The Affair Continues... Part II of "A Foreign Affair"

I was scheduled to fly a commercial airline out of DC’s Dulles International Airport to Amman, Jordan with a brief layover in Amsterdam; then continue on to Baghdad via military aircraft after spending a night in Jordan.

Shawn drove me to the airport and our "goodbye" reminded me of a scene from one of those sappy romantic movies where the lovers part for what is to be a simple summer abroad but ultimately fall out of touch and never see each other again.
“Kick some ass over there girl,” Shawn said as he hugged me. “Take care of yourself and remember, shoot first and ask for forgiveness later.”

“I’ll call or email when I can to let you know I made it there okay,” I replied, and then I walked away.      

My flight departed relatively on time and shortly after takeoff I got to chit-chatting with my seat mate - a young girl who looked to be about 18. I learned she had just graduated from high school and was on her way to spend the summer in Amsterdam with her older sister who was there attending college. I was immediately jealous and recalled memories of my awesome high school graduation trip to Europe five years earlier.

A couple of hours into our seven-hour flight I began feeling a little funny. Half an hour later it turned into a full-scale attack of flu-like symptoms. I was nauseous, I broke out in a feverish sweat, my body started aching, and I could hardly keep still in my seat. I contemplated getting right back on a plane for the U.S. when I arrived in Amsterdam, knowing I’d be useless to them in Baghdad in this condition. But once I arrived in Amsterdam my symptoms began to subside and I realized I’d probably simply suffered some sort of panic attack so I decided to push on through to Jordan. My flight from Amsterdam to Amman was about five hours, so I had time to recover from my anxiety episode and by the time I landed in Amman I felt pretty much myself again.

When I stepped off the plane in Jordan reality sunk in and I realized just how far away I was from everything I knew. When I made it to customs I scanned the area for my escort who was supposed to take me to my hotel. I was told someone would be waiting with a sign that had my name on it. I spotted several people with signs but none of them had my name so I began to freak out a little. After roaming around customs for about 15 minutes double checking every person with a sign, I decided to go on through customs and try to find a phone on the other side to call the U.S. embassy.

While getting my passport stamped at the customs counter I asked the man behind the counter if he could tell me where I could find a phone, but his English was not good enough to understand my question and he got flustered.     

     I just smiled and was about to continue on in the direction of the crowd when a man came jogging up to the counter and breathlessly blurted out, “Are you Ms. McEwen???”    

“YES,” I answered as relief washed over me.

“I am here to take you to your hotel,” he informed me in a heavily accented voice. “Please follow me and we will go get your bags.”

     I followed my escort, a local Jordanian, to the baggage claim area where he stuck me with a group of four other U.S. government employees who’d also just arrived and were waiting for the escort to take them to their hotels.

     It was about a 30-minute drive from Queen Aliyah Airport to the hotel district in downtown Amman. Even though it was after dark I still stared out the window of the van trying to take in all I could. I kept trying to wrap my head around the reality that I was now in an Arab country 10,000 miles away from home, would soon be in the middle of a war zone, and I was pretty much on my own. It gave me a rush of excitement with a taste of fear unlike any I had ever known.

     Amman was a beautiful city and much more modern and westernized than I had expected - of course they put us up in the ritzy part of town but I was still pleasantly surprised. Everyone in the van was booked in separate hotels and mine was the last stop. I checked into my room, threw all of my stuff down and collapsed on the bed. Once I peeled myself off the bed and splashed some water in my face, I pulled out my laptop and composed a ’safe arrival’ email to send to family and friends.

I was told to be waiting in the lobby the next morning at 0800 for the escorts to take me to a private airport to catch a cargo plane to Baghdad. I waited in front of my hotel for over an hour the next morning before the transport van finally arrived. I crawled into the van to discover six other very quiet and serious looking passengers. It was an excruciatingly long and silent 15-minute ride to the airport.

When we arrived at the airport we were shuffled into a small prefab trailer with some chairs, magazines and, most importantly, an air-conditioner. We waited for about 20 minutes and then we were instructed to remove our luggage from the van and place it on the wooden pallet out front so that it could be fork lifted and loaded onto the aircraft. Once everyone’s luggage was on the pallet the airport crew, of which there were only about five and all were wearing civilian clothes, conducted a quick roll call and instructed us to board the waiting cargo plane.

Towards the front of the plane each wall was lined with netted seats. There were slots for 20 people and we had exactly 20 people on our flight so it was a little tight. There was only one other female aside from myself and she and I sat next to each other. As soon as I sat down I knew I was going to have a problem because it was stifling hot. I have severe issues with motion sickness and this situation had "puke filled barf bag" written all over it. I immediately whipped out the sacred Dramamine, quickly swallowed a couple, and then offered some to the girl next to me. She was obviously having the same thoughts and thanked me graciously as she took two for herself. None of the guys wanted any and I was glad to save the rest for any other military air travel I would have to endure over the next four months.

After takeoff I tried to get comfortable for the two-hour trip but a cargo plane isn’t exactly a luxury jet airliner. Luckily Dramamine has an extremely sedative effect so about 20 minutes into the flight I was able to nod off. Unfortunately I woke up a little while later freezing my ass off because I was dressed for 100-degree heat and at 30,000 feet a cargo plane turns into a flying metal freezer. I soon discovered enduring the subzero temperature was the least of my issues as the plane banked sharply and began a spiral decent. Dramamine is a great drug but it’s no competition for a corkscrew landing and I turned green in about 30 seconds. When we finally landed the only thing keeping me from spewing all over the inside of the plane was sheer willpower. I managed to make it off the plane but as soon as I stepped onto solid ground I couldn’t hold back any longer and puked my guts up right onto the tarmac of Baghdad International Airport. Welcome to Iraq. Once I finished I was mortified but I felt much better and no one seemed to give me a second glance and we all made our way to a line of waiting SUVs that drove us to a chopper.

Before boarding the chopper we were all instructed to don our body armor and helmets. At 5’2”, wearing 25 lbs. of body armor and wrestling two 75 lbs. bags, I’m sure I was an amusing sight.  I was the last to board and once I finally got on I found the chopper completely packed with passengers and luggage and no open seats. The chopper’s door gunner told me to "wait one" and took a cooler from the cockpit and placed it on the last bit of open floor space next to the aircraft's doorway. He then stretched a single bungee cord across the open doorway. As the chopper took off into the night sky I glanced at my watch and saw it was exactly midnight local Baghdad time. As we gained speed I clung to anything within reach that was bolted to the wall knowing that one swift bank could send me flying out the open doorway.

A bright moon hung in the clear night sky and cast an eerie illumination upon the passing city below that seemed to fade into an endless black horizon. As the warm dessert wind whipped across my face I felt a strange sense of peace and comfort; it was hard to believe there was a war being waged below. The moon provided just enough light inside the chopper for me to see the expressions on the faces of my fellow passengers. They reminded me of mice in a snake cage. Aside from the crew, everyone looked extremely apprehensive and you could cut the tension with a knife. I don’t remember feeling scared at this point but I was so exhausted I probably just didn’t have the strength to acknowledge my fear. I just desperately longed for a hot shower and a real bed.

When we landed in the Green Zone we filed off the chopper and jogged across the LZ to another group of waiting SUVs while the ground crew loaded our luggage into the vehicles. We were shuttled to our base, locatd on the grounds of a former palace. The base was composed of a few buildings that served as office space, a chow hall, a nice swimming pool, and numerous small prefab trailers (pods) that served as living quarters for the residents. Each pod also had a cable t.v., DVD player, and high speed internet access – I wasn’t sure if this was war or summer camp.

When we pulled up to the gate of the base, the guard checked our badges that we’d been issued when we landed at B.I.A.P. and did a quick walk around the vehicle with a mirror to check for bombs in the undercarriage. Once we were given the all clear we continued on to a small building with a sign out in front that said “Processing”. We were greeted by a friendly woman who provided us with the number and keys to our assigned pod. We were also provided with a laundry bag containing a pillow and linens. Once I had my gear in hand I was approached by a small middle-agede man of Japanese descent. He introduced himself as Tom Tikaki, director of the small SIGINT team detachment and my new boss.

Tom and one of the guys on our team helped me gather my luggage and escorted me to my room. It was a bit of a walk from the chow hall and main office area, but close to the swimming pool. Considering it was well after 1 a.m., I was surprised to see the light inside the pod was on. I knocked on the door and a small blond woman who looked to be in her mid thirties answered. I introduced myself and told her I was her new roommate. She gave me a kind smile, told me her name was Elaina, and welcomed me inside. Tom told me to be at the chow hall the next morning at 0700 to meet the other members of the team over breakfast. He then handed me a mobile phone and informed me that each member of our team had one. He gave me his number in case I needed anything before morning and told me I could also use the phone to call the U.S., I simply had to dial the area code and number.

Once inside, I noticed the room was about 12’X16’ and had a small attached bath with shower.  There were two sets of bunk beds and four wall closets and I shuddered at the thought of four people cramming into this small space. I was relieved to discover that Elaina’s was the only bed made up and I found that three of the closets were empty.  Elaina had one of the bottom bunks and I claimed the other. Elaina crawled in bed soon after I arrived so I didn’t want to bother her by taking a shower and just brushed my teeth and took a quick baby wipe bath – something I still affectionately refer to as the Baghdad shower. Then I fell into bed and tried desperately to get some sleep. Although it was the middle of the night I laid there wide-awake. I was severely jet lagged (my internal clock thought it was only five o’clock in the afternoon) and my mind was racing. I felt very alone and very far from the world I knew – it was one of the most restless nights of my life. I managed to get less than an hour of sleep before my alarm rang at 0615 and I awoke to my first morning in Iraq.

TO BE CONTINUED...