Hey, Mister -

Remember that whole thing about being within 2 lbs of my goal weight? Fuck that. After traveling for 2 straight days, and then landing in a guest house with a full time cook and a lot of delicious nan, let's just say I am glad there is a weight room here.

The house I'm currently staying in was a UN compound, which is interesting because it was built to meet Minimum Operational Security Standards (MOSS). This means that there are some government agencies who are allowed to come visit the Taj (as we affectionately call it), who are not allowed to do things like, f'rinstance, go to the store without an armed escort. Which makes it hard to gather intelligence - cultural, military or otherwise. We have a lot of interesting guests. Thursday night the bar is open. I spent most of the evening chatting with some Blackwater dudes who were perfectly lovely people with wives and dogs, whip smart with a good sense of humor, sick of being in the field.

Unlike a lot of those guys, we can totally go to the store. We went today. Todd wanted to pick up a cellphone. A chinese cellphone. A chinese cellphone that takes two sim cards. And also can record video. Todd is what you would call a "power nerd."

Tim, our badass security detail, advised us that when we go afield we will be stared at. A lot.
I was in the circus, so I assured him that staring is not so much a problem. We were driven by the manager of the guest house, a local named M (I can pronounce, but not spell his name. I don't want to butcher it). So Todd and Adriana and I piled into the SUV with Virginia plates (most of the cars here were stolen. Also, most of them are Toyotas. Make of that what you will) and headed to downtown J-Bad, to the market.

I neglected to bring my camera, but Adriana brought hers. Mea culpa. Pictures later.

We parked on the side of the dirt road, weaved through sidewalk salesmen, buskers, begging children. It's damp and muddy right now. We took a flight of stairs into these catacombs - an electronics market. M led us to a specific booth - I'm guessing one run by his friend.

Now, Todd was in fairly native garb. Adriana and I, while wearing hijab, were also in sweatshirts and jeans. As we waited for the cellphone transaction to complete, we didn't just attract stares, we drew a crowd. In a subterranean space, this can be unnerving. A young guy behind me gave me a jostle - "Hey mister! Hey, mister!" I ignored him - unsure whether he was talking to me (he was) and not wanting to attract more attention. An older guy waiting in line told him off - so he came around the other side of the counter to look us the eye. "Hey mister - why you don't want to talk to me?"

I should mention that while there is a lot of poverty, and a lot of hungry and dirty people, there is a cross section of Afghan men who are wicked handsome. (M is one) And everyone is charming. Hey-Mister was young, maybe around 20 or a little older, and dedicated the next several minutes to giving us dazzling grins and slapping Todd on the back good-naturedly while Todd disassembled and inspected ten different chinese cell phones.

There was a dense crowd of around 30 folks - all men, all ages. Adriana took her camera out and asked M if it would be ok to take some shots. "Sure," he says. "No problem." As soon as she took her camera out, everyone was smiles and handshakes and posing for pictures. There was absolutely zero resentment or hostility. Everyone just wanted to make friends. Turns out Hey-Mister is an english teacher, attending university, and likes Mike Tyson.

We did head from the electronics market to the dressmaker, however. If moving quickly and subtly is of the essence, i want to blend. Adriana and I both got some highly modest native garb - the jeans and sneakers would be a dead giveaway, but with Todd's crazy beard I daresay we might be able to get a little lost in a crowd, if there is a need.

Out in the open streets we got some long stares, sure. But there was none of the claustrophobic mobbing like there had been underground. I guess it was a feature of the architecture but it was a strange place to land in the market.

The in-flight magazine from Dubai to Kabul, poorly translated from Pashto, contained a comic strip depicting the ten different kinds of beggars one is likely to meet in Afghanistan. It was sad, and funny. I'm pretty sure I saw some of them. Hell, I recognized some of them from Hollywood. But when we go back to the market to pick up our dresses from the tailor I won't be nearly so reserved. I am looking forward to shaking more hands, and taking more pictures.