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My mother, sister and little baby nephew are enjoying the annual launch of hot air balloons in Albuquerque, New Mexico this weekend.
From the looks of it they’re having a great time and Bannack’s enjoying watching the massive rainbow globes expand and take off as much as I did my first time.
Most of the local restaurants set up tables checkered with steel catering trays filled to the brim with all kinds of greasy fare. Meat on a stick, whole fried daily catch, fried rice and saucy noodles. If you decide to order six choices you’re served Thanksgiving plate proportions of food in a deep bottomed styro take-home container, a pair of chopsticks and one napkin.
I took these photos last week, when the market wasn’t as busy as I’ve seen it. It had just rained and you could feel the day’s wet heat rise up from the black top. The carnival lights strung from under the tents turned the surrounding night even darker. The abundance of choice makes it hard to decide even for an off-the-wagon vegetarian like me. I pace the length several times, considering my options, always gravitating toward the Thai and Indian food. Now, I don’t have the gastronomic capacity for a spade full of dinner but Peter let me in on an unadvertised secret: three choice, three dollar, which seems to me a perfectly good deal.
We found a spot up Garapan’s walking mall, plunked down, and cracked into our convenience store beers.
I got another photo drop from our man in Afghanistan. Ken says this one’s from yesterday’s mission.
From an e-mail:
You can take the boy out of the punk but you can’t take the punk out of the boy remember. Also, the SF [special forces] guys here have taken to calling me Joaquin Phoenix. I guess I resemble him. But I prefer my self given nickname: “The Butcher,” which is “Kasab” in Pashto.
I’m glad he mentioned the Joaquin Phoenix thing so I didn’t have to.
