Sensations

The smells: diesel exhaust from the generators that run 24/7, plywood, sewage from the make-shift latrines, mold in the make-shift showers, sweat, dirt, and body odor mixed together, smoke from the burn cans, cafeteria food smell from the chow hall, rotting garbage from the jingle trucks parked by the west wall, alcohol in the hand-sanitizer. There’s nothing that smells good here.

The sounds: the diesel generators that run 24/7, wind rattling the aluminum shingles on the hut, B-hut doors slamming, the heavy beating of Chinook rotors, hip-hop music from the chow hall kitchen, F15’s roaring over the province, power tools, mortar fire, the diesel generators, the diesel generators, the diesel generators. The iPod is a sweet haven.

The tastes: endless bottled water, boxes of unsweetened grapefruit juice, dust, the chow hall, raisin bran, bad coffee, sweat, plywood.

The touches: constant ride of a weapon sling on your shoulder or hip, uneven rocks under desert boots, heat under the non-breathable uniform, slippery cool of constant hand washing with soap, scratchy sheets at the end of the day, hot water of a shower pouring down to wash away the smells and the tastes. Laying down at the end of the day...

The sights: razor wire, plywood, weapons, armored vehicles, uniforms, immense blue sky, dry hills, Afghans and beards, dust, dirt, sweat, stacks of water bottles, rocks, Hesco barriers, Chinooks. I try to take note of the morning and evening sky, the clouds, the stars. Beauty is a scarce commodity around here...

Looking into the past

This view caught me—sunset over the mountains, framed in razor wire and Hesco barriers. I ran to grab my camera and watched the sun drop to the west. I realized that as it was just falling away from us here in Afghanistan it was just rising for my sweet children, my wife, my family, on the west coast of America. My July 22 was over as theirs was just starting. A bittersweet moment, imagining them stirring and waking for a new day while realizing that I can’t get much further away than I am right now.

Scenes from around base...

Our Wal Mart is on the right and Target is on the left. The red target sign is just out of the picture. These shops are run by locals and they sell a bunch of crap from India and Pakistan-- lost of knock-off electronics and pirated DVDs.



A few klicks off base is a wide open plain dotted with tents and wagons. This is a summer settlement of nomads. They pretty much live like they did 1000 years ago-- herding sheep and cows, living out of tents.

An old Russian motorcycle with side-car-- from the Soviet occupation. An American bought it from some guy and is arranging to ship it back home and rebuild it...

The cardio gym... I've spent several hours here already, but try to run outside.

Our post exchange-- the AAFES motto is "We go where you go". I''ll never complain about the Nellis BX again. There are about six shelves that are stocked with chewing tobacco, cigarettes, candy bars, Mountain Dew, coffee filters and two issues of "Smooth Girl".

The Afghan tailor who works on the base...

Two Blackhawks doing medevac, headed to BAF. The helos always travel in pairs.