple of Fox guys, they laughed. "He'll want it until he gets it. Then he won't want it any more." Another said, "He can have it. I'm all done with it." Less of the "Semper Kill" BS and more humanity. More reality. But I'm guessing this is the natural rhythm of things in this world. And it's not necessarily that they're done with fighting, but in many ways, they've never been allowed to have the fight they trained for here.

Marines will be the first ones to tell you their job isn't to police. They call themselves "experts in the application of violence" no matter if the commanders say their job here is to be "armed social workers." One Sgt Major told me, "The only thing we do with hearts and minds is to put bullets in them."

The guys continue to go on patrol, and I'll be out with them tonight. They signed the contract, after all, and what am I here for if I'm just going to sit here at the base?

They want to be there for their buddies. It's all a little anxious-making here in the last weeks of the deployment. The one prior to this for the 2/8 was to Ramadi, Iraq. Quiet duty for the most part - mentoring the Iraqi security forces. Keeping the peace. Guys tell me that by the end of it, they could have patrolled the streets of that once deadly city in soft hats and no body armor. But then three days before they left, a bomb blast killed one of the Marines. A guy named Yale. Everyone remembers it, and the incident hangs over the final days of this assignment as a reminder that you can't ever let your guard down.

The other day, we made breakfast out under the shadow of a guard post.

It was a real treat - eggs and bacon. Granted, it was reconstituted dried eggs and pre-cooked bacon, but it was the first eggs and bacon these guys had had since May. I put my Friendly Toast experience to work, volunteering to cook off the bacon. There was a ton of it, and I got a burn out of the deal, but also the satisfaction of helping out a little bit. Tell you the truth, the eggs were kind of awful, but I wasn't going to point out that the emperor had no clothes on that front. Everyone was enjoying the parade so much. Plus, the bacon really was heaven. I'm afraid that we cooked it in pots that the Afghan army guys use, and you can't really get more haram than bacon. But we washed it as well as we could afterward.

Most mornings are just an exercise in jamming the calories down your pie hole. Dry biscuits and gravy by Elmer's. Some kind of ham product that makes Spam sound divine. Both breakfast and dinner come out of these big heated pouches that are like mass MREs, and most of the time dinner has been bbq ribs of the I want my babybackbabybackbabyback variety. Will be very happy for a burger at some point in the very near future. Back in civilization.

A lot of the guys who are getting out of the Marines soon are talking about going to school. Taking advantage of the new GI bill of rights. Made me think of Ray Hopkins - my old friend from Ferry Beach, who went to college and divinity school on the GI bill. He ended up a Unitarian Universalist minister and eventually the VP of the UUA before working at Ferry Beach. No doubt these guys will go on to do all kinds of interesting things in the coming years, but I'm pretty sure all of them will remember this summer in the heat of Helmand Province. And then the cynic in me says, "Just like generations of British and Russian soldiers before them." Ah well.

Got a chance to talk with home a couple days back. It's cold there, and snowing a bit. I'm guessing that the waves are starting to come up and apple picking is pretty well wrapping up. This coming weekend, the Hümpmüscle Rolling Circus will cut loose at the Coat of Arms, and my rumble will be AWOL. Totally sucks. Cali is dressing as one of the kids from Willy Wonka. I miss home. I miss you all. Thanks for the notes of support etc. I put a new desktop pic on my computer. Thanks too to those of you who remind me to be careful, and to remember that there are people who love and care about me.

Agent Smith

2009-10-26T15:09:00.000+03:00

This place is not like Norzai in many ways. There's a decent well, electricity and hot meals twice a day. The have wag bags. There aren't water and chow drops three times a day that have to be moved in from the landing zone. And there's more space to spread out.

That last is a blessing, but kind of a curse from my perspective. Up there, right after the insertion, we were living pretty much elbow to asshole all the time. Squads would hang together to some extent, but there was a whole lot of mingling - playing cards, joking over meals and generally shooting the shit. Even loading in the supplies was kind of a bonding exercise, buffeted by poo smoke in the 135 degree heat. Here, it's almost total separation.

The officers have one tent by the command center, navy corpsmen are over near the hygiene area. Second platoon is south at Barcha and third is split between here and some of the outposts. Each of the squads from first have their own tent. I guess folks mix here and there - at the workout area or in chow line. But divisions have grown up, especially between the grunts and the leadership.

Some of it seems natural, folks getting told what to do don't tend to adore those giving orders. There has been a lot of grumbling because the Marines aren't getting the air and artillary support they'd like to have - largely because of the new rules to reduce civilian casualties that come down from on high in Kabul. In other words, a Fox squad gets ambushed or hit with an IED and asks for an airplane to drop a bomb on the compound or treeline where they think shots coming from, and higher ups tell them to tough it out.

But in a "kill the messenger" way, I think a lot of the guys blame the company leader for not being more aggressive, or advocating more effectively for firepower. Or, maybe he's overly gunshy, having been told time and again that the priority is cutting down on "collateral damage." Hard saying.

Anyhow, being older than all of the grunts, I sometimes fall into hanging with the officers and senior enlisted men, since they know the big picture and have heard of the Pixies. But I've been trying to break off that easy road where I can.

The other day I was hanging out with the guys of Charlie company, first platoon. Seeing what's up, how the experience is for them. How they've changed, what they're thinking. And, I was seeing who I could hit up for some zippo fluid. The corpsman (these are the navy "docs" who serve as medics for the Marines) attached to Charlie, who I'd come to like at Norzai said to me, "Graham, it's good you came back, because it dispels some of the stories about you."

"What stories?" I ask.

"Well, everybody thought you were a CIA agent."

"Whaaa?"

He said that the way the guys figured it, I was exactly the kind of guy the agency recruits. Good at getting people to talk, in decent shape, quiet and observant. It was kind of the coolest thing they've ever said to me. I thought he was shitting at first, but then I asked a couple other enlisted men, and they said it's totally true.

Two days ago on patrol, I asked Zach Zimmerman, a Lance Corporal from California, what was up with that, and he said, "Dude, you were in on every meeting, you'd disappear for hours at a time outside the wire, you had a special forces beard - it wasn't just a couple guys who thought that. Everyone thought that. We talked about it a lot."

Well shit goddamn. I was just outside the wire charging up my batteries in the air conditioned MRAP, or picking grapes in the vineyard next door. Plus, I hate shaving. Always have.

But I have started asking some of them quietly if they have any interest in working for the company...

Roundup Ready

2009-10-24T15:38:00.002+03:00

Sometimes, there's some downtime, even out here on the front. But just about every enlisted guy in the infantry ends up on patrol once a day, stands post and helps with the hundred tasks that need to be done around the base every day. Porn's not allowed in country (although it's around) so favorite magazines include US Weekly and People. One of the guys was cussing the fact that he hadn't brought any Cosmos along.

You can see guys playing cards or board games, and occasionally tossing the pigskin. Lots follow college sports, and there's a big screen tv, although the game times are all bad for viewing here (8.5 hour diff).

Day before yesterday, we went on a patrol to roundup some guys who were detained because they might have known something about some IED emplacers.

It was incredibly frustrating even for me to see the guys on camera stashing a yellow jug of explosives after the copters came on, and hiding out. Those dudes didn't get rounded up. I guess they'll be putting in some bombs tonight.

We travelled through the cornfields to link up with the guys from Barcha ho snatched them. Then we walkied back up to Hassan Abad.

There, military lawyers asked them some basic questions and told them their rights under the Geneva Conventions. My understanding is that the military has 96 hours before they need to either release detainees or turn them over to the Afgan system. All of these guys tested positive for traces of TNT. 12 of them.

The next day, some guys came up to the Marine base to ask after their friends. They explained that they're just simple farming people, and don't know anything about the Taliban. When I talked with the elder a little more privately, he said, "The Taliban are ruthless. We can't help the Americans, or the Taliban will kill our families." He also said he got along a lot better with the Taliban than with foreigners, who don't understand local culture etc. He said the people around here could never get along with foreigners.

The detained dudes were dressed in flaks and kevlar helmets, and blindfolded. Four were released, eight got sent up to Dehli and I suppose on from there. No doubt most will be released soon. Strange dynamic... halfway war and halfway police work.

As the Vulture Flies

2009-10-23T20:07:00.000+03:00

Distance is different here in Helmand.

Fox company is mainly here at Hassan Abad, southeast of Garmsir proper. But one platoon is down the road a little less than two miles at a place they call Barcha. It's an ancient-seeming place, with worn steps and a tower on top that gives a clear view over a good stretch of farmer's fields and the main road. But it's kind of like that old Bert and I sketch - you can't get theah from heaah. Well, at least not without route clearance dudes.

About 11-o-clock Tuesday morning, we loaded into the back of a "seven ton" -- a massive sort of an open-backed pickup truck that's used for troop transport. It was the last US vehicle in a logistics convoy, bringing mail, gear and a few Marines down the road, and leading a fifteen-truck convoy of locals. They were hauling gravel for the new firebase.

Comfortable enough on the slightly-padded benches, we ground through the gates - our "log train" on the heels of an EOD team, (that's explosives ordinance destruction, i think) that was clearing the way - looking for implanted bombs with a combination of ground-penetrating radar, mine rollers on the front vehicle and dismounted sweepers wielding special metal detectors. We got all of a hundred meters from the front gate when we came to our first halt.

And there we sat. For like an hour and a half. Every so often, the air brakes would release, and I'd think we were moving, but no. I seriously thought about getting out and walking back to the base. Eventually, the Marines ahead reported they'd found an IED and were going to destroy it in place. Boom. And we moved another two hundred yards down the road. And sat. You get the idea.

Creep along, sit for a couple hours, creep along. Another IED found. Disarmed. Boom. We chatted with the three Marines in the back with us. Talked sports til that was done. Cities we'd lived in. Deployments. Home towns. Silence. I kicked ass at tap tap revenge and grew bored. Listened to Pet Sounds. All of it. At some point, an IED went off on its own, either by pressure plate or detonated by control wire, but nobody was hurt. Soon, darkness fell.

By this time, we were getting close to the new COP, but we were pretty sure we'd have to sleep out. The floor was mostly used up by an automatic grenade launcher and loose water bottles. The benches full of gear and us. I put my pack on top of the launcher and tried to lay down. Tried to get comfortable. The gravel trucks were allowed to pass - a strange caravan of tortured old trucks, leaf springs creaking and the dark faces of their drivers wide eyed as they threaded between the military vehicles and the edge of the canal.

Sleep wasn't happening, so it was a happy moment when the Marine driving our truck leaned out and said we were pushing to the base. Better still when we finally lurched backward into the gate and the rear stairs dropped. Out we jumped, and I was happy to see the faces of Fox Company's lost platoon and it's leader Lt Sam Oliver. Saw Deacon and Freddy and Larsen and a bunch of the guys from Norzai. These digs are better, but a busted irrigation wall means much of the place is flooded.

We set up on cots in the courtyard of the old compound, a place where D. and the Marines he was with had slept one night on their push south in July. Did some interviews, caught up, doled out some cans of dip that I had brought along from the states. Laid out, happy for the 20 degree bag I'd hauled along, and glad to be under the amazingly bright Milky Way.

We thought about staying awhile, but since the next log train might not have been for another two weeks, we pushed out at noon the next day. I caught a ride with the guys at the head of the log train - a Boston boy named Lt Murphy. And despite the fact that the route had just been cleared the night before, the EOD guys found another two IEDs on the way up, and hit a third. Again, no casualties. Five and a half hours to go less than four kilometers. Fast times in Helmand Province.

High Cotton

2009-10-20T07:09:00.000+03:00

Feeling slightly settled in here at Fox Company HQ. It's a small FOB called Hassan Abad. At least I can find my way to the pissoire by starlight, and I know where the different squads sleep. There's a lot to tell, and not too much time because we're heading south to see Oliver's platoon, so I'm going impressionistic and skipping the part where I organize my thoughts.

As I said, the climate is much different. Not just the heat, but the ground too. Whereas it was just after wheat harvest when I was in last time, right now it's cotton, okra, marijuana like forests of christmas trees and lots of tall corn. I went out on patrol yesterday, and as much as we could, we marched through the cornfields. It's tall - probably nine or ten feet most places. Perfect cover for Marines. Perfect cover for the Taliban.

In fact, a couple locals have told the Marines that the Taliban commanded them not to harvest yet, although the corn is drying in the fields, because they want to be able to lay some IEDs in. The Taliban know the Marines avoid the roads, which have been heavily booby-trapped. They watch the Americans every day - pick up on patterns, note habits.

They see that the Marines walk just next to the roads, on the other side of irrigation ditches, and they adapt. Yesterday, engineers found and destroyed four IEDs. One was in an intersection, but the other three were laid in a line just off the road. Just where the Marines would want to walk. One was at a narrow point along the canal - right where you'd want to jump across.

The IEDs themselves are what they call HME or Home Made Explosives. It's basically a fertilizer bomb, like what was used in Oklahoma City, but smaller - 30 to 90 pounds is the norm here although a 1,500 pound HME bomb killed four Americans last week in Kandahar. The diesel and fertilizer etc is mixed and packed inside 3 gallon plastic oil jugs, or metal cylinders made from sections of street lamp pole. Sometimes, it's packed inside hollowed out old mortar rounds or artillery shells.

One that we found yesterday was a little different. It was a mixture called "anal" - some kind of aluminum-based explosive that looks like silver surfer poo. When they blew it up, not all of the bomb detonated, because it had been contaminated with water as the placers tried to disguise the spot. The crater was filled with the silvery goo, and also various chunks of metal they'd packed into the bomb to create more shrapnel. A length of bicycle chain. A pedal crank. Some empty shell casings etc.

That particular bomb had been found by one of the engineers by accident. He'd already swept the area, and was moving on when he noticed the ground had some give under his foot. He was standing on top of a pressure plate - a crude trigger buried under the earth. Luckily, the bomb hadn't been armed with a battery, or he'd likely have lost a leg at the least. More likely, he'd have been dead. Luck counts too.

The patrol was almost six hours long. It's not as hot as the summer, but once the sun is high, you can feel it. And the ground is muddy, because lots of the fields have recently been flooded. It's a strange mix of walking in ooze and carefully stepping across other fields still crusty and hardened. Many of the guys boots are fallen apart from the summer of soaking and drying and constant movement. In the last set of pix you saw Lt. Lind's boots. He said he thought maybe he's out of line as an officer, wearing such rotten footgear, but they're the most comfortable boots he's got.

It does seem that some of the spit shine has come off, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Whereas at Norzai when we first came in, the First Sergeant and Gunny would reprimand Marines for wearing kerchiefs or not dressing their pant cuffs, now it's a little more free. What are you supposed to tell a guy who puts his life on the line for the mission and his comrades every day? The mustaches are a little longer (they're not supposed to go past your lip line or something) and hair isn't so hight and tight.

The guys are tired of the fight. I think that's fair to say. Not that they're not willing to do whatever's asked, but that eagerness to "get some" seems gone. When I asked one guy about it, he said, "We don't want to do patrols any more - we don't want to get into contact. We just want to go home."

I missed most of the summer - most of the action. Fox has been all around. When we inserted, they were the farthest company to the north. Just after I left, they were ripped and went down south to raid a market at the very southern end of the AR (area of operation). Since then, they moved around and in late July settled in here, operating out of this base.

Most of what they've encountered is the IED war. Honestly, they knew it was coming. I remember Oliver told me if he was Taliban, he'd do the same thing. Makes no sense, going toe to toe with a company of highly trained and well armed Marines when you're a handful of dirt farmers and holy warriors. But how frustrating for Fox. They've lost two comrades, and sent several others home badly wounded. Most of the guys here have been way too close to bombs going off, and you don't have any clear target to strike back. And every time they clear an area of IEDs, you can guarantee that the insurgents will be right back there that night, putting in a new one.

The Taliban have eyes on. Radio traffic intercepts reveal that they follow the patrols along, with insurgents updating one another, "Our guests are heading in your direction, get ready to greet them." Could be an ambush setting up, could be the insurgents just fucking with the Marines. They know they're being eavesdropped upon.

The locals haven't come over. Not close. When interviewed, they know nothing, although of course they know which roads they can travel on, and where not to step in the fields. Some of it you could call participation, some of it is behavior born of intimidation. Some of it is just that they know eventually, the Marines will leave, and the Taliban will remain.

In the end, the US etc hope to have an Afghan government and local security forces that can maintain the situation on their own, but that's a long way off. Til then, it's training wheels. Big expensive training wheels.

All that said, these guys laugh and joke a lot, both here on the base and out on patrol. At one point yesterday, as we crouched in the edge of a cornfield, awaiting a low pass "show of force" from supporting Marine helicopters, guys compared notes on the best BBQ joints in North Carolina. We were just about to cross a large open harvested field that would offer no cover, which surrounded by 360 degrees of potential sniper spots. The field could easily have been mined, and the sweepers aren't 100%. But what can you do?

OK, off for some chow, and a day trip farther south.

Patrol pix

2009-10-19T20:32:00.000+03:00

Went out on an IED search and destroy mission today - more on that later.

Foxhole

2009-10-18T21:05:00.000+03:00

Got there.

Before I get into today, a quick note about the pix from the other day. Obviously, kids are camera candy - much like they make for easy ear-grabbing radio. It's a natch. So the mix of images might be a little misleading. It's easy to take shots of kids who are smiling and mugging for the camera, and less so to capture the hard looks of the many men along the route. Many many who didn't smile, despite the asallam alekums and chest touches. Many of whom made you wonder if they were going to tell their Taliban buddies about the patrol.

Also not pictured was the one group of women we saw - heavily veiled - who hid against a wall as we passed.

As for today - attended a shoura put on for the benefit of US Senator John Kerry. He's against sending more troops, and I think the commanding general and the provincial governor wanted to do some convincing. Not sure it worked. But the man does know how to work a room - even a room full of quite skeptical elders. They continue to want water.

Jumped on a convoy after the Sen left, and am at a PB (patrol base) once again reunited with Fox Company. I'm going to take a couple days before assessing, but it seems they're a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit tired. They head home in a month, but still have many patrols left to do. They've lost two comrades and sent many more home with serious injuries. But still, they were full of smiles and giving me shit right away.

A Stroll Down the Strip

2009-10-17T14:44:00.001+03:00

Here's some shots from this morning.

No Sleep Til Dehli

2009-10-16T20:42:00.002+03:00

With the 2/8, but not yet reconnected with my boys in Fox. When I left in July, they were just getting ready to leave a new COP (combat out post) and get into the fight. Since then, they've got some. Wondering how it all seems to them.

We spent last night in transit. The flight from Kabul to Leatherneck was supposed to be at 11pm, then midnight. Then 1am. We finally took off a little after two. Got into Leatherneck and picked up and to a tent by 4:30 and needed to be on a flight south with the general at 7:30.

Shouldn't complain. Getting around can be such a hassle and there can be days of waiting.

Couldn't sleep for jetlag, so in the end the half hour on the C-130 from Kabul was it in the end.

Leatherneck has changed. Built up. It's a small city, with more and more hootches and a big DFAC (dining facility) where it used to be small. The food is better too, although it was cold as a meat locker in there. The weather is so much cooler, but nobody told the HVAC dudes.

Sorry - rambling. Most importantly, we heloed from Camp Dehli near Garmsir and got down to the southernmost point of the Marine footprint today.

A small base stood up 3 weeks ago by Echo company. The guys there are in very good spirits, despite having lost a couple guys this deployment. Echo has been in the shit as much as anyone, and that's kind of what Marines sign up for. One told me today the only thing they do with hearts and minds is put bullets in them. But I think he was talking shit for the mic. Mostly they seem glad when the local citizens greet them peacefully instead of with small arms fire and rockets.

There are a ton of bombs on the roads nowadays, some of them huge. something like 80 percent of the 2/8s dead and injured are from these bombs. Turns out the dogs aren't so good at sniffing out the home made explosives, maybe because the components like fertilizer and diesel are all around in fields and on the roads anyhow. Most are found with pressure plate rigs on the front of vehicles, with metal detectors or because foot patrols find copper control wires laid in place for someone to trigger at a later date.

Small scatological side note: so many different WAG bags. I guess many contractors supply them. Some are very high-tech with mylar integrated zip locs and others are pretty ghetto, like the ones here at Delhi where you have to put in your own kitty litter. Glad to have them at all.

One of the new Marines just arrived here to replace the 2/8 was telling me tonight he'd used one for the first time, and had the damnedest time figuring out what to do.

These new guys can't know what the slog was like to get here, or what it means that there are hesco barriers in place already. They'll fight for sure, and set up new COPs, but not all at once, the way 2/8 did this summer.

Couple days here, and then out to the fringes again. Hope to sleep well tonight. Right now, in fact.

Big Shoulder Season

2009-10-15T01:19:00.002+03:00

Very briefly, because I'm beat - arrived in Kabul safely. I'm told the city is changing, getting more dangerous. Seems about the same, but there have been bombings recently. I don't have my bearings yet, and too little sleep.

It's cool here - like late New England autumn, but without the sweet smell of rotting leaves. I guess farther south my allergies will clear up.

Everyone's awaiting two things here: election results and Obama's decision on a troop increase. Well, not everyone. Lots are going about their daily biz, but those are the twin obsessions on the war/governance front.

Staying at a lower-profile lodge this time. The Gandamack has decent security, but a lot of folks think it looks a lot like a target - with westerners coming and going all the time. Blend in. Blend in.

Big piece in the NYT mag by Filkins and the Frontline hour on Afghanistan ought to get you up to speed on how things have been for the 2/8 recently. McChrystal's War... Obama's War...

My war is with lack of sleep. To the barricades!

Going In Tomorrow

2009-10-14T00:07:00.001+03:00

I heard the falling of water tonight
Like a warm summer rain
Funneled through gutters
Pouring onto flag stones
On a New England night

But I was in a Dubai bathtub
Reading adolescent fiction
And thinking about the Russian whore
I didn't take upstairs

Getting ready to get going

2009-09-29T08:35:00.000+03:00

A new trip to Afghanistan in the offing. Set to leave mid-October for a month. Back with the Marines of the 2/8 and we'll see what else. Packing compacted, hopefully humping less stuff.

At Fenway Park

2009-07-29T01:09:00.001+03:00

Erik hooked up tickets - John's pal Adam greased a tour. It's a beautiful night for baseball, folks.

Echos of Helmand

2009-07-18T13:13:00.004+03:00

Up here in New Hampshire, a world away from the Marines in Helmand. But not so much. It's really weird. I'm still dreaming Afghanistan. In fact, yesterday night, I woke up completely confused.

Probably it's because I stayed in so many different spots over the past couple months. Even at the COP in Sorhordez, it was a different patch of dirt each night, as folks shifted around (I never did lay claim to my own strip of MRE boxes). Anyhow, I woke out of a patrol dream, and realized that Cali was nearby, and my first thought was, "We must be back at one of the bases - because I'd never have her out at the front...", then I gradually realized I'm back. Kind of fucked up.

Less than a week ago, I was still at that flea-infested, sweltering, ragged-assed base with Oliver, Sun, Wende, Wilkin, Mays, Pratt, Zimm, Selesky, Neubauer, Williams, Larsen, etc etc etc. Now, I'm pissed off that I hit a $900 pothole, and they're on the back end of what was probably their first contact.

The day after I left, Fox was supposed to be "ripped out" by another unit. That means they were to be replaced at the firebase so that they could be used elsewhere. It was supposed to be a raid on some bazaar that is a Taliban drug market on the morning of the 15th. I've no idea if it happened, or how it went if it did. So weird to be out of the loop. At least I haven't read any reports of casualties that day.

I'm still turning over some memories in my head before they slip away. Some of them are simple images, and they're not pretty. But they are strong:

How my microphone got so hot in the sun one day on patrol that I had to put on gloves in order to hold it. Seems bizarre in retrospect, but it was simple that day.

The sight of flies congregating on one sleeping corporal's bleeding raw toe. It's hard to overstate how filthy it was. We'd only brought small "assault packs" because re-supply was supposed to drop off our main packs after two days. Never had arrived when I left after 11. Everyone had run out of baby wipes, soap, etc. Nobody had packed more than an extra pair of socks and skivs, so clothes were stained with salt. You could rinse what you had in the well water, but even that stuff was questionable - because it came essentially from the nearby canal. Good for crops, but when I rinsed my hair, it dried hard like I was wearing mousse or something.

One sergeant having a fight with his wife on the phone five feet away from me as I typed at my impromptu workspace in the MRAP. They went round and round, and finally he apologized. After he'd hung up, he told me how the day before, he'd flung his wedding band over the compound wall and into "the Afghan wilderness".

How blissful it felt when they had to recharge the MRAP battery by turning on the engine - and cut on the AC for five or ten minutes. Because these armored beasts have inverters built in, I was able to work out there, and recharge batteries.

Walking into the farmer's vineyard just north of the COP and picking a boonie hat full of these small purple and green grapes that were about the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. I bet they'd make amazing wine. The guys couldn't just go wandering off, but because I'm a civilian, I had more leeway. Didn't have to wear my body armor all the time, could get away with flip-flops sted boots. I'd pick a whole lot, then give some to the guys on post as I came back, and plop the rest on the big table that we'd built out of MRE boxes for the 4th of July.

I can still taste the one real moment of trepidation I felt. It was out on the flight line the morning of the insertion. As far as we knew, we were about to drop into a hornet's nest and a day long firefight. I was standing there, thinking -- 'I guess if I really wanted to, I could bail right now... tell them I'm not going.' I wasn't under orders. It was pretty scary. But then, I wanted to see what happened next. And I didn't want to look like a total pussy.

After that, stepping out on patrol felt like small beer. Potentially out of hand, but not intimidating. After a while, the guys knew that if they were going to push farther out or do something a little out there, like the first overnight, or deception patrols to draw out a Taliban attack, I'd want to be there. Amazing what a person will do to break boredom, and get good tape.

I didn't let everyone use my computer or satphone - there were just too many, and I didn't want to break NPR with the cost. But one day, a Lt asked me if one of his guys could use my laptop online for a few minutes. He'd just found out his wife was cheating on him, and needed to re-allocate his direct deposit. Of course I let him. By the next day, she'd asked for a divorce.

There was a little boy out at the firebase who still haunts me. He was about 10 or 11 years old, living with the Afghan border police in the courtyard part of the compound - a little away from the Marines. When I asked them who he was, I was told that he was the son of one of the officers. He was very sweet, and was fascinated by my computer - especially after I let him play pinball on it one day. As time went on, we started to wonder what the deal was - why this little kid was living with the troops... There's a lot of pederasty in that part of Afghanistan. The Marine interpreters said they thought he was a "chai boy" for the police commander, which basically means sexual servant.

I'll write a little more about the police before I let this thing go.

OK, time for breakfast and another day in paradise.

Home again home again

2009-07-15T13:14:00.001+03:00

Jiggety jig.

I even considered kissing the tarmac.

Goin' Back To Cali

2009-07-14T23:00:00.001+03:00

And everyone else. I'm on the plane in Dubai - everything's clicked along. Hopefully, I can sleep and get in sync soon.

Anyone up for drinks Wednesday night in DC? Thursday night in the Seacoast?

Xxx - Graham

Lay Lady Lay

2009-07-14T08:12:00.002+03:00

Bummer.

A few weeks ago, I did a story about the bomb-sniffing dogs that the Marines take out in the field.The guys sometimes refer to them as "hundred-thousand dollar dogs" because apparently that's how much the training etc costs. In the end, I focussed on a lab named Lode, and for time purposes had to cut a section about a dog named Miss Daisy and her handler. A very sweet and affectionate black lab.

Just heard from David that Miss Daisy is no more. Apparently, the Marines down south of Garmsir were on night patrol and there were a bunch of street dogs harassing them. Miss Daisy was along, and was away from the group for a little bit. When she came running back in out of the darkness, one of the troops mistook her for a local dog and shot her down.

Gardening at Night

2009-07-13T13:20:00.004+03:00

So I’m at the Gandamack, relaxing. Trying in two days to get in all of the head-getting-together and steam-blowing-off that I’d usually strive for in a post-gig week in France or Turkey or somewhere on the way back home. Having extended to do the insertion with Fox, I’m shooting straight home starting with a flight out of here tomorrow evening.

Not enough time, really. So I hope folks might forgive a week or two of edginess.

But – I want to take a few minutes for reflection, because there are some things I never got to in posts along the way. Or maybe I touched on bits and pieces, but I want to put together some thoughts anyhow.

One theme I wanted to mention – the trouble with farming in a war zone. It’s hard to say exactly what was the “primary concern” for the locals. It’s something about security. Physical and economic too, and they’re closely tied together. At the shoura in Sorhodez and pretty much whenever we had occasion to talk with villagers, they kept talking about watering at night.

There’s a problem with the canal system coming off of the Helmand River. These canals are the engine of farming in the river valley that is known as “the green zone” because it’s the one fertile area in the region, parts of which are “the snake’s head” and “the fish hook” because of their shapes on a map. The green zone is the major agricultural production area down there – growing everything from wheat and melons to grapes, fruit trees, and of course opium poppy.

This is the poppy that funds a big part of the Taliban treasury. Ironically, the irrigation canal system that makes growing it possible was built by the American government. It was a USAID project in the 50s, in an early bid to project power here.

But – there’s not enough water right now in the system. In part, I’m told, because the heavy rains this spring caused the Helmand river to carve a channel that bypasses the sluice gates that feed the canals. The farmers in Sorhodez say the flow is also politically limited: they have to pay bribes every month to the provincial government so they’ll release water to the area.

Even with money paid, there’s not enough water in the canals for them to work the way they’re meant. When they’re flush, a farmer can just open up a gate and let the water flow. With the water low, they have a system where they take turns using the water, and when their chance comes, they must use gasoline pumps to get it up and down into the smaller canals that surround each field. It’s expensive, so they try to conserve as much as possible by watering only at night.

It was while tending to a field like this that the little boy I mentioned a while back was killed by the British troops. And you can understand that it might be tough to tell who’s a farmer and who’s Talib on a dark night through goggles. So the farmers asked time and again to the Marines – ‘can you not patrol at night, because that’s when we need to water. And we don’t want to get shot.’

But of course, night time is when the US etc have the tactical advantage. When they can leverage the night vision and thermal imaging that the Taliban lacks. They’re not going to give that up.

All of which leaves the locals a choice: water at night and take the risk, or let their crops wither. When I asked a farmer how the Americans might tell the difference between a farmer and a fighter, he thought for a moment, and finally said that if the person has a flashlight and knee-high mud boots, it’s a good bet they’re watering a field rather than putting in an IED.

Pretty good answer, but again, at a distance of a couple hundred feet it’s gonna be tough.

An aside from Peter J, who runs the Mack: one of the big reasons that it makes more sense for farmers down south to grow poppy rather than wheat is that the US, India and other countries are dumping tons and tons of surplus wheat here as humanitarian assistance. Well and good, but it completely undercuts the local farmer’s ability to get a good price for his grain. Black tar opium, however, is holding steady.

Daoud kind of laughed when I asked him what’s the best return for investment of hours and money in the fields. If these folks understand nothing else of Western values, they get the law of supply and demand.

From Nate

2009-07-13T00:17:00.004+03:00

This here post is just a pasting, of a response to my pathetic plea last week that blogger prevented from being here for all to see. It is from my friend Nate, and made me laugh. I think he'd have posted it as a comment if he could have, and will forgive me if that's off base:

first - your blog has me ignoring work responsibilities. thanks for that. been glued to it. which makes the loss of my ability to comment all the more frustrating. i saw that someone else had the same issue. not sure why. the kite scene, the recent post about the marines taking over the home to use as their base, and the photo of the bathroom graffiti were great. it all makes telling you about nyc feel pretty small, but you asked for reports from the outside, so here you go: i'm on week 5 of living at 28th and 8th in Chelsea. one more week to go, the highlight of which will be seeing wilco and yo la tengo in the cyclone stadium at coney island. So far we haven't run out of WAG bags, but it could happen any day now. part of the deal here is we're watching two besenjis - african dogs that were the measure of wealth in ancient egypt. any major egyptian exhibition has a few of these guys in stone - they were buried with the pharaohs. they look like deer, don't bark, and are incredibly smart. they look at you in a way that seems to be gathering more info than most dogs, and i half expect one to talk. anyway, i deal with wag bags a few times a day for those guys, which has ruled out any chance of urban dog ownership for me. the rest of the time during the work day, i'm in front of the laptop writing scripts - for CBS at the moment. they're in a battle with cablevision. seems the old idea of free network television is being re-visited in the digital age and they want a piece of the pie now that ad revenue is down. unfortunately the public isn't sympathetic and cablevision knows it. god that was fucking boring. moving on -just as you were dropped into enemy territory, so I found myself in the new yankee stadium yesterday. a major design flaw revealed that the architects apparently never sat in the bleachers of any game in their lives - a massive structure that supports a bar and some advertising space juts out from center field in a way that prevents the areas close to it from seeing the opposite areas of the field. weird. but when a yankee fan threw a beer at a red sox fan (who ducked) and the beer smashed into another yankee fan who pummelled the beer thrower, i was able to forget the design error and enjoy the yankee on yankee action. it was like porn for red sox fans. NYC had the first huge Macy's firework display since 911 and it was on barges out in the Hudson, only a few blocks away. i went over to one of the streets where all the galleries are and watched, but the people were ever bit as interesting as what was up in the sky. you forget how much different the racial mix is here and how at some level people are new yorkers above a lot of other divides. very unlike DC in that regard. i'm across from the Fashion Institute and I noticed paper airplanes flying around last weekend and a small crowd. turns out the nation's biggest origami group was having their convention and hosting a paper airplane contest. i interviewed some kids and wrote a little piece about it that is languishing on my desktop. but the kids were pretty great and i went in to see the pieces that were on display. quite a subculture.
went to see ann hathaway in the free central park shakespeare series. they are doing twelfth night this summer - it has been getting incredible reviews, for good reason, and we were lucky to get tickets. nothing like the relative ease of going to the one off of 16th in DC- i've noticed a lot of that here. the sheer volume of humanity makes everything a little more challenging, from walking down the street, to getting into shows, anything really.
in those moments i miss dc a little, but this place on a short term basis is hard to beat. the roots do a weekly residency at the highline ballroom so we're checking that out tomorrow - it's in the shadow of a new urban park/walkway called the highline that was once a railroad line above the city streets that has been lavished with a cash infusion to make it a new pedestrian zone that allows for long looks down the city streets of the meatpacking district on one side and out to the river on the other. it's a pretty spectacular urban reclamation victory.
doing a freelance piece this weekend on the enviro impact of mass produced beef, so heading to a local farm not far from nyc that does it right...should be an eye opener. all grass fed, organic etc.
it's getting late and i have another script to tackle.
let's get to the cabin when you get back. some lush forest and waterfalls might do you right.
i'm in maine from july 22nd to august 1st. maybe we'll cross paths up there.
take care my friend.
nate

fyi -- I am in kabul now, and at the Mack. Things are clicking along. Hope to hit Dulles at 6:37 Wednesday morning. I think the forecast there must be hot, sweaty and little chance of camel spiders. I like that.

Lucky Boy

2009-07-12T13:14:00.004+03:00

Just after I wrote my whiny email, it did indeed pan out for the MRAP company to give us a lift. Down to Dwyer and I instantly started pushing for a lift to Leatherneck, from whence Baris and I could get to Kabul. Amazingly, it worked out. They drove us over to the flightline in a 7-ton armored truck - through the dusty desert and we got onto the Space-A list despite the fact that the folks out there told us there was very little chance we'd get on. Too crowded.

Only the guy was also a big NPR fan. And I happened to have an ATC water bottle that I've been toting around this whole trip. That I don't need any more...

I'm not saying it was quid pro quo, but I will say there's an immense amount of goodwill towards public radio in the military. Primarily, I will thank Tom and Ray for this leg.

When we arrived here, the bird limped over to the mechanics. There was a hydraulic leak during the flight, and an alarm sounding over the high whine of the engines. But we didn't know the danger til we'd landed, and what the hell, here we were. Over to where we could get picked up, and there, lo and behold, in the passenger's seat of the minivan that picked us up, was my long lost colleague David.

Imagine everything I described about being out with Fox, and add people shooting at you every single day. The heat, the bugs and dust, the filth. And lots and lots of contact. He was farther south, where for some reason the local Talibs felt like resisting instead of slipping away. "Bang-bang" is what the hacks call it, and David got plenty. You can see some of the pictures he made here.

Anyhow, I look to be on schedule to sleep at the Mack tonight, chill in Kabul tomorrow, and fly out to Dubai the night of the 14th to catch a just-past midnight flight home.

Now, remember that long-ass list of stuff I was bringing to Afghanistan? A quick review of what made the cut and what didn't.

Carry on 1 - a small BD Hollopoint backpack I'll use as a daybag in the field
- Bose noise cancelling headphones - shipped home
- Toughbook laptop computer w/ extra battery - essential
- Padded bag for small electronics - assault pack - should've left out
- 250G WD Passport external hard drive - sent home with Tom as back up
- Mino flip HD video camera - used some, kept with me. kinda cool
- ipod touch and Bose in-ear headphones - ipod was killer, esp w/ speaker built in. We listened to jazz and old country over MREs in Sorhodez. I broke the plug off the headphones within the first 5 minutes of using them in Shindand. NO fault of Bose - it was rough, and I caught them on something. Shipped home.
- ipod charger cord and y-splitter cable - lost charger, never used splitter
- Logitech usb video camera for skype - used only twice with Cali, but it was magic. Shipped home
- Thuraya sat phone - essential. wish i'd had an extra battery. almost felt guilty having it when the Marines couldn't call home, but eventually the military hooked them up, and I felt ok calling home
- Recording gear - in padded bag
- Marantz PMD 661 recorder w/ 2G SD card - this was a beta-testing trip. it was a great machine. tough, clean sound. small and good controls.
- Marantz PMD 620 mini recorder w/ 2G SD in pile bag - never used
- Marantz power supply - never used. just used batteries.
- RE50 omni handheld mic - essential. tough as nails.
- 2 short xlr-xlr mic cords - sent one home, used the other all the time
- 2 xlr-mini mic cords - used only once or twice
- USB-miniUSB cord - never used
- 2 mini-RCA cords - never used
- earbud headphones - used all the time. bought a second set after the bose broke
- Dopp kit / butt pack - used quite a bit, but in the end it was extra baggage
- cipro - used like 3 times for stomach problems, then went on it for real when i started to get bronchitis right before the helo assault. i still have like 2. gave the bottle, which i had filled with mucinex D to Lt Fluker, who got bronchitis too.
- ambien - used one on the flight over to get in sync and another one night when i really needed to sleep in kabul
- tylenol w/ codine - never used. good to have
- albuterol - used during the bronchitis scare
- toothbrush and paste - well, of course. had to buy a back up.
- tooth floss - ditto
- lip balm spf 15 - great in the desert. it is lip trip
- deoderant - used up, then didn't replace. there was no covering the stink.
- extra passport pics - used a few of these for visa, country id, etc
- Sharpie pen, other pens and pencils - key. gave some pens Yesim gave me away to greedy afghan kids in helmand. i wish they could've just shared instead of trying to grab them away from the littler boys
- Compass - used here and there for bgan pointing. kept with me.
- Bic lighter - key. lost the one i had, but used the backup
- small moleskine journal - 3/4 full.
- chewing gum - keep it coming
- Cliff bars - ate the last one on the flightline last night. killer.
- playing cards - never used, but did play a lot of rummy in sorhodez
- hand sanitizer - i'm not a big user
- 4G thumb drive - good for sharing pix with colleagues
- 2 pr ea socks and skivs - needed more. bought more.
- t-shirt - almost trashed now
- smartwool longsleeve shirt - never used. too hot. shipped home
- bandana - dunno where it went. didn't miss it. used a desert scarf instead that i got at the PX

Carry on duffel bag
- body armor with ceramic plates and codpiece and camelbak holder - never used the codpiece. never got shot. but it's good to have, right? i did get a couple bags to strap onto it to carry gear more easily from the Brits in Lash.
- kevlar helmet - had to get a cloth helmet cover, but other than that and the fact it's not apparently properly padded, it was ok
- Hughes sat phone w/ power supply - KILLER DILLER. Inmarsat had some outages along the way, but this BGAN kept me in touch with the modern world. it is a heavy beast tho.
- Thuraya phone power supply - essential
- Canon EOS 30D camera in bag w/ - used a lot, especially once my photog pal David was out doing other things.
- lens cleaner cloth and pen - used, should've used more. Soooo dusty.
- charger and extra battery - good to have, but didn't really need extra battery.
- folding tripod w/ velcro strap - used only once
- 2 sd card spares - great
- 2 CF card spares - never used
- 2G thumb drive - never used
- CF-pcmcia card adapter - used to move pix to computer a lot

Checked duffel bag
- Padded bag w/ recording kits for marine audio diaries
- 4 sony minidisc recorders - - only was able to give 2 out. the others are in my ILBE and hopefully the guys can get them out before shipping it home to me.
- 4 microphones - ditto
- 4 xlr-mini mic cords - ditto
- 4 lg ziplock bags - ditto
- 8 boxes of 5 minidiscs - ditto
- 60 AA Lithium batteries - great. split up into my ILBE and never saw some of them, but I was able to get by
- 4 AAA lithium batteries - same
- sony headphones - these are the big ones. liked them a lot for non-helmet situations, but I left them in my ILBE. Hope they get home.
- Toughbook power supply - so glad I had it to recharge from the MRAP
- climbing shoes (just in case...) - shipped home. no climbing.
- a couple shirts, etc tucked in around - good
- a couple of books to read - read em.

Checked big backpack - this is the biggie
- 20 degree down sleeping bag - too hot. shipped home. used a donated light military bag
- thermarest pad - killer essential. popped but repaired.
- camelbak pack - had to get a replacement, because part snapped off. essential.
- 2 D carabiners - good to have
- zippo lighter
- bottle of powder laundry detergent - great to have. lost last 1/3 in the ILBE
- foot powder - yes yes yes
- Nalgene cup with
- sudafed, immodium, anti-malarial, nyquil pm - all good
- Mesh bag with power supplies - good
- 450w cobra power inverter and cables to get power from car batt - ILBE couldn't use when i really needed it
- compact power strip - killer
- international power plug adaptor - needed in kabul, etc but not on US bases
- USB hub - meh
- Lg pack sack - dust and water proof (ish)
- Toughbook cd/dvd drive - shipped home
- toughbook battery spare - great great
- parachute cord - cut it down, only kept one 10' section that served as clothes line
- pistol grip for shotgun mic - good, but I only used the shotgun a little
- 1/8"-1/8" cable - eh
- ipod charging cord spare - i think i left it at the gandamack with some stuff.
- USB-miniUSB spare - ok to have
- Hughes satphone battery spare - essential.
- int'l plug adaptor spare - used a ton
- Lg pack sack - 7 packs baby wipes - only had 1 thing of baby wipes in assault pack. wish that ILBE had come...
- grey stuff sack with
- beef jerkey - shared it, ate it
- cliff bars - same here
- emergen-C packets - used them all up. David got some when he was sick
- Med pack sack
- pack towel - used, but eventually had to buy a real towel/pillow
- small steripen for water purification - used a couple times. essential
- potable water pills - backup
- pocket knife - needed
- knife, fork, spoon camp set - used a few times, esp the spoon
- small headlamp - battery ran out. i'd get one that takes AA next time sted silly little proprietary lithium
- thermorest repair kit - great to have. saved my pad
- Med pack sack - meds
- aspirin, ibuprofin, sunscreen 30spf and 70spf, benedryl, neosporin, lotrimin anti-fungal, hydrocortisone, immodium tabs, toothepaste spare - needed more sunscreen. Hydrocortisone so great for bug bites and rash. immodium essential. neosporin, aspirin too.
- Adventure Medical Kits "Field Trauma" kit - thank god i never had to use any of this stuff.
- supplimented with quik clot, superglue, space blanket
- Med pack sack - mics
- AT 825 stereo mic and mini cable - sent home
- RE50 mic spare - got stolen in Lash. Never resolved.
- long XLR mic cable - brought as backup. never needed
- mXLR-mXLR adaptor - eh.
- gorilla grip tripod - good to have
- AT835B shotgun mic w/ windscreen - i don't like them, but couldn't get the shop to spring a good shotgun. used it very little.
- Pile bag - kept the thuraya in it.
- ballistic glasses - good to have, but they broke and i needed to replace
- flashlight w/red led's - great, and I was able to strap to flak vest
- military earplugs + spares - great. wish I'd had them last night, but i lost them somehow
- flight gloves - good. needed a replacement pair, as they got trashed
- leatherman juice tool - used only a little bit, but kept around in ILBE.
- Clear 1Q bag
- Dr. Bronner soap - leaked out over all my shit. replaced with some AXE volcanic stuff that was all they had at the PX
- Limmer boot grease - used it up, but eventually shipped the limmers home. not appropriate for this desert, the marines and I agreed. Got some converse desert boots that worked out much better.
- multi-vitamins - would've kept taking them if the ILBE ever showed up
- tobasco sauce - wished i'd had it at sorhodez, but i left it in kabul
- clothes bag
- 2pr each socks and skivs - needed more
- tank top - sent home. felt like a dork
- bandana - i think it's in kabul
- smartwool bottoms - sent home - too hot
- warm hat - sent home
- floppy sun hat - super essential, but it got grabbed at Dwyer after I left it in a shower stall. I'd meant to rinse it out, because it was stiff with salt from sweat. Luckily, kindly, a gunnery sgt named Cox offered me a replacement just before I got onto the bird. Me face it is red.
- cargo pants - had to get a second pair. trashed and split
- fleece jacket - sent home

Along the way I had to buy some other odds and ends. And I got a rug in Kabul. I'll leave flak and BGAN and some other stuff for Jim, a colleague who is coming in on my heels.

OK - off for a quick workout to cleanse the pores, then another shower. I took a long one already today to wash off the filth, but it is deep within me, and I need to get more pure.

The Waiting Game

2009-07-11T16:08:00.005+03:00

Well, it's day three of the official "when do we leave Sorhodez" watch. Baris, who is a Reuters journalist, and I have been hoping for a bird, a log train or an ambitious foot patrol to get us south to Dwyer or even straight to Leatherneck. Looks like we whiffed again - the helicopter that was today's promise failed to show.

I fear another night in the dust with the fleas. We're all suffering from bites on top of heat rash. Luckily, I had three dog collars I'd brought along. I chopped them up and handed them out to a few lucky marines - you can tie it around a belt loop and drive the effers away a bit. I also soaked the dust around my (now punctured) thermarest with deet. Less bites this morning.

I'm not getting my hopes up, but a convoy of MRAPs just showed up, and they may be able to give us a lift later tonight. Either way, looks like I'll miss the flight I'd hoped to catch from the Marine camp to Kabul. C'est la vie, say the old folks...

Meanwhile, it turns out that the temp three out of the last four days was over 130. Which makes sense - definitely felt hotter than the last camp where I saw a thermometer.

But who am I to complain? I've got a golden ticket... I think.

Meanwhile, the Marines are suffering a series of maladies. There's some conjunctivitis going around, and a stomach bug. One guy had to be put in the ambulance MRAP yesterday because he threw up so much he was becoming dehydrated. One navy corpsman has had to fall out from a patrol twice now.

Foot troubles are rampant (they have to wear boots all sweaty day - I pull the civilian card and get away with flip flops). I think a lot of the illin' is due to living asshole-to-elbow with a hundred and forty guys.

Hygiene is iffy. After we ran out of wag bags, we used the box of plastic baggies that was in one of the MRAPs. Then it went to MRE boxes with the top cut out, and you have to pee before you hit the head, so as not to soak the cardboard...

Sorry for the gory details. War is hell. And so is this.

The other odd thing recently was that about a shit ton of people added me to their twitter feeds yesterday. Apparently it was "follow friday" at NPR, and tag, I was it. At first, I thought the internets were broken.

Short Timer

2009-07-08T09:23:00.009+03:00

Last night's patrol was slow and mellow. We walked along canals and over fields, skirting the main road through town, looking for a spot from which the gunners could watch. On the way out, we saw the bricks they're making with which to build a new house for Daoud, the guy who owns this place. Mud and straw - looks like Becka's place.

We finally hunkered down and stayed in one place for hours. Silently. Supposedly. Except one marine started vomiting uncontrollably, and had to be walked out from the "secret" observation post to where the decoy squad patrolled on the street.

I didn't have a post or a gun to man, so I relaxed. Took off my kevlar helmet and used it as a pillow. Bad idea. It was early yet, and before long a marine gently nudged me, whispering, "You're snoring."

Anyhow, got back at 3:00 AM and was able to sleep til 6:20 before the sun and stirrings woke me for good. This'll be a long one. It's been over 120 degrees the last couple of days. Try to nap in the shade and the sweat pools in your ears.

Today Daoud came by to pick up the wheat he'd left in a storage room. I was able to speak to him a bit more and got some great pix as his cousins and nephew bagged up his crop. Apparently, the price for wheat is down, but the price for black tar opium from poppy is still good. So he'll concentrate on that. Jesus.

Thanks again for folks writing in. FYI, I'm supposed to be on a flight out of Dubai to DC on the 15th of July. I think it gets in at Dulles that same day, and I'll chill for a day before driving north to New Hampshire and see Cali and everyone. Hopefully, I still have a valid license. Tell you the truth, I'm not sure. Got a ticket in VA that I never got a court date for - might have passed when I extended here. Dag.

All the guys here wonder whether the public is interested in what's going on here. The Reuters reporter Baris and I are the only ones with BGANs here, and the only ones with real access to the outside world. There was, of course, a lot of coverage of the day the operation kicked off. Less since. That's what it seems like. I guess it's like normal: families of the troops are tuned in, and the small slice that pays attention to international developments. But I can't imagine quantifying the differential in attention paid between the troops in Helmand and the Michael Jackson funeral.

And here I am, getting ready to leave. Working on stories today, hoping to get on a logistics convoy out of here tomorrow. They ask if I'm stoked to get out of here, and the truth is that I am. I want to go home to friends and family and the luxury of running water and freedom of movement.

But at the same time, I'd like to stay. It's interesting, and the story and the deployment roll on. I have this feeling that as soon as I leave, it's all going to start popping. The guys will get the fight they've looked for. But it's not just that. Objectivity and all, I've come to like these marines, and have become friends with some of them. There's a cameraderie that they've let me in to at least a little bit, and I'll miss it. Whether sharing cigarettes or MREs or swapping war stories of the battlefield and barroom - going out on patrols, unloading water, wondering about when the attack will come.

I hope to come back in October. We'll see how things go.

This last image was the best I could do with this camera to capture a glorious image as we sat on night patrol in a sun-hardened field. The full moon rose over a stack of dried poppies, and the weather was actually pleasant. Like a summer night in New England - warm with a slight breeze. Dogs barking in the distance, and crickets singing. You could close your eyes and almost think you were home.

Until a marine named Deacon nudges your leg one more time, "You're snoring again, bro."

What if They Gave a War...

2009-07-07T15:12:00.003+03:00

So the situation has grown more dire. We've run out of WAG bags. Imagine the possibilities.

Anyhow, just a brief posting, because I'm going on an overnight patrol tonight to a spot where they think dudes are emplacing IED's. So far so quiet - the marines are restless and are looking to put their finger in the Taliban eye.

But, at the same time, they held a shoura with village elders, which went pretty well.

Lots of concerns, lots of issues and the locals still don't believe the Americans are here to stay. In fact, I'm not sure the Americans are sure they're here to stay, given that there doesn't seem to be anyone who wants to fight them so far. But nevertheless, it was the beginning of a conversation.

The other battle here has been against the logistics train. Running full on, there has been a huge water and MRE drop every day. There's enough H2O for an army here...

Well, I suppose that's appropriate.

At least it makes for an impromptu workspace. One of the marines shot this pic of NPR's Helmand desk.

I really appreciated hearing from some of you. I could use some of that cool rain, let me tell you. And I look forward to sailing on Glenn's new boat. What a concept.

Mmmm - smell the love. Marines put in for health damage from burning plastic and poo exposure at the end of a deployment. I think I'll put in for a frosty six pack.

Gentle Reader

2009-07-06T07:12:00.003+03:00

I think nobody is reading this any more. I don't really, but I haven't had a shower in a week, and my pants are stiff and I'm getting overly familiar with the MRE menus.

We are shitting in plastic bags, which are then burned. When we unload massive pallets of water and chow, we're generally just downwind and in the column of smoke from the pit where they burn the accumulated "WAG bags".

Plus, I finished "The Quiet American" and didn't bring another book on this operation. So please to amuse me. Doesn't anyone have anecdotes of the outside world for me? Even bits and bobs.

Write in the comments section for everyone's amusement and edification.

Thanks - G

The First Draft of History

2009-07-04T22:20:00.001+03:00

So I had a story on the Saturday morning show yesterday - a thrill, because it's one of my favorites. You can hear it here:

It ran at five and a half minutes, which is a good chunk of airtime. But it was whittled down from the monster I wrote at first, with a lot of help from some good editors. I'm grateful, because it just wouldn't have gotten on air at the original length, but at the same time, I liked some of what I first wrote. I've pasted it in down below for your amusement. I ask in advance for forgiveness on spelling and grammar, and the quotes aren't exact either. This was the first go-through.

Still quiet here... toooo quiet.

Actually, the marines are a little antsy and a bit jealous of their comrades to the south, who are fighting with the Taliban regularly. Yesterday, the fourth, I went on a night patrol up to the north, where it's thought the local pocket of baddies hang out. Aside from some sketch moments walking through people's yards and wondering if some dude would pop out with an AK thinking we were burglars, it was low stress.

Reminded me more than anything of when my friend John Foster and I used to walk the streets of Amherst at night, ducking in and out of the shadows - diving into the woods when a car approached. I think there must be some hint of that in the marines. Better toys. Much higher stakes. But still.

A young kid I talked with yesterday was talking about how he joined the marines because he wanted to experience combat. Something that you just can't do home in the states. It's not even that he likes to fight: he could only think of one fight he'd ever been in - in highschool when he had a broken arm and a kid decked him. But I think there's something that he wants to test.

Maybe there has been something in me that I've been looking to test too. If you'd asked me a month ago or even a week ago if I would jump out of a helicopter with the marines into a Taliban hotspot where, for all I knew, there would be a massive firefight underway, I'd have said I couldn't truly answer.

OK, here's the story of our little d Day:

A major new military operation is underway in Afghanistan this week, with four thousand US marines moving into Helmand Province – a southern part of that country where the Taliban insurgents are thought to be strongest. The marines staged what they call the largest “air insertion” since the Vietnam war – in an attempt to establish a presence throughout the heart of the province – along the Helmand river valley.

NPR’s Graham Smith went in to Helmand province along with the marines of the 2/8 Marine battalion – and he brings us the story of their assault – and the beginning of a six-month deployment at a new firebase.

Operation River Liberation AKA Operation Khanjari was a secret up until earlier this week, but the presence of ten thousand additional marines in southern Afghanistan was broadcast around the world. The US is re-committing to the war against the Taliban, and these men are the face and the flesh of that effort.

Fluker: Lots of water, ammo, flares, chow – not expecting a re-supply for a couple days.

Lieutenant Russell Fluker of Kirbeyville, Texas is the executive officer of the 2/8’s Fox company. He and his men have suffered through nearly two months of training on hot desert bases, breathing in dust and acclimating to the heat. They’ve just learned the specifics of their mission.

Fluker: It’s probably going to be quiet when we first get there – going into key places – they won’t know. hell, we haven’t known until just now. Then they’ll come out and test us”

After two days of final battle briefings and rehearsals, the marines are ready. Bags are packed, weapons cleaned and supplies staged. On the night of July first, they walk across two kilometers of calf-deep sand they call “moon dust” – to the edge of the landing pad

Sergeant Thomas Joiner is with weapons company.

Joiner: “We’re settin on the flight line – prepping for tomorrow. Marines are staging where they will be to load and go tomorrow.”

He’s talked to his wife and his kids – he has six - without being specific about heading into the Taliban’s poppy-growing heartland.

Joiner @3:00 “with having a big family, wide age range the normal thing of saying it’s no big deal doesn’t really work with the older kids – but they ask and don’t really want to hear the answer, so they quit asking.”

The officers tell their men to get some sleep – and you could argue the open desert is more comfortable than the stifling circus-tents where they’ve been living on cots. Captain John Sun is the Commanding officer of Fox company.

Sun: “It’s cool, it’s refreshing… better than home. Isn’t that true, Gunny Wilkin? (wilkin) If you say it’s true, sir, then it’s true. Haha”

A few minutes later, a marine walks up with one last item. It’s a cardboard box full of body bags. A dark delivery, but Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wilkin makes the best of it – using one as a pillow. The first Sergeant, Derrick Mays, briefly considers using one as a sleeping bag, but decides that’s too creepy, and sleeps under the stars and his poncho liner …
ambi down

Ambi up ---- helicopters

Revilee at 3:30 – MRE’s are the breakfast for those who want one – and the marines are lined up at the helipad. Sergeant Mays:

Mays: “The first four are on deck – next three will be here shortly and then we’ll start mounting”

Convoys of marines are already working their way from isolated bases – spreading out into the Helmand River valley. Other NATO forces are moving down from bases in the north of the province. These marines will drop right into the middle – in wave upon wave of xxxxx transport helicopters.

heli ambi up –

Fox company’s first squad is up and away – a half hour in the sky, then a banking fast descent to a green field, with two small fires burning in it from flares that they’ve dropped.

It’s a hard landing – the marines dismount, clear the helicopers and take a knee. There’s no one firing at them yet.

- Mays, “follow me – straight ahead”

they run through a furrowed field to a safer position
- heli ambi to grass running

Mays: “Watch your step - Single file!”

- ambi radio traffic etc

They take positions along a head-high berm and in the field, squads spreading out to secure the field, and set to take their objective: a compound with fifteen-foot high walls across the street, right next to an irrigation canal. The men have seen it from surveillance photos, but they have no idea what could be inside. In their minds, it could be a Taliban safe-house, ready to open fire on them. Some think it could be a drug processing operation.

Captain Sun knows it’s important to find out soon – because the Cobra helicopters that are hovering overhead to provide cover have other missions to fly today.

Sun: “We’ve got thirty minutes of air cover left. We’re in a good spot but it’s not good enough. In 10 minutes, we’ll do the cordon on the compound, then we can go talk to the owner.”

Now, this is the story of a company of marines – many of them headed into combat for the first time in their lives. But for just a minute, consider this:

You are a farmer, doing pretty well in the town of Sorhodez. You are harassed by the Taliban, who come knocking for food and support. More often, you are harassed by the local police, who come to take money, cigarettes or whatever they can get.

One morning, you wake up to the sound of helicopters. Close. Your kids are afraid, you look outside, and there are over a hundred US marines in full battle gear. They are looking at your house. Your name is Daoud. You are about to have a very long day.

- back to ambi helis (lt Oliver) – we’re gonna try to go call this guy out without stepping on that (bleep) thing.

The marines check a suspected booby-trap, then move across the road, and into the courtyard outside the main house, where captain sun knocks on the door. – knocking –

Daoud answers. – slide lock – talking – “manana – this is the gentleman.”

Daoud is obviously nervous. The marines are too – though they’re not showing it. This compound doesn’t seem a threat, but this area is dangerous. Every time British patrols go up this road, they are attacked.

Mays: “I guarantee that within 3 to 4 hours, we’ll get shot at.
Sun: “there’s lots of kids here now – we need to get a place, get patrols happening, get them before they get us.”

In fact, that will turn out to be the biggest fight these marines will face on their D-Day: convincing the locals to let them have a place to live. Daoud says they can’t stay at his place – he’ll walk the captain down town, to see if someone else can help. After securing his men in and around Daoud’s compound, although not inside, Captain Sun, First Sergeant Mays and a squad of Marines roll down the street, past cautious clusters of men and young boys. Many are smiling. All are curious.

Sun: “Wave to the people”
-ambi walking and assalam alekim
Mays: We’re walking up to meet the local elder and try to negotiate a place to stay.

With the pressure of the landing and securing the compound passed, the marines have a chance to really look around. There are fir and fruit trees – the first real vegetation these men have seen in many weeks. There is a canal of water running, and the neat outer walls of houses all along the street. A flower garden blooms next to one – with a bushy marijuana plant in the middle of it. A farmer on a tractor is plowing his field in the distance, and another relaxes under a tree, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette of some sort.

- Pashto at 14:00

The patrol reaches the house of the village leader, but he’s not home. His son, a doctor at a nearby clinic, says he doesn’t have the authority to arrange accommodations without his father. And there’s no way to arrange a Shoura – a gathering of the village elders.

Sun: “ask him if there’s any empty place where we can stay ---- Pashto – there are only houses, no empty places.”

No empty place, and nobody is willing to rent them their house. The man suggests the marines might stay at the school, which is burned out after a Taliban attack meant to destroy it. Another man says no – the children still use it. Perhaps the marines could stay at the mosque.

- fade the crowd talking

Captain sun thanks them, and walks back up the street – determined not to try to stage his men at a holy place. Meanwhile, Daoud’s face is growing longer. He wanders off.

Sun: “Where’s he going? (Terp – oh, he’s pissy)

He’s concerned he may get stuck with the marines.

Captain Sun does approach the mosque – hoping that the local Mullah, Zay Nudin, may have a suggestion, or some clout.

- chatter

Instead, he has a list of complaints. The police are causing problems, the British forces killed a ten-year old boy and his father two weeks ago. The biggest is that the marines will bring the fight to his town

Mullah: “The problem is that you come from one side and the Taliban from the other and the kids have to escape.”
Sun: “it will take some time to beat the Taliban, but eventually it will be ok”

But the Mullah has no suggestions about accommodations. Other men gather around. Finally, they say they’ll talk to Daoud. Since his place is on the edge of town, if there is an attack on it, the fight may not affect the rest of the village as much.

- fade walking ambi

- up Pashto

Terp “He says I want to give you my house, but I need a tent or something…”

It’s a beginning. The Captain negotiates a two-week lease for a hundred dollars. The man is given a voucher to get more money from the provincial government.

Sun: “Just to be clear, we have the whole house?” – Pashto – yes – “I really appreciate it…”

-Pashto – Terp “They say we’ll help you, but we don’t know. Maybe in the future the Talibs will cut our heads. When you leave, we’ll leave too.”
Sun: “No, we’ll stay.”

The marines go back across the field to give Daoud time to move out. He takes three large cartloads of carpets, furniture and clothing away. Then, just as the Marines are ready to move back across the street and into the compound, Daoud approaches Captain Sun again. He wants to give the money back. He says it’s not his culture to take it. When pressed, he has a different story.

- Pashto – Terp: “He says to get the money back because when you leave here, the Taliban will cut him.”
Mays: “We’re not leaving”

Nevertheless, the marines take the money, Daoud leaves – his life transformed in a day. He’ll tell the Taliban that the house was taken by force.

The marines, meanwhile, move in, making sure to sweep the premises for bombs

- ambi of dog panting “c’mon Jag” and metal detector whooping “All clear”

Fox Company has come through this day, their objective achieved and without a shot fired.

Sun: I would say it’s going smoothly so far – but I’m keeping my eyes open. The bad thing happens when the sun goes down. So we’ll see what happens.”

Some other marines were not so lucky. There were several injured in firefights the first day of Operation River Liberation, and one man was killed. This operation, the effort to secure the Helmand River Valley, will last throughout the next six months of their deployment.

For NPR News, this is Graham Smith – in the village of Sorhodez, Helmand Province – Afghanistan.

e-Day

2009-07-03T18:06:00.002+03:00

Safe and sound. Spent the day on the computer, going through "tape" and writing a piece. I didn't know how long to go, so just went at it. Turns out I probably went twice as long as the show can accommodate. We'll see.

I'll post the original version here later, since it's not a bad tic-toc of day one.

Some of the other companies in the 2/8 are seeing a fight, but it's still quiet here.

Yours in power conservation.

d Day

2009-07-02T19:35:00.005+03:00

Very briefly, because I'm on limited battery right now - out in the middle of Helmand Province in Southern Afghanistan with the marines. They say this is the biggest aerial insertion since Vietnam, an attempt to take back the entire Helmand River Valley at once.

This place is supposed to be thick with Taliban, but so far, it's been quiet. A couple of IEDs that were detected and destroyed. The people in this little village where the marines set up are really sketched to have coalition forces here. Wouldn't even accept rent for the compound that's being used, because they feared reprisals.

Some of the guys thought we'd get attacked when we landed, others said nightfall. So far, nothing. Maybe daybreak, maybe they've gone to ground and it'll be all ieds from here and no big fight.

I'm here for a week. The guys have been great. Hope the batteries hold out.

Much love,

Graham

Spa Dwyer

2009-07-01T08:20:00.003+03:00

Well, it's not exactly a day spa, although I bet if you made a mud of this dust, it'd take some stuff out of your pores.

The thermometer was pegged at 120 yesterday, so I don't know what the real temp is. Folks tell me it's usually 125 to 130. "But it's a dry heat", we always joke.

Been trying to get acclimatized for the desert. Been connecting with the guys. They're a good group, and have been very kind with me at every turn. It's fun to hang and joke with the younger guys, and good to connect with the older sergeants, who know the score and have a bit more perspective.

The big circus tent where they live for now is killer during the day, but the mess hall is maybe worse. Humid on top of it all

The SPA on my hand in the above pic stands for "space available"

I hope to be on here again soon. Very busy, and the sat phone is bothersome.

Love to all - always.

Pressed Flowers

2009-06-28T14:28:00.004+03:00

I'm back at Bastion - the British base that houses Camp Leatherneck, Marine Hub. Feels like home, this flapping tent, with water bottles huddled by the cool air inlet, hoping for a wisp of chill.

All of my gear is plugged in, recharging batteries. My body and mind should be getting the same, but after an hour of laying on the mattress I've resigned myself to naplessness. After a late-night flight on an uncomfortable transport plane and four hours of restless sleep in an uncomfortable rattling transient billet, I'm rather running on fumes.

One thing I thought I'd mention here as we enter "fighting season": the press releases from the military have changed with the new management on top. Whereas recently, many of the releases coming out of the ISAF press office trumpeted the numbers of enemies killed. For example:

"Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
June 1, 2009
Release Number 20090106-03

Afghan police, Coalition forces kill seven militants throughout Afghanistan

Kabul, Afghanistan – Afghan National Police assisted by Coalition forces killed five armed militants in Andar district, Ghazni province, May 31.
Afghan police officers came under attack from small-arms, machine-gun and rocket-propelled grenade fire while conducting a combat reconnaissance patrol in an area known for rampant militant activity. While under fire, the police officers alerted a nearby ANP and Coalition forces element, which immediately responded to their location to assist in the firefight.
Upon arrival, the quick reaction force also came under small-arms fire from the militants. Close air support was requested after the friendly forces determined there were no non-combatants in the area. Five militants were killed in the strike.
Three Afghan police were wounded during the firefight and were evacuated to a nearby Coalition medical facility for treatment.
After neutralizing the enemy fighters, the friendly forces conducted a search of the area. Eleven suspected militants were detained and taken into ANP custody. Two improvised explosive devices were discovered and destroyed on site.
Elsewhere May 31, in Shaheed Hasas district, Oruzgan province, Afghan police officers, assisted by Coalition forces, killed two militants after enemy fighters attacked two police checkpoints. The checkpoints took heavy small-arms, machine gun and RPG fire from the vicinity of a nearby village. The combined elements engaged the enemy and successfully ended the firefight, leaving two militants dead.
After the firefight ended, the friendly forces conducted a search of the village from which they came under attack. Several weapons with ammunition were confiscated by the Afghan police.
There were no non-combatants casualties reported during either engagement."

This tactic of heralding body count hasn't been tried in years. I never noticed it in releases from Iraq, and was surprised at the tone of the releases here once I got on the lists. Less than a month ago, the Wall Street Journal had a nice piece analyzing the practice:

Well now, with General McKiernan out and General McChrystal in, it's about face. No more body counts - progress is to measured and heralded with different metrics: villages kept secure from insurgents, IEDs stopped from being emplaced and weapons caches destroyed. A recent release was headlined, "Afghan Commandos give back to their community in Kandahar" and when shit does go down, it's presented more like this:

"Press Release
Untied States Forces-Afghanistan
June 26, 2009
Release Number: 20092606-01

Afghan, coalition forces conduct anti-Taliban operation in Helmand

KABUL, Afghanistan – Afghan and coalition forces detained several suspected Taliban militants during an operation overnight to disrupt Taliban improvised explosive device and rocket attacks against Afghan National Security Forces and coalition forces in Helmand.
In Nad Ali District, Helmand Province, a combined force patrolled near the village of Marjeh, about 25 km west of Lashkar Gah, to compounds where intelligence sources reported a known Taliban commander to be located.
While clearing the compounds, the force encountered a threat. After performing several escalation of force measures to no avail, the threat was eliminated.
The force completed the search without further incident, detained a handful of suspected militants, uncovered about 350 pounds of black tar heroin bundled in 20-pound bags and confiscated one AK-47 rifle. The black tar heroin was destroyed in place.
No ANSF, coalition forces or non-combatants were injured in this operation."

The threat was eliminated.

As was a lot of detail.

But that said, the body count tunnel vision led to a lot of very ugly actions in Vietnam, as was laid out disturbingly in a book I just finished, written by a couple of Toledo Blade reporters. The book is called "Tiger Force" and it's the summation of their work revealing the actions of, investigation of and subsequent cover up of an army unit who went on a murder spree in Vietnam in 1967.

It's a little bit reportorial, and slightly heavy-handed when it comes to the "lessons learned" bits, but it's solid, and deserved the Pulitzer it earned in the pages of the paper.

When you read in it about the attitude taken up and down the chain of command that "any civilians who are not fighting against the enemy must *be* the enemy," you see how slippery a slope can get. With Tiger Force at it's nadir, every villager was fair game, and any villager killed was counted as Viet Cong, whether or not weapons were found, whether it was a toiling farmer, a blind old man, a child in his mother's arms.

We often hear a parallel here. "Well, why were those villagers in that compound where the Taliban were firing from? If they weren't sympathizers, they would have just left." In other words, they deserved it, if they got killed in a bombing run. Here's a photo (not for children) of some of the graffiti in a latrine near last night's transient bunkhouse - click on it, and it'll blow up so you can dig into all the nasty crevices:

Now, maybe that photo is a cheap shot. Boys will be boys, and it seems most of the men here have a more sophisticated view. And the man at the top, General McChrystal, seems intent on stemming civilian casualties - putting a much higher bar on approval of bombing runs, and shifting emphasis to "establishing security for the Afghan people."

But how do you measure that? What are the metrics? Talk with a platoon commander, he'll say it means a lot when you've got 70% of your local Afghan police showing up for their shifts, when only 40% turned up regularly four months before. Or when the people seem less skittish as you talk with them. But I'm guessing that's a hard sell to the American people.

"Establishing a presence in areas where we didn't have a presence before," was one measure offered by Marine General Nicholson recently. Fair enough. But again - balanced against an increase in American casualties bound to come with a bigger and more exposed footprint, will it sell on Main Street?

General Nicholson says this is the summer of decision - that measurable progress has to be demonstrated in the coming months in order to keep the American public behind this war. General McChrystal told us there's a bigger window for success - 18 months to two years, I believe.

All of this comes amid Afganistan's election season - with President Karzai, in power solely by dint of American arms, hammering the US at every opportunity.

Me, I'm interested to get beyond the press releases and the interviews with the brass for awhile and see some more of what the troops are seeing. To hear more of what the Afghan people down south are saying.

And as I'm making my way back to the 2/8 - I'm reading another Vietnam book. It's Graham Greene's "The Quiet American." Set in Indo-China during the French fight against the VC, it's got the skirmishes of reportage, romance and the familiar song of counter-insurgency. Fifty-plus years after its publication, I think there are pages where you could substitute proper nouns, replace rice paddies with poppy fields and have a novel of Afghanistan.

Are we winning? Who is "we?" What is "winning?" And on top of it all, to misquote Bill Clinton, it seems a lot depends on what your definitions of "are" are.

Lovely Day For a Drive

2009-06-27T15:48:00.003+03:00

Just a brief note before I push off south.

Had to go out and about a bit today, and got the opportunity to drive the car, which was a joy. It always feels so strange to be driven around all the time.

I can't say that I figured out any "rules of the road" aside from Be Aggressive (Be Aggressive - B-E Aggressive! B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E!) First time in a long time that I've driven on the right side of the car, and definitely the first time on the right side of the car and the right side of the road.

So I looked like a dork, and the cops were staring at me, unbelieving as I bulled my way across clotted intersections. It's given me perspective on Boston drivers, and that's something.

Got everything in line to get to our Marines. Then comes the fun part.

Let's Go Fight a Kite

2009-06-27T08:42:00.011+03:00

Couldn't get off the ground yesterday myself (hoping to fly south tonight) so instead, I learned a little bit about kite flying, Afghan style.

Najib picked me up after we both attempted and failed at taking disco naps. The wind was just right, he said, and another friend was to meet us up on the kite flying hill. Off we headed, in his dusty Corolla - blending in with the thousands of Toyotas plying the beaten streets of Kabul.

Now, the Afghan capital is nothing like Baghdad in terms of bombings etc, but it's important to keep safety in mind, and low-profile is key. You drive around in an armored Land Cruiser like the folks from the embassies etc, you're advertising that you'd make a great target.

I hadn't eaten, so we stopped at a little bakery and bought one of the fantastic still-warm flattened loaves that are the staff of life here. It was delicious - crisp at the edges, and perforated with decorations so it tore off in long yeasty strips.

Through the light Friday traffic we wove, until we got to the hill in question. Apparently during the post-Soviet civil war, this particular peak was controlled by Abdul Rashid Dostum - one of the heaviest warlords. He's now part of the government, to the horror of many. Just recently, he threw his political weight to President Karzai, who seems to be lurching towards re-election by hook or by crook.

Anyhow, it's one of the small triumphs of the war here that instead of being a position for mortar crews, Tape Maranjan hill is again a place to play. Of course, it is Afghanistan, so when I say "play" I also mean "fight".

The kites are flown very high, easy on a day when the wind is stiff like we had. It'd be a lovely way to just piss the time away, except that there's another part of kite flying here - at any time, one of the other kite flyers can decide to attack your kite. See, the string here isn't like American soft, white cotton stuff. It comes in many colors (I saw black, brown, hot pink and deep purples and reds) and all of it is built to battle. It's like a fine sandpaper to the touch - with glass or sand or something encrusting what looks like monofilament. It's designed to cut your opponent's line and send his kite floating to earth, defeated.

Choosing a good kite and good string is a start, then you have to have a decent string-minder (there are lots of little kids around happy to help) and of course proper technique. I never quite got it down, in fact my only real run at things ended in a crash landing, but it seems you want to keep your like zipping out fast as your string comes in contact with another. It's like a shark - stop moving and you die.

Najib is said to be a master kite flyer. Well, that's what he says. Our companion for the afternoon concurred - Elizabeth Rubin, who writes for the NYT magazine. Really fun, despite the fact she'd eaten something foul up in Mazar earlier in the day. I learned a lot talking with her later in the evening.

After a ritualistic inspection, we bought three kites for a pittance. A bunch of kids (I guess these are the kite runners) gathered around the honkey as we got one into the air. I can't say things went particularly well... we ended up buying a series of replacement kites, as ours drifted time and again into the dust. We could see kids in the distance hustling to collect our detritus. All beaten kites, even beaten string, becomes fair game like jetsam on the sea.

It's not such a bad thing to be beaten at kite flying, but like all games of machismo, it's better to win. Eventually, as the little boys laughed along, we moved to a different competition.

Along with the kite sellers and string sellers and good luck incense burners and food vendors, there are kids with flats of eggs all over the hilltop. I didn't get it at first. Why the hell are these kids selling eggs here? It's not street food, really. Then I found out - it's all about combat here in Kabul.

Najib had better luck at egg-fighting, taking Elizabeth down several eggs in a row before she rallied towards the end.

I had a different sort of victory - collecting the beaten weapons and making like Cool Hand Luke at the lunch table.

Quickly - other random thoughts before I go to the land of few comms:

Nobody can quite figure out how David Rhode escaped. Everyone is ecstatic that he did, but the old hands I talk to say there has to be more to the story. A detailed article in New York Magazine suggests the way was greased with bribes to the guards to look the other way.

There are campaign posters up all over town, and two months hence there will be an election. No doubt shenanigans are going on: you can buy voter cards on the street, women are way over-registered in some Pashtun (read pro-Karzai) areas and people say that the elections authority is salted with loyalists. It'll be interesting to watch.

The DEA is quite active here. Although they're now leaving poor farmers alone, they're teaming with the Afghans and US military to hit narcotics middle-men where they can. Going after kingpins too - with one big dude sent to the US last week. Still, like I said before, it seems drops in the ocean.

A friend told me that there's a search now in Bamyan for a Buddha that may have escaped the Taliban. Apparently, some ancient text tells of a third statue, 300 meters long, that's prone in front of the two that were destroyed. Perhaps under the earth, there's a wonder waiting.

And - I am really missing home. Can't wait to be on the New England coast again, and play in the surf with Cali.

PS - Najib notes that he *did* win a couple of kite fights.

Rip It Up

2009-06-26T14:45:00.007+03:00

I've neglected, so far, to relate the story of our daytrip out to Gulistan, in Farah Province. It's pretty much the northern stretch of the Marine's AO (area of operations) and man is it remote. We flew on a brace of helicopters across a huge desert, away from Camp Leatherneck, which I'm told was placed there so it wouldn't be an easy target for rockets etc. Well done - it's so far from anything, I don't think the Taliban would bother.

Approaching Gulistan, we flew over absolutely beautiful hills that grew into rocky mountains. General Nicholson, who we were tagging, said we were headed to a place that "looked like Switzerland". Well... not quite. But compared to the dust of Leatherneck, it was sweet. We landed at a small Marine base there - probably not more than 150 yards across. The sun was hot, but the alpine air was cool, and the base overlooked a small village in the shadow of a massive ridge line.

There, we met up with the ABC reporter Matt, and Aaron from The World. They'd been embedded for a couple days, and were ready to head back to base. I told Aaron that a recent story on the World website had his byline as Camp Leatherhead, and at first he didn't believe me. Apparently, a copy editor had checked his stuff against the wires (now polluted with the bunk byline I mentioned earlier) and changed his copy to make it wrong. Ugh. Aaron's on the right here:

We got a classified briefing from the lieutenant there, a strutting, muscular marine who stood in the middle of a huge sandbox filled with spent grenade rounds and stones that represented the geography, pointing to poker chips of different colors while explaining bombings and attacks in the recent days. I can't go into the detail of what he said, but the overarching message was that the village below the base is pretty secure, aside from the recent kidnapping of 30 people (all eventually released) and the shooting of the schoolteacher.

However, to the north, there are Taliban forces that infiltrate down, force locals to give them food and shelter, and attack any coalition or police forces that come by. And to the south, there's a particularly bad mountain pass where the Marines get attacked every time they roll through. The Lt said essentially he can move his guys and local forces north, but then things heat up south, and vice versa. And if he really moves in either direction hard, the village near the base has no security.

The general said it's a microcosm of the province, and the country as a whole. Even with the new influx of American and NATO troops, there's never enough to keep every area safe. You have to make choices about where you want your vulnerabilities to be.

A quick aside to set up my favorite quote of the trip so far: Hydration is an obsession here, with signs up in bathrooms asking:

There's lots and lots of water everywhere, not on the ground but in bottles bottles bottles bottles. Aaron's holding one in the pic above, and Tom in the one below. There are pallets of the stuff all around bases, much of it bottled in Afghanistan, some of it imported. I can't imagine the pile a day's worth of plastic bottles would make.

Also, there's Gatorade around on the posh posts. Plus, there's lots of soda, juice boxes, and if you're really really lucky, there's Rip It. It seems to be a military-targetted Red Bull, and we actually got our ride out of Lash based in part on a Rip It exchange. Tell you the truth, it's not bad. Better than the Iraqi stuff that included not only caffeine and taurine, but also nicotine...

Anyhow, getting back to Gulistan, at the end of the briefing, the General leaned in towards the young marine and said, "I want to ask you something I ask all my guys - What is it that keeps you awake at night?"

Instantly, the lieutenant said, "Coffee, sir. Rip Its and tobacco."

And then there was a beat.

Like, maybe he's joking? Nope. The general tried again - "Let me rephrase that - what are your biggest concerns here in Gulistan". The lieutenant rambled a bit about making sure his marines get back safely from patrols, when the general interrupted again, asking about the mission, "Stay with me here, son".

"Tracking, sir".

Anyhow, I couldn't stop giggling about the Rip Its line all day long, as we went along with the foot patrol through the village and on the bird on the way back to Leatherneck.

As for the foot patrol, it was good to get a look around. You can never expect folks to be very forthright when you're accompanying a platoon of heavily armed marines, but we got a chance to interview a handful of people, including a pharmacist, two local policemen and some local kids. Everyone said security is a huge issue - the village isn't safe. The police told us they've had lots of pressure and death threats from the Taliban.

I asked one teenager if he'd consider joining the police, and I didn't even need the translator's help to get his response, "Are you kidding me, I don't want to get killed". The younger kids told us they hadn't been able to go to school for three months - since the teacher was killed. Nobody will take his place in this village within a stone's throw of the marine base - it's just too dangerous.

I might note that in his briefing, the lieutenant had mentioned the school and the girl's school in town as he pointed out key buildings. The general had said, "The have a girl's school here? Pretty progressive area".

Once we returned from patrol, I mentioned to the general what the kids told me about the school being shut down. An officer nearby jumped in, saying he'd meant to mention that to the general. The boy's school had been shuttered for three months. The girl's school had been shut down for half a year.

It's hard to know exactly what to make of it all, but I think the general was right that it's a decent microcosm. So was Lash, so was Shindand. There's an honest effort at establishing security in the towns and villages. But, the further you get from a base, the less likely that things are holding together. People on the fringes don't feel served or protected by the government, and they're extremely vulnerable to the opposition forces.

Soon, I'll see how this all looks down south in Helmand, where the Taliban is strongest, and the coalition footprint is just about to grow in the form of ten-thousand new troops asserting their presence.

Back to Business

2009-06-26T11:37:00.005+03:00

Kabul, Afghanistan

I spent the night at the Gandamack after a bounce through Dubai. What a hot, humid curiosity. Without the opportunity to spend more time there, I don't want to condemn the place completely - but I'm thinking if I come here again, I might route through Istanbul instead.

That said, with a little help from friends of friends, I was able to land, have a big Costa capp (looked ridiculous, drinking out of a massive double-handled mug) - taxi to the Afghan consulate, finagle a new visa very quickly and shoot to the airport in time for my flight here - back to the land of almost right.

The one thing about the Dubai airport that stuck out to me was a pair of twenty-something locals who were watching skater videos on their laptop, cranking the background music. Amidst the selections were Animal Collective's "My Girls" from Prue's playlist and Elliott's "Coast to Coast". Made me happy to be near.

One other travel note - ended up talking with a Turkish woman who was on her way to a week's vacation in Thailand. She was smart and funny and a bit perplexed that it's so hard to get a tourist visa to visit the US. Like everyone who gets there will immediately try to skip the returning home part and burrow in. Similar line of conversation about Turkey's efforts to join the EU.

As Yesim pointed out to me, with 70 million Turks it'd be logistically tough and expensive to integrate all of them into the EU. It'll take a lot more movement on Turkey's part to get in compliance on issues of governance, economy etc.

But there's also some overhanging sense from my few conversations with urban Turks that there's a level of prejudice going on. Certainly, you hear about it from Germany, and France, where it seems they view Turks as some sort of unwashed burden. Outsiders and undesirables. Maybe because Turkey is on the border of two worlds in many ways: secular and Muslim, European and Asian, first and third world (why isn't there a "second world"?) with a history of empire - just far out enough to seem exotic.

Here in Kabul, Thursday nights roll on. It's the party night, with Friday morning a down day to recover. Last night, the pub here at the Mack was hopping - tequila shots and B52's (ironic, that one) lined up and lots of beefy ex-military guys yukking it up. Way late, I wandered down the block to a party at a French NGO that still had 400 people and music jamming at 2:00 in the morning. I showed the DJ my blackberry when the alert came across that Michael Jackson had been rushed to the hospital, but he didn't have any MJ to spin.

The guy I'd walked to the party with, a Brit and a retired royal marine had little sympathy for the Prince of Pop -- "I've got no tears for that fucking pederast. He should have died a long time ago."

I'm delayed one day, but manifested to fly down to the Marine staging area tomorrow night. Meanwhile, I'll re-pack, get some exercise and catch up here with a couple of entries I missed along the way.

Istanbul is for Serendipity

2009-06-23T09:37:00.007+03:00

So my soundtrack for this trip has been a bunch of songs recommended by my friend Prue, after I told her I thought she'd like Kabul. Most of the artists I'd never heard of, some I'd heard the names but didn't know the music - a couple were in my ipod, but not these tracks. Try em - you'll like em.

Dirty Projectors--> "Stillness is the Move"
Grizzly Bear--> "Two Weeks"
Animal Collective--> "My Girls"
Friendly Fires--> "Jump in the Pool"
Fever Ray--> "When I Grow Up" (D.Lissvik remix)
Phoenix--> "Lisztomania" or "Rome"
MGMT--> "Kids"
Klaxons--> "It's Not Over Yet"
Bon Iver--> "Skinny Love" or "Blood Bank"
M83--> "We Own the Sky"
Arcade Fire--> "Keep the Car Running"
Q-Tip--> "Believe"
Lykke Li--> "Everybody But Me"
Little Joy--> "How to Hang a Warhol"
Modest Mouse-->"Other People's Lives"
Felix da Housecat--> "Ready 2 Wear" (have to dub from youtube. no itunes)
The National--> "Without Permission"
Yo La Tengo--> "Gentle Hour"

Anyhow, I've listened to that on C-130s, in my bunk at night, at the gym and out running. Great stuff and good to get new music into my head, and a lot of the lyrics are working for me.

So I arrived in Istanbul the morning of the 20th - strung out from little sleep and the after-drift of a half an ambien. I'd met a cool French guy on the plane who works for an NGO, had a good chat through passport control and the rest, and finally got through all the stuff to see Yesim smiling at me out in the crowd of folk welcoming their loved ones home or flagging down business associates.

We taxied into town, and to her place - which is in a killer part of town - Tunel. Towards the top of a winding hill lined with music shops and used book stores and little kebab places. It's at the far end of the major shopping street Istiklal - with a roof top terrace and absolutely everything you might need to escape the desert and the war. Seagulls, honking boats on the Bosporus, fantastic food and I guess as much as anything - openness and security.

The city could drop anywhere in America and be welcome - it's bustling, it's sophisticated, it's beautiful with old crumbling enduring buildings and tiny cafe-choked alleyways. There's interesting Bankseyian street tags and a slew of new yellow fists adorning the peeling plaster walls here on Galip Dede Cd.

We went for a walk up Istiklal, looking for snacks and a copy of Graham Greene's The Quiet American - a must read for this trip according to T. We found all of that, plus a good collection of Moleskines to choose from. I grabbed a reporter's pad, and the flyer for an exhibit they're having of journals filled up by various artists, architects, writers, students etc. Looked really great, and that was the last day it was open, so we decided to ride up the Golden Horn to the campus nee electrical plant that was housing the collection.

Not only did we find a really cool gallery up there filled with wild art, etchings, rubbings, collage, poems and observations, photography and randomness, there was a music fest going on at the same time. Efes pilsner sponsoring a One Love Festival, and don't you know it, M83 from above playlist was on the bill, and Klaxons were headlining.

Yesim and I canceled our dinner reservation, bought wrist bands and had a quick Efes before heading back to her place for a siesta and some warmer clothes. Amazingly, this town gets a little chilly at night. Like manna from heaven, that chill in the air.

What we caught of the show was fantastic, despite a largely lame set by Tricky. Klaxons were amazing, and I shot some video on my flip camera. Hoping it'll finish uploading here and you can get my jiggly viewpoint. We missed M83.

The last couple of days have involved lots of wandering, time at the waterside including a brunch watching massively loud powerboats competing in the World Championships,

other good food, a trip to the cinema to see the latest Terminator, a visit to the Cistern - an amazing underground Roman reservoir I wrote about a little on here a couple years ago. We went by the spice bazaar and the grand bazaar and have had a fantastic fantastic time.

I have today and most of tomorrow left to enjoy Istanbul, then back on a plane to Dubai, grab a visa and get on a noon flight to Kabul.

The thought had been that I'd have headed home on the 20th, but as it turns out, the guys who we're following from the 2/8 marines hadn't deployed to the field yet. We got great stuff with them at Camp Leatherneck, and made good connections, but in terms of really following the year of their deployment we didn't want to miss the key period where they head out to their positions.

It's Helmand Province, cliche-ly but accurately a stronghold of the Taliban. It's ancestral Pashtun homeland. Very conservative. Very poor. Very alienated from the central government, and most of it has lacked any coalition presence. I think everyone is expecting a fight, particularly at the beginning of things. As I told my dad on Father's Day, my plan is to find the biggest marine around and tuck myself in behind him. We'll see.

This assignment has been my first real "embedding" with the military. I feel mixed about the whole thing. There have been a lot of problems with the whole enterprise, and I've been critical of it along the way. And here I am, about to head into it pretty heavy.

You only get one side of the primary story. You're very dependent on the military in so many ways, and need to work hard to maintain objectivity. The fact that I'm there to report on the experience of these Marines makes it a little easier. I think I need to be attentive to doing that well and not overstate my observations. I won't be able to meet and talk with Taliban representatives, and even time I get with the local folks will be filtered through military terps and the fact that there are heavily armed westerners around.

I'll do my best. And do my best to wrap my head around it all. And meanwhile, I'll try to find someone to repair one of the sets of earbuds I destroyed on our cross-desert journey and the flip video lens that I cracked along the way. And with any luck, I'll find some more delicious food and sweet serenity.

Off to Turkey

2009-06-19T17:28:00.001+03:00

Long wkd in istanbul - then back into Afgh. Now extended - home mid july.

What fun. Love the Istanbul, and a visit with a great friend.

Leathernecking

2009-06-15T16:56:00.003+03:00

Heading out of Leatherneck tonight, and hopefully bouncing up to Kabul pretty quick. Had a good day out with the commanding general of the marines down here, Larry Nicholson. Did a walk through a mountain village that I'll describe later. Interesting.

Got lots of good time this week with the marines we're following. Making radio stories left and right.

Now to pack and shove.

PS - Dad and Darlene, yes seeing your messages... Bubbles? Very cute. xox

Hot As Ball

2009-06-10T20:03:00.005+03:00

This is day... what? 3 or 4 out here at Camp Leatherneck. I can see how one might lose track of time here. Brown dusty tents, brown dusty hills in the distance, brown dusty dust under foot. One of the marines told me that they call this stuff "Moon Dust." It's peculiar, the way it splashes up around your foot, then leaves a perfect imprint underneath.

This morning after breakfast (oh, those eggs) I backed up tape. I usually take it off of the flash drive into my computer and then onto an external drive, but I'm extra motivated since the other night, when a colleague from another news outlet lost all he'd gathered in recent days because his SD got corrupted.

Another person who was here for the AP had a bigger problem. He was eager to get a story out declaring that the "surge" had begun, and he blasted out a short piece bylined from "Camp Leatherhead." Yes, Camp Leatherhead.

He's a Brit, so maybe never heard the marine nickname, but still - ouch. At least he didn't write "Camp Leatherface"

Been connecting with some of the guys from the group who we're following. Making me feel old when one of them said how his grandfather had wanted to join up to go to Vietnam, but hadn't been allowed. Another told how his twin brother was back in the states and he wished they could be here together. Lots talked about their wives, parents and kids.

Most of them have never been in combat before. Even those who have deployed before mostly were in Anbar last year, and that was a pretty quiet time.

Doesn't seem like Helmand will be the same.

I mentioned one of them on Facebook - a navy corpsman (they're medics, basically, but patrol and fight alongside the marines) who had been involved in rodeo. T. asked if he'd ever gotten injured, and was told, "Yeah, I broke both legs, my pelvis, all my ribs, my shoulder, my face and I lost a testicle." Damn. Guess that wasn't dangerous enough, so he decided to come to Afghanistan. Facebook responses gave me the title for this post.

They seem a nice group of guys. Young. Nervous. Eager to get off of this crowded base and out to where they can do their stuff. Wondering whether they'll be capable enough, brave enough.

We met the Colonel in charge of the group we'll focus on. Big Python and Princess Bride fan - quotes from them a lot, joking with his aides. I asked him about the most famous of the "classic blunders" from the poison scene in PB, and he laughed - knowing what I was going to say, "Never get involved in a land war in Asia."

I also quoted from the siege scene in Quest for the Holy Grail in regards to the farting ban in Afghanistan. He hadn't heard about it.

Anyhow, went running today at 11:00 AM. Absolutely effing brutal. Every truck that passed left a huge cloud of dust in its wake, and sunscreen ran into my eyes as sweat flailed at cooling me. I think I'll get out a little earlier tomorrow, or a lot later. Getting a farmer's tan, or rather a farmer's burn. And I'm learning to live with very dirty, rather smelly clothes.

It's pretty spartan here. The food was all seemingly cooked years ago and stored, aside from some fresh fruit mercy. The tents are packed, although I must say it's better where we're housed than in the circus tents where the grunts sleep side-by-each with about 10 inches between each cot. We sleep with officers, who talk among themselves. We have A/C. We shouldn't complain so much.

One last note -- I'd meant to write briefly about the flight from Kabul to Kandahar. We were on a C-130 with a bunch of Brits and Dutch soldiers, and among them was the Dutch general who is in charge of all of the southern region. We had an interview with him early on, where he claimed that the Marja operation was a huge drug bust and would make a big impact on the Taliban. As it turns out, it was big - but still a tiny fraction of the drug output here.

Anyhow, he and his buddies (and his quite cute blonde aide) were all comparing notes on what they were listening to on their ipods for the trip. The general's choice was Pink Floyd's The Wall. Which still has me scratching my head a little bit, thinking about taking in that beginning to Goodbye Blue Sky - "Look Mummy, there's an airplane up in the sky" as the general and I hurtled over battle-scarred Afghanistan in a war bird.

Baby Powder Brown

2009-06-08T08:34:00.006+03:00

Walked out this morning into blowing dust. Incredibly fine stuff that makes it into your mouth even through a scarf. Fine fine fine - so as to splash up around your boot when you step in it - freeze-dried mud.

It was beautiful in a way - with Marines emerging out of the distance and the sun hazy yellow in the sky. Makes it tough on cameras, but D took some shots and hopefully I can put one up here. Definitely good weather to spin Woody Guthrie by.

Leatherneck is rough and ready, compared to everywhere else we've been. A tent city chockablock full of newly arrived troops, getting ready to head out. The mess hall is more spartan too - reconstituted scrambled eggs with hamburger buns as the toast (I'm guessing hamburgers are on the menu for lunch). But there were orange wedges too, and juice and coffee. Can't complain. A lot of the guys were loading up on frosted flakes and corn puffs. Not sure that's what I'd feed an army, but I guess it's calories.

We're looking to talk with some of the marines at the chapel this morning as they record father's day messages. See how it goes.

Southern Comfort

2009-06-05T20:33:00.002+03:00

Waiting around again for a military flight south to Kandahar, having said so long to the Gandamack folk and our fixer friend N. It was a good stay, and we filed two stories out of the Shindand gig. One more to go on that bit.

I culled my gear quite a bit - left some bags at the Mack. Half the clothes, warm stuff especially. Most of the baby wipes, some cords, books, a bottle of cognac (not allowed on base). Also my 20 degree sleeping bag - picked up a lightweight army castoff that's less sewaty. Left some batteries too - these lithiums last a long time. Still, my backpack is hella heavy.

Next is the Marines. We're spending basically a year tracking this one group out of NC - a MEB that was originally supposed to go to Iraq. The thinking is that it'll allow a window into the emerging Obama strategy. Mostly right now the guys are supposedly just chilling at Camp Leatherneck - waiting to deploy to the bleeding edge.

Some of the SF guys seemed a little apprehensive about the Marines rolling in. They have a reputation for kicking ass, rather than building bridges with the locals. Although in Anbar, the word was that they really settled things down, and everything went to hell when the Army took over. We'll see.

There are a bunch of Finn soldiers in the terminal tonight. A few Americans - 4 other civilians. At Kandahar, there will be Dutch, Canadians, French etc. All part of ISAF. The joke is that it stands for "I Saw Americans Fighting" because a lot of the troops from other nations are either clinging to quiet regions or just not venturing out beyond the wire.

I've been taking less photos this trip - partially because we have a photog along. Will try to get more up this coming week.

I'm missing home tonight. Missing my people. I hope all's well. If you see Cali, tell her I said hi and I love you. In fact, maybe she's reading this blog... Hi sweetie!

Lies, Damned Lies and Sophisticates

2009-06-03T22:30:00.003+03:00

Today was a good day in Kabul. At least for me. Got a lot of work done, made good contacts for upcoming stories, and went carpet shopping. There's a part of me that finds it strange to say that such a thing can be done in a nation at war - but that's part of the mystery of this city and I suppose this country. You can have a chat with the street kids, who know how to hit you up in several languages - go to a restaurant - drive on the dark dusty streets. And if you're lucky and things are normal, there's no problem. Then you roll snake eyes, and it's game over.

But that was not the case today.

Impressions: Waking up happily after a solid night's sleep - almost having forgotten how miserable the time adjustment was coming in... At breakfast not even reading past the headline about Manny dropping in the All Star Balloting, but devouring developments from Swat Valley... Seeing yet another Kabul Policeman hit up our driver for a bribe - business as usual... Knowing I was just fine walking into an electronics store for a set of computer speakers, and being relieved that there was a set price and I didn't have to haggle... Feeling strong winds and knowing that a light afternoon rain shower was about to roll in.

A couple of things I want to address: Mike wrote a comment on my posting about the bombed village and cultural distance on issues like justice and truth. Bang on. There's so much similarity and simple humanity going on, but a lot of mis-connection and even misdirection.

For example: I find myself wondering about the site of the bombs. There is no doubt a disaster happened there - lots of civilians were killed. A tragedy. But what are bloody clothes and bits of bones doing lying around months later? I know a bit about anatomy, and my best guess was that what I saw was a human bone, but I don't know. And it'd be very unusual in any society - but this one in particular - to leave something like that unburied. Did a dog unearth it recently? A colleague who visited the site months ago said he didn't recall seeing any bones or blood-encrusted clothes - although the site is rather large, and he might not have been to the same area.

I've got no lab results. I have some facts, and some questions. So I have to slot it into the gray area.

What I have no doubt about whatsoever is the reality of his anguish as the old man and I were talking. He'd lost a brother, nieces and nephews less than a year ago. His clansmen were let go from good-paying jobs at the American base after the bombing. It is an incredibly impoverished part of the world, and they'd lost almost everything. His tears were real, and his anger and his frustration. Having a little kid tunes your radar for faked emotion, I guess. But as Mike points out - concepts of justice can be very different.

One of the Green Berets I talked with a lot out west told me even concepts of time are different in the villages. Before our visit to Aziz Abad, we had a meeting with that same elder, and when we asked him whether the Americans had done anything to help him or his village since the bombing, and he said no. He held up the bottle of electric blue Gatorade he'd been swigging, and said through the translator, "This bottle here is the first thing they've ever given to me."

A pretty effective line.

But as the SF captain told me, there had in fact been a big humanitarian aid drop right in front of the man's house a couple months ago. Rice, flour, oil and sugar - soccer balls and pads of paper etc etc. It's all on film. But, the captain said, that doesn't make the old man a liar. If you ask an Afghan if he's been to Florida - and he was in Florida two years ago - he may well answer, "no." Because he hasn't been there recently. You'd have to work it for him to acknowledge he'd set foot in the Disney state, the theory goes. It's just not how they think.

Another member of the SF team had a less sympathetic take - "An Afghan would rather lie to you than tell the truth, even when the truth sounds better." Perhaps a gem mined from too many house searches where assurances were given that there were no guns in the house, and the normal AK is found stashed in a child's closet. They wouldn't get in trouble for having a rifle. But they wouldn't admit it's the case.

All of it understandable, depending on where you stand, I suppose. Call it moral relativism - call it realism. I dunno. Does a fake shred from a tragedy tell a more truthful story than a stripped-clean bombing site? Could be.

Other quick bits: I looted the Soviet junk yard. Just barely. Among the rotten rusted sharp scraps of tanks and planes, I saw an old circuit board hanging from a bomber with vacuum tubes jutting out of it. They looked familiar. Gave me a warm feeling. I pulled one out and pocketed it (with permission), telling my guide that I thought it might be the same as the ones in a Marshall amp. Sure enough - I looked last night and a 6n3c-e is a near perfect match for a 6L6. Military spec from 1978 - I'll have to see if it plays nice with the tubes in my JCM-800.

Also - there is a whole lot of emphasis from the US military and government in general on "putting an Afghan face on" military operations, humanitarian assistance, good governance programs etc. I have to say that most of it seems to be hogwash. Afghan soldiers and commandos are along on almost every mission, but it seems they're seldom in the lead. And they might be the ones giving out bags of rice at any given village, but it's seemingly bought, hauled and handed to them by Americans.

It's true they're putting their lives on the line fighting the insurgency, but you get a twisted sense of things from the military press releases. I'm not sure if all of it is meant to convince Afghans that their systems are starting to work, or to persuade Americans that we're closer and closer to closing this thing, but from here you see clearly that facade and face spring from the same root.

And finally - thanks to Mike, Yesim, JR, Courtney and John etc - nice to hear from you. I'm kind of doing this thing in lieu of writing the dozens of individual emails I'd like to. It's nice to know there are folks on the other end. See you soon enough.

Dusty Old Dust

2009-05-30T20:35:00.003+03:00

Back from a day out and about with the 3rd group SF south of Shindand. Up early, orientated and into the back of a modified Humvee for a day checking out some of the civil affairs projects they've got going on. A health clinic and a mosque - both of them rebuilt and improved as a sort of payback for a bombing last year that killed dozens of civilians.

I'm too beat to go into details right now, but the projects seemed nice and steaming towards completion. Happy people glad to talk with us about their hopes for the future.

But one guy who was less sanguine - the elder from the small village that was actually hit. We went by there afterwards - at the southern end of the extended township called Aziz Abad. We rolled up - a convoy of several armored Humvees and an MRAP led by four hard core ATVs. There, we were met by a short older man with smiles and a lot of concerns.

The clinic, he said, is too far from his community- and is in an area controlled by a rival tribe. The mosque too is too distant. But more than anything, he told me as he held up a blood encrusted shirt amid the ruins of his dead brother's house, he had been denied justice.

We had a long interview between T. the elder and myself, with help from one of the military terps - and towards the end he told me that he had forgiven the Americans and the army for the bombing. But what galled him is that he believes the raid that concluded in an air assault was brought on by a rival faction that put out bad information about his family harboring Taliban fighters.

In the aftermath of the bombing, the US at first denied many civilians had been killed. Later, it acknowledged a higher number, and high-ranking generals stopped by to offer official apologies. Money was paid - $2000 for each person killed and $1000 for each badly wounded. But still this man told me, crying in the rubble, he had received no justice. No justice. And he said he could never forgive his neighbors who had lied about his family.

It was an incredibly sad scene, and I could recognize shards of human bones among the bricks and dirt. I picked up the end of a bleached broken radius and set it back on the earth.

We left, having gathered what we needed for our story and the convoy headed farther south - across the desert - avoiding roads and the bombs that pollute them. My berth was in the back of an open-backed humvee, while D and T enjoyed air conditioning in the MRAP. But I think I needed the wind and the sun and the dust. Something to strip my mind for awhile.

It wasn't a safe area, where we went today at the bottom of the Zerkoh Valley. But I guess when you roll with a fully-armed A-Team (these days, they're called an ODA - Operational Detachment Alpha) and their supporting cast, you don't need to worry so much about getting got.

And I have to say, these guys are top notch. It's been interesting to spend time with them, and I feel lucky to have got the chance to know some of them a little. We'll make some good radio out of these last three days.

Tomorrow morning, back to Kabul and the Gandamack for some rest and some work. Traveling with the DEA on a Russian copter, from what I can tell. I'm not sure what the DEA is doing here, but I kicked across a couple of dried out poppy bulbs at the Kuhak schoolhouse that was our final destination today.

The elders there had assured us that they don't allow any poppy harvest there - that they're with the government program and have said good bye to the days of opium. Apparently not so much.

Special.

2009-05-29T20:45:00.002+03:00

We've been out for three nights now with SF aka Special Forces aka Green Berets in western Afghanistan. A bit frustrating at times, because we've been cooped up on base even when they're out on operations. But that ought to change soon, and we'll hopefully get out in the field with them

Parachuting into a group like this is tough both for us and for them. They've spent months and years building camaraderie. And on top of that, they're almost by definition supposed to be quiet and stealthy and invisible. Other military guys call them secret squirrels, or bearded weirdies with goofy gear, because they don't have to conform to normal uniform codes etc most of the time. Anyhow, they can be and were a little standoffish at first.

They've got an interesting task out here - half ambassadors of good will and half hit squad. When there are high value targets, these guys (I guess) go get them. They also train the Afghan army commandos, and do some community relations that seem mainly targeted at engendering enough good will in the area that the team can operate effectively.

Today after breakfast, we were going to go up on a water tower to get a look around the camp when we got word that over a hundred village elders were headed to the camp to meet with the team's intel guy and the captain. Nobody knew quite why. There were supposed to be about 40 at first, but it had grown. As we approached the school yard where we were to meet them, about 14 sedans (Toyota Corrolas etc) and three vans full of older men in turbans and beards rolled up.

I started rolling tape, and we all filed into an auditorium where the shoura commenced. Mostly it was about one guy who'd been kidnapped - more on that on the air. But it was interesting seeing the "operators" from the team interacting with these frustrated elders. Working through the problem - encouraging them to work through government channels - telling them not to take matters into their own hands in a violent manner.

Later in the day, we met with another "elder" (always with the elders - and always men...) who talked with us about how his family compound was bombarded by the Americans last year - killing several of his relatives. But still, he had a lot of respect for the members of the team. And, he was hoping they could build a medical clinic near his village.

Lots and lots and lots of talking. Lots of translation and mistranslation. Did the kidnappers want $500,000 or 500,000 afghanis (about $10,000)? The local government official is a Taliban? Works with the Taliban? At one point in the big shoura, one of the men asked the Green Berets if they would help kidnap a member of the kidnapper's family to force a release. Strange stuff.

Anyhow, even through the language barriers, it was possible to make some human contact, and it was good to meet even briefly some of these men. Too much time on the bases.

One cool thing tonight - after supper with the guys, we drove out to the other side of the airbase, to where there are huge junk yards of Soviet gear. Talk about the graveyards of empires. MIG fighters, helicopters and tanks all in jumbles of aluminum and rusted steel.

Hopefully, we'll get out into the countryside soon.

KAFinated in the Land of Almost Right

2009-05-25T19:43:00.006+03:00

Back at the Kandahar Air Field. Decent digs. Folks trying to work us an interesting place to go next. A story near ready to go.

We flew here on a Chinook - one of those twin-rotor helicopters that lifts heavy stuff. Today, it was ten each US and Brit soldiers, a couple of interpreters, three Macedonians, and three hacks. That'd be us.

Before we could board, we had to stand in a line behind the thing - looking up into the maw at the rear, and suffering the blasts of heat from the engines. Ambient temperature must have been 102 - and with the added wash of fumes I felt like I was back behind the line at the Stockpot. It's only in retrospect that I realize I actually have been hotter for longer than I was this morning.

There's not a lot of window to these "birds", so I don't have great impressions from the flight aside from noting that we flew out really fast and really low - so that I thought the nose cone was about to scrape the walls of Lashkar Gah's nearby neighborhood. And that the baby-faced UK soldier across from me had about the meanest looking rifle I've ever seen.

It was some kind of specialized sniper gun - simple construction and solid tripod - a huge scope up on top. It looked well-used - the desert-colored tape he'd camouflaged it with starting to peel, and he was resting his peach-fuzzed chin against it as he napped through the bumps and sways of the ride.

We were luckier upon this arrival at the KAF than we were last time. There was actually someone to meet us - a fast-talking lawyer from Chicago who also happens to be a guardsman from Illinois. He's a lieutenant colonel, and a pilot, and was kind enough to not only collect us, but to bring us to his unit's Memorial Day ceremony and barbeque.

It's a strange thing, to be in a combat zone during war time. You always hear the speeches back home, and you know vaguely that the holiday hails from the Civil War and honors the war dead. But here, it's got a different resonance. And as the colonel in charge of the operation gave his speech, and as his aides read the roll call of the 32 service members they've lost in the last year here this part of the country - you could feel the sense of the sacred. Even though I stood with one foot in and one foot out - a civilian but an American.

When the soldiers stood at attention, I felt a little like the Unitarian at a friend's Catholic wedding mass - when it's time to take the Eucharist. What's the proper posture - in that moment? Still and all - it was fine and good.

One sour note - when time came for taps, the slight specialist who put his mouth to the bugle didn't blow. He didn't even purse his lips - just pushed the mouthpiece against his flaccid lips. The song played out of the speaker stuffed into the bugle's bell - an electronic taps digitized and distributed because a few years ago the military decided to drop music lessons, I guess. It cheapened the occasion. Which was a pretty significant shift.

But then it was over, and there was a chance to talk with the colonel about his guys and his work, and there was a grill full of burgers and cherry pie for dessert, and a chest full of Coke made with real sugar. A proper Cola in the land of almost right.

I've heard that a few times here - "the land of almost right." Order a banner, and you're likely to find a misspelling. Like the tin sign at the entrance to Camp Diamond, where we were in Lash.

The camp, really a corner of the British base there, was named after Corporal Scott Diamond - who was killed by an IED here a few days after my birthday last year. They called his name out this morning. He was my same age, a guy from New Hampshire who'd been a cop in Franklin until he joined the military a couple of years ago. You can hear an NPR story about him here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96105758

Anyhow, along the bottom of the sign are a handful of state seals, hand-painted by a local craftsman or maybe someone on the base.

They nailed New Hampshire - wooden ship and all. But I'm guessing that his connection to the state of "Nedraka" deserved a better treatment.

One other tangent: The area where we were the last couple of days is big-time poppy country. I need to check the figures, but Helmand Province grows something like 90 percent of the poppy crop in Afghanistan. And Afghanistan now produces over 90 percent of the world's opium. And the theory of the US military is that to eradicate the flowers in the farmer's fields would only piss them off and push them into the arms of the Taliban.

So instead, the farmers are allowed to plant and grow and harvest and sell - and after the Taliban takes their tax in the form of a portion of the crop, the military and the police try to make their move.

Last week, it was made in the bazaar neighborhood of a town called Marija. Just southwest of Lash. US special forces and Afghan commandos went in - killed a bunch of bad guys and seized a record amount of raw and processed narcotics. Huge success. It was a logistical nightmare to destroy the stuff on site, because they couldn't ship it out of there -- there was just too much. But nevertheless, coalition forces figure they gave a good blow to the drug trade that finances a lot of the Taliban bottom line.

But it's still hard to figure if this was a huge bust or a drop in the bucket. 37,000 pounds of raw opium and 400 some-odd pounds of processed heroin and some morphine along with some bomb-making materials and weapons.

Against that figure is the fact that Afghanistan (Wikipedia tells me) produced something like 18 million pounds of opium in 2007... I'm too tired to work out the percentage - but it's really small. And I've been told that almost any town in Helmand right now on the heels of the harvest would yield a similar cache.

Anyhow, the problems go deeper. Say USAID wants to do a good deed and sink a well for a small corner of any-village Helmand Province. Couple thousand bucks - no problem. Guess what that water will be used to irrigate? Poppy, most likely. And does the American fertilizer distributed for free get dumped on fields that produce grade-A junk? I'm guessing some times it does.

And the junk comes home. Which sucks for a million reasons, not least that I've lost a cousin and a friend to heroin. Not trying to be dramatic. I'm just saying.

It's all a conundrum and a riddle. The enigma covered in a golden fubar. A classic catch 22. We Americans struggle to even get it almost right. Because that would be a big step forward.

Blackhawk Up

2009-05-24T09:12:00.000+03:00

We’re at a camp in Helmand Province today – the town of Lashkar Gah. Got here by a new mode of transport – Blackhawk helicopter. Well, new for me. It’s one of those things that’s nearly old hat to correspondents and photographers who’ve done a lot of this work. The photographer, D, who is working with us on this trip estimated that he’s probably been on 60 embeds over the past few years – including one that lasted a year. He’s been on tons of helicopters, but you could still see that he got a kick out of it when we took off.

What a cool ride, even if it is a killing machine. It’s just the second time I’ve been on a helicopter at all – the other being out in Iraq when we flew out to Fallujah and back. That one was an old Marine Chinook-type with two blades up top. This was more what I think of a helicopter as. Kind of made me feel lucky to be here, in that I don’t know how much money you’d have to pay to take a helicopter ride back home. And there’s something of the little boy thrill at being in a big machine. But then there was the possibility that some pot shot would come in through the window, as apparently happened to a military combat photographer some time last week.

The terrain we flew over was dry and beautiful. A closer up shot of what I saw coming in from Dubai. There were a lot of farmer’s fields near Kandahar, then over some crazy jutting mountains where the door gunners tested their weapons. I made a recording, in case we do a story about moving around, and barely noticed the pelting I took from copper shell casings that ripped out of the side of the machine gun. For me, it’d be pretty cool to blow off a bunch of rounds, like Garen and me out in the swamps of Nottingham – blasting my dad’s shotgun at dead trees. For these guys, it seemed a lot more like work.

The mountains, which just rise out of the flat plain like icebergs, opened up to tufted desert desolation. Occasionally, we’d see car tracks through the sand or a lone camel, but not much else, and then eventually we started to see the wide flat tents of nomads. I think these must be the Cochi (sp?) people, who are sort of bottom rung here.

Their traditional grazing lands are being horned in on by other tribes, and many are being alienated – turning to the Taliban for support and income. Most travel back and forth between Pakistan and Afghanistan, with little use for the border. They’re accused of shepherding illicit goods along with their animals, and one of our contacts here told us that it’s essential to get them on board with the government soon.

And then eventually, we came here to Lash, over small smoking brick factories and mud-walled compounds. Down below, most people didn’t even look up at the Blackhawks – I guess they’re so common that they’ve faded into background noise. But I was fascinated to look down into the yards that are years away from being able to visit. Folks were walking around, and you could see a few cars, but the thing that caught my eyes were the motorcycle-powered carts that I guess are common here. Like a house built on the back of a Honda copy. Giving me some ideas for that CB750 back home.

Anyhow, the folks here at the base have been great, and we too a drive around town after getting oriented. We were in big armored vehicles called Cougars, and only got out at the police headquarters and another site where they’re building a facility. Along the route at one point we heard a clang on the side of the Cougar, and the gunner up top said, “They’re throwing rocks on the right side.” Apparently not uncommon, and my first instinct was to think it’s a sign of hating the Americans. Maybe it is.

The major who was with us had a different take, “It’s like when kids back home throw acorns or snowballs at passing cars. They want to show off for their friends.” And I could see that too. But he said some of the older teenagers have good arms, and when it gets bad there are some non-lethal flares that the Americans shoot to shoo the throwers off.

We did get to talk to some Afghans who were at the construction site. Not long enough to break through the bravado of wanting to join the police and hating the Taliban, etc, but enough to start feeling contact. What a diverse people, and handsome. D got amazing shots of these guys, and of the bunch of school kids who came by in the back of a truck, smiling and waving at the alien Americans.

Today we fly down to Garmshir (sp?) and I’m told that the name translates to something like “Really hot place.” I hope we’ll be able to get out on foot more, but then we’re in the hands of the military for now and we see what they see. And from what I can tell, they see Afghanistan mostly through the blue-tinted bulletproof windows of armored vehicles.

One other note – it’s funny to hear the different levels of honesty you get on the base. One British officer confided in me that the local police chief here in Lash is completely corrupt – dealing in drugs and protecting the local warlords. So far, the Americans won’t admit as much. I think they’re working with what they have to work with. A very complicated situation. And there are hundreds of towns just like this.

Goodnight Kabul

2009-05-22T00:28:00.002+03:00

Looks like we'll head south in the very early morning. Like three hours from now. Need sleep. Wondering why I spent all day arguing to get myself into a firefight.

Heels Well Cooled

2009-05-20T23:25:00.004+03:00

Well, skateboarding may not be a crime, but apparently the laws governing good press are a little bit out of whack here in Afghanistan. Hopes for doing the story fell through when I talked to the guy who runs the place, and he said the only way we could get images to go with a story would be for us to buy his pre-approved stock photos. Apparently the $50 or so he gets for each image are a big enough source of income that he'd rather refuse an interview than allow us to shoot pictures of our own.

Good luck to the skate park of Kabul. And on we move.

Today was another mix of the interesting and the frustrating. We're trying really hard to get out with some US soldiers. To see what they're doing, how it's going and how it's being received. But there are logistics to deal with. Canceled flights, funky timetables. With luck we're only one more day off. We'll see.

Spent far too much time kicking around the Kabul equivalent of the Green Zone. It's a compound downtown where soldiers, sailors and spies from a dozen or more nations work at coordination. There are Americans, Italians, Dutch and Canadians - Brits, Macedonians and French etc. I bought an ID holder that has the Swedish flag on it - representing for my Scandinavian side.

Strange situation at the mess hall - because of what's called General Order Number One, American soldiers can't drink any booze while deployed to a war zone. None a-tall. The order also prohibits sex in all kinds of ways, but allows for rock and roll as near as I can tell. The thing is that the French and Italians like to have a glass of wine with dinner. And they're allowed to. So there are the bottles of wine up on the wall, and cool beers in the fridge but strictly off limits to US personnel. Not sure how the Euros etc handle the fraternization question.

Meanwhile, the question of civilian casualties continues. The US military is at odds with the Afghan government and villagers over a fight a couple of weeks ago that ended with bombing runs in a small community. There's politics, a lot of secrecy and some real tensions. Also between 20 and 140-something dead innocents. And dozens of Taliban militants successfully "eliminated."

I haven't been able to talk with survivors on either side, so in a lot of ways it's all on paper for me. So far. But the bigger question buzzes: how hard can the US fight and not lose the public?

Trying to get my head around the dynamics. The Taliban etc by all accounts attack government and pro-government forces from within villages. They know it's hard for the other side to strike back without killing non-combatants. So they're at least a little safer behind these human shields.

The villagers don't seem to have a whole lot of choice. A bunch of armed guys set up shop and start launching rockets and mortars from the town square. Though most households probably have a gun, it doesn't seem they have the wherewithal to fight off interlopers.

But then, at least some of the Talibanesque in any given attack are probably locals anyhow. If town folk rat insurgents out to the ISAF (read Americans, the rest of NATO etc) or the Afghan army or police, reprisals would surely follow.

It's lose-lose for the Americans etc. Take it on the chin and accept increasing military casualties and tactical defeats or go hard and accept civilian losses. The parallel that springs to mind is high-speed pursuits that cops do. Where do you make the call that the drunk speeder or armed robber is a menace who must be chased down and taken off the street - or to break off, knowing an accident could be coming?

Overly simplistic I'm sure. I hope to understand better at some point.

Today there was a roadside bomb north of town on one of the roads that leads to Bagram air base. One US officer and a civilian contractor were killed. And this is on a road that I was assured just two nights ago was very safe. No problem.

On a (much) lighter note - today I confirmed something that I'd read but didn't quite know whether to believe: you must not fart in Afghanistan. I asked N. if it's true that what the BFG called Whizpopping is verboten. Yes. Very very impolite. Beyond that - shameful. He said when he was in school there was a teacher who let one slip (or maybe rip) during class. The man quit his job and left town. N laughed, saying the teacher had to leave, or he would forever have been branded as a farter. NB.

Also, both yesterday and today we had brief rain showers. Took a little dust out of the air. And I played a very rough game of hitting a tennis ball back and forth out in the courtyard. Not quite ping-pong in Baghdad, but it was twenty minutes of welcome distraction.

Skateboarding Is Not A Crime

2009-05-20T08:28:00.002+03:00

We've got a down day today, because it's hurry up and wait when it comes to getting on an embed. But that's ok. Looks like we may get an interview with the ambassador tonight, and we'll do some logistics today for the trip.

But it looks like we may also be able to do a little color story about shredding in Kabul. Seems there's some Brit who's spreading skate culture here. Hope it pans out.

Comms

2009-05-19T23:00:00.001+03:00

Even in a great place like the Gandamack, comms can get you down. Not sure if this email thing will work for posting, but here's a short one.

Wanted to note - went out to supper with a colleague of sorts last night, and we got a bit ditched at the restaurant, "we share our driver, so we can't help you with a ride, but here's a number for a taxi company."

Well, damned if me and my friends didn't call and get a cab that took us across pitch black Kabul and drop us safely home. Total stranger eschews selling you out and instead does the decent thing for 4 bucks plus tip. Crazy. Good.

Looks like day after tomorrow, we'll ship out to the wild west with the snake eaters.

Kabul Impressions

2009-05-18T08:00:00.001+03:00

We arrived yesterday afternoon, after a not so bad flight. We’d provisioned at the duty free and bought an unlocked cell phone so I could get a local SIM card for use in Kabul and D. got an electric razor so we don’t have to look quite so rough in the rough. The departure terminal was a little played – not as nice as the side where we’d arrived. Well-worn linoleum and tired barrier walls took the place of marble façade and chrome.

The plane, a 737, was cramped and my knees were pinned against the blue seat in front of me, but I’d give Safi Air the edge over United any day. The food was better, the crew friendlier and maybe there was just a sense of purpose. You’re going somewhere when you fly to Kabul.

I switched seats from where I started – a window directly over the wing. I wanted to see the land. I found an unoccupied row in the rear (not a hugely crowded flight) and it was beautiful down below. Dry. Craggy. Old riverbeds snake along lighter than the sand, making you imagine what it might have been like one day – the 30,000 feet perspective where you know that the people down below might not even realize that they live on what once was a raging river.

The flight over the gulf and over Iran was a little over two hours. I hadn’t sleep much Saturday night because of lag etc and was a little beat, but didn’t snooze on the plane either. Too much to look at. Too much to think about.

Usually when I’m flying in the states, I try to spot baseball fields. They’re just so unique looking and ubiquitous that you know you can see one at almost any time, but it’s like playing Where’s Waldo. I wasn’t sure what to look for below in eastern Iran and Afghanistan’s dry west, but the few green fields drew my eyes. There’s been a drought for years, and you can see how the fields farther from the riverbeds are abandoned rectangles faded to the same color as the hills.

As I was boarding, I met a nice Swedish girl who works for Swedish Save the Children. She’d been on holiday in Jordan but has just re-upped for another year in Kabul.

At the back of the plane, I met a little child and her family who were seated just in front of my adopted row. Here on a plane with a lot of contractor types and NGO people, there was a smiling family of three. I made funny faces at the girl til she laughed at me, drew her a smiley face, and eventually said hi to her dad and showed them a picture of Cali. The little girl looked at it, and then took it and looked more closely. “My little girl,” I said – not sure if she understood English. She gave it a little kiss and handed it back. So cute.

They are visiting family here in Kabul. The father left for Australia 9 years ago, when he was 19. He works as a manager at a Melbourne plant where they print cards and various swag. The mother came 5 years ago, and little Aida is 3. She’s never met her grandparents, but they are going to be head over heels. She had a Dora toy car and a great smile and a howling cry when the pressure changed near landing.

Her dad and I talked about our trips – how long the flights were etc. They’d flown Emirates from Oz. His factory has been shuttered for awhile because of the bad economy etc and so he had time off. They’ll be in Afghanistan for at least a couple of months.

I asked him if he’s scared to go back. Not really. “Whatever will happen will happen, you know? We can’t control these things.” He looked at his wife and daughter, “If something will happen to them or to me, it will happen.”

But then, he’d fled the violence and the harsh laws of the Taliban – so I guess it’s not all ‘take what comes.’

Landing, we took an extra loop over the city because there was a plane on the runway. The city is totally ringed by mountains, so it was nice to look at. The farms around town have those beautiful terracing steps. Looked very peaceful from above.

Kabul airport is nothing like Baghdad. In fact, there’s not much about this place that reminds me of Iraq – aside from the Kalashnikovs everywhere. But things aren’t nearly so militarized, and in general it just seems much more mellow.

Where Baghdad International with its tragic Icarus statue is a hardened military base, this was more like a post-soviet Manchester. Plus a bunch of guys hustling to help with the bags. Sure, there were UN helicopters and a bunch of aged Russian gunships around, but not an American soldier in sight.

Wonderfully present though was our local fixer N. He’s a medical doctor who’s worked for NPR’s various correspondents for years and he’s amazing. Huge smiles as he greeted us and got us through the hassles with paperwork and bags. He and D. laughed and caught up as he walked us out to the Toyota truck that’ll be our chariot. Not an armored car, but these Japanese 4x4s have been the transport of Muj and Taliban for decades and they can handle the incredibly rotten roads as well as anything.

We took our bags to the Gandamack – a lodge and oasis here run by an expat Brit named Peter Jouvenal and his Afghan wife. Peter used to be a cameraman, and once filmed an interview with bin Ladin. They greeted us in a grassy courtyard with smiles – especially for D, who has stayed here before. Peter’s little girl – maybe 3 years old – clung to his knee, wanting to drag him off on an adventure. Our rooms were set for a couple of days with an invitation to stay longer if need be, “You can stay a year – two years if you like,” said the manager Fayez with a smile.

Having dropped off our bags, we wanted to take a drive around the city to get a sense for it, and to get some cell phone credit. N. said it was safe but I was still a bit nervous. You don’t want to stay in any one place too long. N. is a good driver, and he ground his Toyo around town with confidence and laughs.

The truck, I might mention, has the steering wheel on the right. Many of the cars here do, but about as many are on the other side. People drive on the right side, mostly. And go round roundabouts counter clockwise, mostly. You get the sense that it’s a mash of leftover vehicles and laws from the Brits and Russians and everyone else who’s fought over this place. With a lot of improvisation thrown in.

We stopped and shopped briefly near Chicken Street – the famous market. Bit of a run-down alley but it had charm. Apparently some western folks really avoid it right now, but because of that, it’s not a big target. Hm. Anyhow, it was fine and we got what we needed, had decent interactions and lots of smiles, and got back to the car safely. People on the street don’t stare but seem curious. Very few hard looks.

When I was in Baghdad the first time, in spring of 07, it was theoretically like Afghanistan today: pre-surge. But back there, back then there were bombs every day. Multiple ones. And gunfire and pairs of Blackhawk helicopters swooping thunderously overhead and truckloads of armed men speeding around who you knew you had to make way for and quick. Here, even when we did see a couple truckloads of police, they participated in the halting flow of traffic and yielded to us instead of pointing guns and shouting us out of the way.

While there weren’t big groups of them, almost every block seemed to have a cop or soldier of some stripe. Some in white uniforms, some in brown or green fatigues. They made me feel safer instead of threatened.

Ranging around town, we saw crowded diesel and dust choked streets and lots of merchants selling fruits and vegetables, lots of sunglasses, kids on the corner hawking scratch cards and maps, a whole street full of butcher shops with lamb and cow carcasses hanging down, bakeries displaying wonderful flattened ribbed breads that we stopped for and gulped down, lots of people on bikes and lots of little kids doing the windshield washing shake down. Incredibly dangerous, the way they were running next to us in the middle of traffic.

As the sun started to drop to the mountaintops and the light became warmer in the dust, we drove up to the top of the mountain/hill in the middle of town – a hill described in Ghost Wars as the place little Ahmed Shah Massoud played war with his friends. It’s gorgeous – a rocky bare peak that rises out of sprawling concrete houses. To get up, we drove an impossibly deteriorated road past huge mansions that are apparently being built for the sons and friends of warlords with poppy heroin money. Up there was the only wreck of a Soviet vehicle I’ve seen so far – a hollowed out APC. And there were a couple teenage boys – looking out over their city.

Back at the lodge, we sipped gin and tonics in the courtyard and talked with N. about his country and what’s going on. The elections, the war, and his upcoming fellowship in the states. We were joined by colleagues from an Arab news agency and had a nice supper talking about the state of play and what we hope to get from the embeds.

Speaking of the poppy, one of these guys told us tonight that the opium harvest is just finished, so the Taliban are free to start attacking in earnest. He’d just come from interviewing some of them this week. And he said that Wardack – the place we’re going first – is pretty bad right now. So I’m not going to get ahead of myself. This is a country at war. A country that’s been there for what seems like forever.

And though I’ve been near war, I don’t know I’ve ever been to it. I’m hoping that the fact we’ll be with the Green Berets and the Marines counts for something.

Not so much sleep last night – bed at 1:00 and up at 5:00. Hoping that’ll change for at least a night before we go to the field. At least the shower is hot and strong. Just keep your lips sealed unless you want some of the local gastrointestinal charm.

Today, we get ISAF credentials and hopefully start a round of background briefings with military and state dept folks.

In Dubai - Charging up

2009-05-16T22:58:00.002+03:00

The flight was uneventful. Sleep supplimented by a scotch and Segovia. I must say, United has gone downhill. The food was terrible - like the old jokes about airline food. And even on a long international flight like this - no free drinks to take the edge off. Just as well.

Right now, I'm charging up the spare satphone battery and the thuraya. I'm thankful for the power strip and dual international plugs, but man was I sweating carrying all that stuff around the airports.

I finished reading Steve Coll's Ghost Wars, which is a long trod, but really an amazing run through the US involvement in Afghanistan etc up til Sept 11 2001. I lugged along two other paper books - Sarah Chayes' Punismment of Virtue and Three Cups of Tea. Read other bits and pieces before leaving, but it was a pretty quick run up. Lots of conversations too.

But the conversation that sticks with me more than any other was one I sort of dodged - the last night of a recent family reunion with just my Dad and step mom, my brother Glenn and Cali and I at a bistro in Emerald Isle. Cali knew we were going to have just the ride home left, and she was looking glum. I asked what was up.

"Why do you keep going to dangerous places?"

I'd kind of expected it, but hoped she might let me off the hook. But she's a pretty astute seven-year-old.

I looked around the dining room. Now, Emerald Isle is right near Camp Lejeune, the Marine base where the guys we'll be meeting down south are deploying from. (From which the guys are deploying... I know...) There were a lot of crew cuts and shorter. I said, "Cali, you see all these guys with really short hair? Well, they're going to be heading to Afghanistan - the place where I'm going. They're going to be in a dangerous place, fighting and working there because the government is sending them. And part of what journalists do is to go over and take a look around - to see what's happening, and then tell everyone else what we saw and heard. To make sure that what they're doing makes sense, and everyone knows what's happening."

And she thought about that for a second, and asked, "But why does it always have to be you that goes?"

Now, I fumbled around for an answer - talked about how some of my friends go over more often and stay for longer etc. And how I think it's important to actually put my eyes on things and talk with people myself. And how it's important that everyone take their turn even in the dangerous places. But she wasn't really buying. And maybe I was looking to convince myself, and I was only buying a little bit.

Chris Hedges wrote that essentially it's a big ego trip. If I didn't misread him - that people who cover wars sell themselves on this idea that their role as witness is important. And they get stupid about it.

Which somehow makes me remember a couple friends in college who stripped to support themselves. Smart feminist girls, who told me that it was somehow empowering to take that easy money from those stupid old men. But then Christine got into coke and spent some of that good money on a boob job. So as to exploit the sexist pigs more effectively, I think.

Where I'm going with that I don't know.

My colleague told me earlier today that he told his little boy that he shouldn't worry too much. That we're headed out with the toughest SOBs in the world, and they're going to take good care of us.

I sure hope so.

Flight leaves for Kabul tomorrow morning.

contact

2009-05-15T21:07:00.004+03:00

Cough - cough - vroom.

Firing up this blog again finally, here as I get ready to head overseas. The visas are stamped, embeds arrainged, flights booked and bags packed. Four of them. About 110 lbs. of gear - all of it seeming essential, but we'll see. More on that below.

First off, I want to say thank you for all your love and thoughts and prayers. It means everything to know that I've got a community of friends and family who care about me. And yes, I'm going to do my very best to be safe.

Here now, an exhaustive list of what a producer feels compelled to bring along for 5 weeks of embeds and travelling in Afghanistan:

I'll be checking two bags, and carrying two on. Since we've got a direct flight, there's not much chance of the airline losing bags, but I've packed so that I'm essentially good to go with just the carry-ons.

Carry on 1 - a small BD Hollopoint backpack I'll use as a daybag in the field
- Bose noise cancelling headphones w/ 1/8"-1/4" adapter
- Toughbook laptop computer w/ extra battery sted dvd player
- Padded bag for small electronics
- 250G WD Passport external hard drive
- Mino flip HD video camera
- ipod touch and Bose in-ear headphones in case
- ipod charger cord and y-splitter cable
- Logitech usb video camera for skype
- Thuraya sat phone
- Recording gear - in padded bag
- Marantz PMD 661 recorder w/ 2G SD card
- Marantz PMD 620 mini recorder w/ 2G SD in pile bag
- Marantz power supply
- RE50 omni handheld mic
- 2 short xlr-xlr mic cords
- 2 xlr-mini mic cords
- USB-miniUSB cord
- 2 mini-RCA cords
- earbud headphones
- Dopp kit / butt pack
- cipro
- ambien
- tylenol w/ codine
- albuterol
- toothbrush and paste
- tooth floss
- lip balm spf 15
- deoderant
- extra passport pics
- Sharpie pen, other pens and pencils
- Compass
- Bic lighter
- small moleskine journal
- chewing gum
- Cliff bars
- playing cards
- hand sanitizer
- 4G thumb drive
- 2 pr ea socks and skivs
- t-shirt
- smartwool longsleeve shirt
- bandana

Carry on duffel bag
- body armor with ceramic plates and codpiece and camelbak holder
- kevlar helmet
- Hughes sat phone w/ power supply
- Thuraya phone power supply
- Canon EOS 30D camera in bag w/
- lens cleaner cloth and pen
- charger and extra battery
- folding tripod w/ velcro strap
- 2 sd card spares
- 2 CF card spares
- 2G thumb drive
- CF-pcmcia card adapter

Checked duffel bag
- Padded bag w/ recording kits for marine audio diaries
- 4 sony minidisc recorders
- 4 microphones
- 4 xlr-mini mic cords
- 4 lg ziplock bags
- 8 boxes of 5 minidiscs
- 60 AA Lithium batteries
- 4 AAA lithium batteries
- sony headphones
- Toughbook power supply
- climbing shoes (just in case...)
- a couple shirts, etc tucked in around
- a couple of books to read

Checked big backpack - this is the biggie
- 20 degree down sleeping bag
- thermarest pad
- camelbak pack
- 2 D carabiners
- zippo lighter
- bottle of powder laundry detergent
- foot powder
- Nalgene cup with
- sudafed, immodium, anti-malarial, nyquil pm
- Mesh bag with power supplies
- 450w cobra power inverter and cables to get power from car batt
- compact power strip
- international power plug adaptor
- USB hub
- Lg pack sack - dust and water proof (ish)
- Toughbook cd/dvd drive
- toughbook battery spare
- parachute cord
- pistol grip for shotgun mic
- 1/8"-1/8" cable
- ipod charging cord spare
- USB-miniUSB spare
- Hughes satphone battery spare
- int'l plug adaptor spare
- Lg pack sack - 7 packs baby wipes
- grey stuff sack with
- beef jerkey
- cliff bars
- emergen-C packets
- Med pack sack
- pack towel
- small steripen for water purification
- potable water pills
- pocket knife
- knife, fork, spoon camp set
- small headlamp
- thermorest repair kit
- Med pack sack - meds
- aspirin, ibuprofin, sunscreen 30spf and 70spf, benedryl, neosporin, lotrimin anti-fungal, hydrocortisone, immodium tabs, toothepaste spare
- Adventure Medical Kits "Field Trauma" kit
- supplimented with quik clot, superglue, space blanket
- Med pack sack - mics
- AT 825 stereo mic and mini cable
- RE50 mic spare
- long XLR mic cable
- mXLR-mXLR adaptor
- gorilla grip tripod
- AT835B shotgun mic w/ windscreen
- Pile bag
- ballistic glasses
- flashlight w/red led's
- military earplugs + spares
- flight gloves
- leatherman juice tool
- Clear 1Q bag
- Dr. Bronner soap
- Limmer boot grease
- multi-vitamins
- tobasco sauce
- clothes bag
- 2pr each socks and skivs
- tank top
- bandana
- smartwool bottoms
- warm hat
- floppy sun hat
- cargo pants
- fleece jacket

And then I'll wear a leather jacket, a pair of jeans, my old Limmer boots, a t-shirt and carry my passport and cash. If my knees hold up, I'll let you know how it goes.

More soon, and best always -

Graham

So the web says

2008-08-27T16:47:00.002+03:00

A quick google will tell you what I'm up to:

Graham Smith is a Distinguished Supporter of the British Humanist Association
Graham Smith is a milliner's milliner
Graham Smith is a Managing Director of Adidome Ceramics Company Limited
Graham Smith is a photographer in Ireleand
Graham Smith is a person that is credited in 6 games
Graham Smith is a Legal Executive in Pattinson & Brewer’s personal injury department
Graham Smith is a partner in Bird & Bird's Internet and E-Commerce Group
Graham Smith is a Canadian Artist and Architect
Graham Smith is a member of Porter County Conservative Republicans
Graham Smith is a key opinion leader in the specific area of Interprofessional Relations
Graham Smith is a musician, writer, coach and therapist
Graham Smith is a complete wrong 'un
Graham Smith is a Seaford Based Freelance Graphic & Web Designer
Graham Smith is a writer, director and performer working in San Francisco
Graham Smith is a Senior Lecturer in Politics at the University of Southampton
Graham Smith is a 33 year-old office messenger
Graham Smith is a British scholar, journalist and thespian
Graham Smith is a prominent Maori educationalist
Graham Smith is a partner with TechExecs, a new breed of senior advisors
Graham Smith is a former photographer who is working currently with interactive robotic sculpture
Graham Smith, is a studio potter educated at Harvard University
Graham Smith is a graduate of Bark Busters Behavioral Training Program
Graham Smith is a superb captain
Graham Smith is a highly accomplished exponent of NLP technologies
Graham Smith is a photographic journey
Graham Smith is a fictionalized documentary set two years in the future
Graham Smith is a human sized robot
Graham Smith is a prolific liar
Graham Smith is a play about a struggle over one redwood tree
Graham Smith is a highly respected and much in demand music photographer
Graham Smith is a difficult one to cast
Graham Smith is a qualified chartered accountant
Graham Smith is a Consultant Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeon
Graham Smith is a former Conservative Party Agent
Graham Smith is a really nice bloke
Graham Smith is a big mouth prick who can’t back up what he says
Graham Smith is a hardworking policeman
Graham Smith is a member of the conservation team
Graham Smith is a… well, I’m still busy getting over that one.

Back in the DC

2008-02-27T20:40:00.002+03:00

Finally have computer access again and will hopefully get to filling in the blanks soon. Anyhow, back in the capital and happy to sleep last night in my own bed, although missing Cali like crazy. Had a great week up in NH, and many thanks to JR and Joni for putting us up and putting up with us.

If anyone's free for supper chez moi Sunday night, am looking to cop some of Jim Haynes' Paris energy. More on that soon.

Oui, C'est la Vie

2008-02-16T22:46:00.003+03:00

So I'm in Nice, staying at what's supposed to be one of the top ten hostels in the world. And honestly, it's pretty great. Good food, cheap beers and tons of international travellers at the Villa Exupery. Old Carmelite monestary cum traveller's crashpad. And the town is great. Seafood abundant, not to mention the sea itself.

Today, I walked forever (such a change from the confines of Baghdad) and was at one point at the sea. And, thinking of my Grandpa John, who I understand never failed to dip his hands into the ocean when he could, wetted my hands and tasted the salt water and was very thankful that I wasn't locked in the desert. Who knows if my Swedish or Norman ancestors ever fared on the sea, but it felt and sounded a lot like home.

Back for a moment to Iraq. Because it still has a hold on parts of me. When I thank someone deeply, I still find my right hand instinctively sweeping up to my chest. I laugh at myself for inserting "shway shway" into converstion with folks who have no idea what I'm talking about (it means "a bit" or "slowly" or "not so much" in conversational Arabic...)

There's stuff I want to tell about - the lamb that Waleed procured for my going-away dinner (in on four hoofs, and Nounou trying his level best to hump that too-tall beast) or the drag of saying goodbye to new folks I'd grown very close to, the oddness of saying goodbye again to my colleagues and friends at the bureau - different than the first time. Them knowing, perhaps, that I'm coming back again, perhaps. Inshallah wearing thin, due to a knowledge that the situation continues as it's continued for so long now.

My western colleagues are wondering what the future holds for them - the ones at other news agencies. One major outlet just announced that it's essentially shutting down it's Baghdad operation, or at least significantly downsizing it. Laid off some westerners, and sent others around the compound into a spin, if a soft one. Election coming... where will the nets put their resources? Into a war that's gone stale and pokes along?

Feels shitty to say it's a war gone stale, but there's a truth to it. Post the surge, for now, there aren't as many big booms. There's slow political change, and I won't be so bold as to call it progress. How are folks back home supposed to stay focussed on it? OK, a hundred-fifty thousand American troops are there kicking about in a very complicated, historically wacked desert nation... but really - aside from when a dozen die in one helicopter downing (two news cycles?) or some anonymous top rebel leader is killed (one cycle?) or the star of Tomb Raider three comes by (three cycles) who really cares, aside from the families of the deployed and dead, and the hard-core anti-war acitvists? I have to do some research when I get home to good internet connection, but I think the economy, stupid is top of the charts.

Again, on the way out, I was struck by the lack of sympathy from the Jordanians towards the Iraqis. One guy who I spent a lot of time with, a good guy - a family guy and from an oppressed background who you'd think might be empathetic - said he thought the Iraqis are getting what they deserve, essentially. So weird. He granted, an hour into our conversation, that probably not all Iraqis were so bad. He was also typically squishy about the US - Bush bad, people good, would move in a heartbeat to the country that had backed Israel in screwing his family out of land near Bethlehem, and which had thrown a neighbor into chaos. C'est la vie, said he.

His folks own a couple middle-eastern restaurants in the Seattle area. He and his wife can't visit the US at the same time for fear they'll just stay, despite the fact that they have 3 kids under 15 at home in Jordan.

I had a couple of hammam sessions - one in Petra and one in Amman at the place I wrote about last time. Hammam al Pasha. Took advange of the free internet access at Books@cafe in Amman, where there is a great bar, if you're ever passing through. And where they owe me a meal because no matter how much my waiter said "shway shway" - my medium rare burger turned out well well. I made up for it in Paris with a flank steak that nearly mooed.

In Nice, there is Absinthe to burn, seafood to eat and a hell of a lot of space I haven't explored yet. Perhaps a motorcycle rental tomorrow or the next. Wish I were here for a month, but am dying to get home and see Cali and be with the folks that live with and nourish my roots and me.

More digging to do - speaking of which, truffles are in high season here. yet to yum.

Out and About

2008-02-13T02:43:00.000+03:00

I've got a very slow connection, but wanted to tell all that I'm out safely from Iraq. Been a tough few days in terms of getting on here to write, but good days for work and personally. I'll be blogging a few more things out of the Baghdad experience before they grow too dim, but I just wanted to say thank you all for your love and support.

Had a great hammam experience tonight here in Petra. Off to explore the ruins tomorrow morning.

Graham.

Concrete Jungle

2008-02-08T12:15:00.001+03:00

Some events are better grasped with a little time and distance, and I hope that’s the case with my trial outside the green zone the other day. Haven’t been able to log on to blogger, so wasn’t able to easily write about it easily before now.

I’d told people before that the scariest thing about being in Baghdad isn’t the chance of mortar or rocket fire, not being overrun by gunmen, not even so much being someplace too long and getting kidnapped. It’s driving around. Traffic and checkpoints. Well, this came close.

Earlier this week, I took three colleagues to the IZ for badging biometrics. We were dropped off at what the military calls Checkpoint Three. It’s a pedestrian entrance heavily used by the Iraqi public – some of them members of parliament or staff, or just folks who work in the green zone. Press uses it to get to press conferences. Also, it’s where regular members of the public can get in (with two forms of picture ID) to inquire about family who might have been detained or killed, and to apply for jobs etc. The security is very heavy.

I’ve called it the dance of the seven veils in the past, but I think in fact there are nine checkpoints now. This includes three pat-downs, a full-body x-ray, a metal detector, an explosives-sniffing dog and numerous pokings through bags.

Unfortunately, this particular day we never got to experience any of that. Instead, after our driver left, we were stopped outside the first checkpoint along with about 15 other people, all locals. At first we thought it was just a slowdown to let some checkpoint ahead catch up, but five minutes later one of the Ugandan guards who I’ve become friendly with sidled up to the chain-link and told me, “My friend, we have a report that there is a suicide bomber here. That’s why the checkpoint is closed. You should be very careful.”

Great. I looked in back of me at the gathering crowd – approaching 50 now. Among them several women in full abayas (these are the big black body-covering cloaks with hoods so popular of late for hiding explosive vests underneath). This is not good. And part of my job is to be the safety guy.

I tried to explain to the American soldiers inside that it’s really not good for three cracker hacks to hang in a crowd that’s never even been frisked, but to no avail. None of our cell phones worked, so we couldn’t call a driver for pickup. Handheld radio’s had nothing.

Around checkpoints, especially during an alert, the military jams all frequencies except the ones they use. I was incommunicado. The local folks around us seemed to have got the word about a possible bomb too, and some started to filter away. Not good when the street starts to clear. Not good at all.

Shall we walk home? Not a chance. Stay? No longer. We usually try to minimize time hanging outside these checkpoints, since they’re often targeted for attack. Just two months ago nearby, a US Stryker armed vehicle was demolished and several soldiers killed by a special missile called an EFP.

Stepping lively, I took my group out on the street and around the barriers and slipped into a drive-in checkpoint nearby that one guard had told us wasn’t closed. From there, thankfully, we were able to wander toward the emerald city for about an hour, waiting for news – waiting for comms. Chatting with US and Iraqi soldiers, wondering if we could get to the PX for a pizza.

Finally finally, we got through to a co-worker on the phone who sent a car on the way. Bluffed our way back past closed checkpoints (they care less about stopping you from getting out than getting in) and made our way home. No badges, but no bombs either. Seems the alarm was a false one. Just another day in Baghdad.

Imperfect in the IZ

2008-02-04T10:17:00.000+03:00

Spent last night at the military press office, watching the superbowl with a bunch of Massachusetts National Guard folks. I'd been planning to hook up with them for weeks, ever since I saw all of the Sox and Pats ephemera on the front desk. Worked an invitation to their party. Came in last night and hit an embassy party at Saddam's old palace before heading in to the press center where they have a good big-screen tv. The thought was that I'd do a little piece for the morning show, assuming a good outcome. Guess not.

It was a bit of a funny scene. They had a bunch of snackfood - chips, cookies, beef jerkey. Lots of soda and water and juice but no beer... and no commercials. Well, none of the real commercials. We were watching on Armed Forces TV, and they can't have ads for products, so they insert their own ads. Lots of stuff about this or that supply unit, or a PSA from a commander saying how important the work is, ads about depression, spousal abuse, don't shake your baby. A couple different ones about operational security -- don't let the enemy read your email! The soldiers have seen each of these about five hundred times, and were betting on which one would air next.

And there were also lots of bits and testimonials scattered throughout the broadcast from the players and coaches, thanking the members of the armed forces for serving. "We love you and we're grateful that you're risking your lives to protect us. Come home safely." Stuff like that. A little strange for me to sit there watching with them. Like watching someone else's home movies - the ones they'd only meant to show within the family.

Before the game, Fox Sports had this grand reading of the Declaration of Independence - tres patriotic. Reverent. Awed. I found myself having a strange sense of solidarity and separation. We're all here as Americans - for very different reasons. The TV all night long full of praise for their uniformed service, and me in this room of soldiers, quietly knowing that what I'm doing here is just as patriotic.

And what you all are doing at home, really. All god's children got a place in the choir.

And so , when they struck up the Star Spangled Banner, we were all on our feet.

Some of the soldiers started off a bit stiff, but loosened up as we went. Mass accents shouting obscenities and encouragement. Kickoff was at 2:30 local time - and eventually I was nodding off during commercials. Finally got exciting towards the end, but ugh what a crappy result. Slept for a couple hours on the beat mattresses where they host hacks waiting for embed. Had a decent walk after I woke up - out to a friend's house in the IZ to wait for my ride back to the bureau.

It's beautiful weather in Baghdad, and spring training starts soon.

Rolling a Joint Operation

2008-01-31T17:19:00.002+03:00

Getting a straight answer at a military briefing continues to elude me:

"REP4:
Graham Smith from xxx News.
MAJ GEN BERGNER:
Hi, Graham.
REP4:
I know that the 2nd and the 3rd have been operating up in Mosul, but it seems the security situation is very bad there to the point where people are very upset. And I believe even when Brigadier Salih was killed he was being pelted with rocks by people who were digging up the bodies of their relatives. I mean people are very upset in certain parts of the city at least. And it seems like there is a little bit
of a disconnect between what the prime minister is calling for and General Hertling is saying that it’s going to be more of a slower operation like what happened here in Baghdad. And I guess I’m wondering first, how you feel about the situation?
MAJ GEN BERGNER:
Okay.
REP4:
A little more specifically. And secondly, I mean who is going to make the decision? Will it be the Iraqis who are going to decide that they do want a bigger operation with armor, et cetera? Or will it be the Americans?
MAJ GEN BERGNER:
Well, let me start and then I’ll turn to General al-Askari if he has anything to follow up on. There is no question that the 2nd Iraqi Army Division and the 3rd Iraqi Army Division and the police in Ninawa Province are engaged in a very tough fight for all the reasons that General Askari pointed out. But there is a significant al-Qaeda challenge there and it is an important place. It is an important crossroads. It’s an important province. And so all of those factors contribute to the circumstance that you described which is this is a tough fight. The decisiveness of this operation is something that will become more clear over time. The decisiveness of the leadership evidenced by the prime minister, by the minister of
defense and other Iraqi leaders, is what matters most at this point. And it is very evident. Their actions actually speak to the strength of their commitment to support Ninawa Province and to take on and fight al-Qaeda in Mosul and in the rest of the province. So I would just come back to there is no question on anybody’s part about the importance of the fight there. It is one actually that we have been moving towards and posturing to increase the pressure there. The advent of the Ninawa Operations Command is one element of that evolution. But I think it’s most important to come back to discuss decisiveness from the standpoint of the commitment that’s being made and a shared commitment—really on all our parts—that this is an important effort and is one that is going to require increased effort and that’s what the Government of Iraq is endeavoring to provide and that’s what the coalition forces will work closely with them to continue to support the necessary levels of effort.
REP4:
I’m sorry.
MAJ GEN BERGNER:
Mm-hmm.
REP3:
But, again, who is going to call the shots on that because it seems like there is a bit of a disconnect?
MAJ GEN BERGNER:
I don’t…I think that as the MND-North commander, General Hertling is responsible for the coalition aspect of this. He’s working very closely with Major General Riyad, the new commander of the Ninawa Operations Command. He has already been engaged closely with the two division commanders and the civilian leadership there [and] with the police as well. And so I think there is actually a well knit-up commitment on the part of the security force leaders. And we share the significance of how it’s described as this is an important fight and one that we are all going to have to collectively commit to. And we are.
MAJ GEN AL-ASKARI:
Speaks in Arabic.
INT:
Quite simply I’d like to tell you that when you have a partner, you have to consult it and also agree with him when you make decisions especially when it’s a really decisive one when we have…when we are expected to have some, like, casualties among our units. The leader is the commander operation of Ninawa. And also the American general is also a partner, an associate. That’s why it will be a joint decision."

Here's my favorite things W's brought in from Sadr City's "thieve's market" - a Deadhead ashtray:

Links into a story I'm working on - tell you when it's closer to done.

Was at the gym today cranking The Specials, thinking how appropriate the lyrics of Concrete Jungle are for my current situation.

Valentines Day

2008-01-31T15:38:00.001+03:00

By then I should be alone in the city of lights. But there is a bright spot... from today's wires:
"Feb. 14 - Voluntary reporting date for pitchers, catchers and injured players."

Go Sox!

snafu... fubar... right in my back yard

2008-01-29T20:36:00.001+03:00

Sanguine v. Sanguinary: feels like a good juxtaposition in this town. Cheerful or bloody... But here - the relativism never stops. Compared to ten months ago, no doubt it's more mellow. But that's a strange word to use.

What would Washington, DC or Boston or NYC do on a day where there were four bombs attacking passing vehicles? Where two or four bodies showed up on the streets or in the river with cigarette burns on their faces and drill holes through their knees? If mortars fell near city hall? If the electricity was cut for days, and then restored to the normal 3 hours a day? Guess somebody stole all the wires to sell the copper... oops. And on and on. This was a slow day in the Iraqi capital.

Maybe it's that thing about how people adjust to the "new normal". I heard lots of bangs tonight and wondered what all the firing was about - celebratory or in anger? More than a normal night, closer... what could it be? "Be careful not to get hit by falling lead," the jokes flowed as I headed across the street to play poker. It was strange to finally learn it was the tin flaps of a nearby roof banging in the unusually strong gusts of wind.

SNAFU fo sho.

A local guy who works for another news agency said to me the other night that people claim it's like having a hundred Saddams. Before, if you said anything against the president or his family, you could be killed very quickly. Sure, there were random killings here and there. Saddam's son might take a liking to your university student daughter, and have her kidnapped so he could rape and murder her. But the streets were generally secure.

Now they worry, "What if I say something against the local militia guys, or the neighborhood leader, or the person down the street?" Things can happen in the vaccuum of no government. Messy things. Our housekeeper's son was picked up by the Mahdi army the other day and she was terrified. Luckily, he was questioned and released later on that day, but you never know.

A friend was grabbed on his way home from work one day a few months ago. Held. Beaten. Tortured. Ransomed. By whom and why? No idea. He was so lucky to live.

Here's a picture of my friend W. and me. I've screwed with the picture because I don't want to get him killed, which is a shame, because he's a handsome fella, and a great spirited chef. Taught me how to pluck a duck. And taught me about the basics of Shiism, which involves lots and lots of suffering. Even what's been endured here so far is seen as nothing compared to the ideal.

It's again something about the cage that gets me. This cage I live in. The fact that we've got essentially continual power and water here... Our local folks go home every night to dark houses and often cold houses. Through dangerous streets, hiding their identities and dodging questions. Many nights, they stay over, and I don't know sometimes if they like it more here than at home. I mean, it is a kind of home, but if their lives weren't so whacked, would they think so?

When I call them up off hours sometimes, all I get is Arabic gibberish. It's because they're on the street or in a cab and can't be overheard speaking English or they'd potentially be in danger. And this in the new, more secure Baghdad.

So... is the "situation normal - all fucked up"? Yeah. No doubt we're all sort of used to it. But it's also so "fucked up beyond all recognition." Deep deep scars and open flowing wounds and new lashes from the whip every day. I think and hope that I'll continue to be amazed at the resiliancy of people.

The Ten-Hundred Cent Solution

2008-01-27T23:43:00.000+03:00

I went to a lunch today in the IZ hosted by the general who is in charge of operations south of Baghdad - 3rd ID - the group called Task Force Marne. General Lynch seems a decent guy - the kind of hard-ass who'd freak you out if your tried to date his daughter, but not wild-eyed. But no doubt they were putting on a show for the press.

The lunch was steak, mashed potatoes etc at this part of the Green Zone called "Falcon Rest" where soldiers can chill up for a few days, play pool and ping pong and, in the summer, have a swim. In attendance were bureau chiefs or reporters from a bunch of different organizations and many of Lynch's commanders - plus a two-star from the Air Force who talked about the bombing campaign that's been running in support of the ground efforts to drive out or kill or capture insurgents in an area south of the capital called Arab Jabour.

They're all very positive about the operation, the effectiveness of bombing raids to knock out IEDs that are thick in this area. There hasn't been US or Iraqi government presence there for some time, and the insurgents have been able to set mines etc. The military claims big success in avoiding civilian casualties, etc. They aren't quite calling it a mopping-up operation, but the tone was hung out there.

Still, there is a sense that the progress being made may be superficial. The surge has enabled a lot of offensive operations into what had been staging areas for attacks into Baghdad, etc. The military constantly sends out releases about "caches found" - which has somehow become a new metric. "314 insurgent caches found and destroyed" any one of which might be a bunch of mortars and some copper wire, or a motorcycle and a couple of machine guns, or a real bevvy of EFPs that could take out a tank. (My inner snoot here demands that I point out how military folk here invariably pronounce along the lines of "cash-ays") whether noun or verb.

But the other new gauge of success is the setting up of "CLCs."

CLCs are basically local militias that the US military pays to exist. Members are paid about 10 dollars a day to man checkpoints, clean up debris, and most importantly provide intel to the US and Iraqi Army about roadside bombs (bombs that they themselves may have planted) - essentially to stop fighting against the "coalition." According to the military, many times when they roll into a town nowadays, there are lots of folks coming up, happy to join up and to show them where the weapons are stashed, where the bombs and bodies are buried. Many times, the group are all members of a particular tribe.

But you can see even the US commanders know it's a strange game. That if they stopped paying the salaries, these folks might very well go back to fighting the occupation and the government. Lynch said today that they assume a 96-hour window between when the US or IA leave a place like a town in Arab Jabour, and when AQI (easiest moniker, mil-speak though it may be) will filter back in and start trying to take down any local sheik etc who betrayed them. So the US sets up these little bases - COPs or Combat OutPosts - to maintain a presence, sometimes co-staffed by Iraqi Army soldiers.

Now, the theory is that at some point, the US will be able to stop paying the bills, that the Iraqi government will take over and along the way convert these armed street-sweepers and checkpoint watchers into either members of the Iraqi Police or Army or just gainfully employ them in the village as legit citizens. Ah, yes. And here begin the real problems: for one, the central government is run by a Shiite group that has conspicuously not spent much of the allocated budgets meant for rebuilding, security, etc. Some of that is undoubtedly due to corruption, but there are a lot of accusations that it also runs along sectarian lines: that the government won't spread the wealth to a place like Arab Jabour or Fallujah because the people there are mainly Sunnis.

They might argue that these places are rife with anti-government fighters, and dumping money there would only strengthen the resistance. Other people would call it a conspiracy - meant to back Sunnis into a corner so that they again take up arms in earnest, thus giving the government an excuse to put the hammer down. Tangled fucking web.

Anyhow, back to the ten bucks. For whatever reason, this was the same figure that the US AID and Marines in Fallujah gave me. Essentially, they pay young men ten bucks a day to paint murals or pick up garbage or whatever to keep them clinking coin in their pockets rather than pissed off devil's playthings.

I'm not sure exactly how long the US can afford to float the unskilled labor pool here, nor how long the Iraqis will put up with it. You hear so much about efforts to restart old industries, but so little is happening. Despite the fact that there are miles and miles of huge concrete t-walls throughout this country now, big concrete factories like the one I drove by in Fallujah can't operate for lack of electricity. Welding shops, brick factories, publishers, plastics extruders - nada. So the skilled workforce is stymied. In addition, agriculture is shot. Fuels and fertilizers are dear, and the security situation in general makes it so that this country that was once a kind of regional bread-basket imports almost everything.

A friend told me tonight that they grow the best tomatoes in the world down south in Basra, but a big frost screwed thinks a couple weeks ago - nipping attempts to regain some bit of the market from the Syrians and Iranians, who are cleaning up.

etc etc etc. If I wander, and I know I do, it's partially because I got really sick the last couple of days. Body ache, head ache, nausea, the whole nine yards. Tough place to feel like crap. That, plus the fact that I was promised delicious cupcakes at this lunch today and there were no cupcakes at all. Not a one. Luckily, I have a stash of dark chocolate and a copy of the Joy of Cooking.

Some quick pics before I sleep: Our trusty hound NouNou, attempting to rip my finger off (he's so sweet - and the only member of the staff to give his consent for me to use images on the web.
And the ducks, who so bravely gave their lives that I might make a nice dinner for a visiting friend and the rest of the staff.

Lexiconflict

2008-01-24T19:51:00.000+03:00

George Orwell used to write about "Newspeak" and he'd have had a field day in Iraq. You've got your "awakening" groups, which surely shouldn't be tagged as "militias" nor should the "concerned local citizens"(even though the US constitution is kinda pro-militia) - "contractors" **not mercenaries!**, battle rhythm, surge, scoping (and de-scoping) - I have no idea what those mean. A friend in the Green Zone says they get used a lot, blah blah blah. but my favorite new one is "de-conflict." I'm pretty sure it means either to stop killing people or to make them stop killing you. No doubt it's been kicking around in country for years, but it's new to me.

Briefly, and not profoundly: I've been able to get into the kitchen lately. Pesto spaghetti tonight. Maybe duck tomorrow, if good duck can be found in Baghdad. Very excited to have found copies of No Country For Old Men and Atonement today. And my bed is finally fixed after the fire.

Trying to get some exercise. Tough when you can't safely walk or ride your bike around town. Applied for yet another badge. Worked like hell the last couple of days especially, and more coming down the pike.

A friend from years ago playing fantasy football is in town - hoping to visit. Back when I was at WBUR and we had the Portsmouth league, my team was the Cutters (after the team in the film Breaking Away, not the teenage fad of yore).

Gin and tonics growing increasingly popular with the Baghdad crew with the warming weather, but few limes and no good tonic at hand. Jenn Proulx, come to my rescue!

The US AID compound is straight out of Dwell magazine.

Roosters crow at 3AM here.

There's something nearby that makes a huge whump, but it's not a bomb.

Most of my friend here have lost someone very close to the war.