Tactical strategy

I am quite tired. If only I had a nickel for every response I got during an interview that began with, "That's an excellent question." For anyone who has never dealt with public affairs officers, said response is euphemism for either "I don't know" or "I can't answer that." The German public radio correspondent with us said she would keep a tally when reviewing her tapes. My guess is that her total will top fifty times in two days.

Tomorrow I go to my less cushy digs. (The ones I'm in right now are very very nice. Much nicer than my little beach studio in Miami, although the lizards appear to have followed me here. Where I am moving is more like a college dorm.) According to everyone here I won't have internet on the Leeward side, so this is the end of my newly-minted Gitmo blog. I'm sorry I've done such a poor job of describing the scenery. It merits a great deal of effort: enormous windmills slowly turning along mountainous ridges, spindly guard towers perched on cliffs overlooking the sea, the massive labyrinth of concertina wire known as Camp Delta. I have also failed to write about any of the people I've talked to and the things I've seen. I need a couple of days to mull over some things.

I almost bought a child-sized t-shirt today that said "Future behaviour modification instructor" in the NEX gift shop. Even viewed ironically, it was simply way too obnoxious.

Expect phone calls. That, it turns out, is much more easily accomplished here.