Navy Base in Bahrain Has a Pool, But You Can't Swim In It

Welcome to Naval Support Activity Bahrain, the U.S. Navy's home away from home in the Middle East, where the sun is relentless, the humidity is a war crime, and the housing market is somehow worse than San Francisco's. If you've ever wondered what it's like to serve at the Navy's only permanent base in the Persian Gulf, congratulations, you're about to find out, and you're probably not going to like it. NSA Bahrain sits in Juffair, a neighborhood that's essentially a monument to poor urban planning and excellent shawarma. The base itself is a 22-acre compound that the Navy has occupied since 1971, back when we were still pretending the British Empire was a thing. It hosts roughly 8,000 personnel, which sounds impressive until you realize most of them are just trying to find parking. The base's official mission is to support naval operations in the Fifth Fleet area of responsibility, which is military-speak for "we keep the Strait of Hormuz from becoming a crater." It's strategically vital, which is why the Navy keeps pouring money into it despite the fact that the air conditioning breaks every other Tuesday. Let's talk about the good stuff first, because there is some. The base has a gym, a pool, a movie theater, a bowling alley, and a Chili's. Yes, a Chili's. Nothing says "forward-deployed defense of the free world" like a Triple Dipper and a $14 margarita. The base also has a McDonald's, a Subway, and a Starbucks, because apparently the Navy's strategy in the Middle East is to outsource morale to American fast food chains. Now the bad stuff. Housing is a nightmare. Junior sailors often live on base in barracks that were last renovated when MySpace was relevant. More senior personnel get to live off-base in Juffair, where landlords have figured out that Americans with housing allowances will pay literally anything for an apartment with a view of the parking lot. Rent for a two-bedroom can run you $2,500 a month, which is adorable given that you could buy a small island in the Pacific for that price. The base's pool is a particular sore spot. It exists. You can see it. You can smell the chlorine. But swimming in it is restricted due to "operational requirements," which is Navy-speak for "we don't have enough lifeguards and the water quality report is missing." Sailors have been known to stare at it longingly, like a desert mirage that also has a swim-up bar they can't use. Dining options on base are limited to the aforementioned fast food and a galley that serves food best described as "edible." Off-base, you can get incredible Indian, Lebanese, and Thai food for cheap, assuming you can navigate the traffic, which is a contact sport. Bahraini drivers treat lane markings as suggestions and traffic lights as decorative. Alcohol is technically legal in Bahrain, which is a huge draw for sailors used to dry ports. The base has a bar called "The Rock," which is where you go to forget that you're on a 12-month deployment and your girlfriend back home just posted a picture with a guy named "Chad." The local bar scene in Juffair is legendary, and by legendary, I mean you will see things that make you question the moral fabric of the U.S. military. The base also has a USO, a post office that loses mail with impressive consistency, and a medical clinic that can handle everything from a sprained ankle to a case of "why did I eat that gas station sushi." Mental health services are available, which is good, because being stuck on a 22-acre compound in a foreign country with 8,000 of your closest coworkers is not exactly a spa retreat. Overall, NSA Bahrain is a study in contrasts. It's vital to national security, deeply frustrating to live on, and oddly endearing once you've been there long enough to develop Stockholm Syndrome. The Navy will tell you it's "the best kept secret in the Gulf." The sailors will tell you it's "the best kept secret in the Gulf, and also please send help." **Closing Opinion:** NSA Bahrain is a perfect metaphor for American foreign policy: expensive, strategically necessary, and held together by fast food and denial