Chiang Mai

      Chiang Mai has always been one of my go to happy places. It’s a city defined by a moat around mostly ancient walls and is super easy to navigate. I just spent 8 days there, on a bicycle or walking and have mixed feelings. Maybe it’s this whole trip and not just Chiang Mai. Maybe it’s everything else going on in the world. On the plus side, I gambled the masses of visitors to Thailand and Cambodia would not have surged the moment they opened due to onerous COVID testing requirements, restrictions and uncertainty. That was a win, it’s been fairly empty. I also hoped there would be a fire sale on 5 star hotels due to low occupancy, win #2. There’s only been one quick downpour since I’ve been here, I’m getting tired of all the winning. But it’s also been hotter than a pair of balls in skinny jeans, even up in Chiang Mai. And because I came early, I missed out on prime rambutan and mangosteen season, durian are not exactly plentiful either. Triple win and then triple lose, but the wins were weighted way heavier than the losses. The real pain though, comes from witnessing the economic devastation of two economies who shut down hard that were overly reliant on tourism revenue. 

     Chiang Mai seems to be coming back slower than Bangkok. Large swaths of the Night Bazaar are empty and many businesses along Taeprae road were shuttered. The tuk tuk drivers were ‘tuk tuking sir?’ and the massage ladies were ‘Massage kaaaaaaaaing?’ with a sense of desperation I’ve never seen before. They have always been super pesky, but this was on another very sad level. But this trip, I did something I’ve never done in 28 years of coming to SE Asia. I didn’t bargain. Not once. It’s part of the culture to haggle, even among locals though there’s still a cheaper starting price for them. Tipping is also not something many SE Asians do. But I did. Generously.

     The bike rides have been delightful. I usually started out getting lost somewhere outside the old city, then doing a loop on the outer and inter rings before stopping to pick up breakfast (20 baht or 60 cents for those counting, and surprise -  I’m counting) at a market. Along the way, there always seem to be 15th century stupas woven into the fabric of the city.

Across front the market, in the middle of the city

Choose your curry

Next to the University

The downtube had a logo ‘Live Natural’ I prefer unnatural tubes and tires on my bicycles

And the masks.

Except for a few freedom loving, my body my choice farang patriot tourists, everyone was wearing one, all the time. There is joy in putting on a fresh mask, and more joy in taking one off after a hot sweaty bike ride. 

This lady stoked her fire with charcoal every morning, cooking bananas

This guy fried something every morning and always had a line

And then there was this. Today’s gonna be fucking awesome. 

     I saw this on my last day. I liked it. But today is just going to fucking suck for some people and it’s going to be tragic for so many more. I’m not sure what to do except to try to make my tomorrow as fucking awesome as I can for myself and to try to live up to one of my favorite tag lines, from the podcast Freakanomics - “Take care of yourself, and if you can, someone else too.”

      

      Cambodia is a bit more wild west-ish (or is it east-ish?) than other SE Asian countries. I just took a 10 day trip there, anticipating Angkor Wat to be fairly devoid of tourists and it turned out to be a jackpot of emptiness. I’ve been there twice before, once in 1997 helping supervise a 6th grade class from an international school in Phnom Penh on a field trip to Angkor Wat. We ended up running into a group of Khmer Rouge on a trip to Banteay Srey, but that’s a story for another day. The next visit was in 2019 and Siem Reap had been transformed from a sleepy one road backwater town to a neon lit party town. Not my cup of tea. But this time? Siem Reap was empty, Pub Street was dead and it was fantastic to cycle around the complex because most of the time, I was by myself. 

     The rest of the time I spent getting lost on a rented mountain bike around Siem Reap. I was in a delightful hotel that had 170 rooms. 7 were occupied when I was there, which left the pool completely open for laps during the oppressively hot afternoons, which suited me just fine after a long, sweaty ride.

     I hired a driver to take me to Siem Reap, he managed to shorten a 5 -6 hour ride into a 4 hour every car he passed was nearly a head on collision trip. A little terrifying. But like I said, Cambodia is a little more wild east-ish. There is a definite flow to what seems like chaotic traffic - on the lowest rung of the totem pole is the pedestrian, then the cyclist, next is the moto (the very popular and ubiquitous 100cc scooter), tuk tuk’s, cars and finally, anything bigger than a car. Give way to the larger vehicle, they always have the right of way.

     The last few days in Phnom Penh were spent mostly dealing with, getting and picking up COVID tests. I knew this was going to be a hassle during this whole trip, but it is also what made it worthwhile - there weren’t many tourists around, which I was gambling on. When I got my negative test in PP, I fairly heard Charlie Bucket singing, “I’ve got a golden ticket!” And then I imagined the people at the test center looking at me as I smiled coming out singing, “He’s got a golden ticket!” It was just very relieving knowing the next leg of travel was a go.

     Because I love history, I also went to the Tuol Sleng Genocide museum, which was horrifying. Nobody knows exactly how many people were tortured and killed there, they estimate between 18 and 20,000 souls. But there are 12 known survivors. One of them was at the museum and I met him - his English seemed to be limited to “I sign for you, I sign for you,” as he sold the books. Just think about that - he sold books at the prison he was tortured at. I think the human capacity to adapt is nearly unlimited. 

Bou Meng, one of *12* survivors

     Unfortunately for me, I bought the French version of his book. My 7th and 8th grade French won’t get me very far, but being in Cambodia and the French book reminded me of the first time I was there. I ended up taking a motorcycle taxi to the Central Market and the driver said, “Parlez vous Francais?” This turned out to be an important life lesson. I said, relying on that 7th and 8th grade French, “Oui, je parle un peu de Francais.” The life lesson was: if you know a few phrases and words in another language, you don’t speak that language, so don’t say you do. Because if you do, you may end up on the backside of a motorcycle, going the wrong way on a one way street with some maniac nattering away in the language you said you spoke ‘a little’ of. 

     I also whiled away some time sitting on the banks of the mighty Mekong, watching the river life and enjoying the morning market.

Live aboard?

Keeping up with the news

Local fish monger

For those wondering, these are frogs.

     I managed to get out of Cambodia and back into Thailand, take another brain stab when I got the hotel and was put into COVID jail until the results came back. For the test and go program, you can’t leave your room until you get the results, and the call was not particularly welcome. I was tested around 1030 at night and the phone rang at 0937. “Sawadee Kaaaaaa, is this Kuhn Alan Taylor?” “Yes it is,” says I. “We are calling with the results of your COVID test from last night.” I know they’re calling with the results. There is no other reason for the phone to ring in my rather pleasant COVID cell. I prefer just sticking the knife in with no preliminaries. Mr. Taylor, you are negative, or tell me the opposite. Then she said, “The results are negative.”  Whew! I’m 21 days into this trip. The count is 8 PCR tests so far with one more to go. Hands down, worth it.

     

 

 

      Travel these days. Until you get on the plane, you don’t know what’s going to happen. And if you have multiple legs in your trip, then everything’s a crapshoot. And international travel? Pffffft. The odds are not in your favor. But I rolled the dice. I applied for the Thailand test and go pass and got approved back in early December. They shut that entry procedure down to new applicants, but those who did the limbo and got in under the wire were still okay to come in. Then they opened that program up again and changed some of the requirements. I’m expecting the unexpected. This trip was supposed to happen in March, 2020 but we all know how that panned out. 

     I finally got here on a different itinerary after the original one was cancelled due to weather and the second one for lack of crew rest. Once here, I got put into COVID jail until my first PCR test came back negative. Then I enjoyed sweet freedom for four more days until the next PCR test. I’ve been coming to Thailand fairly regularly since 1984 and every time I come, some things are still the same and some things change. The change? You can expect that because c’mon, 28 some years. And things that remain the same are in some ways…comforting, like the Red Bus.

     It has been many, many, many years since I’ve stepped foot into one of these, but when I first came here, there were a few ways of getting around the city. There were taxis, which no self respecting backpacker would ever take, those were for rich people. Then there was the Red Bus and Blue Bus. The Blue Bus had/has a/c. The Blue Bus has since been upgraded and digitized, the Red Bus remains unadulterated. Red was 2 Baht, Blue was 5 Baht, that’s back when the baht was fixed to the dollar at 25:1. I never experienced the delicious iciness of  the Blue Bus’ a/c. On the Red Bus it was crowded, you stood, it was hot and you sweated. But you were also saving that precious 3 Baht. The ticket lady would make her way up and down the aisle with a longish cylinder that she opened and closed with a distinct SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP. SNAP. It was always that pattern - 4 snaps, then 1 sharp snap (Pay up). Give the lady your 2 Baht, and she’d take a ticket and SNAP a piece of the ticket off, indicating you paid. Then she’d go up and down the aisle, SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAPPING as she collected the fares. Who knows what happened on the Blue Bus, because that was for those who had extra Baht to throw around. Traffic has gotten much, much better and Bangkok is easy to get around due to their elevated rail system (BTS) and their subway (MRT), but the roads are still frenetic.

     Many, many other things have changed over the years, but I was particularly interested in what havoc the last two years wreaked. Bumrungrad Hospital was the same, a marvel of modern efficiency. I got a full physical done and visited my dermatologist. If you need to see a specialist after your physical for any reason, they’re available at Bumrungrad…the.same.damn.day. There are heaps of shops that once sold who knows what that are now shuttered. My favorite shawarma stand near Bumrungrad survived and even expanded. Bad Burger, which I only patronized once solely due to it’s ad “We take your money and make you fat” has permanently closed. Still love the honesty in advertising. 

     But one thing that has remained constant over the years is the way Bangkok wakes up, and this has always fascinated me. Street food. Hawkers. Every morning, they start from scratch and set up their stand. Some are really simple rigs, like the fruit sellers. A cart with ice and sliced fruit. 

No tricks. Papaya, watermelon, pineapple and whatever fruits that are in season. But these mobile food stands, which many Thais eat from every day, can be a little more complex. This lady looks like she has a som tam (papaya salad) stand, wheeled in and out every day.

People also cook, sometimes using earthen cookware with charcoal up to complete rigs attached to a motorcycle, cooking with propane. They carry seats and tables to set up as well, like this lady. 

Every night, they break it down. Every morning, they set it up. The food is delicious and with very low fixed costs, the price is right. Here’s a middle man, selling vegetable and herbs to other hawkers for their stands - 

     Street food. I love it, and I’m going to continue noshing on it for the next month. Gwyne is going to come during the last two weeks of this trip to do her physical at Bumrungrad and get in some beach time for a much needed vacation. She’s 50% Japanese, but 100% petrified of germs. When the pandemic hit in 2020, we already had plenty of sanitizer around the house, and a few masks as well. When she comes, if I want to eat with her (and I do), we won’t be eating street food. But the smart money should be betting on me sneaking off for some unobserved snacks. 

    

 

Selma? Memphis?

      We’ve been cooped up (mostly) in Huntsville, Alabama for the better part of two years. I had a two month trip to Thailand and Cambodia planned, but that was in March, 2020. That obviously didn’t happen. I’ve managed to mask up and sneak away a few times, a few times to Santa Barbara to see my parents, once to DC for a work gig, then to Balad, Iraq for another work gig. Gwyne came with me to DC and then took a trip to Santa Cruz with her sister and mother. But it’s been mostly Huntsville and COVID, Huntsville and Delta COVID and now Huntsville and Omnicron COVID. We’re tired of this shit. I know everyone else is too. So when Gwyne blurted out of the blue, “Let’s go somewhere.” I said, “Sure, where do you want to go?” She didn’t know and I suggested Selma, AL because we both love history and I’ve been meaning to go there. But we looked at the weather and it said it was going to rain, rain, rain. She threw out Memphis as an idea. I looked at the weather forecast there and saw what appeared to be a decent window and checked things to do. I found a lovely 6 block walking tour of historical architecture and businesses downtown. Gwyne likes eating out, so I asked her to find an authentic BBQ joint because well, Memphis. The hotels downtown were $300 a night, so we made a reservation across the Mississippi River in Arkansas. And the next morning, we were off. On the drive there, we saw a sign that said Historic Courtland and we quickly veered left. We’re curious and had the time, so why not? It was a relatively quick drive through what may have once been historic, but turned out to be a town with broken down trailers (that still seemed to host human occupants) and shuttered store fronts. 

Courtland, Alabama

I said, “This is a dying town.” Gwyne replied, “This town’s not dying, it’s dead.”

     Onward to Memphis then! It’s about a 3 1/2 hour drive from Huntsville to Memphis, we’d be getting there at lunch time. Gwyne thought it would be fun to go a place featured in Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives so we plugged in the address for Leonards Pit Barbecue and took off. I have Siri set to an Indian woman’s voice, and she pronounced Leonards as Leo naards. It sounded so much more sophisticated. I thought we’d pick up some BBQ and take it down to a park and have a leisurely lunch on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. When we got there, the restaurant looked much more like Leonards then a Leo naards and while we were waiting for our food, they told us there was a Bowl game today and downtown was going to be crazy, so we might want to avoid going down there after the game. We took off for the park and as soon as we got there, the wind and rain came, 6 hours earlier than predicted. We could barely see the river but found a table under a patio and shivered as we noshed. The food, unfortunately, did not warm up our spirits or live up to Guy Fieri’s billing. I suggested going to the hotel to see if we could check in early, so we drove there (only getting lost once) through the driving rain. Oh, btw, neither Gwyne nor I enjoy driving. At all. I am a nervous driver. I drive the speed limit with cruise control (okay, sometimes 2 miles over the speed limit when I’m feeling a little feisty) and you can fairly hear drivers behind us yelling, “MOVE IT GRANDPA!” Gwyne is a short, distracted Asian woman. On the way back, I yawned and she asked if I wanted her to drive. I quickly said, “Oh God no.” We both laughed and laughed. I waited in the car while Gwyne went in to check on the room. She came back and said, “Do you want to hear the bad news or the bad news?” I paused and said, “Give me the bad news first.” Says Gwyne, “The hotel was completely booked last night and it’s completely booked tonight. No early check in AND there’s no secure place to store our bags while we wait. There’s a Bowl game tonight.” Right. There’s that darn Bowl game again. I’m not interested in American football at all so I just didn’t think to check on that. We thought we’d hang in the lobby of the hotel and see if there was anything edible left from the lunch. There wasn’t and we ended up throwing the rest away. Neither of us are particularly good at waiting around doing nothing, so we decided to go to the casino across the street for amusement purposes. Spoiler alert: it was not amusing. I enjoy gambling, but only for small sums of money when the odds are overwhelmingly in my favor. The clientele inside, based on their walkers, canes and attire did not appear to have tremendous amounts of disposable income to fritter away. After less than 10 minutes, we went back to the hotel lobby and maybe due to Gwyne’s Hilton Diamond Member status, a room had been found for us early. We checked in and I raised the blinds. What a lovely view!

     So we chuckled about our mishaps, after all the planning had been mostly good, but the execution sucked. So far. 

     The next day we nibbled on the substandard hotel provided breakfast and went downtown for the historical walking tour, which was inexpertly guided by me. I was reading from a script I pulled off the internet and missed a few buildings. But it was a great experience. I think the highlight was the Lorraine hotel, where MLK was assassinated. Historical events. It takes my breath away when I’m right there, where it happened. The Civil Rights Museum wasn’t open, but they had some self paced videos outside of the hotel. Then we completed the rest of my inexpertly guided tour, took a walk along the Mississippi and then back to the hotel to check out. 

 

     The second day made up for the first day’s repeated follies. And when trips are relatively unplanned, you have to accept and be ready to laugh about a few unexpected twists, turns, shimmies and shakes. And speaking of unplanned trips, the 2020 jaunt to Thailand and Cambodia is probably on again. I say probably because I have tickets, reservations, vaccinations - I’ve jumped through every hoop to get approved for entry through the Thailand Pass system (which has since been suspended for new applicants) but I think with travel cancellations and COVID variants, I’ve got about a 50 - 50 chance to get on that plane in early February. Any international travel right now will be fluid, but if it happens, I’m hoping for more of a Leo naard experience than Leonards. I’ll probably get a healthy dose of both.

Flying

     Travel is different these days. There are just so many variables, and the potential to have something else to throw a spanner in the works is always in the back of my mind when I'm on the road. Working on an Iraqi base adds a few extra twists and gyrations to the unknown unknowns. The company has their own plane that flies between Erbil and Balad, but was dependent on the Iraq government giving overflight rights to fly. Between late June and August something-th, there were 47 days those rascally Iraqis didn’t allow that flight, so everyone was stuck there. There were a few ways to get off base, and none of them were good. The easiest was a MEDEVAC flight and was usually COVID positive related that required the need to seek a higher level of medical care. I can’t go into details or outcomes on those trips, but can say that finding a COVID bed - anywhere in the world - was really difficult during that timeframe. You could also get a humanitarian flight if a close relative had died or was severely ill. Those ‘specials’ were coordinated through the US Embassy in Baghdad. And then, for some unknown reason, the Iraqis decided to lift their fatwa on overflight rights and the plane started to fly again, so I hopped on one. Going to Erbil was fairly straight forward, and I spent a few days there tooling around, visiting the Citadel and enjoying the 0400 call to prayer. Mosques always seem to be right next to the hotels frequented by the frugal. 

    I’m not a fan of having a swab stuck so far up my nose I can feel it in the back of my eye, but if you want to get on a plane to go somewhere interesting, that's what you have to do. For the record, I’ve had both the J&J jab and two doses of the Pfizer and religiously wore a mask. There was a lot of COVID on the base, both from the Iraqis that we were sending home to self isolate and the multinationals who tested positive and just had to quarantine in their quarters unless things took a turn for the worse. You can be asymptomatic and still be positive, so because I was fairly swimming in a pool of mostly unvaccinated people, it was a great relief to get that negative PCR test that allowed me to fly to Turkey. I wanted to lay over in Istanbul for one day so I could take a more leisurely trip back to the U.S. Didn’t exactly work out that way, and I’m still not sure why, but here’s what happened. 

    I showed up at the airport 3 hours early to check in. I’ve done a lot of traveling and spent more than few hours on long haul flights. I don’t have an explanation for it, but I’ve turned into kind of a nervous traveler. Maybe it’s because shit like this keeps on happening. Checking in, Turkish Airlines says there’s no record of my reservation. I’m not on the flight that I bought and paid for through United. I even made a seat selection on the Turkish Airlines website using their record locator prior to heading to the airport, but was told I didn’t exist. I was dead to them. Alan who? Last name Taylor? No, accompanied by a shake of the head from west to east. Passport number? Not there. Record Locator? Still no. Are there any seats available on this flight from Istanbul to Brussels so I can make my connecting flight? No, which seemed to be the most popular answer that morning. The original ‘oh shit’ response shifted to ‘oh well’ as I tried to figure out what to do. I’m at the airport and can’t make my connecting flight. My PCR test is good for today only and I don't want to spend a day in Istanbul trying to suss out where to get another one. Because I’m married to the Star Alliance network, I ask Turkish Airlines where else they are flying in the U.S. that day and they tell me they have a flight to Houston at 1405. It was about zero dark thirty in the morning when we were having this little chit chat. I quickly cancelled my connecting flight in Brussels, whipped out my credit card and bought a seat to Houston (where I didn’t really want to go). They let me check in about 8 hours early, so I whiled away the hours in the lounge and noshed on some Turkish delicacies. It turned out to be a 5 movie flight straight to Houston and I flew back to Huntsville the next day. 

    The reason for the flight? That’s another story. I was in Balad and got an email from a headhunter asking if I’d be interested in another position. A good friend of mine said when someone wants to make you an offer, you should always listen. So I did. I went through three rounds of interviews and got the answers to most of my questions. Job? HR Manager. Location? Kuwait. Also they need help hiring Marshallese in Kwajalein. Do you know anything about how to do that? Why yes, in fact I do. So I packed my mental bags. Gwyne was happy as well. We lived in Kuwait before and really enjoyed it. She couldn’t come and visit Iraq, but she is more than ready to hang out in Kuwait again for a while. One more question - where in Kuwait is the job physically located? It’s out at Arifjan. For those not familiar with Kuwait, Camp Arifjan is about a 40 minute drive from Fintas or Fahaheel, where most contractors typically live. I’ve done that unpleasant drive and sat through the uncomfortable security so very many times and just didn't want to do it again, so I turned it down. But those bags in my head, well, they had already been packed. A more comfortable life, planes that are actually able to fly, good medical care and Gwyne. And not necessarily in that order (good catch there, eh?) That's why I'm back in Huntsville. I'll still do some remote work, but it will be when I want. This way, I'm still keeping my status as a 4 time loser in the retirement game. It would be flat out embarrassing to be a 5 time loser.  

    

Stores and my work wife

     There are some differences between this gig and others I've worked in the Middle East. The most notable is this is a U.S. contract, but on an Iraq Air base. There are few things missing. Like a PX/BX. At those little stores on U.S. bases, shipping is subsidized, some of the products are manufactured for and labeled 'exchange select' and the profits from the store go into the Morale Welfare and Recreation fund of the base. There are two Iraqi stores here, one that sells things you would expect a convenience store to sell, and the other establishment that sells some electronics, shoes, knick knacks and paddy whacks. You might find a geegaw or so as well. They literally have a captive group of consumers. Need some shampoo? Toothpaste? Deodorant? You have one store, one option, and at the price they set. This was all made clear to me before I hopped on my first delayed flight, so I knew what to expect and was fairly adequately provisioned. 

Lacking in curb appeal and price controls...

     There is one other option to get what you want/need and that is the proverbial mule. I hopped on my bike one morning and started to pedal away only to find I had a puncture. The bike I bought at the geegaw store is so cheap, the wheels do not have a quick release skewer, they are attached with an archaic nut and bolt.

This is NOT a real Fuji

It's not far to work, so I walked, sweated and plotted how I'd get my hands on an adjustable wrench. The Automotive shop, staffed mainly by Iraqi's, eagerly offered to repair my flat tire, but I explained to them this is a government contract that didn't allow personal work to be done during hours billed to the USG. I told them all I needed was an adjustable wrench, which they had never heard of. I switched things up. I told them I needed a spanner. They got that, then asked what size I needed - 10 mm? 12 mm? I didn't know. Then I pantomimed the spanner moving. They understood that. "Ohhhh, you mean an English wrench!" Okay, call it what you want. Back to the mule. If you need anything as exotic as an English wrench to help repair future punctures, you have to contact people who are on the way in, perhaps someone you have recently hired, and ask them to buy and put something in their 30kg weight allowance luggage. Then they mule it in for you. When the plane flies again someday.

    But the thing I miss the most here is the work wife that I had in Afghanistan and Kuwait. A work wife/husband is someone of the opposite (or same) sex with whom you have a close platonic relationship at work. Gwyne knew all about this relationship, I disclosed everything. I’m lucky she’s so understanding. My work wife was something else. Need something? Anything at all? Just ask and she’d get it for you. She was super efficient. I’d just be going about my workaday business and she’d suggest something I might be interested in. Chances were, I was. Just like Gwyne, she gets me. She also really liked how frequently and deftly I use my index finger. I know this because just as soon as I was finished, right after that last touch, she always quickly expressed her appreciation. When I found out my work wife wouldn't be at this assignment, I'm certain my eyes moistened, because I'm a very sentimental person. There is no APO (Army Post Office) here because you only find those on U.S. bases. Which means no work wife for me. Oh Amazon, sweet, sweet Amazon Prime. My work wife. I miss you so much. But I'm going to hook up with you when I get back, k?

    

ETD-ETA-UNK

      Everyone was stuck somewhere in 2020 and many were/are stranded somewhere in 2021 as well. I was talking to Gwyne the other day and she was asking what my plans were for my first leave and I said, “Completely unknown.” And they are. I’m in Iraq and everything changes every day. Everything. We have people stuck in India and Nepal. The Philippines won’t let their citizens travel to Iraq. They can leave Iraq to go to the Philippines, but they can’t come back here to work. But President Duterte will fix things. In a televised address he said, “You choose, vaccine or I will have you jailed.”  No, really, he said that. https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/philippines-duterte-threatens-those-who-refuse-covid-19-vaccine-with-jail-2021-06-21/  Dubai opened to Indians and Sri Lankans who were fully vaccinated. Then they shut down a week later. South Africa just went down into a Level 4 lockdown. The South Africans are rushing to get back before we don’t have any flights from Erbil to Balad for nobody knows how long. Yeah, that happens too. No flights in or out. Sydney locked down again. Bangkok locked down construction camps. The Delta variant is rampant in India. And the Delta plus variant is spreading as well. So those travel plans? They’re stuck in a holding pattern. 

     And that’s okay. After working in Afghanistan, 7 days a week, 12 hours a day, my schedule here is a rather luxurious 6 days a week and a mere 10 hours a day, which always seem to fly by. What to do on that day off? Well, it’s still a bit warm outside,

so I try to move from one temperature controlled location to the next, typically my ice cold CHU to the DFAC and back. I get a nap in, if I can. I stop in at the only convenience store on base to see if they can extort a few more dinars out of me. Spoiler alert: they’re usually successful. I bought a bike there last week and on the third day or riding my (not so) trusty steed, the seat stem bent. I guess it couldn’t handle my 160 lbs of solid dad bod. No matter, another seat stem was miraculously fabricated the same day. Some wasta helped with that.  

     Because of the ever changing nature of being here, the work is super interesting. They asked me to get an Iraqi cell today, even though I have VoIP phones with the same number in my office and CHU, a radio and my own cell. I’m pretty reachable. But okay. So they deliver it and I ask what the phone number is. Oh, you have to get a SIM with minutes on it, put in a service order. Again, okay. Then Mohammed calls. He wants to know what service provider I want with my minutes. I have no clue, so I say, “I’m going to make this Mohammed’s choice. You choose. Whatever provider you give me, I’ll be happy with.” He was briefly flummoxed, but then suggested the provider that most managers go with. “Excellent choice, Mohammed, thank you so much!” No reason we can’t have fun here. 

     Another thing I found out is that every time you come into country, you have to get a blood stamp. They draw blood, check for HIV and Hepatitis, then you get that literal stamp in your passport. Unless. Unless you are over 50 if you are female and over 60 if male. I guess they think that shop has closed up for us elderly folk. And stop. Get that image out of your heads.

     Then there are the people. As anyone who has done time (and I use that term intentionally) in the sandbox can attest, some of the people are pretty darn interesting. I won’t delve into the usual and very predictable cast of colorful characters who have been contracting forever, I just want to say the the HR team here is filled with some superstars. Interesting. Educated. Well traveled. Some with a wry and sly sense of humor, all of which is very much appreciated by me. 

     And there we are. No itinerary. Not taking off. No landings in sight. Anticipating more than a little turbulence. And except for Syed and Kuldeep…still smiling.