Back from Iraq

Yes, that's right. I have set foot on Iraqi soil. Okay, well, that soil happened to be about a half-block from Dupont Circle at the Iraqi embassy, but technically I've been there. And I can tell you, it was hell. The temperatures in the embassy soared as the window-unit air conditioners struggled to cool the majestic, if slightly neglected, building.

But this was not the only trial we would endure. The booze supplies, sorely underestimated by our gracious (if teetotalling) hosts, were decimated in minutes by the hard-drinking Harvard B'school bigwigs and summer interns. It was obvious that this would be our only trip to the bar before it dried up faster than an Ar Rutbah oasis in July. Anticipating this, Kristin and I poured ourselves two glasses each. But it was not enough.

As heatstroke set in, I felt somehow connected to our countrymen who remain abroad, sweltering under the Baghdad sun. The second glass of wine dwindled and the temperatures soared. It was clear that we had to act fast to ensure our very survival. Parched, I turned to Kristin. "We have but one chance. I must find liquor before we die of thirst." She looked at me, the color draining from her face as the truth of our situation slowly settled into her consciousness like a heavy midnight snow. There was nothing left to drink. "You cannot endure this alone. I will come with you," she said. But I could not let her come on such a dangerous mission. True, she was strong. But in addition to her thirst, she was suffering from desert sickness. It could only be treated with with Sudafed, a rare herb from the See'vei-Es province. I would go alone and return with supplies. Somehow, I must not fail.

Struggling against the thirst, I weaved my way through the schmoozers and hobnobbers, desperately looking for a way out. At last I found my salvation: the portal to American soil, where I was sure that directions to a liquor store would be as simple as finding the nearest panhandler. My instincts proved correct - six dollars and five minutes later, I had procured the medical supplies required to survive another hour in Iraq.

I returned to the desert to find Kristen barely conscious. A true martyr, she had given away half of what little liquid remained so that a complete stranger might also survive. I administered the Sudafed and vodka. Yes - it worked! As the color returned to her face, I knew that we would win the day.

Photographs from the field. The extreme conditions we endured are responsible for the poor quality of the pictures. Or maybe my cell phone is crap.





With the exception of the part about the air conditioners, this is a work of fiction. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Thanks to the DC Harvard Club for organizing this fascinating and entertaining event, and thanks to the ambassador of Iraq and the gracious staff for opening their home to this gang. And of course I would never carry a flask on my person.