"We must be over the rainbow!"

*NOTE: For some reason I am having a hard time getting this post to format properly. Sorry if it looks weird on your screen, but I am tired of trying to fix it.

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It's only about 5 square miles, but there is plenty to see inside the IZ.

A few weeks back I was given a personal tour of the most notable sites by an Iraqi-American working for the Department of State. He fled Baghdad with his family decades ago and returned after the fall of Saddam to help rebuild his country. I was the only civilian in the group of about a dozen on the small bus that rolled out of the Palace compound parking lot. It made me a little nervous that I was the only person in the tour group not wearing body armor. When I said that I had not been told I needed to bring it, I was assured it wasn't a requirement. Somehow that didn't make me feel any more secure.

The first stop is the #1 tourist picture spot in the IZ. The official name is "The Hands Of Victory", but most people here just call
them "The Crossed Swords."

These are bookends to the massive "Grand Festivities Square" where Saddam would do his infamous handwave and blasting of the shotgun for big rallies. Despite the history surrounding them, the swords are very cool to see. The two sets of swords are mirror images. On each end, two fists rise out of the ground each gripping a massive sword, the tips of which touch at a peak about 130 feet high.

The bases are said to have been cast from Saddam's own arms and hands. As with most Saddam era memorials work began to tear down the swords. But even as the first parts came off Iraq's Ministry of Interior stopped the project. Since this is actually a war memorial and not a Saddam memorial there is growing support to preserve the swords and just replace the arms and hands.

At the bottom of each monument helmets of Iranian soldiers killed in the Iran/Iraq war are piled as if they are spilling onto the ground from large nets. Some have graffiti scribbled on them, others show the bullet holes made by the soaring slug that presumably precipitated the demise of its owner.

The next stop is the MASSIVE "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier". It's a giant circular structure with a clamshell top that covers the tomb holding the reported remains of an Iraqi soldier. This site is so big you can reportedly see it from space, much like the Great Wall of China.

There is a room below the tomb where dozens of glass cases stand empty in darkness. This was one of the sites looted during the coalition invasion. Many important and priceless artifacts were taken from here. When I asked about this during our tour an Iraqi guard swept his arm across the room and then moved it above his head in a swirling motion. He said in rough english, "Awll thees...Ali Baba." That's how Iraqis describe stealing, a reference to the character in the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

When we were told our guide was going to take us to Believer's Palace, I was excited to think about getting a close up tour of this bombed out building. But, I had no idea how close. When you pull up next to the palace the damage is really incredible to see. We were all just milling around looking at the massive holes blown through the sides of the thick marble walls when our guide said, "Ok, let me go get the key so we can get inside."

I almost squealed like a schoolgirl. We were actually going to get to walk right through the devastation...the centerpoint of destruction...ground zero.

It's a pretty eery place inside. Silent and dark with musty, dank air. But the damage is INCREDIBLE! This was one of the first sites we hit in 2003 because of an extensive bunker system built beneath it.

The 1000 lb. bombs definitely destroyed the palace, but the bunker was mostly untouched. I read somewhere the designer said the bunker was built to withstand a nuclear blast. We carefully weaved our way through the debris from one end of the destroyed palace to the other.

We were given free reign, allowed to walk wherever we wanted and I took advantage of it. While most in the group kept together and stayed in the main rooms I explored the more obscure routes and examined the handiwork of good old American destructive ingenuity.

I was pretty surprised we were able to walk around in here. It's very dangerous. You're stepping over and climbing onto debris just to make it a few feet at a time. But it was SO F'n COOL!

Just when I thought the tour couldn't get any better our guide asked "Who wants to go up into the tower?" I was first in line.

The tower stands just behind Believer's Palace. There are a lot of rumors about what it was used for during Saddam's time, the most prevalent being a sniper's tower. It's a hazardous climb of several hundred feet. In places the spiral steps and railing were ripped apart by flying debris from the explosions in Believer's Palace, punching huge ragged holes into the heavy steel. As you get to the top of the circular stairs, your head starts to spin from the climb and the height.

But the view made it more than worth it. Normally Baghdad's skyline is very murky, but a strong storm had blown through the night before clearing the air and allowing us an unprecedented view for miles around. Here is what Believer's Palace looks like from above.

You get a great view of the Embassy up here as well.

It was easy to see across the entire IZ, this is the distant view of The Tomb of the Unknown and behind it the giant Grand Mosque that is under construction in Baghdad.

The tower was the end of our adventure for the day.

We all had to get back to work and stop pretending to be tourists in the IZ.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...My one man hearts and minds campaign.

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"Come on, everybody to the storm cellar!"

Enjoyed my first Baghdad dust storm last night.
I was unfortunately without my camera as it started to roll in. It started about 6pm. The entire horizon north of The Palace turned into a light shade of burnt orange. As the storm moved across the compound you could see the dividing line between the normal cloudy sky and the blustery dust bin overhead. There are no typical local weather forecasts around here and unless you make the effort to keep up on the web you never know what to expect. This picture was about 7pm, when it's normally still pretty light out. Walking outside the dust washes over you like dry, weightless rain drops. It takes a couple hours for the taste and smell to fade away. If you want to enjoy a similar experience in your own home pull the bag out of your vacuum cleaner, give it a good shake and breath deeply. This was a fairly mild storm that only lasted a few hours. One guy shrugged off the conditions as he stepped outside for a smoke saying, "This is nothing. Wait until you see a sand storm." Next time I won't get caught without my camera.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...How 45 seconds in the IZ can mean the difference between life and death

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"I'll get you my pretty... and your little dog to!"

I've decided to change how I update this blog to make it more current. There is so much happening almost every day, if I just keep writing to try and get everyone caught up I think I'll be playing catch up until I leave. So I am going to begin posting more current updates interspersed with my adventures up to this point.

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Once inside the Palace compound (it's officially called The Embassy Annex and was formerly known as The Republican Palace) life is pretty good. They feed you, do your dry cleaning and try to provide plenty of activities when you are not working long hours for weeks on end. There is a large pool, a small movie theater, horseshoes, ping pong, pool tables, karaoke nights, salsa nights, poker nights and all kinds of other theme nights. Some events are very well attended. Others, no one shows up and the organizer ends up standing around with a clipboard looking a little pathetic. You can't help but feel sorry for them. Imagine spending days planning a party and no one comes. I've attended a few events, but in 2 1/2 months here I've only had 4 full days off. But here that's actually an advantage. Staying busy helps the time pass more quickly.

I hesitate to tarnish the image that some of you may have of me enjoying the glamorous life in Baghdad at one of Saddam's former palaces. But the worst part of this whole deal is the living arrangements. They SUCK! Everyone lives in trailers behind the Palace. They are small and poorly built with a shared bathroom for anywhere from 2 to 4 people. My trailer is one room about 7'x18' and that is one of the big ones. For the lingo here, you refer to it as your "hooch." There's a bed, a crappy metal cabinet for your clothes, a small fridge, a TV and dreadfully slow internet access. I am in between roommates right now and am working on keeping the place to myself. While I work the official channels, I have to play a cat & mouse game with the housing office to keep them from putting a new person in here. So I routinely rearrange some clothes on the other side of the room, make the bed look slept in and throw some trash around to give it that realistic "lived in" look. The game gets more interesting when they try to send a replacement roommate.

It starts with a phone call

Them: "This is so & so in the billeting office. We tried to send a new roommate to your trailer and they came back and said it looked like someone was already living there."

Me: "Umm, yeah that'd be my roommate."

Them: "But we don't show you as having a roommate."

Me: "Hmm, well I don't know what to tell you. It's the same guy that's been living there since I got here."

Them: "But our records show you as being the only one in that room."

Me: "No, I definitely have a roommate. I don't see him that often, we work opposite schedules. But he was there just the other day."

Them: "So, what's his name?"

Me: "It's Joe....something. I don't know his last name. I think he works at one of the FOB's (Forward Operating Bases). "

Them: "Hmm, well we'll investigate and see what we can figure out."

Good luck with that. They may have the power, but I have the upper hand in the game. See it's really not my problem...it's my roommate's ;) and since they are dealing with hundreds of trailers and thousands of people confusion is standard protocol in that office.

There's no such thing as a hooch with a view. This is what everyone looks at when they step out their front door. Sandbags are stacked around each hooch to protect them from incoming rounds, mortars and rockets. But the sandbags are only good if they take the hit. If your trailer takes the hit, it's like punching through paper.



My first week here I trudged back to my hooch late one night from a long day at the office. I was beat. I dropped my bag and flopped onto my bed with a sigh, letting my right forearm collapse across my eyes. The lack of quality sleep and dry air here make your eyes hurt constantly. I was tired, but I was hungry. It was getting late. If I wanted something to eat I needed to hurry before the DFAC closed. It's a 10 minute walk from my hooch. I pulled my arm down and forced my eyes open to an irritable squint.
I was about to pull myself up from my lumpy, uncomfortable mattress when I noticed something on the ceiling. At first I thought it was a bug. I stood up and looked closer...not a bug. It was a bullet hole. A bullet hole right above my bed. A bullet hole directly over where I lay my weary head every night. I couldn't trace the round, but the crew that came to seal up the hole found it.


They left it for me as a souvenir. It's one of my favorite keepsakes so far. We get a lot of IDF (Indirect Fire) in the compound. Occasionally someone gets hit.

Living at the Palace means learning to exist within a fishbowl of security. There are numerous guards, gates and badge checks everywhere you go. The RSO (Regional Security Officer) holds regular briefings to keep people updated and informed. For emergency situations they have a public address system that covers the entire compound. We call it "The Big Voice." It's used to put out security announcements and emergency alerts. If the detection systems pick up an incoming mortar or rocket a siren goes off and The Big Voice booms "Incoming, Incoming, Incoming!" When that happens you theoretically have a 10 second warning to take cover.
With no real place in your hooch to dive to safety you're supposed to strap on your body armor. That certainly takes longer than 10 seconds, but you should make the effort anyway. We had a very active few days not that long ago. The siren and incoming alerts started about 2am one morning. It's like the world's worst alarm clock. I roll out of bed, put on my body armor and sit there waiting. A few minutes later The Big Voice comes back with a few more words of wisdom, "All clear. All clear. All clear." So off comes the body armor, I crawl back under the covers and try to find The Sandman again. Less than an hour later..."Incoming, Incoming, Incoming!" Same drill. Armor on...wait for the all clear...armor off...back in bed. The third time it happened I was so tired I could barely see straight, my head felt like it was encased in bubble wrap. I got out of bed with a strong verbal expression of displeasure, put my armor on and waited. Usually the all clear comes within a couple of minutes. After 10 minutes of trying to keep my eyes open I figured I could at least lay down and wait. When my real alarm clock went off at 7am I tried to jump up but was held down by the armor. I groaned and expressed some more displeasure. My neck was stiff from sleeping with the helmet on and my back was sore from the weight of the armor. I peeled it off and threw it to the floor. The all clear never came. Now when The Big Voice tries to keep me up at night I just pull my armor over me and use it as a blanket.


In the IZ that's a close as you can get to sleeping safe and sound.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...A personal tour of the IZ and a quiet stroll through a disaster zone.

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"We're not in Kansas anymore..."

The oddest part of this whole experience has been how different my background is from nearly everyone else I've met along the way. I don't mean this in a bad way, it's simply reality. I didn't realize nor even consider the disparity until the 1st day of DSAC. The class began with everyone having to stand up, give their name and a brief synopsis of their background.

The answers from the rest of the class were something along the lines of "My name is such and such and I've spent the last blankety blank years with..." (enter the name of a government entity here). EVERY single person in my class of about 30 was either former military, Department of Defense (DOD), Department of State (DOS) or some other government agency with an acronym of it's own. Being the back of the class kind of person that I am, I heard almost everyone else's story before it was my turn. As the verbal baton of truth moved closer towards my seat my mind raced. Am I.....in the wrong class?.....a victim of mistaken identity?.....about to be uncovered as a government fraud?

The people around me all had backgrounds that actually applied to where we were about to go and what we were about to do. They understood how the government "works", how to bob and weave through the bureaucracy and most of them knew what all the acronyms whizzing past my head actually meant. There were times the instructor would speak sentences that were 50% acronyms. As I'm looking around panicked, trying to figure out what the hell this guy was talking about everyone else is nodding and smiling in agreement and recognition.

Then it was my turn....I stood up, swallowed hard and decided to shoot from the hip.

I gave my name and position at the Embassy and said "I spent the last 15 years working in television. Considering everyone else's background I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. Maybe someone made a mistake, I don't know. But, um, I'm excited to be here and call me crazy but I can't wait to get to Baghdad."

That brought some laughter out of the rest of my classmates and since no armed guards came in and escorted me out of the room I figured I was in the right place. For the rest of the 10 days of training people who couldn't remember my name just referred to me as "The TV guy." I figured, fair enough.

Throughout the initiation and training to get to Baghdad there was one thing I feared most. It had nothing to do with an aircraft tragedy or IED (Improvised Explosive Device). It was getting here, being on the ground and having no one there to meet us and absolutely no idea where we were going.

That is exactly how our arrival began...then it got worse.

The Blackhawk drops into the LZ (landing zone) like a stone, but lands like a feather. We scrambled to heft our luggage to the ground and move quickly away from the whirling blades of the chopper. We were all wearing 35 lbs. of body armor and helmets and trying to lug a year's worth of gear across the tarmac. The Blackhawk lifted off again and the thud-thud-thud-thud-thud from its rotors faded into the sky.

As the silence washed around us we started looking around the LZ. It was just a giant paved parking lot surrounded by tall cement barriers (T-Walls). So there we stood. We'd come halfway around the world in 4 days. We finally made it to Baghdad and there was no one even waiting for us. Never one to overlook the obvious I said, "Where the hell are we supposed to go?" There were no guides, no one to ask for directions, not even a sign with a big arrow saying "This Way ===>". So we moved toward what looked like an opening in the T-walls and hoped for the best.

We found a street and headed in what we thought was the general direction of the Embassy. There was a lot of cursing as we rolled and dragged our luggage down 3 blocks of broken, crumbling sidewalks.

While we were in Washington, DC we each got government ID's called a CAC ('kak' - Common Access Card). These are supposed to get you access to certain federal sites and facilities...we found out a little too late that does not include secured U.S. Embassies. The gate security at the Palace is handled by guards for a contracting company. Most are Peruvian or some similar South American origin. They are all extremely nice guys but their English is no muy bueno. They took one look at our CACs and started shaking their heads. One guard raised his eyes and started looking past us as if he were gazing across a distant horizon. He shifted his feet and adjusted his grip on the M-16 draped over his shoulder. His body language spoke volumes. He had chosen to ignore us. The other guard at least acknowledged our situation. He tapped his finger on the CAC I was holding and said, "Nooo good...no embuzzy batch." Feeling a little testy I said, "So what are we supposed to do?! We just got here." He just shrugged his shoulders. I'll never be sure if that meant "I don't know" or "I don't know what you're saying."

We finally persuaded the guards to get their American supervisor to come out. He was a big guy with a bad attitude who made it exceptionally obvious he could care less if we got inside the Embassy or not. The problem was our Point Of Contact (POC) wasn't there to meet us and we had no way of getting in touch with him. We eventually convinced the supervisor to call his office, so they could call our POC's office and tell him to come get us. When the supervisor hung up his cell phone he pointed a beefy finger at the sidewalk across the street and said, "Wait over there."

So there we sat, three exhausted white guys in body armor with a small mountain of luggage. It must have seemed quite humorous to all the people walking in and out of the Embassy compound. They didn't hesitate to stare and smirk at the fresh fish who couldn't quite seem to make it into the pond.

An HOUR of humiliation later our POC shows up. He was a short, round and balding Pakistani. His thin moustache accentuated his rough sense of the English language. "You're here early," he said with a smile and handshake. I just bit my lip because I would probably have regretted what I wanted to say. One of my co-workers said flatly, "Umm, no not really." Our POC ignored the reply, kept smiling and said, "OK, let's get you inside." That was about as warm a welcome as we'd get.

His plan was to put all our luggage inside his van and drive us into the Embassy compound. That's a multi-step process involving badge checks, bomb sniffing dogs and massive metal barriers. It's VERY important to follow the procedures and obey the signs, particularly the one that says STOP at the first checkpoint where you have to wait your turn. Our POC was too busy nattering away to my coworker next to him in the front seat and rolled right through the stop sign. Even a newbie like me knew this was a bad thing. So I said bluntly, "Hey, stop." He didn't hear me. He continued chatting, not paying attention and moving forward. By that time the guards were moving toward us with their hands raised. I said louder, "Hey STOP!" It still didn't sink in. As we continued slowly rolling forward the guards ahead raised their guns at us and snapped into firing position. I finally grabbed the guy's arm and yelled "STOP!" Knowing how this kind of situation progresses, my next move was to hit the floor. Reality finally hit this guy upside the head and he slammed on the brakes. With their guns still raised one of the guards yelled in a deep hoarse voice, "Back up! Back up the vehicle!" Our driver became suddenly flustered, apologized profusely and slowly reversed his van back to the stop sign.

So, in Baghdad less than 2 hours and we were almost shot by our own troops because of some other guys lack of "situational awareness" as we were trained to call it. When I retold this story to some new friends later, I was told to consider myself lucky. At least the American guards fire warning shots first. The guards at other embassies shoot to kill with no questions asked. An American contractor was shot to death by Australian guards just a few weeks earlier in a very similar situation.

You learn quickly here in the IZ, it's the little things you need to be thankful for.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Next up...A sign from above and sleeping with body armor.

Tinman
All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"Lions and tigers and bears..."

Hello! Thank you for visiting my blog. To those of you I haven't kept in touch with since leaving the states, please forgive me. It's been a crazy several weeks. I'd planned to do this from the beginning, but have been delayed by the hectic pace of training, traveling and getting settled in Baghdad.

So I will bring the whole wild ride up to date and then begin regular updates on my experiences in the International Zone (the I-Z). There's just one rule and you must agree to follow it. For those of you that may have contact with my wife, you cannot discuss with her this blog or the things you read here. I have nothing to hide, but there have been many events that I don't want her to know about until after this is over. She is already worried enough. There's no reason to emotionally exhaust her with the details.

I am still a newbie in a dangerous place where many people have spent years learning to live, while serving in the fight for safety and democracy for the Iraqi people. But I am looking for The Wizard. I'll let you know if I find him.

First, a brief history on how I got here. I've been a News Producer since graduating college. After 15+ years following my career path in TV across country and back, I'd become fully disenchanted with what I feel is the rudderless ship of journalism. Do not get me wrong, this is not a single station or management issue. It's an industry-wide epidemic. I do not take my time or success in TV News for granted. I was very fortunate. But it's pretty simple really. A shrinking body of viewers are forcing media outlets to reach to the lowest depths of content to keep people watching. The viewers that understand what news is and why we're there are turning us off because we are catering to the growing majority who are more interested in Anna's Baby's Daddy and Britney's Breakdown. There is more to it for me personally, but I'll leave it at that basic description. The way I explain it to people who aren't familiar with the TV industry....15-20 years ago you had shows such as Current Affair and Inside Edition trying to model themselves as "newscasts." Now you have newscasts trying to model themselves as Inside Edition and Current Affair. After a few years in the biz, I began to often feel pressured to toss aside my pride and journalistic integrity that I'd worked so hard to grow and maintain. With that said, I have been able to work in TV News with some of the greatest people in the biz. Good hearts, great minds, a HELL of a lot of fun and a true sense of what Journalism really should be. I thank you all for the experience.

One day not so long ago I was sitting at my desk in a busy, noisy newsroom getting ready for another morning meeting where we spend an hour or more making news coverage decisions that will be second-guessed for the rest of the day or simply tossed aside at the last possible moment. In an instant my life changed. A lightning strike of fate. An email hit my inbox from someone who'd become a trusted friend in the past year. His message was characteristically short. I've rarely gotten an email from him that was more than a few sentences, but they always have a wise and direct clarity.


This one said simply "Up for an adventure?"

It was a surreal moment, like when Neo is told "follow the white rabbit."

Attached to the email was a job listing for a position at the US Embassy Baghdad. A job I was perfect for. At first, I made jokes. It seemed almost insane to think about. Leave my cushy life in sunny Florida, my beautiful wife and daughter, my big house, my Jag and come to a war zone. A war zone which is not exactly working in our favor and where every American, military or not, is a potential target.

Then I took some time to think about it...really think about it. A wild fantasy of giving up the industry I'd come to loathe and leaving it all to go and witness history. I realized if I didn't at least try to get the job I'd always regret not having made the effort. The odds of another opportunity like this coming up for me were pretty much zero. Of course I never actually thought I'd get the job. I figured hell it's the government...surely they already have someone in place to fill this slot and the job posting was just a courtesy. I was wrong. After 2 weeks and 3 phone interviews, they wanted me.

So my choices were to stay knee deep in the nonsense or give it all up. After 2 months here on the ground, I know I made the right choice.

It all happened very fast. I got the thumbs up mid-December and by mid-January I'd put my life in the real world on hold and I was in Washington for the training you have to take before you come over. It's called DSAC ('d-sack' - Diplomatic Security Antiterrorism Course). A lot of it was boring crap, but we also got to shoot guns, blow s#!t up and learn surveillance and attack tactics. Then it was off from DC on a 13-hour flight to Kuwait. I was traveling with two other guys that work for the same company.


We spent 3 days at Ali Al Salem Air Base just outside Kuwait city. We had a tent with bunks and the food was good, but there was not much to do here. You can only play so much pool and ping pong. Had a big scare in the chow hall (DFAC 'd-fak' - for Dining Facility) one night. CNN was on the large LCD TV's on the wall and they suddenly cut to Breaking News.

"Tornadoes Hit Central Florida"


Here I am sitting halfway around the world watching one of the bureau chiefs from my old station reporting from the middle of a disaster scene. My first thought was "Holy S#!T Claire frikkin Metz!" Then I realized the area they were showing on the map was where our house is... where my wife and daughter are. The lump in my throat felt like I'd swallowed a golf ball. I ran to the phone. Thankfully they were fine, the tornadoes had past just north and just south of our house. Hundreds of other people were not so lucky.



After our stay in Kuwait we had a very uncomfortable flight into
Baghdad on a C-130 cargo plane. It was just like you see in the movies, a big metal shell with canvas net seats. No drinks, no food service and no sleep.

From Baghdad International Airport (BIAP 'by-op' - EVERYTHING has a damn acronym in government work) into the IZ it was a roller coaster like helicopter ride on a crowded Blackhawk. They fly fast, low and with the big guns locked and loaded.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Next up...We jump off the chopper and my first step into the IZ reveals my biggest fear.

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)