Maybe we passed in the chow line or PX.
The constant drone of jets, mostly PSA air, taking off and landing over our heads.
In August, the smell of jasmine or some other fragrant plant, particularly at night when the winds off the ocean would push in.
Chow line chatter as we left the mess hall: 'where you from private?'; then finding someone from your hometown.
Best 25 cent haircuts in the world!
All the ambulences lined up around the grinder and any other place where young recruits were known to need medical assistance.
First woman seen in over a month - a BAM!
Those guys that could not cut the mustard, and that would get sent back a week; watching them wait outside the duty hut with seabag and rifle, wondering if they will ever make it.
Graduation week, and getting to go to the base theatre to see a movie! Being treated as pond scum by the DI - which meant that we were moving up from whale shit!
As we were about to graduate, watching new recruits in their tennis shoes and un-bloused utilities, walking arm-in-arm, making cow and duck sounds.
The mass religious conversions after the first Sunday, when those not going to church were digging holes while we went to mass - the next Sunday church attendance was close to 100%; the DI's reference to Mormons as LSD's.