To your fallen comrade, salute!!

Tonight I attended my third ramp ceremony. A ramp ceremony is held when a soldier has died. All the allied forces gather on the airfield as the coffin is carried down the runway, to be loaded on the plane home. Tonight the ramp ceremony was for Private Robert Costall, a Canadian soldier who died in a battle with the Taliban last night. In that same battle, 13 Taliban were killed, although I imagine this will be of little consolation to Private Costall's family.

I have little doubt I'll be attending more of these ramp ceremonies during my stay in Afghanistan, both for our own troops and those of our allies, although I hope they will be few and far between. While standing out on the brightly lit airfield tarmac, I couldn't help but wonder, "Are the Taliban watching us right now? Are they lining up their rockets or mortars to take us out? Are there allied patrols out there attempting to protect us while we stand here?" They are sobering thoughts.

I'm trying my best to maintain an impassive, professional attitude towards this enemy, but it isn't easy. I am told Islam is a religion of peace. I want to believe that. I want to believe that the Taliban have perverted their religion, and that the Taliban are to Islam what the Ku Klux Klan and Pat Robertson are to Christianity: aberrations.

The Man in Afghanistan

Well, here I am in Kandahar, Afghanistan. It's been close to three weeks since I left Canada. I'm happy to say the conditions here aren't as bad as I imagined they'd be. I sleep in a type of tent called a weather haven. It sleeps about 12 people, has a wooden door, sits on a concrete pad, and has partitions for each sleeping space.

The eating messes are run by the Americans, and the food isn't bad. Although the Yanks do seem to have a love of corn dogs. The weather has been mostly sunny and warm during the day, although we have had a few dust storms since I've been here. Being a desert environment, the nights are considerably cooler, but still much warmer than Canada this time of year.

One of the rules here in the camp is no drinking. While I'm missing cracking open a cold one at the end of the day, I can see the wisdom in this rule, seeing as we're all constantly in possession of a either a rifle or a pisol. You think drinking and driving is bad, try drinking and packing heat. Bad idea. There's also no "fraternization" here in the camp (i.e. no foolin' around). This means I'm living a monastic existence here. I'll just have to make it up on my European Tour. I'll be touring through 10 European countries in 19 days in May with a bunch of 18-35 year olds. We start in London, travel south until we hit Rome, then travel north again until we finish in Paris. At the end of the tour, I'll even have a couple of days in Paris to wander around by myself before I have to return to Kandahar. It's gonna be awesome!

I'm working with a great bunch of people in the headquarters, which definitely helps make the time pass easier. Most of us, myself included, work seven days a week here. After a while, you start to feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Every day is the same as the last.

I was excited to receive my first piece of mail from back home today. It was a St. Patrick's Day card from my brother and sister-in-law. They sent it on the third, so it didn't take long to get here. Thanks guys! Letters and packages are just a reminder that people back home miss you and love you.

I'm glad they have internet access and e-mail here, because the 9 1/2 hour time difference can make it difficult to reach people on the phone. By the time most of you are getting home from work, I've been in bed for several hours. At least there's the weekend for phone calls.

That's all I have for now. I hope my readers, all six of you, are doing well back in Canada. I look forward to seeing you all when I return to the Great White North in August.