Deja Who? Where?

What the...? Earlier this year a friend of mine asked if I would like to help shoot a "limited budget" documentary in a country that's been well and truly fucked by 30 years of war and a history of disastrous foreign intervention. Sounds familiar? Only this time the place was not Angola, and the friend was not the excellent Jeremy Xido. Oh no, the cosmic forces of the universe have decided to up the ante and conspire to send me not into a country like Angola that has been ravaged by a war that is thankfully over, but a country that is still being very much ravaged by war. This time it was the equally excellent Dr K. asked me to join her in making a film in Afghanistan, and this time about health care issues.


The day after my arrival was Friday which is kinda a public holiday here (Chistians do Sunday, Muslims Friday) so we met up with some Christian organization for a mountain hike. Out in the country, rocks and snow, stunning rugged terrain, with not a crisp packet or empty coke can to be seen (though the area has not yet been de-mined....) The incline was 50 to 60 degrees and the surface was loose rocks and stones peppered in the wettest snow I've encountered (think about a couple of million cups of white Slush Puppy liberally scattered down the mountain side. The climb was about 1000 meters, and it was fun for about the first 50, after which my entirely inaropriate footware - a pair of Nike Airs - were soaked thru and I was panting like some sick asthmatic dying animal because of the altitude. Meanwhile the eldest guy in the party - well into his 50's sprung up the incline like a mountain goat on crystal meth. The experience gave me the increasing impression I was on a military operation. But then one of the guys in the party who was former military pointed out that in the army I wouldn't be carrying a backpack weighing 5 kilos, but more like 35 kilos, plus a big fuck-off gun, and possibly under fire. Oddly this information offered me scant comfort.                                                                                                        


The payoff was supposed to be the "fun' of sliding back down the mountain on plastic bags. This was very far from fun,as the slush puppy soaked me thru, leaving me cold, misserrable and with the distinct impression I was the subject of some perverted psycological experiment into cold endurance. I ended up jogging most of the way down as that seemed the least painful way get back to the sanctuary of the Landrover. When I finally reached the hallowed vehicle, I stripped off my sodden 501's, wrapped my frozen legs in jacket and promptly fell asleep. Oh bliss!


Early start tomorrow, so more news and views later. It does get better!


Nighty night.

LOVEjim