On the trials and travails of the NIC Crawl...

One of the cool things about being a secret squirrel on the NATO headquarters base in Kosovo is that there are a lot of international secret squirrels running around too. And in the spirit of international cooperation, all of us here have an occasional event called a NIC Crawl. This involves going around to several of the various national compounds, eating and drinking local delights, much the same as you would do in a pub crawl. That is, if the pub crawl had different food, beer, and liquor from various eastern European countries whose natives all wanted you to gorge on their wares. (Please note: except for NORDIC, the allotted time at each location was only one hour)

This was the adventure I embarked upon last Saturday night. I arrived late, because I was driving up from Skopje, but I got to the first stop, the NORDIC (Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, and Finnish), at 5:30, halfway through their stop. I knew I needed food so first I had a plate of reindeer meat, mashed potatoes, and lingonberries. Food in belly, I marched up to the bar and downed 3 shots of Finlandia vodka and a pint of Efes beer before the NORDIC closed at 6. I was on a mission.

The next stop was the Italian House (Casa Italia) and here I had some lasagna, a cup of sangria, another beer, and then some homemade Greek firewater that was a cross between ouzo and mastika. If you don't know what either of those are, consider yourself lucky because they are brews sent from the depths of hell. Afterwards, I had to have another beer just to get the taste out of my mouth.

After Casa Italia we (about 150 people) went to the Czech House where the Czech (duh), Slovak, Slovene, Hungarian, Romanian, and Polish contingents awaited us. Somehow I first went to the Slovak (I think?) table where I was forced(!) into drinking some pear-flavored concoction. Then to the Slovenian table where I had another shot of firewater, a Slovenian beer (Union - it's great!), and some Slovenian prosciutto. I tripped past the Hungarians and Romanians and ended up standing next to the Polish table where the friendly Pole offered me a vodka with an apple juice chaser. It was delicious so I had two more! Then I had a pint of Polish beer which contained 10% alcohol. Recognizing that I probably needed some fresh air, I stepped outside onto the porch where my friends were all smoking. To my surprise, a Czech officer sat out there with a hookah, an instrument with which I immediately claimed expertise and began to lecture the nearby unfortunates on its proper usage and function. Meanwhile, Radek the Czech went inside to find us shots of the featured Czech liquor, which had a cinnamon flavor reminiscent of Goldschlager. I had 4 and hated every one. Toasted, I stumbled to the French NIC.

This is where my memory begins to become a little hazy. I remember going to the French NIC and I remember what I drank (3 bottles of Chimay), but I can't remember specifics of the conversation (or diatribe) I set upon other than I can recall expounding on the superiority of Chimay to all other Belgian Trappist ales (the expounding of which was apparently done through much slurring of the speech). Even though I love me some High Life Lite, I can be a beer snob. After converting at least one lucky soul to the pleasures of Chimay, it was time to go to the British compound.

Was I excited about this? Hell yes! For I was sure there would be some Guinness or Smithwicks or at least some Newkie or Old Speckled Hen. None of that! All they had was American shite, MGD and Heineken. I had my fair share, I'm sure, but was terribly disappointed.

Nevermind that, the USNIC was next. Here is where things started to go awry. I remember the walk, I remember a fire, and I remember making Maker's and Coke (praise Jesus!) but I remember very little else. Apparently I danced up a storm, gave a friend an awkward man-hug, spilled drinks, and comprised the entertainment of a significant section of the crowd. This is what I've been told, at least, but details I cannot recall. Several women have told me how cute I was, whether they meant this condescendingly I do not know. Eventually, it was time to go to the German NIC.

The Germans! I assume they had beer but I cannot honestly say for sure. The two distinct memories I have were of an incredibly stinky cheese that was scraped onto some bread (it was delicious!) and of arguing with a British woman while making fun of her in a horrible English accent. I was later told by my boss that she and I almost got into a physical fight, but when I tracked her down two days later to apologize, she didn't remember! I wasn't the only one who made an ass out of himself that night!

You would think I was done, and I probably was, but somehow (and I don't remember this even happening) I made it to one of the bars on base for the last hour of service. I have been told I was there and held at least two conversations but I remember none of it. Nor do I know how I got back to my room. But I did make it and was surprised the next morning to wake up in my bed. And surprised to see my jeans folded neatly on my nightstand, my coat hung on a hook, and my sweater on a hanger. But I should not have been surprised to find the mess in which I was laying, which also continued to the wall next to me and the floor. Thankfully, my pants were dry.

Parents, please don't judge me. Brothers, please don't imitate me. As an American I had to put these internationals in their place. Just because neither they nor I can remember me doing so doesn't mean I wasn't successful. But it does mean I don't want to attempt that feat again for a long, long time.