A Post on the Post

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We thought that sending a package from Almaty, Kazakhstan was pretty entertaining back in 2005. We’d heard it was relatively inexpensive to send from India, so yesterday we gave it a try.

We waited patiently in line as people crowded the window. That is to say, Indians crowded the window and the Western tourists just didn’t know any better, so we hung back with some mental tracking of whose turn it was next.

I knew the clerk expected to look through the contents of what I wanted to send and I wasn’t sure if they had mailing supplies there, so I put my small pile of clothes on the counter and said I wanted to mail them. I gathered more from other tourists than from the clerk, that I needed to go find some fabric, take it to a tailor to have it sewn into a bag, and come back.

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Claire’s Armour

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Yikes! My armour fell apart. The steel colored shirt that I bought back in 2005 is disintegrating. This is the plain grey shirt that shows up in most photos of me while we’re on tour; it’s my second skin. Though it has gotten softer with the nearly daily washings, it remains my warrior wardrobe, my shell. The two strategically placed front pockets hold i.d., money, notepad, pencil and business cards; with all that, there is no need for a bra. On the left arm, it has a stitch-witch repair from a bushwhacking snag, the same spot that a gypsy girl grabbed in Tblisi, Georgia and wouldn’t let go until Bob found me struggling and yelled at her. On the right forearm, I’ve stitched the placket closed, so my camera slips into the wristband and hangs out of sight.

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