My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 4

Operation Manchester

Manchester: n.; A verbal wager, most often accompanying a difficult task where an individual has proclaimed either they are perfectly capable of performing said task, or an individual is told that said task is impossible (and the individual or group of individuals is too stubborn to back down), that, if accepted, must either be accomplished or that individual is subject to a swift kick to the balls.

e.g.: “Hey! Gentlemen, you aren’t allowed to walk on that field.”
(aside) “Manchester.”

Thusly, a multinational, multi-agency, and multi-branch mass casualty exercise was coordinated for the express purpose of confirming that: Yes, we can, in fact, walk on that field.

Apart from that, I’m learning much in the way of the social interactions of the local strays.  They’re very territorial, unless the decide not to be.  They usually travel in power couples, and our particular power couple (Littlefoot – so named for a malformed foot, and Whitefang - …he’s a white dog, sorry, that’s all we’ve got) makes it a point not only to run off ANY dog that approaches the neutral zone, but any humans they don’t recognize. 

Littlefoot does, anyway.  Whitefang is the much abused husband that backs his wanting-to-see-manager wife.

Here’s a helpful google imagery map of the local dog territories:


1 – Fight Club: 3 asshole dog territory (that Whitefang occasionally stirs up trouble in to keep himself sharp).

2 – The Office: Whitefang and Littlefoot territory.

3 – The Edge of the World: There have been many documented sightings of multi-thousand strong murders of crows (always during twilight hours), shaggy brown dog, one very fast rabbit, dogs distantly related to Littlefoot, and Romanian Mig-23’s.  Between The Office and The Edge of the World, a neutral zone has been established that allowed the unchallenged passage of most non-native dogs (seriously, Littlefoot stops RIGHT at the pavement and barks).

4 – Stray Cat Manor: I have no idea, they congregate there.

5 – Roadie’s Playground: Solid black dog that loves to lay in the middle of the !@#*ing road.  Hence, Roadie.  His significant other has yet to be seen.

6 – Unnamed: Look, I’m not going to lie, this area is kinda terrifying.  It is patrolled by Scout (another possible relative of Littlefoot) and husband Fat Jack (and grimy and fat Jack Russel Terrier).  Every time I’ve gone through, Scout has led the way with Fat Jack bringing up the rear.

7 – Dusty’s Domain: There’s been speculation that Dusty is a mob boss in charge of the entire MK stray dog population, as his wanderings have taken him through every territory unmolested.  However, he seems to prefer guarding the gate to the airbase, attacking the tires of vehicles, running into traffic, and stopping in front of every car that goes through.  Also, he’s a bit of a rapist.

8 – Cat Country: With the exception of Dusty, no dog enters cat country.  I’ve seen Fat Jack chasing (or being led, now that I think about it) a cat at full tilt, only to completely stop and turn around at the border.  Part of me hopes that the cat was leading him into an ambush.

9 – The Wilds: From The Wilds, random animals come and go, sometimes never to be seen again. 

A - Espionage Proper, formerly Why the Fuck Would You Name This Icarus Park If It Isn’t A Park, formerly Icarus Park, formerly Holy Shit You Guys There’s Old Soviet Missiles Just Sitting In a Field (circa 2013): Apparently, it’s a scrap yard that’s counted as a sensitive area by Romanian intelligence, where the missiles, bombs, and discarded cockpit glass is sold to bidders (which I don’t believe because it’s been in the exact same place in the exact some configuration for at least 3 years now).  You may be asking, “How did you find that out?”  TLDR: Don’t take pictures of the bombs while dressed up as Deadpool.  They’ll charge you for espionage. 

**UPDATE**
- Littlefoot has taken up residence with Fat Jack within Cat Country.  She is definitely pregnant. 
- Dusty has not been seen in weeks and is presumed dead.
- We’re missing two kittens (Pink Nose and Black Nose) but Bitch Kitty is still around.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 3

Romania is a lot like Ke$ha.  It looks grimy from a distance, and you’re pretty certain if you touched it, it’d be sticky; when you get near it, though, it’s actually quite beautiful, there’s culture there, and art. 

Most of the time, at least.

This gives me both nightmares and daymares.

We finally had a weekend off where we were able to venture around Constanta (don’t ask about Bucharest, because fuck that place) and check out the Black Sea.  Having forgotten to bring my expensive camera, I was forced to use an iPhone camera, which, I’m not above admitting, works about the same.

The way in to the city was dominated with Soviet-era housing.  One of these buildings on its own was oppressive enough, but rows upon rows of them, with even larger structures housing hundreds of families, was terrifying for some reason. 

Eventually, we made it down to the beach.

The beach, I’ve heard, is topless in the summer.  In the winter, it’s the standard wind from the ocean cold.  Here’s a solid artsy shot of an actual rowboat that actual Romanians use to actually catch fish.  (there was a discarded beer bottle in the photo that we had to remove).

We hit a pier decorated in the latest of modern urban style.

Wub-a-lub-a-dub-dub! Am I right?

I still judge countries on their investment in infrastructure.  Roads suck?  Your country probably does, too.  However pretty this next shot at the end of the pier may be (and, it is), I had to remind myself that no one gave a shit about the condition of the non-touristy portion of the beach.  And, I reminded myself that by looking down and to the left, where someone had literally given a shit all over the pier.  Make no mistake, someone ate something undercooked, and we ALL paid for it.  Amongst the diapers, adult feces, beer bottles, and random trash, I’m pleased to say we only found one condom wrapper (significantly less pleased to report that we found the condom it once contained).

  Let’s pretend that all I saw was this lone sailboat instead.

Of interest, as we made our way off the beach, was this Romanian waterpark:

Made in the classic Fallout 4 theme.  Definitely contains ghouls.

If those were gas lamps, this would have been 9000 times cooler.

Further wandering took us through the town’s living area, where a lot of architecture was moored in Moorish design (you’re welcome).  Some of buildings standing have been there since the time of Vlad, with modern additions thrown on.  There was also an Escape House that advertised as one of the best in Europe (and which, I’m positive, if you didn’t escape, you were murdered and your kidneys were forfeit).

There were, of course, less than subtle hints that this city appreciated art.  While we started looking for somewhere to eat, we found this gem:

Not often you see a statue of Romulus and Remus.  No jokes here.  Legitimately cool.

As it turned out, this statue happened to be within walking distance of the local art museum (which was closed, our wanderings being outside normal business hours).

Just like Ke$ha; SHE IS A NATIONAL TREASURE.

If you’re wondering where we ate, we found a nice Greek place, located right next to a baklava shop (from which we purchased 1 kilo of baklava… and ate 1 kilo of baklava), located right next to a rub-and-tug erotic massage parlor.

Picture unrelated, I'm just a fan of Ke$ha.

-Son, for every one person that gets superpowers from a radioactive spider bite, there are 6 billion that just get cancer and die.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 2

1 November

Budapest

Left Budapest early this morning.  The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East.

Apologies to my crew for repeating that line many, many times over.  And, apologies to Gary Oldman for expecting to see his eyes in my windows.

Our crossover into Dracula territory was not to be long however, as our obligations lie elsewhere.  To the south, Marines needed us to provide entertainment and coverage of only the type we were capable. 

Throughout our journey from West to East, a singular thought remained:  Holy shit this aircraft is heavy.

The maximum gross weight of a Blackhawk is 22,000 pounds.  Accordingly, exceeding that weight causes all manner of problems for the structure (and more importantly, the transmission).  So, what does it take to get a few people, their bags, and enough gas to make it all the way to a castle bordering Maldova, Bulgaria and nestled in the heart of the Carpathians (…terrible, I’m sorry)?

About 22,000 pounds.

In keeping with the latest tradition of (aptly) naming our helicopters after Borderlands characters, it seems only right that 698 (the daughter of 697 – Mad Moxxi), an aircraft I’ve spent way too much time in, always has men crawling over and in her, and, as we’re out in Eastern Europe on our own, away from the family, a strong independent woman, I give you:

Loves cuddling, murder.

Ellie

-Absinthe is the aphrodisiac of the self. The green fairy who lives in the absinthe wants your soul. But you are safe with me.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 1

Halloween in Hungary

(Caveat: It's been some time since I've written, so you'll forgive my lack of usual wit and prose.  Much like a muscle - get your minds out of the gutter, dears - that will atrophy if left neglected, so does writing.  Bear with me for a few posts).

In the inviolable intelligence that is the Army communication process, I was notified, with what amounts to three days of lead time, that I was leaving from Germany to Romania.  For a total of two weeks.  What follows is the account of some of the more memorable moments of that three-hour tour.

Little did I… I mean, I guess I should have suspected, but I didn’t actually believe it’d come to pass, what was two weeks turned into two months.  However, I am not complaining (just want that out there for any interested party that happens to be reading this, can’t forget how much trouble I got in last time for posting something that amounted to an unfavorable opinion about the way things are).

We started out like this: 

I started in front, so I can’t take credit for this photo.  10 hours of flying across Europe?  No big deal.

What had never even crossed my mind, at all, ever, was the fact that I’d be in Hungary on Halloween.

This picture is in color, it's the country that's in black and white.

Papa, Hungary: A city of claustrophobia.

As dark as this place is, on Halloween, at midnight, we decided (for whatever reason) to wander through the streets of Werewolf Town right near Children of the Corn Farm and Why the Hell Are Your Tombstones Lit Up With Christmas Lights Cemetery. 

Plus this guy that just kept staring.

Despite Hungary’s best attempts to murder us (to say nothing of the Hungarian Army Barracks with bars on the windows – to prevent werewolf attacks, obviously – and the mattresses made of human hair, unknown creature blood, and the strangest racist scrawls pidgin English/Hungarian), we survived to make it Dracula Land.

Naturally (naturally being used in the context of expectation of continuance of odd shit), the first thing I saw sitting on the table in my new office was this gem:

I have nothing to add.

Anyway, these are my mornings now:

-I always knew she had the ability, to kill me.  It just never occurred to me that she’d actually try.