Rambling Thoughts, Free Speech, and Runnin' With the Big Dawgs.

Well, I'm back again from what is becoming a regular trip "downrange" to Bosnia and other exotic places. This time with a stop in beautiful Stuttgart, Germany on the way home. That was a good thing. Not quite accomplishing what I set out to in my mission in Bosnia, Stuttgart was a wonderful place to lick my wounds and plan my next course of action.

I got to see old friends, enjoy German beer and food, and pick up a couple of really great kitchen knives. On our last day there we took a walk through the Market Platz where I found Müller's cutlery store whereupon I purchased a 10" chef's knife by F. Dick (Ooooh, now I can say I have a ten-inch Dick and not be lying!) and an 8" and 4" pair of knives exquisitely made by Güde.

The whole trip started badly enough. I had booked our flight to leave on a Sunday morning. Unfortunately it was at 4:00 on the Sunday morning where we set our clocks ahead one hour. England does this a week before the U.S..

Anyway, we managed to get to the airport on time and head out to Bosnia. Our approach into Sarajevo was, to say the least, harrowing. We landed practically sideways. The people we went to see couldn't believe we actually landed at all because of the severe wind storms they had been having all day. Then things got worse. Our luggage had not arrived with our plane.

Just when we thought the worst was behind us, we arrived at our wonderful accommodations. To call them Spartan would be a gross understatement. Our room was a modular unit right next to the latrine. After the first night of listening to the pipes creaking and groaning, we decided that things could only get better as we were certain they couldn't get any worse.

We were dead wrong, of course.

The next evening when we returned to our luxurious pre-fab building we noticed that the creaking and groaning of the pipes were gone. Along with the pipes, showers, commodes, walls, and floor of the latrine.

Could things get any worse? In a word, yes. The weather turned on us, our new accommodations came complete with neighbors nice enough to share their Phil Collins CD with us from down the hall at 6:00 am, and I won't even go into the disaster that my mission became.

We finally got our luggage and got out of there pretty much in one piece and headed to Stuttgart. First we had to change planes in Munich. We landed with 30 minutes between flights and took advantage of the time by walking the 5 or so miles from our arrival gate to our departure gate only to find our flight was delayed due to late arrival by the crew.

After a nice restful night, we did what we needed to work-wise and linked up that evening with an old buddy of mine from the Special Operations Command there. We ate at a local restaurant located on a vineyard near our hotel. We dined on a couple different types of schnitzel, spaetzle, pomme frittes, and an assortment of hearty German bread. Of course, accompanying the meal was some really great beer and wine.

Feeling the need to unwind after our Bosnian adventure, we proceeded to the bar next door to our hotel where the beer flowed as freely as the war stories. After closing the bar, we continued the festivities in our hotel. When it was time to go, none of us were feeling any pain. We were somewhat worried about my buddy, Mike, though. We hoped he made it home OK.

The next morning I called his office to see if he was OK, they told me that although they had seen him that morning, they did not know where he was. I finally reached him a little later in the day to ask how he was doing. He simply muttered, "F**k you, Jacquard!" I took this as a good sign and proceeded to complete my business there and prepare for our departure the following day.

Our flight didn't leave until 3:15 in the afternoon so we decided to take in the sights. Mike, who was feeling much better now ("It feels good just to feel good."), joined us and served as our tour guide. All in all, it was a pretty good day. The Market Platz, the cutlery store, the sporting goods store with the chick that looked like an extra from a Mike Meyers "Sprockets" sketch, even the part where we got lost looking for the Mercedes museum.

Next week I travel with my wife and daughter to Disneyland Paris! I'm sure that will be an adventure.

Until then, life is a banquet. Eat it up!

Mike