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the silk road Sean-Paul, of The Agonist, continues his trip along the ancient Silk Road.
 Me [Sean-Paul] by the Seaside Missing My Wife Very Much! [In Azerbaijan] Glorious Samarkand When I approached it for the first time I was as giddy as a schoolboy. I took slow, deliberate, steps. I thought nervously to myself: “I’ve built this place for so long. For years I’ve dreamed of seeing this; for years I’ve thought of this moment. Will it be as I hope? Will my longings too see a place such as this, that most will never dream of seeing, be fulfilled? Will it be as I have imagined? The intricacy of the ornament, the audacity of the design, the sheer brazen beauty—will it all be there, as I had hoped? I was actually quite scared as I thought, “What if it is like the famous Qin Terra Cotta army in Xi’an—It was so far to go for such a let down.” When I turned the corner and took in the full measure of this powerful testament to man’s need to glorify the Almighty, chills ran up and down my spin like a thousand pleasant pinpricks. Sean-Paul has recorded not only the places but also the people including this chilling encounter in Tashkent
Last night I met some soldiers here in Tashkent for a little R&R at the bar of a hotel. They’ve been serving with a unit near Kandahar. I’m not going to say which unit because I do not know how many are here in Tashkent for the time being and I might get them in trouble. However, they were both bright young men. They had that sharp look that soldiers who have seen combat have. Eyes never really still, always surveying, even while ‘relaxing’. “So, what’s up with Afghanistan?” He stared at me. It was not a pleasant stare.
“Tell you what. Since you’re from Texas I’ll talk. But no unit or location talk, except to say Tashkent and Kandahar. Opsec, man. Know what I mean?” “Uh-huh. Well, all you really need to know is that it’s fucked. The pockets of resistance get bigger all the time. Of course the press is obsessed with WMD, Iraq and tax-cuts. They don’t give a shit about us guys bleeding in Afghanistan. Nor do the politicians. They got us into this crap and they aren’t giving us the tools to fix it. We CAN solve this problem,” he said, “as he slammed his drink onto the bar. “Gimme another rum and coke,” he asked the bartender. Turning to me he said, “They don’t even care about the guys fighting in Iraq. It’s getting bad there too. You want a drink partner?” “Sure, water, still—no gas,” I told the bartender. “What the hell kind of drink is that?” “Got a bad stomach,” I lied. “Ahh, yeah, that’ll do it. Reminds of this Afghani that was fighting for Hekmatyar. You know, the Iranian’s got their hands all over Afghanistan right now. Well, as I was saying, that boy, couldn’t a been older than 20, has a bad stomach now too. I put a couple of bullets into it,” he said, unable to look me in the eyes.
“It’s getting bad there. And Mr. Bush don’t give a shit. You got a phone number? I got a guy who might want to talk to you.” |