Afghanistan. It was...something else. I did four tours there, Kabul, Bagram (twice) and Kandahar. I was cleaning out my email  and came across the most amusing list from the now defunct website ilovebagram.com. Tongue in cheek, of course, because no one who has ever spent time at Bagram loves it. The site was dedicated to people, military and contractors, who wanted to spout off reasons why they (don't) love Bagram. Here are a few curated gems that anyone who has spent anytime in the Stan, but particularly at Bagram, will find amusing.

1. Finding footprints in the porta-potties.

2. Getting to live with three other dudes on bunkbeds in an 8 x 20 cell.

3. Waking up in the middle of the night because the guy sleeping above you is pissing in a bottle.

4. The flies. Oh God, the flies...

5. Bagram: home of the budget depleting contractor.

6. Getting turned on by sling cleavage, it's the push up bra of Bagram. (this refers to the female soldiers carrying their weapon with a sling cross body)

7. A Bagram 6 is still a Jalalabad 9! (Bagram - more people = more female contractor's and soldiers.  J-bad was a smaller Forward Operating Base (FOB).

8. Port-a Jon grammar lessons. (full disclosure: I carried a red sharpie and gave some of those lessons.)

9. Attention on the FOB, attention on the FOB, there will be a controlled detonation in five minBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!utes.

10. Stop shitting on the shower floors.

11. Because the guy who sits next to you in the office has headphones on all the time and he thinks no one hears him when he farts. 

12. So you say the Russians abandoned this base. I wonder why?

13.  1 year - E5 - Base+BAH (Base Allowance Housing)+No Taxes = $48000/ 4 Months BAF (Bagram Air Base) - Contractor - With Taxes = $48000.

14. Seeing that one random Cost Guard guy once every six months and wondering WTF every time. 

15. Because masturbating quietly is a desirable quality in a roommate. 

16. Because my mother just asked me what a "fleshlight" was. Thanks guys. 

17. Because I get to hear smokers complain about air quality. 

18. Wondering what happened at the haircut/spa place that forces them to have a "no happy ending" sign.

19. Because yesterday Isaw a guy wearing an umbrella hat walking down Disney. (Disney was the main drag at Bagram and was named after Specialist Jason Disney who was killed at Bagram in 2002.)

20. As a gated community with a private airport, shouldn't BAF be nicer?

    Afghanistan. The housing was shit, the hours were long, the work was hard (but interesting) and many of the people were great. I'm still in contact with many of the friends I made there. The money was also great, which, TBH, was the real reason I was there. But hey, there was some fun to be had at Bagram (and every other base I was on) and I had it. Life is too short not to try to enjoy wherever you are and whatever you're doing. 

Smooth move or smooth move ex lax?

       I’m a fairly seasoned traveler. I’ve gotten on and off of a lot of planes, trains, automobiles into and out of a lot of hotels. One might think that I’m so seasoned, I’ve got dates, time changes, reservations and these check into-check out of things down, right? One would be quite wrong. I have a fantastic record of screwing travel related things up. Here’s just a few of my many (mis)adventures in travel:

     I was headed back to Afghanistan for another run in the sandbox and was in the Turkish Airlines lounge in DC. My flight was on Lufthansa metal, going first to Frankfurt, then to Dubai. I thought I had plenty of time and the Turkish lounge is one of the best in Dulles. I was enjoying my time there, noshing on the delicious food and perhaps enjoying an adult beverage or two. I strolled out of the lounge and to the gate (which was right next to the lounge) and heard my name being frantically called. Alan Taylor, final boarding call, Alan Taylor, please come to the gate immediately. Then I strolled right on to the plane as if I didn’t almost miss my flight. These days, I’m usually in the pre-boarding group so I don’t repeat that genius move.

                                     Turkish Airlines Lounge in DC, scene of one of my many travel crimes

     The next hiccup didn’t include hearing my name shamed over the airport loudspeaker. It was several years later. I was still in Afghanistan and was going to meet Gwyne in Bangkok. There was one commercial flight from Afghanistan and that was to Dubai, it got in the morning and my flight was that night at 2130. I found a cheap place to stay in Bur Dubai where I found a biryani wallah and whiled away some time in the souks for the afternoon. I got to the airport super early to the airport (due to my *ahem* errors in my past) and was told check in was closed. What did I do this time? The flight was due to leave at 2130. I was living on a military base at the time. I managed to somehow get in my head that 2130 (9:30) was 2330 (11:30). I had to find another place to stay in Dubai that night and paid $50 to change my ticket for the next day. I got in to Bangkok a few hours later than Gwyne. I also had to call her and fess up to missing my flight. Brilliant, right? But wait, there’s more!

                                                                       Biryani in Dubai

     Back to name shaming. I was going to Haneda through Los Angeles. All Nippon Airlines (ANA) was my ride for that flight. They are Star Alliance partners with United and I’m very much married to that network. I booked my ticket through United and showed my passport from wherever I was initially coming from, but ANA in Los Angeles needed to see it again. Alan Taylor, Alan Taylor, please report to the gate. They just wanted to see my passport. All good. But no one likes hearing their name called in the airport. 

ANA - the service is superior to any US legacy carrier

     Star Alliance network. In a marriage, sometimes you can experience a little bit of turbulence. I made a reservation from Istanbul to Belgium, Belgium to DC, DC to Huntsville. All reservations made with my United cc on United’s site. Turkish Airlines is a member of the network. I had a separate record locator code for Turkish, had made a seat selection on their network and got to the airport more than 3 hours early. It was Covid times and I had one of those nasty brain stabs that was good for that day only. I walk to the business class line, show my passport, and they said, “You’re not on this flight.” First name Alan, last name Taylor? Who? Here’s my UA record locator number. No. Here’s my Turkish Airlines record locator number. No. United did me dirty. I asked if there were any seats going to Belgium, they said the flight was sold out and then I asked them if they were flying anywhere else in the US that day. I bought another ticket to Houston, where I didn’t really want to go. I don’t think that mistake was on me, but it added to me being a pretty nervous traveler. 

                                Istanbul was great. The experience at the airport in Istanbul? Not so much.

     Laos. A repressive communist country. I was there on a visa run and was through the first security, second security and then immigration. I was getting ready to settle in the lounge and then heard it. Again. Taylor. Alan Arthur Taylor. Taylor. Alan Arthur Taylor, please return to the check in counter. I had to surrender my passport (I had already been punched out of the country) and make my way back through security. My bag was on the ground at the counter and they just pointed and said, “power bank.” I took it out, fumbled my way through security and got my passport back. It was okay in the end, but you know, in Laos? A little unnerving. 

    Laos. Where they still use a palm frond for a broom. That’s where I had my name called in the airport. 

     This is by no means a complete account of my travel foibles. There’s more. There’s so much more. But I’ve got it down now, right? Smooth air ahead? More like smooth move, ex lax.

     

    The power of the zebra, at least in in Warsaw and Krakow, Poland is strong. Amazingly so. Also known as the crosswalk in the the U.S., I was stunned at how absolutely compliant people in those two cities were when it came to crossing the street. There are zebras with stop lights and zebras that exist in the wild, without lights. I was out for a walk one morning and the pedestrian light at the zebra was red. There were no cars in sight. No cars or trams coming on the left, and nothing approaching on the right. But nobody crossed the street. No one moved. They waited for the pedestrian sign to turn green. Then we crossed. And at any zebra without a light, all you have to do is put your big toe out in the road and cars will stop. So much power! I had no idea what was going on, but I went with the zebra flow of things. Gwyne and I were walking along the sidewalk on the left hand side of the road towards a museum and my navigation told me to go straight. But I didn’t. I turned right, then turned left, then left again. We could have crossed the road once and stayed on the left hand side of the street. Gwyne turned her head back, noticed that we had crossed the street three times to stay in the same side of the sidewalk we were originally on and raised her eyebrows in question. I said, “The zebra. You cross at the zebra. That appears to be the law in Poland.” Later on, the same day, two young kids crossed the street. The green pedestrian sign blinks more rapidly to indicate it’s going to turn red shortly, so chop chop when it’s blinking. The young woman ran, the guy with her continued to stroll across the street as the pedestrian sign turned red. She turned, pointed at him and yelled, “Criminal! Criminal!” We laughed and laughed and laughed at that exchange. The next day, we took a train from Krakow to Berlin. Towards the end of the trip, we met a young woman (35) who was originally from Poland. I asked her about the power of the zebra and she said, “It wasn’t always that way. But now, there are unmarked police around and cameras. It’s 50 or 100 euro if you don’t follow the zebra.”     

                                                                Smile if you follow the zebra