Wow. Christmas has come and gone and now I’m surrounded by about two feet of snow everywhere, well below freezing temperatures every night, no school until March, and a brand new year just around the corner. It’s odd. It never really felt like Christmas at all over here. Granted, I am living in a country that is 98% Muslim, with the remaining 2% Russian Orthodox Christian which is its’ own unique kind of old-school faith so there was nothing at all to remind me that it was the Christmas season. No supermarket songs and decorations laid out beginning sometime obnoxiously after Halloween, no advertisements for classic Christmas movies on TV, not even the usual break people in school and work get around the big 2-5!
I woke up Christmas morning at 7:30, got dressed in my suit and tie and went to a local school to help administer the regional English Olympiad test. I tested and interviewed 9th-11th graders until around 1pm, then went to the banya and had a beer with my site-mate Patrick. I got home after a quick café trip at around 5 and hung out with my Kyrgyz family until my American family called at 9pm (my time) to wish me a Merry Christmas. It was certainly the oddest Christmas I’ve ever had…
In Kyrgyzstan the big holiday this time of year is Janga-Jil, literally translated to New Year. What’s so odd about it though is that they decorate Christmas trees, give presents and even have a guy that looks identical to Santa Clause (called Ayaz-Ata, or Frost Father) that treats the kids to whatever wish they may have…and they party for a full two weeks before the actual New Year on the 31st. Even then, because it’s not directly Christmas related, it still didn’t feel at all like Christmas!
I do like the way they celebrate their Janga-Jil though. On Christmas Eve…sorry, December 24, my school had their big Janga-Jil party for the upper classmen (9-11 grade). This was just like any other high school dance, but everyone was eating various salads, eating various breads, drinking various champagnes and dancing various dances with various dance competitions that became really quite varied once the various champagne was drank by all attendants in various ways. Needless to say it was a very fun party!
On a more professional note: Because I am out of school for two full months (this is due to the fact that Kyrgyzstan may or may not have power to heat the schools throughout the winter) I volunteered to go to Bishkek for a week (last week) and complete a training session on grant-writing and camp organizing. Subsequently I have written a PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief) grant for a week-long AIDS, sexual health, and Life Skills camp for my area’s youth to be held in Talas. Peace Corps in Kyrgyzstan has never done this before, nor have I, so this is going to be a learning process all around. Hopefully I get approved; PEPFAR has granted $2800 per camp, of which my budget only requires $2100 and some change so I should be okay. Especially considering that Kyrgyz culture is very indirect in addressing sensitive subject matter (and just about everything else) this camp is going to be extremely beneficial to the youth who otherwise would never receive this information. I’ve lined up a translator and two area health professionals to give presentations, and a bunch of other volunteers have jumped on board to help as well…I’ll keep ya’ll posted on the progress as I go. On top of that it looks like I’ll be teaching the teacher’s at my school English through the winter, as well as my host-mother who for some reason loves the nasally American accent. No school basically means I get to wake up as God intended--whenever the fuck I feel like it for two months, but I’m also certainly going to be busy which is a huge relief:)
All in all Peace Corps is going quite well. It’s harder, and easier than I thought it would be. If that sounds like a contradiction than you’ve obviously never been a Peace Corps volunteer so please just take me at my word. I’m finally getting to do some “real” work outside of my committed schedule which is extremely rewarding and on top of all that my Kyrgyz language ability has gotten to the point that I can talk to anybody about just about anything…as long as it’s a very simple subject and they forgive my grammatical mistakes:)
Keep on keepin’ on…I can’t remember where I heard that, but it seems appropriate for my state of mind at the moment. I’m just keepin’ on with keepin’ on…
27 December 2008
14 December 2008
Doing fine again...
“::::: and it is either make this thing permanent inside of you or forever just climb draggled up into the conning tower every time for one short glimpse of the horizon :::::” –Tom Wolfe The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
I just read that passage today, and it immediately struck home. It affected me especially because doing what I’m doing, doing what every other Peace Corps volunteer the world over is doing is hard. Every single one of us has the choice to pretend to do what we’re here to do, i.e. go through the motions and act the part, instead of actually accomplishing what we only vaguely knew we wanted, no, needed to do before we came. I know a couple of volunteers, and I am guilty of being one myself at times, that do their job and leave. They let their local language lag, or stay holed up in their room locked into their computer or iPod because they’re the only things in the entire country, other than the other Americans, that make any sense. I can either make this ‘thing’, this ‘idea’ or ‘goal’ real inside of me or I can wake up every single day and go to work pretending that I’m doing exactly what I came here to do; conning myself into believing that I’m doing great, when in reality that greatness is just over the horizon, mocking my ignorance. But what we’re here to do is more than a job, it’s more than a life…it’s…
Melancholic introspective ramblings aside, I never want to hear the words “svet jok” as an excuse for something not working ever, ever, EVER again. It happened when my marshutka broke down on a snowy mountain pass at night on my way back from Bishkek, and it happened again today. I understand if “no electricity” is an excuse for something not working that requires electricity. But just because the electricity is out is no reason to not get my package from behind the fucking door! Sorry. I’m still a little wound up. I’ve tried to get a package from the local Post Office that my friend sent me three times now. The first time it was “no, come back tomorrow.” Well, I have a job that doesn’t exactly work around the three hour lunch breaks that seem to be government norms so my next option was the weekend. But, like Post Offices at home, their weekend hours are beyond decipherable so that didn’t quite work out either. Today I lucked out and my Apa informed me that I couldn’t go to my English Club because our neighbor was joining the army so we had to go to a party at their house. Luckily I managed to weasel my way out of there before too late and walked to the Post Office two hours before they were supposed to close. Remember, there just so happens to be no electricity. No matter (I think), retrieving my package shouldn’t require such modern luxuries. I’m fairly certain that packages have been sent around the world without such a cloud-created-convenience for at least the past, oh I don’t know, thousand-plus Goddamn years so why should today be any different? Well, when I get there that lady says “no, come back tomorrow.” She’s helping other people, why not me? I get a little flustered and enquire further. To which I’m met with an abrupt “svet jok.” Yes, it indeed appears that Post Offices the world over consist of rude people who genuinely don’t give a shit because they make government benefits and you and your package can kindly fuck off! It wouldn’t be so bad if this was the first time this had happened, but I had a little liquid courage (I was just at a party) and decided to press the issue. Was I getting obnoxious? No. Should I have let it go? Yes, maybe. But I was on a roll and my diatribe climaxed precisely at the moment that I saw an old lady leave the back-room smiling because she had just received her package! Well, now they had no excuse. I proceeded to brilliantly argue that if the lack of electricity has temporarily disabled their arms and legs from retrieving my package how had they been able to recover from their temporary paralysis in time to give the nice old lady her precious parcel? To this my friends, they had no excuse. Instead, they took it one step further and informed me that it wasn’t so much the lack of electricity per se, as much as it was that they were out of the bloody forms for me to sign! “Well,” I asked “how’d that nice old lady waltzing out of here with her arms snuggly wrapped around her new present manage to defeat this red-taped behemoth of bullshit bureaucracy?” (not in so many words, of course). “Oh,” the electricless woman informed me “she just wrote down her information here.” At which point they handed me a piece of paper. I left five minutes later with my battle-won spoils and never looked back.
If it weren’t for the generous helping of candy inside (really, it’s amazing what you miss when you live abroad for an extended period of time) I’d probably have been writing this with slightly more venom. As it stands, my belly is full and I’m as ever amazed at what in the hell I’m doing here. It’s easy, no, it’s extremely easy to get disenfranchised with this whole endeavor. I’m in fact only writing about today’s lovely incident because the aforementioned quote made me take some stock of my situation and view it a little bit more…abstractly. I could have just as easily written about the countless other little cultural idiosyncrasies that I encounter every hour of every day with just as much detail, and quite possibly a bit more sarcasm, though I wouldn’t want my loyal readers to think that I’m just having fun here:) I was mad. I was mad at the disrespect that I received in such a cold manner, I was mad at the cultural red-tape I had to cut through just to sign my name and get the hell out of there, but more than that I was mad because I have absolutely nowhere to go for any sympathy. Other volunteers help, sure. But there’s a point when the bitching gets too negative and instead of the cathartic experience one craves it actually just brings you down more. I’ve decided to leave all of that alone for a bit. Instead, after opening my package and devouring the contents, I holed up in my room with my American books, my American computer, my American iPod and every other American device from home that I fully understand and am completely comfortable with in order to make precisely the same mistake so many who’ve come before me have made. Today I willingly climbed the ‘conning tower’. Sure, I had some encouragement from my frustration and I gladly leapt up the final two steps in time to reach my personally projected plateau of defeat, but I certainly went blindly. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was three more chapters deep in Mr. Wolfe’s masterpiece. After I read that quote I realized that I wasn’t feeling any ‘better’. I was still just as frustrated. Only instead of dealing with my frustration head-on, like I would in America, I hid in my room, shut the door and escaped. I conned myself into believing that what I was doing was right when in reality I was even further from making ‘that thing permanent inside’ of me than I was before this whole debacle.
I thought about it, then closed my book and went outside to socialize with my host-family. I didn’t bitch about the Post Office lady, though I did make a quip or two about Kyrgyzstan’s president who “assured” the country we’d have power all winter…they quickly added their own carefully worded comments in agreement with that as well. But for the most part, I integrated. Not completely, mind you. Today, like every other day, is a work in progress. I’ll actually never be that far gone because such a commitment would involve copious amounts of Bishbarmark consumption that my gastrointestinal tract will never be able to handle. I did however accept where I am, what I’m doing, and am as ever getting closer to answering why…or in the words of Mr. Wolfe, now I’m “back on the bus.”
I just read that passage today, and it immediately struck home. It affected me especially because doing what I’m doing, doing what every other Peace Corps volunteer the world over is doing is hard. Every single one of us has the choice to pretend to do what we’re here to do, i.e. go through the motions and act the part, instead of actually accomplishing what we only vaguely knew we wanted, no, needed to do before we came. I know a couple of volunteers, and I am guilty of being one myself at times, that do their job and leave. They let their local language lag, or stay holed up in their room locked into their computer or iPod because they’re the only things in the entire country, other than the other Americans, that make any sense. I can either make this ‘thing’, this ‘idea’ or ‘goal’ real inside of me or I can wake up every single day and go to work pretending that I’m doing exactly what I came here to do; conning myself into believing that I’m doing great, when in reality that greatness is just over the horizon, mocking my ignorance. But what we’re here to do is more than a job, it’s more than a life…it’s…
Melancholic introspective ramblings aside, I never want to hear the words “svet jok” as an excuse for something not working ever, ever, EVER again. It happened when my marshutka broke down on a snowy mountain pass at night on my way back from Bishkek, and it happened again today. I understand if “no electricity” is an excuse for something not working that requires electricity. But just because the electricity is out is no reason to not get my package from behind the fucking door! Sorry. I’m still a little wound up. I’ve tried to get a package from the local Post Office that my friend sent me three times now. The first time it was “no, come back tomorrow.” Well, I have a job that doesn’t exactly work around the three hour lunch breaks that seem to be government norms so my next option was the weekend. But, like Post Offices at home, their weekend hours are beyond decipherable so that didn’t quite work out either. Today I lucked out and my Apa informed me that I couldn’t go to my English Club because our neighbor was joining the army so we had to go to a party at their house. Luckily I managed to weasel my way out of there before too late and walked to the Post Office two hours before they were supposed to close. Remember, there just so happens to be no electricity. No matter (I think), retrieving my package shouldn’t require such modern luxuries. I’m fairly certain that packages have been sent around the world without such a cloud-created-convenience for at least the past, oh I don’t know, thousand-plus Goddamn years so why should today be any different? Well, when I get there that lady says “no, come back tomorrow.” She’s helping other people, why not me? I get a little flustered and enquire further. To which I’m met with an abrupt “svet jok.” Yes, it indeed appears that Post Offices the world over consist of rude people who genuinely don’t give a shit because they make government benefits and you and your package can kindly fuck off! It wouldn’t be so bad if this was the first time this had happened, but I had a little liquid courage (I was just at a party) and decided to press the issue. Was I getting obnoxious? No. Should I have let it go? Yes, maybe. But I was on a roll and my diatribe climaxed precisely at the moment that I saw an old lady leave the back-room smiling because she had just received her package! Well, now they had no excuse. I proceeded to brilliantly argue that if the lack of electricity has temporarily disabled their arms and legs from retrieving my package how had they been able to recover from their temporary paralysis in time to give the nice old lady her precious parcel? To this my friends, they had no excuse. Instead, they took it one step further and informed me that it wasn’t so much the lack of electricity per se, as much as it was that they were out of the bloody forms for me to sign! “Well,” I asked “how’d that nice old lady waltzing out of here with her arms snuggly wrapped around her new present manage to defeat this red-taped behemoth of bullshit bureaucracy?” (not in so many words, of course). “Oh,” the electricless woman informed me “she just wrote down her information here.” At which point they handed me a piece of paper. I left five minutes later with my battle-won spoils and never looked back.
If it weren’t for the generous helping of candy inside (really, it’s amazing what you miss when you live abroad for an extended period of time) I’d probably have been writing this with slightly more venom. As it stands, my belly is full and I’m as ever amazed at what in the hell I’m doing here. It’s easy, no, it’s extremely easy to get disenfranchised with this whole endeavor. I’m in fact only writing about today’s lovely incident because the aforementioned quote made me take some stock of my situation and view it a little bit more…abstractly. I could have just as easily written about the countless other little cultural idiosyncrasies that I encounter every hour of every day with just as much detail, and quite possibly a bit more sarcasm, though I wouldn’t want my loyal readers to think that I’m just having fun here:) I was mad. I was mad at the disrespect that I received in such a cold manner, I was mad at the cultural red-tape I had to cut through just to sign my name and get the hell out of there, but more than that I was mad because I have absolutely nowhere to go for any sympathy. Other volunteers help, sure. But there’s a point when the bitching gets too negative and instead of the cathartic experience one craves it actually just brings you down more. I’ve decided to leave all of that alone for a bit. Instead, after opening my package and devouring the contents, I holed up in my room with my American books, my American computer, my American iPod and every other American device from home that I fully understand and am completely comfortable with in order to make precisely the same mistake so many who’ve come before me have made. Today I willingly climbed the ‘conning tower’. Sure, I had some encouragement from my frustration and I gladly leapt up the final two steps in time to reach my personally projected plateau of defeat, but I certainly went blindly. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was three more chapters deep in Mr. Wolfe’s masterpiece. After I read that quote I realized that I wasn’t feeling any ‘better’. I was still just as frustrated. Only instead of dealing with my frustration head-on, like I would in America, I hid in my room, shut the door and escaped. I conned myself into believing that what I was doing was right when in reality I was even further from making ‘that thing permanent inside’ of me than I was before this whole debacle.
I thought about it, then closed my book and went outside to socialize with my host-family. I didn’t bitch about the Post Office lady, though I did make a quip or two about Kyrgyzstan’s president who “assured” the country we’d have power all winter…they quickly added their own carefully worded comments in agreement with that as well. But for the most part, I integrated. Not completely, mind you. Today, like every other day, is a work in progress. I’ll actually never be that far gone because such a commitment would involve copious amounts of Bishbarmark consumption that my gastrointestinal tract will never be able to handle. I did however accept where I am, what I’m doing, and am as ever getting closer to answering why…or in the words of Mr. Wolfe, now I’m “back on the bus.”
05 December 2008
Sonnet 2
Questioning decisions yet to be made
my mind fears what it does not know will be.
All my life, and of all the things I gave
I’ve not let fate rule out uncertainty.
Challenges met, and goals that I’ve achieved
birthed not the peace or calm I’ve wanted for.
Both stress and fear do cloud what I must see
in that all I have gained I still want more.
Hunger must be what drives my restless soul,
and its’ insatiable quest to quench it.
As the red heat fades in my last-turned coal
I look anew to keep my fire lit.
Life’s a journey, not a destination.
This is just temporary placation.
my mind fears what it does not know will be.
All my life, and of all the things I gave
I’ve not let fate rule out uncertainty.
Challenges met, and goals that I’ve achieved
birthed not the peace or calm I’ve wanted for.
Both stress and fear do cloud what I must see
in that all I have gained I still want more.
Hunger must be what drives my restless soul,
and its’ insatiable quest to quench it.
As the red heat fades in my last-turned coal
I look anew to keep my fire lit.
Life’s a journey, not a destination.
This is just temporary placation.
Expanation of a Celebration
WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS NEXT POST IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 10…OR 13 IF YOUR PARENTS ARE OVERBEARING AND WANT TO KEEP YOU AS A CHILD FOREVER. OR IF YOU CAN’T FACE REALITY AND HAVE TROUBLE ACCEPTING LITTLE FACTS OF LIFE AS THEY COME AT YOU! SERIOUSLY!!
Santa isn’t real. Everyone realizes this at one point or another and (though it might take time, and years of expensive counseling) they eventually forgive their parents for lying to them about the one thing that made childhood remotely bearable since the day they were born. Tonight I attempted to explain to my Kyrgyz family what Santa is and how he relates to Christmas.
Quick note: I’m not even going to remotely try to explain to them the story of the three old dudes who found a baby in a desert who grew up to do some magic tricks and died a terrible death…no, there’s not enough time in the world to explain that one considering how difficult my retelling of the Christmas story from the north pole went! But I digress.
I began with the basics: He lives in a huge castle in the North Pole and has little people who wear green costumes working for him. Okay. Then I explained how he wears a red suit, has a white beard and is really fat. Okay, they’re actually still with me at this point. Then I explained that he has eight flying reindeer (‘reindeer’ isn’t in my dictionary so I had to act it out…it was about as funny as it sounds:)) who take him to every house in the world in the course of one night to deliver exactly whatever present(s) that particular child wants. At this point they’re all nodding in agreement and saying, ‘hmmm, this Santa fellow seems like a really nice guy’. I then proceeded to explain how every child leaves out a glass of milk, a couple of cookies, and a carrot or two…
quick note: no one ever leaves eight carrots, has anyone ever thought about how cruel that is…we’re assuming Rudolph is the lucky bastard that gets the one carrot that is left out, if one is at all, and the others are forced to fly behind the gastronomically satisfied little bastard rubbing it all in their face with a bright red nose to cap it all off. Really, first we lie to our children from an early age which probably only serves to propagate the plentiful nightmares the proportionately peculiar youth already have to put up with, but now we’re also saying that it’s okay to choose favorites on the one night of the year we should all be considering selflessness! Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to lie my ass of when I have kids…I just think it’s an interesting point. But again, I digress.
The point in my story telling that really gets my family confused is when I tell them that Santa enters and leaves every house on his journey via their fireplace. Then, in all honesty, my Apa speaks up and says (in Kyrgyz, of course) “Doesn’t his suit get dirty?” I laugh, and say “of course not, he’s Santa!” My Ata ponders this for a minute then he asks “so after he distributes the presents and somehow doesn’t get their house dirty with soot on his black boots, he climbs back up the chimney staying clean the whole time!?” Again I stifle laughter as I reply “no, he wiggles his nose and shoots up the chimney like magic!” Now my family is roaring with laughter and they’re saying ‘oh, you’re making this all up, there is no Santa Clause!’ As if the flying reindeer weren’t clue enough, right? It then takes me the better part of an hour to explain to them in great deal how Christmas really works, ie. Kids make a list, give it to their parents who promise to ‘send’ it to Santa, then they buy presents, hide them in the house until Christmas when they finally take them out and lead their children to believe that it was actually a mystical fat gentleman in a terribly tailored suit that generously procured their various enjoyment instigators until next season. To which my host sister replies “so…parents lie to their children!?” Then my whole family starts giving me looks like, ‘wow, maybe America isn’t so great after all…’
There you have it. I’m just here spinning elaborate tales that evidently do little more than highlight all Americans’ natural talent for deceit. Oh, I also teach English.
Santa isn’t real. Everyone realizes this at one point or another and (though it might take time, and years of expensive counseling) they eventually forgive their parents for lying to them about the one thing that made childhood remotely bearable since the day they were born. Tonight I attempted to explain to my Kyrgyz family what Santa is and how he relates to Christmas.
Quick note: I’m not even going to remotely try to explain to them the story of the three old dudes who found a baby in a desert who grew up to do some magic tricks and died a terrible death…no, there’s not enough time in the world to explain that one considering how difficult my retelling of the Christmas story from the north pole went! But I digress.
I began with the basics: He lives in a huge castle in the North Pole and has little people who wear green costumes working for him. Okay. Then I explained how he wears a red suit, has a white beard and is really fat. Okay, they’re actually still with me at this point. Then I explained that he has eight flying reindeer (‘reindeer’ isn’t in my dictionary so I had to act it out…it was about as funny as it sounds:)) who take him to every house in the world in the course of one night to deliver exactly whatever present(s) that particular child wants. At this point they’re all nodding in agreement and saying, ‘hmmm, this Santa fellow seems like a really nice guy’. I then proceeded to explain how every child leaves out a glass of milk, a couple of cookies, and a carrot or two…
quick note: no one ever leaves eight carrots, has anyone ever thought about how cruel that is…we’re assuming Rudolph is the lucky bastard that gets the one carrot that is left out, if one is at all, and the others are forced to fly behind the gastronomically satisfied little bastard rubbing it all in their face with a bright red nose to cap it all off. Really, first we lie to our children from an early age which probably only serves to propagate the plentiful nightmares the proportionately peculiar youth already have to put up with, but now we’re also saying that it’s okay to choose favorites on the one night of the year we should all be considering selflessness! Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to lie my ass of when I have kids…I just think it’s an interesting point. But again, I digress.
The point in my story telling that really gets my family confused is when I tell them that Santa enters and leaves every house on his journey via their fireplace. Then, in all honesty, my Apa speaks up and says (in Kyrgyz, of course) “Doesn’t his suit get dirty?” I laugh, and say “of course not, he’s Santa!” My Ata ponders this for a minute then he asks “so after he distributes the presents and somehow doesn’t get their house dirty with soot on his black boots, he climbs back up the chimney staying clean the whole time!?” Again I stifle laughter as I reply “no, he wiggles his nose and shoots up the chimney like magic!” Now my family is roaring with laughter and they’re saying ‘oh, you’re making this all up, there is no Santa Clause!’ As if the flying reindeer weren’t clue enough, right? It then takes me the better part of an hour to explain to them in great deal how Christmas really works, ie. Kids make a list, give it to their parents who promise to ‘send’ it to Santa, then they buy presents, hide them in the house until Christmas when they finally take them out and lead their children to believe that it was actually a mystical fat gentleman in a terribly tailored suit that generously procured their various enjoyment instigators until next season. To which my host sister replies “so…parents lie to their children!?” Then my whole family starts giving me looks like, ‘wow, maybe America isn’t so great after all…’
There you have it. I’m just here spinning elaborate tales that evidently do little more than highlight all Americans’ natural talent for deceit. Oh, I also teach English.
Sonnet 1
If there were only some way for me to
reach back and touch the love I used to know
I’m sure that all that we have both been through
would ease my forgiveness in what time’s shown.
And yet my heart cringes still with past pain
at the memory of what could have been.
All that was said cannot be said again;
as time’s cruel clock moves forward still unseen.
Promises made in vain that still seem right,
their haunting echo coursing through my head;
whispers uttered softly in the dark night—
memories reminding me what is dead.
If only time could cease its’ churn and bind
and send me back, who knows what I would find.
reach back and touch the love I used to know
I’m sure that all that we have both been through
would ease my forgiveness in what time’s shown.
And yet my heart cringes still with past pain
at the memory of what could have been.
All that was said cannot be said again;
as time’s cruel clock moves forward still unseen.
Promises made in vain that still seem right,
their haunting echo coursing through my head;
whispers uttered softly in the dark night—
memories reminding me what is dead.
If only time could cease its’ churn and bind
and send me back, who knows what I would find.
Ooyat...
Ooyat. That’s roughly how the Kyrgyz word is spelled with Latin characters. Its literal translation (like most Kyrgyz words) is tough to nail down but it roughly means shameful. A lot in Kyrgyzstan is Ooyat. My host-Apa has been talking about sending a package to my parents in America with various jams and some Kyrgyz clothing despite my repeated assertions that such a package would be insanely expensive to send in Kyrgyz som. At any rate she had a friend of hers who works at the post office over for chai and began to ask her how much it would cost to send a two-kilo package to America. Her friends’ response is “oh, it’d be expensive” to which my Apa replied “well, how much exactly?” Her friends’ response is classic “Oh Jildice (my Apa’s name) you can’t ask me how much it would be exactly, that’s ooyat.” I got another example of a very ooyat thing at dinner tonight when I accidently put my bread round-side down on the table. My host-sister freaked out and tells me: “oh James, you can’t do that, that’s ooyat!” Being the curious ooyated-American that I am I enquire as to why putting my bread down on the table one way isn’t shameful at all, yet putting it down in another manner warrants such a strong reaction from my keepers? She proceeds to thoroughly explain to me that it’s because…well…it’s because it is.
It’s very interesting living in this culture for a number of reasons, but the one that I encounter every single day is the Kyrgyz’s firmly held beliefs such as this: it is because it is. As Americans we demand facts and scientific exploration before we make wide-arching speculations…well, unless we’re the governor of the largest state in the union; then we can accept just about anything on our extremist faith alone, but I digress. How can I prevent a sore throat? Eat raw pig fat. How can I avoid getting sick in the winter? Swim in a freezing cold lake, but be sure not to drink any of the water because that will immediately reverse its healing properties! How much money do I make per year? This question seems to crop up in every single conversation I’ve ever had over here, and it’s perfectly culturally acceptable; but God forbid I ever ask the precise cost of anything! The list could go on: brush your teeth, but not for too long because that’s bad for you. When invited to a party it’s considered very rude to show up any less than three hours late. When visiting a house you must eat something, even if you’re only dropping something off it is quite ooyat if you don’t at least “Ostee” (literally ‘taste’) a tiny morsel of what is probably day-old bread left out on the table, otherwise the home-owner whom you are visiting will get a sour reputation as a terrible host…even though they weren’t hosting anything.
The list could go on forever however I don’t wish to sound as if I’m ‘bitching’ or complaining, or anything of the sort. I am actually quite enamored with this culture and the people I live and work with. As my language improves I understand even more of the intricacies that make up the daily life of the Kyrgyz, and it is as ever extremely fascinating! It’s a privilege to be the ‘American’ experiencing this all first-hand. I am not necessarily bound to the same constricted social norms as the people that surround me, though a certain amount of adherence is certainly appreciated and has only furthered my ability to integrate successfully, but being the outsider that my appearance, speech, and mannerisms obviously illuminate has given me the great opportunity to impartially view and discern all of these tiny cultural idiosyncrasies that many Kyrgyz themselves only acknowledge once I bring it to their attention. Thus, I have essentially been given a front-row seat to one of the most interesting shows I’ve ever had the honor of attending! Not only do I get to watch the drama play out on a daily basis, but I actually get to interact with the players themselves.
Every time I get frustrated or stressed out (which is often because, let’s face it, Peace Corps is inherently stressful) I remind myself that I’m not here to “become Kyrgyz”, but I’m here to share my culture while learning about, and interacting within, theirs. This recognition has given me the much-appreciated ability to ‘step outside the box’, take a good look around in order to see what I’m doing anew. Though I’ve only been here five months I feel that this ability is something that is going to sustain me when it really starts to get hard. So, keep the Ooyat’s coming. Although I really couldn’t care less about which way my bread sits on the table my host-family does, and in the end that’s all that matters.
It’s very interesting living in this culture for a number of reasons, but the one that I encounter every single day is the Kyrgyz’s firmly held beliefs such as this: it is because it is. As Americans we demand facts and scientific exploration before we make wide-arching speculations…well, unless we’re the governor of the largest state in the union; then we can accept just about anything on our extremist faith alone, but I digress. How can I prevent a sore throat? Eat raw pig fat. How can I avoid getting sick in the winter? Swim in a freezing cold lake, but be sure not to drink any of the water because that will immediately reverse its healing properties! How much money do I make per year? This question seems to crop up in every single conversation I’ve ever had over here, and it’s perfectly culturally acceptable; but God forbid I ever ask the precise cost of anything! The list could go on: brush your teeth, but not for too long because that’s bad for you. When invited to a party it’s considered very rude to show up any less than three hours late. When visiting a house you must eat something, even if you’re only dropping something off it is quite ooyat if you don’t at least “Ostee” (literally ‘taste’) a tiny morsel of what is probably day-old bread left out on the table, otherwise the home-owner whom you are visiting will get a sour reputation as a terrible host…even though they weren’t hosting anything.
The list could go on forever however I don’t wish to sound as if I’m ‘bitching’ or complaining, or anything of the sort. I am actually quite enamored with this culture and the people I live and work with. As my language improves I understand even more of the intricacies that make up the daily life of the Kyrgyz, and it is as ever extremely fascinating! It’s a privilege to be the ‘American’ experiencing this all first-hand. I am not necessarily bound to the same constricted social norms as the people that surround me, though a certain amount of adherence is certainly appreciated and has only furthered my ability to integrate successfully, but being the outsider that my appearance, speech, and mannerisms obviously illuminate has given me the great opportunity to impartially view and discern all of these tiny cultural idiosyncrasies that many Kyrgyz themselves only acknowledge once I bring it to their attention. Thus, I have essentially been given a front-row seat to one of the most interesting shows I’ve ever had the honor of attending! Not only do I get to watch the drama play out on a daily basis, but I actually get to interact with the players themselves.
Every time I get frustrated or stressed out (which is often because, let’s face it, Peace Corps is inherently stressful) I remind myself that I’m not here to “become Kyrgyz”, but I’m here to share my culture while learning about, and interacting within, theirs. This recognition has given me the much-appreciated ability to ‘step outside the box’, take a good look around in order to see what I’m doing anew. Though I’ve only been here five months I feel that this ability is something that is going to sustain me when it really starts to get hard. So, keep the Ooyat’s coming. Although I really couldn’t care less about which way my bread sits on the table my host-family does, and in the end that’s all that matters.
21 November 2008
More to say...
It’s Tuesday night at 8:39pm as I write this. I’m a wee bit tipsy and to be honest a bit enamored with the whole idea of what it means to “be Kyrgyz”. It’s more than a birthright. It’s like a way of life. I could go back to America tomorrow and still employ some time honored tricks to living that I’ve learned from my adopted homeland. (1) When it’s your birthday, don’t just celebrate the day of instead, stretch it out over a week and have progressively larger parties until the final blow-out spectacular that’s actually two days after the calendared day of your birth. My Apa’s thirty-fifth birthday is/was today (November 18). We had a small get-together on Sunday to celebrate the beginning of her birthday but tonight we had the real birthday party replete with presents, vodka, bishbarmark, vodka, music, vodka, dancing, vodka, and a little vodka to make sure everyone had a good time. Then as I was stumbling through my goodbye’s (linguistically and physically) I overheard that the real party is on Thursday (that’s forty-eight hours after my Apa’s birth thirty-five years ago, for those of you playing the home game) at a local café. They’ll have a DJ, vodka, dancing, vodka, more people speaking a language I am just beginning to get a grasp of, and yes, vodka as well. That’s pretty cool, no? (2) When you get paid fuck your job, just DRINK! Today was pay-day at my school. Because I live in a cash-based society the teachers are paid in cash (repetitive? Yes. Needed? I think so…who else gets paid IN CASH as an adult unless you are working for “the union”?) so when I arrived at my school promptly at 9:30 for our first class at 9:40 I walked into the teacher’s lounge to find every single teacher in the school there. They were all milling about and keeping a stern eye on a man I’ve never seen before who was sitting in the corner with a large metal box in front of him. Two things: One, the Kyrgyz have absolutely no sense of what it means to stand in line, so everyone literally rushes forward at the same time in a “may the best man win” type of situation. Two, the man with the metal box turned out to be the banks’ representative. He had every single teacher’s salary hidden in the confines of his large metal box. Sort of makes you appreciate your direct deposit, doesn’t it? As the teacher’s all rushed forward screeching their names to the metal-box-carrying-man hoping that he’ll pay them first I played about thirty-five intense games of Snake. For those of you that have never owned a cheap Nokia phone, Snake is the greatest game in the history of the universe. I could describe more but Google should do it justice. Anyway, as I was playing the last level of the “Campaign” option in Snake (the level is called the “apartment” and it’s FUCKING HARD) I watched a teacher get knocked to the ground. No sooner could I swear under my breath and stand to help her up than other teachers were already pushing her to the back of the crowd so they could yell their names to the pay-box-man as loud as they could. As soon as I saw that the poor lady that was too weak to elbow her way to the front of the melee in front of me was okay I began to laugh. I’d been there for almost two hours and only about six teachers had been paid! If they’d all just waited in line and been ordered about the whole endeavor they would have been in and out in a matter of minutes! But I digress. The reason that this is all so related to number 2 (stated much too far above) is that as soon as my counterpart, Narjan, was paid she grabbed her purse and said “James, let’s go.” Now, being the ignorant American that I evidently am, I took this to mean “James, let’s go teach at least one bloody class today because we’ve just conveniently missed two of the three we were supposed to teach.” How wrong I was. She led me directly into the English Club Room where our director (Kyrgyz equivalent of the American principle) was sitting with two bottles of vodka, a gigantic bottle of beer, meat, cheese, bread, and a ton of candy. Fuck it. IT’S PAY DAY! The best part is that as my director, my counterpart (who happens to be vice-director) and three other teachers were enjoying our pre-noon imbibing and copious sustenance consumption numerous diligent students stopped by enquiring about their supposed lessons! Silly kids. IT’S MOTHERFUCKIN’ PAY DAY, MAN! One by one the teacher’s of the subject in question got up to address these ignorant youngsters and explain to them that IT’S MOTHERFUCKIN’ PAY DAY, MAN!! No self-respecting teacher works on pay day. Silly kids…(3) If you get a phone call in the middle of class, whether you’re a teacher or a student, answer it and make sure everyone is aware of your popularity as you do so. A specific instance of this didn’t happen today, or any day mentioned thus far but this scenario has happened on more than one occasion and therefore I feel that it is duly worth mentioning here. I team-teach with Narjan and yet in the middle of a grammar lesson involving such intricacies of the English language as the distinct difference between “a” and “an” (sarcasm at its finest: every schoolboy knows that “an” is only used to preface an indirect noun beginning with a vowel [basically…you want more? Look it up yourself, I’m tired], but when you’re teaching it to 9th form kids who have been learning English for seven years and they look at you like it’s new information it’s a bit disheartening, nay, ridiculous) she’ll get a phone call that she’ll immediately answer and take outside. This has happened more times than I can count. It’s more than a little distracting, but am I wrong if I also think it’s completely hilarious in its absurdity? Thank you. Finally (4), if someone who is not employed by any health related agency and has absolutely no degree or certificate in medicine has ever given you advice or concluded anything about any health-related matter either directly or indirectly believe it and adhere to it as if it were given to you by the hand of God. One of my favorite myths that every Kyrgyz propagates is that drinking cold water is bad for you. It is. Actually yes, I’m not being sarcastic. Drinking cold water infected with bacteria such as Giardia or the like is actually quite bad for you. I have tried numerous times to tell my host family, both my current one and my PST one, that it’s not the cold that’s bad for you, but the bacteria that (if left un-treated) lives in the cold water that’s bad for you. The Kyrgyz have figured out that if you boil your water and add tea that it becomes okay. They refuse to believe, however, that my “magical distiller-device from America” (it’s Peace Corps issued and not that great, but it does the job) actually makes cold water okay. I have thus been forced to resort to drinking my cold water in private and away from the judging eyes of those around me because of the fear they have of what the “cold” might do to me! That’s right. I’m a closet-drinker-of-COLD-water. Are you as ashamed of me as I am of myself? It’s okay…according to Kyrgyz folklore you’re absolutely in-the-right. However, last night my Apa explained to me that if you don’t want to get sick during the winter all you have to do is SWIM IN A FROZEN BODY OF WATER. Yeah, I capitalized that last bit because I wanted to emphasize how ABSOLUTELY INSANE it is. Okay, so I can’t drink distilled cold water, but I can swim in a frozen-fucking lake and THEN I’ll be healthy? Hell...I’ll believe it. Just give me the activities of six paydays in a row combined into a two-hour time span and I’ll believe anything!
I very well could have broken the above stories into a few different paragraphs and worked on the grammar, punctuation and the like but I neglected to do so because I’m drunk and I like the free-flowing nature of my prose. If you don’t, then FUCK OFF CRITIC! For everyone else out there: Enjoy. Believe me, I certainly am:)
I very well could have broken the above stories into a few different paragraphs and worked on the grammar, punctuation and the like but I neglected to do so because I’m drunk and I like the free-flowing nature of my prose. If you don’t, then FUCK OFF CRITIC! For everyone else out there: Enjoy. Believe me, I certainly am:)
What an adventure!
Wow. What an amazing weekend! I travelled to Bishkek with 13 other volunteers from Talas braving the freshly snowed mountain pass of the majestic Ala-Too Mountains to meet up with about 20 or so other volunteers from around the country for one entire weekend of hedonistic indulgence. We all arrived in Bishkek at around 3pm on Friday (a Kyrgyz National Holiday, so we all didn’t have school) and checked into three separate apartments that had been pre-arranged for our excursion. After my friend Kristen and I gathered together the bulk of the volunteers to stay at our apartment, summarily named “the ‘party’ apartment” and handed over the keys we made our way to Beta Café. Beta Café is the best place in the city to buy reasonably priced hamburgers that are American style, as well as delicious pizza. After we decimated our bellies with long-sought-after grease we headed to The Metro. The Metro is owned by a British ex-pat and is absolutely the best place in the entire city to go for their wide array of available drinks as well as their stunning and delicious menu of food items, however it is not for someone working on a Peace Corps budget. Luckily I have saved for this trip of indulgences for the past two months so I was prepared to completely let loose. We met up with Nick, another volunteer, and swapped stories for a couple of hours over pints of Hoegaarden and Jack Daniels. One will never have a truer appreciation for American liquor than if one’s been forced to only consume copious amounts of cheap vodka for months at a time. Jack, thank you. After this we headed back to the “party apartment” and drank and talked with the other volunteers that we hadn’t seen (Kristen lives in Talas, we kick it every weekend:) for a month and a half…though after what everyone’s already experienced it really felt like a lifetime of absence.
The we headed to The Golden Bull. This is a nightclub in the center of the city that is popular with American Servicemen and prostitutes alike. Being any American, however, gets you in for free and escorted to the VIP section so it’s worth the hassle…or so I thought. I organized gigantic discotheque club excursions when I bartended in Italy and have been to clubs in Vegas and Hollywood…not to mention some pretty good one’s in Seattle. I don’t know what I was expecting, but evidently not many people travel to Kyrgyzstan to get their groove on because this place was horrible. The prostitutes were everywhere and the American Servicemen all looked like they wanted to fight, not to mention that this was all taking place along with drinking and dancing in a club no larger than the average American garage. I grabbed my friend Tim and he and I left pretty much as soon as we arrived.
With that slight downturn of events the remainder of the night turned out quite well. I got into a very deep and long drunken conversation with my friend Jeanne until about 4am on the stairwell of our apartment and passed out in the hallway. The next day was epic. Saturday morning Jeanne and I went to go get breakfast at The Metro. We split a plate of nachos and she got a chicken burrito which I matched with my own plate of fettuccini alfredo with spinach and parmesan cheese. We both drank some Irish Coffee’s and played FREE POOL for a couple of hours joined intermittently by more and more volunteers who decided to debauch their wallets for the sake of flavor for the first time in five months as well. After that it was about 3pm (did I mention it was a late night the night before?) so Jeanne and I decided to go pick up some more supplies and head back to the apartment to meet up with everyone else. By and by people decided to head out for dinner. I went to this gorgeous Italian restaurant right in the center of town where I ate thinly sliced beef marinated with lemon and a plate of cauliflower and melted swiss cheese. Oh, and I split a bottle of champagne with Kristen!
Terrible foresight can sometimes lead to disaster…but it can also lead to unexpected adventure and excitement—which is exactly what my own forgetting of our apartment keys did! It wasn’t until we were all walking back from our amazing Italian culinary delight when I remembered my mistake. I had left the keys with another group that wouldn’t be back for over an hour. At this point it’s about 30 degrees Fahrenheit and beginning to hail so we all ducked inside a seemingly empty café to wait. Soon enough an old Russian lady comes out and tells us that it’s her birthday in the next rented-out room and that we should all come join her. Fuck it, we’ve got an hour to kill and this lady seemed drunk which means there’s at least something going on in there—why not? We all head in and are greeted like kings. Jonathan and I proceed straight to the dance floor and I dance with just about every single lady over the age of 60. Needless to say that we were such a hit that the DJ even took a second for everyone to recognize the “Americanskis”, and we were given a round of enthusiastic applause before being led back to our table. The table that Francis, Erin, Kristen and Jenna were sitting (not dancing like Jonathan and me) at was soon brought a bottle of champagne and we all toasted our generous host. After that I asked the host to dance and we danced an epic number to the theme from Top Gun…it was indeed as romantic as I just made it sound. She was so enamored that she brought me over to her table and sat me at the head of it. Although I attempted to make inroads with conversation, her husband was not very impressed…though he did toast to my health. Come to think of it I really hope he’s not mafia because that toast could take on a whole different meaning. No matter. After she sat me down she gave me plate after plate of delicious Russian food (really, I don’t know why the Kyrgyz insist on making theirs so disgusting…Kyrgyz food is easily some of the worst culinary disasters on the planet!) and introduced me to her daughter. How nice of her! Anyway, this was towards the end of the night and my stomach was full of great food, great champagne and great vibes so I followed everyone else out. As a thank you for my dancing and I’m sure for bringing every other American to her birthday party the host gave me a huge hug, kissed my cheek and handed me a plastic bag. When I got outside I opened up the bag to find a nice freshly ripened banana. How nice! By this time people were in the apartment and the party there was getting started so we all made our way over, with a great story to tell to boot! The night at the apartment turned out as would be expected with some notable stories and names that shall remain nameless, but it was the Russian lady’s birthday party that made it a great night indeed.
Sunday came and due to the excitement that preceded that morning everyone decided that one final trip to The Metro was in order. We all rolled into The Metro looking every bit the savages we were/are and sat down to more delicious food accompanied by White Russians. After getting a little buzzed due to the dehydration from the night before and being generally delirious from the pizza, potato skins, chicken-burgers and burritos that once populated our table we missed the last available marshutka out of Bishkek! Uh oh. Those that could get back did, but Joe, Nick, Jeanne and I all were forced to wander around until we found a dormitory-style guest house on the outskirts of town. It had amazingly comfortable beds, staff that spoke English and a very nice outdoor seating area. We also met an Australian named Andrew and Japanese named Taki. After the initial hello’s the Peace Corps group headed out to one final epic dinner at the best Chinese food restaurant I’ve ever been to! The portions were huge, the price was reasonable and the atmosphere electric…seriously, this place was amazing! We took our left-over’s back to the guest house and left them outside because the weather at this point was colder than any refrigerator and picked up some vodka and beer to party with our new Japanese and Australian friends! The next morning we all ate the remnants of our Chinese food before we bussed and walked to the West Bus station where we said our goodbyes. Then the weekend got interesting.
Because I was the only one from Talas that over-extended their stay in Bishkek I had to ride a marshutka with eleven other Kyrgyz people all the way back. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the guy next to me didn’t keep nudging me awake with interesting questions like “how much money do you make?” and “what is your name…for the thousandth fucking time?”. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there wasn’t a baby crying the entire time. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the asshole sitting next to me refusing to let me sleep didn’t have a friend with him that kept coughing, spitting, smoking and drinking vodka. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it didn’t take 9 ½ hours instead of the normal 6. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we didn’t hit the snow in the Ala-Too mountains and almost skid out of control three times. But it especially wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t pulled over to the side of the road on the downhill side of the scariest fucking mountains on the entire fucking earth in time to watch our driver quickly exit the vehicle and run away through blinding snow just as it’s getting dark without saying a word.
When I finally worked through my anger to ask politely “where the fuck did that asshole run off too?” it was explained to me “svet jok.” This translates to “no electricity”, meaning our marshutka has no electricity. It wouldn’t have been so funny if the thought of this crazy guy running off into the night to find more electricity in the middle of a snowy mountain range didn’t crack me up, but the explanation was given to me under the glow of the dome light in the marshutka, which was quite bright and shining with electricity. It’s bad enough I have to teach these people English, but now I was faced with the prospect of teaching them their own bloody language. However I didn’t have time to begin my lesson because the jerk-off to my left interrupted my formation of a brilliant lesson plan with another “hey Los Angeles (his ever-so affectionate nickname for me because he couldn’t remember ‘James’) do you like sheep?”. He meant the meat, not the love that takes place in certain Midwestern American states…but I’d had quite enough of his intelligent probing questions so I just began to pretend like I didn’t speak any Kyrgyz. This worked for a time and he got frustrated with me so I at least got to sleep while freezing my fucking balls off in the middle of a marshutka that doesn’t have electricity, though clearly does, in the middle of a blinding snowstorm on a mountain pass that’s miles from completion surrounded by Kyrgyz Nationals coughing and wheezing. But it was, finally, sleep.
I awoke to the side door being opened and an empty gas can being thrown onto my knees by our missing driver. Oh, I thought, they meant to say that there was no gas…those silly Kyrgyz I thought to myself as I pretended to sleep while getting nudged ever so rudely in the arm by the fool to my left. We were finally on the road again after about an hour and no closer to our destination. It would take another three and a half hours of twisting turns, spin-outs and terrible questioning from my interrogator sitting nearest to me before I would reach Talas. However, by this time it was too late to catch a ride home so I had to crash at my friends’ house.
The next morning I helped with the Flex Testing because I was already in Talas and was treated to dinner by the country recruiter for Flex. I made it home the next day. What a weekend. What a weekend indeed! Now I’m off to school tomorrow at which I shall attempt to explain my three day absence, but it shouldn’t be a problem because that’s just par for the course in this country. Then this weekend I’ll be back in Talas to relive highlights with my good friends there, and next week I’ll be back to my normal schedule eating bishbarmark while teaching and working with with shitty kids. It’s a wonder I still like what I’m doing. But I do, I really do…and that is making all the difference.
The we headed to The Golden Bull. This is a nightclub in the center of the city that is popular with American Servicemen and prostitutes alike. Being any American, however, gets you in for free and escorted to the VIP section so it’s worth the hassle…or so I thought. I organized gigantic discotheque club excursions when I bartended in Italy and have been to clubs in Vegas and Hollywood…not to mention some pretty good one’s in Seattle. I don’t know what I was expecting, but evidently not many people travel to Kyrgyzstan to get their groove on because this place was horrible. The prostitutes were everywhere and the American Servicemen all looked like they wanted to fight, not to mention that this was all taking place along with drinking and dancing in a club no larger than the average American garage. I grabbed my friend Tim and he and I left pretty much as soon as we arrived.
With that slight downturn of events the remainder of the night turned out quite well. I got into a very deep and long drunken conversation with my friend Jeanne until about 4am on the stairwell of our apartment and passed out in the hallway. The next day was epic. Saturday morning Jeanne and I went to go get breakfast at The Metro. We split a plate of nachos and she got a chicken burrito which I matched with my own plate of fettuccini alfredo with spinach and parmesan cheese. We both drank some Irish Coffee’s and played FREE POOL for a couple of hours joined intermittently by more and more volunteers who decided to debauch their wallets for the sake of flavor for the first time in five months as well. After that it was about 3pm (did I mention it was a late night the night before?) so Jeanne and I decided to go pick up some more supplies and head back to the apartment to meet up with everyone else. By and by people decided to head out for dinner. I went to this gorgeous Italian restaurant right in the center of town where I ate thinly sliced beef marinated with lemon and a plate of cauliflower and melted swiss cheese. Oh, and I split a bottle of champagne with Kristen!
Terrible foresight can sometimes lead to disaster…but it can also lead to unexpected adventure and excitement—which is exactly what my own forgetting of our apartment keys did! It wasn’t until we were all walking back from our amazing Italian culinary delight when I remembered my mistake. I had left the keys with another group that wouldn’t be back for over an hour. At this point it’s about 30 degrees Fahrenheit and beginning to hail so we all ducked inside a seemingly empty café to wait. Soon enough an old Russian lady comes out and tells us that it’s her birthday in the next rented-out room and that we should all come join her. Fuck it, we’ve got an hour to kill and this lady seemed drunk which means there’s at least something going on in there—why not? We all head in and are greeted like kings. Jonathan and I proceed straight to the dance floor and I dance with just about every single lady over the age of 60. Needless to say that we were such a hit that the DJ even took a second for everyone to recognize the “Americanskis”, and we were given a round of enthusiastic applause before being led back to our table. The table that Francis, Erin, Kristen and Jenna were sitting (not dancing like Jonathan and me) at was soon brought a bottle of champagne and we all toasted our generous host. After that I asked the host to dance and we danced an epic number to the theme from Top Gun…it was indeed as romantic as I just made it sound. She was so enamored that she brought me over to her table and sat me at the head of it. Although I attempted to make inroads with conversation, her husband was not very impressed…though he did toast to my health. Come to think of it I really hope he’s not mafia because that toast could take on a whole different meaning. No matter. After she sat me down she gave me plate after plate of delicious Russian food (really, I don’t know why the Kyrgyz insist on making theirs so disgusting…Kyrgyz food is easily some of the worst culinary disasters on the planet!) and introduced me to her daughter. How nice of her! Anyway, this was towards the end of the night and my stomach was full of great food, great champagne and great vibes so I followed everyone else out. As a thank you for my dancing and I’m sure for bringing every other American to her birthday party the host gave me a huge hug, kissed my cheek and handed me a plastic bag. When I got outside I opened up the bag to find a nice freshly ripened banana. How nice! By this time people were in the apartment and the party there was getting started so we all made our way over, with a great story to tell to boot! The night at the apartment turned out as would be expected with some notable stories and names that shall remain nameless, but it was the Russian lady’s birthday party that made it a great night indeed.
Sunday came and due to the excitement that preceded that morning everyone decided that one final trip to The Metro was in order. We all rolled into The Metro looking every bit the savages we were/are and sat down to more delicious food accompanied by White Russians. After getting a little buzzed due to the dehydration from the night before and being generally delirious from the pizza, potato skins, chicken-burgers and burritos that once populated our table we missed the last available marshutka out of Bishkek! Uh oh. Those that could get back did, but Joe, Nick, Jeanne and I all were forced to wander around until we found a dormitory-style guest house on the outskirts of town. It had amazingly comfortable beds, staff that spoke English and a very nice outdoor seating area. We also met an Australian named Andrew and Japanese named Taki. After the initial hello’s the Peace Corps group headed out to one final epic dinner at the best Chinese food restaurant I’ve ever been to! The portions were huge, the price was reasonable and the atmosphere electric…seriously, this place was amazing! We took our left-over’s back to the guest house and left them outside because the weather at this point was colder than any refrigerator and picked up some vodka and beer to party with our new Japanese and Australian friends! The next morning we all ate the remnants of our Chinese food before we bussed and walked to the West Bus station where we said our goodbyes. Then the weekend got interesting.
Because I was the only one from Talas that over-extended their stay in Bishkek I had to ride a marshutka with eleven other Kyrgyz people all the way back. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the guy next to me didn’t keep nudging me awake with interesting questions like “how much money do you make?” and “what is your name…for the thousandth fucking time?”. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there wasn’t a baby crying the entire time. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the asshole sitting next to me refusing to let me sleep didn’t have a friend with him that kept coughing, spitting, smoking and drinking vodka. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it didn’t take 9 ½ hours instead of the normal 6. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we didn’t hit the snow in the Ala-Too mountains and almost skid out of control three times. But it especially wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t pulled over to the side of the road on the downhill side of the scariest fucking mountains on the entire fucking earth in time to watch our driver quickly exit the vehicle and run away through blinding snow just as it’s getting dark without saying a word.
When I finally worked through my anger to ask politely “where the fuck did that asshole run off too?” it was explained to me “svet jok.” This translates to “no electricity”, meaning our marshutka has no electricity. It wouldn’t have been so funny if the thought of this crazy guy running off into the night to find more electricity in the middle of a snowy mountain range didn’t crack me up, but the explanation was given to me under the glow of the dome light in the marshutka, which was quite bright and shining with electricity. It’s bad enough I have to teach these people English, but now I was faced with the prospect of teaching them their own bloody language. However I didn’t have time to begin my lesson because the jerk-off to my left interrupted my formation of a brilliant lesson plan with another “hey Los Angeles (his ever-so affectionate nickname for me because he couldn’t remember ‘James’) do you like sheep?”. He meant the meat, not the love that takes place in certain Midwestern American states…but I’d had quite enough of his intelligent probing questions so I just began to pretend like I didn’t speak any Kyrgyz. This worked for a time and he got frustrated with me so I at least got to sleep while freezing my fucking balls off in the middle of a marshutka that doesn’t have electricity, though clearly does, in the middle of a blinding snowstorm on a mountain pass that’s miles from completion surrounded by Kyrgyz Nationals coughing and wheezing. But it was, finally, sleep.
I awoke to the side door being opened and an empty gas can being thrown onto my knees by our missing driver. Oh, I thought, they meant to say that there was no gas…those silly Kyrgyz I thought to myself as I pretended to sleep while getting nudged ever so rudely in the arm by the fool to my left. We were finally on the road again after about an hour and no closer to our destination. It would take another three and a half hours of twisting turns, spin-outs and terrible questioning from my interrogator sitting nearest to me before I would reach Talas. However, by this time it was too late to catch a ride home so I had to crash at my friends’ house.
The next morning I helped with the Flex Testing because I was already in Talas and was treated to dinner by the country recruiter for Flex. I made it home the next day. What a weekend. What a weekend indeed! Now I’m off to school tomorrow at which I shall attempt to explain my three day absence, but it shouldn’t be a problem because that’s just par for the course in this country. Then this weekend I’ll be back in Talas to relive highlights with my good friends there, and next week I’ll be back to my normal schedule eating bishbarmark while teaching and working with with shitty kids. It’s a wonder I still like what I’m doing. But I do, I really do…and that is making all the difference.
02 November 2008
Kazakhstan!
My host sister didn’t pass the FLEX test. FLEX is a program that sends roughly 60 students from each ‘stan’ country to America for a year of study abroad while they are in high school. We’d been studying together for about a week and the big day finally came on October 28th. I went with her at 7 in the morning to Talas city for moral support as well as to help with the proctoring of the exam. Damn, this test is hard! She was in the first round of students to take it and I got a chance to see the test before it was administered and honestly I don’t know how many native English speakers would score 100% on it! This first round of testing covered English grammar, phrasal verbs, context reading and vocabulary. Had she passed onto the second and third round of testing there would have been essay writing and interviews for her to excel at before being given the chance to go to Bishkek for the final decision. Hopefully she does better next year (she’s actually got two more years of eligibility), and at least in the meantime we’ll know what to focus our studying on.
At my main job in Manas Secondary School I have begun to prepare three girls for the ‘English Olympiad’ that’s coming up in about a month. This is more of an opportunity for the students of each respective competing school to win bragging rights for their school than any real opportunity for themselves, but it will at least give me a better taste of victory than the impossible FLEX test did:) With that said, things are going better here in lovely Kyrgyzstan. It’s now dropped to a manageable yet bloody-freezing degree outside and the days are remarkably shorter, but I’m finally feeling a bit more settled in to somewhat of a routine. The fact that I’ve begun these little side-teaching projects has certainly aided in my continuing sanity so for them I’m eternally grateful. I also have a very supportive group of friends here in Talas. Every single one of the K-15’s and remaining (we’ve had two ET since getting here) K16’s are awesome! Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for better site-mates or a better and more supportive group of great people than the one’s I wound up with!
All in all everything is shaping up to give me a very positive outlook on what my next two years have in store for me here. We’ll see how I feel once the winter really kicks in, but that’s only about 3-4 months of sheer freezing torture so I’m sure it won’t be that bad! Plus, I’ve got so many more adventures coming up already. Today I just got back from my first sojourn into Kazakhstan. As a volunteer in Talas I’ve been given a ‘multiple-entry/exit’ VISA for Kazakhstan because I’m so close and “in an emergency” it’s safer for me to go there than all the way back to Bishkek. So, of course, I’ve already made use of this privilege for tourism purposes:) Taraz, the big city closest to the Kyrgyz-Kazakh boarder, is gorgeous! Anyone who’s seen the movie “Borat” probably thinks of Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan for that matter, as backwards remnants of their Soviet past. While that may certainly be true in small villages and isolated instances Taraz is by far the most glaring exception I’ve experienced here thus far. It has beautiful wide boulevards, three lined intersections and great great great food! My site-mates Patrick, Liz and I all went to eat at a local Georgian restaurant (no, not like ‘Georgia’ in America, but ‘Georgia’ the country…that was a necessary explanation for my American readers out there:)) and split a bottle of vodka at the table while indulging in the best tasting food I’ve had in almost 5 months! Then we walked around, and actually met a Kazakhstan volunteer named Susannah! We’re all going back the first weekend in December and will meet up with her and some other Kazakh volunteers so that was a great connection:) At any rate we caught our taxi back in time and have made it back to Talas for my friend John’s birthday. So far this weekend has been a blast, and next weekend a bunch of volunteers (and yours truly, of course) are going to Bishkek for two nights of Bacchanal debauchery. Between getting my teaching off the ground and all of these extracurricular activities I have planned my time is just soaring by!
At my main job in Manas Secondary School I have begun to prepare three girls for the ‘English Olympiad’ that’s coming up in about a month. This is more of an opportunity for the students of each respective competing school to win bragging rights for their school than any real opportunity for themselves, but it will at least give me a better taste of victory than the impossible FLEX test did:) With that said, things are going better here in lovely Kyrgyzstan. It’s now dropped to a manageable yet bloody-freezing degree outside and the days are remarkably shorter, but I’m finally feeling a bit more settled in to somewhat of a routine. The fact that I’ve begun these little side-teaching projects has certainly aided in my continuing sanity so for them I’m eternally grateful. I also have a very supportive group of friends here in Talas. Every single one of the K-15’s and remaining (we’ve had two ET since getting here) K16’s are awesome! Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for better site-mates or a better and more supportive group of great people than the one’s I wound up with!
All in all everything is shaping up to give me a very positive outlook on what my next two years have in store for me here. We’ll see how I feel once the winter really kicks in, but that’s only about 3-4 months of sheer freezing torture so I’m sure it won’t be that bad! Plus, I’ve got so many more adventures coming up already. Today I just got back from my first sojourn into Kazakhstan. As a volunteer in Talas I’ve been given a ‘multiple-entry/exit’ VISA for Kazakhstan because I’m so close and “in an emergency” it’s safer for me to go there than all the way back to Bishkek. So, of course, I’ve already made use of this privilege for tourism purposes:) Taraz, the big city closest to the Kyrgyz-Kazakh boarder, is gorgeous! Anyone who’s seen the movie “Borat” probably thinks of Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan for that matter, as backwards remnants of their Soviet past. While that may certainly be true in small villages and isolated instances Taraz is by far the most glaring exception I’ve experienced here thus far. It has beautiful wide boulevards, three lined intersections and great great great food! My site-mates Patrick, Liz and I all went to eat at a local Georgian restaurant (no, not like ‘Georgia’ in America, but ‘Georgia’ the country…that was a necessary explanation for my American readers out there:)) and split a bottle of vodka at the table while indulging in the best tasting food I’ve had in almost 5 months! Then we walked around, and actually met a Kazakhstan volunteer named Susannah! We’re all going back the first weekend in December and will meet up with her and some other Kazakh volunteers so that was a great connection:) At any rate we caught our taxi back in time and have made it back to Talas for my friend John’s birthday. So far this weekend has been a blast, and next weekend a bunch of volunteers (and yours truly, of course) are going to Bishkek for two nights of Bacchanal debauchery. Between getting my teaching off the ground and all of these extracurricular activities I have planned my time is just soaring by!
17 October 2008
Hanging in there:)
Thank God for my adult English club! The kids in my school are terrible. I really feel like I should write a personal letter to every teacher I’ve ever had with whom I had poor relations and apologize profusely. Kyrgyzstan is a country in a very strange transition. It is extremely poor by Western ‘standards’, but is one of the wealthier countries in all of Central Asia. Subsequently it also suffers from all of modern societies social ills; namely very passive and just down-right bad kids in school. I hear a lot of stories from other developing countries about the students there being “eager to learn”, or “walking 10 miles to and from school” just to get a basic education. In America I feel like a lot of kids would rather spend their days playing videogames or sports with their friends because American society is so comfortable they truly don’t know how lucky they are. Kyrgyzstan suffers from the same problem. Although their society is about 200 years behind America in general, there’s enough modernity to distract its youth and give them a false sense of security and inevitability. Due to this, and the fact that in this country if they don’t pass into the Lyceum (good High School) in the 8th grade they can pretty much immediately lose all hope for a higher education, most of them genuinely don’t care. So I guess it’s modernity’s social ills coupled with an education system still modeled after the now-defunct, yet still-in-use (just one of many contradictions in this continent) Soviet style that’s been providing so many little pains in my ass for the past few weeks! Sorry for the bitching, but these kids just don’t appreciate the fact that they have an education system period, and it’s hard for me to watch them piss away what future they could have on a daily basis. Wow, and I’ve only been teaching for three weeks…two more years of this could get interesting!
On another note: I am again the “no-strings-attached” James (or “Joey” as my friends Natalie and Tiffany lovingly call me:)) that I was coming into this crazy adventure. Yup, that’s right o’ loyal readers ye, Becky has flown the coop…or to use the technical term, “ET’d”. ET stands for Early Termination, not the lil’ brown Spielberg alien…although that’d be awesome if Peace Corps was in on that secret! As much as I already do miss her, she decided to quit for her own reasons and that’s enough…eh, c’est la vie!
Also, in case you’re curious as to why I posted another blog so soon after my two-fer last time, it’s because I’m in Talas city again this weekend! Thank bloody God that it’s only a 45 som Marshutka ride from my city to Talas…I think I might actually do this every weekend! A bunch of us Talas volunteers are throwing down on a ‘flop’, or shared apartment for us all to use any time we come into town for any reason. Subsequently my friend Kristen and I have decided to kick it there tonight watching Season 1 of Deadwood and drink vodka while making delicious Americanish food. It’s going to be one hell of a night…and considering the time difference, rest assured that by the time you read this, it was one hell of a night!
Well, there you go. I couldn’t very well use the Internet/pay to use the Internet without providing my friends, family and other interested parties back home with a little update, now could I? Although the first paragraph was a bit of a diatribe, rest assured that I am still having a blast here and have even begun to lay the groundwork for my epic plan mentioned in a previous blog posting. Sure as it’s about to get to negative-fucking-freezing here I’m going to master this language enough to give my kids the ol’ “сенин апасын айтып!”…yeah, that’s “I’m going to tell your mother!” in Kyrgyz:) Then again, it never worked for me so…ah hell, I’m screwed!
On another note: I am again the “no-strings-attached” James (or “Joey” as my friends Natalie and Tiffany lovingly call me:)) that I was coming into this crazy adventure. Yup, that’s right o’ loyal readers ye, Becky has flown the coop…or to use the technical term, “ET’d”. ET stands for Early Termination, not the lil’ brown Spielberg alien…although that’d be awesome if Peace Corps was in on that secret! As much as I already do miss her, she decided to quit for her own reasons and that’s enough…eh, c’est la vie!
Also, in case you’re curious as to why I posted another blog so soon after my two-fer last time, it’s because I’m in Talas city again this weekend! Thank bloody God that it’s only a 45 som Marshutka ride from my city to Talas…I think I might actually do this every weekend! A bunch of us Talas volunteers are throwing down on a ‘flop’, or shared apartment for us all to use any time we come into town for any reason. Subsequently my friend Kristen and I have decided to kick it there tonight watching Season 1 of Deadwood and drink vodka while making delicious Americanish food. It’s going to be one hell of a night…and considering the time difference, rest assured that by the time you read this, it was one hell of a night!
Well, there you go. I couldn’t very well use the Internet/pay to use the Internet without providing my friends, family and other interested parties back home with a little update, now could I? Although the first paragraph was a bit of a diatribe, rest assured that I am still having a blast here and have even begun to lay the groundwork for my epic plan mentioned in a previous blog posting. Sure as it’s about to get to negative-fucking-freezing here I’m going to master this language enough to give my kids the ol’ “сенин апасын айтып!”…yeah, that’s “I’m going to tell your mother!” in Kyrgyz:) Then again, it never worked for me so…ah hell, I’m screwed!
12 October 2008
Newer Blog!
This posting is a follow-up to the last one. I wrote the previous blog last week, though haven’t been able to use the Internet until now, and upon reviewing it I realize that the tone is a little bit sarcastic and misplaced. Last week was a pretty stressful week, so that’s why the frustration I was feeling came out through that blog. I haven’t edited it at all, but I want to post this one as well in order to express some positives to balance out the overall tone of my page.
My school celebrated “Teacher’s Day” on Saturday (students are in school 6 days a week, though I only work Mon-Fri) and I was informed by my director that I needed to be at the school at noon in order to attend a concert the children were putting on. I arrived promptly at twelve o’clock, waited around (“Azr, James, Azr” the teacher’s kept saying) until 1:30 before finally making my way to a classroom where the kids sang and performed skits for twenty minutes. After this “concert” the teachers all went back to the teacher’s lounge to wait until three o’clock when the café that had been rented would be ready. During this time the 11th form class (highest class—equivalent to ‘seniors of High School in America) came in to wish us a happy Teacher’s Day and presented everyone with a flower and card. Before leaving one of the most out-spoken of the boys also held up a bag and said “To our beloved teacher’s, please entertain yourselves with this…” he then set the bag down and left. One of the teacher’s closest to the bag opened it to reveal three bottles of expensive Kyrgyz vodka, wine and two 1-liter bottles of Sprite and Fanta soda’s. Wow. Imagine the seniors of your local High School presenting that as a gift to their teachers, in front of the Principal nonetheless! But, of course, this is Kyrgyzstan and all of the teacher’s were very thankful and we went through all three bottles (plus five more) throughout our four-course meal at the café we arrived at around promptly at four o’clock.
I love this country. It’s little nuances of culture like that that keep me smiling to myself. Different school dynamics, and being woken up in bed in order to attend an impromptu dinner at ten o’clock at night surrounded by old women whom I can’t speak with because they all have limited dental facilities are just two of countless reasons for me to just sit back and enjoy my time here! Yeah, the impromptu dinner was interesting…
More than just sitting back and enjoying my time here I feel that I am in a unique position to actually accomplish something beyond the ‘norm’ for the first time in my life. I just finished reading Three Cups of Tea (thank you thank you thank you, Mom and Dad for giving me that book—INCREDIBLE!) and throughout reading it I just couldn’t help but be motivated by every single chapter! I’ve begun to think about ways that I can affect my community beyond the English lessons I currently lead on the side and my daily 4 hour commitment to Manas Secondary School that I fill in the same capacity. I’ve got one idea in particular that is very promising and I’m going to try to meet with the Mayor of Kyzyl-Adyr next week to discuss how feasible it actually will be…sorry, I don’t want to mention it just yet because I really don’t know if it’s possible—more to come, I promise:) On top of that, I feel that throughout these next two years that I’ve committed myself to Kyrgyzstan I will only come across even more opportunity to shake things up a bit…just like in Three Cups of Tea, it’s not skill that counts as much as it is the willingness to succeed that matters in affecting change. I can only hope that my willingness doesn’t falter in times of stress and strife, and that I can walk away from this experience with more than just a certificate.
On another note, it’s my birthday on October 12th. I’m going to be twenty-five years old. Rounding that quarter-century mark in a country I couldn’t even pronounce four months ago is a milestone in itself, but more than that I feel like I’m at a new beginning. For the first time in my life I’m free of every commitment that our modern society places upon its youth; I’m free of credit debt, and have absolutely nothing to live for except every single day that I wake up. What that day brings has been completely different from every single day prior for the past four months, and as far as I can tell that’s only going to continue. I worked in a law office for two and a half years before joining the Peace Corps so I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt—living in the moment of every single completely-different-day-from-the-day-before feels great! A lot of my friends that have turned twenty-five before me complained of the feeling of ‘getting old’ or ‘lost in where their life is going’. I’m sure that this same feeling pervades the festivities of every mid-twentysomething to a certain extent, but I’m happy to say that the thought hasn’t even crossed my mind. I don’t feel that I’m on the cusp of any age, as a matter of fact. I just feel that I’m living day-to-day, soaking it in and trying to get my bearings enough to maybe accomplish a little bit more than the norm. Not a bad feeling at all:)
With that said, if you’d like to send me anything to mark this momentous occasion (goodwill, or as thanks for my entertaining diatribes) all I really would like are Mach 3 Turbo razors, Nivea for Men Sensitive After Shave Balm, and shaving cream. The good-quality American shaving supplies that are available here are too expensive for my meager monetary means, and the local stuff will tear my skin apart before burning it worse than lemon juice in a paper-cut. Yeah, I’m shamelessly begging…but if you have the means or the desire please send anything you can to my aforeposted (now I’m creating words for your benefit:)) address. My face will thank you.
I realized after re-reading my last blog that I didn’t mention anything about the guesting I did with my host family at 7 people’s houses that we did to mark the end of Rammadan, nor did I mention how amazing the lungs were that my Apa cooked up, nor did I mention how my English club turned out! I’m tired of typing, so allow me to sum up:
Although we were supposed to all go to seven houses I only managed to make it to five because I was so painfully full of pretty good food. I got into an interesting conversation with an OLD Kyrgyz man about politics from the Soviet era over plentiful plates of Besh-barmahk (Kyrgyz spelling is: беш бармaк, Google it, if you get a chance:))
Lungs are delicious! I can’t speak for every lung out there, but the two my Apa cooked up were buttery, had the texture of boiled chicken and exploded with flavor of garlic, pepper and onion. Had I not witnessed the method of cooking (and the mouth-to-throat breathing entertainment generously provided by my host-mother) I never would have even known what they were! Seriously, if you’re ever offered lung in Central Asia—try it!!
The English club that Annie and I are running had its first successful lesson on Friday. We both had a blast, and I foresee this being one of my weekly highlights for the next two years!
Well, that’s about it. As always, questions and comments are greatly appreciated!
My school celebrated “Teacher’s Day” on Saturday (students are in school 6 days a week, though I only work Mon-Fri) and I was informed by my director that I needed to be at the school at noon in order to attend a concert the children were putting on. I arrived promptly at twelve o’clock, waited around (“Azr, James, Azr” the teacher’s kept saying) until 1:30 before finally making my way to a classroom where the kids sang and performed skits for twenty minutes. After this “concert” the teachers all went back to the teacher’s lounge to wait until three o’clock when the café that had been rented would be ready. During this time the 11th form class (highest class—equivalent to ‘seniors of High School in America) came in to wish us a happy Teacher’s Day and presented everyone with a flower and card. Before leaving one of the most out-spoken of the boys also held up a bag and said “To our beloved teacher’s, please entertain yourselves with this…” he then set the bag down and left. One of the teacher’s closest to the bag opened it to reveal three bottles of expensive Kyrgyz vodka, wine and two 1-liter bottles of Sprite and Fanta soda’s. Wow. Imagine the seniors of your local High School presenting that as a gift to their teachers, in front of the Principal nonetheless! But, of course, this is Kyrgyzstan and all of the teacher’s were very thankful and we went through all three bottles (plus five more) throughout our four-course meal at the café we arrived at around promptly at four o’clock.
I love this country. It’s little nuances of culture like that that keep me smiling to myself. Different school dynamics, and being woken up in bed in order to attend an impromptu dinner at ten o’clock at night surrounded by old women whom I can’t speak with because they all have limited dental facilities are just two of countless reasons for me to just sit back and enjoy my time here! Yeah, the impromptu dinner was interesting…
More than just sitting back and enjoying my time here I feel that I am in a unique position to actually accomplish something beyond the ‘norm’ for the first time in my life. I just finished reading Three Cups of Tea (thank you thank you thank you, Mom and Dad for giving me that book—INCREDIBLE!) and throughout reading it I just couldn’t help but be motivated by every single chapter! I’ve begun to think about ways that I can affect my community beyond the English lessons I currently lead on the side and my daily 4 hour commitment to Manas Secondary School that I fill in the same capacity. I’ve got one idea in particular that is very promising and I’m going to try to meet with the Mayor of Kyzyl-Adyr next week to discuss how feasible it actually will be…sorry, I don’t want to mention it just yet because I really don’t know if it’s possible—more to come, I promise:) On top of that, I feel that throughout these next two years that I’ve committed myself to Kyrgyzstan I will only come across even more opportunity to shake things up a bit…just like in Three Cups of Tea, it’s not skill that counts as much as it is the willingness to succeed that matters in affecting change. I can only hope that my willingness doesn’t falter in times of stress and strife, and that I can walk away from this experience with more than just a certificate.
On another note, it’s my birthday on October 12th. I’m going to be twenty-five years old. Rounding that quarter-century mark in a country I couldn’t even pronounce four months ago is a milestone in itself, but more than that I feel like I’m at a new beginning. For the first time in my life I’m free of every commitment that our modern society places upon its youth; I’m free of credit debt, and have absolutely nothing to live for except every single day that I wake up. What that day brings has been completely different from every single day prior for the past four months, and as far as I can tell that’s only going to continue. I worked in a law office for two and a half years before joining the Peace Corps so I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt—living in the moment of every single completely-different-day-from-the-day-before feels great! A lot of my friends that have turned twenty-five before me complained of the feeling of ‘getting old’ or ‘lost in where their life is going’. I’m sure that this same feeling pervades the festivities of every mid-twentysomething to a certain extent, but I’m happy to say that the thought hasn’t even crossed my mind. I don’t feel that I’m on the cusp of any age, as a matter of fact. I just feel that I’m living day-to-day, soaking it in and trying to get my bearings enough to maybe accomplish a little bit more than the norm. Not a bad feeling at all:)
With that said, if you’d like to send me anything to mark this momentous occasion (goodwill, or as thanks for my entertaining diatribes) all I really would like are Mach 3 Turbo razors, Nivea for Men Sensitive After Shave Balm, and shaving cream. The good-quality American shaving supplies that are available here are too expensive for my meager monetary means, and the local stuff will tear my skin apart before burning it worse than lemon juice in a paper-cut. Yeah, I’m shamelessly begging…but if you have the means or the desire please send anything you can to my aforeposted (now I’m creating words for your benefit:)) address. My face will thank you.
I realized after re-reading my last blog that I didn’t mention anything about the guesting I did with my host family at 7 people’s houses that we did to mark the end of Rammadan, nor did I mention how amazing the lungs were that my Apa cooked up, nor did I mention how my English club turned out! I’m tired of typing, so allow me to sum up:
Although we were supposed to all go to seven houses I only managed to make it to five because I was so painfully full of pretty good food. I got into an interesting conversation with an OLD Kyrgyz man about politics from the Soviet era over plentiful plates of Besh-barmahk (Kyrgyz spelling is: беш бармaк, Google it, if you get a chance:))
Lungs are delicious! I can’t speak for every lung out there, but the two my Apa cooked up were buttery, had the texture of boiled chicken and exploded with flavor of garlic, pepper and onion. Had I not witnessed the method of cooking (and the mouth-to-throat breathing entertainment generously provided by my host-mother) I never would have even known what they were! Seriously, if you’re ever offered lung in Central Asia—try it!!
The English club that Annie and I are running had its first successful lesson on Friday. We both had a blast, and I foresee this being one of my weekly highlights for the next two years!
Well, that’s about it. As always, questions and comments are greatly appreciated!
New Blog!
What am I doing here? What in the hell am I doing in Central Asia “teaching” English to kids that don’t even care? Today my counterpart again left me to teach a class I wasn’t prepared for because she had to run an errand with our director. I wasn’t prepared because for the first two weeks of class all I’m supposed to do is observe, which I have, but this is the fifth time she’s just left me in charge of a classroom with the vague instructions of ‘just teach the English you know’. Well…this might come as a shock to my loyal readers out there, but I happen to know quite a bit of English so this task is a little bit vague, to say the least! The past few times I’ve been left to wing it in front of a class of Kyrgyz/Russian children that really don’t care (after all, how much did you care when you were in a required class between the ages of 10 and 15?) I’ve been fine, but today I was teaching the 6th grade English class. Not only did the boys all disrupt my class in every way imaginable throughout the 20 minutes I attempted to teach, but they began to throw things and mock my lesson. At this point I had it, and decided to just leave to find my counterpart. Of course, she was nowhere to be found so I found the only other male teacher in the school, a wizened old Kyrgyz man whom I get along with famously despite his 0 English ability and my (for the time being) limited means of Kyrgyz communication. I told him my problem and he went to the class and scolded them. This might have been enough if the boys that were causing all the ruckus were actually present, but they were playing soccer in the hallway and couldn’t be bothered. He told me not to worry and that Narjan (my counterpart) would take care of it. Sure enough, she eventually came back and took me back to the troubled classroom. There she lined all of the boys (about 8 of the little hooligans) in a row in the front of the class and proceeded to punish them. I’ve never witnessed corporal punishment before, and this came as quite a shock to me but I stood by as the ignorant foreigner should while this was being dealt out. Afterwards all of the boys apologized to me in Kyrgyz, which I accepted and she and I pleasantly made our way to the next class with the sound of the children’s humiliated tears fading down the hallway.
After school I was walking home with more stress than I’d felt during all of PST and a new type of anger that I’ve never felt before. This anger and angst that I felt was a combination of being so utterly and blatantly disrespected by children half my size, the absolute disregard for our two week ‘monitoring’ agreement that my counterpart showed me today, as well as the introduction to Kyrgyz school punishment that I had hitherto fore never been exposed that set me to a new and scary limit. As I was walking home I stopped by a creek near my house and sat on a rock to think about it all. I realized that I’m not anywhere even close to considering the thought of calling it quits, but I also just couldn’t stop thinking about all of the positive things I could be doing here. I walked home a little calmer, and with some very clear goals in mind. However, this is at 12:10 and I had the rest of the day to think about the days’ activity.
I’ve been reading Three Cups of Tea which is about Greg Mortensen, a mountain climber, turned Pakistan-school-builder and his incredible struggle to get tremendous things accomplished in this part of the world. It has been a huge inspiration for me. I was reading a chapter about his abduction by a remote tribe of sudo-Taliban in Pakistan in 1996 and how he recovered enough to finish his first school and continue building 51 more when I got a text that turned my entire day around. My friend from PST, Annie, texted me to say that she was in my town with 6 people that she’d been roped in to teaching English. Considering she’s a health volunteer she had no idea what to do so she called me. I reluctantly (come on, I was laying in bed in my PJ’s reading and getting ready for dinner…plus, I just had one hell of a day!) got dressed and met her at the ‘professional’ building she was meeting her group at. This is a building that, I’m sure, in the Soviet era was very nice and well equipped, but to say that it’s a shadow of it’s former self would be a tremendous overstatement. The group she was meeting with consisted of six adults (four more are evidently going to be coming) that all wanted to learn English. At first I was a little put off because she literally just threw this at me with no explanation, but after I spoke to them in Kyrgyz enough to understand who they were, why they were there and what they really wanted to do I could tell that they were serious about learning English…this absolutely changed my entire outlook on the day.
I spent the next hour speaking to them in Kyrgyz about their lives, telling them about mine and discussing what their goals were for our impromptu gathering. After I explained that I had no lesson plan ready because I didn’t know what to be prepared for, we set a time to meet every Tuesday and Friday at 5pm to conduct English lessons. After this gathering Annie and I went to a café to share a beer and talk about it. I can’t express more how absolutely elated I was at the prospect of beginning this class, and considering she hasn’t actually been doing much work in her village because Peace Corps seems to place the health volunteers arbitrarily in situations where there’s little to no organization for them to work with she was more than happy to help me with this endeavor, and expressed it wholeheartedly over our Baltica 9’s.
Since I’ve been here it seems that every single stressful situation has been relieved by a seemingly innocuous occurrence that completely turns everything around. Today I experienced yet another. After that horrible class of little bastards that got the shit kicked out of them in front of me I was feeling lost, pointless, and confused. Today, seeing the looks on these adults’ faces, their expressed willingness to learn what I’m here to teach and the eagerness with which they made their case known has one hundred percent brought me back into the fold.
What am I doing here? On the surface I’m here to teach. A little beneath that open-ended answer I could say that I’m here to share a cross cultural experience with my host family and maybe make a difference in my community with my ‘American’ ability. Today I learned that regardless of the boundaries with which my actual set teaching schedule is confined to there is a wealth of opportunity for me to actually make a difference in this village. There are people here that are eager and willing to learn what I can teach, and maybe throughout this process we can share some culture and I’ll be able to pick up even more Kyrgyz…I just need to be open to every opportunity that comes my way! I’m excited at this prospect, and I only have my friend Annie and her surprisingly random text message to thank for this opportunity. After all, it’s not every day one gets disenfranchised and completely converted to the cause again all in one day!
On another note. Have I mentioned how much I love my host family? Today, before the epic text message from Annie, my Apa knocked on my door saying “James, Azr, cen kel, cen kel” which means “James, now (or later, someday, soon, whatever [see previous blog for explanation]) you come, you come.” Ooookaaay…I got up from my bed where I was reading (thank you Three Cups of Tea, you’ve been a boredom destroyer lately!) and wandered out to our kitchen where she showed me the remnants of a cow that my Ata recently slaughtered. By ‘remnants’ I mean that she held up the throat and lungs of the cow and told me to take a closer look. Now I’ve always held an interest in science and biology. Life in all its forms provides an endless fascination for any curious mind, but having my Apa hold the throat of this freshly killed beast up for me with the lungs just dangling there was almost too much to bare. Then, to be sure I understood what they were, she put her mouth to the opening of the throat and blew into it to expand the lungs. Wow. All I can say is that was AWESOME! I told her that she’d better brush her teeth afterwards and she explained that she doesn’t have to because she’s only using her lips…sorry Ata:) Then she had me pour some milk-like substance into the throat through a funnel she’d inserted and I watched as this entire bucket of liquid expanded the lungs to their full capacity before she had me tie off the throat with a string. Then she told me she’d boil it so we could eat it tomorrow. Wow, wow, WOW. Now (‘American’ now, meaning “at the immediate present moment”) we’re going to eat an actually ‘Americanly acceptable’ meal before I head off to another blissful sleep of wonder at this amazing country!
Oh, and tomorrow classes are cancelled because it’s the end of Ramadan (Orozon, in Kyrgyz) so everyone has to go guesting at seven different houses throughout the day…gotta love these Kyrgyz holidays!
More to come soon…I’m sure:)
After school I was walking home with more stress than I’d felt during all of PST and a new type of anger that I’ve never felt before. This anger and angst that I felt was a combination of being so utterly and blatantly disrespected by children half my size, the absolute disregard for our two week ‘monitoring’ agreement that my counterpart showed me today, as well as the introduction to Kyrgyz school punishment that I had hitherto fore never been exposed that set me to a new and scary limit. As I was walking home I stopped by a creek near my house and sat on a rock to think about it all. I realized that I’m not anywhere even close to considering the thought of calling it quits, but I also just couldn’t stop thinking about all of the positive things I could be doing here. I walked home a little calmer, and with some very clear goals in mind. However, this is at 12:10 and I had the rest of the day to think about the days’ activity.
I’ve been reading Three Cups of Tea which is about Greg Mortensen, a mountain climber, turned Pakistan-school-builder and his incredible struggle to get tremendous things accomplished in this part of the world. It has been a huge inspiration for me. I was reading a chapter about his abduction by a remote tribe of sudo-Taliban in Pakistan in 1996 and how he recovered enough to finish his first school and continue building 51 more when I got a text that turned my entire day around. My friend from PST, Annie, texted me to say that she was in my town with 6 people that she’d been roped in to teaching English. Considering she’s a health volunteer she had no idea what to do so she called me. I reluctantly (come on, I was laying in bed in my PJ’s reading and getting ready for dinner…plus, I just had one hell of a day!) got dressed and met her at the ‘professional’ building she was meeting her group at. This is a building that, I’m sure, in the Soviet era was very nice and well equipped, but to say that it’s a shadow of it’s former self would be a tremendous overstatement. The group she was meeting with consisted of six adults (four more are evidently going to be coming) that all wanted to learn English. At first I was a little put off because she literally just threw this at me with no explanation, but after I spoke to them in Kyrgyz enough to understand who they were, why they were there and what they really wanted to do I could tell that they were serious about learning English…this absolutely changed my entire outlook on the day.
I spent the next hour speaking to them in Kyrgyz about their lives, telling them about mine and discussing what their goals were for our impromptu gathering. After I explained that I had no lesson plan ready because I didn’t know what to be prepared for, we set a time to meet every Tuesday and Friday at 5pm to conduct English lessons. After this gathering Annie and I went to a café to share a beer and talk about it. I can’t express more how absolutely elated I was at the prospect of beginning this class, and considering she hasn’t actually been doing much work in her village because Peace Corps seems to place the health volunteers arbitrarily in situations where there’s little to no organization for them to work with she was more than happy to help me with this endeavor, and expressed it wholeheartedly over our Baltica 9’s.
Since I’ve been here it seems that every single stressful situation has been relieved by a seemingly innocuous occurrence that completely turns everything around. Today I experienced yet another. After that horrible class of little bastards that got the shit kicked out of them in front of me I was feeling lost, pointless, and confused. Today, seeing the looks on these adults’ faces, their expressed willingness to learn what I’m here to teach and the eagerness with which they made their case known has one hundred percent brought me back into the fold.
What am I doing here? On the surface I’m here to teach. A little beneath that open-ended answer I could say that I’m here to share a cross cultural experience with my host family and maybe make a difference in my community with my ‘American’ ability. Today I learned that regardless of the boundaries with which my actual set teaching schedule is confined to there is a wealth of opportunity for me to actually make a difference in this village. There are people here that are eager and willing to learn what I can teach, and maybe throughout this process we can share some culture and I’ll be able to pick up even more Kyrgyz…I just need to be open to every opportunity that comes my way! I’m excited at this prospect, and I only have my friend Annie and her surprisingly random text message to thank for this opportunity. After all, it’s not every day one gets disenfranchised and completely converted to the cause again all in one day!
On another note. Have I mentioned how much I love my host family? Today, before the epic text message from Annie, my Apa knocked on my door saying “James, Azr, cen kel, cen kel” which means “James, now (or later, someday, soon, whatever [see previous blog for explanation]) you come, you come.” Ooookaaay…I got up from my bed where I was reading (thank you Three Cups of Tea, you’ve been a boredom destroyer lately!) and wandered out to our kitchen where she showed me the remnants of a cow that my Ata recently slaughtered. By ‘remnants’ I mean that she held up the throat and lungs of the cow and told me to take a closer look. Now I’ve always held an interest in science and biology. Life in all its forms provides an endless fascination for any curious mind, but having my Apa hold the throat of this freshly killed beast up for me with the lungs just dangling there was almost too much to bare. Then, to be sure I understood what they were, she put her mouth to the opening of the throat and blew into it to expand the lungs. Wow. All I can say is that was AWESOME! I told her that she’d better brush her teeth afterwards and she explained that she doesn’t have to because she’s only using her lips…sorry Ata:) Then she had me pour some milk-like substance into the throat through a funnel she’d inserted and I watched as this entire bucket of liquid expanded the lungs to their full capacity before she had me tie off the throat with a string. Then she told me she’d boil it so we could eat it tomorrow. Wow, wow, WOW. Now (‘American’ now, meaning “at the immediate present moment”) we’re going to eat an actually ‘Americanly acceptable’ meal before I head off to another blissful sleep of wonder at this amazing country!
Oh, and tomorrow classes are cancelled because it’s the end of Ramadan (Orozon, in Kyrgyz) so everyone has to go guesting at seven different houses throughout the day…gotta love these Kyrgyz holidays!
More to come soon…I’m sure:)
27 September 2008
Talas Life...
Well I am definitely settled in to my permanent site! My new host family is just as great as I remember, and these first few days of school have been amazing! The ride up here was interesting though. We left the Issyk-Kul Hotel in Bishkek at 9:00am in a rented marshutka. I was with four other Talas volunteers and our respective counterparts (the ‘counterpart’ is the teacher that we will be working with or the next two years) riding through the Ala-Too mountain pass with all of our luggage, when our driver hit a turn a bit too fast and blew out a tire going about 30km/h. Granted, it’s not that fast but in the Marshutka that blown-tire felt like a bomb going off! He made us all pile outside while he worked on fixing it but we were all wearing shorts and t-shirts because Bishkek was about 80 degrees, but on the mountain pass the temperature was hovering somewhere between ‘damn-cold’ and ‘fucking freezing’ with a 40mph wind to cap it all off! He finally got us going again in about an hour which was good because I was starting to wonder if the feeling in my hands and feet would ever return. Luckily the feeling did return in time for my warm welcome at my new permanent site!
My new host-family is great. My new host-Apa is an excellent cook, which is a much welcome change from my PST host-Apa who…well, I’m sure you’ve read the other postings on that subject:) I am still friends with Kolya, the gigantic beast of a dog who according to my host-Ata is ‘an excellent dog-fighting champion’…I really don’t even know how he qualifies though because not only does he look more like a bear wearing a dog costume than an actual ‘dog’ but he’s extremely docile and well behaved…when he’s not stealing my left-overs:) We’ve all had some lively dinner-time conversations and my Kyrgyz is improving incrementally by the day; baby steps for sure, but it worked for What About Bob? so I’m sure I’ll get there eventually!
School is awesome! I finally feel like I’m actually doing what I set out here to do. The monotony of PST is finally over and I’m really teaching! Yes, that’s right, I’m really teaching. I was supposed to watch my counterpart teach for the first two weeks before coming up with lesson plans together, but yesterday (24-09-08) she said in her very broken English “James, I am tired. I have to plan our party tomorrow so can you teach this last class?” Me: “Ooookkaaayyy…sure. What should I teach them?” Narjan (my counterpart): “English.” Me: “Right. Okay. English…” Sure enough I went into the 8th grade class and began with introductions, then worked my way from there for the next 45 minutes just by judging what they already knew (not much at all) and what was in the room that I could translate/explain to them. It actually went quite well, and I’ve already got a good grasp on keeping them in order. Once they all figured out that Narjan would not be in there some boys in the back started goofing off so I made them come up and write a sentence on the board. Luckily for me Kyrgyz culture is not as egocentric as American culture so being put in the spotlight is the ultimate humiliation. They were quiet for the rest of my “class.” :)
Now back to the party. As I write this (25-09-08) I’m at home (we actually have electricity past 9am!) waiting to go back to school at 2:00pm for the party. My first class today was scheduled for 10:30 so I arrived at 10:15 to find teachers running all over the place and not a kid in sight. I tracked down Narjan who in very flustered English explained: “No, we no teach today. Today is our party.” Me: “Okay, that’s cool…ummm…when’s the party” Narjan: “Azr”. Now o’ loyal readers is a great lesson in Kyrgyz culture. What Narjan said in response to my query was “azr” which literally translates to “now” and/or “soon”. It’s used interchangeably between the two English definitions and really does mean now and/or soon. By the way, it’s the only word the Kyrgyz even have for “now”. So I of course offered to help prepare for “our party”, but Narjan said that she wanted me to wait in our English classroom because the party would begin “azr”. So I waited. Then I waited some more. Then I took out my deck of cards and had four rousing games of Solitaire, all of which I lost to the dealer. Soon enough (about 4 hours later) Narjan comes back in and says: “Okay, now I leave, but our party will begin azr, you can wait or go home and come back at 4 when our party begins.” “Oh.” I say “the party begins at 4?” Narjan: “Yes, of course, that is what we’ve been planning for weeks!” (I just got here three days ago, remember.) Me: “Oh, yeah, I must have forgotten that tiny all important piece of information from a couple of weeks ago when I wasn’t here…I guess I’ll go home and come back at 4.” The part of my last quote prior to the ellipsis was of course a very funny internal monologue that I repeated for the duration of my walk home.
So there you have it. Kyrgyz culture summed up with one word. The strangest part to me though was the fact that although all of the teachers were running around trying to prepare for the party all of the kids were sitting dutifully in their classrooms waiting for their teacher to appear! When I asked Narjan why the kids were even in school if no teachers were teaching she said: “the children must be in school.” Then I asked why they even bothered going class to class if there were no teachers around? Narjan’s response: “maybe some teachers want to teach.” I guess that tells it all right there. ‘Now’ can also mean ‘soon,’ and when there’s a party going on teaching is purely optional!
I love it here. This style of living fits my personality quite well. I honestly didn’t mind the fact that my entire day was wasted because, honestly, what did I have to do anyway!? I’m really just along for the ride. Lately I seem to have had a crash-course in Kyrgyz professionalism (a bit of an oxymoron, but entertaining nonetheless) and every singly meal I’ve had with my new host family thus far has more than made up for the gastric pain I endured throughout my three months of PST:)
My new host-family is great. My new host-Apa is an excellent cook, which is a much welcome change from my PST host-Apa who…well, I’m sure you’ve read the other postings on that subject:) I am still friends with Kolya, the gigantic beast of a dog who according to my host-Ata is ‘an excellent dog-fighting champion’…I really don’t even know how he qualifies though because not only does he look more like a bear wearing a dog costume than an actual ‘dog’ but he’s extremely docile and well behaved…when he’s not stealing my left-overs:) We’ve all had some lively dinner-time conversations and my Kyrgyz is improving incrementally by the day; baby steps for sure, but it worked for What About Bob? so I’m sure I’ll get there eventually!
School is awesome! I finally feel like I’m actually doing what I set out here to do. The monotony of PST is finally over and I’m really teaching! Yes, that’s right, I’m really teaching. I was supposed to watch my counterpart teach for the first two weeks before coming up with lesson plans together, but yesterday (24-09-08) she said in her very broken English “James, I am tired. I have to plan our party tomorrow so can you teach this last class?” Me: “Ooookkaaayyy…sure. What should I teach them?” Narjan (my counterpart): “English.” Me: “Right. Okay. English…” Sure enough I went into the 8th grade class and began with introductions, then worked my way from there for the next 45 minutes just by judging what they already knew (not much at all) and what was in the room that I could translate/explain to them. It actually went quite well, and I’ve already got a good grasp on keeping them in order. Once they all figured out that Narjan would not be in there some boys in the back started goofing off so I made them come up and write a sentence on the board. Luckily for me Kyrgyz culture is not as egocentric as American culture so being put in the spotlight is the ultimate humiliation. They were quiet for the rest of my “class.” :)
Now back to the party. As I write this (25-09-08) I’m at home (we actually have electricity past 9am!) waiting to go back to school at 2:00pm for the party. My first class today was scheduled for 10:30 so I arrived at 10:15 to find teachers running all over the place and not a kid in sight. I tracked down Narjan who in very flustered English explained: “No, we no teach today. Today is our party.” Me: “Okay, that’s cool…ummm…when’s the party” Narjan: “Azr”. Now o’ loyal readers is a great lesson in Kyrgyz culture. What Narjan said in response to my query was “azr” which literally translates to “now” and/or “soon”. It’s used interchangeably between the two English definitions and really does mean now and/or soon. By the way, it’s the only word the Kyrgyz even have for “now”. So I of course offered to help prepare for “our party”, but Narjan said that she wanted me to wait in our English classroom because the party would begin “azr”. So I waited. Then I waited some more. Then I took out my deck of cards and had four rousing games of Solitaire, all of which I lost to the dealer. Soon enough (about 4 hours later) Narjan comes back in and says: “Okay, now I leave, but our party will begin azr, you can wait or go home and come back at 4 when our party begins.” “Oh.” I say “the party begins at 4?” Narjan: “Yes, of course, that is what we’ve been planning for weeks!” (I just got here three days ago, remember.) Me: “Oh, yeah, I must have forgotten that tiny all important piece of information from a couple of weeks ago when I wasn’t here…I guess I’ll go home and come back at 4.” The part of my last quote prior to the ellipsis was of course a very funny internal monologue that I repeated for the duration of my walk home.
So there you have it. Kyrgyz culture summed up with one word. The strangest part to me though was the fact that although all of the teachers were running around trying to prepare for the party all of the kids were sitting dutifully in their classrooms waiting for their teacher to appear! When I asked Narjan why the kids were even in school if no teachers were teaching she said: “the children must be in school.” Then I asked why they even bothered going class to class if there were no teachers around? Narjan’s response: “maybe some teachers want to teach.” I guess that tells it all right there. ‘Now’ can also mean ‘soon,’ and when there’s a party going on teaching is purely optional!
I love it here. This style of living fits my personality quite well. I honestly didn’t mind the fact that my entire day was wasted because, honestly, what did I have to do anyway!? I’m really just along for the ride. Lately I seem to have had a crash-course in Kyrgyz professionalism (a bit of an oxymoron, but entertaining nonetheless) and every singly meal I’ve had with my new host family thus far has more than made up for the gastric pain I endured throughout my three months of PST:)
14 September 2008
NEW CONTACT INFO.!!!
Now the begging begins! Just kidding…here’s the address to my permanent site for those of you that are interested in sending me any packages or letters. Because my site is a Rayon Center (Rayon is like a “county” in America, so Kyzyl-Adyr is like what Seattle is in King County) you can send everything directly to the post office which cuts down on the amount of hands that might get to it. Liz, the K-15 that’s also at my site said that she’s become friends with the lady that works at the post-office and the lady just calls Liz directly whenever she gets anything. Hopefully I can use my wit and charm to win her over and receive the same privilege…for the time being, please just assume that I can:) With that said, because I still can’t figure out the formatting on this blog site although I’ve put the two addresses (Latin and Cyrillic) one-below-the-other, please put the Cyrillic address one to two inches to the right of the Latin-letter address.
Talas Oblast
Karabura Region
ATTN: JAMES SWIFT
722700
Талас областы
Карабуура району
Кызыл-Адыр айылы
Джеймс Свифт
Кыргызстан
05 September 2008
I typed this out about a week ago, and have just been able to use the internet. A little outdated, but just ignore the incorrect use of future tense.
I’m sitting in my (soon-to-be) permanent host-family’s gorgeous living room typing this out on a brand new Pentium IV computer next to a really nice TV that’s actually hooked up to cable. Yeah…it’s going to be pretty sweet once I finally move in here for good! Kizul-Adyr is also incredible! Everything I said about it before turned out to be absolutely true, and then some! The town is huge by Kyrgyz standards. It’s got numerous cafés (with working beer taps—I forgot how good those really are!), a ton of really big super-market-type (again, by Kyrgyz standards here folks) shops that carry anything I might need and my future school is amazing! More on that later though…Kizul-Adyr also hosts a huge park right in the center off from a giant bazaar selling tons of fresh fruit, vegetables, marked-up personal products, and beans…lots of beans. Talas is known as the “bean-capital” of Kyrgyzstan, and Kizul-Adyr doesn’t do much to diminish that reputation at all. I have honestly never seen so many of the little tasty buggars! As I mentioned at the start of this paragraph, my host family’s house is absolutely beautiful! Do I need to mention that we’re dealing with Kyrgyz standards again? I hope not…but with that said, it really is a very nice house that I’m going to be living in for the next two years. Aside from the aforementioned niceties they also have a great fridge with freezer, nice kitchen and a huge yard! My mom would love it because this yard has cows, two sheep, and 12 chickens…she’s got a bit of a chicken fetish—don’t ask. At any rate, it is a very nice place. They have a sun-shower like my current temporary host-family but they also have a working banya! I think I might have mentioned this ingenious device in a previous posting, but for a quick refresher the banya is basically like a low-grade sauna that you wash your self in as well as ‘cleanse’…like a sauna. All of my friends that have tried one rave about it, so I really can’t wait to get in there! Plus, in the winter if you don’t have one you really don’t have any opportunity to wash yourself at all—I’m going to be getting plenty use out of it this winter for sure!
Now on to my school. The opening day ceremony was yesterday (September 2), and I’ve really never seen anything quite like it! All of the kids came dressed in little French-maid dresses for the girls and the guys in their finest two-sizes-too-big suits. As soon as I’m able to post pictures you’ll be amazed! The younger classes all brought flowers for their teachers and all of the teachers were treated to a feast of sandwiches and vodka by the parents of the newest class (equivalent of kindergarten). Following this party we had a teachers meeting at which my counter-part held her own despite the morning (yes, vodka at roughly 10am) activity…honestly I think that vodka should be a requirement for any meeting—it just makes things so much more entertaining! Following this we went to my counter-part’s house (my counter-part is the Kyrgyz English teacher that I’m paired up with to ‘team teach’) with my director (principal) and three other teachers. There we had another feast and quite a bit more vodka (it’s about noon at this time, so the guilt is less than before, but by now I’m a little drunk…) following this we went to the ‘main party’ at a local café. This party was hosted by the parents of the newest class again, but in style. They had a DJ, a huge feast (honestly I couldn’t even see the table under all of the food, vodka and champagne) and we danced, ate and drank until about 9pm. I finally got home around 9:30 and promptly passed out. That is not before Colya (my host-family’s dog-fighting champion that weighs about 150lbs.) accosted me outside the front gate and ate all of the food I brought home for my family from the feast. He’s really a very sweet dog, but doesn’t have much humor when it comes to food—then again, what dog does? Yes, he’s a ‘dog-fighting’ champion according to my host-father and has raked in about $1000 this year alone for my host family. Could that be the reason they’re so wealthy? Eh, I don’t trouble myself with the details, and as long as I’m on Colya’s good side I think I’ll be okay.
Today Im heading to Talas City today to meet up with all of the current volunteers and my fellow Talas K-16’s to go on the huge water slide, hang out in the park and party before heading back to Bishkek tomorrow. Once I get to Bishkek I’m heading straight to Beta Café which has the best cheeseburger and French fry combo in town. It’s not much, but we are dealing with Kyrgyz standards, remember? Then it’s back to Station Ivanovka where I shall remain before I’m sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer at the end of the month. If the next two years of my service are anything like the last two days in Kizul-Adyr have been I think I’m in for one hell of a time!
Now on to my school. The opening day ceremony was yesterday (September 2), and I’ve really never seen anything quite like it! All of the kids came dressed in little French-maid dresses for the girls and the guys in their finest two-sizes-too-big suits. As soon as I’m able to post pictures you’ll be amazed! The younger classes all brought flowers for their teachers and all of the teachers were treated to a feast of sandwiches and vodka by the parents of the newest class (equivalent of kindergarten). Following this party we had a teachers meeting at which my counter-part held her own despite the morning (yes, vodka at roughly 10am) activity…honestly I think that vodka should be a requirement for any meeting—it just makes things so much more entertaining! Following this we went to my counter-part’s house (my counter-part is the Kyrgyz English teacher that I’m paired up with to ‘team teach’) with my director (principal) and three other teachers. There we had another feast and quite a bit more vodka (it’s about noon at this time, so the guilt is less than before, but by now I’m a little drunk…) following this we went to the ‘main party’ at a local café. This party was hosted by the parents of the newest class again, but in style. They had a DJ, a huge feast (honestly I couldn’t even see the table under all of the food, vodka and champagne) and we danced, ate and drank until about 9pm. I finally got home around 9:30 and promptly passed out. That is not before Colya (my host-family’s dog-fighting champion that weighs about 150lbs.) accosted me outside the front gate and ate all of the food I brought home for my family from the feast. He’s really a very sweet dog, but doesn’t have much humor when it comes to food—then again, what dog does? Yes, he’s a ‘dog-fighting’ champion according to my host-father and has raked in about $1000 this year alone for my host family. Could that be the reason they’re so wealthy? Eh, I don’t trouble myself with the details, and as long as I’m on Colya’s good side I think I’ll be okay.
Today Im heading to Talas City today to meet up with all of the current volunteers and my fellow Talas K-16’s to go on the huge water slide, hang out in the park and party before heading back to Bishkek tomorrow. Once I get to Bishkek I’m heading straight to Beta Café which has the best cheeseburger and French fry combo in town. It’s not much, but we are dealing with Kyrgyz standards, remember? Then it’s back to Station Ivanovka where I shall remain before I’m sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer at the end of the month. If the next two years of my service are anything like the last two days in Kizul-Adyr have been I think I’m in for one hell of a time!
30 August 2008
So sick of goat-meat...but good news too:)
I’ve lost about 15 pounds. Yup. 15 fucking pounds. I read that guys typically lose between 10-20 pounds upon their arrival in-country, but I had no idea the extent to which the veracity of that claim would actually affect me! I don’t look “sickly” or bad, I’ve been able to keep a regular work-out schedule and still eat until I’m stuffed when it’s food I can actually fathom eating. But I think that the cause of my incredible weight loss is due to three equally contributing factors: 1, I’ve had the most amazing (there really is no other word for it) diarrhea for a combined total of about fourteen days since getting here. 2, the only food I’ve consumed has been completely natural with no grease, butter or saturated fat of any kind…it’d be great if it wasn’t so laden with goat meat (more on that later). 3, I’ve finally managed to stand up for myself and clearly define what I will and will not consume as “food”.
About ¼ of every meal that I have the option (now) of eating is completely ridiculous so I only eat when it appears to be digestible by a western stomach. The reason for this sudden change of situational dietary freedom is due to my no longer being viewed as the ‘guest’. I am now really ‘part of the family’. Although my language is equivalent to that of a semi-retarded two year-old from Alabama, I’ve been present long enough for them to get a full grasp of my incredible gift for gesticulation. Through my many mimes I’ve been able to convey just about everything…well, my thorough understanding of present-simple tense Kyrgyz helps a bit too.
Goat meat. The bane of my existence. I could stand it at first because I was really trying to ‘culturally integrate’ but now that shit is out the proverbial window--I’m here, I speak (sort of), I can get around and I’ve got a cell phone…hell, I’m half-way to being native, but I get it. It’s cheaper than beef and the fish here is un-reliable. Oh, by “un-reliable” I mean it either tastes great and you die, or it tastes like pure salt and you live but you have a terrible stomach ache for three days. No fish. But what about chicken? What ever happened to the wonderful bird that cannot fly? I never thought I’d say this, and those that know my Seattle diet best know how crazy it is that I’m now begging for this bird-of-the-ground…but I would honestly do ANYTHING for a simple chicken dinner!!! Funny thing is that it costs about the same as shit-tastic goat meat but no one here eats it! Why? Well o loyal reader I shall tell thee. The truth about a true agriculturally based economy is that everything is truly utilized to it’s full and true potential. That’s the truth. Beef is incredibly expensive because cows are more useful as garden-weeders and dairy-producers than they are as a delicious cut of perfectly brazened rib-eye grilled just shy of medium rare with a cilantro/butter sauce gingerly poured on top whilst seeping through it’s delicate yet juicy interior. Okay…I might just have to quit this crazy thing and come home directly. Damn. Why would I do that to myself? Sorry, okay, now I’m back on track—anyway, the same thing goes for chicken. Chickens are more valuable as egg-producers than they are as (*edited for delicious content) meat. Therefore no one kills a cow and no one chokes a chicken…well, if they do they certainly don’t talk about it! So there you are o loyal reader thee…the truth of my truly despicable predicament!
I had a dream the other night about Red Robin. Of all the things I could be dreaming about (I did just start up a dating game with a certain female PCT) I woke up with my mouth watering at the thought of a big juicy blu-ribbon burger with fries and a side of honey-mustard dipping sauce accompanied by a fruity rum-based smoothie drink. Gay? No, just desperate for something other than dry goat meat and vodka. Okay…I can’t go further with this topic—I’m actually starting to fantasize about pizza and hotdogs from the Capitol Hill street vendors after the bars close…DAMN, STOP IT JAMES! Moving on…
Newest big news: I get to visit my permanent site on Saturday! On Friday all of the K-16’s are staying the night at the Issyk-Kul Hotel (the same one that we partied at…I mean, had our ‘orientation’ at for three days upon our arrival in Bishkek) before leaving with our future host-families on Saturday. I can’t wait! Some of the current PCV’s in Talas have been texting us future Talas Oblast PCV’s about what they have in store for our 4 day stay and it sounds like it’s going to be a blast! Then again, when did swimming clothes and vodka not sound like fun? Yeah, you all be jealous about that and I’ll be jealous about your food…DAMN! Okay, anyway the Issyk-Kul Hotel is really cool, it has an entire back garden area that was built as a millennium celebration in 1995 (It’s Kyrgyzstan…’nuff said) but the sculptures are all “futuristic” and “Soviet” in style…which makes it really creepy and cool! Also as soon as you enter the main grounds of the hotel (think ‘resort’ without resort amenities…then take it a step to the soviet angle and you’ll get an idea of what this entire place is like) there is a tiki bar set up run by children. Well, I’m sure it’s their parents that own it but they’re the one’s serving the booze—it’s actually quite cute once you get over the whole “corruption” thing, and the grounds of this bar have cushions and tables everywhere. It is really quite cool! So I think that between the creepy architecture garden and children-run tiki bar this Friday should be a blast! Also, private time with my new special lady friend is always a welcome commodity under the watchful eye of the US Government:)
So there you have it. The long and short of my current lack-of-consumables-yet-adjusting-to-it dietary and cultural journey. More to come post-permanent site visit with stories of swimming things and vodka galore, I’m sure. Stay tuned o loyal reader—your sympathy and comments go a very long way. Seriously. Keep ‘em coming! I love the contact with normalcy! Until next time…
About ¼ of every meal that I have the option (now) of eating is completely ridiculous so I only eat when it appears to be digestible by a western stomach. The reason for this sudden change of situational dietary freedom is due to my no longer being viewed as the ‘guest’. I am now really ‘part of the family’. Although my language is equivalent to that of a semi-retarded two year-old from Alabama, I’ve been present long enough for them to get a full grasp of my incredible gift for gesticulation. Through my many mimes I’ve been able to convey just about everything…well, my thorough understanding of present-simple tense Kyrgyz helps a bit too.
Goat meat. The bane of my existence. I could stand it at first because I was really trying to ‘culturally integrate’ but now that shit is out the proverbial window--I’m here, I speak (sort of), I can get around and I’ve got a cell phone…hell, I’m half-way to being native, but I get it. It’s cheaper than beef and the fish here is un-reliable. Oh, by “un-reliable” I mean it either tastes great and you die, or it tastes like pure salt and you live but you have a terrible stomach ache for three days. No fish. But what about chicken? What ever happened to the wonderful bird that cannot fly? I never thought I’d say this, and those that know my Seattle diet best know how crazy it is that I’m now begging for this bird-of-the-ground…but I would honestly do ANYTHING for a simple chicken dinner!!! Funny thing is that it costs about the same as shit-tastic goat meat but no one here eats it! Why? Well o loyal reader I shall tell thee. The truth about a true agriculturally based economy is that everything is truly utilized to it’s full and true potential. That’s the truth. Beef is incredibly expensive because cows are more useful as garden-weeders and dairy-producers than they are as a delicious cut of perfectly brazened rib-eye grilled just shy of medium rare with a cilantro/butter sauce gingerly poured on top whilst seeping through it’s delicate yet juicy interior. Okay…I might just have to quit this crazy thing and come home directly. Damn. Why would I do that to myself? Sorry, okay, now I’m back on track—anyway, the same thing goes for chicken. Chickens are more valuable as egg-producers than they are as (*edited for delicious content) meat. Therefore no one kills a cow and no one chokes a chicken…well, if they do they certainly don’t talk about it! So there you are o loyal reader thee…the truth of my truly despicable predicament!
I had a dream the other night about Red Robin. Of all the things I could be dreaming about (I did just start up a dating game with a certain female PCT) I woke up with my mouth watering at the thought of a big juicy blu-ribbon burger with fries and a side of honey-mustard dipping sauce accompanied by a fruity rum-based smoothie drink. Gay? No, just desperate for something other than dry goat meat and vodka. Okay…I can’t go further with this topic—I’m actually starting to fantasize about pizza and hotdogs from the Capitol Hill street vendors after the bars close…DAMN, STOP IT JAMES! Moving on…
Newest big news: I get to visit my permanent site on Saturday! On Friday all of the K-16’s are staying the night at the Issyk-Kul Hotel (the same one that we partied at…I mean, had our ‘orientation’ at for three days upon our arrival in Bishkek) before leaving with our future host-families on Saturday. I can’t wait! Some of the current PCV’s in Talas have been texting us future Talas Oblast PCV’s about what they have in store for our 4 day stay and it sounds like it’s going to be a blast! Then again, when did swimming clothes and vodka not sound like fun? Yeah, you all be jealous about that and I’ll be jealous about your food…DAMN! Okay, anyway the Issyk-Kul Hotel is really cool, it has an entire back garden area that was built as a millennium celebration in 1995 (It’s Kyrgyzstan…’nuff said) but the sculptures are all “futuristic” and “Soviet” in style…which makes it really creepy and cool! Also as soon as you enter the main grounds of the hotel (think ‘resort’ without resort amenities…then take it a step to the soviet angle and you’ll get an idea of what this entire place is like) there is a tiki bar set up run by children. Well, I’m sure it’s their parents that own it but they’re the one’s serving the booze—it’s actually quite cute once you get over the whole “corruption” thing, and the grounds of this bar have cushions and tables everywhere. It is really quite cool! So I think that between the creepy architecture garden and children-run tiki bar this Friday should be a blast! Also, private time with my new special lady friend is always a welcome commodity under the watchful eye of the US Government:)
So there you have it. The long and short of my current lack-of-consumables-yet-adjusting-to-it dietary and cultural journey. More to come post-permanent site visit with stories of swimming things and vodka galore, I’m sure. Stay tuned o loyal reader—your sympathy and comments go a very long way. Seriously. Keep ‘em coming! I love the contact with normalcy! Until next time…
21 August 2008
My permanent site placement!
I just found out my permanent site today!!! I’m in a large town called “Kizul-Adyr” which translates to “red-something…” No, something isn’t the last word, but I can’t find “Adyr” in my dictionary so as far as I know I’m going to be living in “red-something” for the next two years in the Talas Oblast (“Oblast” is basically what they call each respective “state” here, so Talas is the name of the “state” I’m in and Kizul-Adyr is name of the city). Anyway, I’m stoked! Not only is it in the Northern part of the country, but because for all of my IST’s (In-Service-Training’s) that take place in the capitol city of Bishkek various times throughout the year I have to travel through Kazakhstan on the main highway, I’m given a “travel” Visa for Kazakhstan that doesn’t expire until I leave the country. That means that on school vacations and summer break I can travel throughout Kazakhstan and visit other PCV’s there! This is a privilege only extended to Talas volunteers, and only out of necessity, which makes my site placement all the more UNBELIVEABLY AWESOME!!!
Also, not to brag, but taken verbatim from my site description in the packet I received today Kizul-Adyr’s details boast that “near the large Kizul-Adyr water reservoir…people swim and hang out. You can also rent Jet-Skis and Catamarans by the day, there is also the most exciting water slide in The Kyrgyz Republic”. More and more it’s looking like The Kyrgyz Republic is where I was meant to be placed. As excited as I was for SE Asia when I was initially nominated I just can’t imagine being anywhere but here, right now, with these people. I’ve also started dating a girl in my training class; she and I have both been placed in sites that, although far from one another, are each only 5 hours from Bishkek respectively…which means many weekend trips to the big city are already in the works!
Life here is going great! I’ve met some amazing people (as well as one particularly attractive one:)) and I just found out that I’m going to be spending my next two years of service in paradise! From what I’ve read Talas is beautiful, mountainous, and possesses a comparatively more liberal Kyrgyz culture from what one might experience in the southern regions. Today I also found out that my really good friend Kristen, whom I’ve had the pleasure of being neighbors with throughout PST, has also been placed in Talas! We’re about 30 minutes away from each other, so these next two years are going to be an absolute blast!
Sometimes I still wake up and look at the beautiful hand-woven carpet hanging on the wall next to my bed, I hear the train rattle by in the distance while my cow moos at the rooster to stop crowing and it feels so unreal…almost like a dream, but I’m living it. I guess it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet that this is where I’m living now, this is what I’m doing now, and for the next two years as I slowly perfect my Kyrgyz and more fully integrate myself into my respective community—this is my life. It’s just a bit crazy. You know, but in a really ridiculously good way:)
Also, not to brag, but taken verbatim from my site description in the packet I received today Kizul-Adyr’s details boast that “near the large Kizul-Adyr water reservoir…people swim and hang out. You can also rent Jet-Skis and Catamarans by the day, there is also the most exciting water slide in The Kyrgyz Republic”. More and more it’s looking like The Kyrgyz Republic is where I was meant to be placed. As excited as I was for SE Asia when I was initially nominated I just can’t imagine being anywhere but here, right now, with these people. I’ve also started dating a girl in my training class; she and I have both been placed in sites that, although far from one another, are each only 5 hours from Bishkek respectively…which means many weekend trips to the big city are already in the works!
Life here is going great! I’ve met some amazing people (as well as one particularly attractive one:)) and I just found out that I’m going to be spending my next two years of service in paradise! From what I’ve read Talas is beautiful, mountainous, and possesses a comparatively more liberal Kyrgyz culture from what one might experience in the southern regions. Today I also found out that my really good friend Kristen, whom I’ve had the pleasure of being neighbors with throughout PST, has also been placed in Talas! We’re about 30 minutes away from each other, so these next two years are going to be an absolute blast!
Sometimes I still wake up and look at the beautiful hand-woven carpet hanging on the wall next to my bed, I hear the train rattle by in the distance while my cow moos at the rooster to stop crowing and it feels so unreal…almost like a dream, but I’m living it. I guess it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet that this is where I’m living now, this is what I’m doing now, and for the next two years as I slowly perfect my Kyrgyz and more fully integrate myself into my respective community—this is my life. It’s just a bit crazy. You know, but in a really ridiculously good way:)
07 August 2008
More tips on sending packages (if you are so inclined)
Just a quick add-on to package sending (of course, only for interested parties):
My friend Adam sent me a package with two magazines, a package of playing cards including UNO and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was stolen out of the box. He did everything right, he put the crescent moon and star all over the package and taped it up really good, but a desperate worker at the Kyrgyz post office still ripped it open and took what was probably a cheap and funny T-shirt that I really would have liked to have received. From this first (of hopefully not many) stolen items I have learned the following about sending packages from the US to Kyrgyzstan:
1) Tape the box with dark colored tape, preferably duct tape as it is easier to see any possible tampering thereby acting as a built-in deterrent.
2) Put the crescent moon and star over the space that the box’s flaps come together so that whomever decides to try to steal any contents has to actually cut through it. Adam did that on the top of the box, but on the bottom he put it on one of the flaps individually, letting whichever thief that stole my shirt have less on his conscience…which very well could have made my box an easy target. In general, I think it’s a good rule to make desperate thieves have to work a little harder than that and deal with the spiritual consequences laterJ
3) Pack all of the items in the box under copious amounts of popcorn packing material and put the most valuable items in the middle of the box (preferably in their own box, so they can’t be quickly identified…though what use a Kyrgyz man has for a funny and ‘inside-joke’ sort of shirt I have no idea)…also it’s best to declare a shit-ton less value than the contents may actually be worth. Adam did a stellar job of this, but evidently there’s a hot black-market for funny shirts in Kyrgyzstan that I’ve yet to encounter…until now, unfortunately.
4) Pack items in a bigger box than necessary. I think they ship by weight and not so much by size, and the bigger the box the less easy it’ll be to quickly open and close without a supervisor seeing.
5) DO NOT WRITE “USA” ANYWHERE ON THE RETURN ADDRESS!!! I know this might sound dangerous, but if it needs to be “returned to sender” for any reason it will eventually get back to you. Having USA on the return address is the easiest way for any scummy-bastard-T-shirt-stealing-goat-fucker to see that the box’s contents might be worth pilfering. Just write your return address like you would if you were sending it within the US and it’ll be just fine.
This is of course assuming that anyone wants to send me anything…however, although Adam’s box had only current editions of Time and Popular Science magazines, some pictures and a nice letter (a T-shirt too, but that’s a bit of a sore subject so please don’t bring it up again) I really, really, really appreciated it. Not to guilt trip anyone, but if you see a trinket, a funny game, an interesting magazine…fuck…anything that’s American and you think that I’d like then I can’t stress enough how welcome that sort of gift would be. Plus, my birthday is October 12. I’ll be at my permanent site by then and will post the address as soon as I receive it, but for the next 30 days the address I posted in my previous blog will work great. Also, FYI, Adam sent the package on 7/21/08 and I received it on 8/04/08…not a bad turn-aroundJ
Thank you to all, and I promise many more stories to come…
My friend Adam sent me a package with two magazines, a package of playing cards including UNO and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was stolen out of the box. He did everything right, he put the crescent moon and star all over the package and taped it up really good, but a desperate worker at the Kyrgyz post office still ripped it open and took what was probably a cheap and funny T-shirt that I really would have liked to have received. From this first (of hopefully not many) stolen items I have learned the following about sending packages from the US to Kyrgyzstan:
1) Tape the box with dark colored tape, preferably duct tape as it is easier to see any possible tampering thereby acting as a built-in deterrent.
2) Put the crescent moon and star over the space that the box’s flaps come together so that whomever decides to try to steal any contents has to actually cut through it. Adam did that on the top of the box, but on the bottom he put it on one of the flaps individually, letting whichever thief that stole my shirt have less on his conscience…which very well could have made my box an easy target. In general, I think it’s a good rule to make desperate thieves have to work a little harder than that and deal with the spiritual consequences laterJ
3) Pack all of the items in the box under copious amounts of popcorn packing material and put the most valuable items in the middle of the box (preferably in their own box, so they can’t be quickly identified…though what use a Kyrgyz man has for a funny and ‘inside-joke’ sort of shirt I have no idea)…also it’s best to declare a shit-ton less value than the contents may actually be worth. Adam did a stellar job of this, but evidently there’s a hot black-market for funny shirts in Kyrgyzstan that I’ve yet to encounter…until now, unfortunately.
4) Pack items in a bigger box than necessary. I think they ship by weight and not so much by size, and the bigger the box the less easy it’ll be to quickly open and close without a supervisor seeing.
5) DO NOT WRITE “USA” ANYWHERE ON THE RETURN ADDRESS!!! I know this might sound dangerous, but if it needs to be “returned to sender” for any reason it will eventually get back to you. Having USA on the return address is the easiest way for any scummy-bastard-T-shirt-stealing-goat-fucker to see that the box’s contents might be worth pilfering. Just write your return address like you would if you were sending it within the US and it’ll be just fine.
This is of course assuming that anyone wants to send me anything…however, although Adam’s box had only current editions of Time and Popular Science magazines, some pictures and a nice letter (a T-shirt too, but that’s a bit of a sore subject so please don’t bring it up again) I really, really, really appreciated it. Not to guilt trip anyone, but if you see a trinket, a funny game, an interesting magazine…fuck…anything that’s American and you think that I’d like then I can’t stress enough how welcome that sort of gift would be. Plus, my birthday is October 12. I’ll be at my permanent site by then and will post the address as soon as I receive it, but for the next 30 days the address I posted in my previous blog will work great. Also, FYI, Adam sent the package on 7/21/08 and I received it on 8/04/08…not a bad turn-aroundJ
Thank you to all, and I promise many more stories to come…
What is Kyrgyzstan like?
What is Kyrgyzstan like? It’s certainly a country of great wealth disparity, that’s the most striking observation one can make upon exiting the capital city of Bishkek. It’s beautiful. Beyond words beautiful sometimes. There are days that I’m walking to my language lessons and pass an entire herd of goats and cows against a backdrop of the largest towering mountains I’ve ever seen. That’s another thing, the goat/cow herding. Kyrgyzstan is extremely community orientated so people take turns herding everyone else’s goats/cows…the crazy part is they don’t even herd them directly back to the house they came from—they’ll just walk them down the main street, stopping traffic the entire time and the cows and goats will veer off to their own house without any prodding. Which is strange considering the way they treat their animals here. It’s strange how they treat their animals only because I come from a country that actually has “animal rights activists” and people that treat their animals better than their own children on occasion. Here, they treat their animals as humans have since the dawn of civilized man—as tools to keep the house running, safe, and effective. It’s quite interesting, but tough to get used to. Their treatment of dogs especially. I grew up with a wonderful dog (some of you might have met Panda…she was greatJ) and my parents currently have Cookie, who’s about as tough as her name implies. My host-family has two dogs as well but they’re mean, not allowed in the house under ANY circumstances and barely fed scraps off the table. Actually I don’t know that for certain because I’ve never actually seen them be fed. However, because they’re starving and mean they are the best deterrent to any would-be robber and/or stray animal that might want to gain access to the house. From a sensible security standpoint they are excellent guard-dogs. It’s just tough for me because I grew up with a sense that the dog is a member of the family, whereas here they are basically slaves of a different species. Terrible reference, I know…but entirely accurate.
The towns are beautiful in their simplicity. Station Ivanovka, where I currently reside has no running water, intermittent electricity and the only toilets available are outhouses. Oh yeah, as my buddy Joe found out yesterday, once the outhouse gets full (use your imagination), you just cover it up and build a new one right next to it. And so it goes, the circle of life completely explained with a single reference to outhouses. I’m a genius.
Kyrgyzstan is an emerging country economically and with specific detail to modernity. It’s a country that has more broken and abandoned factories than running ones, but everyone that wants a job has one. The cities are modern, they have running water and electricity and rude people on the streets. The towns, however, operate in much the same way America did in the 1800’s…everyone looks out for everyone else, children are raised by their parents and the community and you shit outside regardless of the weather…yeah, I’m still on that subject;)
The community aspect of Kyrgyzstan is the most striking and evident in my daily activities though. If I’m on a Marshuka (tiny public transport VW van/bus thing) and an old lady gets on, every single young man will stand and offer their seat to her. If a 12 year old punk kid is too busy listening to his iPod everyone is within their right to slap his face and make him move. Seriously. In America parenting seems to be a pride issue. A proud mentality that holds that ‘this is my kid, I’ll raise them how I want’, whereas in Kyrgyzstan people look at the younger generation as future Kyrgyz community members so everyone has a say in how to raise them. I can’t quite make an argument for the merits of either method…it’s just different here.
In Bishkek you can find popular restaurants, hot night clubs, great bars, huge malls and nice paved roads (the difference between nice and not-nice paved roads is another HUGE striking difference here…in America one or two pot-holes is ‘not-nice’, in Kyrgyzstan one giant pot-hole that requires evasive maneuvering every 2 feet is ‘not nice’…’nice’ is slightly better than that) and girls that are wearing the latest short skirt, tiny tank-top fashion that MTV says is cool. In the towns women dress much more conservatively and are judged more harshly by their neighbors and peer groups than the latest chick-flick-high-school-gossip movie would have you believe is the norm in America. Bishkek is beautiful, and it comes with all the big city pluses and minuses that big cities the world over come with. Yes, Drew…they have McDonald’s in Bishkek—but the fries taste completely different!
Kyrgyzstan is a predominately Muslim country, but the men drink, smoke, and sleep with prostitutes…except the one’s that don’t, yet they seem to be few and far between. The women have traditional roles in the home. Some have jobs, but they are still responsible for all the cooking and cleaning. The men work, eat and do the hard labor that every house in every village requires as standard upkeep. The family’s live together for a very long time too…If a family has four sons, when the eldest marries he and his wife will live at his parent’s home until the second eldest marries, then they’ll move out. This will continue until the youngest son marries and he will live with his parents and his new wife until the parents die; he will then inherit their home and the tradition will continue anew.
Overall, Kyrgyzstan is a beautiful country, with beautiful people and a beautiful way of life. The cities are fast-paced and fun, and the towns are so slow it’s hard to move sometimes…days like that though I just get together with my friends here (there’s 10 PCT’s in Station Ivanovka), buy a 1.5 liter bottle of piva (beer) for 40 som (about $1.05) and sit in the park drinking and talking while children run around. It’s amazing. The kids are also ridiculously good at soccer here. We play pick-up games about twice a week (well, me and three other guys here) and the kids are just phenomenal! That’s a whole other story though, and I’m getting tired.
Hopefully this blog post gave you a simple idea of what Kyrgyzstan is like. I’ll be trying to post some pictures soon (maybe next month, when I save up the som to spend the time on the internet they’d require), but in the meantime please keep posting comments with any questions or thoughts you might have. As this is really my only means of communication with my friends back home I ALWAYS love hearing from you!!!
The towns are beautiful in their simplicity. Station Ivanovka, where I currently reside has no running water, intermittent electricity and the only toilets available are outhouses. Oh yeah, as my buddy Joe found out yesterday, once the outhouse gets full (use your imagination), you just cover it up and build a new one right next to it. And so it goes, the circle of life completely explained with a single reference to outhouses. I’m a genius.
Kyrgyzstan is an emerging country economically and with specific detail to modernity. It’s a country that has more broken and abandoned factories than running ones, but everyone that wants a job has one. The cities are modern, they have running water and electricity and rude people on the streets. The towns, however, operate in much the same way America did in the 1800’s…everyone looks out for everyone else, children are raised by their parents and the community and you shit outside regardless of the weather…yeah, I’m still on that subject;)
The community aspect of Kyrgyzstan is the most striking and evident in my daily activities though. If I’m on a Marshuka (tiny public transport VW van/bus thing) and an old lady gets on, every single young man will stand and offer their seat to her. If a 12 year old punk kid is too busy listening to his iPod everyone is within their right to slap his face and make him move. Seriously. In America parenting seems to be a pride issue. A proud mentality that holds that ‘this is my kid, I’ll raise them how I want’, whereas in Kyrgyzstan people look at the younger generation as future Kyrgyz community members so everyone has a say in how to raise them. I can’t quite make an argument for the merits of either method…it’s just different here.
In Bishkek you can find popular restaurants, hot night clubs, great bars, huge malls and nice paved roads (the difference between nice and not-nice paved roads is another HUGE striking difference here…in America one or two pot-holes is ‘not-nice’, in Kyrgyzstan one giant pot-hole that requires evasive maneuvering every 2 feet is ‘not nice’…’nice’ is slightly better than that) and girls that are wearing the latest short skirt, tiny tank-top fashion that MTV says is cool. In the towns women dress much more conservatively and are judged more harshly by their neighbors and peer groups than the latest chick-flick-high-school-gossip movie would have you believe is the norm in America. Bishkek is beautiful, and it comes with all the big city pluses and minuses that big cities the world over come with. Yes, Drew…they have McDonald’s in Bishkek—but the fries taste completely different!
Kyrgyzstan is a predominately Muslim country, but the men drink, smoke, and sleep with prostitutes…except the one’s that don’t, yet they seem to be few and far between. The women have traditional roles in the home. Some have jobs, but they are still responsible for all the cooking and cleaning. The men work, eat and do the hard labor that every house in every village requires as standard upkeep. The family’s live together for a very long time too…If a family has four sons, when the eldest marries he and his wife will live at his parent’s home until the second eldest marries, then they’ll move out. This will continue until the youngest son marries and he will live with his parents and his new wife until the parents die; he will then inherit their home and the tradition will continue anew.
Overall, Kyrgyzstan is a beautiful country, with beautiful people and a beautiful way of life. The cities are fast-paced and fun, and the towns are so slow it’s hard to move sometimes…days like that though I just get together with my friends here (there’s 10 PCT’s in Station Ivanovka), buy a 1.5 liter bottle of piva (beer) for 40 som (about $1.05) and sit in the park drinking and talking while children run around. It’s amazing. The kids are also ridiculously good at soccer here. We play pick-up games about twice a week (well, me and three other guys here) and the kids are just phenomenal! That’s a whole other story though, and I’m getting tired.
Hopefully this blog post gave you a simple idea of what Kyrgyzstan is like. I’ll be trying to post some pictures soon (maybe next month, when I save up the som to spend the time on the internet they’d require), but in the meantime please keep posting comments with any questions or thoughts you might have. As this is really my only means of communication with my friends back home I ALWAYS love hearing from you!!!
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