The Foreign Service Journal, May 2011

M A Y 2 0 1 1 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 49 what to do with me. But they were incredibly professional and gracious, seating me first here and then there, and without a lot of fanfare finally just stamping me through and wish- ing me a good day. Samir’s brother needed a bit more time to be processed, but we were soon on our way. In another hour and a half we were in the airport in Damascus, and three hours later I was on my way to Bu- dapest, arriving at 6 a.m. Not wanting to wake anyone, I took a cab and walked up to my apartment on Joszef Heghyi Utca. Remarkably, I could still find my key, and walked in the door. My daughter Rachel’s room is the closest to the staircase, and she is the lightest sleeper. She practically flew down the stairs and into my arms. It was good to be home. So Near, and Yet So Far It was Christmas Eve, and Cecile had invited Ambas- sador Walker and his wife for dinner. They had arrived at post after my departure, and I wasn’t sure he would have a sense of humor about my TDY. But, in fact, he saw it as very much the right thing to do. As it turned out, it was a very pleasant evening overall. Still, the difficulty I felt that night shifting gears from the increasingly mean streets of Ramadi to a comfortable apartment in Budapest persisted. And, as with the chat system, Cecile and I never quite got on the same wave- length. I thought it was enough to have made the effort to be home; she thought that after all she had done to cover for me and then prepare for my arrival, I should be able to give her my undivided attention. One fateful afternoon in a coffee shop she found me drifting off, not focusing on the conversation — certainly not focused on whatever issues she was raising. She was right: my mind was elsewhere, working through, again and again, how we would structure the Fallujah Council in such a way that it would tamp down the hostility there; how we would engage the essential Kharbit clan in the Ramadi caucus; and how we would cover the river cities out to the border for their elections without anyone get- ting killed in the process. My body was in Budapest, but my mind was still fully in Iraq. That went over even less well than our standard Mars-Venus interactions. Is Less More? The return trip was an amazingly simple reversal of the trip to Bu- dapest — a two-hour flight to Dam- ascus, met by Samir’s brother, and an eight-hour drive to the base. This time we went straight in without the car-switching. As always, though, when we re- turned to the base in anything other than a Suburban, it was nerve-wracking to make the approach to the gate, not knowing what new system might be in effect, always leery of how the guards would react to an American walk- ing up to the gate. Then they checked me in, and I was “home.” We im- mediately got started on the caucuses, and I was quickly reminded why I had been so consumed with the project while in Budapest. In the end, I wonder if my father’s system of a clean two-year separation wouldn’t be easier on everyone. F O C U S My body was in Budapest, but my mind was still fully in Iraq.