We recently participated in the multi-national exercise AMAN 09, hosted by Pakistan. "Aman" means "peace" in Urdu.
Here is an official Navy press release.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
God's country
At first, it was fishing boats. Wooden, simple, brightly (we Westerners say "garishly") colored. Hundreds upon hundreds of them, glaring and cluttered in the dirty water, air heavy with trash-burnt haze hanging low.
The slightly sooty white ships (snapped in a sepia-toned world of yesteryear) passing close aboard, sailors at attention formed up on every deck, sweaty, saluting smartly, holding salutes into the distance, long past "carry on". Chinese fishing nets draped delicately, cobwebbed, on the tarnished shoreline.
"We call this 'God's country'," crowed the smartly-togged commander at my elbow, resplendent in faded whites. As we approached the pier, the conning officer's helm and line commands were drowned out, raucously, by a tired band in sagging formation, two sweating petty officers posing at either end of a briskly-lettered sign, red on white: "Indian Coast Guard Welcomes USCGC BOUTWELL to Kochi."
The music at times petered out, but given an important command to the lee helm or bow prop operator, the plaintive strains overswept our hearing again, instantly, stridently. It was hot, and hazy, and the whole pier area, everything in sight, was swept clean of people, just for us, rabble cordoned just out of reach. I squinted even through polarized lenses. Still, all the eggy whitewash in the world couldn't cover the mess of Cochin.
We swayed through the crowded streets in shabby luxury buses, worn with time, seats filled incongruously by officers in trops, gleaming white combo covers on laps, peering out through ragged curtains at the world of dust and dirt and grime and striving poverty just the other side of thin glass, inches away at every intersection, chaos and teeming livelihoods undaunted by a cacophony of car horns, moped horns, shouting, pushing, shouldering.
At night, the air was thicker, ashy with burnt trash, red, thick with fat bugs eager to bite, the back of your throat seared. Lights swam back and forth on the water, dark, oily. We clustered in a "safe" hotel, slouched on soft leather couches, five-star on the water, under the verandah, smoked with incense, icy, expensive cocktails in henna'd hands.
Outside, the sewage ran raw through the streets under concrete-block sidewalks. A large, rusty pipe fitting protruded from a cracked wall; above it, a hand-lettered sign: "Potable Water Connection". Every shopkeeper was a hustler, every meal suspect, every transaction scrutinized. Mopeds swarmed around us, driver smartly attired and helmeted, wife side-saddle behind him, child clinging to gas cap, passengers all bare-headed, husband clutching a couple spare helmets in front of him, heedless of hazards.
We disembarked from the musty bus into an oasis, the training center for our hosts and counterparts, colonially time-warped, deep mahoganies and linen-draped wicker, white lights strung through trees in the humid evening, china cups of milky tea in the hot afternoons. Strictly divided: enlisted in the rear, officers up front, captain on a low, velvety couch inches down from the stage, served silver-trayed delicacies by junior personnel. A nine-gun salute. Flamethrowers. Choreographed acrobatic stick-fighting. A long, static, epic mime-opera in drag. Delicious, spicy curries and breathtaking, colorful silks.
A world grasping and unregulated, scrambling over the ruins of a colonial, civilized, casted past. Marked by our words, our skin, our first-world tastes, we struggled to play both gracious host and humble guest, stumbling through ceremony and ritual unfamiliar to us artless Americans, hardening our hearts against questionable need and inescapable touts and beggars. A free market spurning every attempt at regulation.
And in the evenings, around sunset, before the incinerators sparked up and the bug swarms thickened, strains of music wafting across the water, low, determined, calls to prayer.
The slightly sooty white ships (snapped in a sepia-toned world of yesteryear) passing close aboard, sailors at attention formed up on every deck, sweaty, saluting smartly, holding salutes into the distance, long past "carry on". Chinese fishing nets draped delicately, cobwebbed, on the tarnished shoreline.
"We call this 'God's country'," crowed the smartly-togged commander at my elbow, resplendent in faded whites. As we approached the pier, the conning officer's helm and line commands were drowned out, raucously, by a tired band in sagging formation, two sweating petty officers posing at either end of a briskly-lettered sign, red on white: "Indian Coast Guard Welcomes USCGC BOUTWELL to Kochi."
The music at times petered out, but given an important command to the lee helm or bow prop operator, the plaintive strains overswept our hearing again, instantly, stridently. It was hot, and hazy, and the whole pier area, everything in sight, was swept clean of people, just for us, rabble cordoned just out of reach. I squinted even through polarized lenses. Still, all the eggy whitewash in the world couldn't cover the mess of Cochin.
We swayed through the crowded streets in shabby luxury buses, worn with time, seats filled incongruously by officers in trops, gleaming white combo covers on laps, peering out through ragged curtains at the world of dust and dirt and grime and striving poverty just the other side of thin glass, inches away at every intersection, chaos and teeming livelihoods undaunted by a cacophony of car horns, moped horns, shouting, pushing, shouldering.
At night, the air was thicker, ashy with burnt trash, red, thick with fat bugs eager to bite, the back of your throat seared. Lights swam back and forth on the water, dark, oily. We clustered in a "safe" hotel, slouched on soft leather couches, five-star on the water, under the verandah, smoked with incense, icy, expensive cocktails in henna'd hands.
Outside, the sewage ran raw through the streets under concrete-block sidewalks. A large, rusty pipe fitting protruded from a cracked wall; above it, a hand-lettered sign: "Potable Water Connection". Every shopkeeper was a hustler, every meal suspect, every transaction scrutinized. Mopeds swarmed around us, driver smartly attired and helmeted, wife side-saddle behind him, child clinging to gas cap, passengers all bare-headed, husband clutching a couple spare helmets in front of him, heedless of hazards.
We disembarked from the musty bus into an oasis, the training center for our hosts and counterparts, colonially time-warped, deep mahoganies and linen-draped wicker, white lights strung through trees in the humid evening, china cups of milky tea in the hot afternoons. Strictly divided: enlisted in the rear, officers up front, captain on a low, velvety couch inches down from the stage, served silver-trayed delicacies by junior personnel. A nine-gun salute. Flamethrowers. Choreographed acrobatic stick-fighting. A long, static, epic mime-opera in drag. Delicious, spicy curries and breathtaking, colorful silks.
A world grasping and unregulated, scrambling over the ruins of a colonial, civilized, casted past. Marked by our words, our skin, our first-world tastes, we struggled to play both gracious host and humble guest, stumbling through ceremony and ritual unfamiliar to us artless Americans, hardening our hearts against questionable need and inescapable touts and beggars. A free market spurning every attempt at regulation.
And in the evenings, around sunset, before the incinerators sparked up and the bug swarms thickened, strains of music wafting across the water, low, determined, calls to prayer.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Underway on the other side of the world
Another update from our CO follows...
BOUTWELL Family and friends,
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to say "It's a small world" ever again. It's hard to believe that we are about one quarter through this deployment, and we are just now getting over here to do the job we were sent to do. But, it's true - except for some of the work we did during some of our port calls along the way, everything so far has been preparation for this. The real work begins now.
Let me tell you about what we've done since my last email. We've made two port calls and worked with the Coast Guards of India and the Maldives. Both of them were very excited about our visit. As you can imagine, they don't get a U.S. Coast Guard Cutter stopping by very often. The Indian Coast Guard really rolled out the red carpet for us. First, they greeted us with a military band on the pier. Then, they invited us to a demonstration of some of the cultural aspects unique to that region of India, including a martial arts demonstration and a very interesting, stylized performance that combined music, singing and I guess you could call it acting, but it was really an intricate display of eye, facial muscles, lips and hand movements mostly. It was called Kathakali - you can probably Google it and get a better description than what I gave, if you're interested.
We hosted them on board for a reception the next night, and they had the wardroom back for another reception on the final night. In between parties, we had a friendly game of basketball with them. We jumped off to an early lead, but they pulled ahead in the second half. We managed to tie it at the end of regulation, but they outlasted us in overtime and got the victory. Also, several of our crewmembers participated in a community relations project, repairing and whitewashing a wall at a senior citizens' home. [Let's just say we were scraping off the old paint with coconut husks.]
On the day we left, we conducted an exercise with the Indian Coast Guard. We both did SAR demonstrations - they hoisted a swimmer out of the water to one of their helicopters, we hoisted a dummy from our small boat to our helo using our rescue basket. We did some tactical maneuvering with the ships, a fly-by of all our aviation assets, some great photo ops, and did mutual mock boardings with our LE teams. They put on a demonstration of air-to-surface gunnery that was pretty impressive as well.
Our next stop was in the Maldives, near the capital, Male. The Maldives are a beautiful set of coral atolls, about 4-8 degrees above the equator. Tropical island paradise, with crystal clear water, beautiful beaches, fabulous scuba diving, snorkeling and surfing, and really really expensive. We were anchored within the Male atoll, and most of the islands around us charged the crew a 'landing fee' if they went ashore there, going as high as $60 or $75 per person. Hotels started around $200/night. Still, it was very pretty.
We worked with the Maldive National Defense Force Coast Guard there. We gave them some law enforcement and use of force training, did a mock boarding and a SAR demonstration for them, and flew their Director General around in our helo. It was a nice, productive, low key visit with an opportunity for most of the crew to get a chance to relax and have a little fun.
This brings me back to my opening statement about the real work starting now. [We're part of a Naval expeditionary strike group, or ESG.] We've been spread out during our transit from Hawaii, and we'll be doing different things in different places while over here, but we will remain part of that group until we leave. On Friday, the head of the ESG came by for a visit. During the visit, he asked several of the crew, "What have you done for your country today?". It was an interesting question, and I believe it took a couple people by surprise, until it dawned on them that every bit of work they do on board is for their country. It reminded me of a story I heard, that, in the 60's, if you went to NASA and asked one of the janitors who was sweeping a floor what he was doing, he'd say he was putting a man on the moon. It's an important reminder that everyone's job contributes to mission success, and, in our case, it extends to all of you back home as well. The sacrifices you make on a daily basis enable us to do our job - so, thank you for YOUR service!
I know that this deployment is not like typical Coast Guard deployments. I'm giving you less information than I normally would, but I think it's for a valid reason. It might be frustrating, but there isn't any practical reason you need to know where or when our next port call will be. And, for those of you who do know what the current schedule is, there's no reason to give that information to anyone else. Even if you're sure the person you're telling is trustworthy, public communications aren't secure, and believe me, people ARE listening. [In fact, they've told us that every "ship's cell" phone is being tapped.] There are many reasons why it is in the best interests of the crew to keep that information as tightly held as possible.
The next few weeks are going to be pretty hectic and also pretty exciting. I should be able to write again sometime in the next couple of weeks, before St. Patrick's day, anyways. Until then, keep us in your thoughts and take care of yourselves!
CAPT Kevin J. Cavanaugh
Commanding Officer
USCGC BOUTWELL (WHEC 719)
BOUTWELL Family and friends,
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to say "It's a small world" ever again. It's hard to believe that we are about one quarter through this deployment, and we are just now getting over here to do the job we were sent to do. But, it's true - except for some of the work we did during some of our port calls along the way, everything so far has been preparation for this. The real work begins now.
Let me tell you about what we've done since my last email. We've made two port calls and worked with the Coast Guards of India and the Maldives. Both of them were very excited about our visit. As you can imagine, they don't get a U.S. Coast Guard Cutter stopping by very often. The Indian Coast Guard really rolled out the red carpet for us. First, they greeted us with a military band on the pier. Then, they invited us to a demonstration of some of the cultural aspects unique to that region of India, including a martial arts demonstration and a very interesting, stylized performance that combined music, singing and I guess you could call it acting, but it was really an intricate display of eye, facial muscles, lips and hand movements mostly. It was called Kathakali - you can probably Google it and get a better description than what I gave, if you're interested.
We hosted them on board for a reception the next night, and they had the wardroom back for another reception on the final night. In between parties, we had a friendly game of basketball with them. We jumped off to an early lead, but they pulled ahead in the second half. We managed to tie it at the end of regulation, but they outlasted us in overtime and got the victory. Also, several of our crewmembers participated in a community relations project, repairing and whitewashing a wall at a senior citizens' home. [Let's just say we were scraping off the old paint with coconut husks.]
On the day we left, we conducted an exercise with the Indian Coast Guard. We both did SAR demonstrations - they hoisted a swimmer out of the water to one of their helicopters, we hoisted a dummy from our small boat to our helo using our rescue basket. We did some tactical maneuvering with the ships, a fly-by of all our aviation assets, some great photo ops, and did mutual mock boardings with our LE teams. They put on a demonstration of air-to-surface gunnery that was pretty impressive as well.
Our next stop was in the Maldives, near the capital, Male. The Maldives are a beautiful set of coral atolls, about 4-8 degrees above the equator. Tropical island paradise, with crystal clear water, beautiful beaches, fabulous scuba diving, snorkeling and surfing, and really really expensive. We were anchored within the Male atoll, and most of the islands around us charged the crew a 'landing fee' if they went ashore there, going as high as $60 or $75 per person. Hotels started around $200/night. Still, it was very pretty.
We worked with the Maldive National Defense Force Coast Guard there. We gave them some law enforcement and use of force training, did a mock boarding and a SAR demonstration for them, and flew their Director General around in our helo. It was a nice, productive, low key visit with an opportunity for most of the crew to get a chance to relax and have a little fun.
This brings me back to my opening statement about the real work starting now. [We're part of a Naval expeditionary strike group, or ESG.] We've been spread out during our transit from Hawaii, and we'll be doing different things in different places while over here, but we will remain part of that group until we leave. On Friday, the head of the ESG came by for a visit. During the visit, he asked several of the crew, "What have you done for your country today?". It was an interesting question, and I believe it took a couple people by surprise, until it dawned on them that every bit of work they do on board is for their country. It reminded me of a story I heard, that, in the 60's, if you went to NASA and asked one of the janitors who was sweeping a floor what he was doing, he'd say he was putting a man on the moon. It's an important reminder that everyone's job contributes to mission success, and, in our case, it extends to all of you back home as well. The sacrifices you make on a daily basis enable us to do our job - so, thank you for YOUR service!
I know that this deployment is not like typical Coast Guard deployments. I'm giving you less information than I normally would, but I think it's for a valid reason. It might be frustrating, but there isn't any practical reason you need to know where or when our next port call will be. And, for those of you who do know what the current schedule is, there's no reason to give that information to anyone else. Even if you're sure the person you're telling is trustworthy, public communications aren't secure, and believe me, people ARE listening. [In fact, they've told us that every "ship's cell" phone is being tapped.] There are many reasons why it is in the best interests of the crew to keep that information as tightly held as possible.
The next few weeks are going to be pretty hectic and also pretty exciting. I should be able to write again sometime in the next couple of weeks, before St. Patrick's day, anyways. Until then, keep us in your thoughts and take care of yourselves!
CAPT Kevin J. Cavanaugh
Commanding Officer
USCGC BOUTWELL (WHEC 719)
DoD Bloggers' Roundtable: Coast Guard's Anti-Piracy Efforts
Here's a link to a transcript from an interesting "bloggers' roundtable" discussion with two Coast Guard O-6's from CGHQ talking about the Coast Guard's role in anti-piracy efforts.
Bloggers' Roundtable
Bloggers' Roundtable
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