OK, so I didn't make it to Disney Paris. The wife and daughter were sick and pretty much bedridden so I moped around the house for a while until an opportunity presented itself.
Well, I ended up back in Kosovo with my two traveling companions from my Bosnia trip , Jason and Devo, (see Ramblin' Thoughts on the Leftovers page). Knowing full well the insanity that was to follow, I was psyched for the trip.
There was a slight twist to this trip, though, as we ended up with two technicians accompanying us. These two technicians came with us to do some computer network geek stuff. I wasn't really sure why we needed two until we arrived at London's Heathrow Airport. It became apparent that one technician was enough but he brought the other along in the hopes of getting intimately or romantically involved with her. To save people from certain embarrassment, I won't go into detail, but they provided us with great entertainment!
"And one time, at band camp..."
After enduring hours of his one-upmanship and inane stories, we decided early on that no quarter would be given. After all, how else could I compete with stories of those awful days in Air Force basic training and tech school, or that time the Q-24 circuit failed and we lost network connectivity to Nome for almost 12 minutes?
A few days earlier a car bomb had exploded about a mile down the hill from the camp, some French soldiers had been killed shortly after that, and rumors were circulating that we (KFOR personnel) were being targeted for possible terrorist attacks. Boring stuff compared to our love-sick puppy's attempts at getting laid. Just ask him, he'll tell you! By the second night, I was ready to tie him naked to an armored vehicle at the main gate.
Anyway, for those of you who have ever wondered what it's like in Kosovo, here's a brief rundown. While life is struggling to resume a somewhat normal existence throughout the country with shops reopening their doors, restaurants and cafes emerging, and people just wanting to get back to work, our movement remained somewhat restricted. Although we now had more freedom of movement than we did even several months ago.
Film City in Pristina is the headquarters of the Kosovo Peacekeeping Force or KFOR, and is relatively comfortable even in its austerity. Many of the different nations involved in the mission bring a little touch of home to the place by erecting military shops (PX's) and some adding a little more, each with its own distinctive touches and specialties.
The Norwegians built theirs with a rustic, mountain log cabin look with a bistro style restaurant upstairs. They boast not only the best general merchandise store, but the best food on the camp as well. Next we have the German PX. Great for militaria, knives, and cigarettes. The French PX is THE place to shop for booze. Imagine, a CASE of Jack Daniels in gallon jugs for $90!!! The Italians had a cappuccino bar in theirs. The British offer some typical English items and are way overpriced, while the Americans provide a semi trailer sitting in knee-deep mud offering not much more than shaving cream and toothpaste.
The main dining facility, or mess hall, on the camp is run by a British company sub-contracted by Brown and Root. One should avoid eating in the mess hall as they have yet to pass a health inspection. The Bulgarian contingent actually had a sample of the food from the mess hall analyzed and determined that such a facility in Bulgaria would be shut down and its management jailed!
The main saving grace to Film City is the fact that alcohol consumption is allowed. Big boy rules apply, and people generally watch themselves pretty well. The atmosphere is relaxed with only a slight undercurrent of the tension one would expect in a combat zone.
Then there is Camp Bondsteel.
The name says it all.
Raw American military power, Camp Bondsteel is nine square miles of army base encased in concertina wire, kevlar, and vast assortments of weaponry. To look at it, it appears as though someone just chopped the top off a hill and dropped the camp there. Visitors are greeted then searched by intense young men (were we ever like that?) in kevlar helmets and flak jackets armed with M-16s. As you look around you also notice the various machinegun positions all pointing at you.
Alcohol is not allowed on Camp Bondsteel nor are its soldiers permitted to imbibe during their tour of duty. Violations of these orders result in swift and harsh penalties.
Enter Bondsteel and all doubt vanishes. You KNOW you are in a war zone.
On the plus side, though, Camp Bondsteel is home to perhaps the best mess hall in the US Army. If an army travels on its stomach, then our boys (and girls) are going to be able to go forever.
They also have a PX and a gym that rival any found on US Army bases in the states.
And, finally, there is that little camp within the big camp. You know... the one with the privacy fence and guys who look a little different and carry some mighty exotic looking weaponry in and out of there, mostly at night. Oh, to be an action guy again...
ANYHOOO...
We wrapped up our mission there in Kosovo by consuming large quantities of beer and wine, laughing at Geek-boy (Knowing full well that if I were 20 years younger, 80 pounds lighter, single, and good looking, he wouldn't stand a chance. What am I saying? He STILL didn't stand a chance!), and watching "Billy Madison" in the dayroom. We said our farewells and departed the next day. I was to return to England while the rest of the crew headed to Sarajevo with a stop overnight in Vienna. Jason and Devo inform me that the love chase only got worse in Sarajevo. To our little puppy boy I say, be thankful we were not there with people like my buddy Mike (see Ramblin' Thoughts on the Leftovers page), Big Al, Q, Bubba, or any number of other compadres. For they would not be quite as nice or tame as Jason, Devo, and I.
He WOULD have been tied naked to an armored vehicle at the gate.
As I arrived in Heathrow, I switched my cell phone back on only to have it immediately alert me to an incoming text message. As I read the message I drew attention to myself by screaming at the phone, "YOU BASTARDS! YOU SUCK!" Then laughed out loud all the way to passport control.
The message?
"MIKE
HAVING A WONDERFUL TIME HERE AT HOOTERS IN DOWNTOWN VIENNA
WISH YOU WERE HERE"
So, that pretty well wraps this edition of the Sandwich. It will probably be a hectic couple of weeks coming up as my wife is going for a knee operation and my mother is coming for a visit. In the meantime, I'll finish this bottle of Knockando Scotch, crank up my Kosovo bootleg copy of Muddy Waters, and sear some animal flesh on my brand new CharBroil gas grill.