There isn't much hope here...

To do list: Leave for Amman early tomorrow morning; dodge bandits along the highway at Fallujah; buy cashews or pistachios for the long plane ride home tomorrow night at a little shop just down the block from our hotel.

I wasn't sure when I got here if 10 days would be enough time to do much of anything. I thought I would be wanting to stay longer. But I don't. I'm ready to come home. Life is very hard here. A little rubs off even on visiting journalists.

I've heard a lot of talk about the dangers here: we hear the gunfire every night and second-hand stories of stabbings and shootings, kidnappings and attacks on U.S. soldiers. But the biggest danger is the traffic. With no government, people here have pretty much decided that they can do whatever they want to, and that's especially true when it comes to driving.

With no traffic lights and almost no police, people drive on the wrong side of the road, they drive up the exit ramp to get onto freeways; they go at full speed the wrong direction on freeways; they stop on streets, bridges and highways; often they just abandon their cars in the middle of the road. And they all refuse to yield at intersections, so intersections become parking lots, with cars unable to go forward or back, for what seems like hours, but is probably only several minutes.

It's difficult to imagine what it's like for Iraqis who know they don't have a choice about staying or going.

A lot of people we've talked to want to leave. They say they don't see much hope. Neither do I.

Viewing the devastation

Some changes in Baghdad have been harder to get used to than others. In 1999 and in 2002, we spent many hours wandering and waiting in the halls of the Ministry of Information, where journalists are assigned their "minders." It's strange to see it bombed and burned. The shell of the building crouches like a super-sized locust shell near the banks of the Tigris river, all life is gone.

Almost all of the key government and military buildings in town are in ruins. Today we drove past the only government building that is still pristine: the oil ministry building. Someone mentioned that it was probably just a coincidence that buildings like those belonging to the Ministry of Education were either bombed and/or looted while the oil headquarters was unharmed.

We saw some of the former minders marching in protest down the middle of the street in the Mansour area, headed for the Palestine Hotel, where most journalists are holed up, and, so where most issues are raised. The ex-minders had joined ex-soldiers and other ministry of defense types to demand jobs. They want the army to be re-activated, which isn't likely to happen. But if the million or so out-of-work soldiers don't get jobs there will be a lot of trouble ahead for the U.S. soldiers in Iraq. It's always a good idea to have men who have trained with guns in some sort of job. Idle hands that have been trained to kill are the devil's workshop, or something like that.

Dan and I stayed at the Palestine Hotel in 1999 and in 2002. It was a nice hotel with a friendly staff. Today, it's an armed camp. Razor wire blocks one end of the road leading to its entrance and a couple of U.S. Army tanks guard the street at the other end. The outside of the hotel is still pock-marked from a U.S. Army tank shell that killed two journalists in a friendly-fire incident during the takeover of Baghdad.

The Petra Hotel, down the road leading north, is a much more pleasant place these days. Maybe not quite as protected -- I haven't seen any armed guards -- but the nightly crackle of gunfire isn't directed at foreign civilians anyway, yet.

Like old times, almost

Returning to Baghdad after several days on the road, and sometimes nearly off the road, was almost like coming home. OK, I know that's a stretch, but it felt really good.

We had a clean hotel room waiting with hot showers, the first with hot water since we left last Tuesday. We had dinner at Candles just around the corner from our hotel, although it had to be a quick dinner, since, by the time we got there, it was nearly 5 p.m., closing time in these days of everyone rushing to get home before nightfall because of the security problems.

And like coming home, we ran into people we hadn't seen in a long while. As we were going back to our hotel after dinner, I heard someone shouting my name from a passing car. It was a man who had helped me last year when I was in Iraq.

After we had exchanged greetings and he hopped back in his car, Dan and I walked around the corner to our hotel and there were two former "minders," the Iraqi government people who used to keep an eye on and assist foreign visitors in Iraq. There are distinct categories for minders, and these two were definitely in the good category.

Like millions of other people here, they are out of work, trying to make any connections they can to feed their families. Unlike some people, whose ministries will be up and running, hopefully sooner rather later, these two men know that their ministry, that of information, will probably never be put back to work.

A bittersweet homecoming.

Freckle-faced boys and girls

There are U.S. Marines at the Hotel Kut where we are staying in Al-Kut. A lot of them. We first discovered that there were a lot this morning when we came down for breakfast and there was no food left in the restaurant. None. Worse still, there was no coffee. The Marines were gone, but I could imagine their sergeant saying, "Let's eat up people."

Even if no one said anything remotely like that, they did eat up. There had been plenty of food the night before. The funny thing was, when we saw them later at lunch in the restaurant, most of them seemed so little. Where were they putting all that food? They also seemed very young. Freckle-faced boys and girls touring a foreign country. In desert camouflage uniforms that meshed nicely with the beige fly-specked walls. With weapons slung over the backs of their chairs, barrels facing down.

No weapons of mass destruction, certainly, but destructive enough.

Most of the Marines here are from the 4th Marines out of Washington, D.C., and most of the men and women are from points south. We keep asking if there is anyone from Washington state, but so far, we haven't found anyone here in Al-Kut.

They're all friendly enough, even if they do call you "sir." What they can't understand is why we are here in Iraq. One guy was incredulous when Dan told him that he had been here before and wanted to come back.

"You knew what this country was like and you still volunteered to come back?" he asked. His companions just shook their heads in disbelief.

My body is past its 'use by' date

If this is Saturday, then I must be in Al-Kut. I’m starting to feel like I’ve been on a one-week, 10-city tour. Actually, I have been on a one-week, 10-city tour.

We went from Seattle to Chicago; to Amman, Jordan; to Baghdad; to As Samawah; to Nasiriyah; to Az Zubayr; to Basra; to Umm Qasr; back to Basra; to Al-Kut.

The almost nonstop, nonsleep travel is starting to take its toll. Today we discovered that our satellite phone batteries and our laptop batteries were dead, coincidentally enough, at the same time that I discovered my body was past its “use by” date.

Dan asked me to cc the photo desk this afternoon while I was reporting in to the national/foreign desk and it took me five minutes to type in the right email address.

It’s nothing that a good 8 hours of sleep can’t cure, and considering what a great thing it is just to be here, doing what we do, I shouldn’t complain. But still I do.