New Delhi, India. The step off point for my third trip to Afghanistan. I'm sitting here in the receiving area of Indira Ghandhi International Airport, waiting for my flight to Kabul. It's now 1am, and my flight is at 730am.
India is the half way house between third world and first world. A mix of western and ancient, tradition and trend. The eight hours I have between flights is time to transition and focus. I grab an expresso and a fresh Somosa, connect to the internet and watch taxi cab drivers vie for position just outside. Car horns seem to be the universal language of travel.
Afghanistan was a place that was once foreign to me, that has slowly become part of my life. At moments during my packing, it almost seemed routine. But I know better. With my ride arranged from Kabul International to Camp Phoenix, it is now only a matter of waiting.
Time to my flight: 6 hours.