I've noticed that alot of the people who find this page are led here by their Google search for edge-of-space pictures; the picture in the post below this one specifically. Well, if you are one of those people who are looking for good stuff on going to the edge-of-space, allow me to forward you to the the November 2005 archive of my current blog, which is where I continue to post on my current travels and experiences from the International Zone in Baghdad, and is also where I describe my trip to the edge of space. If you click on this picture, 
it will take you to my smugmug picture gallery which has all of the images from my Space Adventure. Speaking of which, the most legitimate company out there, if you are interested in doing this flight for yourself, is Space Adventures.
A Shameless Plug For My Edge Of Space Flight
Sat. Oct. 15, 2005 - As close as I can get so far
Hey Everybody,
I know it’s been a while... work work work. I just
wanted to let people know that I’m still kicking. And screaming, definitely
screaming. I’ve also got my next vacation planned, and I really just want to
brag about that.
On the 29th of October
I plan on flying to Jordan and spending a week… I want to
see some more stuff there and also take care of some mundane life things… new
glasses, clothes, dentist, and I need to get an EKG exam done because…. (drum
roll…) on the 6th of November I’m going to fly to Moscow and participate in
two Space Adventures programs! Space Adventures is the company that sent Dennis
Tito to the International Space Station for $20,000,000 and that other guy, Greg
Olsen, who just came back from there a few days ago. I’m signed up, paid, and
confirmed for the Mig-25 Edge of Space flight and the Zero-Gravity parabolic
flight experiences. The Edge of Space program involves two jet planes; a
super-sonic acrobatic flight in an Il-39 Russian Jet and the actual
Edge-of-Space flight at Mach 2.5 in a Mig-25 which goes to 82,000 feet, right to
the edge of the atmosphere, like Chuck Yeager did in that movie “The Right
Stuff”. The Zero-Gravity flight is like what they did for Apollo 13… if you
watch the bonus features there’s a segment where Tom Hanks and Kevin Bacon and
all the other guys get in a cargo plane which goes up and performs parabolic
flight arcs to simulate zero gravity. Here’s a link to their web page which goes
into much more detail: http://www.spaceadventures.com/
I’m so excited that I’ve gone to
the bathroom twice while writing this email.
Anyway, included in the package is a tour of Moscow and various extra little items. I also booked two extra days so that I could go up to
St. Petersburg. I leave on the 14th
back to Jordan, and from there, if I can
swing it, I’ll fly back to the States for Thanksgiving. I may have to go to Romania for a couple of days first;
My boss wants me to visit the headquarters and all
that.
So that’s all… things in Baghdad are
business as usual. I’ve updated my smugmug page with some minor changes and a
couple of extra Baghdad photos if you haven’t checked it out in
the last month or so.
That’s all. I’ll let you know how INCREDIBLY AWESOME it was!
Michael
fri. July 8, 2005 - It's a bloody job
“In the future, please don’t slaughter sheep [in the high security compound
where we work] , and if you have to for some reason, at least make sure that you
clean up all of the blood and entrails right away [because in this heat, it fast
becomes blood, entrail, & fly soup].
I had to admonish one of my workers
with that sentence today. It’s the funniest thing that’s happened to me lately,
so I had to share it. The Romanians who guard the camp had asked some of the
Iraqis to bring in an Iraqi style lunch for them. (These particular Iraqis are
from out in the boon-desert. Think of them as Rednecks, but
browner.)
Also, I guess it’s been awhile
since anyone’s heard from me, so I wanted to let you know that I’m still alive
and stuff.
That’s all. No real news. Maybe
I’ll get a vacation sometime this year, maybe not… we’ll see. If I don’t get one
before Krampus Fest, I think I’m going to demand the entire month of December
off and go back to Pennsylvania for a week or
two, after Krampus and Greek or Egypt
Michael
<>
P.S. Scott, I guess Amar got grazed
by an American bullet this morning… he was driving his scooter too close to the
rear of a convoy, got cut on the head a bit. He’s okay, but unfortunately you
can’t cure the impetuousness of youth…(that’s a polite way of calling him a
dumba**)
Sun. Apr. 24, 2005 - Not really my usual play-by-play
Hey
all,
Just a quick note to say that I had
a last minute vacation a few weeks ago during which I spent two days in Jordan,
five days in Switzerland, and five days in Paris. 3 Countries, 3 Capitals,
(Amman,
I wish that I had been able to
spend more time in Jordan… there is a whole lot to do
there that I really didn’t have time for.
Petra was incredible and the Dead sea very muddy and
relaxing. Maybe on my next trip I’ll do more… It is where all commercial flights
out of Baghdad go to and now that I am with a different company, no more illicit
flights in the back of a cargo plane to Dubai, which is a bummer because those
cargo flights were quite exciting. But the bright side is that since I’m doing
it all legal now, I finally have a Baghdad
Now I’m back to work and things are
back to crazy.
Sat. jan. 15, 2005 - Opportunities in Interzone!
Dear
Everybody,
I know it’s been a really really
long time, and some of you are concerned about whether I’m dead or not, and some
of you are getting angry because you’ve written me once or twice and I haven’t
ever got back to you. And some of you don’t care either way, but my urge to let
you know I’m still in the picture has made me include you, anyway.
Well, what can I say? It’s been a
really busy couple of months. You know the drill, you’ve all used that line many
a time yourselves when delinquent with electronic mail. But in my case, I get to
say it’s because I’ve been working 14 hour days seven days a week since October
in the International Zone in Baghdad
But things are actually going quite
well for me. Got a promotion. I’m Project Manager now. So I get to sit in my
office and tell everybody else to get back to work, and make them wear uniforms
and arbitrarily change break and mealtimes just to keep them guessing, and get
paid loads more than the little people could ever hope to make. Wow, I’m turning
into Marc Jannsen. (If I ever start carrying my camera around at work parties in
that lewd manner of his, please, I need an ex-Chiemseer to kill me
messily.)
The holidays were rather awful
here… Our client decided that they didn’t want Iraqis working on their site
anymore, after what happened in Mosul. (Some Iraqi cafeteria worker came in one
day with a bomb strapped under his shirt (LOVE to find out how he got past our
military’s crack security) and blew up the dining room.) So, after convincing a
few Iraqis to leave their safe comfy jobs with my last company and come with me
down here, I was faced with the prospect of firing them on Christmas eve. (I
only hire Christians. Christian Iraqis are easier to deal with than Muslims.
Except when you fire them on Christmas eve.) Urgh. But thanks to the power of
reason, I convinced the powers that be to let me not fire people on that most
charitable of days. God Bless America
My boss was really unhappy about
it, too, as he then had to bring in a bunch of Romanians to replace them, and
they cost a lot more money. So now I work with a bunch of Romanians. They’re
nice.
Hmmm… I can’t think of anything
else worth mentioning.
By the way, though, I need to hire
a couple of Americans. So if anybody wants to come to Baghda and be an inventory
control manager or laundry facility manager or something like that, let me know.
The work’s easy, the pay is good, and the explosions are a never-ending source
of entertainment.
TTFN,
Michael
Sun. Oct. 17, 2004 - Iraqi moolah moolah
Hey everybody...
So it looks like I may never
get around to that massmail about my trip to Africa. I’m sure you’re all very sorry. But I have a good
excuse. I quit my job at IAP due to the fact that they are a sucky company and I
couldn’t stomach working for them anymore. And a much more detailed reason, but
one which those of you who don’t know the people involved won’t find very
interesting.
So at any rate, before you
start calling me smart and saying at last, he’s coming home!, let me disappoint
you. I jumped ship and took another job elsewhere in Baghdad. It pays loads
more money, I am the boss, and the new company GBG, is run by a really swell guy
who believes in treating Iraqis like people rather than indentured servants. In
fact, I am pretty much the only American working here, aside from Phil the owner
and his son Chris. He’s hired all Iraqis for the real work, and it is a much
more fun scene. My old company is really mad at me because I’ve stolen a lot of
employees who I really like from them, and they are having a lot of trouble
hiring more people because everyone wants to work for me, now. Tee hee.
Sometimes what goes around really does come around.
The down side of all this is
that I may not be making Krampus this year, which is a bummer because a lot of
cool people are going this time around. It depends on whether construction on
this project is finished by then.
I will say a few things
about my trip to South Africa. I had many firsts: I skydived, I cage
dived with Great White Sharks, I went on Safari (Well, to be honest, it was more
of a Cape
Town was really awesome. Robben island, where Nelson
Mandela was imprisoned for 19 years, would have been really dull except for the
tour guide who was also an ex-prisoner with Mandela himself. He was really angry
about the whole Apartheid thing, and I find it really ironic that after a
zillion years as a prisoner there, he chose as his profession to be stuck in the
same prison and talking to complete strangers about how much it sucks to be a
prisoner there. But it did make it authentic, that’s for
sure.
So that’s all I’ve got on
that. I really don’t have much free time any more... I’m pretty much working 16
hour days, but I get to set my own pace, so it’s not so
bad.
Sun. Aug. 1, 2004 - Vacations galore
Greetings, unwitting massmailees,
I just booked my next
vacation. In September I am going to South Africa for two weeks for some
Safari fun. I was originally thinking something like Greece, but I had to out-cool Scott, who will be
coming back from
Anyway, so that’s that. I
have also already been approved for my December leave, which will be from the
2nd to the 16th or so.... Krumpus fest! So anyone who
wants to meet Nimmer, Scott, Alison & Jordan and I and whoever else has
signed up that I don’t know about for some Demon beatin’ fun, start planning
ahead.
Of course, and don’t tell
anyone, but I’m looking into another job over here, much better pay and all
that, and if it comes through, I don’t know that the new boss would want me to
take leave that soon, (the new job wouldn’t start until the end of September or
October....) so we’ll see. I’m not really worried about it though; I tend to
remain fairly stagnant, and if this new company doesn’t offer something
significantly better, I’ll probably stay where I’m at. And even if I do get the
job, chances are that I’ll still be able to go. My potential boss is a really
easygoing and generous guy.
So... that’s all.
Michael
Sun. July 11, 2004 - Moroccan Kamikaze Hospitality
Hey everyone,
I know it’s been awhile, and
I know you’re probably expecting a ponderous massmail about my adventures in Morocco, but unfortunately I seem to
be lacking the inspiration this time around. It’s been about three weeks since I
got back, and nothing. So some of you can sigh in relief and some of you can
write angry letters to the editor. I will say that Christy and I had a fabulous
time, although in two different senses; I had a fabulously expensive time away
from
I will say that the muggers
in Morocco are quite sporting. I wasn’t
there, but apparently he cut her purse strap and started running until she
started yelling “Hey! Passport! Passport!” He actually came back and held her at
knifepoint while he rummaged for cash and then gave her purse back to her. So he
was nice.
Other than that, and, oh
yeah, the fact that Moroccans are not only the inventors of, but also the
absolute reigning High Grand Masters of the Hard Sell theory of retail, we had a
great time. But whatever you do, NEVER EVER for even a second consider entering
a carpet shop. If you do, they’ll sniff it, and you’re doomed. You’re
practically doomed anyway, even if you’re not considering it. You must be
absolutely rock hard in your resolve to ignore them. Lacking that sort of
internal fortitude, well, you will leave Morocco
with more than you bargained on.
I’ll say straight off that
both Casablanca and
Marrakesh has at least one
thing making it worthwhile; the main square, Djema al Fna. If you’ve ever heard
anything about Marrakesh, then this is what you’ve heard
about. Snake Charmers, fire eaters, charlatans, guys with monkeys, insane
people, unsane people, story tellers, (though if you don’t speak Arabic, the
stories are rather wasted on you. They are, however, also included in the
insane/unsane category, so they can still be fun to watch.) and oh yeah, lots of
invasive people trying to sell you stuff. And that includes the snake charmers
and monkey guys. I have two photos I’m not very happy about, as within my first
five minutes there, both a snake charmer and a monkey guy grabbed me and thumped
a snake/monkey on my shoulder, grabbed my camera and guerilla photographed my
gullible western tourist butt. And then demanded money for the privilege. There
was also this funny show where people paid to box against this really old skinny
guy. Skinny as in the less-well-fed class of the starving Ethiopian type. So I
got a picture of this guy beating the crap out of a twelve year old girl. They
grabbed me and made me pay for that, too.
So you can spend a day
there, but that’s about it, really. The rest of Marrakesh is nothing much to write
about.
Volubilis, a once upon a
time Roman City in Morocco, but now a Unesco World Heritage site, about a
half-hour taxi ride from the city of Meknes (also a very interesting city) is a
fun day trip. It’s all in ruins now, as the Roman’s city upkeep program has
rather been lax for the last millennium or so. So the bar scene is rather dead
and there’s no shopping, but on the other hand there’s no carpet shops, so it’s
rather a nice break from, well, Moroccans. One thing happened in Volubilis that
has never happened to me before; There was a tour group there which consisted of
teenage Moroccans. Christy and I were the only white folk there, I think,
because this group of teenage girls waylaid us and begged us to have our picture
taken with them. It was kind of a reverse scenario of the time I visited Lancaster, PA, and grabbed a bunch of Amish folk and made
them do funny poses with me. It was kind of weird, but now I know why those
silly bearded guys kept trying to run away.
The absolute high point of the whole trip was our visit to Erg Chebbi, a
region in the south east of
Anyway,
the continued existence of the Kasbahs depend upon people coming to go for a
Camel ride out in the dunes, which I need not say, is why we were there. We got
on our Camels (Dromedaries, actually; one hump not two) at about 4:00 pm, and
were led out into the desert by a barefooted Berber. These guys are nuts; we’d
be out there and not able to see anything but sand in any direction, and some
Berber guy would pop up over a dune and just be wandering around playing a banjo
or something. Barefooted. That sand is hot. So it was about a three hour trek out
to camp. There were a few other people out there and they provide snowboards; I
grabbed one and hiked partway up a dune for some sandboarding! That was sweet,
glad I did it, but I still prefer snowboarding. We were served some desert
Berber food, Tajine, which is basically cous cous stew. Vegetables and beef and
stuff. Very good. Then they played some drums; very africany berbery stuff. That
was neat, but then they tried to make me play along with them. There are two
problems with this. A) I have little to no rhythm to begin with but B) you have
no idea how self-conscious I feel trying to play bongos while sitting
squat-legged in the desert. I kept thinking of another old Stoudsburg friend of
mine, whom Christy knows, who was one of those totally long haired neo-hippy
doofuses who enjoyed a good drum circle. Nice guy, but come on, I think
everybody knows someone like him, and can understand how I felt. Needless to say
the Berbers smiled politely and quickly took the bongos away from me. (Actually,
I have to be honest here; really they were tired of playing and kept trying to
push them on me, no matter how bad I would play. They were unfortunately very
encouraging. I think they were hoping that, as in City Slickers, the more I
fumbled around in the wilderness, the more my wild nature side would try and
come out and improve my spirit and I would drum like a fiend, thereby learning a
valuable lesson about myself and becoming a better person, bringing the wisdom
of the desert back to civilization with me. Unfortunately, due to the innate
sense of irony bred into all members of my generation, such epiphanies are
nearly impossible these days.)
The main reason I was so
excited about spending the night out in the desert was next; the stars. I am a
huge space buff/dork, and I was really excited. I don’t think that I’ve really
seen a clear night sky since my days at Deerfoot Lodge. (That’s a camp I went to
for 8 years as a boy. Way out in the middle of upstate New York's wilderness.)
(Ohh... did that whole “as a boy” thing make me sound old? Zoiks.) So I grabbed
a blanket and slept outside, even though there were very nice Berber tents
available. Awesome. I haven’t seen the Milky Way like that... maybe
ever.
So that was all great and
everything. The next morning we got up and dromedaried back to Le Kasbah. I
could have spent several nights out there, I think, except time on a two week
vacation is an issue. And also they might have continued their efforts to make
me a hip desert bongo guy, and I couldn’t have any of
that.
After Christy departed Morocco, (we parted company in
I know I’ve made Morocco and Moroccans out to be these
pushy, irritating things you have to deal with rather than enjoy while traveling
there, so let me tell you a story about something that happened to
us.
Right after Christy was
knife mugged, she wandered to the nearest place where there were people. A nice
little Moroccan man named Ahmed saw her first and helped her out immensely. He
brought her to the police station and helped to translate her situation. It
turns out that he was an official guide; something which the Lonely Planet guide
book strongly recommends that you make use of while in most major cities, as
they can help you find your way around the immensely large and confusing Medinas
(old towns) while simultaneously keeping everybody, which is in fact, EVERYBODY,
who wants to sell you something away from you. He felt really bad for her, so he
offered to show her around Fes for free the next day, and he would buy her
a souvenir and take her to his house for tea in the afternoon to meet his
family. She asked if I could come along, and of course he was totally fine with
that.
So the next morning he met
us at our hotel and proceeded to show us around. He took us to an old Medersa,
(an Islamic school) which was very nice, and then... he took us to a carpet
shop. I was appalled. Luckily by this time both of our skins were rather
hardened, and were resolute in not buying diddly. It still took way way way too
long to get away, though. And then Ahmed took us to the tanneries, where you can
watch them tanning and dying leather (Very stinky process, by the way. Don’t
recommend it for the sensitive of nose, nor for those with dysentery.) And then,
Surprise! you are subjected to a hard sell for leather products. I had
considered buying a leather jacket there previously, as Moroccan leather is
famous, and as I’ve said before, if you consider for even a second.... well they
have a seventh sense about these things, these Moroccans, and I was dead in the
water the instant we first set foot on the street which led to the tanneries.
Afterwards, he took us to a
ceramic factory, with a tour and a gift shop, a lace shop, a blanket shop... so
we were subjected to more commercial abuse in the company of this official guide
than we had been on our own, and actually saw very little of anything worth
seeing. We did meet his family for tea. That was uncomfortable. Got pictures.
But wait, it doesn’t end
there. He asked us at some point where we were headed after Fes, and we stupidly told him. We’re going to Erfoud, we
say, which is where we’d planned on catching a taxi to the sand dunes and
Kasbahs. What! He exclamates. Don’t go to Erfoud! I have a cousin in Rissani,
which is closer to the sand dunes, and I will take you to the bus station now
and change your bus tickets. I will call him and have him meet you at the bus
station in Rissani, where he will take you to his house and eat breakfast with
his family, and he will arrange everything for you! I say, ummm... really, thank
you, but we can do it on our own... “No! I insist!”
We were really tired of all
the attention and just wanted to be left alone, but our official guide, who we
thought would protect us from all of that, had turned out to be the worst of
them all. We could not dissuade him short of telling him to #@@!# off, and so we
agreed, only to get him to shut up. Luckily, the bus to Rissani stops in Erfoud,
so we got off just to avoid the clutches of the official guide’s cousin, who’s
name was Hassan, I think. This was unfortunate, really, as he was correct about
Rissani being a better departure point than Erfoud, but by that time we knew
that to get off in Rissani meant madness.
So we made our way to the
sand dunes and had a merry time, as you know. After finishing our lovely desert
experience, we caught a ride to Rissani, as that is where the bus to Marrakesh departs from.
While eating lunch in a totally random restaurant there, awaiting our bus for Marrakesh, a man
sitting at a table near ours was looking at us. He leaned closer and asked, “You
are the friends of Ahmed (our Fesian official guide, remember?), no?” Too
terrified to do anything but nod, we waited for his next sentence in horror.
“Why did you not meet Hassan here?” “Uh, are you
Hassan?”
“No, but I know
him.”
“Huh. What are the odds? How
do you know who we are?”
“You were described to me
very well. Two Americans, bald with a goatee and glasses, and a tall pretty
redhead.”
Okay, this is just too much.
Moroccans are way too involved in the comings and goings of their tourists.
“Jeez. Does everybody know who we are here?”
“Well, Hassan described you
very well.”
“I’ve never met Hassan!”
“Ahmed described you very
well to Hassan.”
“Great”
“Why did you not meet
him?”
“Got off at the wrong bus
stop. Speaking of which, we have a bus to catch now. Tell Hassan hello and sorry
and all. Bye bye now.”
Man we ran out of there. Ran
fast, before he tried to sell us something or call Hassan on
us.
So, there are two morals to
this story; The Lonely Planet guide isn’t right about everything, and don’t let
the very thin surface of hospitality in Morocco fool you; they all want
something from you and they’re all creepy.
So now you pretty much know
the gist of our experiences in Morocco, and I hope that I’ve
imparted some of the broadening aspects of travel which I’ve gained. And also,
hey, I lied. I guess this did turn out to be a rather ponderous assessment of my
adventures after all. Sorry about that.
Otherwise, things are pretty
much back to normal for me here in Baghdad. Lots of work, lots of heat, lots of
Buffy. (Been keeping myself busy after work by obsessively watching the entire
Buffy the Vampire Slayer series on DVD box set.) So it’s not all bombs and
insurgents and prison scandals and stuff. It looks like our company is about to
sign our contract for another year, (I can’t believe I’ve been here almost a
year already!) and I’m not sure what that means for me just yet. I may stay, I
may not... I will probably stay at least a few months longer than my contract
requires to make back some of the cash I blew in Morocco... Plus
it kind of feels like home, now, so I’m fairly comfortable for the moment.
Anyway, I’ll keep you all posted.
Bye for
now.
Love,
Mike
Sat. June 5, 2004 - al salaam al leikum, I cant eat no bacon
Mon. May 10, 2004 - Man-eating Rolex Prices
So if you haven’t been
living under a rock, you’ve seen some pretty interesting stuff on the news about
my temporary hometown lately... Alright, I need to clear something up. I was not
one of the prison guards! They photoshopped my face onto that guy! 
I mean, did
you see how built that guy was? Anybody who knows me at all knows that that
physique is beyond my capabilities. It’s an uncanny resemblance, though, and my
Iraqis have been picking on me a lot lately. They keep asking what exactly I’ve
been doing after work everyday, and whether I enjoy torturing prisoners as much
as I enjoy torturing housekeepers. To which I reply; Shut up and put your mask
back on.
Just kidding. But check out
that picture... They flash it on the news all of the time. I hate
it.
The last couple of weeks
have been pretty good for me... On April 14th Scott went on vacation
to China
And so
on.
I think everybody already
knows this, but I did buy a scooter and have had a real good time driving it
around. There’s so much in the area to see! I’ve gone and visited Uday Hussein’s
Man-eating lions a few times. They eat people. Well, not any more. They’re so
cute. The scooter really excites their curiosity, too. When you drive it in
circles around their cage, they chase it with as much fascination as a kitty
with a ball of string. I think that they think it’s some sort of round-footed
cat with a growling purr. It’s also really cute how when the scooter is turned
off, and you’re just standing there in front of the cage, they stare really
intently at your foot, with perhaps a touch of salivation. I’ve also drag-raced
around the Iraqi Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with Oscar and Billy, two other IAP
guys, until we were chased off by angry security guards. Driving up and down
Celebration square is also a lot of fun. My biggest joy with the scooter,
though, is the looks I often get from soldiers as they drive by in their tanks
and armored convoys dressed in full battle gear, while I zip by on my scooter
wearing shorts, t-shirt and sunglasses. You see, I haven’t seen a single
American here, aside from us IAP folk, who drives a scooter. So we’re a bit of
an oddity. AFRC Baghdad!
So by the time Rodney gets
back from vacation, it’ll be just about time for me to go; I leave here on June
2nd for Dubai, and on the
3rd I fly to Morocco! I’m meeting my old friend
Christy from PA there, so I’m really looking forward to it. Casablanca, Marrakech...
all that good stuff. After living in this hot, dusty, Middle Eastern Muslim
environment for so long, it’s going to be really nice to vacation in Morocco, which is completely
opposite; instead it’s a hot, dusty, African Muslim country... oh wait. Now I
get it. Well, too late. I’ve always wanted to see Marrakech, though, and at
least there are no terrorists there... Oh, crap. Well, anyway, after Baghdad
Well, I guess that’s all I
got for now. I updated my pictures on messiestobjects.smugmug.com recently, if
anybody’s interested.
Until next
time!
Michael
April 13 & 17, 2004 - Smug & Smugger
Hey all,
If anybody's interested, I have posted some photos of Baghdad on messiestobjects.smugmug.com
Nothing too comprehensive; I'm a little paranoid about posting certain photos of people on the web in case of CYBERTERRORISM!!! But I got some cool stuff up, anyways. If any of you have seen Scott's site on smugmug, he's got a lot more stuff up, but I'll be loading more pix in the eventual future; after all, I paid 25 bucks for the darn service.
Mike
__________________________________________________________________
Hey all,
Just a quick note; If anybody's interested I've added some new photos to my Baghdad folder and added two new folders, Kuwait and Dubai, as well as updated all of the captions. The site is messiestobjects.smugmug.com I bought a scooter! So today two guys I work with who also have bought scooters, Oscar and Billy, and I went scooter riding around Baghdad. We went over and saw the hungry maneating lions which Uday Hussein used to feed people to, and I've got pictures.
That's all.
Mike
Fir. Apr. 2, 2004 - my new mp3 player loves ween
Hello everybody!
So, of the four American contractors who were killed in Falluja a couple of days ago, none of them were me.
They were, however, most likely people I knew, if not by name. This morning, when I woke up, I finally came to a conclusion about what it would take for me to high-tail it out of here with my tail between my legs going "Yipe yipe yipe!" And more than anything, it's the idea of one of my Iraqi employees getting killed for daring to work with the Americans. They are working for monthly wages which amount to more than I make in an hour and less than I make in a day and 1/2.
As I write this, I have just driven home through the streets of Baghdad drunk on Absinthe which my friend Barney brought back from Germany for me and made it back alive. The absurdity of this is more apparent to me than it is to you, believe me.
I keep trying to find the humor in all of this, and I keep coming back to George Bush. Man, that guy is a real comedian.
As I re-read what I have written so far, it becomes apparent that I am not in the proper mood to do a mass email. Especially since the subject title is what I'd intended to write about, but lacked the energy to do so. For this I apologize. But ask anybody from Cheimsee; driving my scooter into a barbed wire fence is what I do best.
Anyway, 'till next time.
Much Love, Mike
Thur. Mar. 11, 2004 - Whistling in the Dark
I know I havent written any of you at all in the last couple of months My computer has gone batty, my only internet access is the public computer, and I am incapable of writing outside of my comfort zone, it seems. So enough of my pitiful excuses, on to business.
<> The most exciting
thing that has happened to me recently is that I had the opportunity to whistle
Darth Vaders theme song loudly as Paul Bremer walked by whilst being
interviewed by Dan Rather the night before the signing of some important
document or other concerning the future government of Iraq. I got a
real dirty look from one of the body guards. Score! Scott, Dave, George & I
were eating dinner over at the CPA building at the time. Then we got bombed and
they wouldnt let us leave so we sat around for a bit discussing the finer
points of Prima Donnaism among certain political figures while a bunch of fully
armed and armored HUP-HUP-HUP types hup-hup-hupped around. I think there was
something on the news about the bombing; the Al Rasheed apparently got hit again
and something landed out in the front of the CPA. I have to say that, while it
sucks when people get hurt because of a bunch of muddle-headed terrorists, it
does make for a pretty exciting atmosphere. Dinner, ducking (for, you know,
cover), and great conversation. Not to mention a glimpse of the dark lords of
both the media and Baghdad.
Woo-hoo!
Well, thats all I got; its not much, I know. I should have a least a page and
a half considering how long its been, but routines arent worth writing about,
and my typical day is all about routine. As soon as my Dad sends me the new
laptop Ive ordered, I should be able to get back online so that I can sit in my
room at the end of the day with my mp3 player on random jazz and write until my
fingers bleed.
Much Love,
Mike
Sun. Jan. 25, 2004 - The X Iraqi Files
Thur. Jan. 1, 2004 - Bombs over ...me! (betcha thought I was gonna say Baghdad, dintcha?)
Hey, everyone!
I know that its been a while since a lot of you have heard from me, and I apologize if anyone is angry at my unresponsiveness, (coughnoelcough) but after getting back from vacation, I discovered that in the meanwhile my inept company has hired an inept quality control manager whose job, as near as I can figure, is to walk around all day doing nothing except making my job more difficult and less productive. Recently, however, Ive managed to acquire the powerful mental trick of tuning him down to a small buzz, and have been able to catch up in my work and now I have time to do a little email.
So Happy New Year and all that jazz. We had a great firework show here last night; Dave, Barney & I were standing outside discussing the finer points of managerial decisions when a few rockets flew over our heads. Loud explosions occurred. Definitely a show I wont forget. Fortunately nothing was hit, but I think that the New Years Fun & Safety Commission of the Baghdad airport needs a little talking to. At least it broke up the monotony a bit.
So Krumpus fest was a blast this year! Scot and I met up with Matt McArthur and Jeff Nimmer in Munich and kicked around for four days. We went to the Lake Hotel and got in trouble with the Ponds Guards for allowing Roger and Dave Formby to sneak us on. I guess the Ponds Guards only job now is to keep ex-employees out. Their words, not mine. It was pretty depressing.
Very empty. Roger, Dave, Helen, & Hilde seem to be the only ones there, and they are busy inventorying tablecloth clips, paper clips, and dining room chairs.
And then all Krumpus ensued. Ran into a few old Chiemseers and stuff. Got beat. Good fun.
Then I spent 10 days or so in Pennsylvania; low key, good to see the family. Saw Return of the King at a midnight showing on opening morning with my sister.
Kick-Butt. The return trip to Baghdad was very very long. I woke up at around 11 am on my departure day, flew out of Philly at around 9pm, arrived in Munich the next morning for a 9 hour layover during which Scot and I wandered. Went to Tollwood fest, I-pub for a burger. You know, all the good stuff. Flew to Dubai overnight, thought we had 2 days at that sweet hotel wed stayed at on the way out, found out upon check-in that, in fact, we had to go back to the airport in 45 minutes for our 3-hour flight in that rickety old Russian cargo plane to Baghdad. Got to Baghdad and were immediately coerced into working; unloading the very full plane wed just arrived in on no sleep but plane sleep in the last 2 and a half days. And thats pretty much how things have gone since Ive gotten back. Nothing exciting, except for those bombs last night.
So currently Im looking forward to another 4 months of this, and I havent decided exactly what my motivation is at this point. My Manager has a picture of his daughter on his bedroom wall with a note next to it that says: This is why youre here. Im not sure if I should hang up a Ben Franklin portrait or a picture of a certain girl, or perhaps a map of the world. Maybe I can borrow my boss picture for inspiration ah to heck with it. A blank wall is a blank canvas, after all.
So thats all I got till next time.
much love,
mike
Wed. Dec. 3, 2003 - Dubai alai
Thur. Nov. 27, 2003 - Clandestine Rendezvous in Shady Hotels
Hello everyone
Sorry its been so long since most of you have heard from me, but there hasnt been much to tell, anyway.
Ironically, the more interesting that things have gotten in the city of Baghdad itself, the less interesting my own time here has been; although I suppose I should be grateful that my life is lacking in the sorts of things that are currently making this fair city so exciting. I do miss being able to smell the explosions of hotels only blocks away from my balcony, oddly enough.
For those of you who know Darren Adams, Scot and I snuck out of our compound (which we are emphatically NOT supposed to do, but having been used to traveling from the compound into the heart of the city to our old unguarded hotel twice every day has left us rather unconcerned with such strictures.) to go and have a beer with him at the Al Rasheed hotel last week. He had been transferred up here from Kuwait several weeks ago and is now conducting recreational activities for the soldiers here. Now, I know that many of you think that life in Baghdad must be very hard and scary and all that right now, but allow me a moment to prove otherwise. It is Darrens job to make sure that whatever soldiers happen by his rec center have a good time, you know, for morale and all of that. So, in order to deserve the silly amount of money which we all get paid for being here, it is Darrens task to play volley ball and have water balloon fights. He has, in fact, an employee from India whose job it is to fill water balloons up all day. I think that that is the single most absurd thing Ive heard since I first came to Baghdad, stranger than anything else that has happened to me since.
So for any of you who had not heard from him, but may have wondered; dont. The lucky jerk is fine. He has kept in touch with Steve Steltzer and DJ also, of course, and he says that they are also still doing okay. In other Chiemsee news, Barney arrived in Baghdad about a week ago or so and is now working for us as a diesel truck driver, refueling our generators and such all day. He is doing well, and still smells heavily of patchouli.
Ive just remembered one thing about the night we went to see Darren; as we were sitting in the basement bar of the Al Rasheed, which, if youll recall, is that hotel that has been bombed into the news several times since Ive been here, a soldier came jogging in to announce that the gate outside was under attack and that no one should leave until it was given the all-clear. The Al Rasheed is on the other side of town from our compound, it was getting late, and we werent supposed to be there in the first place. It wouldve been hard for an outsider to tell if we were more worried about the attack on the gate, or losing our jobs, but seeing as there wasnt anything we could do about it either way, the three of us chose not to think about it and cheerily voted to have another round. Eventually the all-clear must have been given, because I woke up in my own bed on time for work the next morning, so that all turned out okay.
Other than that, not much has been going on. Ive spent my days with my Iraqi ladies learning some Arabic I can count up to 1000 now, which isnt very useful as numbers are something that most Iraqis know in English already. The useful terms Ive learned are more along the lines of come on, lets mop! or, come on, lets clean the bathrooms!, and most important,move quicker! Ive never been very good with languages; I lived in Germany for 5 years and only learned just-under conversational German, if that, so dont hold your breath hoping that Ill come home with any neat new speech habits or anything. Dave Yurick, on the other hand, is doing quite well with the language and is having conversations with his employees about soccer and such things, for which my girls are constantly giving me aggravation. I keep telling them that if they dont like it, they can go work for David, and that usually shuts them up as they would rather mop floors than lift lots of heavy stuff and get dirty doing groundskeeping work.
Thats pretty much all I have for now; Ill be leaving for my vacation in about a week woo-hoo! I cant tell you how excited I am. It looks like the company may have to fly us to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates a day or two before my actual leave begins due to flight scheduling, and I am greatly looking forward to that. There should be some good hypertrekking points to be had there.
So until next time, Ma Salaama, Ja Sedirki!
Love, Mike
Tue. Nov. 4, 2003 - You have been specially selected to receive another silly massmail!
So I suppose it's time for another update... if you don't wish to receive these solicitations any longer, please hit the reply button and simply write "toss off you hoser, aye?" and I will exclude you from all further mass mailings regarding my rather inane ramblings on pseudo life in Baghdad.
For those of you who are still around, thank god those tossers finally left, aye? Now I can get down to the dull stuff without any distractions.
We have now moved onto base, and have been strictly prohibited from leaving the days of fun, freedom, and suit shopping in this city seem to be over. I now live in a 10 by 8 living "pod" I have a bed, a desk, a closet, and a bathroom, which has not been hooked up to the water mains as of yet, and about a foot of walking space. And I have no idea when, or even if, Im going to get my own internet access again, so its back to not replying to anybody for the time being.
Im pretty bummed about the whole thing I didnt get to go to my Iraqi Birthday party after all either, because it turned out to be on the same day that we moved here. So thats also sucky. Plus one of my Iraqi housekeepers has been bawling her eyes out all week because the uncle of the boy she wants to marry has forbidden him to marry her. I just dont understand these cultures. Robins (Thats his name) parents are okay with it, Renas (thats her name) family is okay with it, but for some reason his uncle has veto power, and hes not even rich or anything, so its not like he can impose sanctions. But instead of telling this mean old uncle to toss off, theyre going to listen to him and not get married, and for the life of me I dont understand why. Robin told me that the uncle said they can get married when hes dead, and so I asked Robin if he wanted me to off him, and when he said thanks but no thanks, I asked how old this uncle was, and he said 55. I think the average life span around here is about 60, so at least if they feel like waiting for 5 years, they can be happy in the end. So for those of you that pray, please pray for the timely death of this evil control freak who has made two lovely people very unhappy.
Another thing thats hanging over all of our heads here is that our company may lose the contract fairly shortly. There have been some issues involving construction and the foodservice that our client is very unhappy with, and they have basically given us until the end of November to shape up or ship out hopefully things will go well, but if they dont, well, Ive made some money, seen the cradle of civilization, and gotten some pretty good hypertrekking points. At least if we lose it, it wont have been my fault; the housekeeping staff is golden as far as our client is concerned. Even if the worst happens, theres a good chance that Ill get to stay on with whatever company picks up the contract, so well see.
Hmmm so thats really all my good doom and gloom stuff for now. For those of you who Ill be seeing in December on my leave one month from today woo-hoo!
Ma Salaama!
Mike
Sun. Oct. 12, 2003 - NOT staying at the Baghdad Hotel
Okay, if you read about the bombing of the Baghdad Hotel today, you may notice certain similarites with our situation... Hotel with contractors staying in it and so forth. But it wasn't our hotel, so we're all okay. I did hear the explosion, and ran out on my balcony and clearly saw the smoke as that hotel is only several blocks away.
I know this may not make some of you feel less uneasy, but if it helps, our hotel is much more low profile than the Baghdad Hotel, and we had already planned to move on base in a few days anyway, so we're all looking forward to that now.
So that's all I got for now... this one's purely an "I'm still alive" email.
Love, Mike
P.S. Please send rainbows, candy hearts, and fluffy stuff.
P.P.S. ...You know I'm kidding about the fluffy stuff, right?
Sat. Oct. 4, 2003 - Tailor Made Propaganda
Hey everyone,
It's about time for another post-it note, and before I begin, I'd just like to mention that I'm still alive. 'Kay, got that out of the way. Oh, Scott, Rodney, and Dave are alive and well, also. We did lose someone last week, though, but it's nobody any of you know, so that's good. And while I'm thinking of it, I suppose I should mention that there was no foul play except on his own part. He was on a wee too many different forms of medication, prescriptions all, (In
Baghdad!?) and now I'll never get the 100 bucks that so and so owed me.
In other news, that Seigfried and Roy guy got eaten by a tiger on stage. Whoa.
At any rate dumb 'ol Baghdad hasn't got much new to offer. A couple of days ago on the way home from work, we stopped on the 14th of July bridge because the sunset over the Tigris was hot stuff, and certain members of our party insisted on getting photos... I suppose that's something I never mentioned before, but yes, every day we cross the Tigris on the way to and from work. Pretty nifty. Cradle of civilization, Baby!
Well, to continue, we wound up staying and watching the sunset for about a minute too long, because some gunfire broke out across the way. There is a military checkpoint on the 14th of July bridge, and apparently there's this really funny game Iraqis like to play called "Bait the Americans". So, they closed the bridge and we couldn't get across. We saw some soldiers running to play, and decided that we weren't really feeling much team spirit, so we waved amicably and decided to find another route home. Same 'ol Same 'ol.
Also, I'd like to mention that I am now the proud owner of a genuine military outfit worn by Saddam's personal guards... found it in a room of one of the palaces we're working on. Unfortunately, it's not a used one because it was still in a plastic bag, so no cool bullet holes or blood stains or anything like that, but i guess you have to take what you can get, these days. I use them for evening wear. I'm wearing
them right now. ...
Anyway.
Clothes are really cheap here. Scott was measured today for a leather jacket which, when completed in 3 days, will cost him $70. I was going to get one, too, but it turns out that the one I wanted was almost exactly the same, and I just can't see that working out very well if we wound up at the same party at Amar Masooud's house or something. I did buy a really nice pair of shoes for 8 bucks, and sometime this week, we're all going to a tailor's shop which is owned by the father of Steven, one of our local employees, to be measured for genuine Arabian suits at $200. Can I get a "SWEEEEEEEET!!!" please?
Well, I guess that's all I got right now. On a final note, President Bush is drowning fast and General Wesley Clark may be our nation's saviour; please remember to turn your lights off before leaving the house and remember to conserve water, because otherwise if you were an Iraqi you'd have to kill yourself for being American. This is your intrepid on-line newspaper reader and regurgitator Mike, in Baghdad, signing off.
Um, I guess I actually decided to go with that ending. Weird.
Sunday Sept. 14, 2003 - Baghdad Cappucinos
Today was easily the most action packed day so far...
We have begun to work in earnest; in addition to the building we've been cleaning, we have just started on our new contract which is the palace where Uday Saddam Hussein once lived, and where he kept the women that he snatched off of the streets, and also his pet lions. It's pretty nice. On the way there this morning however, we were turned back onto base because someone had dumped a real bomb in the port-o-potty by the main gate. (Get it? Dumped a real bomb? Ha!) So we went back to the V.V.I.P. and waited a bit. Promptly we heard an explosion and were told the gate was open again. And while nobody got hurt, I think that there may have been some Crapfalloutage. Then after work we all went to this pizza place in a more upscale district of Baghdad, and there was this other white guy there! It was really amazing. Turns out he was a Brit... and he was a tourist! He was just passing through Baghdad, waiting for his Iranian Visa to go through. He was ultimately trying to get to Afghanistan, where when visiting there last year, he had left his backpack. Apparently he'd gotten an email from the guy at the hotel he'd stayed at saying that they still had it, so he made this whole little trip in order to get his pack back. A tourist! In Baghdad!
Now I've seen it all. It's a good thing he doesn't know about hypertrekking, or I'd have to award him more points than I myself have earned, and the very idea makes my skin crawl. Oh, speaking of which, the pizza place served a fabulous cappucino, so Scott and I were able to finally cash in on those points.
And then when we got back to the hotel, there was a huge fire right down the street in a lot which seemed pretty out of control, and we were just considering how soon we should start packing our stuff and getting out of our building, because we weren't sure about the condition of the local fire brigade (something that hadn't occured to me before...), when someone came along and put it out. Also, today I noticed that they don't believe in the Red Cross around these parts. I saw an ambulance, very similar to a Red Cross vehicle, but instead stenciled on the side were the words, "Saudi Red Crescent Society." So that's interesting.
The Drastic temperature change around here is killing me, though. It was a chilly 103 degrees today! Wissam, our Iraqi interpreter, and also a few other of our Iraqi indentured serv... I mean employees, have caught head colds! I haven't got one yet, but considering how used to balmier weather I've become, I'm just waiting for the inevitable flu to catch up with me.
Other than all that stuff though, things have pretty much settled into routine for us. I'm doing okay for the most part, however I must say that most days I feel really out of place. But every once in a while, like a couple of days ago, I look up and find that I'm driving alone in a really fast van through the streets of Baghdad, and I get really exhilarated. Here I am, driving like a maniac to punk tunes played on the AFN radio through some of the most dangerous city streets in the world for an American to be... and Iraqis have a tendency to stare to begin with, but you should see their faces when a head banging fist pumping white guy races by them at 180 kilometers an hour! Priceless.
Guess that's it for now...
Love, Mike
Sunday Aug. 24 2003 - Terminal Pomposity
Tue Aug 19, 2003 - Oh, the places you'll go, the things you'll see!
I wasn't in the U.N.Building at the time, obviously, as the
Delegation from the respectable Kingdom of Mike Williams wasnt required there
today, so that was pretty lucky timing on my part. Whew! Im not gonna lie
though, things can be pretty hairy around here sometimes. On our second night
here, there was some gunfire down the street, and our friendly Iraqi guards
went out to check it out. (Did I mention that I live in a house that is guarded
by the sons of a very rich Iraqi mobster, who is also the owner of the
house?) A minute later there was some
AK-47 action right outside our door, and I then realized that I had left
something really important under my bed, and went quickly to go find it. We
heard some shells dropping right within our courtyard, then silence. When I
heard someone walking through the courtyard, I realized that the very important
thing that I was looking for was in fact in the bathroom; unfortunately I had
somehow gotten stuck under my bed and could not retrieve it. The person walking
through the courtyard turned out to be our guard, laughing, and I then found
that I wasnt so stuck after all. It seems that all that had happened was that
the Iraq soccer team had won an important match, and people were celebrating by shooting
their guns off into the air, and when our guard heard this he went outside to
join in the celebration. I never did
find that really important thing that I was looking for, whatever it was. And
last night, on our way home from work, we kind of got lost and then decided to
do some sight seeing. We hadnt finished by the time it got dark, and as I
understand it, its a really bad idea to go sightseeing after the sun goes down
because, well, I guess because its dark and you cant see stuff. Its
apparently also generally considered a bad idea to sightsee during the day, but
I havent quite figured out the logic behind that one yet. At any rate, we
eventually found our way home, and everything turned out alright. Well, except
for this whole bombing thing, of course. Dont worry, though, thats like,
really far from where I live; you have to cross the Tigris River to get there from here, and that
thing is wide.
Work is going okay I
am indeed in charge of a gaggle of Iraqi housekeepers, and I think that one of
them may even be sweet on me. They are really really great people, and assure
me that most Iraqis feel that the U.S. invasion, er, rescue mission, is something to be grateful for. They do seem
very happy that we are here. One of them invited me to her brothers wedding
this Sunday, and seemed very disappointed when I told her that I would love to
go, except that I would hate to ruin the wedding by getting shot or something
on the way. My housekeepers names are Nadim, Saad, Steven, Hanan, another
Hanan, Rena, Armad, and Kristen. They are all Christians, not Muslims, although
we have hired a few Muslims who work in other areas of the hotel, which is
actually in one of Saddams palaces.
And the news is
certainly correct about Saddams love of Palaces; He had a million of 'em. The
other day we toured Saddams secret palace compound, which consists of a lake
surrounded by 64 palaces ranging in size from large villas to monstrosities
bordering on the Germanic. Its secret because until after the war, no Iraqi
civilians, except for Saddams buddies, were allowed to see it, and most didnt
even know it existed. And this is only one area he had the things all over the
place. There is also some work being done in another area where Udays (One of
Saddams sons) palace is, and it seems like we drive by palaces every day that
we havent seen before. And they are all beautiful. The ones that arent bombed
to hell, that is. I still havent even gotten close to the main presidential
palace, yet, but you can see it from miles away. Its HUGE. Im afraid that
most of the pictures I am taking here wont be very satisfying, only because
most of them have to be taken from inside our car at high speed. Walking around
at a leisurely pace in your Hawaiian T-shirt and white socks doesnt seem to be
a trend that has caught on here, as of yet. (Sorry, Greg.)
At any rate, thats
all I can think of for now, but its been such an action packed week that Im
sure Ive left a lot out, though I think Ive given you the gist of it. The
daily grind stuff that usually isnt that interesting consists of tanks driving
down the street at any given hour, going through military checkpoints with lots
of really big guns pointed at you, weird looks from the locals because all of a
sudden I'm the minority, and cleaning
windows and scrubbing floors. Well, having my Iraqis cleaning windows and
scrubbing floors, anyway. Did I mention that we scrub floors in a palace? A
very nice one, too.
Well, until next
time!
Much love,
Mike
Aug 11 - 15 2003 - IN TRANSIT
Okay, I'm off! I can't wait to see what kind of cool stuff they got down there. I hope there's a Mcdonalds. Burgers in Baghdad. I wonder what Iraqi babes look like under them towel thingies. I'd also like to get a squirt gun game club going down there... I bet they'd really dig that. Wow! I feel like Chris Columbus bringing cool stuff to the new land! This is going to be so much fun! I can't wait to get my own head-rag and robes. Bet they got good sandals, too.
___________________________________________________
Well, you can all collect on your bets now, because I'm both in Baghdad and alive. The ride up yesterday was pretty wild! We didnt wind up driving in a military convoy it was just nine of us in 2 cars. Suburbans. The rules of the road, when driving in a 2 car convoy, from Kuwait City to Baghdad, are to keep the gas pedal all the way down and run over anything that gets in your way, (sand dunes, camels, people) and for the passengers to keep their eyes on people as you pass through countless small Iraqi villages, and not to stop for any reason whatsoever. ANY reason. It was a nine hour ride. Nobody got to pee. It may sound a little hairy, but it was actually a load of fun. Iraqis do actually seem to be happy to see us, for the most part. I think that the deaths you read about in the paper are mostly isolated sorts of incidents.
Baghdad
I cant really begin to go into all the details of what its like here theyve already put us to work and I dont have a lot of free time as of yet. But on the whole it seems like this is going to be a really interesting time. Maybe even fun! It also seems safe at the moment were staying in an apartment building in town about 20 minutes drive from the military base, and no one seems tense or worried. In some ways we might even be better off here, but we will be moving onto the base eventually, anyway.
Ill try to keep in
touch frequently, and although I know many of you hate mass emails, thats
probably mostly what Ill be doing as internet access time is short until we
get our personal housing set up, when well have our own internet connections.
Thats all for now
till next time.
Much Love, Mike
Tuesday Aug. 5 2003 - Sometimes I do really dumb things, continued
Hi all,
Sorry I haven't replied to some of you personally yet; it's been a fairly busy week, what with me getting ready to hit the biggest party on the planet and all. Just wanted to let everyone know that my flight date has been pushed back to Tuesday the 12th now. The company is experiencing delays in getting my visa apparently. This works out better for me anyway, as I was starting to panic a bit trying to get everything done here that I need to.
It's interesting the varied reactions that I've been getting from people about this. Some people have expressed horrified dismay at my apparent death-wish and a few others think it's about the coolest thing they've ever heard of. And all of the possible reactions in between, as well. If it makes the former feel better, which I suppose it won't, I really don't want to die, and I'm not running away from anything. As of yesterday the total number of American deaths in Iraq since soldiers first began this campaign are 152, which is pretty good considering how many thousands are over there. So it's not a given that I'm walking the Green Mile. However, as a certain friend pointed out to me yesterday, the number of American housekeeping supervisors killed by heavy artillery in East Stroudsburg last year was 0... so it's certainly no Green Acres, either. I am aware of the risks.
Trust me, no one will feel worse, or dumber, than I should I get myself killed, but it seems like a fairly takeable risk at this point to go and see one of the world's current most interesting dramas unfolding itself... and the money is nice as well. Someone asked me for reasons why I've decided to do this... well I don't really know. Aside from adventure and cash and the pure joy of scrubbing toilets in Baghdad, I can't really come up with any concrete reasons. It just seems like a much more valid chance for experience than returning to the States, perhaps.
I'm not the only one going, either. So far about seven guys from here have taken the Arabic plunge, and more seem imminent. My friend Scott is going, as well as an Irishman named Rodney, who hooked us up with the job in the first place, and another friend named Dave. The four of us will be at the same place, and the other three guys are elsewhere within Iraq.
Well, that's all I've got for you at the moment. I'll try to get back to you all at some point, but please understand if my future emailing seems sporadic. Got lots to do.
Much Love,
Mike
Sunday, August 03, 2003 - Sometimes I do really dumb things
Hello hello... So I think someone wrote me a while back and said they were waiting to see what I got up to next, what with the hotel I'm working at closing down and all. Well, here it is... I've got a job in Iraq! Now I know that most people think I'm a real funny guy and you probably think I'm pulling your leg, but I'm not. I go this coming thursday.. They're flying me to Kuwait first for training and security clearance procedures, then on to the city of Baghdad where I'll be a Housekeeping Supervisor in charge of a small team of Iraqi housekeepers... I swear I'm not making this up. I will really get to say things like "I'm really sorry that my country has just invaded and destroyed your city and subjugated it's people, but you really need to scrub that toilet a little better."
Tuesday 13 May, 2003 NIMMER'S GREAT NORTHERN EUROPE TOUR 2003
Here is a link to the pictures from the trip described below.
___________________________________________________________________
So there's this new game called Hypertrekking that my
friends Jeff, Greg, Scot and I invented. It's really only playable if you're in
Europe and either a) live and work here or b)
have lots of money. So it's got a limited base of players, but perhaps when it
becomes a global sport, certain standards will be put into place to make it
more accessible to any who want to play, and perhaps other densely populated
countries will catch the wave and finally install decent train systems.
There are lots of rules, and many of them may seem to be arbitrary to outsiders, but for those in the know, they make perfect sense. Basically, it involves hitting as many countries as you can in as short a time as possible, with points awarded for cities, capital cities, cappuccinos drank in cities, monuments and famous buildings seen, concerts attended while hypertrekking, different modes of transportation used to get between places, and other general kinds of cool points awarded for random sorts of things. The basic equipment needed in order to play is: 1) A camera, preferably digital for faster point awarding, as you must have photographic proof of the places you’ve visited, cappuccinos drank, etc…etc… 2) Good Shoes; the professional Hypertrekker is constantly on the move, sometimes walking the entire day, so this is important. 3) $100 per day... this has not become an official rule as such, except for on the one day Hypertrek event, but it is a good rule of thumb as the experienced hypertrekker must be capable of making lightning quick decisions and itinerary changes, and travel costs are always an unknown. After all, you may unexpectedly find yourself on a ferry to Lithuania with nothing to eat but zwieback toast, and so it's best to be prepared. So that's all of the basics.
Now, previous to last
week, my own greatest Hypertrek involved a two day solo sprint from Munich to Ingolstadt,
where Mary Shelly went to medical school and used that as the setting for
Frankenstein. It was also where the beer purity laws of Bavaria were first put into place, and the
entire world is of course grateful for those. Then on to
Another great
Hypertrek involved my friends Scott, Rich, Jeff and I. We took a train to Regensburg, got bored and
decided to try to make a run for the border. The Czech border. To make a long
story short, after many strange looks from Czechoslovakians when we got off of the
train in the middle of Czechoslovakian nowhere, at a town named Domazlice, (One
lady actually panicked on our behalf a little; She tried to stop us getting off
and frantically queried “Prague? Prague?”
as if she could think of no earthly reason why a bunch of Americans would want
to get off of a Czechoslovakian train until we were safely in Prague. Of
course, she hadn’t heard of Hypertrekking yet, but when she does, I’m sure
she’ll be feeling a little sheepish, and if she ever reads of this account in a
future issue of ‘The World’s Greatest Sporting Moments’, I want her to know
that we’ve forgiven her) and after many misadventures in this strange little
town, we missed our train back to Germany. We had to take a cab back through
the border. We were hassled a bit by the Border Guards, because I think that they
were very confused by four Americans with military IDs hightailing it out of Babylon (this is the name of the Czech border town, no
lie) by taxi back to Germany.
As if that weren’t the sort of thing that I’m sure happens all of the time at
Czech borders. It was quite frustrating, and it also caused us to miss our next
train from Furth im Wald (The German Border
town) back to Regensburg.
We did eventually make it back to Munich
that night, but unfortunately missed the last train back to Chiemsee, and had
to spend the night in an unsavory sort of a place of which I am still too
traumatized to speak about, and I’m afraid that all I can say about it is that it
involved some old boxing memorabilia and a waiter who took far too much of an
interest in our well-being. That was also a great Hypertrek, and earned us many
points for two countries, two cities, and most trains missed in one day, but
the Hypertrek of which you are about to read an account must by it’s very nature
overshadow the previous two, and the reading of the following account is only
to be undertaken by those with Olympic reading stamina, or by those with
nothing better to do.
My friend Jeff Nimmer, who is the only Deutschephile that I've ever met or even heard of, (in fact his nickname is Deutschemann) had been planning to take people on his 'Nimmer's Great Northern Germany Tour 2003' since last fall, when his 'Nimmer's Great Northern Germany Tour 2002' had been a great success. However, due to the fact that Deutsche Bahn has been running great deals on train tickets in Germany since February, everybody who was signed on had already pretty much been to most places that Jeff had wanted to tour. So the itinerary was altered a bit, and it became 'Nimmer's Great Northern Europe Tour 2003'. But before I go too much further, you should be aware that this trip has officially been voted as the greatest Five-day Hypertrekking event of all time, and can never possibly be beaten by us nor by any future Hypertrekking wannabees... EVER. So for all you hopefuls out there, I'm sorry, but you can only hope for second best. Only those who have a real love for the idea of the game, and not merely those who think that they can be the best at something that sounds fun and easy, but is in fact one of the most challenging and difficult sports in existence, need apply.
<>
The scope of this
trip was so wide that the task of putting it down into words is most daunting,
but I shall begin and hope that I can convey at least a mere glimmer of all
that occurred.
On Tuesday the 13th of May, five of
us; Jeff, Greg, Scot, Alison and I; caught a night train from Munich at 7 pm,
which arrived on the isle of Rügen
in the town of Binz at about 11 am the next day. The train ride was fairly
uneventful, excepting two things; a German man who shared our boisterous cabin
and did not seem to be completely sober, and who also professed to speak Thai;
I think he was just making “ding dung dow ngyang” noises, however; and one of
the most bowel dropping events of the entire trip: Jeffrey, in a fit of
Hypertrekking madness, got off of the train during a 15 minute stop at 1am in a
town called Fulda. Picture this: A German girl, completely unfamiliar with the
madness of Hypertrekking Americans, is sitting at a stop light in the center of
a normally quiet little German town at one in the morning, probably on her way
home from a wearying day of mindless labor, and all of a sudden she sees this 6
foot something insane American running full speed towards her, but instead of
stopping he runs right past her car, slaps his hand on the outside wall of the
local church, shouts “Boo-yah! 25 points!”, turns around and runs full speed
right back to where he came from. I’m guessing that the unfortunate girl went
home and took some valium, and the poor thing’s nerves were probably never the
same again, not to mention her sense of what the world is coming to. Meanwhile,
we’re all waiting safely on the train, convinced that he’s not going to make it
back, with 1 minute left ‘til departure. As the train begins to pull away, I am
holding the door open, searching frantically for Jeffrey, while the train
conductors are yelling at me to shut the door. I shout “Sheisse! Sheisse! Mine
Freund!” at them because swearing in another language is all I could think of
that might make the train stop. Well, what would you have done? So, all attempts
at reasoning with the conductors aside, the train pulls out and it looked as
though Jeff had missed it. The four of us were sitting there in disbelief, as
the tour had barely started, and already its brave yet moronic leader had
dropped out. We were just contemplating throwing his luggage out of the window,
so that when he did make it to the train station, at least he’d have his stuff,
when Jeff comes through the car door huffing and puffing, thereby transforming
himself from brave moron to hypertrekking hero. Apparently he’d grabbed onto
the tail end of the train by his fingernails as it was pulling out, and we
hadn’t seen him. I really could have killed him, but seeing as how he was now a
legend, it seemed improper to do so.
So that was our train ride, and although I’ve left out many other interesting tales, including the one about a bottle of Jagermeister and an angry train conductress, I believe the most important points have been made. So we’ll leave the rest alone.
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The next morning, upon the train’s arrival on
Rügen, five disheveled yet well-rested Americans could be
seen leaving the Binz train station, headed for the beach. Of course, please
bear in mind that this is a beach on the Baltic ocean, in the far north of Germany, so even in May it’s not really beach weather. And so now I come to an onerous
duty; I cannot here in good conscience leave out our greatest failure… it must
become a part of the lore as a warning to future generations of Hypertrekkers.
I shall state the warning here first off: Never
pay so much attention to the smaller details of the trip that it causes you to
forget to perform the larger, more important point-earning tasks of the
Hypertrek!!
It really is the most embarrassing thing. The
week before the trip began, we had discussed the idea of awarding 1000
hypertrekking points to those who went for a swim in the Baltic upon our
arrival in Rügen, owing to the fact that, as I
have already stated, just because it is May does not mean that The North Sea is
necessarily swimmable, and 1000 points are assuredly deserved for such a daring
feat. However, upon our landing on the beaches of Binz, staring at that
freezing cold ocean water, our thoughts turned inexplicably to where we should
spend the night. I mean we were right there, and going for the frosty Baltic
swim completely slipped our minds!
The dilemma was that Binz seemed like a nice, if neither quite a warm nor a sunny
place, but our ferry, which was to take us across the very frigid waters of the
Baltic to Sweden, was to leave early the next morning from a smaller town further up the icy coastline
named Sessnitz. This, being such a pressing issue, as it was already 11:30 in the morning, caused our
failure to remember to attain the sorely desired extra 1000 points each. Later,
when we realized our omission, there was much exhalation of breath in sorrow
that we had erred so unthinkingly. Yet we braved on, as a member of our group
had stated philosophically that life is often full of opportunities missed, and
all you can really do is try and catch the next one.
<>
At any rate, we left the ridiculously chilly
Baltic un-swum in, and decided to leave our bags at the Binz train station
while we went for a walk to a hunting lodge nearby, which was built by some
king or other in an earlier century. It turned out to be about a 4 kilometer
hike, and it looked more like a megalomaniac’s idea of a castle than a hunting
lodge, but that old German royalty always did seem to have an inflated sense of
the appropriate. So we climbed up the central tower of this so-called “hunting
lodge” to a spectacular view of the entire island, earning good hypertrekking
points. We were awarded extra points all around for braving the 4 click hike
rather than taking the silly little train-car ride to the top of the hill which
the tourism bureau was offering.
After that we headed back to the train station
for a ride over to Sessnitz, where we found a pension, dropped our bags, and
went on another really long walk, this time along the coast, where these
amazing white cliffs drop down into the ocean. It was rather late in the day,
so we unfortunately didn’t have time to go the full length of them, but we went
as far as we could. The beach itself was just rocks, really interesting rocks,
with streaks of chalk mixed through them like veins, as that’s what the cliffs
were made of. We met this couple along the way who were busy collecting in
plastic bags, not the really interesting rocks of which there were millions,
but the most boring, grey stones they could find, of which there were only a
very few. So they were weird, but they were kind enough to take a group photo
of us.
I’d have to say that the white cliffs were one
of my favorite parts of the whole trip, and that the best moment of the hike
itself was standing on the edge of one of them, looking back at some of the
ones we had just climbed up, and out over the ocean, watching the Scandlines
ferry go by on it’s way to Sweden, which was what we were about to get up early
in the morning and do ourselves.
So, between getting as far along the cliffs as
we could and getting back before it was too dark, it turned out to be about a 3
hour hike. We then proceeded to chow down on some of the best pizza ever. Now,
the idea that could have become our finest hypertrekking hour came to us while
sitting around the table. We had seen on the ferry information booth that there
were also ferries departing for Lithuania. Unfortunately there was no time schedule, and it was late so everything was
closed. The essence of a good Hypertrekker, as I said before, is his ability to
make lightning fast decisions about any aspect of the trip when faced with
unforeseen possibilities and opportunities. And in spirit, it was indeed our
finest hour, because had there been a ferry leaving for Lithuania at any time between then
and the next afternoon, all five of us would have been on it quicker than you
can say “ex-communist state.” We weren’t sure about the whole visa thing, so I
used Alison’s cell phone to call the Hotel in Chiemsee where we work to ask the
nice front desk girl, Heather, to look up online whether or not Americans
needed visas to go to
Lithuania. And, as we waited with baited breath, she informed me that we did not, as a matter of fact, need visas! So I said, more to my fellow Hypertrekkers, “Thanks, Heather! You’ve been a big help; we’re going to Lithuania!” And there was much rejoicing.
<>
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And so, going to bed with dreams of
Lithuanians, Latvians, and maybe even Estonians dancing through our heads, we
slept the sleep of hard-core Hypertrekkians.
On Thursday morning we got up early and called
the ferry line, only to be informed, alas, that Ferries only leave on Tuesday
and Friday afternoons. And so are the plans of mice and Hypertrekkers swept
aside like so much dust. It didn’t make sense to wait around for another day
and a half when we could be headed to Sweden in a mere hour. And so we
stuck to the original plan, but our hearts were on their way to Lithuania.
Bonus points were awarded all around for being hard-core where it matters.
Boo-Yah!
The Ferry ride itself was really very cool,
though. It is four hours from Sessnitz to Trelleborg, Sweden, and the
ride started off with some amazing views of the white cliffs as we left port. I
spent most of the ride sunning on the outside deck and going down to the train
deck and seeing but not believing that this boat I’m on actually carries trains. And cars and trucks. And
Hypertrekkers. How can those things take on such loads? Crazy.
So for the most part, the ride was uneventful.
Greg, who is an inveterate gambler, had sneered at the slot machines available
to passengers as we’d boarded, being a Poker and Roulette kind of guy. But
there was a moment of hilarity as Jeff & I at one point came down from
outside and caught him hungrily staring at the various numbers and fruits as he
dropped a few Swedish Crowns in, with nary a trace of the previously mentioned
sneer.
So our arrival in Sweden earned us many points for
hitting another country, although I must say that that was the best thing about
Trelleborg. Except perhaps for that Doner Kepab we had there. (That’s like a
Gyro, only one million times better. It’s the Turkish version and they are one
of the things that I will miss the most when I have to leave Europe.)
It was a nice enough little port city and all, there just wasn’t much to see,
and I think we were all anxious to get to our evening’s destination. So we hopped onto a bus to Malmo,
which is where we had to catch a train to Denmark.
Malmo seemed like a more interesting town
than Trelleborg, so we decided to go for a bit of a walk and maybe earn some
cappuccino points. Malmo was in fact pretty neat and all, but the thought most
prominently in my mind the whole time we were there was irritation at the fact
that we had now been in two border cities in Sweden, and not once did any
border guards offer to stamp our passports! That really is most vexing. When
you go to all the trouble of visiting these far off little countries, a
passport stamp is your just reward! Hmmph. We even tried tracking down the
customs control people, which wasn’t as easy as you’d think it should be, let
me tell you. Since when do you have to go looking for Border Guards!?
And when we found their office, they were closed, and a train cop told us to go
away! Although not before condescendingly offering to sign our passports
himself, to which Scott politely declined. Shocking. Let me tell you, Sweden,
I am not impressed. You and your dumb ‘ol relaxed attitude about everything.
How does anyone get any sleep at night when everyone is going around all
unconcerned about such important things all of the time… um, never mind. Come
to think of it, perhaps we should have gotten our passports signed; it would be
good evidence to the rest of the world on how shoddily Swedish borders are run.
The only other interesting thing that happened in Malmobwas when Greg, reprobate as he is, went into the Malmo casino to purchase a souvenir casino
chip. He came out and told us that one of the top 5 most beautiful women that
he’d ever seen in his life was working behind the desk. So, boys being boys,
just because one of our friends got a neat new toy, Jeff and Scott and I got an
inexplicable yen to have a souvenir casino chip, also. Which is really very
odd, especially for me, as I normally care nothing for souvenir casino chips.
But aside from that, I must say that Greg has some very odd tastes in women.
So with a hearty good riddance to Malmo, we hopped on a train across the newly built bridge
crossing over to Copenhagen, Denmark,
earning us massive bonus points for hitting 3 countries in one day using three
different modes of transportation!
Copenhagen is one of the coolest cities I have ever been to. Danes are the friendliest,
nicest people I have ever met. They were nice to us everywhere we went, even
though they are also outspokenly against America and our thinly veiled plot
to take over the world! Quite civil.
They leave blankets on chairs at their outdoor cafes in case you get chilly, if
they see you looking at a map they’ll stop and offer to show you where you want
to go, they offer ear plugs at concerts for free… amazing! What an extremely
odd experience it was to be treated like a fellow human being.
When we arrived, the first thing we did was
make hotel arrangements. We stayed at a Comfort Inn, and the desk clerk was an
American who had met a girl there 10 years ago and has never left, and he certainly
seemed very pleased with himself.
But going back a little bit; the day before we
had left on this trip, I was at work, and as I always do before going to spend
the night in another city, I checked online to see if there were going to be
any good concerts going on while in town. In a cosmic stroke of awesome luck, I
saw that The White Stripes, whose entire discography I own, were to be playing
at the Vega Musikkens Hus (Vega Music House, I suppose.) in Copenhagen on the one night that we were
going to be there! So immediately after dropping our stuff at the hotel and
getting much needed showers, Scott, Alison and I departed to try and get tickets.
Apparently neither Jeff nor Greg cares for good music, because they went to a
casino instead. I think Jeff actually said at one point that he “doesn’t like
concerts”. Batty.
So we got to the club about an hour before the
show was to begin, and it was of course sold out. Europe doesn’t seem to have
that time-honored tradition of ticket scalping that we are so used to back
home, as I have tried to get into shows in Munich before and never even met
someone who knew what scalping was. So it looked sort of bleak, but if you hang
in front of the club and prey on lone guys who look like their dates have probably
bailed on them, you can sometimes get lucky. So with the help of a very nice
Dane who taught me how to say “Do you have any extra tickets, please?” in
Danish and with 5 minutes left to spare, we acquired our 3rd ticket,
and there was much rejoicing. And we earned an incalculable amount of bonus
points for not only hitting 3 countries in one day, but in that same day
panhandling for concert tickets in an unfamiliar city, and getting into one of
the best rock-n-roll shows I’ve ever seen.
After the concert, the three of us concluded
the evening at a jazz club, where they weren’t really playing jazz. It was some
poorly named band, The Green Turnips, I think, and it was more like bluesy rock
than jazz. Danish blues. Well, just because the Danes are the nicest people
around doesn’t mean that they know a lot about music. At any rate, that was
pretty much the end of the day, and an extremely eventful one, at that. I’ve
left out some minor details, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me for not boring you
with tales of the naturalized Danish Russian doctor and her Farranese boyfriend
whom we met there. They were very nice, but not so interesting, I’m sad to say.
The next morning, after some minor grumpiness
resulting from certain members of our party being awakened late at night by
flying hotdogs thrown by a certain other rambunctious member of our party, (and
I’m not naming names here, there’s no use re-opening old wounds, and it was
nothing a cup of coffee didn’t cure, at any rate) we got up and got down to the
touristy aspect of our stay in Copenhagen. There are a lot of beautiful
buildings there; it is definitely high on my list of cities with great
architecture. I won’t go into too much detail, except to say that there was one
church in particular that, well, let’s just say I felt it in my gut more so
than most churches make me feel. It was nothing spiritual; most churches in Europe are far too grand and gaudy to evoke much more
than derision directed towards those who feel that spending money on nice buildings
is what God wants of them, though they are quite beautiful to look at. No, it
was mostly due to the staircase up to the highest tower of the church; it was outside.
It wrapped around the steeple up to the tightest spiral possible, where the
rail was lower than my waist and where there were no toilets available in case
of emergencies. Others didn’t fare so poorly, but I have found that my fear of
heights increases in direct proportion to my age. Which I think is very odd; it
should be the other way around. As I have less life to live, shouldn’t I also
fear less for it? But it doesn’t seem to work that way. Very discouraging.
There was also this little hippie colony/commune/slum
nearby, which has been granted certain state-like rights, and is named Christiania. We checked that out briefly, but, having a
natural aversion to people who believe that the filthier you live the more
“in-tune” you are, we didn’t stay so long. They make their living by selling
certain items in kiosks along their streets, giving the place somewhat of a
carnival atmosphere, and I won’t even go into what goes on on Pusher Street,
but one thing worth mentioning is the bathroom in the main, uh, food court, I
guess you’d call it. The ceiling was a fish tank! Very neat. There is nothing
like relieving yourself to the calming sights of 7 inch long goldfish swimming
above your head. Once again, I have left more dry detail out, including the
amusing moment when Scott attempted to pull up a chair, which was in fact not
really a chair but a stone stool that was attached to a stone table and, being
stone, turned out to be fairly un-pull-up-able. Or the tedious side note about
a certain Berber causing me to have to purchase a cappuccino for Scott. But really
I must attempt to get to the end of this account, or I fear I shall lose
everyone’s interest, if it is not too late already.
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The main attraction of Copenhagen, or at least the one that the
tourist bureau has decided is their main attraction, is Hans Christian
Andersen’s The Little Mermaid sculpture which sits on a rock in the bay an
ungodly distance away from anything else worth looking at in town. If you want
to earn a few extra bonus points for getting another blister on your foot, by
all means it’s worth the trek out to see it. But otherwise, seeing her picture
on a postcard is quite good enough. Although I am grateful that we went there
in the end, because that was the northernmost point of the entire ‘Nimmer’s
Northern Europe Tour 2003’, and as a certain photo should clearly demonstrate,
I was the member of our group who was furthest north earning much glory in the
annals of hypertrekking. Not Scott. His story is different, of course, but
anyone who knows him at all also knows that he is prone to extreme exaggeration
and is worth a good laugh as he is exceedingly witty, but is not to be trusted
in matters relating to things that actually happened.
So, I believe that those are all the major
points of our excursion to Copenhagen,
and I am almost as sad to have to finish writing about it as I was to leave it.
Even though we didn’t get a passport stamp in Denmark, either, it is much more
forgivable than it was in that careless country of Sweden because, well… urm,
well I bought a Danish flag there, and that is the only flag I’ve ever purchased,
so that’s got to count for something. Although I do also intend to buy a German
flag before I leave.
<>
And so with heavy hearts, we got on the train
crossing back to Malmo,
which was actually somewhat painful as an experienced hypertrekker does not
like to cover the same ground twice. But sometimes the dictates of the game
leave you no choice, and our ferry back to Germany was leaving from
Trelleborg. So back we went.
Our ferry to Rostock, Germany,
was much more a test of our grits than the original one from Sessnitz. Just getting
on the damn thing was an exercise in taking the long way around. For instance,
we had to walk the entire length of the port twice just to figure out which
ferry was ours, only to find that in order to get on it, we had to walk on in
the same lane as the cars and trucks! We were racing to get on and not get hit
by a semi at the same time! There were no allowances for walk-on passengers at
all; it seemed to be a ferry strictly for truck drivers and families with cars.
So after jogging up the on-ramp, narrowly avoiding becoming one with the
pavement, we had to worm our way between all of the already parked vehicles to
an entrance which led directly to the mazelike hallways of sleeper cabins.
After feeling like we were lost in an art-film for god knows how long, we
finally found the purser and the lounge. So we hung there for awhile before
finding a nice comfortable spot to sleep, as it was an 8 hour overnight ferry.
I believe that Scott slept in a tanning bed, but the rest of us crashed on the
ferry’s cinema floor between the seats.
But as we were hanging out in the lounge, discussing our many near brushes with death, it occurred to us that in getting on the ferry no one had taken our names, and that they’d barely even glanced at our tickets. The weather was beginning to look a little sketchy, and if the ferry should sink, no one would have ever known that we’d been on board! In fact, I realized that the last thing anybody had heard from us was that we were on our way to Lithuania!
So, it didn’t happen, obviously, but should I ever go missing while on a Hypertrek, please let this be a lesson in not panicking into the conclusion that I’ve been kidnapped by some kind of Lithuanian anti capitalist freedom fighters and forced to eat borscht until all the facts are in. I’d probably just be drowned, which is most likely the better option in the long run, anyway, so you needn’t worry.
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In the morning, early, very early, way way too
early, I was awakened by a kick to my feet by an unsportingly enthusiastic Jeff
Nimmer who was so excited to be back in the fatherland that he had gotten up to
see the sun rise over the Baltic, and was so deeply moved by this that he felt
it was necessary to deprive an old man of his sleep so that I could get my camera
out and go take a picture. That boy is a real freak, let me tell you. You have
no idea of the depths of his Deutschephile depravity. When he visits (yes,
plural, visits) Bismarck’s grave, Jeff
actually speaks to him about the
state of affairs in Germany
today. So yes, he was genuinely excited to see the sunrise over the Baltic back
in the fatherland; this is not an embellishment made by a sleep-deprived
crank.
At any rate, we got off the ferry in Rostock, basically
repeating the same process we used in getting on, proceeded to get ripped off
by a taxi driver, and made our way into town. I won’t say much about that
fabled city, except I did something I should have done on day one; I bought
inserts for my shoes. Now, you might think that this is a wimpy thing to do for
a hypertrekker, but if you’ve ever walked so much that you got blisters, and
kept on walking until, with a certain fateful footfall, the blister actually
popped juicily into your sock, you’d be much more understanding. I am very sorry
to have had to have put that picture into your mind, but you did think that I
had pulled a wuss move, after all, and had to be shown the error of your
thinking.
We only stayed in Rostock for about 3 hours, as there wasn’t much to see. We did get cappuccino points, though. Then we got onto the 3 hour train ride to Berlin. All of us had been to Berlin before, so we got a bunk room in a hostel right next to the train station, dropped our stuff, took showers, and got back on the train for our only major itinerary change. We got off of the train in Frankfurt am Oder, which is not the famous city Frankfurt, and crossed the bridge there to Poland! Four countries; big points! Boo-yah!
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The streets of Slubice, Poland, are
paved with cheap tobacco and alcohol, and many many hair salons. In fact, we
discussed it and came to the conclusion that that is the sole purpose for its
existence; to provide rich Germans with cheap vices. We ate dinner there, and
the food was good, but none of us got what we actually ordered. Greg is Polish,
and he was excited to be back in his motherland, but even he couldn’t get
across to our waitress what kind of food we wanted. They didn’t even have
pierogies! So that was a pretty quick excursion, and once more, in the
interests of brevity, I am forced to leave out the tidbits of lesser interest
such as the hand position in sign language for pierogies or Greg’s fantasies
involving the Polish coat check girl. And believe me, it really is not as
interesting as it may sound to the untrained ear.
One last note about Poland, however: we were able to
get our passports stamped on the bridge. 4 countries, 2 stamps! One for Poland, then one on the way back for Germany.
It was also the first time some of us had walked across an international
border, which earned us enough points to make up for the lack of northern passport
stamp points.
And this brings us back to Berlin. After returning from Poland,
we went back to the hostel to change into our dress clothes, which we had
brought with us especially for this evening. Jeff had told us about the Hotel Adlon,
a famous hotel from Berlin’s
glamorous past. Charlie Chaplin used to stay there, and even today it’s where
all the rich old white men and their pets go when in town. So the five of us,
dressed to kill, went over for a drink. Now I wouldn’t have mentioned our
excursion to the hotel Adlon, except that it was the swankiest place I’ve ever
been, and we had a simply delightful time sitting around at a posh table having
a scintillating conversation about where everybody summers. It was an
unexciting yet dazzling moment on our expedition. So I will spare you more
dreary detail of our stylish evening including, you should be relieved to hear
it, the monotonous tale of the hotel manager who fluttered about in fear of us setting
a chair on fire, and how we all became close friends after discussing the best
places to find Green Fairies. It was quite a droll evening, really, but I’m
afraid it’s not nearly so entertaining to hear about if you weren’t there, so
you really must accept that I am once again doing you a favor.
After that, Greg introduced us to the finer
points of the Berlin Casino. It was the first time I’d been to a casino, and it
was interesting to see the planet that Greg comes from, so it was pretty fun
all around. Greg did a Randy “Macho Man” Savage pose when he entered the
casino, which makes sense because you always feel more comfortable doing such
things when at home. Alison I think was not so excited about being in a casino,
and I believe I even heard her mutter something about “dumb ‘ol boys” at one
point. I played a little roulette and won $10. Which I think I later blew
getting ripped off by a taxi driver for a ride home. You know, Germany is great and all, but I’ll bet that Danish
taxi drivers never rip you off.
The next morning, very late in the morning, we
got up and went to Potsdam, a city so close to Berlin that it might as
well be a part of it, but for whatever reason it’s not. The main attraction
there for us was Sanssouci Park. It’s this place that
has lots of trees and gardens and preposterously enormous palaces and things.
You know, your run-of-the-mill dead rich European king garden-variety sort of
place. It has something like 5 or 6 large palaces and whole bunches of smaller-yet-still-stupidly-opulent kinds of buildings, like the Chinese House,
because as we all know the Chinese were a major force in German history, and
also the Roman Baths because lets face it, if you’ve got it, don’t hold back.
Flaunt that wealth and power, baby! The Sanssouci palace itself was okay,
Friedrich the Large (Grosse should probably be translated as Great, but I like
large) is buried there. I shouldn’t pick on him, though, because he was a
patron of the Arts and Sciences, and lord knows we need more people in power
like that rather than what we’ve got today. Plus it will make Deutschemann
angry, and while normally this is great fun for me, (After all, how rare is an
opportunity to bust someone’s balls by saying that Swedish Trains are far
superior to German ones?! It’s beautiful! Oh yes, Deutschemann is a huge
Deutschebahn fan.) I suppose the bit about Danish cab drivers being more honest
than German ones was enough fun for one day.
There were some other palaces and interesting stuff to see in Potsdam, but I’m really tired of writing about all of that opulence. Suffice it to say, I saw the largest palace there that I’ve ever seen in my life, only to find out later that it wasn’t even the largest palace of Potsdam, let alone of anywhere else. We missed the largest one, somehow. I hate rich people.
We spent the remainder of our last day
wandering around Berlin.
It’s a shame we didn’t do more there, it’s really a very cool city, but as I
said before, most of us had already been there and we were really getting worn
out, so we took our time and walked by the famous TV tower in Alexanderplatz,
on our way to what Jeff proclaims to be the best Doner Kebap stand in Germany.
They were quite good, but I think that the one I had on Rügen was at least
equally as good.
One interesting thing that I hadn’t seen when
I was there last time was the old Communist Headquarters building. It is as
fine an example of hideous architecture as I’ve ever seen, but still kind of
neat in its own way. I believe it is to be torn down in a year or two.
So our final hours before getting on the train
were spent in the casino. I won’t go into that, as the stories of what happens
to people who set foot in such dens are among the oldest stories ever told. If
you had never heard one before, it would make a fine Tragicomedy, but seeing as
how vice is one of the staples of Hollywood,
I won’t insult your worldliness with yet another addition.
And that, as the tale goes, is that. We got on
the night train, bidding a sad farewell to yet another vibrant city. Indeed, a
very sad goodbye, with fond memories, to a truly great Hypertrek. 10 cities, 4
countries! 95,000 points! Boo-yah!
Oh, and the next day I went to see Yo La Tengo
in concert in Munich, receiving no points, as the trip was over, but proving
that hypertrekking is good for stamina. And then I found 5 bucks. (Hee hee. I think it was Greg or Jeff who said
that anytime you tell a story and it’s either not very interesting, or the
person you’re telling it to just kind of goes “uh…huh”, you should always
finish it off with “And then I found 5 bucks.” Scott was going to finish his
email about our trip with that line, and I’ve decided to steal the idea, as
according to Mark Twain, all good storytellers/liars do.) (Of course, all good
storytellers/liars probably shouldn’t so gleefully draw attention to the fact
that they’ve stolen an idea, but Scott’s my best friend, so after stealing his
idea I feel I should at least give him credit.) (I’m not very good at this, I
guess.)
Sun, 13 Dec 1998 - Do the Polar Choke
Hi.
I haven't done one of these mass-mailings in a while... and there is
actually a really good reason for that, as it would read something like
this; "And so I was doin' this like, shreddin' 360 when I tried to cop a
grab on my board when I just TOTALLY wiped out and ate some serious snow,
dude, and I was like wow man what happened?!".... and so on.
No great new travel stories or anything. Let's just say that almost
everything is going the way I had planned and hoped for for this winter. I
have bought my season ski pass (affectionately known as the HAPPY PASS), I
have a car, and I have a job with hours that both allow me to sleep in
front of a fireplace and get paid for it, and to go snowboarding any darn
time I want. I just went up on the slopes for the 15th time so far this
year on thursday. (Yes I'm keeping accurate track.) Apparently so far we
are having the best season they've had 'round these parts since '81. There
is enough snow to choke a polar bear.
Ever watch Ren and Stimpy? Ever seen the one where Ren puts on the happy
helmet and sings a song? It goes "Happy happy joy joy happy happy joy
joy... the little furry creatures of nature, they don't know that they're
ugly, that's very funny..." and so on and so forth. So let's just say that
I've got the happy helmet on.
So that's why I haven't done a mass-mailing lately... because I really
hate to appear smug. :) :) :) :) :) :) :)))))))))))
I've included an article about German Christmas along with this one...
it's only semi-interesting, but I was bored.
lovemike
JETZT KOMMT DIE STAADE ZEIT, die i a so mog" (Now comes the quiet time I
love so well) is the beginning of an ode by the German poet Helmut Zopfl.
It refers to the four weeks leading up to Christmas, known as Advent. On
the four Sundays during this period, the Adventssonntage, Germans put up
the Adventskranz, a pine-bough wreath with seasonal decorations and four
candles, which are lit successively. Advent is supposed to be a time for
introspection and preporation for the high holy days.
Nowadays, the first Lebkuchen (gingerbread) appear in the shops by
mid-september. Once Oktoberfest is over, you can buy the first chocolate
Santas. Somewhere in in November the Christmas decorations go up in the
shopping precincts and the Muzac turns to carolling. On the first weekend
of Advent, the Weihnachtsmarkt or Christkindlmarkt opens, and in Munich it
becomes well nigh impossible to cross Marienplatz or other affected
spaces without much jostling. So much for quiet introspection!
As in much of the rest of the world, the children ask each day, "Mama,
ist nicht bald Weihnachten?" (Mama is it Christmas yet?). They count down
the days on their Adventskalender, a calender which features a little door
to open every day from the 1st to 24th of December. Originally there was
just a picture behind each door, usually of Christmas pleasures to come.
Nowadays, it's usually a piece of chocolate "um die Wartezeit zu
versussen" (to sweeten the waiting time).
Another way of getting into die Weihnachtsstimmung (Christmas spirit) is
by baking batches of special Christmas cookies (Weihnachtsplatzchen), or
as Bavarians say: Platzl backen. The whole family can help, and children
just love messing around with dough and icing. Traditionally, the cookies
are then hidden, to ensure they last until Christmas Eve.
In Germany, Heiligabend (Christmas Eve) is the day of celebration. The
family gathers for supper, and awaits the Bescherung, the long-awaited
distribution of the presents. Each family has it's own ritual: The
tinkling of a little bell, announcing the coming of the Christkind, a loud
hoopla said to come from the Weihnachtsmann. The candles on the
Weihnachtsbaum (Christmas tree) are lit, and the tree glitters with gold,
silver, and glass ornaments. Many families put up a Krippe (creche). The
word really means manger with the baby Jesus, but, of course it includes
Mary and Joseph, ox and donkey, shepherds, sheep and angels as well.
Christmas is also called "das Fest der Liebe" (the celebration of love),
and on the 24th and 25th relatives are visited, and sumptuos, rich meals
are served. A traditional dish is roast goose. Oddly enough, to fleece
someone is known as "ausnehmen wie eine Weihnachtsgans" (to pluck like a
Christmas goose). Odder still, "eine schone Bescherung" does not mean a
particularly lovely way of giving gifts, but sarcastically stands for a
fine mess. You won't find eggnog at a German Christmas, but if it's really
cold outside Gluhwein (Hot, spiced wine) goes very well with Christmas
cookies.
There is no tradition of carolling in Germany, but on January 6th,
Epiphany (Dreikonigstag), the Sternsinger, children dressed as the three
Magi, or holy kings, will walk from house to house, singing hymns and
collecting money for charity. They leave a chalk mark on each door, with
the year and the letters C-B-M. They stand for Caspar, Melchior and
Balthasar, the names of the three kings. But they also stand for the Latin
"Christus mansionem benedicat" (may Christ bless this house). But by the
time the Sternsinger are doing their rounds, the holiday season is over.
All that is left is anticipation of the next. Oh well, Fashing is just
around the corner, then Easter, then...
An article from 'Munich Found', a German magazine published in English
for Native Engish speakers.
Friday, 18 Aug 1998 - Misadventures in Death Defying
I hiked up to the Alpspitze today. It is a very large, very
forbidding hunk of rock, and it's only a little smaller than the
Zugspitze, the highest Alp in Germany.
The day started out nice enough; sunny, blue skies, few clouds. The
hike up was rough, but not unbearable. The worst part about that was
that I was stupid and forgot to bring a water bottle up with me. But
it was only a three hour trek beyond drinkable stream water, so I
lived.
As I was getting near the top and the slightest misstep would send
me plummeting 1000 feet, I kept thinking about this book called
"Dharma Bums" by Jack Kerouac that I had recently read, where Jack is
climbing a similar mountain with some buddies,(The Matterhorn, I
think) and as he got near the top he started freaking out because he
had never climbed so high in his life and he was afraid of falling
off. So he winds up chickening out and doesn't go all the way up,
turns around and climbs down. So when I finally reached the top of
the Alpspitze, where you can barely even see the ground you're so
high up, they had this book in a metal box that you can sign your
name in. So I open it up, sign my name, date it, stroudsburg, pa, and
I write down underneath it, in quotes: "Jack Kerouac was a big fat
hairy wuss-bag!"
So hee haw and stuff.
I stayed up for about a half hour, and then started down. The way I
had gone up was to climb around behind the peak and then come up at
it at an angle, thereby avoiding any verticle faces. The way I
fuzz-headedly decided to go down was really the way you're supposed
to go up, I guess. About a 2000 foot verticle DROP. They have these
metal spikes and rungs hammered into the cliff, along with metal
cable for a handhold. If it weren't for these, this particular climb
would be totally impossible. (Unless you're a K2 class rockclimber.)
But since they were there, it was fairly managable. Until I was about
halfway down and a big ugly cloud swamped me and started pouring
really cold rain on me, that is.
If I had been hiking down the long but smart and safe way, it would
have felt really good, actually... But.
So these metal rungs aren't water resistant or anything. Neither was
the cable, and neither are weather-worn rocks and cliff faces. It got
SLIPPERY. With a thousand feet above me and a thousand feet below me
and no visible plateau in sight...(Not that there was much in sight
anyway with that nasty evil cloud surrounding me like Feds on
Freemen) Lets just say my shorts got a bit heavier.
So the next thing that happens to help me appreciate life a little
bit more is thunder and lightening. One bolt went off pretty near
by... metal cable. A ONE PIECE metal cable connected by thick metal
spikes from top to bottom. I got a small rug burn type of shock,
nothing bad, but enough to make me really apprehensive, and enough to
almost make me lose my manhood.
So it's all really rather anti-climactic, because obviously I made
it down and alive and everything, I was just really really really
really really scared for the final hour it took me to get down.
But the absolute worst thing about the whole experince is the fact
that the whole time, no matter how freaked out I was, I kept
thinking; " If I die, my last known words are going to be 'Jack
Kerouac was a big fat hairy wuss-bag!' " AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!
Friday, Sept. 10 1999 - Massburgers in Motzartland
So Trinity and I went on a little excursion to Salzburg on monday. We
took my car, even though it's on it's last legs, because I figured,
what the heck, if it's going to die, I'm going to get one last good
trip out of it. Luckily, it didn't die during the trip. Fun fun fun on
the autobahn!
So we got started early monday morning, and turned a three hour trip
into a good 8 hour meandering detour. We stopped in Cheimsee for lunch,
which is where the other AFRC resort area is; I'd never been there.
It's on a huge lake, and I think that another one of King Ludwig's
castles is on it somewhere, but that's a tour for another time I
suppose.
Nothing very exciting happened there.
Then we took a detour into Berchtesgaden, which is where the Eagle's
Nest is, which was Hitler's multi-million dollar mountain ego-boosting
house. His real home used to be at the base of the mountain, but I
believe it took two direct hits by the allies at the end of the war. He
only actually went up to the Eagle's Nest (Called the Kehlstein Haus by
the Germans; the name of the mountain is the Kehlstein) on 14 separate
occasions, and then only for a couple of hours at a time; he used it
solely to impress foreign bigwigs and whatnot for dinner. He didn't use
it to impress his own countrymen; I don't think they would have been
much impressed that he spent millions of party reichmarks on such a
frivolous project. He was actually terrified of the place, although
proud of it. He was a monster of many phobias, one of them being a deep
and sustaining fear of heights, and a small hut perched on the edge of
a 1500 meter drop would certainly qualify as a thing to be avoided in
that case. He was also a tad claustrophobic, and the elevator that goes
from the base of the mountain to the basement of the Eagle's nest is in
a shaft dug right in the middle of a billion tons of rock, and it's fun
to imagine him sweating like mad on the 28 occasions he had to ride on
the darn thing. Go ahead, try it! Little wussy Hitler!
So we took the whole little tour of that. The Germans were afraid that
the Eagle's nest would become a monument to Naziism, so instead of
forbidding people to go up there, they turned it into a huge touristy
moneymaker, and the Kehlstein Haus itself is now a government owned
restaraunt. So we had coffee and enjoyed the view. The tour guide
pointed out a couple of nearby spots where parts of 'The Sound of
Music' had been filmed, which interested me not in the least, but I
figured I'd mention it for the benefit of the few Julie Andrews fans
out there.
We also took a tour afterwards of the underground bunkers which those
wacky Nazis built all over the mountain. Apparently there are 6
kilometers worth of bunkers under there, but most of them are closed
because the Germans would really prefer it if everyone would just go
away and forget that whole time period. In fact, the only reason that
you can tour the one we did at all is a pretty cool story, and I
wouldn't be surprised if they make a movie out of it someday.
Back when the Nazis were buying up all this property in Obersalzburg,
where the Kehlstein is, there was this one German guy who owned a bit
of land there and also an Inn. He refused to sell; in fact he
boisterously refused to allow any Nazis on his property, and had big
large German farmers hanging around his pub to throw them out bodily if
they tried to go in for a drink. A brave man, I should say. Or perhaps
Mongoloid.
Eventually, of course, the Nazis got sick of him and bodily removed HIM
from his own land. So these goosestepping baddies went on to build
their paranoid little bunkers all over the place, a nice little piece
of them being under that brave German's stolen property.
After the war, out of all of the people who used to own land in
Obersalzburg, the German government gave only this man's family the
option of buying back their old land because he was the only one who
didn't sign a waiver and take money from the Nazis! So the family
bought it back, at a reasonable price, I assume, and opened up the
bunkers under it to the public, which really infuriates the German
government. They had to go around and brick up all of the tunnels which
lead off of their property.
The Bunkers themselves were pretty neat, but a bit spooky. I'm afraid
that I couldn't resist hiding around a corner every now and again and
scaring the beejezes out of Trinity. Thankfully, she has a forgiving
heart, if perhaps now a bit weaker one.
So we finally made it into Salzburg at around 7:00, found the nearest
convenient parking, and went to find the hostel. (Which, Mom, separates
the boys' from the girls' rooms.) We were too tired to do anything but
eat and go to sleep.
Salzburg is a very, very cool city. I have never been in a city with so
much nature involved. As we were driving in, we were never really sure
when exactly we had entered it, because there were so many trees. We
even drove through a tunnel which didn't belong in any city; it was
carved right through a large green hill right in the middle of the
place.
It is another one of those European places which centers around a
large, old castle on a hill. Hohensalzburg is the name of the old
fortress, and it's HUGE and you can't miss it. The other thing you
can't miss is the fact that Mozart was born in Salzburg... BOY do they
capitalize on that one. (Although not as bad as those Kafka cockroach
farms they have in Prague.)
So we got up the next morning and began our walking tour of Mozart
land. We got sidetracked right away by a street artist who insisted on
doing Trinity's portrait, for a small fee of course, and since vanity
is such an easy thing to capitalize on, we got suckered in. So I sat on
a bench and made stupid faces at her behind the artist's back while
listening to a couple of college guys (These are Salzburgian college
guys, keep in mind) play some interesting classical music on the
sidewalk with an accordion, a viola, a flute, and some big bass-type of
instrument that looked like an upside down pyramid with strings.
After that we went up and walked around Hohensalzburg. From what I
understand, it has a sort of Prince John/ King Richard history. While
the king was away fighting some silly European war somewhere, the
prince built a large expensive castle and tried to take power. Sadly, I
can't tell you how it all turned out, but because of it I was able to
buy tickets to see a chamber concert played in the concert hall of the
castle itself for that evening. So it has a happy ending, anyway.
The concert was really swanky; we got all dressed up, (we had brought
along nice clothes just in case we were able to see a concert) and they
played Haydn, Bach, and naturally, Mozart. We drank champagne at
halftime... er.. intermission I mean. Whatever. That American does slip
out of me at the most inopportune moments. I should say that we ate at
McDonald's for lunch. Austrian cuisine is no finer than German,
although Salzburg is more diverse, but hey, McDonald's has the only
decent burger in town. (Or close to it, as we found out later... read
on!)
After touring the Castle, we just moseyed around, went and saw Mozart's
birthplace/museum, where they had some of his original handwritten
sheet music, portraits, letters, his snuffbox, and a moldy old bit of
his hair.... really. So it was kind of interesting, but the real
benefit of having gone to the Mozarteum is being able to say that I
went there.
After that, we did the concert, which began at 8 and went until 10, and
then we found a stand that sold Mozartburgers and Salzburgers. Yum yum,
if you ever are in the mood for vicarious cannibalism, a Salzburger is
just the thing.
So we didn't get to do everything that Salzburg had to offer, because
we were only there for a day, really, but we got a nice "flavor" of it.
Hahahaha!!!
Anyway.
That's all.
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