Out West

A common question to me these days is: how are you dealing with the culture shock? I'm dealing with it by spending time with friends I love and seeing amazing places that really blow me away. There is something deep inside of me that finds a lot of joy in being out west. Whether its the dry deserts, granite mountains, or wide open spaces I don't know, but its nice to be here--I feel like I can inhale deeply, smile wide, and say, "This is America!"


I've been telling lots of people that America is more than just "materialism." There is a definite character that makes this place unique, and I'm not talking about flag waving patriotism. I'm talking about the all funny American English accents, the variety of food, the melting pot of ethnicities, the hustle and bustle of a big city, the grandeur of a high desert panorama, and Americana music... to name a few of the things that also define America. Sure we have our strip malls and disgusting love affair with fast food, but there is so much more here than that.


I wasn't gone long enough to really forget what America was like. I had satellite cable TV with CNN. I had the internet. I had a lot of connections to the U.S. when I think about it. There's nothing to be shocked about here, at least for me.


So the choice is up to me. I can live a life that is tossed about by the currents of societal norms, start acquiring toys, doing whatever I think will make me complete, in short: pursue happiness. Or, I can live life intentionally against the grain. It's not about being rebellious or counter-cultural in every way (such as boycotting North Face and Starbucks...), but it is about identifying those tendencies that drag me down if I'm not careful. Once identified, it's a matter of saying, "I choose NOT to live like that."


Being intentional also means saying "Yes!" to lifestyle choices that require sacrifice and put others first. If you are a parent, you probably know what I mean. It's not easy.

I hope I don't sound too judgmental. My goal isn't to make anyone feel guilty, or puff myself up to be some sort of holier-than-thou-"isn't that thoughtful" type of guy. In fact, I'll probably fail at intentionally doing things different for the rest of my life. There is a big difference between being a vocal cynic and actually doing something positive to fix the problems; unfortunately, I tend to naturally fall on the cynical and judgmental side.


This is all just to say that what I am dealing with most right now is not a reaction to the bombardment we call the American way of life (culture shock). What I'm dealing with is more an internal reaction to something I've been thinking about for a long time: it doesn't matter where you are and how important your job seems to you. What matters is that you make the most of what you have been given, great or small, and do this no matter how unclear the method by which you are supposed to accomplish it might be.

Some of us are meant to be married, some single. Some meant to live in the earth's most remote corners, some meant to live in their hometown. Some of us will be accepted by the world, others rejected. Even those who live a life of obvious significance can be reduced to nothing by depression or fear of failure, while the losers and underachievers can go on to accomplish great things. Sometimes we come within inches of losing our lives in an instant, and we wonder what saved us, but every morning we still take for granted our waking breath. We will all die in one way or another, at one time or another, no matter how hard we try to distance ourselves from this fact of life.

Despite all of our differences (mostly stemming from things beyond our control) we all remain in common bond to our humanity, and I find a tremendous amount of hope in this simple reality. So maybe this year has not been so much about identifying the differences between our way of doing things and "their way" and determining which one is better. Maybe it is more about seeing what we have in common and bringing the good things about these two worlds together.

Is it alright to say I love America, Africa, and Afghanistan?

>end of transmission<

peace,
andy

Tanzania and Jet ... Lag

I spent a few days on the Tanzanian coast with Amber. We had a blast exploring an island, figuring out Dar's mass transit system, camping on the beach, bar hopping in Bagamoyo, and wandering around Dar's fish market. It was very relaxing to kick back and do things on African time again.


The Tanzanian coast is beautiful with its warm turquoise water and abundant wildlife. An inexpensive boat ride from The Slipway in Msasani brought us (and a handful of foreigners) to an island with white sand beaches and trails for exploring the island's interior. The people are very friendly and in general, the country is well "organized."


There is a ton of history associated with the exploration on Africa in Tanzania. Expeditions were normally launched from Zanzibar and arrived on the coast in Tanzania before beginning their long journeys inland. You see plenty of evidence of Arabic, German, and English influences in the architecture and the language.


We camped on the beach in Bagamoyo and since it was too hot and humid to really sleep well, we had no trouble waking up and catching the sunrise over the Indian Ocean (this may technically be the Straights of Zanzibar). The economy here apparently centers around the sea.


We were befriended by 2 dogs while we stayed on the beach. They ended up guarding our tent at night and keeping us company as we walked down the beach. I ended up removing 3 ticks from one of the dog's muzzle.

I made it to Ohio in one piece. There was a short time after departing Amsterdam for Detroit when I was so miserable that I really thought I would never get to the States. I've been suffering from a cold/sinus infection and it made the long flights seem even longer. When I'm sick, I don't feel like reading, listening to music, or trying to do anything that requires brain power. When I'm sick, I only want to do one thing--lie down and sleep, which is the exact thing I cannot do on a 9 hour flight in economy class when sandwiched between two people who have decided they own both armrests (and then some). Have I learned anything about patience this year?

After being awake for nearly 40 straight hours, I figured I would fall asleep for at least 12 hours, but jet lag has got the best of me and I find myself wide awake at 4 AM after a measly 6 hours of sleep. You know how it goes...

It's good to be back with family again. More thoughts on "reintegration" to come...

humbly,
andy

What Next Faithful Reader?

I've been thinking about what to do with the blog. I decided that I'll probably make some comments and post some pictures of Tanzania on the blog during December and then let it sit until the next blogworthy (vocabulation!) adventure. My brother suggested somehow printing it all out and making a coffee table book out of it, complete with movies a la Harry Potter. Any magic book publishers out there?

This will be my last post in Afghanistan. I've already had to say goodbye to some wonderful people. It is especially hard to say goodbye to our local staff people, because I don't know if I'll ever see them or talk to them again. My fellow expats will be able to stay in touch via internet etc., but for many, if not all, of these local staff, I'm saying goodbye for good.

For those of you interested in reading blogs about Afghanistan, try reading what Johanna has to write. She's been here for a bit more than a month now and promises to write a much more informative blog than mine could ever have been. As I wrap up my short adventure in Afghanistan, you can keep up with someone who is just beginning hers.

Goodbye.

-andy

Thanks guys, I feel the love!

Touching On Home

Can I get a witness?! Have you ever been listening to a song that is so you good, that you repeat it several times--each successive time a little louder? Each time is a little sweeter. I'm having one of these moments with a song by Andrew Peterson called "All Shall Be Well" from his record The Far Country.
...
I'm packing. I'm moving. Again.
...
No matter where I move from, I find it an emotionally draining experience to say to goodbye to a place that, even for a short while, was home. I've been craving "home" for a while, but this word has no clear meaning to me. Bob and I had a chat a while back that touched on home:

me: Politics... it's like Catch 22. You're insane if you want to be in politics, but we need sane people to run. No sane person would run.

Bob: I've actually thought that I would have a hard time finding a job in some field for that reason

overqualified, not insane

9:31 PM me: I don't think I'm overqualified at all. I'm an amateur at a lot of things, but not a pro at anything besides flying right now.

9:33 PM Bob: all a matter of perception

9:36 PM me: I would like a home. Not necessarily a house, just a place to call my home. A place to be "from". A base to experiment from.

9:37 PM Right now, I feel as if I have no home.

5 minutes

9:42 PM Bob: sorry I've been returning calls -- it's lunch

home -- even the word sounds warm

9:43 PM I've always kind of needed more "rootedness" than some

even when I go out west by myself to visit my folks, I get homesick

9:44 PM when my dad moved to Tucson (a move he didn't really want to make) I drove him around Cincinnati one afternoon -- past all the places where he worked, and lived, and the churches where he had worshiped as a kid.

9:45 PM he was clearly moved. He sensed that he would never be "home" again

and sadly, I think he was right

9:46 PM I'm going to see him next week -- he's 87, nearly blind and deaf, wheelchair bound, and will die soon -- likely before I have a chance to see him again. And he will not be home even though he's lived there for 3 years now

9:47 PM so I resonate with your desire to have a home

I wish I knew how to tell you to make one.

9:48 PM for me, it has a lot to do (maybe everything to do) with who is there. Anywhere with Kathy is home. I know that sounds sappy, but it's true

me: I'm not really a wanderer. I may look like it, but I don't think I am. Maybe I'm an opportunist.

9:49 PM Bob: We've moved seven times in our marriage, and I miss the houses we've lived in, but I feel like where I am at the present is home

9:50 PM but we've always lived in Cincinnati, and I think for both of us, even if we made our "home" someday in North Carolina or in California, or in Chicago, Cincinnati would still be home

I'm not a wanderer either

9:51 PM start with who, then pick where, and make your home

9:52 PM me: Yeah, I don't really know who is my home.

9:54 PM Bob: I love my parents, but their place hasn't felt like home for 30 years --even when they lived in the house I grew up in

9:55 PM me: Yeah, and that's about all I'll have when I get back.

I suppose my car can be my home for a while.

9:57 PM If I keep doing this kind of work, I don't want to have to put everything into storage and basically stop my life back home. I'd rather have a place that can be mine. It sounds selfish, but it's really really attractive to me now.

9:58 PM I need to go to bed now though.

Thanks for keeping me company

10:00 PM Bob: good night my friend

(Thanks for letting me post this Bob. Will you please start writing a blog?)

Seems to me that "home" is wrapped up with the love and community more than with a place or a building. It really doesn't have to do with the house you grew up in, so much as it has to do with your parents, friends, and love you experienced in that house when you grew up. It's definitely not just a place to stash your stuff! Amber, Bob's daughter, has some deeply insightful thoughts as she struggles with being at home everywhere while at the same time not having a home. When I mentioned this feeling to my father, he remembered that he began to feel like an orphan after being in the Navy for a few years. Are these not universal questions of the modern traveling soul? Where is home? Who is "home"?

My last flight was yesterday--Jared flew with me on my first leg home from Kandahar to Kabul. From Kabul, it is on to Dubai, then Dar Es Salaam, then Entebbe, then Amsterdam, Detroit, and finally touching down in Columbus, Ohio on the afternoon of the 6th. It struck me that when I leave here tomorrow, I'll actually be more cut-off from many friends than before because I won't be constantly running into you all on Skype or Google any more. I have grown closer to a lot of people back in the States and elsewhere simply because I have craved conversation with you and the internet has allowed this kind of conversation. Thank you to everyone who went out of their way to keep me company (online or otherwise) this year!

Until next time,
andy

Home.

A place to enjoy a quiet breakfast...

Or to plant something and watch it grow...

Or a space to allow us to dream...

The Final Countdown

We're leaving together,

But still it's farewell
And maybe we'll come back,
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We're leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?

It's the final countdown...

If it weren't for GOB, the infamous magician played by Will Arnett in Arrested Development, I think I would have forgotten this song even existed. The lyrics are so... pointless, but the synthesizers make up for that shortcoming. So here I am--my final week in Kabul and final week of my contract--it's the final countdown.

We haven't been flying too much lately, which gives me a lot of time to hang out, play guitar, read, write emails, buy airplane tickets, plan my vacation, and mainly just think about the last year. Yesterday a friend and I visited the Shah M. Bookstore, which was made famous in a book called "The Bookseller of Kabul" (which I haven't read), and it made me stop and think about all the little hidden gems in this city that I never got to visit. I have no one to blame for this but myself; the same applies to learning the local language (Farsi/Dari): I regret having not dug in more while I had the chance. This all gets me thinking--how much more will I regret or miss when I am back in the States? Will I lie awake at night thinking of Congo and Afghanistan, wondering what is happening and wishing I was there to experience, to feel it? Will I ever stop considering how I could have better spent my time while I was here? Will I be drawn irresistibly back to these places later on in life?

I am thankful for these questions. To me, they are a shadow of the hidden and mystical parts of life--the parts of life that leave you reeling while considering the idea that "There is more. There is more than all of this!" As I ponder these emotions, my heart feels more alive than ever, and even though I truly cannot mentally fathom or write clearly about many of the things I have seen, there is a peace that comes from simply observing myself react to these experiences. I wonder if these brief times of intense hope and the tremendous warm feeling I get when I consider them are what C. S. Lewis would call "joy."

But enough of my unpolished, nonsensical, and emotional muckety-muck! Let's get on with some pictures.

The Road from Kabul City to Karte Se
You can see the beginning of the wall walk on the right side. Thanks to the Tasman crew for the chance to snap this memorable photo!

Flying over the Southern Sierras in California was sometimes breathtaking. Multiply that by about ten and you have the Hindu Kush. Even in a pressurized aircraft flying at 18,500 feet, you can still see amazing mountains like this.

I'm not sure what river valley this is--there are so many like it. The natural beauty is astounding.

This would be pretty close to backpackers' heaven. Someday... someday...

Back in Kabul, we are eagerly awaiting the first snow. I don't think I'll be here to see it.

Something I will miss...

Bashir looks on as Johanna does the movie star wave before jumping back in the limo.

There are so many friends and family I can't wait to see this coming holiday season. If we happen to meet, and you see me with that far-away look in my eye--you'll maybe know what I am thinking about.

peace to you,
andy

Seeing Through The Smoke

Things are wrapping up for me in Kabul and for this year with Air Serv. I'll be leaving the afternoon of Nov. 29th and heading to Dar Es Salaam to meet my old friend Amber who is on a 2 year project with the Peace Corps in Tanzania. She writes an entertaining and candid blog. So after I leave Kabul, I'll still have some interesting things to write about and post pictures of.


I'm hoping to be here for the first snow in Kabul, but I'm now doubting that will happen. The weather has been chilly, but there haven't been any precipitation producing clouds except in the extreme eastern mountain ranges. This city would be beautiful in white.


Many of you have expressed a curious interest in the music I have picked for the videos on the blog this year. Thanks for the compliments--for me, picking music is like picking out the perfect gift at Christmas for someone. I'm glad you've liked what you got. It's like putting together the perfect mix tape for an incredible year. My next post will include a chronological list of the songs--I may even create an iTunes mix if anyone is interested.

peace,
andy

Oman!

A brief history of Oman: Arabic and Persian people occupy the area, Arabic people kick out Persians, Arabic people prosper from good trade and advances in seafaring, Portuguese show up and decide they want to run the show, various sultans fight the Portuguese until the British show up to help kick the Portuguese out for good, Britain and Oman are eternal friends, and there has been peace in Oman since 1975.

Oman is a little like Palm Springs, CA next to the ocean. It is well irrigated, and tropical plants thrive wherever there is water. One of the biggest problems is flooding when it rains. The Arabic word for "wash" or "gully" is wadi.


If you really want to get away, it's an easy drive down the coast to countless coves and beaches. Better yet, get a boat and find a spot only accessible by the water. Oman is very clean and very quiet--a great place to get away and relax.


The Sultan of Oman, His Excellency, His Majesty Qaboos bin Said has a good reputation and strong support from the people for bringing peace and modernization to Oman. This palace is a 1970's piece of architecture that really needs a facelift. The funny thing is that the rest of Oman has retained is original architectural feel--small 1-2 story white square buildings and lots of defensive fortress-like structures. For this reason, Muscat (the capitol) is much more charming than Dubai which feels fake in comparison.


My hotel was next to the world's 3rd largest mosque, which is open to non-Muslims for about 3 hours every morning.


In this picture, you can see the world's largest hand made carpet. I can't remember the exact dimensions, but it's something like 70 m x 80 m and took 400 women 4 years to complete. This room was quite spectacular.


I couldn't resist catching these anti-shadows in one of the hallways.

One of my beach friends out for a stroll.


The is the main beach in Muscat (with all the expensive westernized hotels) with warm, clear water, not too many people, lots of wildlife--it's hard to find fault here.

It's the end of a another day in Muscat. The beach soccer players are taking a swim to rinse off. The fishermen are pulling in their nets. This was a truly relaxing experience.

So I'm back from my rest and relaxation and I'm happy to report that it was just that: restful and relaxing. I only have 20 more sleeps until I start my end of contract vacation period. I'll be spending about 5 days in Africa before heading back to Ohio. I'm already taking stock of the things I will miss, but I can't help but be excited to be back in the U.S. for the first time in almost a year.

Thanks to everyone who has sent me boxes and letters over the year. These kind reminders of your thoughts are really appreciated. I'm not sure how I'll be able to repay some of the kindness I've been shown. It probably wouldn't be wise to send anything at this point because I'll be gone before it gets here.

peace,
andy

Bad resolution. Sorry.