The Drivers Must Be Crazy

=== The Drivers Must Be Crazy ===
“Imagine you’re relaxing in your garden and someone comes in and starts having a barbecue.” Cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth, a pot-bellied Frenchman in khaki pants and work boots floats a metaphor to summarize the American occupation of Iraq.

I nod politely, not wanting to offend a man offering front row seats to one of history’s most intrusive foreign incursions not involving a declaration of war.

I am speaking of the infamous Paris-Dakar rally race, now originating in Barcelona and just called “The Dakar.” Jean-Paul was one of the more than two thousand names on the enormous competition’s 2005 payroll, and I sat with him in the scrubby Mauritanian desert on a blue metal trunk, under an orange beacon signaling the end of Day 11.

The cars, trucks and motorcycles vying for first place on that windy day covered 695 unforgiving kilometers of sand and rock in Mauritania’s inhospitable middle (“c’est pas possible!” a Mauritanian friend squealed while studying the route). Indeed, just hours earlier, two-time moto champion Fabrizio Meoni crashed nine kilometers south of Atar. A helicopter evacuated him almost immediately, but despite all measures taken (vehicles are stenciled with rider name, country, and ominously, blood type), he died one hour later of a post-traumatic cardiac arrest. This was the second fatality of the week, and I was blissfully ignorant of both as I waved childishly to the haggard drivers as their battered vehicles – strapped with spare tires, tattooed with sponsor logos, and bursting with navigation equipment – limped through the gates of Kiffa Uninternational Airport.

As an American living in one of the staging towns, I seemed to puzzle all parties. “You live here? On purpose?” was the vibe I got from rally employees. “You live here? On purpose?” was offered by many Kiffans, as well.

Good taste probably dictates that a comparison not be made between the second Iraq war and the 2005 Dakar, but I dare anyone to furnish justifications for this race that sound even remotely as reasonable as the case for removing Saddam Hussein from power in 2003. The spirit of competition? Innovation in off-road technologies? A poor country GDP-sized profit? What accounts for the 40 fatalities – not including locals standing in the wrong place at the wrong time – suffered over the race’s 25 year history? [UPDATE: As I write this, I am informed that a five-year old Senegalese girl was crushed by a service truck on its way to Dakar.]

Like all auto-racers, these daring and fantastically skilled drivers compete of their own free-will, and participating countries surely get some cash thrown their way, so maybe it’s fruitless to argue whether The Dakar is “worth it.” But what’s undeniably true is that at the race’s conclusion on Africa’s westernmost point, the competitors, crews, cooks, and cameramen will pack their metal trunks and head home, leaving the residents of North and West Africa wondering what just roared by in a cloud of dust. Not a lot of upside for the average Mohamed, but no one in the race’s wake wants to miss a peek, either.

=== Quotable, Notable ===
REVELATION, from one of my conservative sources in reaction to a media clipping parsing the 2004 election: “It’s fascinating to hear how stupid and unprogressive I am!”
* ENGAGED, Ben Birken and Sarah Berkowitz (Birkenowitz?), and Nick van Brunt and Eva Swayzee. Please try to get married on two back to back weekends late in 2006 ok?
* WELCOME, to Haley Eileen Magnuson, born 9.5 pounds (mostly hair) on October 29th 2004 to happy parents Dave and Jaime. Hopefully in defiance of Haley’s name I will get to see her more than every 76 years.

=== Luke Responds to the Brits ===
Getting letters to the editor published is not my forte. In 1999 the Berkeley student paper printed my rebuke about some local non-issue, and I might have pointed out a Super Mario Brothers flaw to the Nintendo Fun Club newsletter back in ’88. But otherwise it’s a long list of rejections. But a recent Economist article hinting that poor Americans no longer can become prosperous roused my national pride, so I decided to give those ironic ultra-moderate-free-traders a piece of my mind. Via AIM you can read it even if they don’t!

SIR – Your report describing the demise of upward mobility (January 1st-7th 2005) in America neglected to mention the higher standard of living that all classes of Americans have achieved over the last quarter century. While most Americans still face economic challenges, growing home ownership and luxuries ranging from hot water to microwaves to the internet in almost every home have enabled comfortable lives for millions outside of the top fifth.

As an American living in a low income country, I am reminded daily that the United States is still viewed as the land of opportunity abroad. A friend tells me of his recent trip to the US, where after completing a computer training program he earned $600 a week performing manual labor. Compare that to $400 a month for his technology job in Mauritania, and a relatively high cost of living. Even in this conservative Islamic republic, the most frequent question I hear is “how can I get a visa?”

=== The Pudding Code ===
I’m back in Kiffa just over a week and already I’m ravenous. See, I just spent two weeks on a Christmas Break Culinary Rampage. Within minutes of arriving in Nouakchott, Caleb and I lit out for Pizza Lina. “Hawaian Pizza, can of Kronenburg 1664 and a banana split, please, and just bring it all at once!” In Dakar my addiction was schwarma – gyro meat wrapped in a pita with veggies and sesame sauce. One day I had three from the same place over a period of 6 hours waiting for a friend to arrive. She got there two hours after the last schwarma, so, hey, I thought, howsabout a pizza and a carafe of wine for a little after dinner snack? Why not?

In France, my parents treated me to one opulent feast after another. Chateaubriand, salad, soup, chocolate mousse, and whatever they and my sister couldn’t eat was a typical meal. You can call it a blessing if you want, but it’s not fair that it takes Guinness Book eating habits to move me from very skinny to skinny!

One bright spot for the next few weeks: my sister gave me about a dozen packages of pudding mix. They are all removed from their original packaging and labeled with a special code, to save space, you see. Yesterday I prepared “BUTT2” or butterscotch 2 and ate the two cups of creamy calories immediately. That’s 600 calories with 2% milk to be exact, but I use full cream. As I write this I’m eyeballing the package of “CHOCOBIG” which yields three cups. Maybe after that I’ll give the stove a rest and try my “INSTVANBIG” – big instant vanilla for beginners. That’s a whole lotta puddin, folks.