Arrival in Kabul

There was some last minute dramas with my flight booking, that were swiftly resolved with some super-efficient actions from our department's travel coordinator.  It did result in a very rushed taxi ride to Dubai airport and, sadly, far too little time there to fully enjoy window shopping in the departure duty-free.

The SAFI Airways flight was not too bad...although the Boing 737 was cunningly retro-styled to give a true 1970's flight experience.  Stepping onto the aircraft was definately the translation point from the modern glitz of Dubai into the thread-bare necessity of Kabul.  Luckily, the flight was only 2 hours and 30 minutes and amazing views of the snow-capped Hindu Kush mountains were enough to keep my mind from being pre-occupied with the fact my arse was going totally numb on the too-hard seats. I thought the 'extra padding' I had acquired during my four 'fish-and-chip' months in the UK might have alleviated this, but alas no....

 The aircraft was mostly full of expatriate workers in a standard 'uniform' of khaki clothing and desert boots.  A few 'embassy' types wore chinos and starched blue shirts.  Guessing the occupation and backgrounds of my fellow passengers provided some interesting in-flight entertainment.  Some of the American's were the easiest, as they wore polo shirts that proudly advertised which government sponsored agency or programme they were involved with.  It also seems that goatee beards are the de-facto 'signifier' of counter-narcotics agents, in the same way that black suits, sunglasses and tiepins are synonmous with their homeland federal agencies.

The flight would have been a Walter Mitty wetdream, as it was easy to imagine that any of my fellow 'numb-bumed' travellers was a CIA operative or SAS 'Black Ops' super-trooper,....but judging from the resigned expressions on most people's faces, it seemed that most were simple expatriate workers who were looking forwards to an unspecified amount of time surrounded by dust, drudgery and lack of social stimulus...

The decent into Kabul Airport provided a great over-view of Kabul city, nestled around a solitary large rocky ridge on a vast and dusty plain.  The city had expanded greatly since I last studied it properly in 2001/2.

"Ah my boy...I remember when I was a lad.... all these buildings weren't here.... it was just green grass and MINEFIELDS..."

As I was later to discover, the bulk of the new infrastructure surrounding the airport districts seems to be the logistical and fuel compounds supporting the various military, NGO (Non-Governmental Agency) and UN operations at the airport.  Several of those large compounds belong to my company!

As the plane rolled up the runway, it was a very strange experience to view rows upon rows of military planes and helicopters.  Simular to the Farnborough Airshow, but with a 3rd world airport back-drop and a sense of 'purpose'.  The noise of C-130 Hercules, Blackhawk, Chinook and Russian Mi helicopters passing overhead is very much a part of the current Kabul 'experience'.  It was certainly a stark reminder that I wasn't in 'Kansas' any more!

Processing through Kabul immigration was a lot easier and painless than I had predicted it would be.  The luggage arrived swiftly (I only brought the bare essentials in my daysack) and it didn't take long to complete the necessary paperwork to recieve my  'Foreigner's Registration Card'.  I do hope that I can keep that document on departure... it would be a great addition to my scrapbook.

I left the airport with a little trepidation.  As I walked out of the gates, into the carpark area, I could see all the 'embassy types' being greeted by their heavily armed bodyguards and escorted into even heavier armored 4x4's.  Jealously,  I stood around like a proper tourist, randomly awaiting some clue about where my pick-up was meant to be.  To make things better, there was a brief but heavy rain shower...and I got to be the smug person, because I had my gore-tex rainjacket handy.

After a few minutes, I was approached by a local guy who wanted to be helpful.  I told him my companie's name and he said he knew where my driver was.  Apparently, I should have been in carpark C, but I had stopped in carpark B.  Disappointed that my psychic powers had failed me, I followed this random guy with a certain sense of fatality until he miraculously took me straight to the right person!  By this time I was feeling guilty for the deep suspicion I had felt for this helpful, welcoming man...and then I felt even more guilty that I had no dollars or afghanis with which to tip him.  With some shame I offered him the few Dubai Dirhams that I had in my pocket.  His obvious disappointment was tangible.  I do hope that I see the fella on my departure!

I met the company driver, who was conspicious by his complete lack of any company clothing, markings or identification, so I borrowed his mobile phone to ring the Kabul office and confirm that I wasn't about to willingly jump into the back of my own personal 'kidnap mobile'.

As we rattled our way out of the airport in a rather ordinary looking mini-van, I gazed with envy at the air-conditioned, well suspended and highly bulletproof SUVs accelerating past us.  However, I very soon settled into 'tourist mode', unwound the window and started snapping photos of unique commuter scenes of Kabul.  Of course, the old training is well ingrained...so I couldn't help but keep one eye open for the 'combat indicators' of modern middle-eastern terrorism.

 It didn't take long to realise that there was little point in observing for cars 'overladen' on the suspension, etc etc.... that was the norm for every vehicle.  It was also clear that Afghan drivers were just as lunatic as any motorist you might encounter in Manila, Delhi or Rome...so I was glad that after about 20 minutes fighting our way through the traffic, we got into the 'suburbs' of the district where our compounds are located.

There were still a lot of garishly decorated lorries hammering down the road (headed for Jalalabad, Bagram and the South), but there was less and less honking and more donkeys as the road became more potholed the further we moved from the city.  I was fascinated by the local sights... children playing football and the stereotypical mud-brick houses and clothing (often consisting of the distinctive kufi (hats) and a chapan (coats).

Of course, wherever we went there was a ubiquitous military presence... Afghan army and police armed with AK47's standing alongside Hummers at checkpoints and clustered around heavily sand-bagged gateways to various camps and compounds alongside the road.  Soon enough, we had arrived at our own heavily guarded gatehouse, that was reassuringly manned with Nepali (ex-gurka) private security personnel.  It took only a short time to be issued a temporary visitors pass and we drove forwards with the sound of the heavy steel gates clanging closed behind our mini-bus.

I was very much looking forward to meeting the team here and seeing what the accommodation standards were like!