WEEK 15

February 12 - 18, 2007

Our weather has been crazy this week. It has been warm for a couple of days, cold for a couple of days, overcast, and rainy. There is not an understood pattern or effectiveness in prediction. We are anticipating more snow, but the temperature needs to drop another ten or so degrees. All my books concerning this geographic region detail winter through mid-March. I’m still waiting.

Dobbie and I frequent the DFAC at the North end of Disney Drive for lunch known as the RSOI Barbeque Hut. It is located within the RSOI (Reception, Staging, and Onward Integration) compound and specializes in grilled type items like chicken, burgers, hot dogs, sausages, ribs, etc. I know this all sounds good, but once again the flavors are not quite the same. Anyway, it is better than the rest for lunch. Thursdays are the day when Italian Sausage is the special for lunch. I missed the Italian part when I threw the sausage / brat on my hot dog bun and proceeded to douse it with sour kraut and mustard. Once I made the first bite into my hand-held pork product, I immediately discovered this was not intended to be a German variety bratwurst. It was indeed a very spicy Italian sausage. Normally I do not load my Italians with kraut and mustard. And rarely do I eat the sausages that are vehemently spicy as my delicate palate prefers milder spices with a collection of other subtle flavors. I had to finish my sausage, especially since Dobbie would probably give me a hard time about being a weenie (no pun intended) if I didn’t and wound up eating the whole thing, although I paid the price for it later. I surmise the reason for the incredible spiciness of this Italian Sausage it to overcome the tang of the goat carcass that it is actually made with and a way to get other men to eat it thereby demonstrating their bravado.

Fridays are very unique days around here. First and foremost, the locals have Fridays off. Fridays to them are our Sundays. The Mosque here on Bagram denotes religious services on Thursday evenings through some religious wailing and chanting over a loud-speaker system completely independent of our Big Voice. These services evidently carry over into Friday. Fridays are also the day of the Bazaar that we have here on Bagram. It seems (in some cases) the dudes providing manual labor around here during the rest of the week become salesmen on Friday peddling their wares at the Bazaar.

The Bazaar is an area by the airfield with a bunch of booths that the locals bring stuff to sell. They sell carpets, clothing, jewelry, antiquities, DVDs, computer games, locally produced items, and pictures with a camel. It’s the same stuff every Friday and only between the hours of 1000 and 1500 local. Dobbie and I are particularly intrigued with a rabbit fur coat as we saw an apparent North American walking around Bagram one day sporting one. It’s not something I would wear, but I have yet to ask the price for one. If it’s a decent price, I plan to pick one up and send it to my father. I’m sure he will look rather debonair wearing an Afghanistan hand-crafted rabbit fur coat around Spokane.

One of the things we have learned is the value of planning ahead. Our company pays us every other Friday, which is Saturday here. Soldiers get paid on the 1st and 15th of every month, and the innumerable amount of KBR employees get paid every other Friday. There are two cash machines on Bagram for 17,000 inhabitants. My point in all of this is gaining cash. The locals take cash; good ole American green backs. It’s difficult to use credit and debit cards as the locals don’t take them. I can only swipe my card in the PX and a couple of places that have card swiping machines. Running my card through the lips of a camel just does not produce the results the Hajjis are looking for in selling their wares. In any case, we patrol the cash machines almost daily looking for an opportunity to strike. Frequently they are out of service due to the depletion of funds. For whatever reason, Fridays produce the single largest lines and use of the cash machines. By Friday lunch, they are out of service and remain so until Monday or Tuesday. Dobbie and I have now gotten into the habit of getting cash on Wednesdays or Thursdays of every week and hoarding it until needed. I now plan to build a small safe in my room to store my funds.

As I have said before, we have two Green Beans coffee shops here on Bagram. They attempt to copy Starbuck’s in atmosphere and product, but unfortunately miss the mark. The coffee isn’t bad; it’s just not Starbuck’s. The other day, I ordered my now habitual triple espresso (I average two a week). I generally put a little sugar in it, go topless (sans lid on my cup, but keeping my shirt on), and avoid using the ‘Chick Sleeve’ (Dobbie term for the cardboard sleeve that slides over your cup to save your hand from the heat). Well, this week there was a glass shaker similar to the sugar dispenser with a brown powder in it. It was not labeled, but was unmistakably powdered chocolate. I haven’t added chocolate to my espresso before and thought I should give it a try. After adding my sugar, I held the shaker over my cup and tapped on it gently to produce a measured amount of chocolate. Unfortunately the shaker mistook my gentle tapping for an avalanche of force and dropped at least a quarter inch of brown powder on top of my espresso. Oh well, I like chocolate, except now the absolutely unambiguous smell of cinnamon accosted my passive nasal tissue and flooded my airway with a thick, congested sludge that seemed to be burning my lungs and esophagus. My mother has told me many times about the benefit of cinnamon with regard to health and I decided to consume my elixir regardless of potential damage. I did not immediately tell Dobbie about my tragedy, but he was able to detect my new aroma within milliseconds. He was OK with the smell and was pleased that the shaker did not contain powdered Yak dung. Needless to say, I finished my espresso a few days ago and can still taste the cinnamon today. It must be great having me around as we no longer have a need for deodorizers and air fresheners.

I have been trying to find the best time to shower. I have tried early in the morning, later in the morning, mid day, and am now experimenting with evening showering, say 2100 local. This seems to be a pretty good time as there are very few guys showering at this time and the showers are obviously not over-crowded and teeming with the air of shaving gels and steam. I am suddenly beginning to realize why very few guys shower at this time of day / night. With some regularity (every night, time unknown), the water supply in the shower facilities is replaced. The shower rooms (boxes, containers) have two big holding tanks: one for disinfected, non-potable water (the stuff we shower and brush our teeth with), and one for grey water (the stuff we already used). As it would naturally occur, the water truck shows up to do his water thing at the very instant I turn the water in my shower on. I am unaware the water dude is pumping water outside as I’m standing in the stall with the shower head pointed at the wall while 40 degree water streams out. After several minutes of trying to coax hot, even warm, water out of the nozzle I became desperate and plunged into the disinfected ice melt. 17 and a half seconds later, I emerged from the shower stall a little blue in color, double belly-buttoned, and clean. As I left the shower container, the water truck was parked at the side doing his thing. Realization set in and I then understood the water dilemma.

Not to be prejudiced, I decided to take an evening shower the following night, but a half hour later. I strolled to the shower container in the rain, wearing my flip flops and jammies, and made a conscious effort to look for the water truck. Nope, the guy must have already came and left. Once into the stall, I adjusted the water to a perfect temperature and began the cleansing process. I’ll bet I was three seconds into my shower when the water temperature ceased being comfortable and escalated to 1000 degrees Kelvin. I instinctively flung myself away from the pelting inferno and into the shower curtain. Once untangled, I gingerly twisted the knob to achieve harmonious water temperature but could never attain anything less than 997 degrees K. At this point, I was wet and had shampoo in my left hand. I reasoned that I could use my right hand to splash water from the clear streaming lava onto my hair and body and attempt some type of sponge bath. I completed my shower with less efficiency than the night before as an easy 11 minutes elapsed before I exited the shower stall. This time, instead of being a little blue, I was a fiery red in color with nearly second degree burns on my right side. As I left the shower container, I noted the water truck parked there pumping away. The cool rain felt good and refreshing and as I was standing there staring unbelievably at the water truck, the water dude appeared and told me in broken English not to take a shower now as he was pumping the cold water. To demonstrate my dismay and utter dissatisfaction, I extended my scalded right middle finger do show him the damage the hot water had caused me. He was unimpressed. I no longer shower in the evening.

Mail is very cool. I’m not talking about the email variety, but instead the kind that requires postage and causes folks to visit places to drop off and receive mail. I mention this not to try and get more mail, but to simply let you know how this process works for us. Dobbie and I are fortunate that the mail guy on our camp is really a good guy. Biggs is a Navy E5 that recognizes us by sight, is in his mid-twenties, personable, dedicated, humorous, and a hard worker. He’ll call me on my local cell phone to let me know about mail that comes in and lets Dobbie or me pick up each other’s mail. Occasionally he offers us mail that is sent to any soldier when we don’t have any to pick up. The whole process with Biggs and the surprise of receiving mail is just neat. Even though Kris tells me she sent me something, I never know when it is going to arrive. Visiting the mail room, chatting with Biggs, and receiving mail is one of the exciting and rewarding processes of being here. Actually, I think it is the only one.

Wow, President’s Day weekend. Dobbie and I attempted to coordinate the four day weekend off from work and take life a little easier by sleeping in, showering mid-day, and planning a ten-minute drive around Bagram. Unfortunately, the conditions here did not dictate such a lavish weekend and we find ourselves working right through another holiday. I know, it is sad, but at least we are not bored and are now anxiously looking ahead to St. Patrick’s Day and Benito Juarez’s Day in March. I know you celebrate Benito’s Day big-time Jose, and I plan to as well! In anticipation, we are providing our contact with a list to include Guinness and Corona beers now. I am already giddy with excitement just thinking about these upcoming frivolities. Oooh, can you feel it too?!

Oh yeah, page four again. Sometimes I just get on a typing roll and have difficulty in stopping. I actually wrote five pages this week, but edited it back to four. Four seems good. It emails well and is about all most of you readers can tolerate in one sitting. Besides, I cannot possibly tell you everything in one week; it would spoil next week and possibly the week after that. So, the teaser; I want something to research, to get my teeth into and report back just like a great field journalist, so I’ve got to come up with something to experience. How about buying antiquities at a phenomenal price? Yeah! OK, check back next week when Craig purchases local antiquities at incredibly low prices, describes cloud formations that resemble an abominable snow man on the mountain range, and investigates the thrill of a wire wheel grinder.

Auf Wiedersehen,

Craig