first impressions

Welcome to chaos, when you land in Bagram it appears to be a normal Air base but you notice the size of the runway is unusually large, and that there is a equally large Aerodrome across the way. The base is nestled in between 2 ridges of mountain that run parallel.  The heat is tolerable even with a old helmet on and bullet proof vest which is required to be wore on all flights. Your luggage is loaded onto a pallet and moved to a so called terminal made from press-board and corrugated steel, it’s small but packed full of disillusioned US soldier who may have been trying to catch a flight for 10 days.  Planes that come in are often loaded with cargo first and what ever room they have left can be occupied by soldiers, often the “manifest” kiosk will call out “if you are going to Maser E Sharif your flight is cancel” followed by “fuck not again, God damn it!” Those who wait find themselves at the USO, a building 15m away that is setup with the comforts of home like free internet, free coffee, leather couches, and regular toilets.  I had to drag my 3 heavy bags and ballistic vest down the road 300m to a road named Disney named after a dead soldier, I was directed by a soldier to go to a “R&R” tent, these tents hold 50 bunks and are packed full of transient NCOs most of these guys are under 24, many of them married. The tent was surprisingly quiet for so many people; everyone is tired and often fed up for one reason or another.  During the day the tent is warm and the giant air conditioning struggles to catch up, at night it’s bone chilling cold, This is where I realize that the gift of a poncho liner from http://www.wildthingsgear.com/ was a God send, I slept in my underwear and the troops froze in their poncho liners while wearing toques and full fatigues.

When I had finally put my kit away and rummaged for new clean clothes I showered, the showers are in these cargo containers that are stacked 2X2 to make a building, men and women’s showers and toilets, it felt great to wash, I was paranoid about the level of disease everyone talks about and exposure to fecal matter, Americans have the toilet manners of dogs and signs are up everywhere telling you to wash and not make a mess. The troops in the R&R tent weren’t too sure what to make of me, I had Military style gear but I was older and was roughly shaven, some looked scared of me others cautiously respectful. At this point I had no idea where I was and how this base worked, where do I eat, how do I get there, where can I get free internet, where the hell are my handlers? I still had no contact with my Public Affairs Officers.  I headed back to Disney road, the main drag, I asked a soldier where to get chow, they pointed north and said “just down there.” Just down there was a dusty, windy kilometer, but I was hungry and wanted food and I walked quickly through the blowing dust storm down the road in my sandals to the chow hall. The chow hall is near the Korean base and surrounded by a giant concrete wall, I had finally arrived and now covered in filth, I looked at the sign on the door and it said all people must show base ID card, I had none, humm who cares, I was quickly stopped by a Turkish looking guy who pointed at my sandals and said I couldn’t come in like that, I flipped out and told him I just wanted to eat. I had to walk all the way back to my tent and change.

Hungry and now pissed I returned to my bunk I dug through my luggage with torn apart fingers from constantly rummaging these cordura nylon bags. Cordura is what you would expect Komodo dragon skin to feel like.  Despite the stinging I found my best new Multicam clothes and my desert boots, I found my fancy goggles and what will become my best friend, the American made Shamang. For those who don’t know a Shamang is it’s traditional scarf warn by people in the Middle East it can be worn like a scarf or as a ninja style head and face covering which I would adorn in this dust storm. Now I was set, I popped out of the tent and surprised a soldier smoking, “how do I look” I asked, he and his buddy jumped as they were not expecting a 6’2” terrorist looking guy in black jump boots, towering over them,  in the pitch black night, “man you could win a costume contest for sure” as he recoiled.

I set back to the chow hall, down Disney in the blowing dust, and eerie street lamps. With in a few minutes a Toyota mini-van stops and offers me a ride (this never happens) the driver and passenger were Turks and so pleased to see me, they were shocked when I said I was from Canada, they let me out at the chow hall, I wasn’t sure if I was suppose to pay them so I didn’t. This time I walked into the chow hall and acted like I owned the show, no ID card and only a strait posture and purposeful walk. I waited in line with M16 equipped soldiers all dressed in this grayish pattern, unlike the Marines who wear a digital desert pattern and they carry them selves differently, Special forces don’t wear uniforms, are older and feel no need to carry weapons on such a safe base, they are the cool kids.  The food is good; Afghans and other foreign nationals have been flown in to cook it.  I sat alone and ate and left, on the way out I talk to one gent, he is about my size and has a full beard, I notice him in line earlier, he was analyzing me and I analyzed him. I asked him if he was Russian Mafia because of the stars on his elbows and he looked surprised and said no.

I slept well that night, I had been travelling for over 2 days and I needed to stop and rest. I woke at 4am and fussed with my bags and bleeding fingernails, my brain was still dazed and confused from the travel and maybe the altitude.  I left the tent and explored for free Internet so I could contact home, there was no such luck, and everyone had to pay unless you went to the USO. I showed up at the USO without my laptop to see what the deal was, they had free web but only space for 30 people at one time and it was a bitch to get on their network as I would find out later. I headed to the chow hall for breakfast only to run into the bearded man again, this time I started to chat with him, he had been in Afghanistan since 2001, ah now the story appears, his hobby was diving and he couldn’t talk about what he did but the hint was there. He mentioned parachuting in at the start of the war and talked about how much greener it was now. He hated Bagram and the sort of soldier that occupies it. He didn’t believe in the overall strategy of the war and now worked privately. This guy was serious, the look in his eyes was different he was no longer part of the regular world. This guy was the real Rambo!

Later on that day I finally got on line and emailed whom I could. I ended up making friends and the Cuban Cigarillos I brought were a treat to the yanks. I hung out with private contractors who bitched about being bumped from flight to flight.  I chatted with American soldiers of all ages and ranks, the older officers and I had more in common then the young NCOs who have only known a life at war, many are married and have kids, some married at 18, most mature beyond their years.  It was hard to tell who had seen action and who didn’t, I was constantly surprised by some of the opinions of the soldiers and it was impossible to tell the level of sophistication from man to man because they all looked the same, it’s not like the Hill where the clothes make the man, take no one for a fool here.