We pulled up to the clinic this morning, trudging through the mud to get to the entrance. Inside, a cold, blank room that didn't offer any sense of comfort or serenity. We went up to the desk, and signed in, our driver/translator taking care of the details. We sat on hard wooden chairs for a few minutes, and then were called in for the blood test.

We walked into a room roughly the size of a classroom. Twenty to thirty Kurdish men and women filled it. Some of them were holding cotton balls on their arms, some were getting blood drawn then and there. It didn't have a pleasant smell, to say nothing about its appearance. Now I'm getting a little worried.

They lead us into a smaller, adjacent room. Four or five Kurdish doctors (or, if not doctors, at least men and women wearing lab coats) all stood up to greet us. The room was much more appealing than the last. Well, if I have to get my blood drawn in Iraq, I guess this is as good a room as any, I thought to myself.

The four of us sat down on the long, cushioned, communal chairs that stretched out along the walls. The doctors lab coat-wearers went to work. Ed and Jeremiah were first. Ed was sitting next to me, and so I glanced over as they brought out the needle. On the one hand, I was thankful to see it was brand new; on the other hand, it was a thick freakin' needle; I could clearly see the hollow part in the middle. Sudden flashback to pre-teen years, to a particular moment on The Ren and Stimpy Show: "This. Will. Hurt. You." I watched them get Ed, and though he seemed to handle it well, I was sure he and Jeremiah were just putting up a good front.

It was now my turn. I made some cheesy remark and flashed a big, goofy Dave-like grin just to lighten the mood: "Please be gentle!" The guy facing me with a needle in one hand laughed. He tied the rubbery thing around my ginormous upper arm, swabbed the crook of my elbow with something (it didn't smell like alcohol), and swiftly stuck the needle in.

Wait a second. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt!!! OK, so maybe it hurt a little, but it honestly hurt less than the needle sticks I've received in the States. I must've sighed the biggest sigh of relief. I watched him pull back on the syringe pump to fill it up (I know, so old school, huh?). He removed the needle, placing the cotton ball in its place, and we were through! I could've done like the Kurds do and kiss the guy on both cheeks. I opted instead for a simple hand-over-heart (another, more general, gesture of friendship amongst the Kurds). As the spoiled Americans left, we verbalized our amazement at how relatively painless (and quick!) that was.

And now, because you were so faithful to read through such a long, boring story about something so mundane...here you go: ( behind the cut )

We spent the afternoon in the bazaar today. TV and movies had prepared me well--it was pretty much just as I'd pictured it would be. Narrow, muddied streets teeming with more people than Times Square on a Saturday night. Barrels filled with nuts, seeds, rice, and spices. Rickshaws loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables. Loud voices calling out to the passersby, alerting them to the deals that await. Children (orphans, I was told) maneuvering through the masses, peddling goods such as fruits, cigarettes, pirated DVDs, and gold watches. Crumbling buildings and poorly-lit hallways stuffed with merchandise. Rugs for sale everywhere. Large racks of meat hanging in doorways. And everywhere, signs scrawled out in an Arabic script that's slowly becoming more and more familiar to me.

Among the few surprises: I found many shops sold electronics like PlayStations, GameBoys (both Advance and DS), and cheap .mp3 players (no iPods). We parked in a lot for several hours, and for that time paid a whopping 500 dinar (roughly 33 cents). We had a nice moment where we stopped to try some raisin juice (it was actually quite tasty); our local friend who was taking us around asked the merchant how much we owed for the drinks, and the merchant (according to our friend) responded by saying it was his gift to us as Americans, because we "removed Saddam from [their] lives." And the biggest surprise of all: I found a postal service! (I'm going to have to look into how it works; it's not government-sanctioned, and rumor has it that everything has to go through Iran, but regardless--this could be revolutionary, I tells ya!).

In short, this afternoon was amazing. Pictures to come some day.

I woke up at 4 AM to the sound of a loud "BOOM." My first reaction was that there must've been an explosion somewhere in the city, so I nervously stayed awake to listen for sirens or any other signs pointing to the cause of the noise.

A few minutes later, I saw a flash of light. Through the thin curtains, it appeared to be concentrated in one area, and it appeared to be close to the ground. A split second later, another loud boom. I decided to stay awake just a bit longer to confirm my suspicions.

One more series of this, and yeah: it was just thunder and lightning.

I woke up again later, at 7ish, to find snow--yes, snow--on the ground! Granted, it was less than an inch, but I was excited to see it; I'm looking forward to the day when we'll get enough snow to have a big snowball fight with the kids next door and the guards down the street.

Into the shower with trepidation, as every previous morning's shower has been wrought with barely lukewarm water, if that. I fiddled with the knobs, let the water run (or drip rather, as we get very little water pressure) for a few minutes, and--upon realizing that this would most likely be another shivery experience--braced myself as I stepped in. Ah, but this time, the water actually warmed up a bit!

Out of the shower, and to the mirror for another welcome experience: shaving with the lights on. The past few days had found me with a Mach 3 Turbo in hand, doing my best to shave while peering into a barely-illuminated mirror. And with cold water. (Here's a simple equation that most people instinctively know: little light + cold water = bad shave) I mean, I spent the past few days looking like I'd shaved in the dark. This...this was nice. A nice shave.

The power went out a few moments later. Timing couldn't have been better this morning.

Can I just tell you how grateful I've become in the last few days for all the things I take for granted in America? Let's see, a short list would include the following things: airlines that actually care about your luggage arriving when you do, 24-hour electricity, warm to hot water, fast internet connections, well-insulated houses, no fear of explosions or bombs when you're startled from your sleep at 4 in the morning?

That's not to say that all of these things have made life miserable here. On the contrary; most of these inconveniences have just made this adventure all the more interesting. I'm learning to deal with all of them (and more), but in a weird way, I relish having these teachable moments, these chances to live the life that the people here live day in and day out. I'm sure I could get all Mr. Rogers-y on everyone, but let me just say: what an experience this has been, even five days in.

Then again, ask me again in two months. I may tell you that I'm sick and tired of all these nuisances, and just want to be home.

First, another poorly-devised haiku (this looks to be a regular feature on this LJ):

The Longest Week
No clothes, toiletries.
Airline left 'em, Frankfurt, still.
For shame, Kurdish Air.

Other random thoughts to share:
- You want to know what this place smells like? Think of a combination of dust, gas, and kerosene, among other things. It's quite a, uh, unique smell.

- Because the power is out for 17 hours a day, we have to rely mostly on kerosene heaters to keep us warm. We live in a large, cavernous house with marble floors and stairways, concrete walls and ceilings, and lots of windows. Needless to say, the heaters don't help a whole lot.

- Also, because of the aforementioned scenario, the song "Neighborhood 3 (Power Out)" by the Arcade Fire keeps running through my head.

- I woke up at 4 AM, due to the expected jet lag, but thankfully was able to fall back asleep an hour and a half later. But not before I was able to hear the minarets sound the morning call to prayers. It was absolutely fascinating and even surreal to hear those chants in the dark of night. If that didn't make me realize that I'm in the Middle East now, I don't know what will.

- This internet joint switches from Americn tunes to Middle Eastern music. Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do (I Do it for You)" was just up. Yes!

More later, when I get a chance to collect my thoughts.

In the form of a poorly-devised haiku (the only kind I know how to write):


Frankfurt, 19.08
Up, since Sunday morn.
All I want is sleep. Sleep sleep
sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep.

And so, your intrepid hero narrator whatever loaded up the humongous family wagon that he's been carting around Nashville this past week or so, and made a short trip to Athens, Georgia. Yes, those of you who are knowledgable about college alternative indie whatever rock will know that Athens, GA is the hometown of many a band that came out in the early '80s, the greatest of which is R.E.M. Being the obsessive fan that I unabashedly am, I wanted to see the legendary hometown of my favorite band. Now I'd made the trip with Jules several years back on our 2nd leg of the "Roadtrip to End All College Roadtrips," but we didn't really get a chance to experience Athens.

This time I did, thanks to Meagan, who now lives and works in the fair college town. She was gracious enough to show me around town, including several sites related to the R.E.M. lore. Here now are a few highlights from the trip:
( read about it here )

(Yes, the quote above comes from The Simpsons, and yes, pretty much every reference to Germany that I might make is going to be a Simpsons quote.)

We arrived in Frankfurt on Tuesday morning after a long long day of flying and hanging out in airports. Though I got very little sleep on the flight 'cross the Atlantic, I did manage to sleep for a little bit, albeit through the last 30 minutes of the in-flight movie, Batman Begins (making it the second time I've fallen asleep through the movie...if I actually could stay awake long enough to watch the whole thing, I'd probably like it a lot). Anyway, we arrived in Frankfurt, went through customs, picked up luggage, exchanged dollars for euros, and picked up our rental car to drive down to Riedlingen. The 36 hours since then have been quite interesting--amazing, really--and have whetted my appetite for more travels through Deutschland in the near future. And now, a few stories:

"Vee Germans are not all smiles and sunshine."
We get the car (a Mercedes, natch) and Lisa--the school/NGO administrator in our three-person team--takes the wheel and begins our trek down the Autobahn. She spends practically the entire time in the left-hand lane on the two-lane freeway, despite the fact that every few minutes we have a carload of angry Germans pulling right up behind us, flashing their lights and honking until either we or they pull into the right-hand lane. Every single driver that then passes us in this manner--and I mean every single driver--proceeds to either give us a dirty look, yell at us, shake their fist (seriously!), or do all of the above. I kept hinting that perhaps we should stay in the right-hand lane, but Lisa would have none of it; the right-hand lane was always much, much slower than the left-hand lane, and she wasn't about to do a mere 95 kph. So in the left-hand lane we stayed, and I found myself hiding my face every time a car passed us on the right. You should know that this was the exact moment in my life in which I realized why the rest of the world views Americans the way it does. Granted, Lisa was probably just super-tired and maybe wasn't thinking--I'm sure she really wasn't intending to piss off all the other drivers in the left-hand lane. But piss them off she did. Welcome to Germany!

( read on for more shenanigans. )