Owner: The Road to the Horizon URL:http://www.theroadtothehorizon.org Join Date: Thu, 25 Jan 2007 03:34:26 -0600 Rating:0 Site Description: Short stories about travel to the world's most remote places, working in war torn countries, life as a humanitarian worker, and about the road which is more important than the destination. Site statistics:Click here
Scene of War 1970-01-01 00:59:59 June 1999.Richard, Alf and I are standing on a mountain pass, at the border crossing between Albania and Kosovo. The view is breathtaking. It is part of a movie, projected in 360 degrees around us. Better than a movie.A long, slow moving stream starts from far behind us. We can hear it, the random noise. It passes right next to where we stand, and follows bends and curves for as far as we can see. A stream, a steady flow. Not of water, but of people. Tens of thousands. Refugees returning home. Whole families on tractors and donkey pulled carts, with all their belongings stacked as high as they can. Mattresses, cupboards, tables, chairs, cardboard boxes… Mothers holding on to babies, brothers and sisters walking hand in hand. Elderly men with deep grooves in their faces, walking with a stick in their hand, or pushing a wheel barrel. A massive flow of people. Each with their own horror story to tell, moving steadily back to their homes. Homes they fled a couple of months ago after Ser
The Real Out of Africa 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Malawi 1994.The sun slowly descends behind the hills left of me. She magically pours a yellow-reddish glow over the wide plains at the other side of the road. The evening odour of Africa
hangs around me. I switch on the headlights of my Landcruiser and concentrate again on the road to Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi, my home since a couple of weeks.I left Blantyre, the old capital in the south, this afternoon, where I was spoiled by the hospitality of two friends, Ron and John. Both of them are hams like me. We talked several times on the radio in the past years, but I had never met them. While we were having lunch, I forgot all about time. On top of that, I got enchanted by the hippos in the lake right in front of a lodge along the road, where I stopped for a quick drink. Time went by too fast, and now the darkness took me by surprise. But it does not bring any feeling of danger with it. On the contrary, it is a veil falling over you, inviting you to participate in the secrets of Afri
Pero 1970-01-01 00:59:59 From: Pero.SimundzaTo: Peter.CasierDate: 23-Sept-99 15:55Subject: Hi !Hi Peter,Has been a while since our dinner and drink in Tirana. Heard you got into Kosovo safe and sound.Me, I am back at my home duty station in Mostar.My Head of Office just refused to release me for another mission to Albania... He thinks we have supported them more than enough, so I'm stuck here in Mostar until I find myself another job...just another sequel to the story I told you when meeting in Tirana...73 de Pero--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------From: Peter.CasierTo: Pero.Simundza Date: 25/June/2000 01:58Subject: updateHi Pero,Through the grapevine, I heard you were (finally) reassigned to Timor. Good for you!!!!I just got back from 7 weeks traveling for work. I was in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Nepal, Tajikistan, and Hawaii ( ! ). Operated radio from all places except Afghanistan, but I have a good lead to be able to operate there.Now I am on one month l
A world apart 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Easter Saturday, 1999."Aaaaaaah'. With a long sigh of relief, I let myself slide into the soft cushions of a beach chair, next to Tine. In the shade of a huge umbrella, on fine sand, looking at the girls playing in the blue water next to the mangrove trees. The temperature is just right. Not too warm, not too cold. With cocktails in our hands."Aaaaaah'. Zanzibar, at last. For weeks we had been looking forward for a long weekend off from work, in a different environment. With one sigh, gone were all the troubles and stress. Yesterday is just a distant memory. The flat tire we had with the office car on the way from Kampala to Entebbe airport, and the fact that the driver had forgotten to repair the spare, so we had to stop another car to hitch a lift to the airport to catch the plane on time. Gone were the memories of the crowded flight, the fact they managed to steal my spare mobile phone and electric shaver out of our luggage during the transit in Nairobi.Our first long weeke
"M." 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "The horror… The horror…"(Marlon Brando in "Apocalypse Now')Dubai, December 2004All of us, all our Dubai staff, are standing around in silence in the reception of our office. We put up the plaque our HQ gave us. "WFP FITTEST team - Dubai. Award for Merit 2004. For their outstanding global achievement and particularly for the critical support of the UN humanitarian effort in Iraq". Each of us are in thoughts. It seems weird how in a split second zillions of thoughts and images can flash through your mind. Robert was a bit angry at me this week. He rightfully said: "This plaque is something to be proud of, how come we still have not put it up? We received the plaque several months ago.'. I did not really have an answer for him. Sure, at first there was a spelling mistake, so they had to re-do it, then we had a problem finding a suitable spot, and then, and then… In the end, it were all excuses, I thought to myself. Excuses as it brought back a lot of painful memor
Ambush 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Burundi, June 4 1997I can not believe how we could have been so stupid. With all our years of experience, we broke one of the basic security rules: "Don't go out at night". Not only are we out at night. Worse, we are in the middle of the bush at night. In a part of the country held by rebels. Have we become too complacent with the constant security threat? Have we become too accustomed to danger?This morning Mats and I left together with Toure, the WFP security officer, for a mission to one of the remote radio sites up country. The radio booster we installed there a couple of months ago, did not work anymore. It was a nice trip, over remote roads, twisting and turning in between the dense forest. We drove through villages and small stretches of farmed land, dotted over the hills like a quilt made of squares with different colours and textures. Several times we stopped to take pictures, forgetting all about time. The work at the mountain top was done in just a few minutes. The gua Read more:Ambush
The Pizza Place on the Corner 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "Stop", I shout, "stoooop !". Alf steps on the breaks of our Landcruiser. The boxes in the trunk shift forward violently. "Pull over, Alf, pull over!" "What, what is it?", he shouts, as he maneuvers the car in between the people walking on the side of the road. "Coke. I saw bottles of Coke! There, in the window of the shop!".I jump out of the car and run to the shop. Indeed six bottles of Cokes stand in the shop. I step in, and the young boy behind the counter smiles and says "Hallo' in German. I tell him I want the Coke bottles, all of them. I walk back to the car with my find. Coke at last!It has been ten days since we arrived in Kosovo, and for 10 days, we have been eating what we could find. The only thing available was minced lamb, in all forms and shapes. Hamburgers, cevapcici sausages, small meatballs, large meatballs. Minced meat and bread. No vegetables, no fruits. Bread and minced meat. To drink, we could only find sparkling water and vodka. I don't Read more:Pizza
, Place
The Ugly Duckling 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I thought Mats was joking in the email he sent me, while I was out on mission. "It finally has been put out of its misery, Peter.', he said, "It is done now. Its suffering has ended. Your Landrover is no more.. A wall fell on it.'I looked at the pictures showing how the seven meter tall wall surrounding our office parking had collapsed. My car was covered with tons of rubble. I could barely see part of the side window and a tire sticking out.The guys in the Kampala office always took the piss out of my Landrover. They said the car could only make it from the workshop to home and would then break down. "As your house is up a hill, you do not need the engine to come down anyway", they joked, "Just release the hand break - correction, that does not work anyway -,so pull the stone from underneath the wheel - and let it run off the hill until you reach the workshop. You let them work on it for a day, and in the evening you can make it up the hill again!" They exaggerate Read more:Duckling
Kadee 1970-01-01 00:59:59 We called him Kadee, though his real name was Lash vom Amselhof. He was fierce, ruthless, nervous, and aggressive at first. A big, dark muscled body with a massive head and piercing brown eyes. He would look people in the eyes and keep staring without blinking, until - almost in embarrassment - people would look away. He was only six months old, when he killed one of our full grown sheep with one bite. It was then we realized our German shepherd needed some serious and strict discipline. We trained him as a defense dog and he turned into the sweetest dog we ever had, unless someone tried to lay a hand on anyone from our family.When Lana was born, we were a bit wary at first. Would Kadee get jealous? While Tine was still in the maternity clinic, we laid a cloth next to Lana in her little bed, and then let Kadee smell it, so he could get used to the odour of the baby. When Lana and Tine came home for the first time, we let him sniff the baby too. He did it very carefully and then, put hi
The Children of Ambriz 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Angola 1994.The pilot in the seat in front of me, pulls his headset off one ear and looks at me: "What do you think? Shall we try?". I'm staring at the ground below us.Our single engine plane from the World Food Programme (WFP) circles around Ambriz, a small town a 100 miles north of Luanda, Angola's capital. I'm working here for the IFRC, the "International Red Cross' for short. They gave me one month to install or refurbish radio equipment in as many outposts of the Angolan Red Cross as possible. More than thirty years of civil war has isolated quite some areas from the outside world, making some Red Cross relief points only accessible by plane or boat. In some places, like Ambriz, the city below us, we are the only 'tolerated' relief organisation. The city is surrounded by the rebel troops of Unitad, who shot down a UN plane around here last year. Since then, no relief organisation dares to risk sending planes to Ambriz anymore, without getting a 'clear to land' by radio, Read more:Children
Goma, the Scent of Africa 1970-01-01 00:59:59 January 1995.When I am home for more than four months, it starts to itch again: "Wanna go, wanna go, wanna go." So beginning of January, I scouted for a new mission as a telecom consultant. Two weeks later, I had a contract with UNHCR, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, to take over the duties of my friend Paul in Goma, North-Eastern Zaire, now DRC, the Democratic Republic of Congo. Lana, our first daughter was just a few weeks old. I wanted to spend some more time at home, but as it always goes when you work as a consultant: you wait for months for a job. Once it comes up, and all the paperwork is done, they require you to leave as soon as possible.Then all of a sudden you find yourself in the car, driving to the airport, and it hits you (well it surely always hits me!): the feeling of "Gee, what did I let myself into again this time? Why am I doing this? Leaving a warm and comfortable home, my wife and a new born baby girl for the unknown, for several months. Onwards to an uncert Read more:Africa
, Scent
How Cigarettes Once Saved My Life 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Wednesday February 3 1993, 5 amMy watch beeps me out of my sleep. For a moment, I don't know anymore where I am. I lay on a hard cotton cot, in a wet sleeping bag. The side of the tent drips. I am cold, wet. My muscles hurt, my skin is sunburned, my head aches. All I want to do is sleep. Just another hour, just another minute, but I know I can not. I fumble under the cot to find my glasses. They fog up. I step through puddles of water in the tent, and grab a flashlight. It is still pitch dark outside. The flashlight beams over our surroundings. Sand, low thorny scrub bushes. Hundreds of tiny hermit crabs with shells on their backs scavenging in between the huge boobies and frigate birds sitting randomly around us. The sound of the waves crashing onto the coral reef and rolling out onto the beach a bit further away. The smell of guano in the damp tropical air. We had a huge storm last night. I remember we were fighting to keep the tents up, and the water out. It was never supposed to
On Earth As It Is In Heaven 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Saturday January 29, 1994. Off the coast of Peter I island, AntarcticaFor days now, we have been sailing in between icebergs. Each of them has its own micro-weather system. It looks as if each of them is a little island on its own, each with its own private cloud. The white from the ice, and the white from the clouds above them contrasting very little from the grey sea and the grey overcast clouds much further above it all. Everything is a shade of grey and white. No colours, just shades.We are getting anxious. Today, after two years of preparation, after two years of logistical challenges, fierce discussions with the Russian Antarctic Division on the chartering of their boats and helicopters, we will arrive at our destination: Peter I Island in the Antarctic, appropriately called "the most isolated place on Earth
'. There have been more people on the moon than on this island. We were to be the first crew ever to remain on the island without a support ship staying off shore. We almo Read more:Heaven
Wapi Yo? 1970-01-01 00:59:59 From: Peter.CasierTo: ElsSubject: Wapi Yo?Kampala, October 14 1999.Elske,End of last week, I spoke twice to Saskia over the phone. Each time for over an hour.There were some work related problems we had to straighten out.She was our logistics officer in Bujumbura, but also the focal point for my team. It was late in the evening. Everyone else had already left the office. I had opened the window to let the fresh air flow in, bringing with it the typical tropical evening smell. Smoked a cigarette, with my feet on the table. We started talking about life in Bujumbura, what it meant to be living away from our families, work, what we wanted to do in the future. We reflected what it really meant for us, working for a relief agency and about life in general. We laughed, saying to each other how we enjoyed Africa, how it added to the quality of our lives. Saskia….And now she is no longer with us.Saskia was on an assessment mission with other UN officials in the south of Burundi yesterday. Th
The Road to the Horizon - Introduction 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "I'm mad like hell and I am not going to take this anymore"I remember it very well. Must have been somewhere mid 1991. I arrived home late from work one evening. I had a well paid management function in a respectable firm. I lived with Tine, my loving girl friend. We had two cars, two dogs, a flock of sheep, chickens and geese, on our villa-farm on the Belgian country side. The future looked bright. Nevertheless, that evening, as I sat in the car on the drive way, I did not feel happy. Some things were missing. It felt like at the age of 30, I had just finished my life. The plans for the future were all laid out so well. Autopilot from now on. But deep down inside, I hated corporate life and corporate politics that go with it. I hated wasting two hours of my life in traffic jams every day. And getting up every day at the same time, seeing the same faces every day, and dancing to the tunes of the people at work. Working my butt off until I could retire. I hated the limitations my Read more:Introduction
Italians, the Art of Flying and the Laws of Probability 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Ciampino airport, Rome. Day 1 of the Kosovo re-entry."Vaffanculo', the pilot shouts, "Que putana de merda!', as he pushes some buttons. The only thing we hear is a deep hesitating sound, which reminded me of my car refusing to start when we left the headlights on during the night. "Vaffanculo, vaffanculooooo'. The pilot is clearly an Italian, more so a Roman.The problem with small planes is that you can see and hear everything going on in a cockpit. You're sitting just a few inches away from reality. In a big commercial jetliner, it looks like all goes automatic. You can "Sit back, relax and enjoy your flight'. Our reality is a bit different at this moment. I don't know why, but pilots that go off cursing and act all agitated don't inspire a lot of confidence in me. I have no fear of flying, but I do not like to be reminded of the fact that flying an airplane is only part science. The rest is luck, skill, art, habit and experience. All very grey things if you ask Read more:Flying
Abby One and Abby Two 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Our office in Kampala had many drivers. Two of them come to my mind: Abby One and Abby Two. First there was only "Abby'. A thirtysomething short guy, who did not really stick out of the driver-crowd. Our team used him a lot, as we could rely on him. That was the main challenge with the drivers: we would often see them as unreliable. They would say "it was not their fault'. It was not their fault they could not come over and pick us up at 7 am to drive us to the airport, as it was the fault of their neighbour's wife's niece. Hoping for at least a spicy story to justify why we missed our flight, we would ask for more details. The story would often go something like this: They could not come over to pick us up at 7 am,because for that, they would have to wake up at 6 am. Unfortunately, they had not woken up, because their alarm had not gone of, reason being because their neighbour's wife had invited her niece at home to iron her hair, to get the curls out. Apparently there w
In Pace 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Kabul. The Afghans pronounce it with a long, closed "o', making it sound like "Ko-obel'. Most of the a's are pronounced like an "o' here. Ko-obel. Kabul. It is afternoon. The late- summer sun descends low over the horizon, giving the yellow scenery a golden glow with long exotic shadows. During this time of the year, the temperatures are nice. Really enjoyable. In between the battering dry heat of summer and the biting cold of the long winters, are those short periods which tourist brochures would define as a "moderate Mediterranean climate'. The tourist brochures for Kabul must date back to the fifties and sixties most likely.We are sitting on the stairs of Kabul airport, facing the tarmac looking over the airstrip. Kabul International Airport. There are a bunch of us, all relief workers and reporters. Two from a Pakistani camera crew for the Deutsche Welle, a tall blond Danish demining expert, an Australian water drilling expert from Unicef, a Bangladeshi seed exper
One Love 1970-01-01 00:59:59 July 19, 2005. Union Island, Grenadines - Caribbean.Dear E.,This morning, we arrived at Union island, to buy provisions. The harbour was a bit tricky to sail in. There was a low coral reef just at the water level, so we had to navigate all around it to find the entrance to the lagoon, but it was worth it: the view from where we anchored was magnificent. It is always how I imagined the Caribbean to look like. Clear blue green water. Waves crashing on the coral reef in front of us. Someone set up a small bar on a tiny island just behind the reef, in front of us. Barely enough place for a hut with a straw thatched roof, a couple of plastic chairs, flags flapping in the trade winds.We ferried ashore with the dinghy to buy fruits, drinks, bread and some meat. While the girls are off to a boutique to buy some local souvenirs, I am now sitting in a restaurant/bar, right at the water's edge. No windows, almost like a balcony right above the water. The warm sea wind blows through the restauran Read more:One Love
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing 1970-01-01 00:59:59 November 26, 2006Just off the coast of the Canary IslandsDear friends,I arrived back in the Canary Islands two days ago. In the marina, all ships participating in the ARC, the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, had assembled. 223 ships from different nationalities. From 27 feet (9 meters) to 100 feet (over 30 meters) monsters. From homemade boats to big luxurious one-off designs. From competition racing boats with little luxury to standard cruising yachts like ours. The ARC is an annual event trying to assemble yachts at the ideal time of the year to sail across the Atlantic. The purpose is to get everyone safely to 'the other end', in a competitive way. The people participating are from all kinds of walks of life. Some are professional skippers taking their charter ship over to the Caribbean for the season (like us), with a random crew often consisting of people who never crossed the Atlantic before. Some are competition boats with a well trained racing crew on board. Some are families, m Read more:Crossing
, Transatlantic
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing #5 1970-01-01 00:59:59 December 9, 2006.In the Middle of Nowhere.Dear J.,We have been at sea for a while now. I am gradually getting into a mood, where I feel more than just 'at sea'. I feel at home, in harmony with everything around me. At those moments, it is as if I feel the ship talking. It is more sounds rather than words. At times, I hear her giggling when she loves the excitement of a fast sail. I hear her hum a melody when she is happy with the sail settings and the wind. There are times where I hear her cry when something is wrong, when the swell and low winds make her sail flap and the boom bang to and fro.Last night I was woken up when she was crying in pain, and screaming. The winds were low, and the side-swell had her boom bang every 10 seconds. . The ship shivered with every smack of the sails. The foresail emptied and filled again with a loud whack like a giant whip. She was tormented.I came on deck to find the crew on watch chatting. They had not really noticed the banging. I gave them a pi Read more:Crossing
, Transatlantic
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing #4 1970-01-01 00:59:59 ARC 2006 - Sailing Vessel Persuader Too.Log entry December 8, 2006 - Transatlantic
crossing, day #12.With his 18 years, Tom is the youngest of our crew. Thanks to him, our crew has an average age of only 45 :-). We do joke a lot with him, and often "threaten' him "to tell his mum'. Below is an invented letter to Tom's mum. Dear Mrs. Mallet,Greetings from the Persuader Too, now well on its way to St.Lucia. We were sorry you only found out that Tom was crossing the Atlantic when he was no longer available on his cellphone. Indeed, he did not stay overnight at a friend. He promises to call you once we arrive in St.Lucia.As all sailors smoke, Tom started to smoke too. He says hi and asks you if you have a good recipe to get the nicotine from his fingers.It took some effort to make sure he kept all his underwear, T-shirts, and shampoo in his cabin, as he clearly has the habit of leaving everything hanging around. Eric, our first mate on the passage from Hamble to the Canaries Read more:Crossing
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing #1 1970-01-01 00:59:59 November 26, 2006Just off the coast of the Canary IslandsDear friends,I arrived back in the Canary Islands two days ago. In the marina, all ships participating in the ARC, the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, had assembled. 223 ships from different nationalities. From 27 feet (9 meters) to 100 feet (over 30 meters) monsters. From homemade boats to big luxurious one-off designs. From competition racing boats with little luxury to standard cruising yachts like ours. The ARC is an annual event trying to assemble yachts at the ideal time of the year to sail across the Atlantic. The purpose is to get everyone safely to 'the other end', in a competitive way. The people participating are from all kinds of walks of life. Some are professional skippers taking their charter ship over to the Caribbean for the season (like us), with a random crew often consisting of people who never crossed the Atlantic before. Some are competition boats with a well trained racing crew on board. Some are families, m Read more:Crossing
, Transatlantic
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing #2 1970-01-01 00:59:59 ARC 2006 - Sailing Vessel Persuader Too.Log entry December 3, 2006 - Transatlantic
crossing, day #7.For days, we have not seen another ship and on Saturday, we passed a fishing vessel, in the early afternoon. All of sudden she popped up at the horizon. We locked her on the radar and observed she was not moving at all. It was a fishing vessel, which looked like hovering on one spot. We were speeding on our massive green kite, autopilot set to follow the wind, about 155 degrees off wind, a course that brought us heading straight for the fishing vessel. - is it not odd, that for days on end you don't see any other ship, and when one is spotted, it always seems to be on a collision course? -Anyway, there she was, just hovering on one position, not moving at all. She did not drag any fishing gear, just "lay there'. We called them on the radio, in English, No response. In French. No response. In Portuguese. No response. In Spanish. No response.. It was not until we raced past h Read more:Crossing
Logs of a Transatlantic Crossing #3 1970-01-01 00:59:59 ARC 2006 - Sailing Vessel Persuader Too.Log entry December 5, 2006 - Transatlantic
crossing, day #9.(The "mother watch' is a 4-daily rotating duty watch of 24 hours. The 'mother watch' crew is responsible for cooking lunch and dinner, and cleaning up the galley, heads and cockpit)The Mother Watch Rap.(heavy pumping beat).Yoh man,we are the mot-her watchon Per-su-a-der Too(Yoh man, watch man!).We've come to sail the oceanswith kite and gul-wing(Yoh man, sail man!)None of us cooks at home,but each of us now cooks at his best(Yoh man, cook man!)We take veg-gies, meat,what-e-ver has to go first(Yoh man, the chicken man!)And stand for hours sweatingin the galley.(Yoh man, galley man!)Chorus:Yoh we are the mother watchon Per-su-a-der TooYoh every four days, we are the mother watch on Per-su-a-der Too(Yoh man, watch man!).Breakfast is an opt-ionfor those that have the e-ner-gy,trying not to break-them-eggsbefore they reach-the-pan(Yoh man, pan man!)Lunch is a must,but light it goe Read more:Crossing
From Sand to a City 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Gianluca, ("Can you build it?"), the project coordinator, wrote:"Gianluca, do you want to come to Dubai for a few months to help us build a city?" is how it all began for me, in a call from Peter in Dubai."Well, where do I start?", "Can you send me a copy of the job description?" was the immediate response, like someone had already planned the whole thing. The answer sounded so simple I even felt silly asking.The job meant working with the Government on the conceptual and practical design of the city, the buildings, the security measures, the warehousing facilities, the interior design, the services to be provided, and, last but not least, the presentation of the facilities and services to other UN agencies - and introduction of Government Executives to humanitarian agencies' representatives.Now let's run through the check-list: this requires logistic experience (I have very little), architectural background (none), strong security know-how (very little), good knowledge of th
How We Conquered the Mountain 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Afghanistan, three days after the defeat of the Taliban.The UN twin engine plane was banking at 45 degrees, diving in circles as it dropped sharply from 30,000ft towards the landing strip of Bagram airport, 40 kms north of Kabul. We dropped at a speed that pushed my stomach up my throat.The pilot had warned us that this would happen. We had to fly over Afghanistan at a high altitude to stay outside the range of Stinger missiles. Only the airspace right above the airport was secured, so we had to descent within a circle of safety with one kilometer diameter. It felt like a roller coaster ride. And I do NOT like roller coasters. I kept my eyes shut, holding on firmly to the seat.Fayyaz and I were the two WFP staff amongst the handful of people flying in today. This was only the third UN-flight allowed into Bagram airport since the Taliban fled Kabul, three days before. Three days since the event that marked the unofficial "Taliban defeat' in Afghanistan. The first flight carried our Read more:Mountain
Blog: My Head Fell Off the Cabinet 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Things I have to say, part 1:I got this hat in 2002 as a good-bye present from the staff in our Afghanistan and Pakistan offices. It is an Afghani Chief's hat.A colleague of mine kept on referring to it as my 'ead. I understood 'head', and had no clue what he was talking about. "Nice 'ead!". "Gee, well, thanks, I had it all my life!". "No, the 'ead, not your 'ead!" Anyway, since then, I referred to my hat as my 'head'. This morning, it fell off the bookshelf, where it had been sitting quietly for the past few years. My 'ead fell down.. (and was nicely dented).Anyway, that is besides the point, also besides the point is that I got this 'ead at a party the staff threw for me the evening before I was to fly to my new duty station. That was just before Martin and Robert thought it would be a good idea to have a 'last one' in the Islamabad UN club, and they introduced me to Skone Aquavit. I could not remember much anymore after that. I do remember, I missed my plane the next mo Read more:Cabinet
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