Sinop is a magical place. Now, before you sign the papers committing me,
hear me out. Over the course of a 23-year career, there aren’t many places
that are so etched in my memory that events, sounds, and even smells remain
years later.

There were a few for me. One was a gasthaus-cum-GI-joint in Herzogenaurach
that was upstairs.  I remember vividly sitting at the bar, eating a fantastic 
gulaschsuppe mit brotchen and listening to Katerina Valenti sing
 “The Breeze and I.”

Another was being at The Bull Run near Devens, eating that wonderful cheese
spread, drinking beer, and listening to a certified genius explain Kantian and 
Hegelian philosophy. Bart Wilson and I were going through code school (at 
that time the MOS was 1717) and we frequently went out together. Why, I don’t 
know. As I said, he was a genius, a lousy soldier, but a marvelous teacher. I 
was a high school drop-out before it became popular. My highest ambition
was to be in the Army and to make it a career. But listening to Bart ignited a
passion for learning that continues to this day.

And then there was Sinop. When I first saw it, it was shrouded in mist. Now, 
I think of the  Rogers and Hammerstein song, “Bali Hai.” But instead of its head
 “… sticking out of a low-lying cloud,” as in that song, Sinop was mysterious
and featureless.  Probably a lot of it was that that was my first experience in the East.
The sights, sounds, and smells were strange and, going to a new post, there was
a great feeling of wonder and anticipation.

I’ve tried, in the following memoir, to describe what Sinop meant, and means, to me. 
In many ways, I’ve failed, because you have to have been there to really understand
the experience. We didn’t  (I didn’t) have that fear of looking at a woman and being 
found floating in a river somewhere.   For one thing, at that time Sinop was really 
small and remote, and the women mostly adhered to the convention of wearing a 
shawl and pulling one end over their face when they saw a stranger,  so we didn’t 
really see them. Another thing was, we mostly stayed on the base. We didn’t have 
transportation or the opportunity to travel. When we were “off duty” we either were at 
work or drinking.  That sounds funny to say that when we were not working we were 
working, but that was the way Sinop was then.

Diogenes Station took its name from Diogenes, who, legend had it, searched
the world for an honest man. He supposedly was born in Sinop.