Travel and Arrival in Afghanistan

Our flight out of Kuwait was scheduled for 0800, and because we’re a little paranoid about international travel in general, and efficiency in the Middle East in particular, we met in the lobby at 0530. Bags were packed and, as you can see, weighing me down pretty well. I have one of those green army duffel bags (back), my rucksack (front), the hard case for my cameras (right hand) and a large, rolling blue duffel (left hand). Luckily I didn’t have to carry it too far.

We were driven to the airport by a Bangladeshi gentleman who has spent the last 17 years in Kuwait. According to the US State Department, of the ~3 million Kuwaiti residents, only 1 million or so are citizens. Of those million citizens, 90% are employed by the state in some way. The rest are foreign workers who come to Kuwait and provide everything else the population needs—construction, cleaning, fast food, gas stations, etc. etc. The foreign workers make up almost all of the private work force. This was nowhere more evident than in the hotel where none of the employees were Kuwaiti; they were Chinese, Indian, Bangladeshi or what have you. The truly impressive part was that no matter where they came from, the all knew both English and Arabic, and probably a few more common languages.

Once at the airport, we were able to bypass the porters who are there to take your bags and extort 15 USD from you, and make our way back to the airline counter. Before we could check in, however, we were screened through a security checkpoint. At first I was impressed with this additional layer of security, until I noticed that nobody was watching the screens. The security guys were just talking and drinking coffee as we went through, completely ignoring whatever contraband we were sneaking into their airport or out of their country.

After check-in, we had to be screened again by what I would consider the normal security line, and finally a third time before boarding. The third time was really the best as even the incessant beeping of the metal detector was completely ignored. I suppose they knew where we were headed and figured one extra gun in Afghanistan wouldn’t make much difference.

We flew a charter flight into Afghanistan, which I had never done before. There are a few differences between this charger flying and regular commercial air travel. First: the plane was pretty old. Though the inside had been refurbished with nice new seats and clean carpet, they didn’t hide the fact that it was a DC-9, which (if memory serves) has been out of production for a number of years. There were also subtle hints about the age in that both the flight attendant call button and the air vents which were old-style, aluminum things designs, indicative of a bygone age. You got the feeling that the ash trays in the arm rests had seen action in the past.

The second difference from a commercial flight was that the pilot was completely oblivious to the fact that he had passengers in the back. He was constantly making course correction, or big changes in air speed or altitude—it was a little disconcerting. I think his somewhat erratic course was a result of navigating by land features, following the Arabian coast down the western edge of the Persian Gulf. As we reached the horn of the peninsula, instead of going east over the Gulf, he turned west at the major landmark of Dubai, and luckily enough, I was on the right side of the plane to see what infinite wealth and some creativity can do to the desert.

This turn was part of a scheduled stop in Muscat, Oman for refueling. This included a very speedy and frightening landing, with the plane lurching from side to side as he attempted to get all three wheels on the ground. Why he had to stop there is beyond me—Afghanistan is not really all that far away, and I figure we should have been able to make it on one tank of gas. My guess: gas is cheaper in Oman and he stopped to top off. He also made a very speedy and frightening landing in Oman on the way.

As we made our final approach over southern Afghanistan, we could only see the vast, dusty plains in all directions occasionally interrupted by an errant mountain range. The pilot banked hard to line us up with the airstrip, lowering his landing gear in the middle of the turn (another unique feeling on an airplane). With our stomachs up near our throats he raced in for a landing at Kandahar Airfield.

Thankful to be alive, we grabbed our bags, in-processed and headed for the billeting office to get a bunk somewhere. We found ourselves in an open bay with 70 other folks and picked two next to each other and near the door, removing the top mattress to prevent anyone from stealing what had become our luggage racks.

With that done, we finished out our day with Burger King, a trip to the gym and a fitful night’s sleep in sleeping bags on hundred year old mattresses.

Welcome to Afghanistan