In the Castle

Our camp is not like where we trained, or any other military base I’ve been to. We live and work in a veritable fortress, eerily reminiscent of a medieval castle. We are in the middle of a city in a fortress surrounded by very high walls guard towers and imposing gates.  Getting in and out requires passing a myriad of checkpoints.  Horse and carriage have been replaced by armored vehicles driven and escorted by young soldiers.  Oddly, our contractors live off the compound and each day walk outside the gate in body armor to their residence halls with names like Monkey House, and London.  The fortress walls protect our little city for 2000 folks from around the world.   We work mostly in converted shipping containers in bullpen settings.  There is large cafeteria, gym, three restaurants, residence halls, laundry, post office, stables for all the vehicles, rec center, post office, and a number of coffee shops to feed the insatiable need for coffee.  There is a small park to unwind at that us advisors have claimed for game night in the middle of the week.  Across is the “palace” where the seniors live and work.  The place is obsessed with personal hygiene.  Understandably since a bacterial outbreak would be devastating in such close quarters.  The dirtiest thing in camp is the door handle to the cafeteria.  Just in the door you must wash up before getting food.  It’s a good thing.

The camp has a certain battle rhythm to it and its not long before you get into one yourself.  Soldiers and civilians find ways to unwind.  The Balkan troops play wicked games Footsol (small sided soccer on a tennis court) in the night.  Northern Europeans play volleyball in the gym.  Most run around the inner perimeter or work out at the gym at all hours.  Others hang out in their National Support Element centers (essentially little CONEX Box clubhouses decorated by each country.  The Germans have a plaza setting with a Maypole, the Italians a nice café setting.  The Norweigians have what looks like a cabin in the woods. Anything to remind them of home.  One of the restaurants puts on Salsa night on Saturdays.  Im there to polish up on my skills.  It odd when the night ends and your dance partner has to done armor over her dressy outfit to get home.  We do live in a strange place.