Random Bits & Pieces

I have bought some things since I've been here. Five carpets, four camel skin lamps, three tables, two pieces of old brass and one set of Multan pottery. I am assured, primarily by those who sell these things, that I've gotten incredible bargains on them all. Each of the carpets was purchased at the vendor's shop and was selected from the hundreds of samples he'd unrolled for my inspection.



The four camel skin lamps were an impulse purchase made during a Vendors Day on the Embassy compound. As their name indicates, they are made from camel skin that has been shaped, then hardened with shellac and painted. There is no subtlety in this artwork and should I ever decide to open a bordello, four of the lamps stand ready now to light the bawdy rooms.




The three tables, a coffee table and two end tables, are made of old carved windows fitted with legs and covered with glass. The furniture maker also inlaid some brass scrollwork around the edges for an effect that I like. I had a choice of having them finished with a dark stain or left unstained and oiled and I chose the unstained and oiled option.




I bought the two pieces of brass when they were grey-brown with age and dirt. The vendor cleaned them and polished them and they look very nice, but I probably wouldn't have bought them if I hadn't seen them looking all old and nasty.





Multan is a city in central Pakistan where they make pottery. Samples were brought up to the Embassy and I picked out a pattern I liked and ordered a set of dishes. About six weeks later, my pottery arrived packed in a flimsy cardboard box tied up with yarn. I managed to get it home without breaking anything and opened the box. Inside, my seventy-eight pieces of hand thrown, hand-painted Multan pottery were packed in Pakistan's most plentiful resource, dirt. It took the better part of a day to get it all sorted out and washed and then another couple of hours to clean up the entryway to my house.




My tables have long since soaked up the original application of oil so I went back to the furniture shop to ask if I could buy some and oil them up again myself. I learned that they use plain old cooking oil, "like olive oil?" I asked. "Sure, but that's very expensive, we just use any cheap cooking oil." Today I'll re-oil my tables with some inexpensive sunflower oil and we'll see. My concern is that I'll be reminded of french fries each time I walk by them.

My house and yard are receiving the Phase III security upgrade. The walls around the property have been raised to a height of approximately ten feet and topped with long steel spikes. Concertina/razor wire has been added to the spikes on the wall in the backyard and the front gates to my driveway have been replaced with taller ones made from a much heavier gauge steel. All the windows in my house have had heavy steel grids welded across them and my wooden doors are being replaced with solid core steel. To get into the Embassy, you have to pass through delta barriers and 'man traps' and I'm half expecting those to appear in my driveway soon. If the phrase 'man traps' misleads you into picturing alluring young women in silk shalwar kamisses beckoning you forward, I'm sorry to have to tell you that they're a series of gates that open and close in sequence rather than simultaneously and can thereby trap a man trying to run through an open gate onto the compound. Even without these, my house is more secure that it ever was and I feel perfectly safe in it.

The flowers have bloomed and the yard looks great. My gardener has done a terrific job and I enjoy sitting on my front porch with a cold drink, smoking a cigar, looking at my flowers, reading a book and watching the birds fly through the trees. The only negative to this peaceful way of passing a Sunday afternoon is that there is a type of wasp, the size of a small airplane, that seems to be attracted to men sitting quietly on their porches. The first time I saw one of these beasts was when it landed on my book. When I yelled, the guards came running up to see what was wrong. I pointed the wasp out to them and they said it is a very dangerous type and very aggressive. I told them to shoot it. Apparently, they are more mature than I am and one of them killed it with his sandal.





At work I have been awarded the position of Parking Czar. We have 134 legitimate parking spaces on the compound and two parking lots just outside the walls that hold more than 600 additional vehicles. More than half the 134 on-compound spaces are reserved for one VIP or another which leaves roughly 60 temporary spots for the masses to use. On any given day there are anywhere from 150 to 200 vehicles scattered around the compound because anyone with a red (diplomatic) license plate can bring that vehicle through the gates. My solution is to issue exactly 134 on-compound parking passes and restrict access to only those vehicles exhibiting them. The powers-that-be are unanimous on two points A) my plan will work and B) I will be the most hated man in town once it's implemented. Perhaps that's why I'm getting the security upgrades done on my house. As with most things to do with the Department of State, where status is everything, to the great unwashed there is status in having a delta barrier lowered and the man-traps opened to allow them to park in the inner sanctum. The parking lots are guarded, fenced and barricaded, but they are not on-compound and require a walk of ten or fifteen yards to the pedestrian entrance of the compound. When the 134 spaces are filled, vehicles are currently left in fire lanes, in the motor pool area, against the warehouse, blocking driveways and over paths. Vehicles have been left in temporary parking spaces since the Eisenhower administration and would probably fall apart if the dirt were ever removed from them. After the permits have been issued, any vehicle found parked illegally will have one of my forklifts positioned with its blades under the chassis. The owner can then come and find me and wait while I locate the keys to the forklift and move it. I like to think of it as a "US Embassy Islamabad boot". The fun and games begin next week.

In a recent bombing that made international news one woman was killed and several of my friends and colleagues were badly injured. Our already restricted movements have, understandably, been further curtailed as our security measures have been tightened. A delegation of elected officials expressed considerable annoyance at not being allowed to wander through the markets to go shopping and even questioned our nerve. It is my unassailable belief that we could elect monkeys to replace some of our members of Congress without suffering any noticeable decline in the level of competence of that august body. Our people are recovering from their injuries in hospitals abroad.

The weather is getting warmer now and the Embassy pool is open. We also have a brand new Cardio Gym with state of the art treadmills, bikes and stair-steppers. I've got to begin getting some exercise one of these days so I'm thinking seriously of lying by the pool with a cold drink and watching my colleagues go in and out of the Cardio Gym. I think I'll use my on-compound parking permit to get a spot near the pool.

La Dolce Vita

The elections have been held, the current government has been voted out of power and has accepted the results of the polls, there was virtually no violence before, during or after the voting and the Devil is wearing long johns and earmuffs.

By 'virtually no violence' I, of course, mean by Pakistani standards. Naturally there were bombings in all the usual places, Quetta, Swat and the FATA, but these appear to have been unrelated to the elections specifically and were, rather, just life in balmy (please forgive the terrible pun) Pakistan. The local newspaper also carried a report of a wedding and the "three young women who were killed, on this happy occasion, while getting in the way of many celebratory firing of weapons". Rahman, you silly man, point your rifle towards the sky like the rest of us, you rascal!

In other news, an aunt and her brother kidnapped her nephew and "after torturing him for several days, slaughtered him in a terrible way due to her grudge against his father. They were only discovered as being the culprits after her brother let the cat out of the bag during dinner". Please pass the roti and daal and, by the way, we slaughtered young Amir this morning in a most terrible way, oops, I mean the curry is very good don't you agree?

Finally, in another part of the country a boy was eaten by wolves. "The young fellow and his mates were in the woods when they were set upon by a herd of wolves. While most of the boys made a good escape, Mohammad Saqib a slow boy, failed to get away and was eventually nibbled to bits by the beasts. When the villagers ran to the woods to rescue him, they were able to find only his clothing and some small parts of the boy". Somehow, being "nibbled to bits" makes it sound almost like fun...but I digress.

The elections were a huge success for Pakistan and represent the first time in the country's history that a government has been changed through a peaceful democratic election and not by military intervention. There are few claims of foul or vote rigging and, more importantly, no rioting or loss of life. For those of us who live here it's a bit strange, wonderful, but strange.

Several international organizations, citing security concerns, opted out of observing the elections. Our Embassy, however, fielded over twenty teams throughout Pakistan and observed polling stations from Karachi to Peshawar. The Embassy teams from Islamabad travelled as far south as Bahawalpur and PakPattan. Our responsibility was simply to observe the proceedings and make note of any obvious irregularities. Again, things went quite smoothly and we were allowed access to everything we wanted to see and reported very few concerns with the "Free and Fair" elections. Most importantly, to us, all of our teams went out, did their jobs and returned safely.

Leading up to the elections the country was overrun by representatives of the international media. You couldn't kick over a buffalo chip without two or three of them scurrying into the sunlight. Every night they stared solemnly into their cameras and predicted, with grave sincerity, massive bloodshed and loss of life in the days to come. With glycerin tears in their eyes they prayed that Pakistan might somehow avoid the inevitable upcoming tragedy and ratings boost. They oozed sincerity.

Surprisingly, the positive news of Pakistan's peaceful elections has received comparatively little coverage and the media have evaporated like a distasteful odor in a strong breeze.

I worked in the 'Command Center' and so didn't get to volunteer to take part on an observer team because I was tasked with keeping track of our people in the field. By 'people' I mean, of course, vehicles. As I explained to our drivers in all our pre-election briefings, "We can always get more diplomats, we can't replace the vehicles. Take care of those cars!". Here are a couple of photos of the Command Center which, admittedly, aren't half as interesting as photos of polling stations would have been.


We were in constant communication with all of our teams all day long for the entire three day exercise.


The cities represented by the clocks on the wall behind me are the direct result of some fairly intensive coin flipping.


This was the cake we had at the Motor Pool 'wheels up' Party.


My guys. The Islamabad U.S. Embassy Motor Pool team.

On a personal note, I submitted my bid list for my next post last Friday. In descending order, I asked for Rome, Athens, Madrid, Paris, Budapest, fifteen other cities and Suva, Fiji as a twenty-first choice. The way it works is that 'High Equity' bidders get assigned first and then everyone else gets what's left. My year in Islamabad qualifies me as a 'High Equity' bidder and I was fairly confident that I would get a post in my top ten, maybe even my top five if I got lucky. With no disrespect intended towards Suva, Fiji, I didn't really expect to have to accept my twenty-first choice and I only put it on the list as a lark.

The postings were announced this morning for the 'High Equity' group and, in recognition of a lifetime of sin and as penance, the Foreign Service has assigned me to Rome for my next job. The Church is already dusting off their "How To Do One Of Those Exorcism Things" books and many clergy are praying for my immediate reassignment to anyplace else. I'll go back to FSI this coming November to begin learning Italian (how tough can it be, I can already say "espresso") and then head off to Rome in August 2009. This will be a two year assignment, with one year as a Consular Officer and the second as an Economic Officer. The only problem with being told about my onward assignment this far in advance is that whenever anyone asks me about things I'm responsible for now, I just look at them and think, "Ok, but what does this have to do with Rome?"

You know, Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, were raised by a wolf. Ironic isn't it? I wonder if she ever nibbled on them? So, until next time, Ciao Bella.

Monkeys and Other Stuff

My hike in the Margalla Hills.

We are fairly restricted in what we can do with our free time here in Islamabad. We cannot leave the city limits on our own, walk anywhere, take any form of public transportation or gather in groups of more than eight. We can, however, drive personal vehicles, go to restaurants on the RSO's approved list, gather in groups of eight or less, hike the approved trails in the Margalla Hills and shop. This week I took advantage of the freedoms we're permitted.

Anywhere I've ever rented a car I've had to sign multiple forms guaranteeing that I would basically purchase the company a new car if the one I'd rented was so much as scratched. I've had to hand over my driver's license, credit card, two valid forms of id and several telephone numbers. Then, reluctantly, the clerk would give me the keys to a car that was, inevitably, not the one I had reserved. The car I had reserved at $19.99/day with unlimited mileage would always be unavailable so I'd be forced to take one for 'only' $29.99/day. By the time they finished adding on all the surcharges, insurance, and fees, I never got away with paying less than $100/day.

I rent a car now on the weekends and this is how it works here. It's delivered to my door on Friday night and picked up on either Sunday night or Monday morning. Whether I'm home or not on Friday, a car is left in my driveway. When I'm finished with it on Sunday I call the company and leave the keys with my guard. Sometime between Sunday night and Monday noon the car is collected. Then when I have time, I take a motor pool vehicle and run over to the rental office to pay my bill. I'm charged $22/day all inclusive. I don't sign anything and I pay in cash when I have time. Having a car on the weekend enables me to join a group of 'eight or less' that meets regularly in an ever changing location to play poker. Sometime early in the day on Saturday a text message is sent out to a group of regulars advising one and all of the location and starting time of that week's game. You RSVP regrets only and if you miss too many games, you're dropped from the call list. Theoretically, this poker game doesn't have to be an expense, but so far it's worked out that way for me. Without the car I wouldn't be able to make it to the games, so I suppose it's fair to add the poker losses to the car rental bill and, you guessed it, I'm right back up to $100/day!

We can also drive to the trailheads for the hiking trails in the Margalla Hills and we're allowed to hike on Trail No. 3. The Hills and trailheads are literally right across the street from my house but I'm not allowed to walk outside my gate or cross the road on foot. So, I get in my car and drive down the street, make a U-turn, come back just past my house on the other side and park in the lot for Trail No. 3. The trail goes up into the Hills and is about five kilometers long. I hiked it with three friends and it took us just under two hours to climb to the top of the first set of ridges. The Margalla Hills are the foothills of the Hindu Kush which are the foothills of the Himalayas; so, indirectly, I was hiking in the Himalayas last weekend and, I'm pleased to say, I climbed the shortest peak in the tallest mountains on earth. The trails are surprisingly well tended and very popular with many people in Islamabad, especially on the weekend. About halfway up the climb we hiked through a troop of monkeys who seemed intent on surrounding us. Some of them would play and pose on the trail and while we were distracted, several of the bigger guys would try to sneak around behind us through the bushes. I do not know their intent, but from the look in their shifty beady close-set little eyes I suspect they had villainy in mind. While we had them in size, they were our superior in numbers so we hurried along the trail and left the monkeys to plan their mischief around another group of hikers.






These monkeys are, apparently, not under the same security restrictions as us and they regularly walk across the road to root around in my garbage cans during the night.

The most popular participation sport for expatriates in Pakistan is shopping. Carpets, furniture, brassware, pottery and jewelry are the Big Five for diplomatic bargain hunters. One of the first questions people ask each other upon being introduced is, "How many carpets have you bought?", then they begin to swap information on shops and prices and immediately plan a safari to acquire still more stuff. I broke down and bought two mid-sized carpets from a guy who does a lot of business with Embassy staff. They are hand woven kilims from Harat, Afghanistan and have an interesting pattern that I find attractive.


This doesn't really do the colors justice, but it's the best picture I have. The golds and greens seem to come up better if you enlarge the photo.

So I say, "I have two, but they're very special hand-woven kilims from Harat" and the response, inevitably, is "Oh yeah, I've got a few of those and twenty-seven other, nicer, carpets too!". Like I mentioned, it's a participant sport. It becomes a full contact participant sport when we move into the area of furniture. There are several businesses in Islamabad that cater to the dip community's insatiable thirst for old furniture. Brand new antique pieces are being made in factories all over town as we speak. Old doors and windows are piled in heaps in basement stores under every carpet shop and people like me have tables and cupboards, chairs and desks, swings and mantle pieces made from them. Until I began getting the rental car, I was excluded from the Saturday hunt for treasure. Now I'm a full fledged member of the "I had an old window made into this cool table" Club.


The lattice work is from an old window and the bronze inlay on the sides is all new. The lattice work will be covered with a big piece of glass. My 'new' antique coffee table will be finished and delivered in a week.

There is a matching end table to go with it and if I want a second end table, "We'll find you a matching one by next week, Sahab!". There you go, antiques made to order. Half the fun of going to these places is finding them. One store is so hard to find that its location is passed on from one person to the next by taking them there because it would be nearly impossible to find from any set of directions. It is behind the PIA bulding, not the first PIA building, the white one, and then you have to make a U-turn on the 'new' Jinnah Blvd. and park in the front parking lot. You walk down an alley in the northeast corner and look for a small black sign pointing down. Follow the stairs down to the heavy iron doors and ring the bell. A man will look out the peephole and then let you in. Sort of like a speakeasy. You know what, it'll be easier if I just take you there.


This is what's behind the heavy iron doors. This store is called Tribal Arts and it's a favorite of the big-time shoppers. Lots of old doors and windows waiting to be turned into custom made furniture.


These old trunks are from PakTurk, another furniture dealer. I've been told that they're the next big thing. I bought my two tables from PakTurk.

One more thing the rental car gives me is the ability to just wander around and take pictures.


I go to Saeed Book Bank every couple of weeks because they have a great selection and a frequent buyers discount card.


The Faisal Mosque is right down the street from me and is one of Islamabad's landmark buildings. It's set up against the Margalla Hills so the Call to Prayer really reaches every corner of the city.


Jingle buses and trucks are everywhere. In addition to the wild paint jobs, they have these metal disks on chains hanging down in the back and on the sides that give them their name. You can just see the chains on this one below the license plate.

So, until next time, remember to drive on the left, don't pay the asking price and never, ever let the monkeys circle in behind you!!

The Week When Nothing Worked

This was the week when nothing worked. It started on the weekend when the car I was supposed to receive from a rental company failed to show up. Our Procurement Section has arranged to have a rental car delivered to my house every Friday evening and picked up again on Sundays. After ironing out the details all week long, I sat waiting for my first car like a kid on Christmas Eve. It turned out that the phrase, "your car will definitely be delivered tonight, sir" didn't actually mean that my car would be delivered that night, or any subsequent night either. Language nuances, communication mix-ups, cultural misunderstandings, gross indifference, who knows?

On Monday morning the telephone at my house died and, apparently, in its death throes took my internet line with it. That caused me absolutely no concern for two reasons, a) this sort of thing gets fixed very quickly by my able and competent staff in the Housing section and b) I worked an eighteen hour day that day and had no real need for either the phone or the internet. Senator Lieberman arrived for his visit and I spent most of the day working with the inevitable changes to his schedule. Islamabad received its first rain of the season and the cold rain came as a welcome relief in this dusty dry country. I spent most of the day with wet cold feet, but that's just part of the territory. I was a bit surprised when I got home just before midnight and discovered that the phone/internet was still out and I made a note to remind the guys to look after it in the morning. The rain on the roof was quite soothing and I slept like a baby.

On Tuesday my hot water joined the phone and internet in what was, apparently, a sympathy walkout. I showered with invigoratingly cold water and set off to work shivering but wide awake...at 4:00am. Our second group of visitors, three congressmen led by Congressman Mitchell, arrived and I spent the day shuttling between their schedule and Senator Lieberman's. I got back home just after 11:00pm, noticed that the phone/internet was still out, washed my face in wretchedly cold water and hit the sack. It had rained all day and while I slept my cold wet shoes were drying out by the heater. The heaters were warding off the damp cold and I slept soundly for five solid hours.

On Wednesday I had hot water!!, but still no phone and the lights went out, well technically they never went on. Sometime between midnight and my driver arriving at 5:00am the electricity joined the phone and replaced the hot water on the walkout list. I got dressed in the dark which explains the tie I chose that morning and left for work in a hammering thunderstorm. I got home late and the phone was still out. At least one call a day had been put into the maintenance folks and they assured me each and every day that it would be working that same night. They lied. However, someone had made my electricity work again. Unfortunately, the heaters were now in the non-functioning mode so the house was pretty cold but I climbed into bed in my sleeping bag and passed out. The rain pounding incessantly down on my roof was no longer soothing.

On Thursday morning I didn't give a damn. I got up in time for my 4:00am pick-up and began the busiest day on the schedule. Phone still dead, heaters gone, hot water (shamed into solidarity) now back on strike and, when I climbed into my waiting vehicle all the lights in the house went out as the electricity died again. Senator Lieberman left on an early morning flight and the rides to and from the airport were uneventful. Congressman Mitchell was due back into Islamabad from a side trip to Afghanistan in the early afternoon so at about noon we saddled up and headed back out to Chaklala.

They say it was the worst storm in Islamabad in five years. I was sitting on a highway in Pakistan in a blizzard not moving an inch. The drivers in our motorcade were very excited and I was happy for them, but we were not going to be on time to meet our VIPs so I wasn't quite as happy for me. We position expediters at the airport to assist us so I just called our man on the scene and asked him to meet the delegation, put them in the lounge and explain that we were on the way. His response was, "Sir, they are already here, they are in the lounge and they are fine".

We arrived at Chaklala thirty minutes later to learn that they were not in the lounge, they were not at Chaklala, in fact, they were not in Pakistan at all. They were still on the ground in Afghanistan. Language nuances, communication mix-ups, cultural misunderstandings, gross indifference, who knows? For the next three hours we received a continual stream of incredibly bad information. At one point we were informed that the Afghan controllers had handed them off to Pakistan but that the Pakistani controllers could not make contact with them. During the half hour that we lost contact, in truly nasty weather, with a small aircraft containing three U.S. Congressmen for whom we were responsible I instructed anyone who would listen to refer to my colleague Alex as "Second Secretary Whittington, the man in charge of this congressional visit" and to refer to me as "a low level embassy functionary" without using my name. Of course, as soon as it was determined that they were safe I became, "Larry, the guy who got the motorcade to the airport on time in the worst storm of the decade". I got home very late, I couldn't care less what was or wasn't working and I went to sleep. It had rained and/or snowed all day and my mood matched the weather.

On Friday Congressman Mitchell and his group left. I got up at 3:00am to see them off and watched the sun come up over Islamabad as we headed back from the airport. By midday my phone/internet was working, the hot water heater had been replaced, my generator had been fixed and all my heating units were up and running. My Vonage phone seems to have died, but I'll deal with that in good time. I had three hundred unanswered work related emails on my queue and most of the afternoon free to read through them.

From Monday to Friday I logged over 75 hours covering two very successful congressional delegations and a third, also successful, VIP visit. The guys who work for me took care of business and I ended the week in a position to catch up by putting in just a couple of hours in my office over the weekend. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining on the Margalla Hills across the street from my house. Best of all, the car rental company has promised me that my "car will definitely be delivered tonight, sir", so I have that to look forward to.


Sunny downtown Islamabad!


http://video.yahoo.com/video/play?vid=1767257

This is a link to a video I made about the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Arlington National Cemetery. The video is grainy and small because the file was huge and I had to reduce it substantially to upload it to Yahoo Videos.

Interesting Times

This is my front porch where I sit, read, smoke my cigars and relax!


Merry Christmas!

In Muslim countries the Christmas season coincides with the celebration of Eid. This celebration honors the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son upon God's command. After passing the 'willingness' test, Abraham was permitted to substitute a sacrificial animal for his son. Today, the Eid celebration, much like Christmas, involves family time, the exchange of small gifts and the sacrifice of an animal (or a badly behaved son). Goats, cows and camels are the preferred sacrificial beasts and there are two markets in Islamabad that sell these animals.

The other day I saw an article in the local paper about these markets and the high prices the animals were fetching this year. Goats were being offered at prices starting at $100! Cows were upwards from $500 and camels, well, don't even get me started on camels. Apparently, it's outrageous and the sounds of great and many lamentations were heard throughout the city. So, I thought I'd wander over and check the markets out. It would be an opportunity to see something unique and different and I'd try to take a few pictures. Prior to doing anything of this nature, we check with the RSO (Regional Security Office) to make sure it's okay. In the politest possible terms the RSO asked me if I was out of my cotton-pickin' mind and explained that the markets would be full of very disgruntled men who couldn't afford to buy the most critical component of their Eid celebration. Many of these men go about armed and could well resent having a Westerner wandering around photographing their plight. Under those circumstances, he explained, and because all Westerners are thought to be wealthy, I might just as well go into the markets wearing a sign on my back that read, "Kill me and rob me". Hopefully, this will explain the lack of some really interesting pictures of the animal markets on this posting.

The Eid holiday was Thursday and Friday and our Christmas break was Monday and Tuesday, so most of our locally employed staff were given a six day break. Because we were busy preparing for various visiting delegations and the Pakistan national elections, the Americans in the Embassy worked almost straight through the break. We were ordered to take Christmas day off and without that command, one Grinch or another would have surely called a meeting! Two of my colleagues hosted a Christmas dinner and invited thirty or so of us over to eat, drink and celebrate. The evening was a great success and provided some welcome relief from the pressures of preparing for our visitors and getting ready for the upcoming elections while attending to the day to day business of running an Embassy.

The following day (Wednesday) the first of our delegations arrived and we went into action like a well oiled machine. This particular group was headed up by Senator Arlen Specter and included Congressman Kennedy. They had a full agenda of meetings with various officials and dignitaries including President Musharraf and General Majid who is the new Chief of Staff of the Pakistan army. So, bright and early Thursday morning we hammered down the motorway to Rawalpindi to attend the first meeting of the day with General Majid. The good General thoughtfully provided a very nice room for the security detail, the drivers and me and we enjoyed his hospitality while the delegation met with him. Then, exactly one hour later, we were back in formation for the return trip to Islamabad and our appointment with President Musharraf at the Presidential Palace. It was a beautiful day so we opted to stand around with the cars rather than sit in the waiting room while the meeting took place. I'm sure you would be very interested in what took place in those meetings, but I don't actually attend any of them. However, I know from the people who do attend that it goes something like this...after greetings and pleasantries one or another worthy says, "blah, blah, blah blah" and someone responds with "yes, but blah, blah, blah blah" Then there is much nodding and shaking of heads and a few more "blah,blah blah's" It all gets summed up in the end with "blah, blah blah" everyone shakes hands and that's all there is to it.

The agenda had some free time for our visitors after their meeting with the President and I escorted Congressman Kennedy to the National Heritage Museum. It's a small facility on the outskirts of the city and is quite complete in its representation of Pakistan's culture and history. A Punjabi folk group played native instruments for the Congressman as we left and he had a great time. Then we escorted Senator Specter to the Islamabad Club where it had been arranged for him to play a squash match against a former world champion. The Senator seemed delighted with the competition and was in a great mood as we headed back into Islamabad so he could get ready for dinner with Musharraf and then a late night meeting with Benazir Bhutto.

We heard about the attack on Bhutto on the way back to the hotel and spent the rest of the evening trying to sift the facts from the rumors. As the truth gradually became known, all further meetings and events were cancelled and the delegation decided to depart the next morning. We took them out to Chaklala air base under heavy escort and saw them safely out of the country. Our return trip to the city was temporarily delayed because demonstrators had set fire to the road. For those of you interested in precisely how you set fire to a road, tires soaked in gasoline will do the trick. As soon as it was safe, we drove back without incident. The country was locked down in anticipation of widespread violence and we returned to the Embassy to wait, watch and plan. Later that night we were all safe in our own homes watching CNN or BBC. Communications with the States were nearly impossible because the sheer volume of phone calls and internet usage overloaded the systems here.

Things are quiet in Islamabad and the violence in the other cities has subsided today (Saturday). Bhutto has been buried next to her father in their family plot in Karachi and there is no indication as to whether or not the elections will go forward as planned on January 8th. The current debate on the local news broadcasts questions exactly how she was killed. Early reports suggested that she was shot prior to the bomb explosion but now the government maintains that she wasn't hit by bullets, shrapnel or pellets and that she died as a result of hitting her head on part of the sunroof as she fell back into her car. She had been standing up through the sunroof waving to the crowd as she left the rally when she was attacked. I suppose it's important to know the details, but the end result is the same; there was a successful assassination attempt on Benazir Bhutto and it has thrown Pakistan into even more turmoil than usual. Many nations have expressed outrage at the act and sympathy for the Pakistani people and the Swiss government announced today that it was dropping its money laundering charges against her...but would continue to pursue them against her husband. Hey, business is business!

I'll be back at work tomorrow (Sunday) trying to figure out how to run a motor pool without gas as all fuel deliveries have been temporarily halted by government decree. Maybe I can requisition some of those unsold sacrificial animals to lug people around? "Yes, Ambassador, the big camel in the front is yours, Ma'am. Watch your step and don't ruin your shoes in that pile of ..."

I've settled into my house and find that I like it more and more. It seems that, for one reason or another, several other diplomats were offered my house before me but turned it down. In fact, it sometimes feels like everyone I meet had a shot at living here before getting a place they deemed more suitable. For some it is too noisy, for others too small and for one woman it was, "not a place where a single woman would be comfortable". It is on the main Margalla Road, but that puts it across the street from the Margalla Hills and the afternoon sun lights them up beautifully. There is noise from the road, but not more noise than you'd find in any similar city. It has two very comfortable bedrooms instead of the six or seven commonly found in our houses here, but we are all here alone so how many bedrooms does one 'single woman' require? The furniture is Embassy furniture and, while very nice, is exactly the same in every residence, big or small. The yard is among the largest in our inventory of houses and has been whipped into shape by the gardeners in a very short time. It's true, I have a mosque across the street and the Imam leads prayers with an impressive sound system but show me a street in this country that does not have a mosque on every corner. All in all, I think my house is just fine and legions of diplomats to come can reject it again after I'm gone, but for now, I'll live here quite happily.


These are some of the bananas ripening on the tree in my back yard.


These are the trees I look at while I'm sitting on my front porch.


And this is the interior of my "too small, unsuitable, oft rejected" rent free house.

Fore!

This is a picture of the front of my house and my front yard.

Friday I hiked the perimeter of the Embassy. That meant walking around the outside of the compound walls with a security detail, checking the surrounding area. We look for blind spots between guard posts, evidence of tunneling, encroaching vegetation or cover and any other obvious security concerns. Although there weren't any security issues, I did come upon a family of wild pigs. A river runs along the back wall and, I suppose, these pigs were on their way down for their late afternoon paddle. They ignored me and I didn't intrude on their personal space. The boar was HUGE! I'm told they can be quite dangerous, but I'm a very non-threatening type so they left me alone. Interestingly enough, although pork is strictly prohibited ('haraam' in Urdu) for Moslems, wild pigs are hunted, butchered and sold as 'Mountain Game'. Perhaps they taste like chicken?

Yesterday I played golf at the Islamabad Country Club, Members Only. It seems that, as diplomats, we receive courtesy memberships and can play simply by ponying up the greens fees. There are no carts and we are required to hire the local caddies to carry our clubs. We also hire one or two fore-caddies to stand down the fairway to keep track of our golfballs. Our caddy displayed an amazing talent for finding the balls that were in the fairway but didn't prove to be so adept at locating the balls that went hither and yon. If I ever actually hit a fairway, I'm pretty certain that I could find the ball all by myself but I tend to lean more towards the hither and yon side as a rule. After I'd lost the third ball to the dense rough I suggested that he might try to watch where my ball was going, that being his job and all.  He said, "Yessir, but it would be much easier for both of us if you would just hit it into the fairway!" I've been playing golf for forty years and that simple solution has, apparently, never occurred to me. No wonder I lose so many golf balls. The weather was absolutely perfect for golf and I was playing with my own clubs, so most of my prepared excuses were invalid before we began. My caddy, Nassir, agreed with all of my club selections and consistently told me to putt to the "right side" of the cup. It wasn't until the fourth hole that I realized that the only words of English he knew were "good club" and "putt right".  He could, however, shake his head in eloquent disgust at every shank, hook and slice. In spite of my state of play, I had a great time and was surprised to see peacocks roaming all over the course. They are not dangerous, not haraam and probably taste like chicken. The whole day cost a little less than twenty dollars with gratuities thrown in. I think I'll play again.

Today we held the semi-annual embassy auction. Twice a year we auction off computers, furniture, appliances, equipment, rugs, and surplus items to the general public. The GSOs are responsible for the auction and I'm a GSO. We had a crowd of about 400 people show up to bid on 307 lots. We arrived at the site at 7:30am, the auction began at 9:30am and ran, non-stop, until just past 4:30pm. Every single lot was sold and we netted a bit over 7.8 million rupees, which is almost $128,000! It was my first opportunity to mingle with and talk to Pakistanis who were not part of the diplomatic community. We had very tight security around the compound we were using and the day went off without a hitch. Tight security is just a fact of life here given the current political and social unrest. The men, and the crowd was virtually all male, were a mix of small businessmen and odd lot brokers. We had a pile of broken stuff and assorted junk piled against one wall to a height of about fifteen feet. This was called the Junk Pile and it fetched the highest bid of the 307 lots. The Junk Pile went for 900,000 Rps. When we closed the doors and left, a group of men were gathered in the park across the road from our compound auctioning off the contents of the Junk Pile piece by piece. The next day we learned that the auction in the park lasted all night and the owners of the Junk Pile made a profit of almost 100,000 Rps from the resale. Here are some shots of the auction yard and a few of our customers.



This was the crowd gathered to bid on the big blue/green generator we put up for sale. It went for 610,000 Rps. You can just barely see it in the photo because a large percentage of the bidding audience is sitting on it.



This man is trying out a Stairmaster that the Health Club put up for sale. He seemed to be disappointed that he wasn't actually gaining any altitude no matter how hard he climbed. Frankly, I completely understand.



These gentlemen were quite willing to shout out their considered opinions to anyone who asked and many who didn't. Their opinions invariably fell along the lines of, "You paid too much, you dumb ....!".



Not everyone appreciated those considered opinions!



Nor did everyone find the auction to be a riveting and compelling experience.



I think Osama bin Laden just bought two used air conditioners, an office desk and a chair in reasonable condition.

Breakfast at BB's

As you may or may not know, Benazir Bhutto is commonly referred to as BB. She is back in Pakistan after fleeing the country to avoid prosecution on corruption charges. Nawaz Sharif has also returned (early) after agreeing to spend ten years in exile abroad to avoid jail time for his conviction on treason and terrorism charges. Each of these individuals was, at one point or another, the Prime Minister of Pakistan. Now, however, the primary difference between them is that I haven't had breakfast with Sharif.

Part of my job here is to set up the vehicles and drivers for motorcades. Last week we had a delegation of Senators, Congressmen and staff come to Islamabad for a visit and they required transportation to and from their various appointments. They were invited over to BB's place for breakfast and, because I ride in the control vehicle, I had to tag along. Among her many homes, here and abroad, BB keeps a surprisingly modest house in a typical Islamabad neighborhood. For security, the entire street is blocked off and only pre-cleared vehicles are allowed to enter. Our motorcade was expected and we drove up the street and pulled all our vehicles into her private compound which was actually somewhat smaller than my own private compound. Had she but asked, I'd have happily loaned her my house for her breakfast meeting.

While our dignitaries met with her, I waited outside the house in the rain with the drivers and security people. Quite thoughtfully, BB sent out tea and sandwiches to us. When the meeting ended and everyone was leaving, I wound up standing next to her in the driveway. I thanked her for the tea and sandwiches, opened car doors for assorted congress people and staff and we left. From BB's we split the motorcade and sent the staffers back to the Embassy while the 'principals' went on to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Again, someone, very thoughtfully, sent tea and biscuits out to the drivers and security people. An hour later we were back on the road and headed for ex-General now Mr. President Musharraf's offices in Rawalpindi. As the 'control' vehicle I take up the last position in the motorcade, except of course for the battalion of heavily armed police and military escorts following us. We made the run to 'Pindi in no time at all in spite of the rain and heavy traffic. High speed motorcades are really the only way to travel and I highly recommend that you acquire one for yourself.

At the president's compound, my vehicle was denied entrance because an incorrect license plate number had been called in. While the proper information was being relayed to his security detail, we pulled into an adjacent alley and waited patiently. No one sent us tea.

It took about half an hour to get my vehicle cleared into the compound and we were then allowed to join the other drivers and security guys waiting at ex-Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto's old house which is the building right next to the President's office. Zulfikar was Benazir's father and was hanged instead of exiled, which pretty effectively ensured that he wouldn't return early or at all.

The proprieties were once again observed and the President sent out tea and some very tasty little cakes. An hour later we were pounding our way back to Islamabad on the 'Pindi Road. It occurred to me that the drivers, security people and low level Embassy staff (that being me) really had the best of the deal. We received the same tea and snacks that the 'principals' got and didn't have to sit and listen to assorted politicians offer each other their deeply sincere assurances. Diplomacy, from my perspective, is all about the quality of the tea and cookies.

I'm getting settled in now and I've hired a housekeeper/cook guy by the name of Saqib. He works for a couple of people at the Embassy and comes highly recommended. He'll come here twice a week to do laundry, clean the house and cook enough food to last me until he comes back. In addition, he'll be able to run errands for me, let in various service people and do my shopping. When I asked him for a reference, he told me that Floyd Cable at the Embassy is his boss. That's a coincidence because Floyd Cable at the Embassy is my boss too. I'm still a little unclear on what I'm paying Saqib, but we'll sort that out later.

I only have my telephoto lens at the moment but I wanted to put in a couple of pictures before my yard is finished. I have a gardening staff now and they are hard at it, digging and moving dirt and cutting stuff down. They are very industrious and seem like pleasant enough guys. They assure me that my yard will be "bohaut hoob surat" which means very beautiful. I'm not sure what I'm paying them, but we'll sort that out later.

So, all that now remains is for Nawaz Sharif to invite someone to a meeting and I'll have an opportunity to have tea and scones at his house. I'll keep my calendar open in case his people call.




This was the Thanksgiving table at my co-worker Lita's house. It was an excellent dinner!



This is Sher Muhammad, one of my 'permanent' guards. Apparently, I have three permanent guards, three temporary guards and a reliever corps. I give them 'tea' money once a month but I'm not certain how much. This too will be sorted out later.



This is the gardening crew.



My front yard. I'll take better photos of the house and yard after my wide angle lens gets here.



These are the banana trees in the front yard. There's a bigger grove in the back.



Lastly, this, for my Peace Corps friends, is my always on, built in, hard wired, automatic water distiller.