Friday, 21 November 2003

20:00 – Baghdad. I was awakened from my nap by the sound of gunfire. Machinegun fire, to be more precise, and it was coming from a point just over my left shoulder. I was alert in less than an instant and instinctively lifted my feet off of the floor. The floor being where enemy rounds generally enter a helicopter.

At that moment, the passenger facing me handed me a poorly scrawled note reading, ”we will be shooting our guns in ten or fifteen minutes”. Being fully, absolutely, and completely alert at the time, I realized that this note came from one of the gunners, and that all of the fire was friendly, probably aimed at the surrounding desolation. This was confirmed as I looked below to see the regularly spaced puffs of sand approach and pass through the charred remains of a turret-less Iraqi tank.

What a great ride.

I had to go to Arbil for a meeting with the Minister of Tourism and Public Works for ARNI (the Autonomous Region of Northern Iraq). Arbil is a beautiful city (compared to Baghdad). It’s said (by the people who live there) to be the oldest continuous human settlement, and is located in the foothills of the northern mountain range a hundred and a half miles north of here. It’s clean (by comparison), industrious (also by comparison), and much better landscaped. Since the Kurds there have long been strong supporters of the new regime, there results an environment with significantly less military presence, which is immensely calming.

Ooh, and the coffee.

But first - our two helicopters landed on a narrow ridge on the grounds of the CPA North compound outside of town, where we were met by a trio of UAV’s (Urban Assault Vehicles, i.e. SUV’s) who raced into town at speeds approaching 90 mph. Nice highway, actually, and a tribute to the independent Kurds who have been maintaining it for the past ten years (although superelevation rates could have been improved). Through the gate at the Ministry and we dismounted amidst a welcoming party including the Minister himself, as well as other provincial wheels and senior staff.

We were then escorted inside to a deluxe parlor where we would rest for a short time before the meeting. Here, relaxing on plush sofas, we were served brilliant espressos in wee gilded cups on wee gilded saucers and served by a besuited teaboy. By far, the best coffee I’ve had in six weeks.

The meeting itself went surprisingly well, although the interpreter needed some improvement. He kept using the English term “demand” instead of “request”, which put a sharper edge on the proceedings than was necessary. There were fourteen in attendance, plus three video cameramen and twice as many stills, recording for posterity and the Minister’s ego.

Afterwards, we retired again to the deluxe parlor and had another coffee. Through the interpreter, I praised the Minister for the coffee’s flavor and presentation and may have demanded something or other, but I have yet to pick up the least bit of Arabic. I did learn however, that the beans are foreign, just the methodology is local. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a light roasted Turkish bean, finely ground and espressoed, and served with just a spot of raw sugar. Compared to the swill KBR actually labels as “Fresh Hot Coffee”,… well, it was much better.

The flight was an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. Immediately adjacent to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers are the date plantations. Just beyond, land is extensively irrigated and I could see patches and fields of corn and vegetables, as well as areas just planted with grains. Since most of my work here concerns irrigation, this was a bonus I would not have received had we taken the highway.

Further still from the rivers are the arid, less-productive lands, where I only saw scattered herds of sheep amongst the scrub. Beyond the scrubland was desert. Even so, there were scattered mud houses. I’ve no idea how folks survive out there, but they’ve been doing well enough without practically everything for four thousand years.

It all goes by pretty fast though, as the Blackhawks were cruising in formation at just less than 140 knots about 100 feet off the deck. They would change course quickly and sporadically and would only gain altitude to swoop over power lines. It was as close to a motorcycle as I’ve been since leaving the States.