This week caused me to frequently remind myself that I was in Afghanistan and not in some sub-tropical climate like Zimbabwe or near the Amazon (obviously we don’t have all of that tropical foliage here, so reminding myself was not that difficult). It has been freakin’ hot and humid! Rain clouds threatened nearly every day this week, but waited until the end of the week to dump their tirade.
On one particular day when the rain clouds loomed ominous, I happened to mention to Ryan that should it rain, I planned to go for a long run. He agreed to go if it rained. As it rarely happens this time of year in this high plateau, it began to rain. I threw on my running gear and jogged over to Ryan’s hooch. He was lying around half asleep, half watching a movie. I held his door open so that he could see, hear, and smell the rain that was falling. Although he immediately did not seem to be in the mood for a run, he quickly threw on his gear and in minutes we were running in the rain.
At the beginning of our run I mentioned how Tacoma-like this was except for the 92 degree temperature. I hadn’t intended to run around Bagram, but we just kept going even when the rain stopped and the sun appeared with enough intensity to turn the drenched landscape into a steaming wasteland similar to parts of Yellowstone National Park. I enjoyed this run with Ryan immensely even though my scalp was baked like a brown-sugared ham on Easter. We chatted the whole way and discussed his future visit to the wonderful far away lands of the West coast of Washington.
Well, months ago I described my winter wear around here. I also mentioned that looking good is 51%, and I therefore have taken it upon myself to look like a hundred bucks on a daily basis. I can normally be found wearing fashionable knee length shorts in tans, light browns, and O.D. most with cargo pockets. I predominantly wear my two-month-old-new Puma Z-strap vaporous gray slippers (actually they are sport shoes, but remind me of slippers) with my ankle high socks. The shoes alone garner me inordinate amounts of attention from anyone younger than 30. When I don’t want that attention, I sport my Quiksilver flip-flops instead. I now have a full collection of short-sleeve button-down and polo shirts in various colors that are technical, breathable, and moisture-wicking. I do have a few t-shirts and my three favorite are made of the same brushed polynosic rayon as the previous mentioned shirts. They are great to run in. I top the whole look off with my sand-colored baseball-style cap that has a camouflaged American flag embroidered on the front and the Special Forces logo on the back. I am never without my sunglasses. I exude style (or at least I think so). I know four of you out there are jealous.
I cannot fathom a day without the hum of generators. Every day for the past nine months has been met with the steady drone of electricity being produced by fuel-guzzling generators of various sizes. I remember first arriving here and noticing this ‘buzz’ in the background. It reminded me of being back in Iraq (what a surprise!). There is also a certain spent diesel tinge in the air, however, I no longer notice that smell. Even when it is quiet here, there is still wind and generator whine. I’m not sure how long it will take to adjust back to silence upon arrival home.
One of the utterly memorable moments of this week is the processing of two batches of beer. Ryan came down to the shop to give us a hand in bottling Batch 3 (now commonly referred to as ‘Persian Porter’) and test-sampling Batch 2 (‘Redeployment Red’). He received a first-class education in producing near Sam Adams quality beer with Coors Light equipment. Filling bottles and then capping them provides an assured amount of pride in craftsmanship that isn’t found in buying quality brews at your local store. There is also a certain amount of festivity in testing a new batch of brew and we are clearly up to the challenge. We whipped out our beer-tasting steins, three Cuban cigars, and Bleu Cheese infused green olives. We swirled the Red around in our steins, took in its aroma and sipped lavishly at first. Once convinced it was palatable, we re-filled our steins, munched olives, and slurped the beer like sailors on a two-hour shore pass (hey, whaddyaknow, Ryan is a sailor)! We then headed up to the roof to ogle Bagram, wolf down more Red (pun), and puff leisurely on some decent cigars. Although it is easy to appreciate times like these, they certainly do not compare to a long drive in the Suburban with the kids asking every five minutes when we are going to be “there”.
Holy Cow! It was 119 in the shade today. That meant with my AC on full tilt, it only got up to 102 in my room. That extra 17 degrees of cool was worth it even though I am still filing work orders for our AC unit. Admittedly, Northern Afghanistan is not supposed to get as hot as central Afghanistan and central Iraq, but we are still expecting the temperatures to rise here into the 120s. The hottest temperature that I have knowingly been in was three years ago in Iraq when I had my picture taken standing next to a thermometer that read 137 degrees F. That’s just too hot; frankly, so is 119! Someone pinch me because I must be asleep as I am dreaming of Nirvana with summer-time highs of 80 degrees and lows in the mid 50s. I call that place “Tacoma”, which must be Native American for “Craig’s favorite place”.
The maximum allowable (non-combatant) speed limit here on Bagram is a surprisingly quick 25 kph (15 mph for you non-metric folks). At that speed with the windows down and the AC knob twisted past high, broken, and pointing at the floor, the temperature inside the vehicle is almost tolerable. The real problem is actually achieving that lofty swiftness in a vehicle. We have one four-way stop located at “Four Corners” (kind of like which came first, the chicken or the egg) right about mid-way on Disney Drive. As most of you are aware, four-way stops perplex even the most studious of American drivers back there in the states. Just imagine what happens when you include drivers from a dozen different nations, a plethora of Air Farce personnel walking around, and tremendous amounts of cargo trucks, water trucks, military trucks, and other assorted military vehicles. The line up at Four Corners is immense! On a good day, we average about 7 kph (4.5 mph) along Disney which means there is no good way to keep the interior of our vehicle cool. It truly is better to walk in the blistering sun and feel the hot wind blowing around you, not to mention you can walk faster than you can drive most times. We gauge our speed on pedestrians walking on the sidewalk parallel to us hoping we can catch and pass them in our vehicle. Although I run quite a bit, walking is not something I do a lot of. I believe it comes with the mentality of growing up in the Army and developing a career in tanks with the mantra of: “Why walk when you can ride!” By the time I outgrow that mentality, I’ll probably be too old to walk.
Next Wednesday is the 4th of July and happens to be the July 4th 10K run sponsored by someone back in the states with satellite runs at most major military outposts around the world. Military folks do not have a registration fee for this run, but can donate cash to the cause and receive a t-shirt and get your times posted somewhere for some meaningful period. While Ryan and I have been clicking off 10K runs recently, I am not really interested in waiting another two months for a t-shirt and could care less about my run time being posted somewhere. Furthermore, running in packs of hundreds is just not my idea of a good time. I would be more interested if Ryan was there to run it with as I like to chat while running; I’m kind of a social guy, but not social enough to chat with 300 people at a time. As a point of comparison, drinking liters of German beer in social packs of thousands during Oktoberfest is exciting and awe-inspiring! I plan to experience that goodness in 2008.
I know I have mentioned our winds here a few times. I also know that I credited a portion of last week’s lateness on the internet connection. Although we pay for this connection through a contracted civilian company from India located locally, it is subject to the terms and conditions of the U.S. Army and Mother Nature. Our internet is blocked when a U.S. service member is killed until next of kin is notified. It is blocked during periods of extremely high security. It also gets blocked by unwitting local workers, snow, and high winds. Yep, high winds. I’m not sure exactly why, maybe because the high winds create so much reverberation on the satellite dishes that they cannot transmit and receive a clear digital message. Maybe it’s because the winds actually disrupt the digital send as it travels through the air from the dish to the satellite. Maybe it’s because the equipment used by this Indian company is Star date 1983. Whatever the reason, we have sporadic internet connection at best whenever it is windy here (which seems to be a lot lately).
Now that my left thumb has fully healed, albeit a small scar on top, I have developed a new malady. According to the military surgeon here, I have an inverted Plantar Wart inside the flesh on the bottom of my left foot. It’s just back of the ball of my foot and is about the size of a pea. I have had it for the better part of the last two months and it has slowly increased in discomfort. I at first thought I stepped on something, acquired a sliver or the like and that it would go away soon. However, it has stayed and persisted in becoming uncomfortable. It no longer bothers me when just running, it now bothers me any time I am standing or walking. The surgeon recommended freezing the wart multiple times to either get it to come to the surface or destroy it outright. Should that fail, the alternative is removing it surgically. While I am neither a fan of freezing nor surgery, I agreed with the doctor’s recommendation of freezing first. I’ll save that cutting part to a known professional who doesn’t mind me imbibing large quantities of alcoholic beverages simultaneous to the excavation. I’ve given Ed the Warning Order. A little pain is no big deal. As I have told soldiers throughout my career: “Pain is weakness leaving the body”.
The tragedy of this week (for us here anyway) was the day (Sunday) when Ryan jumped on a plane to head out of here. Certainly we’re excited that he is on his way back to the cool and enjoyable tropical paradise of Hawaii where he resides. Who wouldn’t be?! The reason for the long faces is because he is just a great guy and we’ll miss his vibrant personality. Ed and I have heard each other’s stories so many times that we could tell each other’s to someone else with the near-perfection of having actually lived it ourselves. Ryan actually listened intently to our tales. He was great to chat with and BS with and run with and consume imported and locally produced beverage with. It’s a shame his time here was only a scant four months, but for a Navy guy, that’s an extremely long land tour.
Now to the picture. Since I have mentioned our lovely new trash cans a few times, I thought it appropriate to show you what one actually looks like. This was taken the first day we acquired them as you could probably ascertain by the general good shape and cleanliness of the can. As you can see, the can and lid are tied to the pole. The top center lid is open and the hole is about six inches in diameter. This was also pre-wind condition. I have another photo which I may send next week with the lids off floundering at the end of the 550 cord while the trash can is performing the function of a tethered sail kept in location by a nearly broken, cute, little handle. I’m sure glad some Hygienist employed by Uncle Sugar is concerned enough about my welfare to make these trash cans feasible.
In Week 35 I hope to thrill you with the celebrations of the 4th of July in Afghanistan, have you shaking your head with painting buildings in a wind storm, and make you wonder in amazement at a daily electronic conundrum.
Soon,
Craig
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