Hockey Night in Baghdad

The other day I joked with my boss that what the embassy complex was lacking was an ice rink. "Gotta get my hockey fix," I said.

He reminded me about the 4-on-4 street hockey that took place by the gym. And, indeed, street hockey was one of the sports activities organized by the MWR folks. Every other Friday evening at dusk, the hoopsters are ushered off the court, to be replaced by a bunch of rangy guys with plastic sticks and a rubber ball.

I had so much fun playing last night, and didn't realize when it was all over that I had had almost an hour and a half of exercise that was a heckuva lot more than going running (with or without my boss). Most of the guys were enlisted soldiers, with a few civilians thrown in. As the night went on, we felt a growing camraderie, and it's unfortunate that by the time the next hockey night rolls around, I'll be on a plane going home.

It Ain't Shreveport

(As Judge E. Grady Jolly would say.)

Banal Yet Surreal

Sometimes, every once in a while, I forget that I'm in a war zone. I have three email accounts here, a cell phone, air conditioning, a gym, pool, books, and good food that I don't have to pay for. Yesterday I went to pick up my laundry -- ready in two days rather than the promised three because customer service is a priority -- and when I pulled out my wallet to pay for it, the staff looked at me quizzically and said, "But Sir, it's no cost." I think I've spent all of $10 here, all on mocha frappes at the Green Beans, the 24-hour lounge/cafe in the middle of the freakin' embassy complex.

Well, I guess that doesn't count the military-approved ballistic Oakley sunglasses I purchased at the PX my first day here. (But I used my credit card, so it doesn't really count.) I also bought replacement clear lenses and a hard case that I later realized I wouldn't be needing -- and have unsuccessfully gone three times to try to get a refund. Unsuccessfully not because the PX has a policy against refunds -- that would be bad customer service again -- but because the credit card machine is temperamental in the special Oakley store part of it. The last time I got a bit frustrated and the clerk responded, "Relax dude, it's not my fault -- we're in Iraq."

That's the thing, I could understand if the store didn't take credit cards, or didn't offer refunds -- reasonable under the circumstances -- but once you raise expectations, well, expectations are raised.

Also, while the PX has plenty of flat-screen TVs, the latest DVDs, magazines, laptop peripherals, and all the rest one would find in at a decent (albeit small) Walmart -- as well as a nearby Subway and Burger King -- it's out of what I most need, an alarm clock. Though "that's on order, sir, so any day the convoy should bring them."

It's funny really: Here I am getting annoyed about having to spend a bit more time going back and forth to the PX when there are helicopters and missiles flying overhead at all hours, and car bombs killing scores of people a couple of miles away...

Sometimes you just have to smile and shake your head and get back to work.

Sleepless in Baghdad

I've been having trouble regularizing my sleep cycle here. Either I can't fall asleep despite being tired, or I wake up in the middle of the night for a couple of hours, or I wake up way ahead of my morning alarm (the electronic, not projectile, kind). I don't know whether this is residual jet lag, or subconscious stress from being in a war zone, or just nervous excitement from being at a new job in a new place. Probably a combination of it all, and I don't discount the "surreality" factor of living in such a weird environment. It's wreaking havoc on my workout schedule, though, as well as forcing an increase in coffee consumption and making it hard to stay awake during meetings. At least I have Cobra II to keep me occupied during these insomniac interludes.

Morale, Welfare, Readiness

War is hell. Not that I would know personally -- other than random rockets and stray celebratory fire, I haven't really been in harm's way (knock on wood) -- but I can certainly imagine. To maintain morale, the military (here in conjunction with the State Department) contracts for a variety of MWR (Morale, Welfare, Readiness) facilities an programming. On the embassy compound, that means everything from yoga and dominoes, a movie theater and 24-hour gym.

This morning I received in my email inbox -- yes, by the way, I'm now the proud owner of both DoD and State email accounts -- a schedule of MWR activities for the week. Activities are centered around three areas: the pool, the gym, and the 24-hour coffeeshop/lounge in the middle of the palace. Along with swim meets and regattas (with man-size boats made of empty water bottles) in the actual pool, the space around it hosts a variety of weekly theme nights, such as karaoke Wednesdays, country Thursdays, and salsa Fridays. The area by the gym features soccer, basketball, and street hockey. And the central lounge (named "Green Bean" after the coffee chain that I'm supposed to have heard of") plays host to domino tournaments, chess matches, jujitsu, and a bunch of other things.

Some of it is a bit cheesy -- especially the full-color photo-shopped ads they use to advertise everything -- but it does lighten the mood and provide necessary stress relief.

Come to think of it, it's all part of the great Club Med Baghdad.

Club Med Baghdad

I just got back from swimming in Saddam's pool, which is really a sight to behold, even with the central fountain disabled. The contractors in charge of running it created a few lane ropes out of rope and empty water bottles, and the pool is plenty big for lap-swimming, water-basketball, and all sorts of other recreation. Interestingly, each "lap" is 33.5m (or 0.021 miles), though the sign that says that also somehow states that 24 laps = 1 mile. Must be some weird Iraqi math...

A few things to consider when planning your next trip to Club Med Baghdad:

1. While alcohol is no longer served on the embassy grounds (except, I'm told, an ad hoc two-hour happy hour Friday nights), you can get a virgin fruity drink while lounging in the 120-degree heat.

2. Relatedly, no handling of firearms while drinking (unclear whether this is to prevent bad shots or spilled drinks).

3. Military and other DoD personnel are restricted in the swim attire they may wear. Men may not wear Speedos (unclear whether wearing one leads to the presumed violation of "don't ask, don't tell"). Women are limited to one piece suits or two-piece "sports" suits (no string bikinis, unfortunately).

4. The pool is strategically located next to the chow hall, boasts an outdoor dance floor/lounge area, is overlooked by two pool tables, and is also in close proximity to several duck and cover bunkers. (Apparently ducking and diving under the pool surface has the same effect as a concrete bunker because shrapnel slows down quickly in water. It's all in the timing of when you dive, however; waiting till after the missile detonates is too late.)

5. You must have a badge to access the pool (see previous posts).

Resolution

I got my stinkin' badge! It took -- get this -- the personal authorization of the Deputy Chief of Mission (meaning the deputy ambassador, the number two State official in Iraq). We immediately filed my paperwork for DoD and State internet access, both of which should (fingers crossed) be in place by the end of the week. Or, you know, we'll just ask the President to sign off on it or whatever...

Seriously, though, I fully appreciate what an anomaly my situation is. But a signature from my boss, the head JAG in Iraq I remind you -- let alone one from General Petraeus -- ought to be enough for all this stuff. That it isn't just points to a serious breakdown in inter-agency cooperation. Not so much a breakdown, but a permanent dysfunction. I'll have more on this important theme later, because it plays into pretty much every aspect of our Iraq policy and administration.

Anyway, once I get my internet access, I'll move from where I've been working -- in the classified zone with the JAGs -- to a desk in the DoJ section. (It would more naturally be with some State folks, including a young partner from my firm who's been here on leave for nearly a year, but they simply don't have the physical space.)

My job, on which also more later as it becomes more defined, is liaising among DoJ, State, and DoD rule of law operations. Coinciding with getting fully badged up, I finally got an official title: Special Assistant/Advisor to the Law & Order Task Force.

my morning alarm

The air raid siren just woke me up, followed closely by the all clear. So apparently my tardiness has reached such global proportions that even the Islamofascists are joining the efforts to make sure I get my PT (physical training) and arrive at work on time. Ah well, another day, another Katyusha...

Loose Lips Sink Ships

I'm in the process of receiving my Embassy ID, and one of the steps to go through is a security briefing. To wit, Operational Security, or OpSec. Watch what you say in public areas, over a cell phone, on a blog, etc. Now, obviously, I'm not going to write about troop movements or operations in this space (nor would there be reason for me to be privy to such information), but there are other observations, which would otherwise be good flavor for my writing, that I'll have to withhold. And I'm not talking about classified information -- though the powers that be are working on getting me some sort of temporary clearance -- but little tidbits that, when combined with other little tidbits, have the potential for endangering the mission. But don't worry; there's more than enough non-sensitive information to go around.

Duck and Cover

One more thing: In the week leading to my departure, when my friends would wish me "safe travels," and advise that I "keep [my] head down," I retorted by referring to the 50s' civil defense slogan "duck and cover." Well, here I am in the Green Zone and what do we have every 100 feet or so but yellow concrete shelters labeled "Duck and Cover Bunker." Truth is stranger than, uh, irony.

First Impressions

Hot and dusty, with palm trees in the Green Zone but mainly scrub elsewhere. If this was once the cradle of civilization, civilization has come a long way. The brightness of the light is impressive.

My first stop was Camp Victory, the headquarters of the coalition forces (Multi-National Forces Iraq, or MNFI). The first building I entered, not counting the mess hall at the air base, was Saddam's "Victory Palace." It's an imposing structure surrounded by artificial lakes and canals. Beautiful, really, if it weren't for the sandstorms and broiling heat. Gorgeous marble inside -- definitely the US Army's best latrines -- but shoddy workmanship. Got briefings on the MNFI's rule of law efforts, but had to excuse myself in the middle of one of them because I was dying of jet lag. Set my head down on my boss's desk for an hour, then it was time to move on to the International Zone (aka IZ or Green Zone), where I'm living and working.

I can't detail the convoy arrangements for getting from Camp Victory to the IZ, but they were fascinating and clearly well thought out. Apparently the IEDs and ambushes have increased of late, so they spare no precautions. I wore my full body armor (including side, shoulder, neck, and groin attachments) for the trip, but the mood inside the vehicle that carried me was determined, almost ebullient. I felt safe in the presence of all these armed warriors.

In short, every moment I spend with the military professionals charged with executing Operation Iraqi Freedom increases my confidence -- and my belief that we can succeed in this mission if given the time and political space. That's a big if.