Where the hell am I?

I finally moved on from _____ to _____. My previous whereabouts were subject to newsworthy attempts on the lives of the several thousand gun-toting individuals by no less than five (this is correct. four were taken alive, one was more "collected" than anything, in that his parts were scattered by aircraft gunfire. "Got him!" and "Look at his head!" were among the comments shouted by the pilots over the real-time video and audio feed of the event.) I myself was laying on the floor of a plywood shack when a rocket screamed in and peppered us (the shack) with bits of rock and metal. Thank you plywood for being ever so slightly dense. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it is true.
So, I gladly moved on to ____, but the travel is noteworthy. The area over which I flew is entirely flat, save for the completely out-of-place rock formations that rise ridiculously high out of the expansive desert. These are rocky, craggy, surface of the moon mountains, and they are unlike anything I have ever seen. At times, they give one the feeling that the earth simply split open and its insides were ejected out and froze in time. Other times, the mountains resemble a sea of rough waves colliding and and frozen in the midst of their conflict. It is no wonder that a person could hide there, and it is of great wonder than anyone could survive there.
I am in a land of nothing. Illustrated pictures of a biblical nature (recall bible school growing up?) are the closest suggestion as to the lifestyle here. Everything is made of mud. Our presense draws a stark contrast. These people have not changed the way they live for hundreds of years. I think I saw a tractor from the air. Parallel tire tracks criss-cross the desert from somewhere to somewhere else, I couldnt see the origin or destination.
This is a strange part of the world and looking down on its absolute desolation makes me wonder why anyone was ever, or is at all concerned about trying to enact authority. It appears impossible.

Learning to fly

I've spent a moment each of the past ten days reluctantly unpacking the meticulously jammed contents of my three bags. To comprehend the annoyance of this: everything I required to survive for longer than four days was at the bottom of each of these three bags. Needless to say, my room has exploded into a vibrant and disorganized collage of camouflage. I wish I could call it artistic, but there is nothing to be appreciated in this wholly utilitarian collection of functional items, the sum of which makes the owner an efficient dealer of death.
So the recent development is that we are actually going. Now I have to pack those bags again.
How to translate the pain of this process.... total weight of bags: 200 pounds- which I have to carry. Cramming on a plane with 150 other people, each with their own baggage, for 25 hours total. Flying East, where the sun is going to rise twice inside of that 25 hour period.

So, tell me about your vacation.