Wakhan Corridor 21

Daily run

We have just travelled the route visible in the photograph, looping around a rock stream, then circling back encountering the cattle.

The Russians say, "you have not seen the Pamir Mountains until you have been to the Wakhan Corridor." People here are mainly from Pakistan and Afghanistan, and have their own dialect (Makhfdir informs). They are known for their striking blue eyes and blond hair. Similar to the unseen brown bear or snow leopard, which roam these mountains, they stay away from us, having no interest in such visitors to their home.

Aziz's local music is a constant in the background. We negotiate for Eitan's play-list and try to explain Bob Dylan's "Like A Rolling Stone" and "Tom Thumb's Blues"; he and Makhfidr are less convinced by bands Deer Hunger, LCD Sound System and the Sufian Stevens.

The shopkeeper, below, is well stocked including Budweiser, something not seen since London. The local beer, Sim Sim, is 4.7% (reported) alcohol content and sold only in 2L plastic bottles for 30 somone - less than a dollar. It is very good when cold and safe to drink, while the tap water is advised not.

Shopkeeper 

Flour 20

Man with sickle, a common sight on the backroads

It is late summer/ autumnal and the villages, sometimes only four or five stone houses, sheer and mulch the (small) wheat crops to make the hardy bread we eat. It is back breaking work and the flour is stored for winter. Yet despite the baking heat there is always a right-hand-on-heart greeting and a smile. I also see the joy as they break for lunch or dinner on wool blankets with the women bringing soup and mutton.

Hindu Kush means "killer of Hindus."

Engles Peak 19

We trek upwards from Zong valley, c 3,000m, in the Wakhan Corridor, by a river irrigation to an alpine lake at the base of the mountains: Engels peak (6,500m), Moskovski Pravda peak (6,075m), Karl Marx peak (6,300m) and LGU peak (6,222m). Each capped by white glaciers breaking the endless brown lunar vista of the empty and desolate Pamirs. Around a bend, outside our view, is Lenin peak (7,200m).

On the 24km hike we pick up a healthy dog - I name him Mushka - who follows us to the lake rewarded by salami, salty sardines and hard bread. Mushka ditches us for the next hikers and all in a days work for his meal, I am sure.

At the lake I meet a solo Serbian and ask him about the Balkans. He is 42 and informs of being in grade school as Yugoslavia dissolved in 1995 and bodies lay in the street and man-of-wars flew over-head. Milosovik ? who disregarded NATO and, as a result, Serbia was bombed by NATO to prevent more genocide in 2002 - "He was a pawn in the operation and manipulated (by Serbia, I think). All countries were doing bad things in the war". NB Croatia is Catholic, Serbia Orthodox, Bosnia Muslim and the Balkans' seven country lines imposted upon them post Second World War creating a tinder box for conflict, which ignited following the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Mushka

Zong Village 18

German traveller

We meet two attractive couples (unmarried) in their late 20s/ early 30s, Swiss (German speaking) and German in Zong village in the Wakhan Corridor. The couples have been travelling at least a year, having quit four career track jobs to do so. Why? Why not, despite their advanced education they are learning and motivated by the journey, frequently re-routing on a whim or a conversation. Besides, there are always jobs to go back to in Berlin and Zurich, they believe. Given the ages, I ask questions about work, music and family/ kids which draws awkwardness especially from the women, who are ambitious, and - more so than the men, it seems to me - thinking about politics and the planet. We need them in the game - especially these women - as Germany in particular is heading hard to the right.

It is not lost on me that this crew is equally interesting to Eitan, looking forward 10 years, as me, seeing a younger generation in thought and action.

Boy in Zong village

Lada 06 17

Proud owner of a Lada

"Zero six!" Aziz cries as we pass the Russian Lada, model 06, which is from 1992 (I think). Aziz knows his Russian cars : Lada, Zhiguli, Niva, Moskvich, Uaz, Kama and Ural (to name a few I can catch).

The Soviet cars on the highway, almost always white, are sometimes moving or left on the side of the road. Many of these vehicles, and certainly the earlier Ladas, date to the 60s and 70s, and were the workhorses of the era. They are more romantic than the orange Hyundai trucks that are now here to take from the mountains (and sometimes make our passing tenuous). 

I have seen the Russian car roofs stacked a story high with wheat since the harvesting season has begun.

Better days behind

Qah Qaha 16

We visit Qah Qaha, a fortress located outside Ishkashim village, where we stay last night, bordering, still, Afghanistan (note, we left the Pamir Highway yesterday and are now on what is only called "the silk road").

The fortress was built in the 3rd century to protect Ishkashim during the Arabic period. This area connects Afghanistan to India, a key trading route for clothes, spices and knowledge on the ancient Silk Route.

The fortress stones are from Afghanistan, transported across the Panj River. A similar fortress, from the same period and with the same name, is in Afghanistan 1,000km from here. The rulers of both fortresses were brothers - Zangibor was their family name - and they provided protection for the price of crossing.

At the base of the fortress we engage a vendor who sells beads, cloth and local jewellery. We bartar a few things and Eitan walks away with an Afghani hat called a 'pakol'.

We meet a young hostess at a hot-springs - the mineral water is 50C after being cooled to this temperature by mixing with another mountain stream. I receive her permission for a picture - difficult to take photographs of women, I have found.

Pamirs 15

We pass military patrols somewhat frequently, walking the hw in camouflage fatigues, from cap to boot, despite the oppressive heat. Kalashnikov riffles are swung over their shoulder and they march in groups of 3-4 making no eye contact as we pass them by.

We race the sunset's elongating shadows as the road winds its way to the Wakhan Corridor.  We see the snow capped Hindu Kush for the first time, the massif towering overhead, in the far distance.

Kul Lal 14

Kuhl Lal (“ precious mountain”) is where emerald is found. Mostly only here, in all the Pamirs.

Russia 13

We meet Oleg and Alexei at a dirty checkpoint on the road - they are on motorcycles, in full leather, w panniers filled with travel gear. I guess in their late 20s and from Moscow. Oleg smokes a fag as we wait and talk about the road - they have been travelling from Almaty. Eitan is reading Dostoevsky, which makes a connection.  It is impossible not to ask the question on the Ukraine, and at first both reluctant to discuss the war but each against it. “The old people watch the news and they support Putin”, Igor says, “but my Grandfather has changed against it”.  I ask if Moscow is normal? “Yes, normal accept the politics”. Do people follow the politics? “It is only thing discussed”.

Both are in danger of being unexpectedly drafted, and Oleg spent last year in Sri Lanka but his mother’s health returned him to Russia this year. Alexei lives in Turkey - but no Turkish passport, he shrugs. I have the feeling he is not leaving Turkey any time soon. 

Botanical Garden 12

Botanical gardens

Giving the botanical garden its due, one of the most peaceful places I have been - from the placard : formed in 1940, 2,340m above sea level, its nurseries and plots have "tested" over 30,000 plant species from Central Asia, East Asia, the Himalayas, Hindu Kush, Crimea and the Caucuses, and North America. Today there are over one thousand foreign plans in residence. As for water, it comes from mountain springs, not the Panj river below, so it is an oasis above the city.

Eitan meets four local men one playing guitar. He is invited to join and plays a blues song for them. "They found it a bit weird", he says.

Morning gossip

Gamatkhona 11

Gamatkhona mosque, Khorog

The modern Shia mosque in Khorog - the Gamatkhona - was funded by the Imam Aga Kahn 4 who, I am surprised to learn, lives in Switzerland. He is 65 or 66 years old and, when he retires, he will choose a successor - most likely a son (I ask irrelevantly if the Oman's kids went to US private schools as I may have me one or two at Brown in the after hours in no state of affairs. Makhfird blanks me).

Practicing Shia pray every day, seven-days a week, at 4am and 6pm, filling the mosque with men and women who pray together (unlike Sunni). Eitan and I would be hard pressed in service at this early hour though not far off from the swimming practice of my youth.

Unlike Sunni, who pray five times a day, there is no call to prayer, which is so haunting in Sunni Muslim cities.

Shia: "the Muslims of the branch of Islam comprising sects believing in Ali and the Imams as the only rightful successors of Mohammad and in the concealment and messianic return of the last recognised Imam."

Makhfird 10

A botanical display requiring some imagination

The botanical garden, promoted to us as the second highest in the world, "is closed", informs our guide Makhfird. We are otherwise in a beautiful lush flower-filled quarter anchored by the president's dacha - an imposing property suitable for Knightsbridge (a guard directs me away when I try to take a photograph). President Rahmon stayed here doing Covid. While Makhfird cannot tell me what the president actually does, she does say that during the Civil War he called on Tajiks to return from Afghanistan, Russia and the neighbouring Central Asian countries where they had fled and they responded. He may be a strongman - or a propaganda tool - but he also delivered stability when the country most needed calm.

Our guide Makhfird is from the mountains and the first in her family to go to university where she studied in Dushambe. She says that her school of 5,000 students 'has maybe 800 women' pursuing history, medicine, linguistics and other serious degrees; her program - tourism - is 90% male. There are very few female guilds.  Here she is :

Makhfird

Khorog 9

Toqe

My hat - called a "Toqe" - is a traditional Pamirian headwear and given to me by Macfadir as a gift. The tassel is always worn on the left or right side.

Eitan and I breakfast at the hostel on a quiet Sunday morning. We awake stunned, per normal, and the coffee, everywhere, is Nescafe and sometimes the water is hot - but, in all fairness dear, it does the trick.

On the TV screen behind me is a kick boxing fight and Eitan and I discuss the uncivilised nature of this violent sport - even boxing aims at some gentlemanly nature with gloves, if not worn in Tajikistan.  Adding to the noise is the Tajik music which pumps beats around the room - to me, it sounds of of chanting prayer mixed to synthesizer rhythms - the patrons pay neither TV nor sound any notice. Last night a group of Russians smoked and drank at the bar and it is hard to imagine they are welcome here, now, but they are served and we do not join them.

Macfadir enjoys music but has never heard of The Beatles. Or The Rolling Stones. I ask, who then ? And her Western canon is complete with Madonna. What songs? "Frozen", which happens to be from my favourite Madonna album "Ray Of Light". 

Aziz points out his house as we drive through Khorog and I tell him he is a rich man. He replies, "I am a rich man because I have three daughters." (translated by Macfadir)

Tajikistan 8

President Ramon Nabiyev for life

Today is Independence Day in Tajikistan, dating from 1991 following the collapse of the Soviet empire. In Dushambe there are fireworks and military parades; in Khorog, where we are, there is nothing to report, just another day of living.

After the collapse of the USSR, and from May 1992 until 1997, the Tajik Civil War devastated the country as regional groups rose up against the elected President, Ramon Nabiyev, who remains President today and whose image is posted everywhere we travel. Against him, the rebels included liberal democrat reformers and Islamasists, supported by the Russian military. An estimated 60,000 to 150,000 people were killed with 20% of the population displaced - there was indiscriminate killing mainly in the southern region, our route this pas week - it is hard to imagine given how freely people here give their hospitality.

Khorog

Pamirs 7

 

In Khorov at a hostel, which feels like five stars.

Today we drive to Geisev Valley and cross the Bhartan river on a rickety footbridge, fast-flowing water feet beneath us. From here we trek to Bhagoo village, about 8km, to an upper series of clear lakes in a valley of towering mountains.  We stay the night in Geisev, a small village of simple houses, gnarled trees and fruit groves - it is the season and appleas and pears fall from the branches; blankets of orange apricots sun-dry on the stones.  Eitan and I count seconds on each on in the 4C river which we swim.

I learn that a Pamir house is built as a family effort instead of, say, buying off a neighbour. It takes about one year to collect all the materials needed for construction. As wood is rare here and the centrepriece of the house is wooden pillars, family planning demands long-term tree-planting.

Furniture is simple and the home protected with warm carpets and wools on the floor and walls.

Our room has a hole in the ceiling for a make-shift chimney.

Geisev Valley

Taliban 6

Friendly man on the Pamir HW

The Taliban, whose roots are in Pakistan (Quetta city), is not so big a subject in Tajikistan, despite being a river crossing away.  The Pamirs and Hindu Kush ranges make the Afghani border impassable for vehicles and people while a single dirt lane parallels our road on the opposite side of the Panj river providing a connection to the Taliban villages we occasionally pass along the highway.  I see the infrequent motorcycle but never a car and imagine a truck could not cross raising a question : how do these outposts exist ?

Aziz grunts as he points out a Taliban check point.

The Taliban ruled most of Afghanistan from 1996-2001 until the Americans knocked them out.  It began as a student led revolution (Taliban means "students") from the 1994 Afghanistan civil war and spread in the Islamic schools - it was Mullah Omar who shifted the movement away from the Mujahideen warlords into a form of government espousing an extreme interpretation of Islamic law ("Sharia") which resulted in massacres against Afghan civilians, harsh discrimination against minority religions and people, denial of UN food supplies to starving people, banning women from school, and the destruction of cultural monuments.

In 1997, our trip to Pakistan leading us into the mountainous Northern Territories was nearly killed as the Taliban destroyed the ancient Budha statues of Afghanistan and their nomadic armed camps, and refugees, spilled into the region alongside the KKH, triggering fear that all of Pakistan could be next. 

The Taliban did not disappear during the American occupation, retaking Kabul following the US departure in 2021. The Taliban is not recognised by any country and likely supported by China, Russia and Iran and others.

Panj river, Pamirs

Tajikistan 5

Afghanistan, next right

Nate in Dushambe is from Houston, age 46, and on the world tour for 15 months with another three to go.  Before, he was a criminal defense lawyer which comes up frequently when asserting his domain.  His itinerary is set by cheap airfare and friends to visit - he departs for Munich at Midnight (400 bucks) then Vienna (Indian girl, met on the road). He knows his travels and is detailed on the history.  Prior, in Islamabad, Nate stayed with the family of a Pakistani client in Houston - "we won that one with the grace of God", he says - who treat Nate like a son in their wealthy complex - he has been on the KKH and we have a natural discussion point.

Nate does not trust the government generally and his eventual terminus may be Mexico or Panama - he reasons their leadership is so incompetent it cannot be dangerous. My impolite suspicion is that Nate is running for something quite possibly more than growing up.

Tajikistan 4

Kalai Khomb friends

We spend the night in Kalai Khomb where I photograph these two friends in front of the mosque. They have lived only here.

The small village is next to towering mountains and the sometimes raging c 970km Panj River which drains the Sarez Lake, itself filled by glacier melt, in the Bartang Valley. The river is the natural border separating Tajikistan and Afghanistan.  Remarkably, it dissolves into the desert. Before it goes, though, water is siphoned to the cotton fields, Tajikistan's major export, since the Aral Sea went dry (watering cotton) during Soviet times.

But the Pamir Highway : it is a c 1,800km two-lane (sometimes) road that begins in Termez, Uzbekistan, and ends in Osh, Kyrgyzstan.  Pre highway, the route was an important part of the Silk Road connecting East and West.

The present hw began in 1931-35 under Stalin to transport troops and provisions and maintain his control here. Over many years, sections were upgraded to concrete or tarmac but, from around Kalai Kumb, it is mostly a dirt and rock road making for brutal driving.  Along with holes and ditches, we are 1-3 feet from the road's edge dropping downwards to the battleship grey river below.  Impassable without a 4WD.

My original plan was to cycle the hw, which I now see would have been dangerous and foolhardy. Firstly I cannot service a bike which is certainly an essential requirement. Then there are the passes over 3,000m.

As we drive I note the Chinese are in the midst of bouldering and eventually, I learn, will pave the full hw, expected to finish by 2025. Payback is the minerals and precious metals that can be delivered more rapidly to Kashgar than Eastern China where the people are. Chinese orange trucks, driven by Tajiks, create impasses and Aziz honks, curses and races around them without changing a facial expression, which is normally glowering (though he is extremely friendly)

As trucks approach there is a game of chicken between drivers (Aziz) dictated by the smoothest passage on the road - is a broken axel from a pothole less inconvenient than a collision ?

Road block

Tajikistan 3

We have a momentary scare when Eitan's visa cannot be found at a crossing control nearby Afghanistan. Happily, after a thorough search, it drops from his passport where it is naturally tucked away and found before I flash a wad of dollars before the police.

Two boys presumably on their way to school, no parents in sight.

Tajikistan 2

Masget Mosque, Dushambe

Tajikistan, as all C Asia, is a Muslim country, a religion imported from the Middle East in the 9th century. It is mostly Sunni (Sunni is approximately 95% of Islam) though the Pamir region is Shia - it does not seem to create any tension. Our guide Macfadir (female) is from the Pamirs and is Shia while, she informs, her friends are a mix. She is modern, does not pray, and believes that being Muslim means kindness of the heart.

During Soviet times from 1922-91, the USSR tried to prevent Tajiks from following their religious beliefs, demanding instead militant atheism, causing serious tension. Yet despite this, in 1943, Muslim religious boards took administrative control of the Soviet Muslims and some mosques were re-opened to ease friction; under Kruschev everything closed down again until the collapse of the Soviet empire. 

Today all religions in Tajikistan are allowed with 98% being Muslim. 

On this thread, Dushambe built the largest mosque in Central Asia in 2019 called Masget. The mullah who shows us the inside informs that the mosque is one hectare and the dome's peak is over 100 feet. Unlike the Hagia Sofia in Istanbul which was designed on four pillars ("elephant's feet") enabling a pure dome and extraordinary acoustics, Masget has 100 pillars, something I consider as the mullah chants in waling prayer to show us.  

Eitan and I are travelling with backpacks and cameras, little else. Some clothes, two kindles and The Lonely Planet (1995).

Our driver Aziz is pulled over by the police in the middle of nowhere and told he must pay a cash fine of 800 somone (about $25), a fortune, for speeding. He knows the officer and they yell at each other for 20 minutes, enjoying themselves thoroughly.

Tajikistan 1

Arrival, Dushambe Airport

Eitan and I arrive in Dushamnbe (meaning “Monday” , when the city was so inconsequential it was named for the market day; now, 1.2m people and the capital city) on Sunday greeted at the very crowded airport by our guide and driver for the next three weeks. This is a first time in Tajikistan though I have been to Central Asia in 1997 to tour the Karakoram Highway with Sonnet and my sister Katie. In effect, we will soon be on the less developed - and trafficked - Pamir Highway winding into the Pamir Mountains, much of which is along the Afghanistan and Chinese borders. It is the second highest highway in the world after the KKH and reaches a top pass of over 4,200m. 

Today we are in Iskander Kul, a substantial mineral lake at c 3000m in the Fan mountains, Northwest province, where we spend the night in a guesthouse surrounded by yak and goats in a partially developed complex. Getting here, we pass by the location where Alexander The Great rested during his seige of the Sogdians in the 7th c expanding his empire into C Asia. 

Also near us is gold, mined by the Chinese (of which, 60% goes back to China), other precious metals and coal - orange trucks ferry their black payloads on a highway, the M34, paralleling the Varzov river often from extreme heights of thousands of feet and no railing. We see a number of these vehicles broken down beside the highway and the loss of breaks is not worth considering. 

M34 outside Dushambe

There is tunnelling along the route and some of it is incomplete like the 5km stretch with no light reflectors nor road markings. It is pitch black and the diesel fumes render our 4WD's lights ineffective ; our driver Aziz double flashes trucks as they pass within inches. I anxiously anticipate Aziz overtaking slower moving cars but for the most part he curbs his urgency. 

At the Iskander lake we meet a young German boxer from Neurenberg, his trainer and the coach, certainly unusual as these are some of the only people we see in the Sogd district. Mattieu is training to be the Bavarian regional champion then on to the German nationals. The altitude and mountains go with his training and I learn that the number one sport here is boxing. I share a swim in the lake with Mattieu’s Dad - 7-8C by my guess. 

Young boxer from Neurenberg

Roger Waters

Pigs on the wing

We (Sonnet, Eitan, Madeleine and I) spend a perfect evening in Hyde Park watching Roger Waters perform the best songs from Pink Floyd. True, no David Gilmore, but still fantastic.

Madeleine grabs her ticket and bolts into the crowd to meet friends, never to be seen again. Eitan arrives late but, touchingly, wants to spend the concert with me and Sonnet and so he and I fight our way somewhere into the middle to take in the theatrics.

I bought the concert tickets immediately when on sale, having been mesmerised by the Pink Floyd exhibition at the V&A last year.

Summer At Last

Wimbledon

Madeleine spends a week interning with Susan Boster's The Boster Group, which creates sponsorship from luxury brands to cultural institutions. She puts on her professional outfits, purchased from the mall or thrift shops - very cool interpretation of office style - and out the door she goes at the (un)reasonable hour of 7:00AM.

Otherwise our gal is free - Free! - to do whatever she wants. 16 years-old and summertime.

Susan Boster: "So, Madeleine, are you ready for your Devil Wears Prada Moment?"
Madeleine:
Susan: "I want you to get me a strawberry and cream frappachinio with skim milk but with extra cream, crushed ice chips, extra strawberry swirl. And java chips.
Madeleine: "Can I write that down?"
Colleague: "We are only beginning."

Hamilton Lame

Busy week in London with England winning and all.

We see Hamilton at the Victoria Palace. I think I am the only person I know who hated it. I didn't care for the rap music and the production made me think of a bunch of tenth graders running around the stage. The black performers are wonderful, but what does one make of the 100% white audience ? Katie says I have to see it in New York so maybe I will.

A more interesting story is that at Brown, and again at Columbia, I connected with Jill Furman who produced the play - her first one, I believe - and boy what a winner. Jill never struck me as someone who was into theatre nor American history but stranger things have happened.

Jill and I had one memorable night on the Narragansett Docks in Providence around 3AM where we were flashed by the police and ordered to vacate immediately in the midst of a bust.

State Of Mind

Self portrait XXXXV

51 and not dead yet. I spend my birthday in Tel Aviv and play my personal occasion low key. 

Madeleine finishes the GCSE exams and, just like that, no more GCSEs.  Ever.  It's like a marathon : once the first step taken, it is no longer 26 miles. Our gal learns her marks, alongside the rest of nation's 16 year-olds, on August 23. And, my dear friends, the inevitable question must be asked : Who is more terrified - we parents, or the kid ?

Eitan for his part receives his AS grades which are exemplary.

Of Remembrance

Sonnet leaves on a jet plane for Denver where she will meet her family and mark the passing of her  uncles Shelton and Bill and father Stanfill "Stan" Stanfill, who passed August 14, 2017.

It is celebration of three remarkable lives that were formed from poverty during the Great Depression and delivered the American experience: Bill became a wealthy venture capitalist founding Silver Creek Ventures; Shelton created the title "arts administrator" overseeing the Los Angeles Centre of Performing Arts then President and CEO of Atlanta's Woodruff Arts Center, which he put on the map with the $200 million he singularly raised to build the complex.

Stan sought his own opportunity and adventure in Anchorage, Alaska, where he took his young bride, Silver, following a two week courtship. Their arrival well time for the Anchorage earthquake of '64 that flattened the city. 

In Alaska, Stan built his law practise while Silver taught at the University of Anchorage. They collected interesting friends like the Manhattan debutant who could skin a deer and did so for the family's winter meat. 

Eventually retirement returned Stan to Colorado's Western Slope, a place he knew and loved, where his days began - and ended - with views of the Grand Mesa.

Sweet 16

Concert chicks

Lola arrives from LA and the girls turn it around for the Beyonce concert at London Stadium in the Olympic Park (I am informed that Jay Z is not pronounced JayZED but JayZEE). Lola's dad is Beyonce's agent so the girls are front and center at the show. They return buzzing and I blast a popular Beyonce song which elicits a few discreet dance steps from Madeleine. A father's joy to see it.

Madeleine will spend a week of the summer with Lola and Bella in LA whilst taking a film writing class founded by Katie's friend.

Manhattan From Below

Times Square at 44th St

Times Square has been pedestrianised with several city blocks set aside for strolling and taking a coffee. I find a used book stall and buy Joan Didion's "A Year Of Magical Thinking" and Machiavelli's "The Prince". 

I recall Times Square's seediness when I first arrived in New York, post college and shoes shined.  The neon glitz failed to brighten the grungy affair with its rough trades and hard-core cinema. Still it was pretty damn interesting. Less so today with Disney, Morgan Stanley and communal yoga having replaced the peep shows.

Manhattan from Above

I have been making my travels meeting with investors and enjoying the trips. Here is an arial shot of Manhattan from a small jet to up-state Albany and a meeting with New York State Teachers Retirement System (TRS).

On the morning of TRS I am picked up in a taxi with two other passengers which is mildly annoying given the importance of the meeting and how far I have travelled to get to it. I strike up a conversation with the dude next to me who is returning home from his job as a school bus driver. We connect on the importance of his work - he is the first person the kids see in the morning, and the last before going home. This gets a nice smile from him. I use the story to open the Teachers meeting and the rest goes like a charm.

Over 50 Years And Counting

Gracie is going strong

Eitan: "Is Tesco's open tomorrow?" [Dad's note: Tesco's is a grocery store. Tomorrow is a Bank holiday Monday].
Me: "You afraid we are going to run out of food?"
Eitan:
Me: "Admit it, you were."
Eitan, laughing: "Yeah, I guess so."
Me: "The kid's a furnace."
Sonnet: "Stop teasing him."
Me: "At this rate of food consumption I am going to have to work another five years."
Eitan: "Really?"
Me: "We might have to borrow money from your Grandfather. And buy a farm to ensure your meat supply."
Eitan:
Me: "Want to move to Iowa ?"
Eitan: "Ok Dad you can stop now."

Almost 50 Years And Counting

72nd and Broadway

Madeleine intently watches a movie at the kitchen table on her iPad with ear plugs. Unable to get her attention, I space-walk back and forth in front of her.
Madeleine: "Oh my God."

In Pink

Eitan at 17

Eitan has his own look, which is expressed through limited options given the school uniform.

The boy looks good in a suit and here he demonstrates that pink is a solid option in the shirt rotation. I give him pointers on where the shoulder cut should fall, and the value of belt vs. buckle (English prefer latter) or the number of pleats (seven or none) and whether a serious man would ever wear roll-ups (cuffs) in Europe (Never). He takes it in like the wise man he is then ignores it all immediately.

Eitan selected Prefect, a position of leadership within the school. He wears a special tie.