written January 27, 2009
Incident Number 1:
I went to Shymkent this past weekend (the locals call it the Texas of Kazakhstan) for my friend Joe's birthday. On a taxi on my way back to Merke on Sunday night, I was drifting in and out of sleep. At one point the driver nudged my legs, waking me up. He was trying to open the glove compartment. He pulled a can of air freshener out of the glove compartment. He sprayed it in his lap and then liberally throughout the front of the taxi. As he was spraying, he smiled sheepishly and apologized. I was literally choking on the air freshener fumes but also partly as a result of trying to stifle my laughter.
My taxi driver farted. :)
Sometimes I think I'm thirteen.
when I told my friend Joe about the incident, he mentioned that he probably could have just rolled down the window and accomplished the same result, which I hadn't even considered at the time. But I think that the fact that he had a can of air freshener on hand for such and incident was entertaining.
Incident Number 2:
Yesterday, the weather was particularly cold in Merke. The kind of cold where your whole face just freezes and your eyes hurt from the cold. Because I'm a wuss, I decided to take a taxi home from school instead of walking (it only costs 40 tenge - less than 40 US Cents). As the taxi pulled over to the side of the road, I opened the back door forcing the woman who was sitting there to have to slide over. I was about to apologize for making her move, when the woman made eye contact with me and loudly exclaimed (in English), "I've been hoping to meet you! Let's speak in English". I soon learned that she was an English teacher at another school in Merke, and had obviously heard about the new American living in Merke.
It's a very bizarre experience to climb into a cab and have the stranger in the back seat know all about you. I hadn't even spoken yet (which almost always gives away my foreigner status) and I can usually slide by as Russian if I don't open my mouth. But this woman knew instantly (having never met me or seen me before) that I was "Merke's American".
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Toilet Works!
written January 17, 2009
I count myself among the lucky here in Kazakhstan. I have an indoor toilet*. And, while this may seem quite luxurious (well, to other PCVs) it wouldn't be considered such in the United States. But, like many other things, I have learned to appreciate the little luxuries here in Kazakhstan and I am trying to forget about my heated bathroom, jacuzzi bathtub and shower with water pressure (wait - just the shower period).
When I moved into my house in Merke, I was very aware that most homes in this town don't have running water. For my more intelligent readers, you surely recognize that this means no indoor plumbing. Well, sure enough, I am currently living without running water. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was shown the indoor toilet. With no running water... how exactly does this contraption work? (On a side note, let me mention that being shown how to "use" the toilet is a very surreal experience at the age of 24.)
Well, our toilet is really basically an indoor outhouse. The toilet has been placed in the entryway, behind a couple of doors that don't actually close. There are pipes running to the toilet and to the sink, but as far as I'm concerned, they serve no purpose. To "flush" the toilet, there are two handy buckets (which we regularly fill with water). You simply pour the water into the pot (no, not the tank) and it magically "flushes" the contents. Now, to the average American, this might seem slightly savage, but the alternative is the wooden structure about 20 yards from the door covering a hole in our yard. In the winter, when we have a significant amount of snow on the ground, this slightly chilly toilet in the entryway is greatly appreciated, especially after being forced to drink at least three cups of tea before bed.
Imagine my surprise, when my host mom mentions something about the toilet working during our fragmented dinner "conversation" last night. As far as I was concerned, the toilet had always been "working" just fine. Responding to the look of confusion on my face, we took a little field trip to the toilet. She pushed the flusher on top of the tank and Ta-Da! the toilet flushed. She pointed at the pipe leading to the toilet and said something about water. Now, don't ask me where the water comes from, in a house with no indoor plumbing? This is a question for another day, or another year (depending on the progression of my Russian language skills).
But, as of yesterday we officially have a toilet that flushes without involving me carrying a bucket full of water through the house. I'm under the impression that this magical flushing capability I have grown so unaccustomed to is temporary and that at any moment the water will no longer exist. This leads me to feel as though I should take advantage of the toilet situation as much as possible having been granted such a luxury. As a result, I find myself drinking more than my average three cups of tea at any one sitting. I mean, how cool is it that I can simply push a button and the contents of the toilet are replaced with clear water? Pretty freaking cool!
*Talking about bathroom issues is no longer something that we PCVs consider "unapproachable territory". I apologize to my readers who find such topics displeasing. But trust me when I tell you that this is one of the most tasteful bathroom antics I could share. :)
I count myself among the lucky here in Kazakhstan. I have an indoor toilet*. And, while this may seem quite luxurious (well, to other PCVs) it wouldn't be considered such in the United States. But, like many other things, I have learned to appreciate the little luxuries here in Kazakhstan and I am trying to forget about my heated bathroom, jacuzzi bathtub and shower with water pressure (wait - just the shower period).
When I moved into my house in Merke, I was very aware that most homes in this town don't have running water. For my more intelligent readers, you surely recognize that this means no indoor plumbing. Well, sure enough, I am currently living without running water. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was shown the indoor toilet. With no running water... how exactly does this contraption work? (On a side note, let me mention that being shown how to "use" the toilet is a very surreal experience at the age of 24.)
Well, our toilet is really basically an indoor outhouse. The toilet has been placed in the entryway, behind a couple of doors that don't actually close. There are pipes running to the toilet and to the sink, but as far as I'm concerned, they serve no purpose. To "flush" the toilet, there are two handy buckets (which we regularly fill with water). You simply pour the water into the pot (no, not the tank) and it magically "flushes" the contents. Now, to the average American, this might seem slightly savage, but the alternative is the wooden structure about 20 yards from the door covering a hole in our yard. In the winter, when we have a significant amount of snow on the ground, this slightly chilly toilet in the entryway is greatly appreciated, especially after being forced to drink at least three cups of tea before bed.
Imagine my surprise, when my host mom mentions something about the toilet working during our fragmented dinner "conversation" last night. As far as I was concerned, the toilet had always been "working" just fine. Responding to the look of confusion on my face, we took a little field trip to the toilet. She pushed the flusher on top of the tank and Ta-Da! the toilet flushed. She pointed at the pipe leading to the toilet and said something about water. Now, don't ask me where the water comes from, in a house with no indoor plumbing? This is a question for another day, or another year (depending on the progression of my Russian language skills).
But, as of yesterday we officially have a toilet that flushes without involving me carrying a bucket full of water through the house. I'm under the impression that this magical flushing capability I have grown so unaccustomed to is temporary and that at any moment the water will no longer exist. This leads me to feel as though I should take advantage of the toilet situation as much as possible having been granted such a luxury. As a result, I find myself drinking more than my average three cups of tea at any one sitting. I mean, how cool is it that I can simply push a button and the contents of the toilet are replaced with clear water? Pretty freaking cool!
*Talking about bathroom issues is no longer something that we PCVs consider "unapproachable territory". I apologize to my readers who find such topics displeasing. But trust me when I tell you that this is one of the most tasteful bathroom antics I could share. :)
Craft Scissors
written January 17, 2009
One afternoon, after three months in Kazakhstan, I made a drastic decision. I took a pair of craft scissors (purchased at the local bazaar) to my head. I hadn't realized how long my hair had gotten until I saw it all lying on the ground around my feet. Yes, that's right, I cut my own hair with craft scissors. I didn't even really think about it. It wasn't something I had been planning. I just looked at the ends of my hair, which desperately needed to be cut, knew that I wasn't going to be going to a hair salon any time in the near future and so I picked up my scissors (usually reserved for school projects).
I think when it was all said and done I cut off about two inches. I felt THAT immediately. I didn't mean to cut off so much, but I'm not exactly a hair stylist... But now, two months later, my hair is actually really healthy. Maybe it's all the grease from only being able to wash it twice a week. Who knows? But, I don't have any split ends. I'm thinking maybe I will become my own hair stylist while in Kazakhstan.
I won't lie... a lot of this has to do with the fact that there are some pretty drastic hair styles going on in Kazakhstan at the moment. There's Dima Bilan (Google him if you get a chance). He's the "Russian Idol" winner - basically Russia's Kelly Clarkson. He sings in English and Russian, and he's really popular among the younger kids in Kazakhstan. But his hair... It's like a partial mullet, but he's made it "fashionable" simply by being famous. So, boys in Kazakhstan have started growing out the back of their hair to look like Dima Bilan. It's hideous.
The other popular hairstyle among boys that I've noticed is the shaved head with bangs. Yes, at first I thought I was just seeing things, but no. One day, in Almalybak, my host brother came home and he had obviously just had a hair cut. It was shorter all over, except right in the front. I kind of thought that maybe the hair stylist had just missed that section. Stupid me. Now I see it on a lot of my students. It's this short cut all over and then in the front, right above the forehead, it fades into "bangs". I'll try to get a picture, but as I'm sure you can imagine it's quite awful.
For girls, it's not quite so bad. But, just as a general rule nothing ever looks even. One side tends to be longer than the other, or the top is shorter than the bottom. This obviously isn't true of every girl in Kazakhstan, these are just the trends that I notice and secretly fear. As a result, I haven't asked about a hair salon in Merke. I'm simply not interested. For now, me and my craft scissors are a great pair. But next time I'll try not to cut off so much...
One afternoon, after three months in Kazakhstan, I made a drastic decision. I took a pair of craft scissors (purchased at the local bazaar) to my head. I hadn't realized how long my hair had gotten until I saw it all lying on the ground around my feet. Yes, that's right, I cut my own hair with craft scissors. I didn't even really think about it. It wasn't something I had been planning. I just looked at the ends of my hair, which desperately needed to be cut, knew that I wasn't going to be going to a hair salon any time in the near future and so I picked up my scissors (usually reserved for school projects).
I think when it was all said and done I cut off about two inches. I felt THAT immediately. I didn't mean to cut off so much, but I'm not exactly a hair stylist... But now, two months later, my hair is actually really healthy. Maybe it's all the grease from only being able to wash it twice a week. Who knows? But, I don't have any split ends. I'm thinking maybe I will become my own hair stylist while in Kazakhstan.
I won't lie... a lot of this has to do with the fact that there are some pretty drastic hair styles going on in Kazakhstan at the moment. There's Dima Bilan (Google him if you get a chance). He's the "Russian Idol" winner - basically Russia's Kelly Clarkson. He sings in English and Russian, and he's really popular among the younger kids in Kazakhstan. But his hair... It's like a partial mullet, but he's made it "fashionable" simply by being famous. So, boys in Kazakhstan have started growing out the back of their hair to look like Dima Bilan. It's hideous.
The other popular hairstyle among boys that I've noticed is the shaved head with bangs. Yes, at first I thought I was just seeing things, but no. One day, in Almalybak, my host brother came home and he had obviously just had a hair cut. It was shorter all over, except right in the front. I kind of thought that maybe the hair stylist had just missed that section. Stupid me. Now I see it on a lot of my students. It's this short cut all over and then in the front, right above the forehead, it fades into "bangs". I'll try to get a picture, but as I'm sure you can imagine it's quite awful.
For girls, it's not quite so bad. But, just as a general rule nothing ever looks even. One side tends to be longer than the other, or the top is shorter than the bottom. This obviously isn't true of every girl in Kazakhstan, these are just the trends that I notice and secretly fear. As a result, I haven't asked about a hair salon in Merke. I'm simply not interested. For now, me and my craft scissors are a great pair. But next time I'll try not to cut off so much...
Bambi
written January 17, 2009
Something they don't teach you during PST (Pre-Service Training): how to walk on the ice like the locals.
In the South of Kazakhstan, when we have sunny days the well-travelled snow will melt just enough to freeze overnight into a smooth sheet of ice. The walking paths become beautifully smooth ice skating rinks. The locals are unfazed by these trecherous paths. Women wear tall stiletto heels and glide elegantly across these ice patches. Children run and slide across them like Olympic athletes. Us Americans, well to put it gently, we're less elegant.
I've now fallen (like REALLY fallen - this does not include flailing or stumbling) three times this winter. One of these times was particularly impressive. Last week I was walking to school and I came across what used to be a couple of steps. In this season, they are covered in snow and ice and form a sort of "ramp". I hesitated, as my brain was struggling to think up the best solution for traversing this downward ramp of ice. I noticed an old babuskha (grandmother) coming my way, and wanting to blend in with the locals so I quieted my thoughts and hurriedly decided that maybe "quickly" was the best solution. If I tried to actually gingerly step down this ramp, I would surely fall as there was absolutely no foothold for these steps of mine. But, if I quickly scampered down the ramp I might be able to avoid slipping.
I went for it.
Unfortunately, on my very first movement I slipped. I now had all of my weight on a single limb that was sliding (not even remotely resembling grace) down the ramp. I glanced up and saw the babushka out of the corner of my eye and my pride kicked in and I decided that I needed to quickly regain composure. In an attempt to steady myself, I began flailing... We're talking like Bambi-style flailing here. I've got arms spinning in circles in opposite directions, one leg rapidly sliding out to the right side of my body, the other slowly, but surely rising up into the air and before I know it, all pride is lost and I'm sprawled out on the ice with limbs located in impressively flexible positions. I did the inevitable. I began to raise my eyes towards the babushka... only to find her gliding past me, unable to stifle her laughter, a broad smile slapped across her face.
It took a few attempts to regain a vertical position, but I was eventually able to stumble away from the scene with a relatively small number of witnesses. I was now clearly a foreigner and I'll probably have to learn Kazakh in order to regain any sort of respect from those few locals who witnessed this disaster.
I have since avoided this portion of the path to school, having found alternate (and less trecherous) routes on the other side of the road. My new plan of attack - avoidance.
* Many of my PCV friends have other, more impressive "Winter Fall" stories. For example, just this week I received a text message from a fellow PCV that read "Last 3 days, I'm 3/3 on ice falls. Day 1, slid back down an icy hill. Day 2, I bruised my thigh. Today was only a small tumble but in front of two girls that laughed at me." I'll attempt to gather more of these stories for the general entertainment of all.
Something they don't teach you during PST (Pre-Service Training): how to walk on the ice like the locals.
In the South of Kazakhstan, when we have sunny days the well-travelled snow will melt just enough to freeze overnight into a smooth sheet of ice. The walking paths become beautifully smooth ice skating rinks. The locals are unfazed by these trecherous paths. Women wear tall stiletto heels and glide elegantly across these ice patches. Children run and slide across them like Olympic athletes. Us Americans, well to put it gently, we're less elegant.
I've now fallen (like REALLY fallen - this does not include flailing or stumbling) three times this winter. One of these times was particularly impressive. Last week I was walking to school and I came across what used to be a couple of steps. In this season, they are covered in snow and ice and form a sort of "ramp". I hesitated, as my brain was struggling to think up the best solution for traversing this downward ramp of ice. I noticed an old babuskha (grandmother) coming my way, and wanting to blend in with the locals so I quieted my thoughts and hurriedly decided that maybe "quickly" was the best solution. If I tried to actually gingerly step down this ramp, I would surely fall as there was absolutely no foothold for these steps of mine. But, if I quickly scampered down the ramp I might be able to avoid slipping.
I went for it.
Unfortunately, on my very first movement I slipped. I now had all of my weight on a single limb that was sliding (not even remotely resembling grace) down the ramp. I glanced up and saw the babushka out of the corner of my eye and my pride kicked in and I decided that I needed to quickly regain composure. In an attempt to steady myself, I began flailing... We're talking like Bambi-style flailing here. I've got arms spinning in circles in opposite directions, one leg rapidly sliding out to the right side of my body, the other slowly, but surely rising up into the air and before I know it, all pride is lost and I'm sprawled out on the ice with limbs located in impressively flexible positions. I did the inevitable. I began to raise my eyes towards the babushka... only to find her gliding past me, unable to stifle her laughter, a broad smile slapped across her face.
It took a few attempts to regain a vertical position, but I was eventually able to stumble away from the scene with a relatively small number of witnesses. I was now clearly a foreigner and I'll probably have to learn Kazakh in order to regain any sort of respect from those few locals who witnessed this disaster.
I have since avoided this portion of the path to school, having found alternate (and less trecherous) routes on the other side of the road. My new plan of attack - avoidance.
* Many of my PCV friends have other, more impressive "Winter Fall" stories. For example, just this week I received a text message from a fellow PCV that read "Last 3 days, I'm 3/3 on ice falls. Day 1, slid back down an icy hill. Day 2, I bruised my thigh. Today was only a small tumble but in front of two girls that laughed at me." I'll attempt to gather more of these stories for the general entertainment of all.
Winter
written January 17, 2009
It's winter.
That is a reminder for those of you living in California. I know, it's so sad that you are having to deal with bright sunny days and 75 degree weather in the middle of January. Oh, and I heard about those record breaking lows a couple of weeks ago. The 40s?!? No way! And... how long did that last for, again?
I actually received an email from one of my friends who recently vacationed in Canada complaining about how terribly cold the weather was up North... It was at this point that I realized I hadn't discussed "winter in Kazakhstan" with my dear old friend. Here's an overview:
Winter in South Kazakhstan: very cold. Winter in the North-ish of Kazakhstan: freezing cold. Winter in the true North of Kazakhstan: shoot me.
I currently live in what is considered "South Kazakhstan". As it was described on my "Site Information Form", Merke's "climate is mild, warm winters, summers are not hot, springs and falls are long". Sounds ideal, right? Yea, uh... if you're from Siberia! For someone who has lived in California for roughly 22 years, this description could be considered a flat-out lie. I intend to re-write this description for future volunteers. I believe it will look something like this:
Climate is tolerable. A lot of snow can be expected in the winter, a very large and warm winter coat is a MUST as are fur-lined boots (and a single pair of wool socks will still not be sufficient). The sun will shine relatively often (these are very picturesque days), but these days should not be mistaken for "warm" days as your clothes will still literally freeze into the shape of a thin "V" on the clothing line outside, cracking to the touch. Indoor heating is low in quality - either insufficient or overwhelmingly hot, depending on the income of your host family. Running is near impossible and burns your throat as well as your face, find ways to exercise indoors. Practice walking on ice.
*Spring, Summer and Fall descriptions to follow (although I've been told summers are in the 100's and clothing will be literally soaked with sweat).
Here's the positive angle:
Kazakhstan looks a lot prettier when it is covered in a layer of pure white snow. Snow can be fun - snowballs, snowmen, sledding, snow angels (the only of which I have checked off the list thus far is snowballs). Christmas truly can be white (even if no one knows what Christmas is)! It's still a heck of a lot warmer than the rest of Kazakhstan.
After a recent trip to the North-ish of Kazakhstan (Karaganda), here's how I describe the difference between the South and the North-ish (I have yet to experience the "true North"): In the South, you need a scarf, a hat and usually gloves. In the North-ish, that scarf must be thick and wrapped around your face and those gloves must be a heck of a lot warmer and you will still be chilly. It's really the wind that gets you in the North-ish. Imagine, if you will, a biting cold wind that whips around in all directions carrying with it a flurry of snow.
So, for those of you "suffering" through your winters in California, if you haven't pulled out the fur-lined boots or the gloves, scarves and hats, you're not really suffering. Those gloves, scarves and hats are daily necessities in the life of a Kazakhstan PCV during this season and could very surely find much more grateful homes in the true-North of Kazakhstan. The first question my host mom asks me every day when she gets home, literally translates into: "you are not freezing?" This same verb is also used in the following expressions "to be frozen", "to freeze to death", "to perish from the frost", and "to become frozen".
Winter. Something California has not yet experienced.
It's winter.
That is a reminder for those of you living in California. I know, it's so sad that you are having to deal with bright sunny days and 75 degree weather in the middle of January. Oh, and I heard about those record breaking lows a couple of weeks ago. The 40s?!? No way! And... how long did that last for, again?
I actually received an email from one of my friends who recently vacationed in Canada complaining about how terribly cold the weather was up North... It was at this point that I realized I hadn't discussed "winter in Kazakhstan" with my dear old friend. Here's an overview:
Winter in South Kazakhstan: very cold. Winter in the North-ish of Kazakhstan: freezing cold. Winter in the true North of Kazakhstan: shoot me.
I currently live in what is considered "South Kazakhstan". As it was described on my "Site Information Form", Merke's "climate is mild, warm winters, summers are not hot, springs and falls are long". Sounds ideal, right? Yea, uh... if you're from Siberia! For someone who has lived in California for roughly 22 years, this description could be considered a flat-out lie. I intend to re-write this description for future volunteers. I believe it will look something like this:
Climate is tolerable. A lot of snow can be expected in the winter, a very large and warm winter coat is a MUST as are fur-lined boots (and a single pair of wool socks will still not be sufficient). The sun will shine relatively often (these are very picturesque days), but these days should not be mistaken for "warm" days as your clothes will still literally freeze into the shape of a thin "V" on the clothing line outside, cracking to the touch. Indoor heating is low in quality - either insufficient or overwhelmingly hot, depending on the income of your host family. Running is near impossible and burns your throat as well as your face, find ways to exercise indoors. Practice walking on ice.
*Spring, Summer and Fall descriptions to follow (although I've been told summers are in the 100's and clothing will be literally soaked with sweat).
Here's the positive angle:
Kazakhstan looks a lot prettier when it is covered in a layer of pure white snow. Snow can be fun - snowballs, snowmen, sledding, snow angels (the only of which I have checked off the list thus far is snowballs). Christmas truly can be white (even if no one knows what Christmas is)! It's still a heck of a lot warmer than the rest of Kazakhstan.
After a recent trip to the North-ish of Kazakhstan (Karaganda), here's how I describe the difference between the South and the North-ish (I have yet to experience the "true North"): In the South, you need a scarf, a hat and usually gloves. In the North-ish, that scarf must be thick and wrapped around your face and those gloves must be a heck of a lot warmer and you will still be chilly. It's really the wind that gets you in the North-ish. Imagine, if you will, a biting cold wind that whips around in all directions carrying with it a flurry of snow.
So, for those of you "suffering" through your winters in California, if you haven't pulled out the fur-lined boots or the gloves, scarves and hats, you're not really suffering. Those gloves, scarves and hats are daily necessities in the life of a Kazakhstan PCV during this season and could very surely find much more grateful homes in the true-North of Kazakhstan. The first question my host mom asks me every day when she gets home, literally translates into: "you are not freezing?" This same verb is also used in the following expressions "to be frozen", "to freeze to death", "to perish from the frost", and "to become frozen".
Winter. Something California has not yet experienced.
The Wheels on the Bus
January 9, 2009
So, these past holidays I took yet another "bus" into Almaty, to spend the New Year with my old host family in Almalybak. We have quite a bit of snow here in the South of Kazakhstan now, and based on my previous experiences, I wasn't exactly ecstatic to jump into another vessel of death and make the trek to Almaty. Well, this trip proved much less dangerous, but much worse in so many other ways...
I know the bus driver now, and if I give him enough warning, he'll come and pick me up at my house in the morning for the ride to Almaty. When he got to my house, there was only one other woman on the vehicle so far, and I slid past her into a nice seat by the window. We drove around Merke picking up our other passengers and cargo (being the holidays, a lot of people were paying our driver to deliver their presents to family in Almaty - it was almost like we were playing Santa Claus, yay!) Before we left Merke, I noticed that the woman next to me had a folded hand towel on her lap and a little plastic bag. Considering that everything in Kazakhstan is carried in these plastic shopping bags, I didn't give it a second thought. MISTAKE NUMBER 1.
About fifteen minutes outside of Merke, this woman next to me curled up towards me and placed her head on my shoulder. Yea, in America, total invasion of that personal bubble! In Kazakhstan, aparently you don't even have to ask before you use your neighbor as a sleeping aid. I kind of giggled at first (MISTAKE NUMBER 2), thinking of the stories I could tell my fellow volunteers about my new best friend. BUT, as I came to learn, this was the absolute least of my worries. We carried on in this manner: me shifting slightly under her weight, her snoozing away on my shoulder. About an hour and a half outside of Merke, my new friend woke up. She started shifting restlessly in her seat and fanning her face. A few short minutes later, she began frantically asking the driver to stop the car. He pulled over into the snow and a young Russian guy in the front seat got out, and opened the back door (he had to unload two heavy speakers before the woman could burst out of the van). She knelt down in the snow and started gagging. She then lifted up handfuls of snow and began rubbing it all over her face and arms. She returned to the van a few minutes later, quite damp, and definitely very ill-looking.
We continued on our way, the rest of the passengers seemingly unfazed, and I was just glad that she clearly wouldn't be sleeping on me anymore - oh wait! What's this heavy lump I feel on my right shoulder? I was not giggling anymore. She tried to sleep (on me!) for another 30 minutes or so, before she instantly (and without warning) lifted her head, grabbed that plastic bag on her lap, and began vomitting excessively and noisily into the bag. No one in the front of the van even turned around! My right thigh is literally touching this puking woman, who was just sleeping on my shoulder and the sounds coming from her wretching body are grotesque (to put it lightly). Well, fortunately by this point, we were only about 15 minutes from our halfway point (where we unload quickly for bathroom breaks and food). So, she just held that little bag of puke until we arrived. I could not have exited that vehicle sooner. I was practically running away from the scene, just trying to get those sounds out of my head, when my new best friend began yelling after me -- "Wait! We will go to the toilets together." Oh great, she likes me. She followed me around like a little puppy dog as I grabbed an iced tea for the road.
I almost screamed when the bus pulled away from the stop and this woman, oh this woman, made the move to lie on my shoulder again! Does she not remember that she was just heaving into a small plastic bag at my side? I was bound and determined to no longer be a comfortable shoulder to rest on. I was constantly finding excuses to lean down and grab something out of my bag, or check the time on my cell phone, forcing her to remove her head from my shoulder. But as soon as I had settled back into a stationary position, her head would find its way back to my shoulder. I had all of these visions of her puking down my neck, and other awful images. I was not a happy traveler.
Well, to cut the rest of the 4 hour bus ride short... my new friend DID end up throwing up again (3 more times in fact! All of them as she sat next to me on this doomed vehicle). Each time she tried to sleep on my shoulder, and each time I found myself squirming around in my seat trying to shake this dreaded puking head from my body. The third time she threw up, we all had to smell the pizza flavored croutons she had picked up as a snack from our first stop - those things smelled bad going down, you don't even want to imagine what they were like coming back up. Well, unfortunately the little girl in the back seat had reached her limit and when that smell reached her, she began throwing up as well! So the two were puking in chorus, and I just had my head smashed against the cold window trying to think about anything other than the sound and the smell. Side note: after one of the times she threw up, she asked the driver to stop the car. She handed her bag of vomit to the young Russian guy and asked him to throw it out into the snow for her! That poor guy's face was absolutely priceless. All I could think, was that we had all taken one for the team at this point, and really it was his turn. He obliged.
When we pulled into Almaty I was so anxious to get off of that vehicle and as far away from that woman as possible that I actually banged my head against the door in my haste. I quickly grabbed my backpack and nearly sprinted away from the scene, not even stopping to say goodbye to my fantastic new friend. I am, in no way, looking forward to my next trip to Almaty.
And if that van pulls up in front of my house with that woman on it, I am going to have to learn how to say "I'd rather not, Thank You".
The worst part? I ended up eating Sbarro pizza for lunch later that day - by choice! :)
So, these past holidays I took yet another "bus" into Almaty, to spend the New Year with my old host family in Almalybak. We have quite a bit of snow here in the South of Kazakhstan now, and based on my previous experiences, I wasn't exactly ecstatic to jump into another vessel of death and make the trek to Almaty. Well, this trip proved much less dangerous, but much worse in so many other ways...
I know the bus driver now, and if I give him enough warning, he'll come and pick me up at my house in the morning for the ride to Almaty. When he got to my house, there was only one other woman on the vehicle so far, and I slid past her into a nice seat by the window. We drove around Merke picking up our other passengers and cargo (being the holidays, a lot of people were paying our driver to deliver their presents to family in Almaty - it was almost like we were playing Santa Claus, yay!) Before we left Merke, I noticed that the woman next to me had a folded hand towel on her lap and a little plastic bag. Considering that everything in Kazakhstan is carried in these plastic shopping bags, I didn't give it a second thought. MISTAKE NUMBER 1.
About fifteen minutes outside of Merke, this woman next to me curled up towards me and placed her head on my shoulder. Yea, in America, total invasion of that personal bubble! In Kazakhstan, aparently you don't even have to ask before you use your neighbor as a sleeping aid. I kind of giggled at first (MISTAKE NUMBER 2), thinking of the stories I could tell my fellow volunteers about my new best friend. BUT, as I came to learn, this was the absolute least of my worries. We carried on in this manner: me shifting slightly under her weight, her snoozing away on my shoulder. About an hour and a half outside of Merke, my new friend woke up. She started shifting restlessly in her seat and fanning her face. A few short minutes later, she began frantically asking the driver to stop the car. He pulled over into the snow and a young Russian guy in the front seat got out, and opened the back door (he had to unload two heavy speakers before the woman could burst out of the van). She knelt down in the snow and started gagging. She then lifted up handfuls of snow and began rubbing it all over her face and arms. She returned to the van a few minutes later, quite damp, and definitely very ill-looking.
We continued on our way, the rest of the passengers seemingly unfazed, and I was just glad that she clearly wouldn't be sleeping on me anymore - oh wait! What's this heavy lump I feel on my right shoulder? I was not giggling anymore. She tried to sleep (on me!) for another 30 minutes or so, before she instantly (and without warning) lifted her head, grabbed that plastic bag on her lap, and began vomitting excessively and noisily into the bag. No one in the front of the van even turned around! My right thigh is literally touching this puking woman, who was just sleeping on my shoulder and the sounds coming from her wretching body are grotesque (to put it lightly). Well, fortunately by this point, we were only about 15 minutes from our halfway point (where we unload quickly for bathroom breaks and food). So, she just held that little bag of puke until we arrived. I could not have exited that vehicle sooner. I was practically running away from the scene, just trying to get those sounds out of my head, when my new best friend began yelling after me -- "Wait! We will go to the toilets together." Oh great, she likes me. She followed me around like a little puppy dog as I grabbed an iced tea for the road.
I almost screamed when the bus pulled away from the stop and this woman, oh this woman, made the move to lie on my shoulder again! Does she not remember that she was just heaving into a small plastic bag at my side? I was bound and determined to no longer be a comfortable shoulder to rest on. I was constantly finding excuses to lean down and grab something out of my bag, or check the time on my cell phone, forcing her to remove her head from my shoulder. But as soon as I had settled back into a stationary position, her head would find its way back to my shoulder. I had all of these visions of her puking down my neck, and other awful images. I was not a happy traveler.
Well, to cut the rest of the 4 hour bus ride short... my new friend DID end up throwing up again (3 more times in fact! All of them as she sat next to me on this doomed vehicle). Each time she tried to sleep on my shoulder, and each time I found myself squirming around in my seat trying to shake this dreaded puking head from my body. The third time she threw up, we all had to smell the pizza flavored croutons she had picked up as a snack from our first stop - those things smelled bad going down, you don't even want to imagine what they were like coming back up. Well, unfortunately the little girl in the back seat had reached her limit and when that smell reached her, she began throwing up as well! So the two were puking in chorus, and I just had my head smashed against the cold window trying to think about anything other than the sound and the smell. Side note: after one of the times she threw up, she asked the driver to stop the car. She handed her bag of vomit to the young Russian guy and asked him to throw it out into the snow for her! That poor guy's face was absolutely priceless. All I could think, was that we had all taken one for the team at this point, and really it was his turn. He obliged.
When we pulled into Almaty I was so anxious to get off of that vehicle and as far away from that woman as possible that I actually banged my head against the door in my haste. I quickly grabbed my backpack and nearly sprinted away from the scene, not even stopping to say goodbye to my fantastic new friend. I am, in no way, looking forward to my next trip to Almaty.
And if that van pulls up in front of my house with that woman on it, I am going to have to learn how to say "I'd rather not, Thank You".
The worst part? I ended up eating Sbarro pizza for lunch later that day - by choice! :)
The Journey...
Written December 18, 2008
Kazakhstan doesn't recognize Christmas as a holiday, but it does have Independence Day on December 16 - therefore, I had the 16th and 17th without school. Not wanting to sit around the house for two days, I decided to go into Almaty to meet a couple of PCVs. Getting to and from Almaty on this particular holiday proved to be quite eventful. Here's what I experienced:
- Two dead cows on the road. The first was initially mistaken for a horse, but recognized once we got up close to it (ugh). The second was clearly a cow, and the car that had hit it was smashed up on the side of the road.
- Two dead dogs. RIP.
- A fog so thick that we could barely see the cars in front of us. This makes passing cars really exciting, let me tell you. Headlights just suddenly appear in front of you. I think I almost peed about 4 times.
- Started snowing on the way back to Merke (yes, we now have about 2 inches on the ground). I just kept wanting the darn car to pull over and put chains on, but I don't think those exist here. We only skidded on the snow twice, I think...
- A car accident that rivals any I've ever seen in person. One car was engulfed in flames on the side of the road - actually kind of mesmerizing to watch a car just burn out of control. Except that as we got closer I thought I saw a person standing next to the car, also engulfed in flames and I thought I was going to vomit. I soon realized that it was actually the passenger's door had been left open as the car burned. Phew! We didn't see the second car until we were leaving the scene of the accident, and it pretty much looked as though it had been crushed by one of those compactors. Pieces of that car were strewn all over the road. I didn't understand anything that was being relayed between all of the passersby (because, note to self, when Kazakhs are excited they don't speak slowly - very inconvenient for us Americans). But, I did catch that no people were hurt, so that's good.
- Oh, and did I mention that MC Hammer came on the radio? Yes. That's right. I listened to Can't Touch This in Kazakhstan on the radio. I smiled for the entire length of the song.
A journey that usually takes just under 4 hours, took us 6 on the way back to Merke. I got home and my host mom wasn't expecting me, so she had locked me out. Fortunately, she was sitting in front of the TV as usual, so I was able to knock on the window to get her to let me in.
Woke up this morning to a white Merke. I've been told the snow has begun and winter has arrived, and there is no going back from here. I'm going to the Bazaar today to buy a warmer coat and maybe some other warm gear for this white winter. They keep calling it a snowy New Years, but I still think of it as a white Christmas. :) I'm stubborn like that.
Kazakhstan doesn't recognize Christmas as a holiday, but it does have Independence Day on December 16 - therefore, I had the 16th and 17th without school. Not wanting to sit around the house for two days, I decided to go into Almaty to meet a couple of PCVs. Getting to and from Almaty on this particular holiday proved to be quite eventful. Here's what I experienced:
- Two dead cows on the road. The first was initially mistaken for a horse, but recognized once we got up close to it (ugh). The second was clearly a cow, and the car that had hit it was smashed up on the side of the road.
- Two dead dogs. RIP.
- A fog so thick that we could barely see the cars in front of us. This makes passing cars really exciting, let me tell you. Headlights just suddenly appear in front of you. I think I almost peed about 4 times.
- Started snowing on the way back to Merke (yes, we now have about 2 inches on the ground). I just kept wanting the darn car to pull over and put chains on, but I don't think those exist here. We only skidded on the snow twice, I think...
- A car accident that rivals any I've ever seen in person. One car was engulfed in flames on the side of the road - actually kind of mesmerizing to watch a car just burn out of control. Except that as we got closer I thought I saw a person standing next to the car, also engulfed in flames and I thought I was going to vomit. I soon realized that it was actually the passenger's door had been left open as the car burned. Phew! We didn't see the second car until we were leaving the scene of the accident, and it pretty much looked as though it had been crushed by one of those compactors. Pieces of that car were strewn all over the road. I didn't understand anything that was being relayed between all of the passersby (because, note to self, when Kazakhs are excited they don't speak slowly - very inconvenient for us Americans). But, I did catch that no people were hurt, so that's good.
- Oh, and did I mention that MC Hammer came on the radio? Yes. That's right. I listened to Can't Touch This in Kazakhstan on the radio. I smiled for the entire length of the song.
A journey that usually takes just under 4 hours, took us 6 on the way back to Merke. I got home and my host mom wasn't expecting me, so she had locked me out. Fortunately, she was sitting in front of the TV as usual, so I was able to knock on the window to get her to let me in.
Woke up this morning to a white Merke. I've been told the snow has begun and winter has arrived, and there is no going back from here. I'm going to the Bazaar today to buy a warmer coat and maybe some other warm gear for this white winter. They keep calling it a snowy New Years, but I still think of it as a white Christmas. :) I'm stubborn like that.
The Local Celebrity
written December 6, 2008
We have a woman in the house this morning. An extra. We've only had a couple of people by the house since I moved in - the first, the cleaning woman who vacuumed my room, second, the locksmith, who installed the new lock on my bedroom door, and now this woman. She is the curtain hanger (for lack of a better term). Apparently my host mother has ordered new curtains for most of the house and today this woman has come to hang them up.
As I emerged from my bedroom this morning, quite groggy and in desperate need of the bathroom, my host mother pulled me aside and insisted that I meet this woman in our house. So, I obliged. As I returned from the bathroom, the woman, now alone, told me that she needed help with some English. She had a word that she had heard somewhere and she wanted to know what it meant in Russian (as she doesn't speak any English). I'm not sure where she heard the word, or why she knew that she should bring it with her so that the native English speaker in this local house could translate it for her, but that's Kazakhstan. I'm constantly being asked to live with people (as they boast about their various amenities) I have to admit that the hot water amenity usually trips me up a bit in my usual polite refusal, or to teach them English, or to teach their children English. This all usually comes before they've even learned my name. One woman even wanted me to marry her son. She started spouting off all of his traits that made him a worthy husband - he doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink - it was at this time that my counterpart began to rush me out of the magazine.
And I know that I'm not the only volunteer that experiences this. A friend of mine living in the north of Kazakhstan actually received a phone call (at his host family's house) from a local woman who had heard he was in town and would like to commission him to teach her English. He has no idea how she got his phone number or knew where he lived, but that's how things work in these smaller communities. People hear about the "American" and everyone gets to talking and someone knows that you live with the Berekova family and before you know it you're receiving phone calls during dinner from a woman you've never met.
We have a woman in the house this morning. An extra. We've only had a couple of people by the house since I moved in - the first, the cleaning woman who vacuumed my room, second, the locksmith, who installed the new lock on my bedroom door, and now this woman. She is the curtain hanger (for lack of a better term). Apparently my host mother has ordered new curtains for most of the house and today this woman has come to hang them up.
As I emerged from my bedroom this morning, quite groggy and in desperate need of the bathroom, my host mother pulled me aside and insisted that I meet this woman in our house. So, I obliged. As I returned from the bathroom, the woman, now alone, told me that she needed help with some English. She had a word that she had heard somewhere and she wanted to know what it meant in Russian (as she doesn't speak any English). I'm not sure where she heard the word, or why she knew that she should bring it with her so that the native English speaker in this local house could translate it for her, but that's Kazakhstan. I'm constantly being asked to live with people (as they boast about their various amenities) I have to admit that the hot water amenity usually trips me up a bit in my usual polite refusal, or to teach them English, or to teach their children English. This all usually comes before they've even learned my name. One woman even wanted me to marry her son. She started spouting off all of his traits that made him a worthy husband - he doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink - it was at this time that my counterpart began to rush me out of the magazine.
And I know that I'm not the only volunteer that experiences this. A friend of mine living in the north of Kazakhstan actually received a phone call (at his host family's house) from a local woman who had heard he was in town and would like to commission him to teach her English. He has no idea how she got his phone number or knew where he lived, but that's how things work in these smaller communities. People hear about the "American" and everyone gets to talking and someone knows that you live with the Berekova family and before you know it you're receiving phone calls during dinner from a woman you've never met.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Pictures...
My married friends. They're kind of cool, I guess. (Nick, Corinne, Katy and Seth)
Almalybak Language Group (I saw these guys 7 days a week practically all day long for 3 months) Seth, Katy, Leah, AC, and Jessie
Corinne and I at Swearing In Ceremony
I'm bringing Phase 10 to the world. Nick and Corinne's house.
The infamous dining room table at Nick and Corinne's house.40 Things I've Learned After 4 Months In Kazakhstan
Began October 30, 2008
1. Electricians are cruel. Every single light switch is a guessing game in Kazakhstan. They are never where they should be, and most often are found outside of the actual room which they illuminate. I stayed in an apartment in Almaty once and I couldn't find the lightswitch for the bathroom, finally I found a switch in the hallway, on the opposite side of the hall, that didn't seem to have a corresponding room or fixture, sure enough when I flipped the switch - ding! bathroom light turns on.
2. I appear to like music videos. Kazakhstanians like their television (I mean, they put a lot of Americans to shame). I don't watch TV in Kazakhstan, but because it's what you can find almost all Kazakhstanians doing at most hours of the day, especially in the evening, on occasion I will join them in front of the TV. In Almalybak when I walked into the TV room, all of my brothers sat up straight and grabbed the remote. Before I know it, we're watching the Kazakhstan MTV equivalent. Just music video after music video. I tried explaining that the Russian movie they were watching when I walked in was perfectly acceptable to me, but without fail, if I sit in the TV room - we watch music videos. I've stopped going into the TV room, it's just ridiculous.
3. MTV has made it to Kazakhstan. My Super Sweet 16 was playing on my counterpart's television the other day (dubbed in Russian) as was some dating show with a bus that was by no means educational or entertaining.
4. Bedding is meant to be used. If you are not sleeping, your bedding should not remain on your bed. Every morning I must strip my bed and place a blanket of sorts over my mattress. This blanket is only for show. (This was when I had a bed, now I take the blankets off of my COUCH).
5. School is a formal affair. 5 year old boys wear suits and ties to school. 5 year old girls wear pouf balls as big as a basketball in their hair. It's fashionable?
6. I can't cook. Everything here is made from scratch and the fact that I would consider buying my pasta noodles from a store is a disgrace to my gender.
7. Men are fascinated with America. My previous host dad was especially fascinated with my Dad in America. He wanted to know everything about him, and about my house (including what kind of heating we have).
8. "Breakfast" is a relative term.
9. Apartments are all about what's on the other side of that door. Every building looks like it could fall down at any moment and the corridors are something straight out of a horror film, but you walk inside someone's apartment and it's a palace.
10. Wine is consumed by the shot.
11. Water and electricity are never guaranteed. Anywhere.
12. "Superstitious" has a whole new meaning in Kazakhstan. Knock on wood. Spit over your shoulder three times. Never wipe a table with paper products. Don't whistle indoors. Don't pull loose hairs off of someone else's shoulder. Do not consider not wearing socks or slippers indoors.
13. If you don't understand, they will just say it LOUDER.
14. Even though it is technically called "toilet paper" the paper should never actually go inside of the toilet. That is why there is always a garbage can in the bathroom. (It took me being in an apartment in Almaty with other volunteers to figure this one out.) Fun times.
15. "American" foods are much more appealing in Kazakhstan than they are in America. I can't remember the last time I actually drank a Coke or ate a Snickers in the United States, but in Kazakhstan, I can't resist that Snickers bar in the magazine (Russian for store). What's that all about?
16. Dogs are not pets, they are doorbells.
17. In America there seem to be four options for milk: Non-fat, 1%, 2% and whole milk. In Kazakhstan there are three options: 3.2%, 6% and straight from the udder. I was a non-fat only drinker in the states, imagine my excitement...
18. A single "hard-boiled" egg can be considered dinner.
19. In the event of an earthquake, don't get UNDER furniture, just sit next to it. This is what we were taught during one of our safety and security sessions. They clearly wouldn't have survived Loma Prieta 1989. :) Either that or I need to throw my "Duck and Cover" training out the window.
20. There is always room for more tea. Always.
21. Barf is considered a high quality cleaning product in Kazakhstan. It's quite good at washing clothes and leaves them smelling fresh and clean.
22. No matter how much you eat, it is never enough. I'm convinced you have not eaten enough until you have actually become ill. This is the main reason the two Kazakh words I know and use every day are "full" and "finished".
23. There is no word for "sir" or "madam" unless you are addressing a judge or someone of royalty. They will look at you foolishly if you try using these words in every day speech.
24. Camels are domestic animals.
25. When a local learns you are from America, 8 times out of 10 they will respond with, "Oh, California!" (I wish I weren't from California so I could teach these people about some of the other 49 states). And when they do learn that you are from California, they always respond with "Arnold Schwarzenegger" and laugh hysterically. The word for governor in Russian is "guvernator" so it is even funnier to hear the locals say "Arnold Schwarzenegger Guvernator".
26. Sending a letter to the United States is not as easy as one might think. In Merke, I actually needed a translator AND a hand-written note to explain that this letter (addressed to the United States, in Russian) was to be sent to the United States.
27. Running in Merke is not acceptable. The first (and consequently only) time I went for a run in Merke, I was chased by a dog, followed by a car full of young men, and shouted at by a multitude of locals as I ran by. I had to turn around and head for home a mere 15 minutes from my front door because it didn't quite feel like a safe activity.
28. A shower is a luxury.
29. Korean restaurants in Taraz are apparently known for serving dog meat. I draw the line at horse! (which, for the record, is quite tasty)
30. It goes both ways: I have found that just nodding my head and saying "yes, yes, yes" through a conversation (even if you don't understand everything) usually makes life a lot easier. My host mom has now learned this trick, too. I found her responding to my questions (in Russian), which were not of the yes/no variety with "yes, yes, yes". When I looked at her quizically, she nodded seriously, and said, "yes, I understand".
31. If you try to play volleyball with a soccer ball, you will bruise your wrists, arms AND hands. Pumping up the soccer ball only makes this situation worse.
32. It's cool to wear tacky slippers.
33. The correct response to "Are you married?" is "No, I am not married. I DO NOT WANT to be married." And yet, most of the time you eventually have to say something to the extent of: "I'm sure your son is really wonderful. And yes, the fact that he doesn't smoke and doesn't drink are very wonderful qualities. Anyone would be lucky to have him. Thanks for selling me this loaf of bread. It was very nice to meet you."
34. Kazakhstan has a Santa Claus that wears blue instead of red. And he visits on New Year's Eve instead of Christmas Eve.
35. Couches are considered sufficient beds. Even if you happen to be 5'9" and your feet hang off the edge.
36. Americans are very efficient at an ATM machine. Be grateful for your ATM experience in America.
37. British English is a pain in my side.
38. If you are a Kazakh woman and you have passed the age of 21, it will be very hard for you to get married because you are now quite old.
39. You don't need a refrigerator for leftovers or salads, you just need a fairly cold room. We use our entryway (it isn't heated).
40. You can own a vehicle and a driver's license without knowing how to make a 3-point turn or turn on your headlights. I don't recommend traveling with said individual, it's quite terrifying.
1. Electricians are cruel. Every single light switch is a guessing game in Kazakhstan. They are never where they should be, and most often are found outside of the actual room which they illuminate. I stayed in an apartment in Almaty once and I couldn't find the lightswitch for the bathroom, finally I found a switch in the hallway, on the opposite side of the hall, that didn't seem to have a corresponding room or fixture, sure enough when I flipped the switch - ding! bathroom light turns on.
2. I appear to like music videos. Kazakhstanians like their television (I mean, they put a lot of Americans to shame). I don't watch TV in Kazakhstan, but because it's what you can find almost all Kazakhstanians doing at most hours of the day, especially in the evening, on occasion I will join them in front of the TV. In Almalybak when I walked into the TV room, all of my brothers sat up straight and grabbed the remote. Before I know it, we're watching the Kazakhstan MTV equivalent. Just music video after music video. I tried explaining that the Russian movie they were watching when I walked in was perfectly acceptable to me, but without fail, if I sit in the TV room - we watch music videos. I've stopped going into the TV room, it's just ridiculous.
3. MTV has made it to Kazakhstan. My Super Sweet 16 was playing on my counterpart's television the other day (dubbed in Russian) as was some dating show with a bus that was by no means educational or entertaining.
4. Bedding is meant to be used. If you are not sleeping, your bedding should not remain on your bed. Every morning I must strip my bed and place a blanket of sorts over my mattress. This blanket is only for show. (This was when I had a bed, now I take the blankets off of my COUCH).
5. School is a formal affair. 5 year old boys wear suits and ties to school. 5 year old girls wear pouf balls as big as a basketball in their hair. It's fashionable?
6. I can't cook. Everything here is made from scratch and the fact that I would consider buying my pasta noodles from a store is a disgrace to my gender.
7. Men are fascinated with America. My previous host dad was especially fascinated with my Dad in America. He wanted to know everything about him, and about my house (including what kind of heating we have).
8. "Breakfast" is a relative term.
9. Apartments are all about what's on the other side of that door. Every building looks like it could fall down at any moment and the corridors are something straight out of a horror film, but you walk inside someone's apartment and it's a palace.
10. Wine is consumed by the shot.
11. Water and electricity are never guaranteed. Anywhere.
12. "Superstitious" has a whole new meaning in Kazakhstan. Knock on wood. Spit over your shoulder three times. Never wipe a table with paper products. Don't whistle indoors. Don't pull loose hairs off of someone else's shoulder. Do not consider not wearing socks or slippers indoors.
13. If you don't understand, they will just say it LOUDER.
14. Even though it is technically called "toilet paper" the paper should never actually go inside of the toilet. That is why there is always a garbage can in the bathroom. (It took me being in an apartment in Almaty with other volunteers to figure this one out.) Fun times.
15. "American" foods are much more appealing in Kazakhstan than they are in America. I can't remember the last time I actually drank a Coke or ate a Snickers in the United States, but in Kazakhstan, I can't resist that Snickers bar in the magazine (Russian for store). What's that all about?
16. Dogs are not pets, they are doorbells.
17. In America there seem to be four options for milk: Non-fat, 1%, 2% and whole milk. In Kazakhstan there are three options: 3.2%, 6% and straight from the udder. I was a non-fat only drinker in the states, imagine my excitement...
18. A single "hard-boiled" egg can be considered dinner.
19. In the event of an earthquake, don't get UNDER furniture, just sit next to it. This is what we were taught during one of our safety and security sessions. They clearly wouldn't have survived Loma Prieta 1989. :) Either that or I need to throw my "Duck and Cover" training out the window.
20. There is always room for more tea. Always.
21. Barf is considered a high quality cleaning product in Kazakhstan. It's quite good at washing clothes and leaves them smelling fresh and clean.
22. No matter how much you eat, it is never enough. I'm convinced you have not eaten enough until you have actually become ill. This is the main reason the two Kazakh words I know and use every day are "full" and "finished".
23. There is no word for "sir" or "madam" unless you are addressing a judge or someone of royalty. They will look at you foolishly if you try using these words in every day speech.
24. Camels are domestic animals.
25. When a local learns you are from America, 8 times out of 10 they will respond with, "Oh, California!" (I wish I weren't from California so I could teach these people about some of the other 49 states). And when they do learn that you are from California, they always respond with "Arnold Schwarzenegger" and laugh hysterically. The word for governor in Russian is "guvernator" so it is even funnier to hear the locals say "Arnold Schwarzenegger Guvernator".
26. Sending a letter to the United States is not as easy as one might think. In Merke, I actually needed a translator AND a hand-written note to explain that this letter (addressed to the United States, in Russian) was to be sent to the United States.
27. Running in Merke is not acceptable. The first (and consequently only) time I went for a run in Merke, I was chased by a dog, followed by a car full of young men, and shouted at by a multitude of locals as I ran by. I had to turn around and head for home a mere 15 minutes from my front door because it didn't quite feel like a safe activity.
28. A shower is a luxury.
29. Korean restaurants in Taraz are apparently known for serving dog meat. I draw the line at horse! (which, for the record, is quite tasty)
30. It goes both ways: I have found that just nodding my head and saying "yes, yes, yes" through a conversation (even if you don't understand everything) usually makes life a lot easier. My host mom has now learned this trick, too. I found her responding to my questions (in Russian), which were not of the yes/no variety with "yes, yes, yes". When I looked at her quizically, she nodded seriously, and said, "yes, I understand".
31. If you try to play volleyball with a soccer ball, you will bruise your wrists, arms AND hands. Pumping up the soccer ball only makes this situation worse.
32. It's cool to wear tacky slippers.
33. The correct response to "Are you married?" is "No, I am not married. I DO NOT WANT to be married." And yet, most of the time you eventually have to say something to the extent of: "I'm sure your son is really wonderful. And yes, the fact that he doesn't smoke and doesn't drink are very wonderful qualities. Anyone would be lucky to have him. Thanks for selling me this loaf of bread. It was very nice to meet you."
34. Kazakhstan has a Santa Claus that wears blue instead of red. And he visits on New Year's Eve instead of Christmas Eve.
35. Couches are considered sufficient beds. Even if you happen to be 5'9" and your feet hang off the edge.
36. Americans are very efficient at an ATM machine. Be grateful for your ATM experience in America.
37. British English is a pain in my side.
38. If you are a Kazakh woman and you have passed the age of 21, it will be very hard for you to get married because you are now quite old.
39. You don't need a refrigerator for leftovers or salads, you just need a fairly cold room. We use our entryway (it isn't heated).
40. You can own a vehicle and a driver's license without knowing how to make a 3-point turn or turn on your headlights. I don't recommend traveling with said individual, it's quite terrifying.
Huber's Words of Wisdom
written December 15, 2008
Nick and Corinne Huber are two of my favorite people here in Kazakshtan (and not only because they have fed me pancakes and Mexican food - although it helps). In addition to being a couple of my favorites, they also have a Kazakhstan Peace Corps blog in action and I couldn't resist sharing the following post because it had me laughing out loud:
http://hubersfarfromhome.blogspot.com/2008/09/education.html
Check it out, along with some of the other blogs in the right hand column of this blogsite for those times when I can't adequately describe this crazy experience that is KZ Peace Corps. :)
Because I think they are so cool (and I want to be cool like them) I've started my own list. Stay tuned...
Nick and Corinne Huber are two of my favorite people here in Kazakshtan (and not only because they have fed me pancakes and Mexican food - although it helps). In addition to being a couple of my favorites, they also have a Kazakhstan Peace Corps blog in action and I couldn't resist sharing the following post because it had me laughing out loud:
http://hubersfarfromhome.blogspot.com/2008/09/education.html
Check it out, along with some of the other blogs in the right hand column of this blogsite for those times when I can't adequately describe this crazy experience that is KZ Peace Corps. :)
Because I think they are so cool (and I want to be cool like them) I've started my own list. Stay tuned...
Making a Difference
written December 10, 2008
I had one of those "Peace Corps moments" this week. Last week I taught my 5th graders about "I have got" and "I haven't got" (yes, slightly British, we'd probably just say "I have" and "I don't have" but some things you just let slide). One of the activities I played with my students to get them using the phrases was a form of Go Fish.
I bought some playing cards at the bazaar and drew pictures of a bunch of the students vocabulary words (pen, pencil, book, computer, etc.). I pasted these pictures onto the cards and laminated them (with clear tape). Each student was dealt four or five cards and, in groups, my students proceeded to play "Go Fish".
All around the classroom these little kids were laughing and smiling and saying "Have you got a computer?", "No, I haven't got a book." "Yes, I have got a CD." I let them play for about 15 minutes because they were enjoying it so much - and hey, if my students are speaking English, then I'm doing my job. Then, I collected the cards and continued on with my lesson.
Well, this week, when I met with my 5th grade class again, one of the little girls (who struggles with English quite a bit) came up to me at the beginning of class just absolutely beaming. She reached into her pocket and pulled out some playing cards and handed them to me. She had made her own set! There on these 15 or so cards were pictures of pens, pencils, CDs, books, etc. - exact replicas of my own drawings.
Some days in Kazakhstan make all the difficult ones worth while. And it all boiled down to a set of playing cards and some pictures.
I had one of those "Peace Corps moments" this week. Last week I taught my 5th graders about "I have got" and "I haven't got" (yes, slightly British, we'd probably just say "I have" and "I don't have" but some things you just let slide). One of the activities I played with my students to get them using the phrases was a form of Go Fish.
I bought some playing cards at the bazaar and drew pictures of a bunch of the students vocabulary words (pen, pencil, book, computer, etc.). I pasted these pictures onto the cards and laminated them (with clear tape). Each student was dealt four or five cards and, in groups, my students proceeded to play "Go Fish".
All around the classroom these little kids were laughing and smiling and saying "Have you got a computer?", "No, I haven't got a book." "Yes, I have got a CD." I let them play for about 15 minutes because they were enjoying it so much - and hey, if my students are speaking English, then I'm doing my job. Then, I collected the cards and continued on with my lesson.
Well, this week, when I met with my 5th grade class again, one of the little girls (who struggles with English quite a bit) came up to me at the beginning of class just absolutely beaming. She reached into her pocket and pulled out some playing cards and handed them to me. She had made her own set! There on these 15 or so cards were pictures of pens, pencils, CDs, books, etc. - exact replicas of my own drawings.
Some days in Kazakhstan make all the difficult ones worth while. And it all boiled down to a set of playing cards and some pictures.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
More Pictures
Jealous yet?
Brendan, Nick and I (with Pancakes!)
My Counterpart, Symbat
My Soup!
My New House in MerkeFriday, December 12, 2008
Earthquake!!
Written December 5, 2008
I wasn't even missing home that much on Tuesday, but I was given a little taste of it anyways. I can now proudly declare that in the event of a fairly sizeable earthquake, my house is not going to fall down. Well, there are no guarantees for next time, but it held up just fine this first time. Being the daughter of a structural engineer I was indeed a little concerned to learn that Southern Kazakhstan lay on a fairly large faultline. I mean, there aren't exactly building codes in Kazakhstan, and I saw what happened to the Bay Bridge in '89.
I was at home, alone, on Tuesday morning boycotting my Russian tutoring lesson because chances are this would be the third session in a row that my tutor wouldn't show up for (don't worry I've found a new tutor), when suddenly the Mona Lisa in my room started to shake, and then the awkward topless woman painted on a piece of metal started making a lot of noise as she banged against my wall. It took a second for me to realize what was happening, and then I just had to smile. I was in Kazakhstan, but it was like I had been transported back to the Bay Area just so I could experience another earthquake.
Now, I've been fully trained (from a very young age) how one is expected to respond in an earthquake. But, had this particular earthquake occured in America, I'm not so sure I would have brought out the "duck and cover" tactics or made a move for the doorway. However, in Kazakhstan, you just never know how sturdy your structure is, and before I knew it I found myself standing in my doorway waiting for the shaking to be over. I heard a couple of things fall over in the other room, and to be honest I was kind of hoping it was a couple of those hideous fake plants my host mom has put up all over the house. After about a minute and a half the shaking stopped.
I had class shortly thereafter, so I didn't really have time to wait for an aftershock. I just grabbed my things and decided to start heading to school. And, I have to admit, I was a little curious how the Kazakhstanians would be responding to the earthquake on the streets. I was disappointed to see that there was little reaction when I made it out onto the street a mere 15 minutes after the quake. I grabbed a taxi to school (because I'm sorry when I can't feel my face I'm going to pay the 30 cents to get to class in less than 20 minutes) and for the first time since I've been in Kazakhstan, I was asked to put on my seatbelt! I realized later that this was because of the earthquake, but at the time I didn't know the word for earthquake (or for seatbelt, for that matter) so I just thought he was being particular forward-thinking. I happily strapped in and got to school safe and sound. On a side note, my driver only had nine fingers.
When I walked into the school yard, I saw that the entire building had been evacuated and was now standing in front of the school. I didn't have the heart to tell them that this would actually be a really horrible place to congregate your school children during an earthquake as most of the students were huddled underneath trees and there was a major electrical line running above them. But, I wasn't really concerned for an aftershock. We stood out there in the cold for about 15 or 20 minutes waiting for word from the regional center as to whether or not the students could be permitted back inside of the building.
During this time, one of my 8th grade students yelled at me "Miss James!" (yea, don't get me started) and then started shaking his whole body back and forth, presumably trying to simulate an earthquake. It was as though he thought that because I hadn't actually been in the school building with them that I hadn't felt the earthquake. (Maybe some earthquake training would be an appropriate secondary project?) My counterpart and another English teacher came running up to me as soon as I arrived and worriedly asked if I was OK and if I was scared. I stifled a laugh and let them know that I was familiar with earthquakes and that it had made me feel quite at home. I later learned that one of the English teachers had not been so cool and had actually started crying in class, while my counterpart (instead of comforting the students) had to focus her attentions on the spastic teacher.
School was cancelled for the day and everyone was sent home, for which I was actually quite grateful. All in all, my first Kazakhstanian earthquake was a success. And I'm safe, so don't worry. And to all of my elementary school teachers - your earthquake training served me well as I stood proudly in my Kazakh doorway.
I wasn't even missing home that much on Tuesday, but I was given a little taste of it anyways. I can now proudly declare that in the event of a fairly sizeable earthquake, my house is not going to fall down. Well, there are no guarantees for next time, but it held up just fine this first time. Being the daughter of a structural engineer I was indeed a little concerned to learn that Southern Kazakhstan lay on a fairly large faultline. I mean, there aren't exactly building codes in Kazakhstan, and I saw what happened to the Bay Bridge in '89.
I was at home, alone, on Tuesday morning boycotting my Russian tutoring lesson because chances are this would be the third session in a row that my tutor wouldn't show up for (don't worry I've found a new tutor), when suddenly the Mona Lisa in my room started to shake, and then the awkward topless woman painted on a piece of metal started making a lot of noise as she banged against my wall. It took a second for me to realize what was happening, and then I just had to smile. I was in Kazakhstan, but it was like I had been transported back to the Bay Area just so I could experience another earthquake.
Now, I've been fully trained (from a very young age) how one is expected to respond in an earthquake. But, had this particular earthquake occured in America, I'm not so sure I would have brought out the "duck and cover" tactics or made a move for the doorway. However, in Kazakhstan, you just never know how sturdy your structure is, and before I knew it I found myself standing in my doorway waiting for the shaking to be over. I heard a couple of things fall over in the other room, and to be honest I was kind of hoping it was a couple of those hideous fake plants my host mom has put up all over the house. After about a minute and a half the shaking stopped.
I had class shortly thereafter, so I didn't really have time to wait for an aftershock. I just grabbed my things and decided to start heading to school. And, I have to admit, I was a little curious how the Kazakhstanians would be responding to the earthquake on the streets. I was disappointed to see that there was little reaction when I made it out onto the street a mere 15 minutes after the quake. I grabbed a taxi to school (because I'm sorry when I can't feel my face I'm going to pay the 30 cents to get to class in less than 20 minutes) and for the first time since I've been in Kazakhstan, I was asked to put on my seatbelt! I realized later that this was because of the earthquake, but at the time I didn't know the word for earthquake (or for seatbelt, for that matter) so I just thought he was being particular forward-thinking. I happily strapped in and got to school safe and sound. On a side note, my driver only had nine fingers.
When I walked into the school yard, I saw that the entire building had been evacuated and was now standing in front of the school. I didn't have the heart to tell them that this would actually be a really horrible place to congregate your school children during an earthquake as most of the students were huddled underneath trees and there was a major electrical line running above them. But, I wasn't really concerned for an aftershock. We stood out there in the cold for about 15 or 20 minutes waiting for word from the regional center as to whether or not the students could be permitted back inside of the building.
During this time, one of my 8th grade students yelled at me "Miss James!" (yea, don't get me started) and then started shaking his whole body back and forth, presumably trying to simulate an earthquake. It was as though he thought that because I hadn't actually been in the school building with them that I hadn't felt the earthquake. (Maybe some earthquake training would be an appropriate secondary project?) My counterpart and another English teacher came running up to me as soon as I arrived and worriedly asked if I was OK and if I was scared. I stifled a laugh and let them know that I was familiar with earthquakes and that it had made me feel quite at home. I later learned that one of the English teachers had not been so cool and had actually started crying in class, while my counterpart (instead of comforting the students) had to focus her attentions on the spastic teacher.
School was cancelled for the day and everyone was sent home, for which I was actually quite grateful. All in all, my first Kazakhstanian earthquake was a success. And I'm safe, so don't worry. And to all of my elementary school teachers - your earthquake training served me well as I stood proudly in my Kazakh doorway.
Taxi?... Or Camel?
Written December 4, 2008
The first time I ever saw a camel was quite bizarre. I was traveling through Western Europe with a couple of my best friends. I met them in Strasbourg and we traveled South from there, through Germany and Switzerland. This was my Christmas vacation while studying abroad, and one of the best traveling experiences I've ever had. The four or five of us have some fantastic memories and stories from this time in Europe together.
One of the memories that had escaped me until just last week, was the couple of days that we spent in Laussane, Switzerland together. By this time, Kevin had just left us and headed back to Oxford (where he was studying for the semester) so it was just us girls left - Tracy, Sarah and I. We spent a couple of days sleeping in a concrete building with practically no heating (got to love hostels) and riding buses without tickets, just wandering around this old city that once hosted the Olympic Games. We didn't really have an agenda in Laussane, but somehow it had made it onto our itinerary.
We got lost a couple of times, we saw one of the most beautiful sunsets on the lake ever, and we just wandered the old streets. Well, being the holidays, every town has got their "Christmas Market". One night, we found ourself wandering around the market, listening to Christmas carols and checking out all of the candy and Christmas goodies at the market. It was the true Christmas experience. Then, as we turned a corner, we found ourself being passed by two or three men on camels. Just riding through the Christmas market. I'm pretty sure it was the first time any of us had see a camel, certainly my first time, and in a Christmas market in Switzerland none the less.
Well, just last week I saw my second camel. This time, in Kazakhstan - which, let's be honest, makes a little more sense. I've been told that there is quite the collection of camels in Kazakhstan, but the animals that I see around the towns and villages are mostly cows, horses and donkeys (and of course the dogs). Which, as a side note, are considered "domestic animals" in Kazakhstan. I learned this in one of my classes when my counterpart was teaching our sixth graders about animals and she asked the students to name "wild animals" and "domestic animals". Wild animals included the usual, Tiger, Lion, Bear, etc. and the "domestic animals" were dogs, cats, rabbits, the usual, and then they started adding animals to this list. Animals such as, sheep, cows, horses, donkeys... I was shaking my head thinking "No, those are 'farm animals'" but my counterpart confirmed their distinctions of these animals. And, I guess it makes sense because most of these children actually do have these animals in their backyards.
Later that week, during one of my Russian tutoring sessions, I, too, found myself learning about animals. Kind of embarassing really, to realize that my Russian is at a 6th grade level. But, she pointed at the camel and told me that it was a domestic animal. I couldn't stop laughing. I told her that in America, a camel would never be considered domestic. We had a good laugh, but nonetheless, I was a little saddened by our conversation. I mean, if camels are domestic animals in Kazakhstan, shouldn't I be seeing more of them? Are my neighbors hiding their camels in their backyards? I mean, come on, don't be greedy. The American wants to see a camel in Kazakhstan.
Well, I got my wish. I was running late for school one day, so I was going to pay the 30 cents to take a taxi to class. When I got to the taxi stand, there it was! It was just standing there, all primped and beautiful on a particularly sunny day in Merke. I stopped dead in my tracks, and I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. I just stared. It was one of those moments where I am reminded that Kazakhstan is still not "natural", I'm still an American living abroad, who is fascinated daily by these little "miracles". It was then, that I realized this camel was for hire. Behind the camel was this very ornately decorated passenger cart. The owner was standing by soliciting the locals for a ride to work or school or wherever.
I stood there just looking at the camel, then at the taxi, then back at the camel. Decisions, decisions... Well, unfortunately the only reason I was taking a taxi in the first place was because I was running late. And, while I am not familiar with camels as a form of transportation, I imagine that they aren't exactly the speediest? So, I pouted and head hung low, walked over to my taxi. Unfortunately, I didn't take a picture of the camel - part of me was hoping he'd still be there when I got out of my classes, and part of me realized that I was supposed to be blending in as part of this community. Now, the weather is cold again and the camel has returned to hiding. But, there is hope that maybe in the Spring, he'll be back...
The first time I ever saw a camel was quite bizarre. I was traveling through Western Europe with a couple of my best friends. I met them in Strasbourg and we traveled South from there, through Germany and Switzerland. This was my Christmas vacation while studying abroad, and one of the best traveling experiences I've ever had. The four or five of us have some fantastic memories and stories from this time in Europe together.
One of the memories that had escaped me until just last week, was the couple of days that we spent in Laussane, Switzerland together. By this time, Kevin had just left us and headed back to Oxford (where he was studying for the semester) so it was just us girls left - Tracy, Sarah and I. We spent a couple of days sleeping in a concrete building with practically no heating (got to love hostels) and riding buses without tickets, just wandering around this old city that once hosted the Olympic Games. We didn't really have an agenda in Laussane, but somehow it had made it onto our itinerary.
We got lost a couple of times, we saw one of the most beautiful sunsets on the lake ever, and we just wandered the old streets. Well, being the holidays, every town has got their "Christmas Market". One night, we found ourself wandering around the market, listening to Christmas carols and checking out all of the candy and Christmas goodies at the market. It was the true Christmas experience. Then, as we turned a corner, we found ourself being passed by two or three men on camels. Just riding through the Christmas market. I'm pretty sure it was the first time any of us had see a camel, certainly my first time, and in a Christmas market in Switzerland none the less.
Well, just last week I saw my second camel. This time, in Kazakhstan - which, let's be honest, makes a little more sense. I've been told that there is quite the collection of camels in Kazakhstan, but the animals that I see around the towns and villages are mostly cows, horses and donkeys (and of course the dogs). Which, as a side note, are considered "domestic animals" in Kazakhstan. I learned this in one of my classes when my counterpart was teaching our sixth graders about animals and she asked the students to name "wild animals" and "domestic animals". Wild animals included the usual, Tiger, Lion, Bear, etc. and the "domestic animals" were dogs, cats, rabbits, the usual, and then they started adding animals to this list. Animals such as, sheep, cows, horses, donkeys... I was shaking my head thinking "No, those are 'farm animals'" but my counterpart confirmed their distinctions of these animals. And, I guess it makes sense because most of these children actually do have these animals in their backyards.
Later that week, during one of my Russian tutoring sessions, I, too, found myself learning about animals. Kind of embarassing really, to realize that my Russian is at a 6th grade level. But, she pointed at the camel and told me that it was a domestic animal. I couldn't stop laughing. I told her that in America, a camel would never be considered domestic. We had a good laugh, but nonetheless, I was a little saddened by our conversation. I mean, if camels are domestic animals in Kazakhstan, shouldn't I be seeing more of them? Are my neighbors hiding their camels in their backyards? I mean, come on, don't be greedy. The American wants to see a camel in Kazakhstan.
Well, I got my wish. I was running late for school one day, so I was going to pay the 30 cents to take a taxi to class. When I got to the taxi stand, there it was! It was just standing there, all primped and beautiful on a particularly sunny day in Merke. I stopped dead in my tracks, and I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. I just stared. It was one of those moments where I am reminded that Kazakhstan is still not "natural", I'm still an American living abroad, who is fascinated daily by these little "miracles". It was then, that I realized this camel was for hire. Behind the camel was this very ornately decorated passenger cart. The owner was standing by soliciting the locals for a ride to work or school or wherever.
I stood there just looking at the camel, then at the taxi, then back at the camel. Decisions, decisions... Well, unfortunately the only reason I was taking a taxi in the first place was because I was running late. And, while I am not familiar with camels as a form of transportation, I imagine that they aren't exactly the speediest? So, I pouted and head hung low, walked over to my taxi. Unfortunately, I didn't take a picture of the camel - part of me was hoping he'd still be there when I got out of my classes, and part of me realized that I was supposed to be blending in as part of this community. Now, the weather is cold again and the camel has returned to hiding. But, there is hope that maybe in the Spring, he'll be back...
The Camel in Laussane
Thanksgiving
Written December 2, 2008
Happy Thanksgiving from a country that doesn't care! :)
This was the initial start to my Thanksgiving blog, BEFORE I headed to Taraz for a Thanksgiving celebration with my fellow regional volunteers. As you can see, it wasn't the most uplifting start. I've since decided that the actual date of the American holiday is not what's important - it's all about when you choose to celebrate it.
My ACTUAL Thanksgiving day was a bust. I taught two lessons, which were nothing special, and then an extra lesson (for 5th graders) where I had a total attendance of 2 students. Back at my house, my host mom was lodged in front of the television for the evening, and proceeded to actually leave the "Thanksgiving" dinner table and eat her dinner in front of the TV. And what was on the menu for that particular Thursday evening? Borsch - basically Russian stew (not comparable to the delicious soup that I had made previously). So, for Thanksgiving, I sat alone at the dinner table sipping bland soup. Oh, Kazakhstan...
Fortunately, my "real" family called that night. And when I say family, I mean F-A-M-I-L-Y. First, my dad called (being the early riser in the family) then when my brother and sister-in-law woke up, they called (no, they don't live with my parents, they had stayed there for the holiday, thank goodness), and then after I got off the phone with my brother I was handed off to my mom. These conversations made the day. I mean, shoot, 4 phone conversations in one evening? That's like how many phone calls I receive in one month (in a good month). I think they all forgot about the time difference, because when I told my mom that it was almost midnight she quickly rushed me off the phone for my beauty sleep. SHE clearly hasn't heard about the bucket showers and the broken couch... it's not "beauty" sleep in Merke, quite the opposite really.
Talking to my family on Thanksgiving was so great that I didn't even mind when my dad revealed that shortly after I left the states they had completely transformed my childhood bedroom into his personal study. We're talking total transformation - painted the walls, new furniture, put my bed in the new "guest room", the whole thing. I'm sure it was just a coping mechanism. Right? :)
After talking to the fam, Thanksgiving only got better. Friday afternoon I got on a bus to Taraz (picking up a fellow volunteer along the way). Two hours later we pulled into the "city". Neither of us had remembered to bring directions to the volunteer's apartment, so we got off at the first statue we saw (Jennie remembered something about a statue in the directions). We were about an hour early, so not really having any idea where we were we just decided to sit down on the side of a building and hang out for a little bit. She had delivered a package from a friend of mine in the states, so I opened that and we ate Twizzlers (thanks Sarah) and just waited. Later, I received a phone call from a fellow volunteer asking if we had made it to Taraz yet. I told him our situation, and he had actually be driven into Taraz by a Peace Corps driver (any chance he's the favorite? haha) so they proceeded to pin point our location and came and picked us up. So, we had a personal escort to Susanna's apartment - Thanks Peace Corps! We spent the weekend at Susanna's... where there was a shower!
Saturday night was our Thanksgiving celebration. The other volunteers had invited some of their local friends and co-workers, and we had a total turnout of about 16. (Only 6 of us being PCVs). Dave had provided the turkey - bought at the bazaar and slaughtered by his host family. Susanna baked an apple pie and two pumpkin pies (from scratch!) Hotard made the now infamous Hotard Casserole. We had mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, corn bread (two types), brownies, pumpkin bread, salad (without mayonnaise!), and gravy. Matt made fish cakes (with salmon from America, none of this KZ crap). Jennie brought Kraft Mac and Cheese. Add to that a couple of Kazakhstanian salads (provided by our guests - this time with mayo), and we had a FULL spread. We ate food, said a little of what we were thankful for, and played "Cowboy, Bear, Indian" - appropriate game.
The six of us spent all day preparing food AND... what is Thanksgiving without a little American football? I had the 2006 Tostitos Fiesta Bowl (Boise St v. Oklahoma) on my computer, so we turned that on and spent the day in true Thanksgiving fashion. And really, what better football game to watch?
Everyone ate too much, and we still had leftovers for a perfect Thanksgiving leftovers lunch on Sunday. I'm not sure how I walked out of that apartment on Sunday afternoon, but I managed, and made my way back to Merke, where my host mom was in relatively good spirits.
Thanksgiving lives!! Now, CHRISTMAS... 
Happy Thanksgiving from a country that doesn't care! :)
This was the initial start to my Thanksgiving blog, BEFORE I headed to Taraz for a Thanksgiving celebration with my fellow regional volunteers. As you can see, it wasn't the most uplifting start. I've since decided that the actual date of the American holiday is not what's important - it's all about when you choose to celebrate it.
My ACTUAL Thanksgiving day was a bust. I taught two lessons, which were nothing special, and then an extra lesson (for 5th graders) where I had a total attendance of 2 students. Back at my house, my host mom was lodged in front of the television for the evening, and proceeded to actually leave the "Thanksgiving" dinner table and eat her dinner in front of the TV. And what was on the menu for that particular Thursday evening? Borsch - basically Russian stew (not comparable to the delicious soup that I had made previously). So, for Thanksgiving, I sat alone at the dinner table sipping bland soup. Oh, Kazakhstan...
Fortunately, my "real" family called that night. And when I say family, I mean F-A-M-I-L-Y. First, my dad called (being the early riser in the family) then when my brother and sister-in-law woke up, they called (no, they don't live with my parents, they had stayed there for the holiday, thank goodness), and then after I got off the phone with my brother I was handed off to my mom. These conversations made the day. I mean, shoot, 4 phone conversations in one evening? That's like how many phone calls I receive in one month (in a good month). I think they all forgot about the time difference, because when I told my mom that it was almost midnight she quickly rushed me off the phone for my beauty sleep. SHE clearly hasn't heard about the bucket showers and the broken couch... it's not "beauty" sleep in Merke, quite the opposite really.
Talking to my family on Thanksgiving was so great that I didn't even mind when my dad revealed that shortly after I left the states they had completely transformed my childhood bedroom into his personal study. We're talking total transformation - painted the walls, new furniture, put my bed in the new "guest room", the whole thing. I'm sure it was just a coping mechanism. Right? :)
After talking to the fam, Thanksgiving only got better. Friday afternoon I got on a bus to Taraz (picking up a fellow volunteer along the way). Two hours later we pulled into the "city". Neither of us had remembered to bring directions to the volunteer's apartment, so we got off at the first statue we saw (Jennie remembered something about a statue in the directions). We were about an hour early, so not really having any idea where we were we just decided to sit down on the side of a building and hang out for a little bit. She had delivered a package from a friend of mine in the states, so I opened that and we ate Twizzlers (thanks Sarah) and just waited. Later, I received a phone call from a fellow volunteer asking if we had made it to Taraz yet. I told him our situation, and he had actually be driven into Taraz by a Peace Corps driver (any chance he's the favorite? haha) so they proceeded to pin point our location and came and picked us up. So, we had a personal escort to Susanna's apartment - Thanks Peace Corps! We spent the weekend at Susanna's... where there was a shower!
Saturday night was our Thanksgiving celebration. The other volunteers had invited some of their local friends and co-workers, and we had a total turnout of about 16. (Only 6 of us being PCVs). Dave had provided the turkey - bought at the bazaar and slaughtered by his host family. Susanna baked an apple pie and two pumpkin pies (from scratch!) Hotard made the now infamous Hotard Casserole. We had mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, corn bread (two types), brownies, pumpkin bread, salad (without mayonnaise!), and gravy. Matt made fish cakes (with salmon from America, none of this KZ crap). Jennie brought Kraft Mac and Cheese. Add to that a couple of Kazakhstanian salads (provided by our guests - this time with mayo), and we had a FULL spread. We ate food, said a little of what we were thankful for, and played "Cowboy, Bear, Indian" - appropriate game.
The six of us spent all day preparing food AND... what is Thanksgiving without a little American football? I had the 2006 Tostitos Fiesta Bowl (Boise St v. Oklahoma) on my computer, so we turned that on and spent the day in true Thanksgiving fashion. And really, what better football game to watch?
Everyone ate too much, and we still had leftovers for a perfect Thanksgiving leftovers lunch on Sunday. I'm not sure how I walked out of that apartment on Sunday afternoon, but I managed, and made my way back to Merke, where my host mom was in relatively good spirits.
Thanksgiving lives!! Now, CHRISTMAS...
Eating Dinner
Hotard, Matt Turner and Dave Hannon
Mmm... Turkey!!
My Thanksgiving Day Plate
Our Thanksgiving gathering
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Banana Republic
November 27, 2008
I think I have a problem...
So I had this dream the other night that was slightly problematic. What was even more problematic was how I felt when I woke up in the morning (after the dream). So, here's my dream...
I was in a shopping mall. I had some clothes from Banana Republic that I needed to return because I, well because I live in Kazakhstan and I'm a volunteer - I can use all the money I can get. So, I had brought my clothes to Banana to return them and get some money (probably to buy a measly banana or something - no pun intended, I just love bananas and they are quite expensive in Kazakhstan, so expensive in fact that you don't buy bananas by weight, you buy them individually). So, I walked into Banana Republic (back in America, which also didn't really seem to phase me) with some friends (Californian friends, of course, because dreams never make sense). We had to stand in a really long line (literally it went outside the store) just to get to the register. For some reason this also didn't phase me like it normally would.
When I finally got to the register, I pulled out my merchandise to return (which I'm pretty sure was old and worn, but this also didn't seem to come into play). The store clerk started talking about all the customers and how they had so many earlier in the day that there had been a line outside the store all day just to get in (like it was a nightclub or something). I just laughed it off, and then that's when I saw IT. Banana Republic was having their once- well it must be once in a lifetime because I've never seen this before - in a lifetime sale. Everything in the store was 75% off! It was only then that everything finally clicked into place. Basically I was outrageously lucky to have even gotten into the store, more or less that there was any merchandise left (and there was!) and instead of buying anything I had brought in some old clothes to return.
The store clerk asked me, you know, wasn't I going to buy anything? I had to play it cool (you wouldn't want to let on that you had no idea there was a HUGE sale going on) and said that, yea, but I always like to return my stuff first and then get to shopping. Let's just finish the transaction, and then I'll get back in line to buy new clothes.
I walked away from the register towards all of these clothes that were glowing like they were literally sent from Heaven. And, of course, it was right then that I woke up. I was furious! All I wanted to do was just go shopping in my dream for 75% off, but NO I had to wake up, on my fold-out couch (that doesn't fold out) in my sparse room with no furniture, in a country where they don't even have Banana Republic!
OK, so in retrospect, of course I realize that I was being ridiculous and that shopping is not nearly as important as changing the world (which, I'm totally doing). That I shouldn't care about Banana Republic or any other clothing store because well, in Kazakhstan they wear the same clothes for weeks on end (nice clothes, but the same ones!) and even at 75% off I probably still couldn't afford very much. But, nonetheless, I haven't stopped thinking about this dream shopping adventure. I wake up in the morning and stumble over to my buffet (which is the pathetic excuse I have for a dresser and a closet these days) stare at my clothes that are being destroyed by the bucket washings and want to climb back into bed just wishing that I can find my way back to that Banana Republic store (or any store really, I'm not being picky). But, no. Because you know that you can never go back to a dream when you want to. It's only when it's a nightmare that you don't want to ever experience again that you just can't seem to get away from the images...
So, I'm in Kazakhstan, dreaming about America and shopping at Banana Republic. But I swear, I'm changing the world! :)
I think I have a problem...
So I had this dream the other night that was slightly problematic. What was even more problematic was how I felt when I woke up in the morning (after the dream). So, here's my dream...
I was in a shopping mall. I had some clothes from Banana Republic that I needed to return because I, well because I live in Kazakhstan and I'm a volunteer - I can use all the money I can get. So, I had brought my clothes to Banana to return them and get some money (probably to buy a measly banana or something - no pun intended, I just love bananas and they are quite expensive in Kazakhstan, so expensive in fact that you don't buy bananas by weight, you buy them individually). So, I walked into Banana Republic (back in America, which also didn't really seem to phase me) with some friends (Californian friends, of course, because dreams never make sense). We had to stand in a really long line (literally it went outside the store) just to get to the register. For some reason this also didn't phase me like it normally would.
When I finally got to the register, I pulled out my merchandise to return (which I'm pretty sure was old and worn, but this also didn't seem to come into play). The store clerk started talking about all the customers and how they had so many earlier in the day that there had been a line outside the store all day just to get in (like it was a nightclub or something). I just laughed it off, and then that's when I saw IT. Banana Republic was having their once- well it must be once in a lifetime because I've never seen this before - in a lifetime sale. Everything in the store was 75% off! It was only then that everything finally clicked into place. Basically I was outrageously lucky to have even gotten into the store, more or less that there was any merchandise left (and there was!) and instead of buying anything I had brought in some old clothes to return.
The store clerk asked me, you know, wasn't I going to buy anything? I had to play it cool (you wouldn't want to let on that you had no idea there was a HUGE sale going on) and said that, yea, but I always like to return my stuff first and then get to shopping. Let's just finish the transaction, and then I'll get back in line to buy new clothes.
I walked away from the register towards all of these clothes that were glowing like they were literally sent from Heaven. And, of course, it was right then that I woke up. I was furious! All I wanted to do was just go shopping in my dream for 75% off, but NO I had to wake up, on my fold-out couch (that doesn't fold out) in my sparse room with no furniture, in a country where they don't even have Banana Republic!
OK, so in retrospect, of course I realize that I was being ridiculous and that shopping is not nearly as important as changing the world (which, I'm totally doing). That I shouldn't care about Banana Republic or any other clothing store because well, in Kazakhstan they wear the same clothes for weeks on end (nice clothes, but the same ones!) and even at 75% off I probably still couldn't afford very much. But, nonetheless, I haven't stopped thinking about this dream shopping adventure. I wake up in the morning and stumble over to my buffet (which is the pathetic excuse I have for a dresser and a closet these days) stare at my clothes that are being destroyed by the bucket washings and want to climb back into bed just wishing that I can find my way back to that Banana Republic store (or any store really, I'm not being picky). But, no. Because you know that you can never go back to a dream when you want to. It's only when it's a nightmare that you don't want to ever experience again that you just can't seem to get away from the images...
So, I'm in Kazakhstan, dreaming about America and shopping at Banana Republic. But I swear, I'm changing the world! :)
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