Pam, you'll be glad to know I went to Mass. Actually I went to church twice.

Church #1: St. Tomas. There's a brand new Catholic church going up in town, paid for by Catholic charities back home in the States. "Tomas" is how they say Thomas here. It is going to look EXACTLY like a church in Ohio: long nave, rows of pews, a steeple (the steeple is still scaffolding right now), statues of the saints in the side niches. Half the building has a roof so they say Mass in that half on folding chairs. The priest is an American. About 60 people: Americans from the base, a few contractors' families, and a lot of locals curious about the new place.

Here's the thing: the lights are a mess. Extension cords run up the walls and a work lamp sits on the altar. I mentioned to the priest after Mass that I was an electrician and he grabbed my arm like a drowning man. So I will be wiring St. Tomas on Saturdays for the foreseeable future. I'm told the Lord pays in blessings. The company pays in dollars. I'll take both.

Church #2: Ulan's church. In the afternoon Ulan took me to his family's church, which is the old kind. Now listen, because I didn't know this: the Christians here are Catholics too, in with the Pope and everything, but they've been doing it their own way since the Middle Ages, out here by themselves. It's an "Eastern" church. Different prayers, in Iradi and an old language. The bread for communion is flat (no yeast). They burn juniper for incense, which smells like a cedar chest on fire, in a good way. And the cross is different: no Jesus on it, little beads on the ends of the arms, and the bottom of the cross comes up out of a flower. And the women wear white headdresses and there are white ribbons tied on everything.

The church was shut by the Soviets in 1937 and was a warehouse for 55 years, and they only got it back in '92. There's still a painted-over Soviet slogan you can see on one wall if the light is right. Ulan's grandmother remembers when they closed it.

Ulan's mother came to the St. Tomas Mass with us in the morning, to see, and on the way out she said something to Ulan in Iradi and he laughed. I asked him what. He said, "She says the American church is very nice, but why do you need so many dolls?" Meaning the statues. They don't do statues in the old churches. I didn't have an answer for her.

Next Saturday (Aug 24) is their big holiday, the Feast of St. Janyl, the "Mother of Irad". Folks go on pilgrimage to the holy city, Iyik Janyl, way down south past the mountains. Ulan's going. I'm wiring a church.

There's an English-language daily here called the Talas Herald. Comes out six days a week, started in '93. I've been buying it every morning at the kiosk by my building for 1 som (20 cents). It's like a small-town paper that wants very badly to be a big-city paper, and I mean that as a compliment. Today's had:

• Front page: the Territorial Legislature arguing about a budget. Some things are the same everywhere.
• A long story about the pilgrimage to Iyik Janyl, with a map and what roads will be closed.
• Letters page: two people arguing about the new horse slaughter law. One says it doesn't go far enough. One says it's pointless because "no Iradi would do this in any case and the law insults us by suggesting it". The second letter was much longer.
• Soccer: the team from the oil city up north beat the Talas team. Ulan was in a mood all day.
• Classifieds: a 1984 Lada, a "good young Chongtor mare, calm, suits children", English lessons, Russian lessons, and "REPAIR OF TELEVISIONS ALL SYSTEMS".
• TV listings. And there it is, on IradOne, Friday night: Talaadagy Simpsondor. "The Simpsons on the Steppe." The Homer episode. Ulan's family has invited me to come watch it with them. In Iradi. With subtitles in my head.

They also print the weather in Fahrenheit AND Celsius, which I appreciate, and the date the European way (19-08-1996), which I'm getting used to.

This is why this page is late.

The phone company here is Attelkom. It's new, it came out of a contract to fix up communications around the base, and now it's rebuilding the town's phone system too. The way it works right now is: if your building is on the NEW Attelkom lines, it's as clear as calling next door. If your building is on the OLD Soviet lines, like mine, it's a coin toss.

On my line, about one call in three, there is an old lady already on it, speaking Russian. Always the same old lady. I don't know who she is or who she's talking to, but she's on my phone more than I am. Sergei listened once and said she is "talking about her sister's kidney". I now say "dobry den" (good day) to her and she says it back, and then we both hang up and I try again.

Calling home: You can do it from the base phones (fast, cheap, a line of 15 guys behind you) or from the apartment (slow, expensive, the old lady). Pam, for the record, from the States it's 011, then 996-39, then my number, then pray.

The big news is that Attelkom started dial-up Internet this year. I signed up. That's how this page gets to you: I type it up in Notepad at the kitchen table, then dial in at 14.4 on a good night and send it to my nephew's free web page place. On a bad night the line drops every time a truck goes by, and trucks go by all night. Days 7-9 took me 11 tries. If this page ever stops getting updated, it was the trucks.