Where am I?

Humidity sucks. When you grow up in Michigan, you get use to the blanket of sticky air that surrounds you on a day to day basis, although it's not as bad as Houston or Florida. Thank goodness that most of Iraq is just hot and lacks any real moisture in the air. Today, however I’m not in Iraq. I’m someplace humid. After stepping off the plane last night into what felt like 90% humidity, the thickness of the heat was equivalent to punch in the face and a knee to the groin. It’s hot, sweaty, and I’ve never been happier to have my clothes stick to me.

Today I am writing from Bizzaroland. Where is that? Well, I’m not exactly sure. I never really excelled at geography and most of the trip was done in a windowless transport under the cover of darkness. In fact, Bizzaroland isn’t the real name of the place either. It is the moniker I’ve given it because the environment is so opposite from the dwelling that I’ve spent the last 135 days of my life roaming through. I don’t have to clear my weapon before eating my meals, I don’t have the constant drone of helicopters shaking my trailer, and I stop and gawk at people wandering freely outside sans weapon and armor. The fact that I am wearing civilian clothes as I write this makes me feel like I’m in a world that, although vaguely familiar, is not where I should be and it scrambles my senses to think about it. There should be alarms going off and distant booms and people scurrying about in armored vehicles. Instead, the only alarms I hear are from the alarm clocks of the fellow officers in my room, the only booms are from cannons of college football teams on the big screen TV signaling a touchdown, and I have yet to see an armored vehicle in the sea of civilian SUVs and gators. There is a sense of easiness here that is hard to describe. It’s like a taste of freedom. Bizzaroland feels like it is half a world away from Iraq, but it also feels like I’m light years from home. Let’s call it purgatory, with beer.

The journey here was, as always, an adventure; multiple stops in hot locations waiting on finicky air travel and complicated convoy connections. If I haven’t made it clear before, let me reiterate by saying that travel is not very convenient here. There are horror stories of individuals stranded at airbases across the country for days and weeks while they manifested on choppers and fixed wing that never showed, although I believe that if I was stuck here for more than the 4 days I’m suppose to, I wouldn’t call it a bad thing. The best part of the travel was the fact that I stripped my body armor down to just the bare minimum; vest, throat protector, groin protector, front and rear plates and my first aid pouch. After ridding myself of 11 magazine holders, GPS, hydration system and a basic load (plus) of rifle and pistol ammunition, the weight of the armor more closely resembles that of a heavy sweater than of a tungsten and lead life jacket. We only do this for traveling on pass since we are not allowed to have weapons during decompression, but after wearing my “battle rattle” for so long, I haven’t given much thought to the amount of weight I lugged around each day until I found myself wearing the naked vest. That alone was worth taking this trip.

I do have to admit that feel a little exposed without my weapon. I know that sounds crazy, especially since I’m in a friendly place with no need to be packing heat. I don’t think I’ll ever voice that concern to the folks around me because most of them would think that I’m being totally ridiculous. It’s just that I’ve had that thing on my leg for the better part of 4 months and I’ve grown rather attached to that hunk of metal (although I haven’t gone as far as to name it yet). Give me a few days here in the relative peace and quiet of Bizzaroland and I’m sure I’ll rid myself of this silly anxiety.

The “captain mafia” are travel weary, but after a few hours of precious sleep, we’re ready to get this whole relaxation thing started. There are pools to lounge by, football games to watch, different places to eat (rumor has it that there is a restaurant here) and alcohol to consume (on a limited basis of course). After 135 days of Iraqi deployment under our belts, I wonder if we’ll remember how to react to the relative peace of Bizzaroland? Maybe a better question is, is Bizzaroland ready for us?

The Captain Mafia waiting on transportation