Seasons Change

I've been waiting to write this one a long time. Since I got back in early November, their is one topic that dominates every discussion, every thought, every action, every aborted action, Old Man Winter. Everybody warned me -- winter in Bamyan is a bear. (They call it other things too, but that's what I will use here.) My predecessor in this job is from Michigan (or Minnesota, one of those Canada-lite joints), and she couldn't deal with it. What on earth am I going to do, a Louisiana boy who just finished a two-year hiatus from seasons, much less cool weather, in sweltering Malaysia? I'm sure somebody knows, but it ain't me.

Full disclosure -- I am a winter wimp. Given the choice, I would take hot, humid, muggy, sticky, rainy weather to this stuff any day. I've had some exposure to what a real winter is like, in New York and one year in DC, surprisingly enough, but this is a different animal, one I would like to see driven to extinction.

From the Blackhawk flight back here in early November, I felt the full impact of the reality of this winter nightmareland. Oh sure, the first few times you see the snow come down, it's great, it's beautiful, it's peaceful, it's quiet, poignantly so, but after a while, enough all ready. I don't need the sleigh bells ringin' and all that glistenin'. For the locals, getting coal in their stocking makes for a good holiday, because then they can heat a room and survive another night. All of your clothes get residual soot, or get greasy petrol/diesel slime on them, if the offices have the diesel drip heaters. Nobody minds though -- the alternative is definitely less attractive.

For me, the biggest deal are the showers. I have discovered my limit -- hot showers. The showers work most of the time, and they have hot water probably 60% of the time. They have figured out how to keep the generator's fuel from turning to gel (I wonder if this was the perverted inspiration for napalm), but it is a never ending struggle, for truth, justice, and warm water. You know the brain freeze you get when you guzzle a slurpee, or eat too much ice cream too fast? That's what showers are like here. You have to be careful not to bite your own tongue off because your teeth are clattering together like construction equipment pushed past their limits. Then we walk out of the shower block and what water is left in your hair freezes.

I realize that this is pretty Andy Rooney-esque of me, to be whining (whinging, as the Kiwis would say) about one relatively small detail. Facing a cold shower is not as bad as some of the squalid conditions I have seen soldiers live in, but it is more than enough for me. I also know my buds still trying to salvage their existences in New Orleans, back home in Lake Charles, and others in the hurricane zone face bigger challenges. Hats off to them for making it in an unwelcome environment, but for me, as eloquently and diplomatically stated as possible, cold weather SUCKS.

Travel is not too bad yet. Bamyan is a dry enough environment that, even below freezing, if the sun hits a spot, the snow and ice there will melt in a matter of days. Where it gets fun is in some of the mountain passes where sunlight decides discretion is the better part of valor, and gets nowhere near. Already those passes are clogged with snow and ice, but as I keep hearing, this is just the beginning.

I have been wanting to write this for six weeks now, but I decided to wait to send this missive, because, technically, winter only started two days ago. Strangely enough, Wednesday was a surprisingly mild day -- temperatures got above freezing for the first time since I don't know when. The locals tell me that winter has not begun yet -- we still have 20-30 degrees or so to drop in the next month or two. I cannot get my brain around that fact. I suppose I will cope just like everyone else, but I have to admit, my next break, at the end of January, is beginning to look less like a break and more like a lifeline. More about clinging to that lifeline as we trudge through the holidays. Take it easy folks.