Last week we were dealing with our own mini crisis-my daughters engagement ring was taken from her visiting officers quarters where she is in training. She felt secure there and had a hard lesson in reality just as others have had in summer training and even on the Yard. After reporting it and visiting pawn shops around the base she became resigned to her loss-until it magically reappeared today. It is a happy ending that I wish could be multiplied for many others. The lesson learned-vigilance and using precautions-will stand her in good stead in the future no matter where she is.
I think we all have a certain sense of security when it comes to being on a domestic military base-at least we did until the events at FT Hood unfolded. I am sure many of you have had a hard time getting your minds around those events. What most of you don't know is one of our own USNA moms worked right down the hall from the alleged assailant. I was worried sick. I finally did hear from her a few days ago-and all is well although she is running ragged taking care of her patients. It is funny where the USNA connections lead. But more importantly what seemed like a big loss became a drop in the bucket compared to so much more. The true diamonds are the men and women who paid the ultimate price.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
A different view of Kabul
Enclosed is a description of one of my husband's layover experiences in Kabul-there is nothing like flying into Kabul Afghanistan to give you a different perspective on life there. It is a far cry from his USAirways layovers ...
It was a quiet week in my home town, Kabul, Afghanistan...the fall colors were brilliant, glowing in the bright morning sun with the snowcapped peaks of the Hindu Kush as a back drop. There was a slight chill in the fresh morning air but the brilliant Afghan sun produced a comfortable environment for the Afghan trekking adventure.The golf pro from the Kabul Golf Course would be our guide to the immobilized Soviet tank position located on the summit of a mountainpeak overlooking the golf course and Kabul city. He asked us what pace he should maintain and we told him we would keep up. The 50 year old former prisoner of war gave us a work out and soon the sweaters were shed and it gave us an excuse to take a short break. Enroute we enjoyed climbing on the Soviet tank bunker's which were additional reminders of the "occupation" three decades ago.Our first Afghan mountain summit was soon realized with the bonus of an awesome vista from our perch on a disabled Soviet tank. Garreth and I took turns photographing each other as "Senior Tank Commander's" while a vivid oral description of that era came to life by our local Afghanwitness. It was much like visiting Gettysburg, except we werewitnessinga life size diorama on location with a play by play of the Mujahedinand the Soviet's exercising their independent combat strategy. We all too soon had to depart from our "Walter Mitty" experience, a bit reluctantly.Visual aids certainly make the geography and history lessons more interesting and memorable while a written documentary solidifies and confirms the experience. It was truly a day to remember and we were non-to-less for the wear. And that's the way it was in Kabul where thewomen wear burkas, the men carry "AK-47"s and the children are all too soon adults.
Monday, October 26, 2009
It's a small world
It’s a small world when you are connected to the military. Just yesterday I got a surprise phone call from my Navy son who is currently deployed, He told a story about flying and needing to contact a ship. The responding officer was one of his USNA class mates. The world gets even smaller in the Marine Corps-especially in Marine aviation. So when I heard the news this morning that two Marine helicopters collided and the crew was lost the lump jumped into my throat. Even though my Marine is safe and sound in San Diego those pilots and their families are on my heart.
I used to get the Marine Corps Times-I stopped when I began traveling so much this past summer. The casualty lists are posted each week along with the photos of the nation’s newest heroes. I would think about their families and how proud they were to carry those pictures of their sons and daughters . Even though we never met, we share a connection and a kinship that comes with having a child volunteer to serve in harm’s way.
So tonight I am praying for those who will soon learn that they have lost someone very precious to them. We share the pride and the pain-it is a small world for those of us who love someone in the military.
I used to get the Marine Corps Times-I stopped when I began traveling so much this past summer. The casualty lists are posted each week along with the photos of the nation’s newest heroes. I would think about their families and how proud they were to carry those pictures of their sons and daughters . Even though we never met, we share a connection and a kinship that comes with having a child volunteer to serve in harm’s way.
So tonight I am praying for those who will soon learn that they have lost someone very precious to them. We share the pride and the pain-it is a small world for those of us who love someone in the military.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Back to the 4th
I am behind on my blog these days. The demands of Plebe Summer combined with case of Kabul stomach have me trying to catch up..So lets rewind back the 4th of July..
Over the past few years we have developed a family tradition of spending the 4th of July in different cities. Annapolis, Washington DC, and New York City have been highlights. This year was unusual to say the least.We were invite to the American Embassy in Kabul for an old fashioned 4th. So despite the fact that my husband had to fly later in the day we headed over to the Embassy in an armored car with an armed guard. I was swathed in my trying to fit it clothes and head scarf-although it was quite obvious from my face and husbands jeans we were Americans.
After gojng thorugh incredible security we were in . There was a volleyball tournament going on-green grass , no dust. I took off my stuff and had just a short sleeve shirt with no head scarf and could not believe how free I felt. Spending your time wary of those around you and being rushed into vehicles takes a toll on you.But for a few brief hours we were relaxing with other Americans. We had a lovely time talking with troops and staff and buying Duck and Cover T shirts from the American Embassy. Then it was time to cover up and head to the airport.
My husband was flying a trip to Sharjah which is about ten minutes from Dubai. It is a conservative city however and all the passengers were dressed traditionally -that is except me. I was the only western passenger plus the only female. As I started to board they told me to go to the front-the resulting photos my husband took from the cockpit told the story. I was quite the spectacle.
As we took off we headed southeast directly over Helmand Province. I could not help but think of our Marines hard at work below. There was military traffic to our left-a Marine F/18. I wondered what that pilot would think if he knew an American Marine Dad was flying that Safi Airways 737 next to him. The reality is that he could be my son next year when he finishes his F/18 training.
As we landed in Dubai it reminded me of home in Arizona. Wide paved streets, palm trees, street lights-what a contrast to the streets of Kabul Although there were no fireworks there was a lot to remind us of how special the US is and how amazing it is to have the young people of America willing to give their all for freedom. Because there is nothing like being free-ask the women of Afghanistan.
Over the past few years we have developed a family tradition of spending the 4th of July in different cities. Annapolis, Washington DC, and New York City have been highlights. This year was unusual to say the least.We were invite to the American Embassy in Kabul for an old fashioned 4th. So despite the fact that my husband had to fly later in the day we headed over to the Embassy in an armored car with an armed guard. I was swathed in my trying to fit it clothes and head scarf-although it was quite obvious from my face and husbands jeans we were Americans.
After gojng thorugh incredible security we were in . There was a volleyball tournament going on-green grass , no dust. I took off my stuff and had just a short sleeve shirt with no head scarf and could not believe how free I felt. Spending your time wary of those around you and being rushed into vehicles takes a toll on you.But for a few brief hours we were relaxing with other Americans. We had a lovely time talking with troops and staff and buying Duck and Cover T shirts from the American Embassy. Then it was time to cover up and head to the airport.
My husband was flying a trip to Sharjah which is about ten minutes from Dubai. It is a conservative city however and all the passengers were dressed traditionally -that is except me. I was the only western passenger plus the only female. As I started to board they told me to go to the front-the resulting photos my husband took from the cockpit told the story. I was quite the spectacle.
As we took off we headed southeast directly over Helmand Province. I could not help but think of our Marines hard at work below. There was military traffic to our left-a Marine F/18. I wondered what that pilot would think if he knew an American Marine Dad was flying that Safi Airways 737 next to him. The reality is that he could be my son next year when he finishes his F/18 training.
As we landed in Dubai it reminded me of home in Arizona. Wide paved streets, palm trees, street lights-what a contrast to the streets of Kabul Although there were no fireworks there was a lot to remind us of how special the US is and how amazing it is to have the young people of America willing to give their all for freedom. Because there is nothing like being free-ask the women of Afghanistan.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Into the mountains
We woke up Friday morning to the typical sounds of the street below. Clip, clop of horses pulling wooden carts lashed together combined with cars driving crazily through the streets. The call to prayer rings through the air-some pull out their rugs and bow to Mecca; others continue on their business. Across the street three little boys huddle on the side of the road. They will stay there all day moving in and out of traffic.
It is a big day-we are going on a tour with an airline employee. He and his driver arrive at 9am along with the driver's little boy, age 7. He is dressed in his Afghan best-white suit with green belt and velvet vest inlaid with mirrors and trimmed with gold. He is very excited to be a part of this adventure. We climb into the car and head out of the congested inner city. We drive past the markets filled with all kinds of vegetables, melons, goats and sheep tethered waiting to be slaughtered.
As we continue to head out the road we pass the Teachers College and the Red Crescent Compound. There are security guards everywhere along with trucks of Afghan soldiers. We pass acres of refugee settlements made of mud walls and ceilings made of tarps or scraps of fabric sewn together. The poverty is overwhelming. These are refugees from the southern provinces-including Helmand. They have been here for a while as the stability of their homes has been lost for a long time. Hopefully the new surge will make a difference and they can return home.
Now we are out of the city. Small plots of land no bigger than my garden at home are planted with crops-wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. The homes are now made with adobe like bricks and as we drive we can see places where they are making them. Along the road there are random mounds of rocks with sticks with scraps of green and red fabric flying. The driver tells me they are tombs. It is Friday-the only day off in the week and many others are traveling to the mountains. Families are picnicking along the roadways and every so often people are pulled into the creek along the road for a car wash.
We pass through Kabul's golf course and reach Lake Quarga. It is beautiful glacial blue green water. We stop and reserve a paddle boat and our host brings us bowls of ice cream. We paddle around the water eating ice cream and gazing at the high mountain peaks. I feel like I am in Colorado, but the scarf on my head reminds me again where I am .
As we return to shore I see a little girl who had been walking up the road with her brother carrying a tray . Underneath the cloth are breads baked to sell. She cannot be more than 6 years old. Another small girl is gathering stems of dry grass to bundle and sell for fuel. Little boys carry sacks to scavenge for plastic bottles. It is obvious that some are lacking food and I feel completely overwhelmed. Everywhere I go see small children working-it makes me feel ashamed of so many spoiled Americans.
Now it is my husbands turn to get back to his roots. There are horses for hire and so he climbs on an Afghan pony. The children of the owners are fascinated with my camera and want to practice their English. Ok and with a thumbs up they smile at me. He would have ridden forever but there was more to see. We continue to drive higher into the mountains. Now we are passing through a village and the markets are open . There is so much fruit-piles of cherries and plums; sacks of flour with American flags and the ever present Coca cola.
We reach our destination -a mountain stream surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying a holiday picnic. The driver parks in the stream-we take off our shoes and climb out for a snack of Afghan raspberries-white and purple. We notice some high school boys cooling their watermelons in the steam. They see us and pose for us and then present me with one of the melons. They spoke great English and wanted to know all about America. They reminded me of my students at home -hopeful to go to Florida someday.
We head back in the car-and the serenity of the day is disrupted by two truckloads of Afghan soldiers with machine guns. The picnic is over-it is a reality check. Things are not normal yet. It is time to head back t the safety of the hotel and the armed guards. It was an absolutely lovely day while it lasted.
It is a big day-we are going on a tour with an airline employee. He and his driver arrive at 9am along with the driver's little boy, age 7. He is dressed in his Afghan best-white suit with green belt and velvet vest inlaid with mirrors and trimmed with gold. He is very excited to be a part of this adventure. We climb into the car and head out of the congested inner city. We drive past the markets filled with all kinds of vegetables, melons, goats and sheep tethered waiting to be slaughtered.
As we continue to head out the road we pass the Teachers College and the Red Crescent Compound. There are security guards everywhere along with trucks of Afghan soldiers. We pass acres of refugee settlements made of mud walls and ceilings made of tarps or scraps of fabric sewn together. The poverty is overwhelming. These are refugees from the southern provinces-including Helmand. They have been here for a while as the stability of their homes has been lost for a long time. Hopefully the new surge will make a difference and they can return home.
Now we are out of the city. Small plots of land no bigger than my garden at home are planted with crops-wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. The homes are now made with adobe like bricks and as we drive we can see places where they are making them. Along the road there are random mounds of rocks with sticks with scraps of green and red fabric flying. The driver tells me they are tombs. It is Friday-the only day off in the week and many others are traveling to the mountains. Families are picnicking along the roadways and every so often people are pulled into the creek along the road for a car wash.
We pass through Kabul's golf course and reach Lake Quarga. It is beautiful glacial blue green water. We stop and reserve a paddle boat and our host brings us bowls of ice cream. We paddle around the water eating ice cream and gazing at the high mountain peaks. I feel like I am in Colorado, but the scarf on my head reminds me again where I am .
As we return to shore I see a little girl who had been walking up the road with her brother carrying a tray . Underneath the cloth are breads baked to sell. She cannot be more than 6 years old. Another small girl is gathering stems of dry grass to bundle and sell for fuel. Little boys carry sacks to scavenge for plastic bottles. It is obvious that some are lacking food and I feel completely overwhelmed. Everywhere I go see small children working-it makes me feel ashamed of so many spoiled Americans.
Now it is my husbands turn to get back to his roots. There are horses for hire and so he climbs on an Afghan pony. The children of the owners are fascinated with my camera and want to practice their English. Ok and with a thumbs up they smile at me. He would have ridden forever but there was more to see. We continue to drive higher into the mountains. Now we are passing through a village and the markets are open . There is so much fruit-piles of cherries and plums; sacks of flour with American flags and the ever present Coca cola.
We reach our destination -a mountain stream surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying a holiday picnic. The driver parks in the stream-we take off our shoes and climb out for a snack of Afghan raspberries-white and purple. We notice some high school boys cooling their watermelons in the steam. They see us and pose for us and then present me with one of the melons. They spoke great English and wanted to know all about America. They reminded me of my students at home -hopeful to go to Florida someday.
We head back in the car-and the serenity of the day is disrupted by two truckloads of Afghan soldiers with machine guns. The picnic is over-it is a reality check. Things are not normal yet. It is time to head back t the safety of the hotel and the armed guards. It was an absolutely lovely day while it lasted.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Toilet Street
I am here in the lobby of a 4 star hotel in Kabul. It is attached to a mall and everything is impeccable. But as I walk out of the front entry things change. The first indication is the amount of armed guards standing around the perimeter of the hotel. There is a traffic circle to the right with a traffic guide vainly trying to control traffic. There are at least five armed policmen at points in the circle. and as you walk down the street, individual businesses and compounds also have armed guards.
When I say armed I mean with AK47s -not just pistols. Yesterday I had my picture taken with one of them and he cavaliarly swung it around bumping my chest-yikes! Every so often a car will pull up with someone special. Out will jump two security people flak vests and all. You can begin to figure out who they are by their muscularbuilds, steely eyed glares, and khaki trousers and vests. Many are former Marines or Special Forces. It can be hard to go home after getting used to these adrenaline surges.
As I stand on the front steps I see Toilet Street in front of me-so named because if you want to buy atoilet in Kabul this is the street. There are rows and rows of tiny shops filled with plumbing equipment and of course toilets. But that is not all you can buy.
Directly across from me there are several tents-in one they are making sandwiches using the bread which is being baked a little further down. The bread is flat like a pita but shaped in an elongated oval. They hang it from the ceiling and when it is time to make a delivery they spear it in stacks on a long pole. A little while ago there was a line forming for the fresh bread and more will be baked over open coals for the afternoon rush. Speaking of hanging-there are several goat carcasses hanging in the shop next door. In front there is a man with a wheeled cart grilling corn. And incongruous as this may seem the next shops are a Lexus Toyota dealer.
I am somewhat of a prisoner here until my husband returns. Despite constant activity on the streets there are no solitary women walking around. I did not realize quite how independent I have become until my wings have been clipped. But logic reigns so I will stay low and try to observe what I can and save my energy for tomorrrow's tour-the security guy is taking me to the market. You can't keep a woman inside forever!
When I say armed I mean with AK47s -not just pistols. Yesterday I had my picture taken with one of them and he cavaliarly swung it around bumping my chest-yikes! Every so often a car will pull up with someone special. Out will jump two security people flak vests and all. You can begin to figure out who they are by their muscularbuilds, steely eyed glares, and khaki trousers and vests. Many are former Marines or Special Forces. It can be hard to go home after getting used to these adrenaline surges.
As I stand on the front steps I see Toilet Street in front of me-so named because if you want to buy atoilet in Kabul this is the street. There are rows and rows of tiny shops filled with plumbing equipment and of course toilets. But that is not all you can buy.
Directly across from me there are several tents-in one they are making sandwiches using the bread which is being baked a little further down. The bread is flat like a pita but shaped in an elongated oval. They hang it from the ceiling and when it is time to make a delivery they spear it in stacks on a long pole. A little while ago there was a line forming for the fresh bread and more will be baked over open coals for the afternoon rush. Speaking of hanging-there are several goat carcasses hanging in the shop next door. In front there is a man with a wheeled cart grilling corn. And incongruous as this may seem the next shops are a Lexus Toyota dealer.
I am somewhat of a prisoner here until my husband returns. Despite constant activity on the streets there are no solitary women walking around. I did not realize quite how independent I have become until my wings have been clipped. But logic reigns so I will stay low and try to observe what I can and save my energy for tomorrrow's tour-the security guy is taking me to the market. You can't keep a woman inside forever!
the Skies of Afghanistan
The day began very early yesterday as I joined my husband on his flight to Kabul-via Kandihar.I was a little uneasy-security was reporting Code Red with significant street fighting. But airport security is good and I woud just be staying on the plane. It was dark as we flew over the Straits of Hormuz and Iran. As the sun rose I could see the arid landscape below. It looks a lot like Arizona and New Mexico.As we got closer to Kandihar it was difficult see in the dust and sand filled air.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was all the military hardware-armored vehicles and rows of military aircraft. As we pulled up to the terminal there was a guard post with machine guns and sandbags. Hmmm-definitely not the TSA.
The passengers who were lined up did not look like the nighbor next door. Many bearded men with long robes and turbans were ready the for the next leg.
The only woman was wearing a burkha-I decided it was time to put my head scarf on.Military aircraft were taking off and I realized that could be my boy next year
We were ready to take off for Kabul but then the unexpected happened. They had been transporting drug dogs-and one escaped from his kennel.
After a few tense moments my husband drew on all his farm experience to catch him. Now dog whisperer is added to his list of duties flying here in this part of the world
Dog duties left behind and now we headed north to Kabul. The terrain rapidly became more rugged and there dozens of peaks.In the river valleys you could see small settlements and a few terraced fields. As we got closer to Kabul high snowy peaks formed a semicircle to the north. In the valley there were many walled homes -five million people live in Kabul.. We descended and it was time to land-and start another adventure. As I climbed into the van with the armed guard I wondered what my dad woud be thinking-probably you go girl!
The drive to the downotwn was quite amazing. I cannot empahsize the poverty combined with commerce. Small huts house people and products to see.
Donkey carts and horses have their own lane in the 4 lane highway. As we got into downtown the roads narrowed and traffic became congested. We arrived at the hotel with multiple armed gaurds out front. It is very nice and located by a roundabout where you can see all manner of activities. Directly across from the hotel is a butcher shop with goat carcasses hanging next to a bread bakery where long flat loaves are baked and hung in the windows.
We are not suppose to wander about-but two passengers had told me of a shop where everything was made by Afghan women. After a couple of wrong turns we found it along a garbage and goat strewn street. You knock at the gate and are allowed to enter a beautiful grassy compound surrounded with roses. The shop was lovely and we found some great things to bring home and my Afghn wardrobe-shirt,pants, scarf for thirty bucks.
Tomorrow when my husband returns from his flight to Dubai we are being taken on a tour of the city. And tonight I am hotel bound-not a place for a woman to wander about alone. So I will head to the lobby and hope there is wireless between the occasional power failures and upload this blog and try to call home.Good night from Kabul.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was all the military hardware-armored vehicles and rows of military aircraft. As we pulled up to the terminal there was a guard post with machine guns and sandbags. Hmmm-definitely not the TSA.
The passengers who were lined up did not look like the nighbor next door. Many bearded men with long robes and turbans were ready the for the next leg.
The only woman was wearing a burkha-I decided it was time to put my head scarf on.Military aircraft were taking off and I realized that could be my boy next year
We were ready to take off for Kabul but then the unexpected happened. They had been transporting drug dogs-and one escaped from his kennel.
After a few tense moments my husband drew on all his farm experience to catch him. Now dog whisperer is added to his list of duties flying here in this part of the world
Dog duties left behind and now we headed north to Kabul. The terrain rapidly became more rugged and there dozens of peaks.In the river valleys you could see small settlements and a few terraced fields. As we got closer to Kabul high snowy peaks formed a semicircle to the north. In the valley there were many walled homes -five million people live in Kabul.. We descended and it was time to land-and start another adventure. As I climbed into the van with the armed guard I wondered what my dad woud be thinking-probably you go girl!
The drive to the downotwn was quite amazing. I cannot empahsize the poverty combined with commerce. Small huts house people and products to see.
Donkey carts and horses have their own lane in the 4 lane highway. As we got into downtown the roads narrowed and traffic became congested. We arrived at the hotel with multiple armed gaurds out front. It is very nice and located by a roundabout where you can see all manner of activities. Directly across from the hotel is a butcher shop with goat carcasses hanging next to a bread bakery where long flat loaves are baked and hung in the windows.
We are not suppose to wander about-but two passengers had told me of a shop where everything was made by Afghan women. After a couple of wrong turns we found it along a garbage and goat strewn street. You knock at the gate and are allowed to enter a beautiful grassy compound surrounded with roses. The shop was lovely and we found some great things to bring home and my Afghn wardrobe-shirt,pants, scarf for thirty bucks.
Tomorrow when my husband returns from his flight to Dubai we are being taken on a tour of the city. And tonight I am hotel bound-not a place for a woman to wander about alone. So I will head to the lobby and hope there is wireless between the occasional power failures and upload this blog and try to call home.Good night from Kabul.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
On the bus
Today reminded me of the times when I was 13 and 14 years old and a military brat in Germany. My mom made me-emphasis on the made-use public transportation to get around. I did not realize at the time what an important life skill it would be-but I spent many an hour riding in the wrong direction unable to speak the language and afraid to ask. Obviously I got over it but today was a deja vue experience.
It all started when I decided to go get my Afghan visa. My husband has been flying the last two days-and after sleeping and staying in the hotel I had to get out. Besides we may go to Kabul any day now and I needed my visa. So I started with a taxi and made my way to the Afghanistan Consulate. I stood in line to get a number-then moved to the next room to turn in my paperwork. Sounds easy-NOT! You could only turn it in when the window opened-kind of like the Wizard of OZ. Dozens of us stood there waiting-people of different nationalities with a reduced need for personal space crowded around me. But I used my skills honed in Europe to plant my feet and take up as much space as I could-and remained in reach of the window. Finally the window moved and we thrust our documents into the space-hoping they would be processed today. But wait-there's more.
Now it was time to sit and wait for the opportunity to pay. The waiting room was filled with a very diverse group of people . I met a former Marine built like Arnold Schwarzenegger who had done three tours in Iraq and two in Afghanistan-his gig-why security of course. I met an American woman who has been a journalist in Kabul -we had a great conversation. And oh yes-I did bring my knitting. Finally two hours later they called my number-I paid them 30 bucks and got the instructions to return at 3PM to pick up my visa. So now what? It i s114 degrees-what else but to go to one of the many malls to stay cool of course.
Once again I chickened out and took a cab. But after lunch I decided to be brave and get a bus pass-my mom would be so proud. The air conditioned bus stop made waiting easy and the bus was clean and new with a flat screen display announcing all the stops. What could be easier? I got cocky and decided to take the bus all the way back despite the fact that it went to a major bus station for a transfer. At the station it was pretty confusing-and I almost headed off to get a cab when I saw my bus. Fate-it must mean I am meant to keep going. As I lined up I noticed that I was the only woman getting on -and one of the drivers asked me where I was going. "Immigration," I said and he shook his head as he motioned me on.
We started off into the heavy traffic, past the high rises of Dubai and the tallest building in the world. the flat screen was not turned on but I was sure I would recognize my stop. Pretty soon things were spreading out and I noticed the Burj Dubai in the distance. Funny I did not remember that from before-jet lag can really get you. Now we turned into an industrial area and as the road got narrower and narrower I began to have a sinking feeling. We were in the projects-the places where the laborers live-and I was a minority of one. The bus finally stopped at the end of the line and the driver said ," Why are you here? Immigration was the first stop" Oops....
Luckily the transfer bus was there-after five minute conversation with many glances in my direction I was placed on the bus and given specific instructions as to when to get off. In hindsight, it was a part of Dubai I probably would never have seen before. But I did what any sane woman would do - got off the bus at my stop, took a cab to the consulate and had him wait while I got my visa and then headed back to the hotel.
Anyone need a partially used DubaiBus card?
It all started when I decided to go get my Afghan visa. My husband has been flying the last two days-and after sleeping and staying in the hotel I had to get out. Besides we may go to Kabul any day now and I needed my visa. So I started with a taxi and made my way to the Afghanistan Consulate. I stood in line to get a number-then moved to the next room to turn in my paperwork. Sounds easy-NOT! You could only turn it in when the window opened-kind of like the Wizard of OZ. Dozens of us stood there waiting-people of different nationalities with a reduced need for personal space crowded around me. But I used my skills honed in Europe to plant my feet and take up as much space as I could-and remained in reach of the window. Finally the window moved and we thrust our documents into the space-hoping they would be processed today. But wait-there's more.
Now it was time to sit and wait for the opportunity to pay. The waiting room was filled with a very diverse group of people . I met a former Marine built like Arnold Schwarzenegger who had done three tours in Iraq and two in Afghanistan-his gig-why security of course. I met an American woman who has been a journalist in Kabul -we had a great conversation. And oh yes-I did bring my knitting. Finally two hours later they called my number-I paid them 30 bucks and got the instructions to return at 3PM to pick up my visa. So now what? It i s114 degrees-what else but to go to one of the many malls to stay cool of course.
Once again I chickened out and took a cab. But after lunch I decided to be brave and get a bus pass-my mom would be so proud. The air conditioned bus stop made waiting easy and the bus was clean and new with a flat screen display announcing all the stops. What could be easier? I got cocky and decided to take the bus all the way back despite the fact that it went to a major bus station for a transfer. At the station it was pretty confusing-and I almost headed off to get a cab when I saw my bus. Fate-it must mean I am meant to keep going. As I lined up I noticed that I was the only woman getting on -and one of the drivers asked me where I was going. "Immigration," I said and he shook his head as he motioned me on.
We started off into the heavy traffic, past the high rises of Dubai and the tallest building in the world. the flat screen was not turned on but I was sure I would recognize my stop. Pretty soon things were spreading out and I noticed the Burj Dubai in the distance. Funny I did not remember that from before-jet lag can really get you. Now we turned into an industrial area and as the road got narrower and narrower I began to have a sinking feeling. We were in the projects-the places where the laborers live-and I was a minority of one. The bus finally stopped at the end of the line and the driver said ," Why are you here? Immigration was the first stop" Oops....
Luckily the transfer bus was there-after five minute conversation with many glances in my direction I was placed on the bus and given specific instructions as to when to get off. In hindsight, it was a part of Dubai I probably would never have seen before. But I did what any sane woman would do - got off the bus at my stop, took a cab to the consulate and had him wait while I got my visa and then headed back to the hotel.
Anyone need a partially used DubaiBus card?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Something tells me
I'm not in Kansas anymore... I am in Dubai as in the United Arab Emirates just across the straits from Iran. Why here-well the succinct version is that my husband has been here flying for an Afghan airline SafiAirways since age 60 grounded him the USA. He flies from Dubai-into and all over Afghanistan. How did he get from US Airways to SAfiAirways? Well that is a story for another day. Now that school is out and things are caught up here on the farm I am here to join the adventure.
No I am not wearing a burka-but there are a lot of women who are. Today I mall walked-too hot walk outside-and checked prices. Many of the wealthy women here are walking around with designer bags and clothing underneath black silk and embroidered abayas(The abaya "cloak" (Arabic: عباية ‘abāya[tu] or عباءة ‘abā'a[tu], plural عبايات ‘abāyā[tu]) is an overgarment worn by some women in parts of the Islamic world.) Some of the more ornate ones stated at 200 bucks. And that is just the top layer. Of course my husband tells me it will be quite a different world in Kabul.
It is hot, hot , hot. This morning it felt like Phoenix-but tonight when I left the hotel my glasses fogged up immediately. I could not help but think of my children's USNA classmates serving in Iraq with dozens of pounds of body armor in this heat. I need to buy an umbrella-no rain in the forecast until January but it is great protection from the pounding sun.
The call to prayer sounds five times a day broadcast on loudspeaker from dozens of mosques. I was sitting at Starbucks in the mall when it sounded-it permeates everywhere as reminder of the faith so many share here. There are a large number of westerners and actually people from all over the world. I have to hold myself back from asking with Midwestern openness, "So where are you from? " It just doesn't feel right-definitely not in Kansas anymore.
No I am not wearing a burka-but there are a lot of women who are. Today I mall walked-too hot walk outside-and checked prices. Many of the wealthy women here are walking around with designer bags and clothing underneath black silk and embroidered abayas(The abaya "cloak" (Arabic: عباية ‘abāya[tu] or عباءة ‘abā'a[tu], plural عبايات ‘abāyā[tu]) is an overgarment worn by some women in parts of the Islamic world.) Some of the more ornate ones stated at 200 bucks. And that is just the top layer. Of course my husband tells me it will be quite a different world in Kabul.
It is hot, hot , hot. This morning it felt like Phoenix-but tonight when I left the hotel my glasses fogged up immediately. I could not help but think of my children's USNA classmates serving in Iraq with dozens of pounds of body armor in this heat. I need to buy an umbrella-no rain in the forecast until January but it is great protection from the pounding sun.
The call to prayer sounds five times a day broadcast on loudspeaker from dozens of mosques. I was sitting at Starbucks in the mall when it sounded-it permeates everywhere as reminder of the faith so many share here. There are a large number of westerners and actually people from all over the world. I have to hold myself back from asking with Midwestern openness, "So where are you from? " It just doesn't feel right-definitely not in Kansas anymore.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Adult "kids"
It is a strange feeling to be watching the news and see something that your son is most likely involved in. I say most likely because of course I cannot know for sure-but I can put two and two together. As I write this my husband is flying the skies in Afghanistan-funny how different it is with a husband and a child. I just don't worry about my husband the same way. Maybe it is because my son was a part of me from the very beginning.
There are all kinds of books to teach you about parenting a baby, a toddler, a teen...but transitioning from that to parent of an adult-especially one who is potentially in harm's way....it's a master's degree in parenting.
There are all kinds of books to teach you about parenting a baby, a toddler, a teen...but transitioning from that to parent of an adult-especially one who is potentially in harm's way....it's a master's degree in parenting.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The Purple Family
Why purple? Apparently Joint Force activites are called purple-the blending of the forces together. And since we have one child in each of the services-Army, Navy , Air Force , and Marines-I guess we are purple. Blending is not quite the word I will use to describe the dinner table conversation when it turns to the role of each of the services-but at the end of the day they are on the same team.Peopel ask me how our kids all chose the military. We do have a strong military family legacy. Both my parents were officers in the Army-in fact I was the reason for my mother's honorable discharge. Back in the day even married women could not be pregnant and stay in. My husband and I met when we were both in the Air Force. He left the Air Force and began working in the airline industry; we moved to a farm where it would be a great place to raise kids. They did not grow up on military bases like I did -but every year we traveled to Washington DC for the Memorial Day concert and to visit Arlington Cemetery. The boys were active in scouts. My husband told his stories of flying the C-130 and instructing-and along the way they each got bit by the flying bug.The eldest decided in 8th grade he wanted to try for the Air Force Academy. We encouraged him to reach for the dream-ultimately he and the next two siblings all graduated from the US Naval Academy. Little brother-not so little at 6'5"-rebelled by earning a full ride scholarship from the Army ROTC Helicopter Scholarship program.So now I have three commissioned officers and one on the way due to be commissioned in 2012.Two are still in a training environment but soon it will take a Garmin to keep track of all of them-if I am allowed to know where they are.Ah purple -if you separate the colors you get red, white , and blue. I guess we really are purple.
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