Baghdad Dispach Vol. I
Dearest friends,
After 23 hours on planes, from L.A. to London to Beirut to Amman, and
another 12 on the road from Amman to Baghdad, I am relieved to report
that I have safely arrived here in the Iraqi capital. Having spent the
last 9 months of my professional life consumed with this place on
paper, it is almost surreal to be here in 3D.
Although I was able to speak with many of you on this list before I
departed on my adventure, for those of you who I was unable to
contact, I am here in Baghdad on a one-month stint as the editor in
residence in the L.A. Times bureau. With up to a half-dozen reporters
rotating in and out of Iraq at any given time, it was decided that it
would be advantageous to have an editor on site, especially given the
time difference between the West Coast and Iraq (11 hours). So until
August 26th I will be here in the Masbah neighborhood of Baghdad,
answering the phones, arranging for drivers and generally keeping
track of the troops (meaning our reporters, not the soldiers!) I will
also be editing a good deal of the stories that our reporters produce.
Home base for me is a two-story home that we have rented as our
office/dormitory. Currently I am in residence here with 3 reporters
and a photographer. We also have a large staff of locals, including
about 5 drivers, 5 translators, a cook, a cleaning lady, an office
manager, a gardener (who has made a topiary of sorts that reads "los
angeles times") and a guard armed with a kalashnikov. I was thinking
maybe we could cut a deal with MTV for the Baghdad version of "Real
World." Of course, with no sex going on in our abode it would probably
be of very low interest. On the other hand, you just never know when
you might hear gunshots!
For anyone who just happens to have a Baghdad map just sitting around
(and heck, who doesn't?), we are on the east side of the Tigris, near
the big curve in the river. The house is two stories, with a
clover-shaped pool in back. We seem to have a fairly steady supply of
electricity, which is excellent considering that without air
conditioning and computers life here would be very difficult. Water
supplies are a bit less reliable, but OK. Phone service is
nonexistent, so we must rely on bulky satellite phones. The smallest
of these look huge compared even with the first cell phones some of
you may have had, about the size of a standard brick. Oh, and they're
really cheap too: from 60 cents to $9 a minute. I suppose you can call
me (873-763-641-777) but you would probably get more for you money on
one of those 900 lines back home. Hence, this mass email in the hopes
of some cheap contact with home....
My first day in town was cushy...No stories to edit. I got a brief
tour of the town with another reporter who was throwing himself a
going-away party. We went out to deliver invites and procure supplies.
First stop: cigar shop, with a selection better than that at your
local mall (they've got cubans here). After hearing about all the
services still lacking in Baghdad, it's either very good or very
depressing to know that at least you can get a big old stogie.
Then it was onto the Washington Post house (nicer than ours, by a bit,
but then again I heard it is 3x as expensive). There I met up with
some long-lost friends from my old paper, including Rajiv whom many of
you know. He is now the bureau chief here for the Post and is doing
really good work when he is not overseeing BBQs in his big backyard
with the P-shaped pool and ping-pong table. Sure, there is the
occasional sonic boom from the usual 3 p.m. weapons disposal blasts
nearby conducted by the U.S. army, but heck, that's the least of your
worries in Baghdad I suppose.
Next up was the NYT pad, which is one of the few houses in Baghdad
that is painted (most are sand-colored masonry). The NYT has
apparently decided that a garish scheme of purple, pink and red would
help there abode blend in with the neighbors. I think they have
ensured that no one in Iraq will ever paint their house, which is a
shame considering the place could do with a bit of color.
Next stop was the Palestine hotel. Out front there is heavy U.S.
security, as it is home to a number of occupation types. Out front the
locals are hawking Saddam Hussein watches for $4 apiece. The funny
thing is that these were made AFTER the war, for purchase by tourists.
But anyone who wants one let me know and I can hook you up. Very
classy, in a Saddam sort of way if you know what I mean.
Finally we arrived at the Baghdad convention center, which is the
headquarters for the CPA, the occupation administration. A lot of the
press conferences you see on TV are held here. The highlight of the
building is a big mosaic, one corner of which is a chopped-up american
flag with sinister-looking eyes and gun barrels pointing out of it. I
suppose the Americans will soon do away with this, though I hope it is
preserved somehow for posterity. I have heard that the George "41"
Bush mural that once was on the floor at one of the local hotels (to
be walked on--a grave insult here in the arab world) is no more. Now
that is a serious pity.
Driving around town is a bit invigorating, considering that no stop
lights work, no one obeys stop signs (the few that exist) and since
the war, no one seems to mind driving on the wrong side of the road.
Not to mention you must keep an eye out for the periodic donkey cart.
Food-wise I am enjoying the traditional fare: kebabs, flat bread,
hummus, and a suprising amount of fresh fruit such as watermelons,
plums and bananas. We have trucked in copious amounts of Diet Coke
from Jordan, which as you all can imagine has made me very very happy.
Well, that's the report from Day 1. Please write me when you have
time. If the response is overwhelming, I may resort to another mass
email, which I hope you all will not take personally in light of the
circumstances.
salam alekum...
Dearest friends,
After 23 hours on planes, from L.A. to London to Beirut to Amman, and
another 12 on the road from Amman to Baghdad, I am relieved to report
that I have safely arrived here in the Iraqi capital. Having spent the
last 9 months of my professional life consumed with this place on
paper, it is almost surreal to be here in 3D.
Although I was able to speak with many of you on this list before I
departed on my adventure, for those of you who I was unable to
contact, I am here in Baghdad on a one-month stint as the editor in
residence in the L.A. Times bureau. With up to a half-dozen reporters
rotating in and out of Iraq at any given time, it was decided that it
would be advantageous to have an editor on site, especially given the
time difference between the West Coast and Iraq (11 hours). So until
August 26th I will be here in the Masbah neighborhood of Baghdad,
answering the phones, arranging for drivers and generally keeping
track of the troops (meaning our reporters, not the soldiers!) I will
also be editing a good deal of the stories that our reporters produce.
Home base for me is a two-story home that we have rented as our
office/dormitory. Currently I am in residence here with 3 reporters
and a photographer. We also have a large staff of locals, including
about 5 drivers, 5 translators, a cook, a cleaning lady, an office
manager, a gardener (who has made a topiary of sorts that reads "los
angeles times") and a guard armed with a kalashnikov. I was thinking
maybe we could cut a deal with MTV for the Baghdad version of "Real
World." Of course, with no sex going on in our abode it would probably
be of very low interest. On the other hand, you just never know when
you might hear gunshots!
For anyone who just happens to have a Baghdad map just sitting around
(and heck, who doesn't?), we are on the east side of the Tigris, near
the big curve in the river. The house is two stories, with a
clover-shaped pool in back. We seem to have a fairly steady supply of
electricity, which is excellent considering that without air
conditioning and computers life here would be very difficult. Water
supplies are a bit less reliable, but OK. Phone service is
nonexistent, so we must rely on bulky satellite phones. The smallest
of these look huge compared even with the first cell phones some of
you may have had, about the size of a standard brick. Oh, and they're
really cheap too: from 60 cents to $9 a minute. I suppose you can call
me (873-763-641-777) but you would probably get more for you money on
one of those 900 lines back home. Hence, this mass email in the hopes
of some cheap contact with home....
My first day in town was cushy...No stories to edit. I got a brief
tour of the town with another reporter who was throwing himself a
going-away party. We went out to deliver invites and procure supplies.
First stop: cigar shop, with a selection better than that at your
local mall (they've got cubans here). After hearing about all the
services still lacking in Baghdad, it's either very good or very
depressing to know that at least you can get a big old stogie.
Then it was onto the Washington Post house (nicer than ours, by a bit,
but then again I heard it is 3x as expensive). There I met up with
some long-lost friends from my old paper, including Rajiv whom many of
you know. He is now the bureau chief here for the Post and is doing
really good work when he is not overseeing BBQs in his big backyard
with the P-shaped pool and ping-pong table. Sure, there is the
occasional sonic boom from the usual 3 p.m. weapons disposal blasts
nearby conducted by the U.S. army, but heck, that's the least of your
worries in Baghdad I suppose.
Next up was the NYT pad, which is one of the few houses in Baghdad
that is painted (most are sand-colored masonry). The NYT has
apparently decided that a garish scheme of purple, pink and red would
help there abode blend in with the neighbors. I think they have
ensured that no one in Iraq will ever paint their house, which is a
shame considering the place could do with a bit of color.
Next stop was the Palestine hotel. Out front there is heavy U.S.
security, as it is home to a number of occupation types. Out front the
locals are hawking Saddam Hussein watches for $4 apiece. The funny
thing is that these were made AFTER the war, for purchase by tourists.
But anyone who wants one let me know and I can hook you up. Very
classy, in a Saddam sort of way if you know what I mean.
Finally we arrived at the Baghdad convention center, which is the
headquarters for the CPA, the occupation administration. A lot of the
press conferences you see on TV are held here. The highlight of the
building is a big mosaic, one corner of which is a chopped-up american
flag with sinister-looking eyes and gun barrels pointing out of it. I
suppose the Americans will soon do away with this, though I hope it is
preserved somehow for posterity. I have heard that the George "41"
Bush mural that once was on the floor at one of the local hotels (to
be walked on--a grave insult here in the arab world) is no more. Now
that is a serious pity.
Driving around town is a bit invigorating, considering that no stop
lights work, no one obeys stop signs (the few that exist) and since
the war, no one seems to mind driving on the wrong side of the road.
Not to mention you must keep an eye out for the periodic donkey cart.
Food-wise I am enjoying the traditional fare: kebabs, flat bread,
hummus, and a suprising amount of fresh fruit such as watermelons,
plums and bananas. We have trucked in copious amounts of Diet Coke
from Jordan, which as you all can imagine has made me very very happy.
Well, that's the report from Day 1. Please write me when you have
time. If the response is overwhelming, I may resort to another mass
email, which I hope you all will not take personally in light of the
circumstances.
salam alekum...
julie
*************************************
Baghdad Dispatch, Vol. 2
Hello friends,
Greetings again from Baghdad. Thanks to everyone who has written, I
appreciate your notes!
I will start this dispatch with a brief weather report. Today it is 55
degrees. How I wish I was speaking of Fahrenheit. Alas, that is
centigrade, which translates into 131 for those of you in the states.
What is life like at 131? Not bad if you are inside and electricity (and
hence the air conditioning) is on. Otherwise, just standing seems pretty
exhausting. You sweat everywhere, in places you didn't even know you had
sweat glands. The "good" part is, everybody else is sweating, too. Thank
god my sense of smell is extremely poor. But I have taken to keeping my
deodorant on my desk, for regular application.
I tried "cooling off" in the pool one afternoon this week, but upon
jumping in I found it to be like entering a warm bath. Only at the very
bottom was it the slightest bit refreshing. In the car, the air
conditioning will usually bring the temperature down to a positively cold
90! I hope I am inspiring in you newfound respect for Iraqis, just for
living here. Did I mention that NO ONE wears shorts in public? Period.
Occasionally I am getting out of the house. Yesterday I had the chance to
visit the grounds of Saddam's Republican Palace in Baghdad. The
occupation administration has taken over the vast complex, parts of which
were heavily bombed in March. Those parts that were spared are now
housing offices for the various government ministries (since all but the
oil ministry was looted), plus contractors, military folks, etc.
Security is tight upon entering the palace. Cars are searched from hood
to trunk, and one must get out and be patted down by soldiers (or in my
case, local Iraqi women, who have been hired to take care of the
females). Pity the GI who is assigned to this duty, baking in his
cammies, flak jacket and helmet, lucky if his post is near the rare speck
of shade.
Pass the checkpoint and it's onto the grounds, which give the vague
impression of an amusement park long abandoned. Buildings, blasted by
U.S. missiles, are set here and there; landscaping that had obviously
been carefully tended has fried in the sun. It's more than a half-mile
drive through the boulevard-wide streets to the main building, which you
can recognize by the four large heads of Saddam, wearing some sort of
Greco-Roman warrior helmet, set atop the structure. Can you say egomaniac?
According to one of the press liaisons at the palace, Saddam didn't
spend much time here. But that doesn't mean he spared any expense. The
corridors are paved with three types of marble—pink, tan and green. From
the intricately decorated ceilings hang chandelier after chandelier after
chandelier. Each door along the long hallways has carved designs. As I
walked through the building, I was overcome with what I can only describe
as an almost suffocating sadness. How wicked it was to waste the riches
of a nation in this way.
Greetings again from Baghdad. Thanks to everyone who has written, I
appreciate your notes!
I will start this dispatch with a brief weather report. Today it is 55
degrees. How I wish I was speaking of Fahrenheit. Alas, that is
centigrade, which translates into 131 for those of you in the states.
What is life like at 131? Not bad if you are inside and electricity (and
hence the air conditioning) is on. Otherwise, just standing seems pretty
exhausting. You sweat everywhere, in places you didn't even know you had
sweat glands. The "good" part is, everybody else is sweating, too. Thank
god my sense of smell is extremely poor. But I have taken to keeping my
deodorant on my desk, for regular application.
I tried "cooling off" in the pool one afternoon this week, but upon
jumping in I found it to be like entering a warm bath. Only at the very
bottom was it the slightest bit refreshing. In the car, the air
conditioning will usually bring the temperature down to a positively cold
90! I hope I am inspiring in you newfound respect for Iraqis, just for
living here. Did I mention that NO ONE wears shorts in public? Period.
Occasionally I am getting out of the house. Yesterday I had the chance to
visit the grounds of Saddam's Republican Palace in Baghdad. The
occupation administration has taken over the vast complex, parts of which
were heavily bombed in March. Those parts that were spared are now
housing offices for the various government ministries (since all but the
oil ministry was looted), plus contractors, military folks, etc.
Security is tight upon entering the palace. Cars are searched from hood
to trunk, and one must get out and be patted down by soldiers (or in my
case, local Iraqi women, who have been hired to take care of the
females). Pity the GI who is assigned to this duty, baking in his
cammies, flak jacket and helmet, lucky if his post is near the rare speck
of shade.
Pass the checkpoint and it's onto the grounds, which give the vague
impression of an amusement park long abandoned. Buildings, blasted by
U.S. missiles, are set here and there; landscaping that had obviously
been carefully tended has fried in the sun. It's more than a half-mile
drive through the boulevard-wide streets to the main building, which you
can recognize by the four large heads of Saddam, wearing some sort of
Greco-Roman warrior helmet, set atop the structure. Can you say egomaniac?
According to one of the press liaisons at the palace, Saddam didn't
spend much time here. But that doesn't mean he spared any expense. The
corridors are paved with three types of marble—pink, tan and green. From
the intricately decorated ceilings hang chandelier after chandelier after
chandelier. Each door along the long hallways has carved designs. As I
walked through the building, I was overcome with what I can only describe
as an almost suffocating sadness. How wicked it was to waste the riches
of a nation in this way.
I wonder how Saddam would feel to walk in here now, and find his foyer
filled with the faint smell of spaghetti, as if one had just entered an
elementary school cafeteria. The Americans have set up a commissary in
one of the grand ballrooms not far from the front door, and cheap tables
line the entryway. In one corner, a makeshift minimart has been
established, where the soldiers wait in lines to buy strawberry Fanta,
cans of pistachios, Head and Shoulders and of course, cigarettes. Sitting
on couches that would not be out of place in Versailles, the young
Americans sip their Red Bull and enjoy the air conditioning.
I was tagging along to see the palace with one of my reporters, who was
doing interviews with 2 Texans who have been flown in to oversee reform
in the Ministry of Education, and Bernard Kerik, the former NYPD commish
who has been working on the Iraqi police. Based on our two 30-minute
interviews, let's just say I have a lot more faith that the police will
be on their feet soon. Kerik had crammed himself, an aide and 2 big desks
into a tiny office, and in an adjoining room sat about 20 Americans and
Iraqis, all obviously intent on their work. The Texans chatted from a
baroque style pink couch in their deserted office, where they had a white
board with a cheery slogan: Let's Make Every Day Count! In the
interest of fairness, Kerik has been in town 3 months, and the Texans 2
weeks. But still, it was a tad scary…
filled with the faint smell of spaghetti, as if one had just entered an
elementary school cafeteria. The Americans have set up a commissary in
one of the grand ballrooms not far from the front door, and cheap tables
line the entryway. In one corner, a makeshift minimart has been
established, where the soldiers wait in lines to buy strawberry Fanta,
cans of pistachios, Head and Shoulders and of course, cigarettes. Sitting
on couches that would not be out of place in Versailles, the young
Americans sip their Red Bull and enjoy the air conditioning.
I was tagging along to see the palace with one of my reporters, who was
doing interviews with 2 Texans who have been flown in to oversee reform
in the Ministry of Education, and Bernard Kerik, the former NYPD commish
who has been working on the Iraqi police. Based on our two 30-minute
interviews, let's just say I have a lot more faith that the police will
be on their feet soon. Kerik had crammed himself, an aide and 2 big desks
into a tiny office, and in an adjoining room sat about 20 Americans and
Iraqis, all obviously intent on their work. The Texans chatted from a
baroque style pink couch in their deserted office, where they had a white
board with a cheery slogan: Let's Make Every Day Count! In the
interest of fairness, Kerik has been in town 3 months, and the Texans 2
weeks. But still, it was a tad scary…
My visit to the palace was a victory of sorts, considering that I heard
my predecessor in this job left the house only once or twice. I have been
making it a point to try to get out at least every other day, if only for
a bit of shopping, an ice cream (the pistachio here can't be beat) or
an errand. To do otherwise, it seems, is to miss half the point of being
here. This is a turbulent, exciting, excruciating time for Iraq, and to
be witness to it, albeit briefly, is invigorating. There is a Chinese
curse, May you live in interesting times, but it seems to me that
that is vastly preferable to the alternative.
I hope you all are well, and are finding your own corners of the globe
interesting these days, too.
Julie
Note: Dispatches 3 and 4 are missing. If you have a copy of these, please email me! Thanks, Julie
my predecessor in this job left the house only once or twice. I have been
making it a point to try to get out at least every other day, if only for
a bit of shopping, an ice cream (the pistachio here can't be beat) or
an errand. To do otherwise, it seems, is to miss half the point of being
here. This is a turbulent, exciting, excruciating time for Iraq, and to
be witness to it, albeit briefly, is invigorating. There is a Chinese
curse, May you live in interesting times, but it seems to me that
that is vastly preferable to the alternative.
I hope you all are well, and are finding your own corners of the globe
interesting these days, too.
Julie
Note: Dispatches 3 and 4 are missing. If you have a copy of these, please email me! Thanks, Julie
