Day 236: The Snow comes

Soviet wreckage in the foreground stands in stark contrast to the snow-covered mountains in the background. (Photo by G. A. Volb)

The first snow was a long time in coming here. At just under 6,000 ft in altitude, it's been in the mid 20s every morning for quite a while. Such chill makes it a chore to visit the showers and bathrooms. I remember thinking it would be nice to see some snow on the ground if it was going to be that cold anyway.

And so my request was answered at last. Just two sloppy inches that melted away almost as quickly as it fell. 

The left over water and dirt from my boots tends to make a mess of the entrance way to my "apartment." I take great care to ensure I don't track in too much slop.

I'm hoping another snow comes, this time a foot or more would be nice. The white tends to hide the landscape of dirt, rock and the treeless terrain surrounding Kabul.

I'm going on month 10 now; and as each slips by I realize just how important it is to find new things to do with my time, a new focus every now and then that keeps the personality of my life here unique. 

I'm taking a vacation soon. And I'm very much looking forward to it.  

Day 207: The whistle and the bang!

It was 5:45 a.m. on a typical Wednesday here; it's cold as the mountains begin to fill with snow. I had just returned from the shower -- and began peeling off the sweats I use to keep warm during my trek down to the facilities -- when I heard that eerie sound. 

It was a whistle from overhead, high pitched at first turning to a low, weaker version as it seemed to descend on the camp. 

For a split second as I stood there in my birthday suit, the sound vanished. And just as quickly, the "BANG" erupted from the silence. 

It's a jolt you can't help react to; I knew alarms would be sounding soon, so I scrambled to throw on some warm clothes to sit out the events (whatever they may be) from the bunkers on base. 

As it turned out, it was one mortar round that came in ... close enough for me to hear that whistle. 

It was the third time such incoming has come up a few hundred yards short of my "hooch" which, being on the second floor, would only serve to protect those below from the blast.

It's going to get interesting here very soon.

Day 183: Can you hear me now?

I’ve been in Kabul for just shy of seven months now and the routine, while still routine, has begun to nip at my nerves a bit.

Let me explain: First, the early morning bathroom trips to facilities about 50 feet away which, during the summer months served as a nice escape from my quarters, is now into a 40-degree chill – right around the corner snow will make it even more “fun.” As the Afghan National Army major I mentor told me; “It’ll get much colder here,” and he used his hand to show how much snow is possible – extending his hand from the ground, stopping just under his knee caps.

Secondly, each time I “phone a friend” I’m faced with the typical three or four tries – network failures, lost signals etc. – before a successful call. Once a cute cultural disadvantage, “Can you hear me now?” really has taken on a life of its own here. Members of the team can be seen moving in crisscrossing patterns around the camp, with each step hoping to bring a better signal. “Go outside the gate,” one tells me. “No, behind the piss shack,” another yells.

I describe my living quarters as something comparable to those serving a year’s sentence at a minimum security prison – though prisoners have access to indoor plumbing.

My “living area” is 7x9 feet worth of Little America – slightly smaller than I had given it credit for initially. On occasion the cramped quarters has me, first, banging my head against the underside of my bunk bed; then backing up into my wall locker and spinning around just in time to smack my toes on the ladder that takes me to my bed. Again, initially quite comical, but now tend to piss me off a bit.

After multiple such instances, it's become aggravating – though I find myself laughing about it all in a twisted sort of way. And I continue to tell myself it could worse … and it surely could be, as our young troops across Afghanistan are living in much more austere environments, dodging bullets.

At work flecks of yellow dust float down from the ceiling whenever someone on the second floor moves; I presume it's paint as it settles on my keyboard, computer, chair and hair. At the base of the walls little yellow "ant hills" grow in size as the weeks pass. I sometimes wonder whether the Russians or Taliban noticed such things when they occupied my chair. 

Every night I call my lady friend back home, and I repeat the process in the morning. It's just to say "Hi." But she too notices the difference in my demeanor on occasion. I'm an easy going "Guy" but with each passing day, I look for a new hobby or vehicle to expend some energy. It has become such that I look forward to laundry day.

Anyone need some laundry done? Can you hear me now??

French Camp Alamo

The French contingent at Camp Alamo, Afghanistan. Part of a multi-national, multi-service coalition force that makes the days a little more livable here. (Photo by G. A. Volb)