Going Home

Early tomorrow morning I'm flying home (via London). I've only got a two hour layover at Heathrow, and am dubious that I can make that connection. The planes always get delayed as they wait for gates to open up (40 minutes is typical) and it takes an hour to get from one terminal to the next... One of the many reasons why Heathrow is my least favorite airport. It's dingy, it's badly designed, and when I'm rushing for a plane I'm in no mood to hurdle over a crowd of shoppers in the mall everyone is forced through. But the people are invariably friendly, and my dislike of Heathrow is tempered by the fact that I'll be home for Christmas.

This latest gig in Pakistan was a bit rough. There were a few minor security issues, which didn't turn into anything serious but were stressful nonetheless.

Lowering the flags, closing the border. India in the background.

The Closing of the Gates

The best show in town (Lahore being the town) has got to be the closing of the border gates between Indian and Pakistan. The stomping and swaggering, to-ing and fro-ing, head shaking and swaggering, are modeled after displays animals make in the wild. A small stadium has been built around the gates themselves, and crowds (segregated by sex, of course) cheer on their guards, chanting slogans as if they were at a football match. There's even a cheerleader to rile them up.

My Pakistani colleague was a bit disgusted, because it seemed to her that the sloganeering was more about Muslims vs. Hindus than Pakistan vs. India. But even she had to laugh at the display. "You see, the Pakistani flag is always just a tiny bit higher than the Indian flag as they're lowering it. And if India sends one guard to the gates, Pakistan must send two. When India sends a second guard, Pakistan sends a third."

On the other hand...

There's just no middle ground in Lahore. It's feast or famine, Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker, heaven or hell. I've been complaining about the excess of it in hotels, but there's another side to that as well.

I keep encountering Pakistani men who find it impossible to listen to a woman. My (female) Pakistani colleague or I start to explain something and they cut us off, “yes, yes, yes!” then run off and do the exact opposite of what was asked. She takes the work, show them where things need to be changed, “yes, yes, yes!” and instead of correcting the errors, new ones are made. Were I a manager, I could do something about it. As a customer, I shouldn’t have to. It’s not a matter of ego at this point – I don’t care what people think of me – but we have to get things done in a short period of time (like pull together brochures for a trade fair we just learned we’re a part of), and it just isn’t happening because I can’t run the printing presses myself.

Another example:

Back at our fancy hotel in the evening, a young Pakistani man began stalking my colleague and I. We weren’t frightened, but when she determined that he was not a guest, my colleague informed hotel security. A trio of burly security men came to our room. Half way through the description, “yes, yes, yes!” and off they charged, ready to do some damage.

Thirty minutes later they showed up at my door, with the photographer for the wedding going on downstairs sandwiched between them, looking pissed but too sensible to express his outrage.

I set him free, apologizing profusely and inanely. It wasn’t my fault he’d been rousted by the guards.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t listen to my apology.

Bio-fuels

Lahore Hotels

The staff in Lahore Hotels are marked by an insanity-inducing obsequiousness. Example:

Last night, as I was retiring to my room after a day that had gone on for far too long, I was stopped outside my door by the floor manager. "What would you like for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Nothing, thank you."

"No breakfast?!"

"No, thanks."

"But we will bring it to your room!"

"I really don't want breakfast."

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks."

"Tea?"

"Nothing, please."

"Juice?"

"No, THANK YOU."

Then, after a night interrupted by noise from the wedding party below and a fairly good-sized 3 a.m. earthquake, I was awakened at 5:30 a.m. by a brisk knock on my door. "Room service! Tea? Coffee?" a man called chirpily.

"GO AWAY!"

The Road to Lahore

Yesterday my colleague and I drove from Islamabad to Lahore. It's a four hour drive on the motorway, which winds over the Great Salt Range (think Arizona cliffs) and through scrubby plains. We lost a tire halfway to Lahore, then got a speeding ticket for going a whopping 5 MPH over the limit. Once in Lahore, we were delayed by a minor fender-bender on the canal road. A small truck had bumped a shiny new bus belonging to Lahore University. Men lept from the bus, dragged the truck driver out and beat him, while the truck driver's son cowered, hidden from their view, behind boxes in the back of the pickup. A police car was parked 500 yards down the road, so we stopped and told them what was going on. The cops were uninterested. Finally, they grudgingly said they'd "call it in." Call it in? The activity was 500 yards behind them!

Then we learned that our hotel reservation had not been made, and since the British cricket team is in town (and losing badly to the Pakistanis) all the hotels are booked full of cricket fans. We finally got a room in a place called the "Kabana", which looks about how you'd imagine a hotel called the Kabana would look.

I'm Out!

I made it to Pakistan this afternoon. The airport wasn't as awful as I'd feared. They've started rearranging flights due to the Haaj, and last year's Haaj madness at the airport was... madness. Many of the pilgrims had never been on a plane before, and their only transaction experience was in a bazaar, so clusters of dozens of men thronged the counters, shouting and pushing, ignoring any semblance of a queue. I seem to have missed the high season for pilgrimages to Mecca, however, and I was just so damned happy to be leaving on time that nothing much bothered me. I plugged in my Ipod, listened to Christmas music, tried unsuccessfully to brush the dirt off my slacks, and imagined myself deplaning in Islamabad.

One thing has changed at the airport though. This is the first time I've had my luggage gone through by stewardesses at the door of the plane and been body searched once inside. The Pakistani airline had clearly cottoned on that security at Kabul airport wasn't up to snuff. The x-ray machine was broken, and the women who were supposed to search my bags just smiled and waved me on when I greeted them in Dari.

A Farewell to RPGs

I got my visa. Largely because I'm feeling superstitious, the story of how I got my visa will not be told until I've actually left the country. Suffice it to say, I didn't pay any bribes, owe someone a big favor, and am feeling mildly homicidal about the whole affair.

But the weather report looks good for Saturday, so unless fuel is again being diverted for earthquake relief, I should be outta here and off to Pakistan.

Say it Isn't SO!

I'm trapped in Kabul.

Two weeks ago I submitted my passport to get my Afghan visa renewed. Five days ago my visa expired. Today I discovered that the foreign ministry has been closed all week and will continue to be closed all week, so I won't be getting my visa before my plane leaves on December 10th for Islamabad.

And I worried I'd be delayed by the weather.

Hopefully I'll get the visa by the beginning of next week and be off to Islamabad by the 14th. My plane leaves for California on the 20th. Given the vagaries of Kabul weather, which shuts down the airport at the slightest drizzle, this schedule seems to be cutting it awfully fine.

Is Aid Work Working?

Something interesting was reported today, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

About a week ago an Indian working on the construction of a road in the south was kidnapped, a ridiculous demand was made (I think for Indians to stop building Afghan roads and leave immediately), and he was killed. The guys who work on and along the roads (demining, construction, etc.) have been getting picked off on a regular basis by insurgents, so this was horrible but nothing new here.

What was new is that yesterday a Taliban commander went on TV, face covered in a black turban, to deny Taliban responsibility. He said that road building helped the Afghan people and the people who murdered the Indian man were "enemies of Afghanistan."

???

Usually the Taliban claims responsibility for EVERYTHING that goes wrong. If the US Ambassador reported stubbing his toe, they'd take credit for it. The problem is weeding out spurious Taliban claims of responsibility to figure out who the real culprits are. Why aren't they taking credit for this?

It's probably too much to hope for that the Taliban is hearing that the locals are getting annoyed with Taliban attacks hindering reconstruction. But I'm hard-pressed to find other, more sinister motives. There's always a more sinister motive!

Alpha Team

I was with the Alpha team on Jalalabad road. The road was situation black, but dammit man, we were in an armored car and there were Skittles at the PX.

A shot rang out.

The maid screamed.

"When I get back to Montana, I'm going to lie," S said, admiring her new sniper team "one shot, one kill" ball cap.

"I don't think anyone believes me when I tell the truth," I said ruefully. It was a tight fit for the three of us in the back of the armored car, and I was jealous of the cap. Had I seen it at the PX, I would have bought one too. "Besides, what's to make up? I didn't know it was code black on this road. Did you?"

We'd spent Friday afternoon at the base, eating lunch with the guys in the mess. The soldiers complained about the food, and by American standards it was fairly uninspired. But compared to the usual Kabuli restaurant fare it was a treat. Garlic mashed potatoes, mini pizzas, onion rings! I was in heaven. Their little wooden chapel was decorated for Christmas, and as we left the mess we watched two officers get their promotions in a ceremony before the base flags. But the base overall is a grim, industrial sort of place, and I feel for the guys stuck on it.