Well, here is take three.
Intercontinental flying is routine these days, and there is not a lot to say about my trip to Kuwait. It was what it was, standard coach, enlivened only by a ticket issue that cropped up and was resolved in Frankfurt. I was somewhat amused by the Teutonic assumption that I should have known that I had a ticket with a wrong number on it, as one should know all one’s numbers, nicht? Thankfully, they also were quite proud, if not even happy, to show an American how it should be done and fix things for them. Overall, minor, though I’ve been more nervous than I would admit that something would happen to keep me from going. Until I arrived, that fear has gnawed at me more than a bit.
Kuwait was different, but can’t say much more than that because of the extremely short stay. I arrived at night, and to be honest, leaving the airport reminded me a bit of Miami with just a few flourishes in signs and architecture to say it wasn’t. The hotel was nice, security excellent, and the service to and from the airport good.
I left Kuwait at night, but got out to the airport early so that I could see the area in daylight. I wanted to see a bit of this country in the light, having seen it on the news and hearing about it decades ago from someone I went to school with who was from Kuwait. I was struck by the rebuilding, the obvious higher-end buildings, contrasted with some not so high. A good bit of the day-to-day work, menial work, is done by imported workers, so one saw many from different parts of Asia and SW Asia there. All the Kuwaiti’s I dealt with were professional, and even quite friendly to this American.
The trip in was much like any other flight, which is what was remarkable. It was a typical takeoff, a flight with stewards who served water and soft drinks, then a light meal/snack to those of us on the flight. Looking out, I was struck by the lights: Southern Iraq was a patchwork of small to large towns, lit up with streetlights and more. From the news, one would expect blackness, obvious signs of areas within cities without lights, or even weapons fire.
Instead, what I saw reminded me of the Tennessee Valley at night from a similar altitude. Small to large cities all lit up, like pearls on the string of the river valley. In this case, that valley was the cradle of civilization as I learned all those years ago in world history. The oil fields kept it from being a comfortable illusion, however. Gas flares and such were obvious from on high, and I wonder if it is just a western thing to call the light hellish, or if those there on the ground see it as something more positive.
The descent into Baghdad was where the illusion stopped. The plane blacked out, and did a descent that was far different than you get flying into any normal airport. Exactly what or how is not for my discussion, but I will say that it wasn’t bad. Then again, I am a pilot and actually like a certain amount of push-the-envelope, but it didn’t seem too bad.
What I could see of Baghdad coming in was much the same as before, a well lit town. On the ground, I was reminded of what a friend and mentor said years ago about his arrival in Vietnam: dust. The sand and dust here is very fine, and makes even rubber non-slip mats somewhat slick. The dust was everywhere, and I understood then the admonition to bag everything that a friend had given me.
On the flights over, at the airport, and while waiting for the Rhino, I chatted with civilians and with soldiers, and one theme came through loud and clear: they feel the war is lost—at home. During a transportation wait, one person told me flat out that it was won here, but lost at home because the average person doesn’t have a clue how things really are here. Are there problems? Sure, but they are being worked and things are better, and people are working to keep making them better. But you never hear it on the news, and that is killing them.
Camp Stryker was my waypoint in, and the first of my ”obscene amenities“ of the night. Concrete, canvas, wood, and dust. It awoke memories of years past, with the only thing missing being a card game. The chairs and benches were a bit more comfortable than I remember, though the benches outside were much the same. No smoking, and stacks and stacks of water bottles, and refrigerators with signs saying that if you take one, replace one. There were MREs as well, but I had had enough food for one day so passed. If I wasn’t over packed, I would have stuffed one or two in the bags just on general principles.
Strange to say, it was a good time rather than long. I talked to people, took a walk through the night to stretch out some kinks, found out the coffee shop was closed, and met up with some people from my flight in. We passed a companionable enough time, watching each other’s gear for various breaks and such on each’s part, and they were kind enough to help fill me in and get me taken care of. From Capt. Safe to the transportation officer at Stryker, to my new acquaintances, people were extremely glad to help a new arrival.
I choose not to write a lot about the Rhino trip, for insurgents have far too much advantage already, and even a near miss is great propaganda for them. To ride the Rhino, one must be in vest and helmet, just in case. Being night still, there was not a lot to see on the way in, other than road, occasional walls, and roadside vegetation. We made it safely, and I was picked up by representative from CPIC and taken to the Lizard Lounge for what was left of the night. Yet more opulent and obscene amenities, upon which I racked out for a couple of hours.
The new day dawned bright and hot, and I began to learn the system and the area a bit better. Paperwork cleared, I am set to press on. The day shift folks here at the CPIC have been wonderful, and extremely helpful. I was taken around briefly to see some of the sights, and plans are afoot. The chow was good, and I am looking forward to what comes next.
LW
