WEEK 23

April 9 – 15, 2007

Summer is here. We skipped through those 60F days and went straight into the upper 70s and mid 80s. We have even had a 90F day already with more forecasted. I thought Afghanistan was cooler than Iraq especially since we are nearly a mile high here. What gives? If I extrapolate this meteoric rise in temperature based on known scientific data and the Farmer’s Almanac, I conclude that we are due for 120 degree days in June. My freezer cannot produce enough ice to make that worth-while!

Although this week does not include Easter (it was last week), I have to pass on a little information. Normally, I goad my wife into getting up extremely early on Easter morning to distribute eggs around the back yard. She grumpily drags herself out of bed and finally joins me in my quest for the perfect hiding spots and placement. Once out in the yard, Kris turns into a full-fledged participant. Well, this year she had to do this by herself and I am happy to report that she got up and went out and did this without me prodding her. After this small miracle, Kris and I happened to be chatting on the phone when Nikki got up, came downstairs and announced: “It’s time to pick eggs!” She then went and roused Morgan and Cole to get them into the fervor. In no time, the eggs were ‘picked’.

The local Afghans must think this weather is cold. They are wearing multiple layers of long sleeve shirts, pants, head scarves, and jackets and sweaters while they are out in the 80 degree heat working. I would wear nothing but my boxer shorts and a baseball cap; however, I would no doubt attract every female in a 20 kilometer range just before sun burning to a crisp. That should only take minutes, but what a glorious five minutes it could be. Nah, I’ll just keep my shirt and pants on with my baseball cap and continue the use of gallons of sun block 1,000,000 to keep my skin from looking like bacon.

For the last month or so, signs have been placed around Bagram advertising the GWOT Trot. That’s the Global War On Terrorism Trot here on bountiful Bagram with 5K and 10K distances, oh and the chili cook off. How could I resist donating $10 to the AAAA chapter of educational scholarships and receiving a t-shirt, chili, and the chance to run 6.2 miles with ‘helpers’ along the course. I couldn’t and even persuaded Ed into running the 5K. Actually, it was more akin to holding a gun to his head and filling out his registration form for him, but alas, he became a willing participant.

A couple of our local SF guys asked me if I played volleyball. I said not in ten years, but I know how and have been known to have moments of mediocrity. They were obviously desperate as they needed me at the volleyball court in 30 minutes. I showed up to find out we had six players on our team which included me and one Air Force sweetheart named Kay who could have had a volleyball scholarship to college if she hadn’t joined the Air Force. Anyway, we decided to do a warm-up before getting it on with the dreaded Korean team. The four SF guys (the oldest being 26) were terrible. It was like this was the first time they had ever seen a volleyball. They were making me look good and tiring Kay out because she was trying to get them to do the basics and chasing down the ball.

Our moment finally arrived and I gingerly took my place in the center of the back row and sashayed my feet into the pea gravel like sand. I’m sure I am living in a desert and we have gravel for a volleyball court. This stuff really inhibits diving for the ball. It also convinced me to wear my shoes as I have sensitive feet. Anyway, we had the height and youth advantage over the Koreans. We started the match by serving and played vicious volleyball for ten minutes before the match was over. Our big guys were not as adept as the small Koreans and our play resembled that of a pre-schooler. Anyway, we lost a close match 15 to zero. The score really doesn’t tell the whole story and we floated off the court like winners because, well, we’re Americans. Fortunately for me, I was able to keep my thumb intact and out of the gravel.

One of the guys came up with the idea of a pick-up game of basketball. By this time, two other SF guys had shown up and were ready to do something. The decision to play a little four-on-four was agreed to by seven of us with me as the lone dissenter. Promises were made and I finally agreed to humiliate myself for everyone’s benefit. Two “Captains” were chosen and they began picking teammates. I was standing next to Kay and told her that she would be the last one picked because she was a girl. As it turned out, she and I were the last two remaining, but I was picked before her. Yeah! Since I was the only person not 20-something, I decided I would guard Kay as I surmised she plays as well as I do. The game was on and we were not playing fouls. It was rough out there. I hadn’t experienced this much pain and suffering since I went tubing with Aubrey and Charles a few years back. As an example, one of the guys threw me the ball on an inbounds pass that ricocheted off my left thumb a little over 73 miles an hours taking my thumbnail with it. Not only did it hurt, but I bled like a stuck pig all over the place. I couldn’t stop playing or I would face inordinate amounts of ridicule, so continue on I did. Kay, who is an Air Force Medic, was concerned about me getting blood on her instead of the extent of my injury. I did tell her not to worry as I have been fixed and had a recent blood check. We finally ended this session after about an hour of play. I thanked the guys for inviting me and left quickly before they decided to play again. I jogged to my room and used band-aids as a substitute to my missing thumbnail. I have a 10K to run in the morning and I now feel like I have been trampled by a herd of rabid elephants. What was I doing playing basketball 11 hours prior to race time?!

Saturday morning at 0630 was race time. Final check-in for event activities was at 0600. Obviously I woke Ed up at 0530 and we hobbled the 200 meters to the check-in where we stood staring unbelievably at the transformation of the MWR clamshell (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation building that is built with a weather-proof canvas between huge aluminum ribs that can open either end by raising the ribs; it looks like a tan potato bug). Huge banners had been erected and a live band from the 82nd Airborne Division had just started playing music and the first song I heard was Jimmy Hendrix’s, The Watchtower. I have no idea how many watts were being pushed through the 50-something huge speakers, but there is no doubt the east coast of the U.S. should have been able to pick up this transmission. Mom Q, did you happen to hear any of this say, 2130 your time Friday? The band was actually quite good and continued to play great American rock music right up until final announcements for the beginning of the race.

The morning was beautiful with a temperature at race time of 59 degrees and the sun unimpeded by any clouds or other airborne items. There were close to 1500 participants packed at the starting location. It appeared that every nation present here on Bagram had a runner or ten except the Egyptians. One unit of U.S. runners had shirts with poorly stenciled pictures of Anna-Nicole Smith on them with a team name of: ‘The Anna-Nicole Smith Memorial Running Team’. The goings-on were fun and overtly American. You could tell the other nations were somewhat perplexed by the audacious uproar and calamity that they were a part of in the early morning, but they never waned from participation. I was proud. There is just something so right with Black Sabbath blaring at a million decibels into a couple thousand people at 0600.

With that, the race started. 5K and 10K runners all started at the same time and in the same mass. The course layout was simple: run half your distance, turn around, and come back. I immediately paired up with our Navy mail dude (Biggs), who at 29 is a born-again runner. I knew he was in decent shape but had no idea that he would drag me the 6.2 miles quicker than I had anticipated. Although I definitely know better, I did not analyze my running partner in advance and only made assumptions about his prowess. Biggs is a great runner. On the course about 500 meters from the Start/Finish line, nearly 50 Koreans wearing their version of a PT uniform lined both sides of the street and were cheering on the runners. They waved Korean flags and yelled and screamed encouragement. Initially I thought they recognized me from last night’s volleyball match and were taunting me, however, with my vast understanding of the Korean language, I was able to confirm they were indeed cheering me on. Certainly they were not the eye-candy I’m used to seeing at these events; you know, big-breasted California girls with perfect tans in bikinis, but I appreciated it all the same. Biggs and I chatted the whole time we ran (which makes breathing already thin air that much harder) and were determined to increase our pace after the turn around (we did much to my chagrin). We finished in 46 minutes (right at seven and a half minutes a mile average). Nothing heroic, but quicker than I thought I would run. Ed had finished his 5K about ten minutes before we came in and was there waiting. Next was the chili feed.

I’m not sure why, but my desire to consume chili after running for nearly an hour just wasn’t there. I thought the chili cook-off / feed would have occurred later in the day, not at 0730 in the morning. Beer on the other hand would have been something completely different. I could have consumed a few liters. It would have been a nice break from water and orange slices, not to mention it contains lots of carbohydrates and is chock full of all things natural. Nope, no beer to be had. I do wonder now why the chili feed was not a pre-race activity. It sure could have added a whole other dimension and interest to the race.

The SF guys we work near have a couple of barbeques and have invited us over a couple of times for a little grilling. They get the steaks and chicken from the DFAC and completely over-cook the meat. I jumped in at one gathering to assist with cooking and have now become the head grill master. Actually, Ed and I have been appointed as Executive Chefs. We then asked the Logistical NCO for food supplies and a time in the future to grill and marinate and prepare accessories, like corn on the cob and other such luxuries to go with the meat. These guys now want us to cook for them a couple times a week. We are happy to do it. Ed and I are breaking out our specialties and preparing delicacies with the stuff we can acquire. It’s amazing how simple items like Tabasco, low fat recombined cow’s milk, and parsley flakes can be made into almost anything. If only you could have tasted my soufflé that was baked on the grill! Wunderbar!

The picture I’m attaching is of a fragrant bushy tree that we have all over our compound. I have no idea what it is, but it adds a much better aroma to the air than the locals organic farming. Should any of you know what it is, please let us know as Ed and I don’t have a clue.

I am finally finishing this one up. It’s a good thing too, because I have already started Week 24 and I am trying to keep my writings within the week that they actually occurred. Check back next week as I update you on the Far East Brewery, ruminate about a night on the roof, and describe the contract I put out on the guy who fixed the Giant Voice speaker outside of my hut.

TTFN,

Craig

WEEK 22

April 2-8, 2007

Our weather has been nice. Actually, it has been down-right beautiful! It seems to be hovering in the mid 70s with bright sunny days. They are those kinds of days that cause sunburn easily especially when coupled with malaria preventative medications which make your skin more susceptible to the sun’s rays. It’s been very hard to stay indoors when it is so nice outside. This is the kind of weather I truly enjoy. I hope it doesn’t get any warmer.

Dobbie has left this little slice of heaven and has gone to Iraq. It only took a couple of attempts to get him out of here. I guess the weather has been so wonderful the Air Force hasn’t really been making scheduled flights very often, opting to stay and catch some Afghan rays. This delay in getting CD out of here meant we had multiple impromptu farewell activities over a couple of days. And as you can imagine, the first farewell was simple and easy while the successive ones developed into longer, complicated affairs. It’s definitely a good thing he finally made it out as we probably would have had a difficult time making it to work.

We had an earthquake and it was not your garden variety seven-second shake. No, this one hit weakly at first and graduated into a full-fledged earth mover replete with duration, noise, and scariness. I was in my room getting ready for another sun-soaked day when it hit. I immediately knew what it was and with the reactions of a Mongoose, dove the 17 inches for my M.I.T. approved TV / DVD player stand. I did not want my TV and DVD to somehow be cast from their perch and onto my bed as I feared potential damage to my bed (my Chinese TV may be simple, but that 20” flat screen weighs more than Anna-Nicole Smith), and ignored the peril of my I.D. card and partially consumed water bottle as they crashed to the floor from my night stand (which is another design wonder). I could hear Ed yelling something indescribable from his room. I was not sure if he was giving himself last rites or running crazily away from those small biting flies. In any case, 23 seconds of delirium and the whole thing was over. Ed came down afterward and told me he thought I was shaking his room and was yelling at me to stop. I know I have been working out and I appreciate the fact that Ed has noticed, but I have yet to be able to move and shake buildings with that kind of force.

Although a strong showing by Mother Nature, this quake did not measure up to the 7.2 I experienced in Japan on my birthday in 1989. This quake was measured at 6.2 by Afghan scientists who no doubt use the latest in Richter scale measuring devices here. My guess is a stick with a water bottle attached by a string and some local who eye-balls the movement of the bottle with relation to the stick. No serious damage to report, although the Air Force was concerned with cracks in the new $60M runway. You would think part of that cash was spent on a runway capable of surviving vibration and pounding.

Ed acquired a pocket-full of hard boiled eggs one morning from the DFAC and brought them down to our office to make deviled eggs. I have no idea why this wasn’t thought of before, but I love those things. Sure, we didn’t have all the ingredients that are stocked in my fridge and pantry back home, but we were able to use items similar to mayonnaise, mustard, and paprika to come up with our gastric treat. Since that first attempt, we have acquired mayo and mustard (the DFAC was giving away bottles of this stuff, well kind of), but have yet to get paprika and have continued to use Tabasco and Johnny’s seasoning. I’m not sure we will want to use paprika when we finally get it as our current flavor sensation more than compensates for the taste of the locally produced eggs that come from locally grown and fed chickens. Regardless, we have now made a few batches of deviled eggs.

I have finally given up with growing my hair long. I just cannot stand the length and went to the barber (local hair butcher) and had him cut me short. The great thing about the shorter hair is it takes less time to grow in which better hides the lack of skill in hair couture these hacks employ. My Russian-speaking, ugly, Chinese-looking, woman who gave me decent hair cuts and was teaching me Russian has moved on. Sorry to digress, but with the warmer weather and my two-decade, military-inspired hair requirements has caused me to revert back to my comfort zone and discard the rock-and-roll halcyon look I was going for.

Kristine sent me another box of goodies recently and one of the items included was a Decaffeinated Spiced Chai Tea by Bigelow. I have added this to my Tea Snobbery chart and will send out another scintillating update when a few more additions have been made. In any case, did I mention she sent Decaf tea?! And not only decaf tea, the stuff was terrible. Yeah I know, I volunteered to taste teas and report back and this is the cost for me in offering this service, however none of you out there are drinking this stuff, are you? I’m not sure what spices are inclusive of this medley, but this tea tastes like bits of straw, bark, and petrified wood were thrown into a bag just after being kissed by the dew from a daffodil and sent post haste to me for my taste bud travesty. My recommendation is to forego this brand of tea and review my list for much better tasting varieties.

Ed is a master of micro-surgery. If I had not known of his background over these last 16 or 17 years, I would swear that he is an accomplished vascular surgeon. I bring this up to you because while working on one of our cars, I summoned a piece of previously broken car window into my thumb while performing extraction techniques. You can obviously determine the amount of force conjured upon that glass to imbed itself securely and deeply into my flesh through my iron clad work gloves. Later, when I could not remove the shard of glass myself, I asked Doctor Ed for assistance. I am not sure why, but Ed always seems to have a scalpel handy (or in this case an X-acto knife), but he does. He came into my room with all necessary surgical equipment and began the operation while I was chatting with Kris over VOIP. I never became alarmed even when Ed used Strawberry Gatorade as disinfectant. Nor did I raise an eyebrow when Ed determined the depth of the imbedded glass by bouncing the knife off my bone. No, I am confident in his abilities and knew he would triumph even if it meant surgically removing my left thumb. Fortunately for me, my father-in-law provided me with a vessel of his personal Cosmopolitan mix and I began consuming this at a feverish pace. After 22 harrowing minutes, Ed succeeded in removing the piece of glass from my thumb. Amazingly, with all the time, digging, and skin removal, I only required six stitches. I thanked Ed profusely and offered payment, but he refused and left my room happily glowing with self pride at a job well done.

You know, Ed’s surgery on my thumb was short-lived. We were trying to remove a side impact bar from one of the car doors two days later when fate came into play. I was not wearing my super gauntlet of protection on my left hand (because it rubbed on my surgically repaired thumb) when employing our gargantuan pry bar. As Ed held the cut-open door, I began a prying technique developed by the Romans a few millennia ago in which the pry bar will naturally slip. It did and the force of nature took over propelling my left thumb into the path of the pry bar end. Thankfully my thumb nail was there to prevent the pry bar from separating all of the skin off my thumb. After a few choice words clearly and well spoken, liberal amounts of Saudi Arabian water, and reconstruction via Band-Aids, I was back to work. Remember, we are professional repairers and can fix anything.

The other day when Kris and I were chatting, we got on the topic of showering. I was making a half-hearted statement about the showering conditions here in paradise and the longing for the opportunity to shower in something akin to privacy and true American standards. My wife, not feeling the slightest bit sorry for me began to tell me about her new shower radio she has purchased and the gobs of easily temperature-controlled water. She continued her discourse with the amount of room in our shower at home and the fact that she did not have to carry her shampoo, soap, and scrubbie with her every time she wanted to shower. Finally she articulated the amount of privacy, with the exception of a small child bursting in on occasion with exasperations of pending doom because they cannot find a video game or their shoes. Privacy is not really something I have as I must employ a waltz-like movement in and around others to make it to an enclosed showerhead with my cleansing accoutrements.

The Norwegians are here, the Norwegians are here! This week, we observed THE and I do mean THE Special Forces unit of the Norwegian Army arrive in force. They rolled into Bagram in their armored vehicles complete with painted Norwegian flags on the sides and stern looking soldiers perched atop the cupolas sporting Oakley sunglasses and helmets resembling something a California surfer-dude would wear. They are here to kick butt and take names, Norwegian-style! I have yet to go by and visit their camp here, but intend to do that soon. As part of NATO, they are here to support and assist the NATO faithful and spend an undetermined amount of time here showing the rest of us how it’s done. I sure hope they start with the Egyptians as those guys find it difficult just to get up in the morning, let alone do something in a fierce manner. Yeah, the Egyptians do cut in line at the espresso stand and DFAC, so maybe there is hope for them yet.

Kris has recently started a blog titled: “The One” which she has been placing my weeklies into. She has more additions to make, but at the time of this writing it is current through Week 18. Why “The One”? Well, when the movie, ‘The Matrix’ came out, I was a Battalion S-1 (Personnel Officer) on staff. Everyone referred to me as ‘The 1’, just like the S-2 (Intelligence Officer) was referred to as ‘The 2’, etcetera. The movie heightened my informal reference and when I was moved to Brigade, being ‘The One’ truly meant that I had to bend time and space to effectively perform my job, hence ‘The One’ stuck with me. Kris evidently felt that was an appropriate title for the blog. Anyway, you can access the blog and review weeklies past and present complete with pictures. The address is: http://w-theone.blogspot.com/. How’s that for a hyperlink?! If that doesn’t work, let Kris or I know and we’ll get you on the right track.

Well, I have decided to send all you all a picture of our most recent and best deviled eggs in celebration of Easter. Yes, that is real Tabasco on them. As you probably notice, there are an odd number of egg halves on that tray. I’m sure you have surmised we disposed of some of them prior to snapping this picture.

OK, it’s that time to “Shut ‘er down” and “Get ‘er out”! Next week I’ll amaze you with the on-goings of the GWOT Trot, mouth-watering excerpts about barbequing steaks on an open grill, and my new social-climbing status as a chef.

Craig