It was a very unIraq day at Fallujah with kind of a misty rain and slate grey skies more characteristic of Eastern Europe (of course there it might be called summer weather). The animal life seemed out of character too. The camp (Camp Fallujah) is evidently on an old holiday camp built by one of Saddam’s psycho sons. I do not know which one.
I come to camp Fallujah with some regularly because this is where the generals are and because they also have a good big rotunda for meetings and conferences. I usually don’t stay overnight, but the accommodations are good. The rooms are pleasant, with real beds and furniture made of wood. Most importantly, they have computer connections on the desk.
The chow hall seemed very good. We had carved prime rib and some decent baked bread. But then the true ghastliness of it all was revealed. They had no Diet Coke. No amount of baked bread and prime rib can make up for the lack of Diet Coke. Lucky I don’t have to stay much longer. I can embrace the suck, but some things are almost beyond forbearance.