But to start where I left off in November 2019, from the Maldives, I went to Sri Lanka and then Myanmar, and then off to Vienna to graduate with my second Master’s degree.

In January 2020, I set out for New York City to spend a few days with friends. I’d been to New York several times in the past, but this time, I had a few priorities on my list. Spend time with my best friend. See my friend and his beautiful baby daughter. Visit the Met, the Guggenheim, and the 9/11 Memorial Site. Eat lots of good food. Check check check. When all of it was said and done, I boarded a plane bound for Kabul.

It’s funny when you go back to Afghanistan after a little break. Things can change pretty dramatically with the shuffle of new colleagues in the house. My old routines were immediately disrupted and my anxiety soared. The kitchen was no longer my refuge, and anyone who came into the kitchen seeing me cook, required attention and conversation. Some even demanded to be fed, and sat at the dinner table like a child waiting for the next meal. Anxiety central.

I thought it would be better by February, and my first R&R. Off to Mauritius for an action-packed holiday. I partnered with Mauritius Conscious, a tour operator that focuses on local businesses and eco-friendly activities.

As soon as I returned from Mauritius, the house was full of activity and my anxiety level skyrocketed. I pleaded with my boss to let me go to a different office for a break from all the humans in Kabul. And so I set off on my first domestic trip of the year – Mazar-i-Sharif.

In Mazar, alone in the guesthouse for the first few days, I found the peace I was searching for. No one to force me into awkward conversation in the kitchen, no one sitting at the dinner table waiting to be fed. Just me and my thoughts. My friend came back to Mazar after the first weekend, and since it was his last few days there, we went on a food tour adventure of Mazar-i-Sharif.

My trip to Mazar was cut short with the news of COVID-19 evacuation. Immediately, we had to return to Kabul and within 48 hours, we had to leave Afghanistan.

From March to August, I spent my time at a friend’s home in Scotland. She had just purchased a cottage and began working from home. Two days after I landed, Scotland went into lockdown. And from March to July, we were never farther from her cottage than our legs could carry us. We took care of each other and kept ourselves sane during an insane time. We had Taco Tuesdays, Burger and Beer Fridays, trips to the butcher and walks around the local forests and lochs. Let’s not forget our adventure in searching for Rob Roy MacGregor’s infamous cave hideout.

Of course, when lockdown lifted in July, I had a series of my own adventures.

• I went to Islay and Jura and had a marvelous time;
• Spent some time in Perthshire and had an amazing chocolate and whisky pairing;
• Checked off photographing puffins from my bucket list, when I did an amazing photography tour with Distinct Scotland;
• Visited the only pyramid in Scotland, on the grounds of Balmoral Castle.

And then, Ukraine. Random? Yes. Why? Couldn’t stay in Scotland past mid-September (visa issues), and my boss wasn’t ready to bring me back to Afghanistan yet, so, six weeks in almost complete isolation in Kyiv. It’s ok though. I celebrated my 38th birthday with a food tour in Kyiv. And got to visit Chernobyl, which I really wanted.

Suddenly, in the beginning of September, I received word that I could return to Kabul. And six months to the day that I left Kabul, I returned.

Life in Afghanistan was tough – mostly work related versus coronavirus related. Two trips down to Kandahar, the big city in the South, and several weeks of work anxiety later, and it was time to go.

Two days before I left, I twisted my ankle. The day that I left, a morning rain storm turned into a freak blizzard slash first snow of the year.

As if traveling with a twisted ankle and a freak blizzard was not enough. A trip back home to California normally takes a little over a day. In the time of covid? 55 hours of travel time, 2 overnight layovers – basically 3 full days. Even though I was traveling back in time, it still took me from Saturday to Monday to arrive. But here I am.

Happy to be back home, happy to be surrounded by my family. Looking forward to breathing a huge sigh of relief for the new year.

Until next time, I hope everyone is happy and healthy. 2020 was an awful year for everyone. All the best for 2021!

Lannie

Lannie is a perpetual wanderer and loves to share her travel adventures and the food she eats along the way with everyone.  She works during the day while bouncing around the world and dreams about new places and faces at night!  She has a home on the magical Isle of Islay in Scotland, where the whisky flows freely and happily.

Click on the blue icons below to follow her on social media!

lanniesfoodandtravel.com/index.php/about-me/

Like all things, it took a while to get used to. Because of the nature of my job, there were certain realities that I needed to face. And once you accepted your lot in life, it sets you free.

As winter thawed, and a bit of green peaked through, weekend brunches in the garden and terraces began. Coinciding with my return from a school trip in April, I came out of my shell and realized that living a life of isolation here was not sustainable, nor healthy. I was concerned that with socialization, I would accidentally leak the confidential aspects of my job to my housemates, who were undeniably curious. However, confident in my ability to handle it, I embraced being social within the house. More group dinners happened at home, with game nights on the weekend. It’s not necessarily an exciting life that humanitarians lead, but simple.

When summer came, and friends in the house left for different missions, I began to start seeking refuge in cooking. My work stresses diminished, while chopping parsley, coriander or garlic for hours. I also began to try to figure out:

• Being keto in Kabul, and all the nuanced recipes that it requires, given a limited supply of goods available to me;
• Baking at high altitude (ok, so I have yet to master boiling an egg at high altitude… nobody’s perfect!);
• But more specifically, baking with a temperamental oven, with no thermometer markings, and a penchant for burning things on top and on the right side.

Every day in the kitchen was a mild challenge that I set for myself. And as long there were little goals I attempted to achieve, I felt like I was accomplishing little wins every time something came out normal.

After most people left, when I threw myself into cooking, I formed a close bond with E, the hardest working person in the house and my neighbor from across the hall. When I would wake up around 3 am to work on my thesis, I could see her light was still on, because she hadn’t slept yet. She was the last remaining one of the group of friends I was close with. We looked out for each other.

In the middle of summer, I began dating in Kabul. It wasn’t without its challenges – he worked for an agency around the corner, with severe security restrictions, whereas I was relatively free in comparison. Visits needed to be scheduled in advance and he worked 6 days a week. For me, working hours were 8 – 4 pm, no exceptions. Not only that, we lived on completely opposite schedules. I woke at 3 am and was asleep by 9 pm. On his day off, he often didn’t wake until 2 pm. It wasn’t ideal, but he cared a lot for me. He didn’t communicate very well, but he told me to never question his feelings for me, and I didn’t … until he disappeared.

When I say that he disappeared, within the context of Afghanistan, that could mean a number of things. To be honest, the threat of kidnapping for international workers in Kabul is high. We have a plethora of risk mitigation measures that are supposed to decrease that risk, but the residual risk still remains. When I say he disappeared, that is literally what I mean. One day, we were going through our opposing schedules, week by week, trying to arrange for a holiday together. And then a few days later, he stopped responding to me altogether. Now, 8 weeks later, I still have not heard from him. Were there bombs that went off near embassies or places he was allowed to go? I know nothing happened to him, because I ended up making inquiries. After 10 days, I ended up asking someone senior who I worked with, who had been friends with him for years. They had just spoken the day before. So, he’s alive. And now, weeks later, not only is he alive, but he is posting on Instagram.

That’s the weird thing about Afghanistan. Men ghosting in dating life can be expected, to a certain extent, any where you are. But in Afghanistan, there are legitimate questions about whether the person is under duress or in danger. But alas. He’s alive, and I am stronger for it. I am grateful that I never let my emotions get the best of me, that I never lashed out unnecessarily, that I personally would never let someone think that I was kidnapped. At the end of the day, we are only in control of our own behavior.

During the last few weeks, an unexpected thing happened. I found friendship and solace in someone in the house. He likes to say that we only became friends because I began to drink whisky, following my trip to Scotland. I think it was because he was always there to listen, and always there with kindness when I needed it. But, as with all things in life, it is temporary in nature. He left Afghanistan, onto bigger and better things, the day after I left. After peeling away layers of what you want people to see on the outside, you realize that people aren’t so different on the inside… with the same insecurities in life, with the same need for comfort and affection.

The last few weeks had laughs, drinks, movie nights in our safe room/bar, and endless barbecues.

I leave Afghanistan with a renewed appreciation for life and people within my life. I dedicate this post to the people I have met during my first year in Afghanistan:

• Dana, always there to cook a 3 course dinner and an early morning coffee chat;
• Kerry, for laughs and my first and only experience in an Afghan hospital;
• Dea, for lunches together on the rooftop terrace, and far too generous pours of whisky;
• Noah, for the weekly pub quiz rituals and the biggest bear hug that I’ll always remember;
• David, I can still hear you running at full speed down the hallway;
• Jeff, co-president of the meat club – need I say more?
• Ajanth, who appreciates my shrimp heads and pork belly snacks;
• Patricia, for making me mokas, and her unending belief that zaatar cures everything;
• Daniel, my first and only friend outside of work;
• Will, for being the resident poet and arranging Rambo movie nights;
• Elelta, for imparting on me the knowledge to order successful take out and for “actually” thinking my cooking was tasty;
• Anthony, for never throwing away my scones, always making me popcorn, and…ruby, ruby, ruby.

To Hamid and Abaseen – my team at work. Without you, I would not have been able to accomplish half the things I wanted to.

To the people I met because of work in the last year, who are not in Afghanistan, but provided immeasurable support. Mike, the kindest man on the face of this earth. Jenny, always there to listen in the most difficult contexts. Mathias, for support and inspiration.

This post is dedicated to all of them. Afghanistan, see you in the new year.

Lannie

Lannie is a perpetual wanderer and loves to share her travel adventures and the food she eats along the way with everyone.  She works during the day while bouncing around the world and dreams about new places and faces at night!  She has a home on the magical Isle of Islay in Scotland, where the whisky flows freely and happily.

Click on the blue icons below to follow her on social media!

lanniesfoodandtravel.com/index.php/about-me/

As some of you may know, professionally I do investigations. This in itself is an isolating field. You can’t share much about what you do. Generally, I really don’t like to talk about the specifics of what I do anyway, but in the context of investigations and Afghanistan, sometimes there is so much that I need to let out. Over the weekend, I really just wanted to be in a soundproof room and scream at the top of my lungs.

I’m sure blood curdling screams for no reason are frowned upon in Afghanistan, and doing so may unnecessarily raise alarm bells. So obviously, I didn’t.

The last time I lived in a group-living situation was almost exactly 10 years ago, in 2009, when I first moved to Chicago. My dear friend, E, of 22 years invited me to stay with him and his roommates while I got on my feet in this new city. I had just moved back to the US from Thailand. I had no job, no money. And in the whole city of Chicago, I knew him. Even now, 10 years later, I am so thankful for the kindness and the way he and his roommates opened their Lincoln Park home to me. I lived in the living room, on a mattress in the corner. (Also living in the living room, was a man on the futon). This is in addition to the 3 official people living there.

The group living situation in Chicago in many ways is similar to here. There’s always someone cooking food. There’s always someone working out. No matter what, the kitchen is always dirty. The floors are uneven. The house is frigidly cold.

But in stark contrast is the feeling of isolation I feel here. I am surrounded by people who … make plans with me, confirm them, and then don’t show up. And we live in the same house!

Or like over the weekend. I had texted a group of women who regularly do yoga together. I said I was going to head down for some yoga, if anyone wanted to join. They replied saying they had just finished a workout together – would I mind waiting 2 hours for them? They’d be fine by 4 pm for some yoga. 4 rolls around, nothing. By 4:15, I messaged and said I was heading down. And that’s when everyone decided to go grocery shopping. At that exact moment. All of them. So, yoga for one it is.

During the holiday and new year week, when the guesthouse was empty, I did yoga every morning around 6 am by myself. That isolation didn’t bother me. Isolation and being alone go hand in hand and actually gives me strength.

Isolation in a group setting, especially when it’s done like that, does not give me strength. It makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and never emerge from my room.

But that’s ok. On Saturday morning, Friday night US time, I had an amazing FaceTime hangout with a friend, J, who did normal things while on the phone with me – walking home, cooking dinner, lazing around on the couch, dying laughing at silly stories. I think we were on the phone for an hour or two, just hanging out. And those are friendship goals. Doing nothing, but providing all the support you could ask for.

All life is continual destruction and healing, over and over again.

365 Tao Daily Meditations – Deng Ming-Dao

Lannie

Lannie is a perpetual wanderer and loves to share her travel adventures and the food she eats along the way with everyone.  She works during the day while bouncing around the world and dreams about new places and faces at night!  She has a home on the magical Isle of Islay in Scotland, where the whisky flows freely and happily.

Click on the blue icons below to follow her on social media!

lanniesfoodandtravel.com/index.php/about-me/