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MARHABAH
Went out with the Paras today, army style - which meant I could again dispense with my CP team, riding instead in a low-profile convoy of civillian SUVs (all the rage here) and other non-descripts, all driven and crewed by well-armed uniformed British Army soldiers. Just outside the Green Zone, about 2 klciks from Baghdad International Airport, lies this - Uday Hussein's place of residence before he met with Belial in the depths of Hell. Like all the palaces here (and they are too inumerable to mention) it was the most beautifully designed and construced place. This one was called the floating palace because of the way it looks from a distance, being surrounded by water and accessible only via a specially constructed linkway. Fittingly, it's been taken over, as most have, by ordinary troops who make use of the palaces' many rooms and facilities whilst going about trying to rebuild the infrastructure here. Uday was possibly the most vile of men amongst the vilest of Saddam's regime, taking women he fancied at will, raping them and frequently torturing them too before despatching them in any number of grisly ways. At another of his palaces which lies within the green zone, he kept a menagerie of tigers and big cats to whom he would feed the women he'd raped. The tigers are still there, but are being cared for by Coalition troops now and their diet is of a more conventional meat. It was somewhat fitting that Uday and his brother, Qusay met their end in such a violent manner and I've yet to meet an Iraqi who didn't celebrate at length when news broke of their demise. Things are very tense here at the moment and there seems to have been a marked increase in the number of attacks, many of which never get reported due to their widespread occurence, and to be honest, the sheer volume of them - there are so many each day, they'd fill a newspaper by themselves. Last night was particularly bad with a number of gun battles between coalition troops and terrorists, as well as a number fo rocket and mortar attacks. One mortar landed particularly close to my accommodation last night whilst I was getting ready to go out, shaking the foundations. It'sa little bizarre too, walking though a balmy evening on the way to a restaurant, wearing body armour and a NATO-issue helmet but then, it's surprising just how quickly one adjusts to life out here. Had a great evening with the guys from UK Customs and Excise, going to a Chinese restaurant within the Green Zone. I say Chinese because that's how it was styled, but the waiters were Iraqis and there was no Chinese styling anywhere to be seen. The menu was somewhat basic in what it offered - no crackers or seaweed for example - but the food was lovely and made a pleasant change from eating in the Mess. The opnly downside was its location directly next to the US Army Heliport which had taking off and landing incessantly just 20 yards away! No matter, we walked back to base and made for the bar. Someome must have been playing with the elasticity of time because it was suddenly 02:00 and I was very, very drunk! We're losing our chef this week - he's been promoted and is on the move within the Army - so another exuse for a night out! He'll be sorely missed as not only is he a great fella and brilliant company, he's an outstanding cook and one of the army's greatest assets - his breakfasts are something else. What a delight to wander to the mess with a hangover and find eggy bread and a full English waiting! It's his leaving do tonight but luckily tomorrow is our 'half day' so a lay in to recover. Only a small one mind, as the US has decided that tonight is the night the clocks go forward here, so tomorrow we'll be back to living three hours ahead of UK time. Another leaving do to go to tomorrow - there seems to be one every night!
I took this image on the way back from the Red Zone yesterday as an example of just how incongruous life here is. I called it 'Abbey Road - Baghad Style' after the Beatles album cover. Don't be fooled by the traffic lights - they might be functioning, but they are roundly ignored by everybody, meaning the roads are utter bedlam. Society here is still lawless, so cars which look barely drivable race around the streets, crossing juntions and ATS at speed and without pause. Children run across motorways and highways, dodging cars, and people regularly drive contra to the traffic flow if it suits them. It's all rather chaotic and not a little worrying at times but it tends to focus one's mind! Got a trip to the Kurdish north of the country next week which I'm looking forward to as it will show me yet another different side to this beautiful country. It's changing here, inch by inch and the benefits are visible even this soon after the war. Women in particular are becoming ever more confident and there are some stunningly beautiful girls walking around freely and sans chador and hajib, having fun and just being female. All trace of Saddam has been removed from the streets here and it's as if he never existed - the countless busts, murals and images of him which lined every boulevard and highway are gone, torn down by Iraqis celebrating the freedom his absence has gifted them. It can't last of course - it takes time, but gradually, laws and protocols will have to be enforced just so that society can function properly again. I'm looking forward to whatever the next week throws at me and although I have but a loose agenda, I can guarantee one thing - whatever comes my way, it will be something different to anything I've ever experienced at home. It's that kind of place, Baghdad. Il a l-liqa, In sh'Allah |
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1.4.04 15:02 |
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SALAAM
Life in Baghdad continues apace, despite the rise in tensions across the country although I'm learning to take the disruption all in my stride. Despite the constant reminders that we are in effect, living in a war zone, we attempt to live as normal an existence as possible, accepting the eleventh-hour cancelled meetings and last minute changes of plan as part and parcel. Whatever the calamity, the stock phrase here is, 'Welcome to Baghdad!' - Like, what else did you expect? It's the same laissez-faire which sees you eating out in the only Chinese in town (yep, there again on Friday night to say farewell to the departing team from UK Customs and Excise) watching tracer fire arc into the night sky as Apache Gunships chase it down above you and F16s mount a combat air patrol throughout the night over your accommodation (against what?!). Or walking around in body armour and accepting armed personal protection officers as part of life. Friday was a typical "Get on the bus, get off the bus, wait - get on the bus" sort of day. I'd been scheduled to attend the launch of Iraq's Olympic Logo at a football stadium in Baghdad's suburbs presided over by US Amb. Paul Bremer but as we were about to leave, my CP team advised that security outide the venue was too dangerous for us to continue. Thus, I returned to the press centre only to be advised 45 minutes later that the event was back on again. Off we raced through the checkpoints, through Baghdad to the venue. 30 minutes later, the Goon Show arrived (above), Paul Bremer's travelling circus dropping into the stadium in a US Army Blackhawk with goon-like PPOs making a song and dance all the way to the podium and generally being rude, obnoxious and arrogant to any hack or photographer in the arena. How to make friends and influence people. Now, there's a surprise. Er...not.
On Thursday evening, we attended a party at the base thrown to say farewell to Andy and Jay, our chefs who were due to leave yesterday. As you can see from the above image which I took of the event, it's sometimes difficult to believe we're really in Baghdad although as I've mentioned, being in the Green Zone does tend to skew one's reference somewhat. In essence, most of the Green Zone is the area which housed all of Saddam's ministries and palaces, so it is rather more grand and oplulent than the rest of the city I've seen. Here, all is huge palaces and boulevards, monuments, palm trees and beautiful architecture. We're billeted in a complex which Saddam would gift to visitors - "Here is my spare palace, use it whilst you are my guest".
That's Andy and Jay above in the picture in full local dress along with another partygoer. Saturday heralded the most wonderful assignment which should illustrate nicely that whilst all the crap is going on out here, there is some positivity to be found.
The British Embassy in downtown Baghdad stands proud amidst the parched lawn, its Royal Crest resplendent. From a distance, it still looks the grand affair that it once was, reflecting the setting sun and gifting depth to its rich hues against the blank canvas of the old-colonial style building on the banks of the Tigris. But look closer and it becomes apparent that the building is in need of considerable cosmetic attention; it is not of a condition befitting sovereign territory abroad. Because for the past thirteen years, it has stood deserted save for one man. That man is 73 year old Mehdi Alwan, its caretaker since 1964 and it is soley due to his lonely vigil and tireless, unquestioning loyalty that it stands at all. As British Army tanks rolled into Kuwait in January 1991, the former deputy head of our Iraqi mission made ready to depart having evacuated the embassy’s staff. As he left, he handed the keys to to Mr Alwan, asking him “Could you look after the embassy for us until our return?” Mr Alwan took him at his word and did just that – throughout the first Gulf War, through the years that followed and right up to our return in April 2003. And on Saturday, his loyalty was officialy rewarded when he was made MBE at a ceremony in the embassy grounds conducted by Christopher Segar, head of Britain’s Office in Iraq and the man who as deputy head of the former British Mission, made the request of Mr Alwan. Before an audience of Mr Alwan’s sons, his five grandchildren and other family members and British representatives in the old courtyard at the heart of the embassy, Christopher Segar read out the citation from HM the Queen in flawless Arabic before presenting Mr Alwan with his MBE.
As caretaker and guard he maintained a lonely vigil, looking after the place in everyone's absence without contact or assistance, protecting it from looters and maintaining the property as best he could. When I asked him what motivated him, he shrugged his shoulders matter of factly: “This embassy is in my blood. For thirty years I have been here - I have to protect it” We don’t build embassies like this anymore. In 1921, General F.S. Maude, commander of the British forces who captured Baghdad from the Ottoman Turks made it his Divisional Headquarters until the withdrawl of our army when it became our permanent Mission in Iraq. The whitewashed walls of the buildings in the embassy grounds suggest echoes of earlier, happier times – the patioed sunroof overlooking the city on the opposite banks redolent of gin and tonics under a setting sun, barbeques in high summer.
As Mr Alwan escorted me though the embassy grounds, he showed me rooms which had lain untouced for over a decade. The clock stopped at the embassy in 1991 and everything is as it was left. The posters on the walls promoting London, Scotland, Wales are all vintage late eighties. The sun-faded portraits of the Queen which overlook the cobblestone courtyard show a younger, less weary Monarch. And within the old registry, the offices, papers lie atop desks, telexes pinned to the walls. Books line the walls, immaculate first editions from another time perfectly preserved in the dry, arid heat of Iraq’s climate. In the clubhouse, the walls no longer echo to the laughter and conversation which once filled the place, but its piano sits in a corner still and there are glass marks on the dust covered bar. Above the entrance to the old building the royal crest gleams in the bright sunlight. Looters came armed with Kalashnikov AK-47s and tried to steal it, but Mr Alwan stood firm after calling in his sons. He told me how the three fought off the armed men and wrested back the crest. "My two sons and I did everything we could to protect the embassy - four men - they tried to shoot at me. I called my sons. We protected the crest." Now, Mr Alwan’s son Yasser has assumed responsibility for the building after assisting his father through his lonely vigil.
Even better was the fact that the CP team dropped me back at base in time for the Arsenal v Man U FA Cup semi final which I watched through half-closed eyes as my team fell to bitter defeat against our rivals. I was gutted when the final whistle blew as aside from anything else, I love listening to Ferguson trot out a litany of excuses for his team's lack-lustre performance whenever they lose citing everything but his team as a factor - "It was the ref" or "we should have had a penalty" etc, etc ad infinitum. Still, good excuse as any to repair to the bar and get twatted on beer which costs the princely amount of $1 per large can. That was after a fantastic night at the Chinese mentioned earlier this entry with the three customs officers who flew out yesterday. I've forged some fantastic bonds with people out here, none more so than those three guys and Martin who I was on my Hostile Regions Course with. We've socialised together a lot these past two weeks and will really notice there absence. The customs guys all had completly different personalities, but they complimented one another and between us all, we made a good team. We were all joking at dinner, it's amazing how quickly everything here becomes the norm and we were only hlaf laughing when we said how hard it would be to get back to normal. Here in the Greeen Zone, everything is free - there are refrigerators everywhere full up with bottles of mineral water which you just help yourself to - ditto Mars bars and Snickers and muffins. Several people have retunred to England and absent-mindedly taken water from shop firdges and walked out without paying! Ditto the CP teams who pick us up, take our bags, call us 'Sir' and look after us. It will seem strange being able to go out without wearing body armour and a helmet at all times and awfully quiet without the constant gunfire and explosions which echo across the city. The beer - free at parties, $1 a can any other time - and plentiful free Coke, wild cats which seem to be eveywhere and always fighting - it's all part of what makes living in the Green Zone so bizarre. Oh, that and having to wear ID around your neck 24/7 which you have to show 3 times to get out and 3 times again on entry everytime you want to get in or out anywhere. Yesterday, I had a meeting out of town planned but the escalation in insurgency which saw seven US soldiers killed in Baghdad yesterday meant a 'lockdown' - nobody in or out of the green zone with or without PPOs. The airport came under mortar attack yesterday too, which meant that the flights didn't get out and thus Andy and Jay are still with us. Thus spent the afternoon back at base watchin Millwall beat Sunderland to a place oppiste Man U in the FA Cup Final. Guess who I'll be cheering for! Am hopeful of returning home next weekend, so I'll be trying to make arrangements for a flight later today. I honestly don't know where the time has gone out here - it's flown past, and everything seems commonplace to me now - part, I guess, of living in a superficial life created within a 4km sq area of Baghdad. I really feel like I've landed on my feet here, found my calling. I love the unpredictability, the assignments which arise out of nowhere to see me grabbing my camera and jumping into a car to race to the scene before rushing back to file a story. It's such a contrast to my normal pace of work and is the side of freelancing which I really love. The people are great and the social side is fantastic. I can't deny I'll be sad to see the back of this place - but I've a while to go yet, so no point worrying about it. The other side of the coin is that no matter how much I like working here, I miss my wife so whilst I'll be sad to go, I'm paradoxically looking forward to at least one element of returning. Trip to the Kurdish north of the country hasn't materialised due to tensions outside the area so I'm hard at work planning the rest of my week. I've a trip away tomorrow on assingment, but I'll blog more as soon as I'm back to my desk. Il a l-liqa, In sh'Allah |
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5.4.04 12:29 |
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STREET LIFE
The picture above was taken on my last excursion into the Red Zone in company with the British Army. SOP here is for armed soldiers travelling in civillian vehicles to have their weapons locked and loaded and sticking out of the window ready for any potential threat - and as we've seen in the past 48 hours, threats here are both constant and widespread. The demonstrations and violence occasioned by supporters of radical Shia cleric Moqtada Sadr have seen more than 50 people killed in two days of protests and led to yesterday's attack by some of the US Army's Apache helicopter gunships on Sadr City, a slum in Baghdad's eastern suburbs. Given that all the trouble hitherto has been with the minority Sunni muslims who had been loyal to Saddam, we're now facing the proscpect of a battle on two fronts. For the first time yesterday, we were warned of potential trouble within the Green Zone and as I was walking along the main drag early yesterday evening, I had a close call with a suspect in a vehicle who drove past my companion and me several times, acting very suspiciously. Fortunately, a US Army Humvee came to our aid and the guy disappeared, but it brought home just how volatile this place is at the moment. The lockdown continues, resulting in all my meetings for today being cancelled, and last night was the worst since I arrived for gun battles, rockets and mortar attacks. Humvees in their many guises are a regular sight within the Green Zone, whether patrolling, parked up or engaged in some activity or other. During daylight, it's awash with soldiers but come night time, it's a little less safe and current advice is for us to stay off the streets. Oh well, back to base early tonight again - at least I'll be able to see the Arsenal v Chelsea game though.
See what I mean about the Humvees - it's hell trying to find a parking space streetside! Remember the news footage at the start of the 'Shock and Awe' bombing campaign? Those night time camera views across the Tigris from the roof of the Palestine Hotel to the precision bombs which fell from aircraft unseen to those buildings at the centre of Saddam's empire? That's what now constitiutes the green zone and most of those buildings which survived the bombing have been taken over by the occupying forces or CPA. It still seems strange to remember that we're not in a State at present but in what is officialy an 'Occupied Territory'. In practice, this means no stamp in one's passport on arrival as the British Military controls Basra Airport, and no laws other than those passed by the occupying powers - at least until we hand sovereignty back to the Iraqi people on June 30th.
This is an image I shot last week whilst driving around the Red Zone enroute to an assignment. It's in the south-west fringe of Baghdad and shows two young women dressed in traditional chador and the not so traditional high heels - another facet of a progressive culture without the restrictive edicts of life under Saddam.
This image shows a suburb just west of the Green Zone, a mix of contemporary and tradtional houses juxtaposed with areas of open space where other homes once stood. I shot this pictuire from the Blackhawk helicopter which flew me to the Iranian border last week.
The US Amry guys work a punishing schedule on tour here and life consists of either eating, sleeping, patrolling or mounting guard. Patrols are long and often result in contacts - gun battles with local insurgents who cruise the capital looking for US Army patrols to engage. Rest breaks are an opportunity for weary soliders to catch a few minutes of sleep before mounting another patrol. Il a l-liqa, In sh'Allah |
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6.4.04 14:33 |
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Visitors' Book
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8.4.04 07:05 |
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LOCKDOWN
What a difference 24 hours makes. Tanks and Bradleys on the streets of the green zone, and anyone with a weapon is carrying it locked and loaded. There's been a marked increase in the number of troops on the ground and at checkpoints, strengthening of security everywhere and we're wearing body armour and helmets 24/7. I'm sitting here watching a live press conference on BBC World News which is taking place in a conference room next door to me. It's in the same conference room from which Paul Bremer uttered those memorable words, "Ladies and gentlemen, we got him!" and its being held by US Army General Sanchez who is in command of the military operations currently taking place across the country. Many of the local 'journalists' here aren't journalists at all and use press conferences to ask 'questions' which are really no more than anti-coalition political statements. Something like 200 'newspapers' opened in Baghdad after the war but have never had an issue printed - the 'journos' use them to get press accreditation. Gradually, they're being weeded out, although Sanchez has handled them rather well thus far. Various reports coming in on the wire as I write - two bombs defused within the green zone and there are unconfirmed reports of a US forces heliciopter having been shot down by insurgents. I'm still trying to get confirmation on that. Last night was one of the worst so far for activity - constant explosions from incoming mortar rounds, rockets. Tracer fire arcing into the night sky, Apaches unleashing their own personal hell in response, and no end of gunfire. In an attempt to preserve some sort of normality (and relieve the boredom of being confined to the green zone) I drove down to one of Uday's palaces yesterday afternoon to see the lions. I've mentioned in an earlier entry from here that he used to feed them on his victims - the women he raped, people he'd tired of - but since the occupation, they've been nurtured, protected and cared for by the Americans.
I went along at feeding time - these two were the youngest and really quite delightful, both gaurding their food jealously as they attacked it with vigour.
She's got something they want! I was shooting straight towards the sun with this one so wasn't overly hopeful of a stunning results, but I love the way the shadows fall and how the sunlight provides backlighting to highlight the flies.
If looks could kill, she'd be a hungry cub. There's something alluring about big cats, and I love the social structure to their groups - one male, several females and the young all working together for the common good. One of the cubs - I think it was the one in the pic above - decided she wanted to play after eating and made a jump at the male's back - he was distinctly unimpressed but he did emit the most incredible roar. If we can get out, I'm going out tonight with a few of the guys to the Chinese - sort of a farewell dinner as I fly out of here soon, and back to normality. Will blog more as and when I know it Il a l-liqa |
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8.4.04 13:19 |
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PARTING SHOT
If a week is a long time in politics, it's a lifetime in Baghdad. After a nightmarish journey butressed by hell at one end and heaven at the other, I'm back. I'm home. I almost never made it. After my last entry on Thursday, the situation in Baghdad deteriorated rapidly. For those of us on the ground, the lockdown was extended making us virtual prisoners in a cell of our own making. For the first time since the end of the war last year, an order was issued forcing us to move into hard shelters; all areas of the green zone outside of certain specified locations were declared no-go areas and perhaps of more concern to those of us left, the bombardment increased considerably. The mortars, the rockets, the gunfire which had previously been a night time 'annoyance' became a 24-hour a day threat with real implications for us all. Friday was to be my final day in Baghdad - I'd managed to book a flight out via Kuwait with British Airways for Sunday morning but first, I had to get there and that meant an RAF Hercules out of Baghdad from what was once Saddam International Airport - and that lay way outside of the green zone in an area which was seeing intense activity from insurgents against coaltion forces. Friday didn't inspire me with confidence - all RAF flights out of Baghdad had been cancelled due to the security situation and the airport had come under intense mortar bombardment. The road from the capital into the airport itself had become a graveyard of vehicles attacked by insurgents, littered with the burnt-out hulls of fuel tankers, overturned cars and trucks. It was a danger zone. Still, I'm an optimist - I could but hope. Midnight on Friday, packed and ready to depart, I took a walk onto the roof of what had been my home for the past 48 hours - a reinforced concrete shelter complex - for a final look across the skyline of the city I had come to love. We'd been under bombardment most of the evening, a litany of incoming mortar rounds battling it out with the occasional rocket blast and incessant small arms fire getting increasingly near to our location. It had been quiet for an hour or so. It was a balmy, peaceful evening and I was in conversation with two US Army soldiers in the watchtower atop our accommodation. Out of nowhere, the peace was shattered by a 'whooooosh' overhead, the unmistakable sound of an incoming rocket. I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, knowing only that the missile was destined to land close by. I had no idea that it would be as close as it was. Just a nanosecond after hearing the rocket's flight, there was a brief, immeasurable moment of nothingness - and then the sky was rent by a noise the like of which I have never heard before. The impact site was no more than 100 yards from where I stood, looking transfixed at the incredible destruction wrought by the 157mm missile. I felt the blast wave hit me, lifting me from my feet and moments later, the noise - the most incredible, all-enveloping sound reached outwards, consuming everything in its path. There was nothing else, just the sound of the explosion - a palpable thing which threatened to seemingly extinguish every aspect of life within a two mile radius. And as suddenly as it had appeared, there was nothing - just a crater and some fiercely-burning flames at the site of impact, and the night silence punctuated by countless car alarms in the car park past my right shoulder, set off by the blast wave. No injuries, no fatalities. They tried again. Just seconds after the arrival of the first, another whoosh, another rocket inbound. It lands even closer than the last one - I see it hit the ground and in that spilt second, I know I'm going to die - there is no shelter, just open ground between me and the warhead. I tense, waiting for the inevitable... And wait. Nothing. It's a dud - it fails to explode. I slept fitfully that night. Early on Saturday morning, my close protection team arrived to take me to the airport only in place of the usual two car escort, I was now in a four car convoy. The guys were jumpy on the run out, constanly fingering their automatic weapons, their eyes scanning for threats, steering a path along the highway between the skeletal remains of vehicles attacked by RPGs and small arms fire. We reached the airport without incident but almost immediately came under fire from mortar rounds. One, two, three, four...the unmistakable 'whoosh...crump' as the rounds landed, 'walking' forwards, each impact closer than the one before and all within the grounds of the airport. Ten minutes, another four. Then a rocket. I look up and I see a cloud of thick, black smoke a klick or so along the road I've just travelled. I grab my D1 and take the image above - that cloud is the burning remains of another fuel convoy, attacked by insurgents on the road to Baghdad, just another few names to add to the increasing number of dead from the Coalition forces. It's hot. 92 degrees and not even mid day yet and as well as no hard shelter from the threat of incoming rounds, there's no shelter from the fierce desert sun. Two litres of water pass my lips in two hours. I watch first one, then another RAF Hercules take flight in the by now familiar tactical climb - ultra-low level followed immediately by a 75 degree angle of bank first one way, then the other, climbing a steep, banking spiral directly over the airport site to the final flight level, out of range of any surface to air missile, out of harm's way. We're called for our flight and walk to the Herc on the pan just as another takes off ahead of us - and it comes under attack almost immediately. Mortars - another four, and this time, they really are too close for comfort. And they find their target - a group a little away from us, wreaking havoc, destroying the lives of others like ourselves, sparing us, but not them. We board the aircraft just as the airport tannoy makes an all-points call for assistance for all Emergency Room and trauma team personnel onfield to report immediately. Casualties. The take off is the most tense period of my life to date - escape is so close, safety nearby but still just out of reach. For ten minutes immediately after leaving the ground, we are still a target, still within range of anything the insurgents want to throw at us. I'm drenched in sweat, it feels like our collective futures sit atop a knife edge. And suddenly, we're safe. Still the same people, the same aircraft. But now we're out of range and the cloudless skies permit a view of the peaceful, flat, featureless terrain of Iraq's desert far below us. I imagine the missiles aimed, but falling short of their mark like spent arrows fired from below, and it feels for the life of me like I've been chased out of the country by a barrage of fire snapping at my heels. I sleep fitfully in Kuwait that night, every distant sound becoming mortar or rocket fire in my semi-conscious mind. Sunday morning arrives for me just after midnight with a 3 am departure from the US Army base which has accomodated me since landing. For the first time in three weeks, the military machine hands me over to the more familar and desirable elements of civillian life as I'm left with my luggage and two other people at the ultra modern, deserted Kuwait International Airport with the promise of home a few short hours away.
07:00 and I'm first in line for the Club World check in at the BA desk. Five minutes and boarding card in hand, I'm through to departures and the blissful oasis of the Club World lounge. It all feels so unreal. The flight into Heathrow was as idyllic as the RAF flight out of the UK some three weeks previously had been hellish. BA's business class product is one of the best on the market and the less than half full cabin meant the each 'cocoon' was next to another, empty one. I pressed the button to slide the seat into its flat, bed position and grabbed a power nap, a few hours to help me face the rest of the day. The flight was effortless, the luxury, the service so incongruous with that which had been the norm for the past few days.
And seven and a half hours after taking off, I saw England's green and pleasant land a few hundred feet beneath the aircraft. Home. Back to safety. Back to a view of Iraq filtered and presented by the TV news as against the uncluttered clarity of vision presented by my own eyes. My mind's a whirl. A million thoughts, a thousand feelings and a changed perspective which I need to, and will, write about here. A huge thank you to everyone at 20six who has commented, sent me emails or generally wished me well whilst I was away - your thoughts, your comments reached through the distance and the fog of the conflict to present a link to normality. Thank you. |
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13.4.04 12:38 |
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CONSIDERING...
Hard to believe that I've been back a week. A week of treading water, reaclimatising, thinking. So much to say, so much to tell. A new perspective, but I need time to put it all together, cross reference, research. I'll blog it this week - I need to get it all down, write it whilst it's still raw, whilst the fire burns brightest. Met with my editor last week and he's been more than his normal supportive and understanding self. Nothing positive or upbeat in terms of news from the trip so that element of the budget will have to be written off at least - a £6,500 premium for the £300k of life assurance to cover the period I was away, travel, subsistence...not to mention my time and expenses...for what? Nothing of any use for the agency, that's for sure. Plenty for elsewhere though. I had to laugh on the flight back from Kuwait when, on finals for Heathrow, I asked the stewardess for a bottle of water and she said "Okay, I'll give you one." Not "Of course, let me get it for you", or "I'll get you one" - "I'll give you one." I let it go - didn't want to embarrass the poor girl! I can't think of a suitable way to end this entry so will end it here instead. |
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19.4.04 13:35 |
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