Rubbing salt in the wounds

Erbil’s still fantastic. It’s pretty much a ghost town, but it’s my little ghost town, at least for now. And it’s as boring as ever, at least on weekends.

During the week, I usually work until 6 p.m., then head to the gym, which takes until 7:30 or 8 p.m., so, after a shower and dinner, that’s pretty much all she wrote. But weekends are far more boring. Even sleeping late – 7 a.m. for me – puts me done in the gym, showered and fed, and even post-nap, by 10 a.m., and after that, there’s just not much else to do. I work for a couple of hours so I don’t get behind (everyone here works 7 days, but me far less than most) but that’s about it.

The do seem to subscribe to a better AFN; there seem to be more movie channels. One of them consistently plays Star Wars. I’ve seen the tail end of “Han Solo” once and “The Last Jedi” three times since I’ve arrived. And I’ve snagged DVDs from the library, catching the whole first series of “Big Little Lies” and some of “Breaking Bad,” which isn’t near as good the second or third time around.

I haven’t made it off campus; since there aren’t as many people here, they don’t offer the grocery store runs as often. Since I’m due to leave at the start of July, it doesn’t make sense to sign up to go anyway; I’m about halfway done. This late in the game, I figure I should just make do with what I have.

It might be a Peace Corps trait: seeing what you have and then figuring out what you can do with it. We had a little party last night and I remembered I’d looted a brownie mix from the other house, and threw it together. I’d bought eggs, so I used three of them. The “sauce” package called for milk, and what do you know, I’d brought the rest of the powdered milk, so I used that, too. As far as what I brought, I’m down to a little powered milk, rice and lentils from the grocery store and tea bags, Stevia, two root beets and six individual cereal bowls. The store-bought stuff is at one serving of alfredo sauce, a stick of butter (not really sure why I bought this) and eggs that won’t quite carry me through. When they run out I’ll double up on the cereal, or something. No plans on taking anything back. I’ve lugged the 50-pound bag enough recently.

In the little break office here, there’s a nice massage chair, which I love. My calves are always tight and when you sit in the chair barefoot it gives you nice little foot massage. Since my current tennis shoes don’t fit quite right and have rubbed massive blisters on my heels, I appreciate this. And in inspecting the Kennedy half dollar-sized blood blister on my right foot, I realized I have some pretty darn ugly heels.

And in the cupboard here, I have a ton of salt. It’s once of those spices that everyone buys and of course they only sell in giant bags. I’ve no idea how much normal people use salt, but one of those Morton’s things lasts me for years. And in each TDY house I’ve been, there might not be much, but there’s a ton of salt. I guess everyone buys a bag without checking first to see if there’s any they could use. Why would you, I suppose, except in the 6-bedroom TDY house there were probably four canisters of it, and in the house I’m in now there were two.

That’s past tense. There’s only one now. As I was looking at my horridly ugly feet, two words popped into my head: “salt scrub.” Without bothering to research what exactly a salt scrub might entail outside of, you know, salt, I went to the cabinet to see what I had. Olive oil! Perfect! I decided to jimmy up a salt scrub and pamper my feet. Seriously, there is nothing to do in Erbil!

I dumped out half a salt container and some oil. Proportions schaportions. I just winged it. I realized in almost every foot massage I’ve ever had (you can count on one hand), I’ve had my feet soaked before, I looked around for something to use and came up with a huge broiler pan. I suppose this might gross the next TDYer out, but I’ll never tell. After looking at what spices I had, I went with rosemary, and dumped a bunch in. Then I remembered I found some tea tree oil soap and threw that in, which scattered the rosemary but whatever.

Here, you don’t have to worry about getting the water warm enough. It is so hot outside and we don’t have nice things like good plumbing, so the water is hot in the summer. After my morning run, I can’t get the water cold enough for a shower – and I don’t like cold showers. It’s hot. Always hot, so I figured that’s perfect for a DIY foot soak.

Gotta say, it was pretty blissful. It would have been more blissful delivered  by some strong-muscled guy, but it was pretty nice. I just curled up with a book – Up In the Air, which was wildly different than the movie – and then scrubbed my feet raw. Not bad.  They’re still cracked, callous-y and ugly, but they feel a lot better.

From One 100 Acres to Another

I’m back and almost recovered from jet lag. Had a long journey back to my 100-Acre Sandbox, which took – somehow – four days, including two overnight flights and two long layovers. Go figure.

One of those layers was Rome, a place I’ve visited twice before, once also on a long layover. That day, I ran into some Darija-speaking hawkers outside the Colosseum, who, after learning I lived in Morocco (this was during Peace Corps, obviously), came really close to inviting me over to couscous. They were thrilled some random white chick who spoke their language (albeit very badly) stopped by.

That visit, as well as my previous one, happened to be on whatever day of the week it is the Vatican is closed, probably Monday. When I learned I’d have a 12-hour or more layover in Rome, I figured I needed to head over to the Holy See. Had a blast, although I think I sleepwalked through some of it.

Following Internet directives, I booked my ticket and a bus from the airport in advance, and made sure there was a “store your bag” place at the airport for my backpack. (Best 6E I spent, for sure.) My goal was to hit the Vatican by 1 p.m., but I missed because I missed my stop. I was conscious we stopped, but I listened to the driver and I swear he did not say “Vatican.” I stayed on until the next stop, the main train station, and took the metro back to the Vatican, which sits on a walled 100 acres.

All this came after my first overnight flight, which had been jam-packed. For reasons that I will remain bitter for a long, long time, I had a middle seat for the 9.5-hour flight and didn’t get a wink of sleep. I can’t even remember which movies I watched, but point being, I was pretty tired as I fumbled my way to the Vatican. 

I finally figured out which metro stop I needed, successfully bought one ticket but in the process accidentally bought two, then made my way down to the metro. I was so tired that, watching my feet as I went down the stairs, I saw myself going to miss one. I remember thinking, “You are going to miss that stair and fall,” but I was just beyond being able to do anything about it but hang on to the handrail and hope for the best. I collapsed and I’m just so glad that A. I was on the next-to-last step so I didn’t fall far and B. didn’t break my ankle. No one so much as glanced at me.

After only asking one person, I figured out where the Vatican was and made my way through a maze of tourists as I went to three successive stops to get my voucher exchanged for a ticket, then to get the audio guide and then to get headphones for the audio guide. No idea why those weren’t at the same place but whatever.

Oh, the tourists. It was a Saturday, I think, or maybe a Friday, and the place was jammed. That was probably normal, but I was dodging little tour signs, which varied between flags and flowers or stuffed animals on sticks, all day long.  Huge tour groups. Gosh, on the flight from Atlanta, there was a group that had to have been 40 people.  I snapped lots of pictures (none in the Sistine Chapel – not allowed) but nothing was particularly good because I have the heads of a bunch of people I don’t know in most of them.

But the Sistine Chapel is pretty amazing. I plunked myself down and tried to absorb all the audio from it, but there’s just no way to take it all in at once if you’ve never really studied it. Humanities was a long time ago, and all I remember is Michelangelo, also come to find out, Raphael did quite a bit, too, as did others. (I’m not ready for the test.)

The museum was stunning, though. The ceilings were so high, and all decorated. There was so much incredible artwork, with pretty much each pope having his own collection. My favorite was the hall of maps, which was this long, long hallway with, you guessed it, maps painted in murals down both sides. They were all maps of regions in Italy, and were each huge.

One courtyard had a lot of fun sculptures and, for a reason I didn’t quite figure out, these amazing bathtubs. I really enjoyed poking around but was so tired that I know I didn’t get as much out of it as I would have liked. I’d gotten there around 2:30 or so and by 4 p.m. was physically done, even though I didn’t even make it over to St. Peter’s Basilica.

I called it a day and found a pizza place that had WIFI so I could figure out where my bus picked up. I’d bought a round-trip ticket so even though I missed the drop off I had to find the spot, which was really wasn’t so hard. When I got there, the bus, which came every half hour, happened to be going by so even though it was still only 5:30 or so and my flight didn’t leave until around 11 p.m., I went ahead and got on. I had a great layover, but I was done.

The next flight landed at 3:30, putting me in a hotel at 4:30 a.m. For whatever stupid reason – still bitter – I had to leave the hotel at 7 a.m. the following morning, giving me a night and a half in Amman. I’ve no idea why I couldn’t have just left Florida a day later. (Still REALLY bitter.) In Amman, I crawled into bed around 5 a.m., set my alarm for 10 a.m. so I could hit the breakfast buffet, then went back to sleep until 2 p.m. I didn’t even leave the hotel and only wandered to the first floor for a leg massage, which was wonderful.

Too early the next morning, I headed back to the airport and back to the Sandbox, where I learned I’d head again to Erbil. That’s where I am now and will be for a couple of weeks, which is fine with me. It’s super hot, but it’s a little less super hot than it is in Baghdad. However, since we built the buildings in Baghdad, there’s central AC. There is none of that in Erbil. There are wall units in rooms; that’s the best we can do.

The other two times I’ve been here, I stayed in a TDY house with 5-6 bedrooms. Each room had an AC/heating unit, as did the kitchen and the room with a TV. As soon as you exit the bedroom, a wave of whatever air you were trying to avoid would hit you. This new TDY house is much smaller – 2 bedrooms, and I’m the only person – and it’s the same. I have an AC in the kitchen, which isn’t worth using because it’s a wide open space and I don’t spend a lot of time in there, one in the bedroom and one in the living room. The dining table is in the living room, and the AC blows straight on it, giving me the choice of sweating to death of having cold scrambled eggs. But worse than that is in the morning, when I get up and walk out of the cool room into 95-degree heat, even if it’s 7 a.m. Joy.

Food has been a scavenger hunt. I had a few leftovers from before, so I brought those and will get rid of them, but what I brought wouldn’t last as long as I’ll be up here. I’d counted on the “free food” shelves from the other TDY house.

When I left a month ago, there was plenty of food in there, and there were other TDY people who had planned on staying much longer, so they had tons of it. When we were evacuated suddenly, I knew they wouldn’t have had time or opportunity to take them, so I figured the food had to still be in there still.

So, basically, I looted the place. I went in with my backpack and took unopened packs of macaroni, rice, popcorn, quinoa, olive oil, Oreos, some spices and other random stuff. I left the ramen noodles. After that, I went to the little store and bought eggs, alfredo sauce and juice. I’m still determined to use up existing food as much as I can, so for breakfast I’ve had scrambled eggs and popcorn. It’s really not too bad, but I learned rosemary doesn’t work on popcorn. Definitely go with the chili powder.

Time to trade in my crystal ball

Reporting in from R&R. Been busy, but not with jury duty. I didn’t get selected and, oddly, was a little upset. The defendant, who was charged with robbing someone of a carton of cigarettes and somehow also battery got worked in there, was going to represent himself. I think that would have been fascinating, and, since they said it would only have taken a day, would have been really convenient. But alas, I didn’t make the cut. I’ll never know why, but I wonder if it had to do with me hacking up a lung as we were questioned.

They only needed a jury of six and an alternate, but they must have called 60-80 people. We filled out little forms that included our employer, and then, after a lunch break, they took 30 of us upstairs for questioning. I was No. 5 or so called. Twenty-one of us sat in the little jury box, and on each of our chairs was a laminated thing with questions we had to ask. Just the general: name, where you work, spouse/kids’ names, where they work, if you’ve ever been arrested or know anyone who has, if you think they’ve were treated fairly, etc. 

Initially, they asked people if anyone being there would create an undue hardship. One lady said she was the primary caregiver for her husband, which led to a “who’s with him now?” question, to which she said no one. She eventually got dismissed, but I found that interesting. No one “got off” immediately. Another guy claimed it he was observing Ramadan and therefore could not judge anyone, which was a new Ramadan theory for me, but what do I know? I’ve only lived in four Muslim countries. He was eventually dismissed, too, along with the person sitting next to me, who said she had PTSD from witnessing a shooting and it might be triggered by listening to testimony of a violent incident.

Tallahassee’s a small town. There were three connections between the 21 people seated. Two women's husbands worked at DHMSV, and one realized the other’s husband was her husband’s boss. Another was a therapy dog trainer at TMH and a man’s wife volunteered with that program. That same man had been a middle-school substitute teacher for the 26-year-old who was called. And the next day, I discovered that one of the women I’d talked to at lunch knew Zippy. And Leanne knew both the DHMSV people.

After we did our little introductions, the prosecutor came up and voir dire-d us. He came off as really arrogant, but he was very fair. Since the defendant was incarcerated, he was wearing his little jumpsuit and the prosecutor made a point to ask if anyone would be pre-dispositioned by that. No one said they would. More people than I thought, though, had been arrested. One guy in the back said he’d been arrested three times. Another woman’s son had some kind of drug charge, but he had died awhile back. People know a lot of law enforcement, too. The woman on the other side of me, who was eventually selected, was dating a Gadsden County officer. Someone’s child went to school with Someone Else’s child, where Someone Else must have been some high-up law enforcement person, but I don’t remember the name.

I got asked one question right off, but I forget what it was. He added an “—er” to me name, which made my teeth stand on edge since I found him arrogant. Later, he asked if I knew any military-type people and if that would affect my judgment. I know a lot of military-type people, but I don’t think of them as military-type. I think of them as Mike, Eugene, Reuben, Jed, etc. He also asked someone what kinds of evidence there were and whatever they said, he asked me after that what I would expect to be presented. I said I’d rather not expect anything and look at it as it was presented.

That took forever, and we took a break before the defendant had his turn, but once we came back from the 15-minute break, all he did was say that the prosecutor has said it all (which was true) and all he asked was whether anyone wouldn’t treat him fairly and that all he wanted was a fair trial. After that, we got another break while the judge and the two representatives selected the jury. Not me. I had no idea that was the process. Clearly, I don’t watch enough television. The whole “afternoon jury selection” was weird enough. They do this twice a day, I guess. It sure was a lot for one six-person-plus-an-alternate jury. I was probably out of there around 4 p.m. or so.

After that, my R&R got started, which meant a lot of yard work. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I basically finished the yard work today. Probably 20 bags of leaves, since nothing’s been raked since I left in August or whenever it was. Today was mowing the lawn, raking the side yard and bagging those leaves. It’s a small side yard, and that was seven bags just there. The lot is about .25 acres, I guess and I’m amazed at how much it can gather.

The departure plans changed, thus demonstrating that I really don’t understand my employer whatsoever. I am not, as DC told me, reporting to DC. I got a note from my boss – first communication in a couple of months – asking that I return to Baghdad. Although welcome news, this meant I had to re-jigger all my flights, leading to another $580 in charges for me. Because my R&R wasn’t from Point A to only Point B, I did what we call a “cost-construct,” meaning I remained on the hook for any changes. And swapping the return from Baghdad to DC back to Baghdad (via Amman this time, since Baghdad was too expensive). Joy. That, combined with the $400 charge on the way in made this visit home way more expensive than I thought it would be. Oh well.

Just no idea this would have happened. Normally, we opt for “position” over “person,” meaning however good or bad a particular employee happens to be, it’s the position that the person is in that everything depends on. But this time around, it appears that the factors are different. Since my position is being eliminated, there’s just no way I’d be able to argue it’s “essential,” but someone much higher on the food chain determined that I am clear to return. At the same time, a person with the same job title and whose position would normally be considered essential was evacuated and does not yet have clearance to return. I’m not going to pretend to understand it. I am just glad I will be returning. Now I can drink all that root beer, which I assume is still in my fridge.

Peace Out

I really don’t remember what I was doing five years ago at this time, but in retrospect I should have gone to my five-year Peace Corps staj’s reunion. This past weekend was the 10-year and oh, man, it was so much fun.

“Staj” is the Peace Corps Morocco term for your cohort, all the people who land in Rabat with you. In our case, we landed on Sept. 11, 2007, so the 10-year reunion is more of a reunion of the end than the beginning.

We have an amazing group of Type A planners, and a handful of them sent out a survey of what people might like in a place, where they could get to, etc., and came up with Seven Springs, which is some kind of ski resort about an hour outside of Pittsburgh. Because this was Memorial Day weekend, we had hiking and not skiing but that might have been better. I certainly would have not been inclined to ski.

As it was, I was sick as a dog. The event started on Friday, and on Thursday night I came down with a brutal cold. My Friday was the worst day I’ve had in several years, so it was nice to finally find the place around 11:30 p.m. that evening and start the actual “rest” part of the R&R.

Really, when you stay in a place like this: https://www.vrbo.com/4754456ha, you cannot go wrong just hanging out at the house. It was fabulous. I could have camped out in the kitchen forever, but then I would have missed the gas-powered firepit, which was pretty phenomenal.

My room was the worst part of it; I somehow got the short end of the stick. On paper, it sounded fabulous: the office to myself. I thought there’d be a recliner, but the chair was really a futon-like thing that, for some reason, had each of the three pillow sections set in some sort of frame, so there were pieces of wood stabbing me the whole time. However, I was pretty dead to the world and didn’t move, so on one of those three nights I totally slept. The other room downsides were, although it had doors (the loft did not), they were clear glass so there was no privacy. This being Peace Corps, no one cared about that. It was more annoying that the bathroom off the office also led to the hall, meaning it was kind of the default one if you were on the first floor. No issue there, except people kept forgetting to unlock the door leading to my room when they were done, so I got locked out a lot. And, being that the room was off the kitchen and front door, it was kind of loud. However, I was so sick it really didn’t matter.

Overall, though, the place was just fabulous and it was great to touch base with people I hadn’t seen in 10 years. When I wandered in, everyone still awake was around the fire pit and people just screamed when I wandered in. It was so nice to see folks!

And, 10 years on, I swear we all look exactly the same. It was kind of scary, like a time freeze except some people brought kids. They’d had a five-year reunion and one person had brought a guy she’d just started seeing. On the 10-year, she brought him and the three kids they’d had. She still looked like the exact same Anna who’d sat next to me on the flight from Philly to Rabat, but everything else changed. So incredible!

The first day, I really was too down for the count to do anything; I took a nap in the movie room while the others went hiking and played around. I finally pulled myself off the comfy recliner and went into town to have some awesome potato leek soup and salmon from a restaurant in a neighboring city, then wound back to hang out and reminisce. Our Type A group then cooked up an amazing Moroccan feast, a truly legit Moroccan feast.

Most Americans haven’t experienced a legit Moroccan feast and have to settle for what they find in Moroccan restaurants and hope for the best. Since they’ve never had the real thing, they don’t know that in many cases, those are imitations. They’re good, but still short of the bar. Our meal in Saturday was not. We had it real. Some of it even came from Morocco directly, as one of our volunteers still works there. Oh, the joy of mint tea made with sugar as it should be – chipped off a cone with a hammer. I hadn’t seen schpekia in forever; we had real, hand-rubbed couscous and just all kinds of fixins.  With real Moroccan tea.

On Sunday, I was somewhat functional and enjoyed a hike (walk in the woods) through Laurel State Park and then several rounds of Bananagrams, followed by even more food. Oh, my there was so much food.

Heads. We also had a lot of heads. Apparently last reunion, they went to people’s Facebook pages (or something) and used profile photos to make giant heads on popsicle sticks, using them for photo ops. That was so cute, they did it again. We sort of forgot to take them on most of the day events, but we did hang them by the mantle. Kind of freaky, actually.

On Monday, we all went our separate ways again. A small group of people who had evening flights from Pittsburgh went into town there and did the incline, then we had yet more food before splitting at the airport.

The fifth reunion, I suppose, took place in 2013, when I was in Minot. That would explain why I couldn’t go – no money. However, now that I have a real job that’s reasonably secure, I really hope that I’m able to attend the 15^th.

Helo, Goodbye

I’m one of the “non-essential employees” who got evacuated from Baghdad last week. Or maybe it was earlier this week. At this point, I have no idea what day it is. Everything’s a blur, but I’ve just arrived to DC today. However, my arrival is on schedule for my R&R – they let me continue that more or less as planned.

We showed “Avengers: Endgame” on Wednesday, May 8, after I got home from Erbil. Even though I’d planned on seeing it either that day or the next – we had five showings over those two days – I decided to ease my way back into the embassy’s prison-lite life. There are so many more people in Baghdad than Erbil, and it’s an adjustment to return. The first night, when I walked from my apartment to the cafeteria, I didn’t see a single person I knew. That’s in contrast to Erbil, where you know everyone.

Point being, it took me a couple of days to get up to full speed in Baghdad. My first days were spent unloading a month’s luggage and loading up for R&R, for which I was leaving on Thursday, May 16. My Istanbul flight left on the 17^th but since it was a morning flight I was supposed to overnight at our airport facility.

My working assignment was in the economic department, which was really returning home because I’d been there for over a month before the month in Erbil. And when I got there – work on Sunday – I started hearing whispers that some people might be sent home. Since I was headed for R&R, this didn’t concern me, although I did joke that I gave it 30 percent odds that I wouldn’t come home. I’m nothing if not consistent, but when I said this one day people would laugh, but then the second day, I’d get a little tight-lipped “mmm” in response.

With absolutely no idea what was going on, I tried to re-think my packing. You get 50 pounds on the flight, and my bag originally had 38 pounds of crap, mostly for Wendy. I shipped a couple of flat-rate packages, including sending the toiletries I could fit into a box to Minsk. My thought on that was, on the odd chance I didn’t come back (still giving it 30 percent odds), someone else would have to pack up my stuff and there was no way that would make the cut. Since eventually I hope that stuff would join me in Minsk and I know someone there, I sent it there.

Monday, my second work day of the week, the possibility of leaving and not coming back seemed more real, and I asked for a second bag for my R&R. I figured I’d just throw in more clothes just in case I had to report back to DC, and I was still thinking I was leaving on Thursday night. I had no reason not to; my boss never said a word to me about anything. In all embassies and consulates, there are lists of people who would stay or go in any situation. Normally, people’s bosses would relay that information to them, but that never happened to me. I’m not stupid, though; my position is being eliminated, so I knew there’d be no way my position could be considered essentially, but it would have been nice to have received some kind of official word, you know?

But the economic boss kept me up to date with everything, not that there were any decisions handed down. However, when the second-in-command of the section pulled me aside and said, “you should pack,” on Monday night, I went home and packed, but I still continued with my full workout routine first. I fully figured on leaving on Thursday night for my Friday flight to Istanbul.

However, I figured if whatever hit the fan and people left, I would not be able to take my extra bag, so I shipped more stuff. I paid $40 in postage to ship some sheets that someone gave me to Florida, and I threw in my much-loved stuffed dog and something else that was lying around, maybe my tennis shoes. I sent my spices to Minsk – more that would have been left behind – and something else to Florida, but I really don’t know what it was.

That became the theme. I kept switching stuff, trying to figure out what to pack if I had to go to DC (which is where we’d be evacuated to) or if I went to on with R&R as planned. Just no idea, and Tuesday was more of the same, only more intense. People started shredding and then there was an announcement that there’d be a meeting the next morning to tell us what was going on.

Tuesday night, I only did half my workout routine and continued packing up the apartment. Everything – everything in my entire apartment – got piled up in the living room, so if someone has to come later and throw it all in boxes, it’s all there. I didn’t bring much, but it’s still a giant pile and I hope to see it again. And at that point, it became real that I might be leaving and not coming back, especially when I got a message from my colleague who’d said she’d heard we’d be on the first flight out.

Sleep was out the window at that point, obviously, and I was up until around midnight packing, then couldn’t sleep so I threw in laundry. A late-night email from people higher than my boss said that people needed to be ready to leave after the meeting. That will keep you awake. I put the laundry in the dryer at 5 a.m., resumed packing and then grabbed breakfast. On the walk to the cafeteria, I put out the last two “kindness rocks” I’d painted. One I’d intended to keep but I couldn’t spare the room. It said “bright spot,” and I hope it makes someone’s day later but that morning, it was beyond stressful.

After breakfast, I unloaded my clothes from the dryer, tried to pack again and send off last-minute packages. A friend called and said she’d heard we were on the first flight out, which was the second time I’d heard that. At 7:15, I went into the office to print post-office labels, ran back to mail the stuff (and I hope it eventually arrives) and then went back into the office to shred stuff.

I’m not a paper person. As much as I write, I don’t print. It kills me when people print stuff, and holy cow, the crap we had lying around. I found this big fancy ring binder with a detailed schedule on some VIP visit from 2015! Seriously, don’t print that out. And if you do, don’t put it in a hardbound binder. And if, for some reason that has to be rooted in arrogancy, you do, shred the damn thing when it’s over. C’mon people!

And CDs. Geez, Louis. We’re not even allowed to put CDs into our computers, so why keep these things you get at news conferences or wherever? Don’t take them, but if you take them, shred them as soon as you can. What is the point of keeping things around that you cannot use, or are useless? Good grief.

I was busy up until the meeting time, and everyone and their brother came, like hundreds of people. The place was jam-packed and I went up to the second floor to listen.

The big boss started talking about this and that, then announced we were leaving. He waxed on about the good work that’s taken place since he’s been here and overall, and talked about this and that. I get that he was trying to thank us all, but at that point, there were hundreds of people in the room who just wanted to know what the plan was. Finally, he passed it over to the logistical people, who then rambled on about this and that.

As an organization, we’re not good at getting around to the point. There’s even a movement to try to do that when you’re writing. Since we have acronyms for everything, and they call it BLUF – Bottom Line Up Front. I call that DUH. Don’t bury the news; put it in the lede. And that’s what we all felt like at the meeting. After much talk, they finally dropped the nugget that people would start leaving at 3 p.m. that same day. After a lot of beating around the bush, we gleaned that those people would need to be ready to go at noon, which was about an hour and a half from that announcement. The announcement had come about the same time we were told that at that very moment, we would receive a very detailed email with two comprehensive attachments that we’d be expected to read and complete before departure. After the meeting, the plan was for the probably 1k people in the room to come up and find their name on one of 10 copies of the flight manifests to know if/when they were departing, then go check their email and follow up with it and then go pack/finish packing. Yeah, nothing wrong with that, right?

If Pete hadn’t done it, I would have: from the balcony, he yelled, “Can you just read the manifest for the first flight?” Oh my, how simple was that? Clue in the people who have T-minute 90 minutes to get ready! Fortunately, they did that, and, although it was a bit off-putting that there were a slew of people on the list who weren’t there at the moment, we figured it out.

And I was on the first flight, though one of the people who’d told me we were both on it was not on it. I really had no clue what was going on.

Fortunately, I was allowed to keep my R&R plans, so except for having to re-purchase a $400 flight (which I am not happy about but will have to get over), my life is continuing as planned – at least for the moment. All bets are off on or about June 6 – I was originally headed back to Baghdad that day but now have to go to DC instead – but at the moment I’m enjoying my R&R.

Istanbul, as always, was fantastic. I really didn’t do much tourist-wise. I did my favorite walk from the tower over the bridge, but that really was it. Mostly, I went into the office and hung out with my colleagues. And you know, work is so much fun when you don’t work! I just hung out in the cafeteria and drank tea and visited with people. That probably sounds geeky and lame to people who have never been to Istanbul, but although I think it’s the best city in the entire world, what I mostly miss are people. I had a wonderful time visiting everyone and just a lovely time walking around. I miss it.

I’ll miss Baghdad, too, but for different reasons. And although other people will be back, I seriously doubt I will. Since my position was being eliminated, it doesn’t make sense that they’d send me back. I’m realistic about that. It’s sad to me, since I went in for 20 months and had hoped to add a second year and wound up only being there eight months, but maybe down the road I can sign up again.

I’m going to miss it, for sure. I took my last helo ride out and just tried to enjoy the view, even though that trip in particular was very unsettling.

This job is very much “needs of service” and I get it. My life is in upheaval right now, but I’m not stressed out about it. I have a job and will continue to have a job. Lots will change, but I’m still employed, and there’s still a lot to be thankful for.

Heading back and beating the odds

Made it safely back to Baghdad, and I’m glad to be back. It’s funny because I really love both places but they are vastly different. Walking the three-minute walk from my apartment to the cafeteria the first evening back in Baghdad, I didn’t see a single person I knew. That’s in contrast to Erbil, where in a month, you’ve met 90 percent of the people on the little campus, and you see them all the time.

I was the only one headed from the consulate back, so I had a whole motorcade to myself. The flight, which is our plane, picked up three other passengers at the other airport stop, but that was it. One of them was going all the way in my direction and let me catch a ride in their motor pool car, for which I was grateful because otherwise I had a 30-minute wait for the shuttle. And I got door-to-door service, which was nice because I had a 50-pound bag.

The Big Boss acting as photographer

Yes, I unloaded most of the food but I brought back a bunch of stuff, too. Now I’m repacking for my R&R, which starts in about a week, and, without adding a stitch of clothing, the bag is already up to 38 pounds. This is mostly thanks to Wendy, for whom I have a bunch of hand-me-down stuff that includes a really nice king-sized sheet set that’s unbelievably thick. Since I’m not planning on picking anything up on R&R, I’m going to have an amazingly empty bag going back.

This time next week, I should be in Istanbul, and I have nothing at all set. I’m looking forward to visiting friends and have a couple ideas of things to do, but since the bag is already overloaded, it’s not like I’m going to pick up anything.

I’ve got a few stops before I get to Florida, and one of those is my Peace Corps reunion. It’s only over a weekend, but because I won’t have made it to Florida by the time I go, I will still be lugging this massive suitcase, plus a backpack. My Peace Corps cohort is going to think that I’m nuts.

Once I get to Florida, I think I should consider playing the lottery. I’m on a role beating the odds. I got a jury summons for, by sheer coincidence, for the day after I’m due to arrive in Tallahassee. It’s really incredible. Not only do I work in Iraq, but I’ve never taken an R&R back to America, so, in no world should this have happened, but it did. I’ve had people tell me I should be able to get out of it, but I have no intention to. I mean, why not? I’m still a good citizen, even though I live away. Really, I could probably be the most objective person ever because I have absolutely no idea what’s going on; it’s not like I intricately follow Tallahassee news. Still, I’d be surprised if I get selected. The only other time I made it to the selection process (Gadsden County), they seated the jury before they got to me. We’ll see. I will need to make sure I have a book or something, though. Last time, I vaguely remember doing Christmas cards. So long as I can get back, I’m fine with it. Plus, any day I wind up reporting, I don’t have to use as a vacation day.

Once I get back to Baghdad, it’s a long haul until my next R&R. The current plan is to aim for August, and, unlike my first two, there’s no potential TDY to Erbil prior. That helps the psyche a lot. It’s still work – and this time around, it was a TON of work – but it’s such a change of pace that it makes everything fresh and new again, both up there and upon return to the 100-Acre sandbox.

But after August, it’s completely downhill. The jury is still out on my last day, but I’m hoping it will be the very end of September. It’s either that or Sept. 21, so it’s really just a matter of another week but I’d like to stretch this out as much as possible. I really do love it here and hope to be able to get back in a couple years.

The target is to be in Tallahassee for the first couple weeks in October. Sadly, FSU will be on the road but at least I’ll be in the same time zone.

I got out

Gali Ali Bag  Waterfall

Today, something happened that I never would have expected: I got out. Beyond a grocery store run and more than the orchestra performance I was fortunate to be able to attend last week. Today, I tagged along on a road trip!

By sheer fate, the head PR person finished her tour, leaving moving up the regular No. 2 a spot. By no fault of his own, he’s a man. So is the top dog here, plus a facet of the entire security team.

Since the Top Dog’s job is to represent America, we send him out in the field to do so. Normally, this means visiting local businesses and such but sometimes there are day trips that make several stops to mix and mingle with people. But since America is half-filled with women (or half-empty with men, I suppose, depending on your view), I and another woman were asked to go along for the ride. OF COURSE! I never would have thought I’d be able to wander around Iraq.

Bekhal Waterfalls

 Well, of course I didn’t. We never wander. Everything’s pretty scripted and set up in advance, and we’re pretty careful driving around, so I knew in advance I’d see three sets of waterfalls, and, since I love moving water, knew those would be highlights. And I was right, although not just because of the beauty of roaring water.

The Bekhal Waterfalls, the biggest ones we saw, are in what’s now a summer resort area in Kurdistan. There are viewing platforms on three levels, giving pretty cool views of the falls and rock formations. We were dropped off at the top level, joining a handful of other tourists. The place is a really popular spot, but we had crappy weather in the morning so that kept most people home. But in that handful of folks, there were a group of guys who were immediately struck by a redhead and a blonde. Polite but not shy, they asked for photos with me first and then my colleague, and we had quite the photo shoot going. At one point – my absolute highlight – as I am my colleague were surrounded by 5-7 young Kurdish men, another handed his camera to Top Dog and asked him to take our pictures.

View from the Citadel

We had a picnic lunch at the second set of falls in Kani Maran, where the most we got was a gentleman hanging out of a passing car and professing his love to one of us. I’m not sure which, but, to be fair, he probably didn’t care, either.

At the Geli Ali Beg waterfall, which was at one time featured on the back of the Iraqi 5-dinar note, a couple of groups of young women wanted their photos with us. Again, the men were ignored but the two women in the group posed and posed.

Our first stop of the morning had been at a citadel about 45 minutes outside of Erbil, which, 200 years ago, was fortified with about 50 soldiers who guarded the roads. It was my first view of the greenery of the Kurdistan region. Except for the rocks, it could have been Ireland.

Leftover Easter candles at the shrine

Really, driving was a great way to see the area. Not that I drove, obviously. I was in the third-row seat of a Suburban, straining to see out the window. Those things are almost as bad as airplane seats; they were definitely not at eye level. And the rows are so long, I couldn’t crane my head over to see out the other window because I was belted in. But eventually, I got views of both sides, because as we climbed hills and mountains, the roads switched back and forth.

The most arduous part of the trip was a stop at the Shrine of Raban Boya, a site popular with Christians and Muslims. There’s a monastery above the shrine, and there’s been one there for 1,500 years. Our second stop on the trip, the skies unleashed halfway up the climb, which was kind of brutal since the “stairs,” such as were, gave way to rock-covered switchbacks about a quarter of the way up. Fortunately, no one fell to their death, or even tripped badly enough to fall, which would have hurt pretty bad. The rocks were pretty jagged and it was rough, especially with an umbrella in one hand, but all I could think of was, “I climbed Tiger’s Nest, I can do this.” And I made it!

The single cynic in me loved this.
True love cracked.

The shrine itself was not really a huge deal, but it was kind of cool because, being so recently after Easter, Christians had come and lit candles, so I tried to do some artsy pictures. Plus, the views were gorgeous, and, of course, no one had died.

The trip down scared me far more than the trip up, because you can really only fall so far up. Tumbling down through jagged rocks, though, that’s a much bigger deal. I picked my way down pretty slowly but made it in a respectable amount of time. I was pretty wet, though, but everyone was. That was the end of the rain, though, and the rest of the day was beautiful.

Outside my gym

When I got back down and to the car, I checked the “Health” status on the iPhone. Fifty flights of stairs. It sure felt like it.

Early this week, we had a nice picnic lunch at work in one of the yards of the little former houses that are now our offices. Basically, when we moved in, we just walled off a couple blocks, started paying rent and customized or modified everything. I knew there were pretty flowers, but until we had that lunch, I didn’t realize how many we had. Between that yard and the rose garden outside the gym (yes, you read that correctly; a rose garden right outside the gym) we just have so many gorgeous blooms that I decided to take photos of all of them.

Just the garden outside the gym – it’s not really big – has white, yellow, purple, pink and red varieties. The big garden, which is mostly roses but has some other flowers, too, also has some kind of spotted pink ones, orange, many shades of red/pink and several sizes. It’s just so peaceful and beautiful.

Flowers even make orange pretty.

I decided to pick one rose and take it back to the house I’m staying in, and selected this giant pink one. I’d seen what I figured I could pass off as a vase on a little-used table, but when I stuck it in there, it looked so lonely that I went back out and cut down a few more. Now I regret not thinking of doing that sooner; they’re just so cheerful.