Two tickets to Paradise
Another week ends here in the land that time forgot. Uneventful and dull as ususal, but that is not nessicarily a bad thing. In a war zone, a quite night is a luxury we are rarely afforded. Most nights are filled with either the errie yelps of the local packs of wild dogs, the dull resonance of a night fire range, or one of our larger instruments of war blowing up a mountain for fun.
A little peace a quite is something I think I will not take for granted any time soon.
Its kind of crazy how 90% of the people in the world will never move 100 miles from where there they were born. Then here I am nestled in a quaint wine valley in the most heavily mined country in the known world. Ten years ago if you asked me where I would be, Afghanistan would not be on my top 10 list, but it might have made the top 25.
I am enjoying the experience though. New people, new places, and new clothing are the spice of life. The worst part about it though is the lack of contact with the locals. They seem like interesting enough people.
The coolest thing happened the other day. I was driving the humvee to pick up some supplies from our ISU-90 (read as large storage closet), and was driving back to my AO (Area of Operation) and I passed a line of the local workers. Im not sure why, maybe it was an instinct or just sick curiousity. I took my one hand the was on the steering wheel and formed my first two fingers into a "V", aka the peace sign or for those BET wathers "the deuce." Then the whole line of locals threw "the deuce" back at me. It was awesome. One of them even had it kind of low and sideways then threw his head back and to the left, very gangsta!
Well back to work. Watch your six kids.