Day 69: Obsessive compulsive me

I'm not a pig at home, I like to keep things relatively clean and orderly, but I'm no clean freak either. Which is why I find it somewhat disconcerting that I wash my hands somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 times a day.

Every time you eat, every time you visit the bathroom, every time you exit the building, every time you grab a bottle of water, after taking a shower, before getting dressed, just prior to turning in for the night etc. etc. I'm on the verge of washing my hands before I wash my hands.

In the late 80s I had the opportunity to live in S. Korea of nearly two years. The Land of the Almost Perfect as I called it came with some challenges. Your system had to get used to the food and environment which, sometimes, meant feeling like shit for a while -- the Korean crud if you will.

Well, here in Afghanistan it's the same thing. Many of us have the remnants of colds or have the full blown deal. You're chewing on dirt, it's hot as hell and environmental "cleanliness" isn't the best as of yet. Call it the Afghanistan crud.

So, just as soon as I publish this post ... well ... I'll be washing my hands again.

Day 65: It's all urine pee pee

There's nothing like a Port 'O John in 110-degree heat ... in the shade. It's a necessary evil here in Afghanistan, but you never get used to it. It's the quickest trip to the bathroom you'll ever make.

I bought two paintings yesterday, both are very nice. The artist is a doctor, though not practicing as being a painter is a better occupation here. One depicts the ruins around Kabul and the other from a canal looking out into a courtyard of sorts.

Bargaining is the name o' the game here: prepare to spend several minutes over each item you buy. It's like visiting the local used car dealership, they just don't let up.

Time for a protein shake.

Day 56: Weekly massage

When you're this far from "home" you tend to fall into certain routines to help pass the time. Recently, I've added a weekly hour-long massage courtesy of a Russian and Dari speaking masseuse.

Last Thursday, my first visit, I told the young lady I liked hard massages. I just figured she'd have to work pretty, well, hard on me given her size. Anyway, about 40 minutes in I realized she took her work seriously. She must have put each of her 120 lbs into her elbows as she dug into my back.

I tried to suck it up, but eventually had to call off the beast --- begging for a little mercy. Today, day two, I requested a "medium" massage.

"Hi, do you have time for me now?" I asked, showing up a half hour early.

"You want now?" she replied.

"Yes, I pay now too," as I slid my money to her. "Oh, and this time I'd like a medium massage." I used my hands to demonstrate medium, between hard and soft.

"Medium," she replied with a slight grin.

"Yes," and for a second I wondered if she new she put the hurt to me last time.

Anyway, with the weather somewhere in the high 90s or low 100s, it was a nice 60-minute vacation of sorts. As with any other relationship, business or otherwise, it takes time to feel each other out. She, I think, now knows how to handle me -- but will learn even more in the future.

"Do you speak Russian," I asked her on the way out.

"Me Russian? Yes," she said.

Hmmm, she looked Chinese but spoke Dari and Russian. The world is an interesting place.

Day 49: Memories

An ANA soldier sits guard on packs that will be used by the new recruits for the day's activities. Select this photo for a closer look at what each soldier lugs around in 100-plus degree heat. (Photo by G. A. Volb)

Following a hard morning of work outs, the recruits head to "chow" where bread, muffins and other "goodies" await them -- all made in this facility. Select the photo for a closer look at the fires burning below. (Photo by G. A. Volb)

At 4:30 a.m. the recruits fell out for a nice 30-minute runn. Here an ANA instructor stands by, watch in hand, to track the recruits times. (Photo by G. A. Volb)

Back in 1983 I joined the USAF as a young college dropout. Having spent the better part of two years in the game room at my local state university, I had finally determined it was best to get a job and cut my losses. Either that or wait for the Dean to up the ante and move for dismissal as I was already on academic probation at the time.

I had "earned" a very unimpressive 2.00 GPA, with about half of my credits falling below the cutoff for transfer to any other university.

Anyway, the move was the right one though basic training was quite an interesting time of my life. I grew up a bit then and, this past week, had the opportunity to watch as young Afghans who made the same decision headed out for a day of basic training ANA style.

It was 4:30 a.m. when I arrived at the training camp ... the ANA was making their way out to the track for about 30 minutes of running. A good choice I thought given the 100 degree heat in the afternoon.

Anyway, the photography provided offers a few examples of what that training day looked like. Believe me, I wasn't missing any of it.

In a completely unrelated story, it was so hot here today I singed the bottoms of my feet on the steel walkway outside my piece of paradise.