Another quiet day...

I got up this morning in time to make it to breakfast at 8 am. Vitaly, the fellow who's generally working the dining room in the morning, told me that there was a party in full swing there when he arrived today at 5 am to open the place up. That was confirmed around lunch time by the irregular arrival of people in varying states of being hung over.

I was complimented (I think) on my French today. "Vous parlez bien," said the lone member of the French team that did make it to breakfast. This gives me hope for improvement.

Sergey called a few minutes ago with a work assignment. I'm to go with Doug M., the launch operations manager, and pretty much do whatever needs doing. It'll be good to get out of the hotel; this "standby" stuff can get a little old (though I did watch Clint Eastwood in Heartbreak Ridge with pleasure while waiting for a call).

My understanding is that we will definitely be leaving tomorrow, and that we will definitely be having a massive barbecue this evening. Eric, one of the Alcatel people, made use of my presence to submit a short list of ingredients and hardware to the kitchen staff... the ingredients would appear to be the constituents of sangria (just add wine), and the hardware requisition is for a vessel large enough to accommodate at least 20 bottles of wine.

I suspect the barbecue (and the sangria) are all part of a nefarious "scorched meat" policy that includes the mass spillage of wine to prevent any of it from falling into enemy hands. :^)

I'm intercepting radio traffic to the effect that Doug is on his way. More later.

Cheers...

Peccavi

So telegraphed a British general, it is said, to announce the capture of the city if Sindh (Latin for "I have sinned").

So I have, perhaps, but I'm not talking about Pakistan.

This evening's celebration sort of piffled out, with the Americans pretty much disappearing, and the remaining folks segretating themselves into French and Russian groups. The barbeque was hearty; the sangria, plentiful, and the Montecristo cigars (from some city named "Habana") were quite good, and the reason why the word "peccavi" came to mind.

I'll be spelling Olga tomorrow morning, as she has been felled by some sort of local variant of what we used to call (back in the 70's) "Lenin's Legacy," which is better known by Americans as "Montezuma's Revenge." The group's Russian doctor, Alexander G., is not taking this lightly, ordering bed rest for Olga and asking me to take her assignment tomorrow morning, providing interpretation help for the crew that's to load the cargo aircraft for departure.

Another member of the French team asked me, in a positive way, about my French and was surprised to find that all of it was due to my high school course work. Thank you, Mrs. Vamvakis. Though I'm sure I was as vehement as any of my contemporaries in cursing your very existence, you somehow managed to drill enough French into my poor excuse of a brain to allow me, nearly 35 years after the fact, to communicate with natives of la belle France. I'm sure my hard work had something to do with the current state of affairs, but I would not have done all that hard work were it not for you.

That's the funny thing about education. There is absolutely no telling how or where or when it will come in handy, but it's sure as hell nice to have it in the inventory when life comes a-knocking.

Somewhere between the disappearance of the Americans and the disappearance of the Russians, I spied a local dog hanging out near the back of the hotel. A golden retriever, if my eyes still tell the truth. I boldly stole a handful of pork chops from the pile of cooked meat and went to the back of the hotel to feed the poor animal, who turned out to be a female, apparently in suckling mode.

She greedily inhaled the food I offered her and I felt damned... I don't know... ineffectual? It's not as if my puny gesture meant any more than a fart in a hurricane as far as this dog is concerned, but I just had this overwhelming need to do something... anything. So I did it.

We all leave tomorrow, except for this one fellow who gets to stay another three days to dot all the i's and cross all the t's as far as logistics is concerned. I'm to be out on the street by 8 am. Doug hinted that I might want to keep my camera out, as the Antonov transport aircraft that's coming to haul all the French stuff out is an impressive piece of machinery. I tend to believe Doug, so my camera will be at my side.

It's late and I still have to pack all my stuff. Take care.

Cheers...