Flights to MeS

Some 8,500 miles, four flights, 40+ hrs, and 12.5 time Zones

This is what it took to get from sunny San Francisco to my current location, Mazar-i-Sharif (known as MeS to most that call this place home), Afghanistan.

I started my trip at SFO with an early morning departure and five hour jaunt across the continental USA. When I first got on the plane there was a British twenty-something sitting in the seat next to mine. A few minutes later an older gentleman comes and points of that the Brit is in the wrong row. Turns out the kid is supposed to be a row behind us. He moves and then switches from the middle seat to the window with the couple behind us so that they can be seated next to each other. And thus I got to deal with what turned out to be a completely inconsiderate ass for the next five hours.

The Brit kid was tired and fell asleep about as soon as he could settle in his seat, the problem was, the kid obviously had no concept of the limited amount of space that one has on a flying tin can and decided it was okay to encroach upon others’ limited space. It started with knees to the back and being unable to put my seat back at all due to him pressing into the back of it. This escalated to a random foot coming out of nowhere, pushing between the window and my elbow and kicking my arm off my own armrest, and culminated with a near brush with a concussion as the guy’s size twelves came up and over the seat top and almost wacked me and the gentleman next to me in the head. This is about the point where I had had enough and the male of the couple behind me finally stepped in to wake the miscreant after he was on the receiving end of my death glares. Stupid kid removed his feet, went back to shoving his knees in my lower back and promptly passed out again for the remainder of the trip. Ah the joys of public transportation.   

The second leg of the journey was the longest, with a trip across the pond, across Europe, and to the Middle East. Two movies, two meals, and a poor attempt at sleep had me arriving exhausted and completely out of whack with the time zone changes. There was some entertainment on the flight though when the guy next to me attempted to wake the guy at the end of our row up so that he could get up to go to the restroom. Aisle Seat Guy must have taken some sort of Ambien or other narcotic  though because he was out for the count. The poor middle seat guy is shaking his shoulder and asking him to wake up and the most he’s getting is a glimpse of glassy uncomprehending eyes and a drugged smile before Aisle Seat Guy is once again comatose. This continues for a few minutes with me providing not so helpful laughter to the mix before Middle Seat Guy just climbs over Aisle Seat Guy, who sleeps on completely obliviously.

My company sets you up with a Meet and Greet service when you get into your layover destination, Dubai, to help you get through customs and get your bags faster and easier. I found the service to be not too convenient or really needed. When you get off the plane, there are people with names on signs (all very nice at making you feel rich and powerful…yeah, not really) ready to take you to your next stop. The problems started when (a) you’re Mister instead of Missus and this leads to them calling you “Sir” indefinitely even after they’ve seen that you’re not male; (b) them believing that you’re getting a connecting flight right away and taking you the wrong direction and then trying to foster you off on others that are yelling at your person that they are responsible for you and that they need to take you to your final destination (all the while making you feel like a lost and misbehaving child for causing this issue and making them have to clean it up); (c) having your person be angry at you cause they got yelled at for picking you up, taking you the wrong place, and then trying to ditch you and being told that they couldn’t; (d) having your escort ditch you because they’re continuing to walk while security has pulled you aside to check your bag, (e) having your escort come back and look at you like you’re wasting their time cause you can’t keep up due to the security check, and (f) lastly, having your escort led you outside, point vaguely in the direction of the taxi line and promptly leave you. On a good note, I did get to go through the “diplomat” passport control line and thus save an hour of standing in line.  

I got to stay at the Dubai Creek Hilton for a 12 hour layover. The hotel is beautiful with glass, mirrors, chrome, and marble styling everywhere. The shape of the building is not rectangular which leads to all of the room having interesting floor plans. My room was on the fourth floor and had one wall completely made out of glass windows. It looked out over an adjoining building, the street below, and the Dubai creek. If you craned your neck, you could see the downtown skyline and what I think was the tallest building that the city is partially known for.

Not wanting to waste all of my short time, I dropped my bags, grabbed my purse and headed out to explore. The doorman and receptionist at the hotel both told me that I should take a water taxi across the creek and to the Old Dubai Souk, so this is what I did. The creek is really like a small river or lake (not sure how far in either direction it extends, but it is only about 600-700 meters across. I grabbed a spot on the taxi (which was more like a small ferry that you pay for rides on like a BART or Metro system) and took the ten minute ride. There were other, smaller water taxis that consisted of small boats with just a top to them, where everyone sat around the edges and the driver was in a sunken area in the center. I wanted to ride one of these, but they came from different destinations than I did.

The Old Dubai Souk is like a lot of Middle Eastern Souks that I’ve been to. There are brightly colored shawls, shiny hookahs, touristy trinkets, and the traditional sellers trying to entice you into their stores with gentle calls of “pretty lady, I give you great deal on a pashmina. Please come look.” Once you exit the older part of the area you are in a general shopping area for anything electronic or watch related. I think that if my brother had been with me, he would have been in buying and selling heaven and I wouldn’t have seen him again for a few days. 

As I didn’t want to buy anything, I just meandered through the stalls, grabbed a Mango Lassi to quench my thirst and eventually stumbled upon a Carrfour, which I had to (a) take a picture of for Em, and (b) go into for old time’s sake.  Carrfour is the Middle Eastern and European version of a super Walmart. They carry everything from electronics to fresh produce to fast food restaurants on the fringe. They’re nostalgic for me and Em because after three and a half weeks in Egypt years ago, with dust covered cookies and shawarma as main staples of our diets, we were led to Carrfour in a quest for a certain spice. The air-conditioned giant with its fresh produce and change of fare was a lovely and welcomed sight at the time and has now become a thing that Em and I try to find in the major cities that we visit. So far we’ve found a Carrfour in Alexandira, Egypt; Barcelona, Spain; Istanbul, Turkey; and now Dubai, UAE. There might have also been one in Hungary, Poland or Peru, but I don’t remember.

Jetlag eventually caused me to turn around and head back to the hotel for a bit of rest. I was side-tracked on my way to an early bedtime by the sign for a pool on the roof and a BBQ at the hotel. I detoured to the top of the hotel and was greeted with a magnificent nighttime view of Dubai laid out at my feet. The pool sat in the middle of an open aired terrace with lounge chairs along the sides, a small bar at the back, and an endless skyline in front. I grabbed a small Greek Salad, afraid it might be the last fresh vegetables I‘d get for a while and enjoyed the view. I ended up talking with another contractor that was out enjoying the view as well and spent the next few hours in pleasant conversation.

Morning came way too soon (especially cause my body still thought it was the night before with the various time zone differences) and a cab ride back to the airport. It seemed to me that Dubai airport is more concerned about what gets brought into their country versus what gets taken out. When I arrived in country, I had to run my luggage through three different x-ray check points just to leave the airport. When I came to depart, Security just looked at me and my friend, Steven, that I’d met the previous night, saw that we were white, dress in cargos, and carrying black duffle bags; nodded and let us go through. Maybe it was just that terminal.

The DFS flight (from Dubai to Bagram) was actually very nice, with free On Demand tv and movies, breakfast, and multi-lingual staff to assist. The plane had only contractors on it, so it was relatively empty and everyone had a row or more to themselves.

Once we arrived at Bagram, everyone was corralled into lines for their final destinations. I and about 15 others took the final leg of our journey on a small tin can with two single rows of seat, no cabin crew, and a view of the propeller separated from my face by double planed glass, some metal, and about 5 inches. I decided to not look too much out the window.

The glimpses that I got though on both legs of the journey for that day were of beautiful snowcapped mountains, deep valleys, flat plans with territories marked by stone walls, and some major highways. If you didn’t know what country you were in, it could have been any Middle American state that you were flying over.

 

Thus were my flights half way across the world and the start of a new adventure.