This may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, considering I'm such an intrepid and fearless traveler, but I get sick a lot. I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps it's the climate, or the microbe-infested dust that is everywhere, or the fact that I don't get enough sleep and am stressed out most of the time. Whatever the reason, I get sick a lot and have local people fuss about it.
My current illness is less than a week old, though comes less than a month after my last cold. It's probably just a cold, or some sort of virus that just has to work itself out, but it's got the locals panicked. My co-workers are besides themselves with concern. They insist that my apartment must be cold, and that's why I'm sick. [Please keep in mind that it still is in the mid-70s everyday... not exactly cold.] They bustle around and force me to drink black tea, because green tea isn't good for you when you have a cold, and buy copious amounts of milk whose “biotic qualities” (whatever this means) are supposed to cure me. It's all wonderfully thoughtful, but needless to say, I'm still sick.
Yesterday my landlady came over. She has tended to do this more and more lately, calling me up with 15 minutes' notice to inform me that she's in town and is going to spend some time pretending to fix things in my apartment and, hence, will be spending the night. It's annoying, but not the end of the world. My Peace Corps-honed flexibility and patience allow me to shrug off this frequent invasion of privacy and get on with my life. At this point, the problem isn't that my landlady is in my apartment. The problem is that my landlady is in my apartment and knows I'm sick.
To fully understand the dreadful situation this puts me in, you have to understand how much people love home remedies in this country. The minute anyone finds out you're sick they're suggesting you drink vodka with honey (or salt, or pepper, or dill), inject yourself with various medications, buy a very specific kind of herb sold by a certain lady that has a stand on this certain street and if you leave now she'll probably still be there, soak your feet in milk, drink raw eggs (and yes, they have to be raw because they lose their healing properties in the cooking process), go visit a fortuneteller, etc.
And when people here suggest a home remedy, they mean business. Anything less than immediate use of their remedy is unacceptable. None of this “thanks for the idea, I might try it later” crap. I tried that once tonight with my landlady, tried to quietly brush her suggestions aside and get on with my evening. Nice try, American, you will use their home remedy, and you will like it. So here I am, sitting on my bed typing up a training accompanied by a plate of freshly sliced onions and a clove of garlic that's on a string around my neck. The onions are for my sore throat, and the garlic is supposed to “heat up my chest” and stop my cough. All I can say for home remedies is that 2 hours in I feel exactly the same as I did pre-home remedy, but smell quite a bit more foul.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Summer Adventures, PART 4
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 4
The next morning we woke up to a chilly morning. Let me tell you, it was rough. I ached from the time spent on horseback the previous day, I was seriously sunburned, and I was cold from the damp morning air. The rest of the camp was already awake, our guide Batyr was saddling our horses, the women were finishing breakfast preparations and the men were preparing for the day. We rolled up the mattresses, sheets and blankets that covered the yurt floor, and pulled the table to the center of the yurt before setting breakfast out. For breakfast there was tea, bread, eggs, fresh butter and apricot jam. We finished breakfast, said goodbye to our hosts, slathered ourselves in sunscreen, and rode off into the hills.
Batyr was less talkative than the previous day, it was much colder than the previous day, and our horses were less pleased us than the previous day. My horse did his task of picking his way through the hillside valiantly, but COBC's horse was in no mood to be carrying someone around. We had to stop frequently while Batyr tried to coax it along, and eventually he and COBC traded horses. The second day's ride was much more difficult than the previous day's. The terrain was rockier and steeper and it was cold. Despite my long underwear, heavy duty fleece jacket and rain coat, I was freezing. The higher we went the windier it got. Slowly we climbed to the Jalgyz Karagai pass – 3300 meters (10,800 feet) – from which we would descent to Song Kol basin. Just as we reached the pass, the sun peaked out from the clouds to shine light on the lake that glittered in the distance.
The break in the weather was short-lived, and in no time at all we found ourselves in the middle of a chilly hailstorm. We soldiered on, and eventually reached the Jaman Echki jailoo, and the dry warmth of yurts and lunch. We didn't eat alone, but instead were joined by some other travelers that had come in with a CBT guide by Land Rover to do some hiking. The other travelers were German. It was two girls working Bishkek with the German volunteer program (similar to Peace Corps), and one of the girl's parents who had come to visit. We exchanged amusing stories about life in Central Asia and went on our way. The ride after lunch was cold but easy, as we were covering fairly level terrain of the lake basin. We passed marmots, steppe eagles, and herds of horses as we made our way to the lakeside yurts off in the distance. By mid-afternoon we had reached the 20 yurts that made up the CBT Song Kol jailoo community.
Song Kol was beautiful, perched among mountains, and it was amazing to be staying with a local family in a yurt in a place so sacred to the Kyrgyz people. We made friends with 3 kids staying in the neighboring yurt who had come from Bishkek for a 10-day kumus treatment. Kumus is the fermented mare's milk that is thought to have healing properties and is quite popular throughout Central Asia. These city kids – Bigzat (age 11), Kanashai (age 5), Begimat (age 3) – came with their aunt every year to Song Kol to be restored by the lake and the kumus they drank every three hours. They were cute and because they were city kids they spoke Russian. We strolled along the lakeshore, played with the kids, and ate a delicious dinner of sauteed cabbage, potatoes, and carrots for dinner before hitting the sack for a last evening in a yurt.
The next morning we ate breakfast, packed up, and waited for our ride back to Kochkor. We spent 4 bumpy hours in the same beat up Lada that had dropped us off 2 days earlier before reaching the town. We arranged to spend the night with the same host family, and dropped our things off before setting off to explore the town. Kochkor is a typical Central Asian town. Town life centers around the main drag which has a bizarre, cafes, and businesses. We walked through a slightly terrifying regional museum that was full of Soviet memorabilia and rotting floors before heading to lunch. We spend the afternoon napping, reading, and planning the next day's trip back to Bishkek. After a final night in central Kyrgyzstan we found a shared taxi back to Bishkek.
Our trip back across the border into Kazakhstan was considerably less interesting and less hectic than the trip into Kyrgyzstan, but the easy crossing was a relief after a tiring trip. Overall, it was a truly amazing trip. When we were first planning the trip, I expected to enjoy the time we would spend in Kyrgyzstan, but I didn't expect to love it. And I did love it. A week was too little time to spend in such a beautiful place. I'm hoping to make it back south of the border before my time in Central Asia ends, maybe to stroll through the walnut forests of the south, or to spend some more time in the mountains.
I guess what I'm trying to say, dear reader, is if you ever find yourself in Central Asia, give Kyrgyzstan a chance. It's a small country, but it has a lot to offer the adventurous traveler. Getting a visa is no problem, crossing the border by land is only slightly terrifying, and the people are warm and welcoming.
COMING SOON! Stay tuned for pictures of my Kyrgyzstan trip. They'll be posted as soon as the internet cooperates.
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 4
The next morning we woke up to a chilly morning. Let me tell you, it was rough. I ached from the time spent on horseback the previous day, I was seriously sunburned, and I was cold from the damp morning air. The rest of the camp was already awake, our guide Batyr was saddling our horses, the women were finishing breakfast preparations and the men were preparing for the day. We rolled up the mattresses, sheets and blankets that covered the yurt floor, and pulled the table to the center of the yurt before setting breakfast out. For breakfast there was tea, bread, eggs, fresh butter and apricot jam. We finished breakfast, said goodbye to our hosts, slathered ourselves in sunscreen, and rode off into the hills.
Batyr was less talkative than the previous day, it was much colder than the previous day, and our horses were less pleased us than the previous day. My horse did his task of picking his way through the hillside valiantly, but COBC's horse was in no mood to be carrying someone around. We had to stop frequently while Batyr tried to coax it along, and eventually he and COBC traded horses. The second day's ride was much more difficult than the previous day's. The terrain was rockier and steeper and it was cold. Despite my long underwear, heavy duty fleece jacket and rain coat, I was freezing. The higher we went the windier it got. Slowly we climbed to the Jalgyz Karagai pass – 3300 meters (10,800 feet) – from which we would descent to Song Kol basin. Just as we reached the pass, the sun peaked out from the clouds to shine light on the lake that glittered in the distance.
The break in the weather was short-lived, and in no time at all we found ourselves in the middle of a chilly hailstorm. We soldiered on, and eventually reached the Jaman Echki jailoo, and the dry warmth of yurts and lunch. We didn't eat alone, but instead were joined by some other travelers that had come in with a CBT guide by Land Rover to do some hiking. The other travelers were German. It was two girls working Bishkek with the German volunteer program (similar to Peace Corps), and one of the girl's parents who had come to visit. We exchanged amusing stories about life in Central Asia and went on our way. The ride after lunch was cold but easy, as we were covering fairly level terrain of the lake basin. We passed marmots, steppe eagles, and herds of horses as we made our way to the lakeside yurts off in the distance. By mid-afternoon we had reached the 20 yurts that made up the CBT Song Kol jailoo community.
Song Kol was beautiful, perched among mountains, and it was amazing to be staying with a local family in a yurt in a place so sacred to the Kyrgyz people. We made friends with 3 kids staying in the neighboring yurt who had come from Bishkek for a 10-day kumus treatment. Kumus is the fermented mare's milk that is thought to have healing properties and is quite popular throughout Central Asia. These city kids – Bigzat (age 11), Kanashai (age 5), Begimat (age 3) – came with their aunt every year to Song Kol to be restored by the lake and the kumus they drank every three hours. They were cute and because they were city kids they spoke Russian. We strolled along the lakeshore, played with the kids, and ate a delicious dinner of sauteed cabbage, potatoes, and carrots for dinner before hitting the sack for a last evening in a yurt.
The next morning we ate breakfast, packed up, and waited for our ride back to Kochkor. We spent 4 bumpy hours in the same beat up Lada that had dropped us off 2 days earlier before reaching the town. We arranged to spend the night with the same host family, and dropped our things off before setting off to explore the town. Kochkor is a typical Central Asian town. Town life centers around the main drag which has a bizarre, cafes, and businesses. We walked through a slightly terrifying regional museum that was full of Soviet memorabilia and rotting floors before heading to lunch. We spend the afternoon napping, reading, and planning the next day's trip back to Bishkek. After a final night in central Kyrgyzstan we found a shared taxi back to Bishkek.
Our trip back across the border into Kazakhstan was considerably less interesting and less hectic than the trip into Kyrgyzstan, but the easy crossing was a relief after a tiring trip. Overall, it was a truly amazing trip. When we were first planning the trip, I expected to enjoy the time we would spend in Kyrgyzstan, but I didn't expect to love it. And I did love it. A week was too little time to spend in such a beautiful place. I'm hoping to make it back south of the border before my time in Central Asia ends, maybe to stroll through the walnut forests of the south, or to spend some more time in the mountains.
I guess what I'm trying to say, dear reader, is if you ever find yourself in Central Asia, give Kyrgyzstan a chance. It's a small country, but it has a lot to offer the adventurous traveler. Getting a visa is no problem, crossing the border by land is only slightly terrifying, and the people are warm and welcoming.
COMING SOON! Stay tuned for pictures of my Kyrgyzstan trip. They'll be posted as soon as the internet cooperates.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The Landlady and the End of the Dream Apartment
I have sad news to report, dear reader. The era of the dream apartment is coming to a close. For those of you that know, I spent much of the spring looking for the perfect apartment, and thought I had finally found it. I moved in in June, and have loved the freedom of living alone. My landlady, however, stomps all over this freedom every time she stops by. Here is a prime example:
Setting: Thursday evening, 7pm
Place: My humble abode
Characters: Me, The Landlady (LL)
The house phone rings, I run to answer it.
LL: Hi Katie. Um. How are you?
Me: I'm fine, and you?
LL: Good, good. ….. My daughter is coming into town tomorrow with her child and very large bags. She'll have very large bags with her and it will be difficult for her to get home, so she needs to stay in the city. And she will have her child, and very large bags. Lots of luggage. Very large bags.
Me: I understand, she can stay here with me. It's alright.
LL: No, you don't understand... We will stay in the apartment, and you will find somewhere else to stay. I'm sure it won't be a probably. We will arrive at noon tomorrow, so you will have to be gone by then. Oh, and you need to remove all of your personal items from the apartment and put them in the closet. Very good, good bye.
Me: …....
Also, it turns out she lied to me when I moved in and the heating actually doesn't work. This is a problem. Clearly it's time to move out. I will miss the beautiful washing machine, and the lovely pull-out sofa bed, and the luxuriousness of having 2 large rooms completely to myself, but I will not miss her shenanigans.
More on my summer travels soon!
Setting: Thursday evening, 7pm
Place: My humble abode
Characters: Me, The Landlady (LL)
The house phone rings, I run to answer it.
LL: Hi Katie. Um. How are you?
Me: I'm fine, and you?
LL: Good, good. ….. My daughter is coming into town tomorrow with her child and very large bags. She'll have very large bags with her and it will be difficult for her to get home, so she needs to stay in the city. And she will have her child, and very large bags. Lots of luggage. Very large bags.
Me: I understand, she can stay here with me. It's alright.
LL: No, you don't understand... We will stay in the apartment, and you will find somewhere else to stay. I'm sure it won't be a probably. We will arrive at noon tomorrow, so you will have to be gone by then. Oh, and you need to remove all of your personal items from the apartment and put them in the closet. Very good, good bye.
Me: …....
Also, it turns out she lied to me when I moved in and the heating actually doesn't work. This is a problem. Clearly it's time to move out. I will miss the beautiful washing machine, and the lovely pull-out sofa bed, and the luxuriousness of having 2 large rooms completely to myself, but I will not miss her shenanigans.
More on my summer travels soon!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Summer Adventures, PART 3
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 3
So before I tell you anymore, take a look at our trek itinerary.
3-Day Jailoo Hopping Trek to Song Kul
Day 1: In the morning transfer to Kyzart pass, where your tour will start. The Kyzart pass offer first shepherd’s yurt where you can stop for lunch. After lunch in Kyzart, head south to the Jumgal mountains range. Follow the horse way cross Kyzyl-Kiya jailoo, an enormous, relatively flat sea of grass. Continue over the Chaar-Archa Pass (3061 m) into the Chaar-Archa Valley, with views of holy 4400 m Baba-Ata Mountain. Sated, ford the river and follow the trail over verdant hills to Kilemche Jailoo. The name means “like a carpet,” and this swathe of grass covers whole mountain ranges, with shadings as subtle as any shyrdak. Dine and sleep in the yurt.
Day 2: After breakfast at Kilemche, spend the morning climbing to Jalgyz Karagai pass (3300 m), over the Song-Kol mountains and into the lake’s basin. The morning climb affords wonderful views of Kilemche jailoo,and the pass itself is rocky and exciting. From the pass, Song-Kol is still distant, but as you traipse down the slopes, it gets larger and larger, the mountains on the other side get higher and higher, until finally the lake fills most of your field of view and the southern mountains tower above it. After lunch at Jaman Echki, follow the lakeshore east for an hour to the CBT yurt at Batai Aral. Upon arrival meet your host family of Kyrgyz shepherds. Spend a day-time at the lakeside. Watching and / or participation in everyday life of shepherds: milking mares; making national milk products like kymyz (a fermented mare’s milk) or airan (a sour dense milk product); tending cattle. Eat a delicious dinner here, stroll along the lakeshore, and hope the legendary Song-Kol weather is kind. Meals and overnight is in a yurt.
Day 3: After a refreshing and well-earned rest at Batai Aral and breakfast, spend the morning at the lake. After a final lunch in the yurt, transfer to Kochkor village, 3 hours. Dinner and overnight stay at CBT home stay.
The next day we got up bright and early morning to a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, eggs, homemade bread and apricot jam, and tea. It was delicious, and the perfect start to our trip. We set out with our amused local driver and our silent guide named Batyr (“warrior”) for Kyzart Pass, where we would pick up our horses and begin our trek. It was a 2 hour drive along unpaved roads in a Lada (this is the exact model, though our vehicle was ancient) and we were happy when it was over. We arrived at a large sign next to the road that declared “Kyzart” and a semi-cirlce of what looked like metal gypsy wagons selling gas, water, and snacks. A man and his son were tying three horses up near the sign, and soon came over to fasten our packs to the saddles. Without any introduction to horseback riding, any safety precautions, or any recommendations, we were told to “get on” and began on our way.
The ride was cold and I was glad I had brought long underwear and my fleece. We were pretty high up in the mountains, and with no trees to block the wind it was chilly. We rode in single file across wide grassy pastures as Batyr told us the names of different mountains, pastures and rivers. We were finally amongst the Kyrgyz jailoos, or summer mountain pastures, where the traditionally nomadic people still returned every summer with there flocks. We passed yurts and small summer huts along with horses, cows and sheep all brought to the mountains from nearby villages to graze. The scenery was amazing, there's no better word to describe. We rode for hours without seeing another human, passing meadows of alpine flowers. Despite my lack of any previous horse knowledge, riding wasn't too difficult, though it was every bit uncomfortable as you would imagine. After a 5-ride we reached the Kilemche Jailoo, and the yurts that would house us for the night.
The family that hosted us has worked for CBT for a few years, offering food and yurt space to passing trekkers. We got acquainted through broken Russian and attempts at Kyrgyz with our hosts, a large family from a nearby town. The daughter-in-law Nazgul had recently married into the family and was now taking on the traditional role of the daughter-in-law, that of housekeeper, cook, farm hand, and child minder. We ate delicious freshly baked bread with jam, drank tea, and watched the family members milk the horses. After dinner we played traditional Kyrgyz games akin to Duck Duck Goose and capture the flag (though this version involved a sheep bone and yelling things in Kyrgyz) before falling asleep amongst CBT guides in our yurt.
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 3
So before I tell you anymore, take a look at our trek itinerary.
3-Day Jailoo Hopping Trek to Song Kul
Day 1: In the morning transfer to Kyzart pass, where your tour will start. The Kyzart pass offer first shepherd’s yurt where you can stop for lunch. After lunch in Kyzart, head south to the Jumgal mountains range. Follow the horse way cross Kyzyl-Kiya jailoo, an enormous, relatively flat sea of grass. Continue over the Chaar-Archa Pass (3061 m) into the Chaar-Archa Valley, with views of holy 4400 m Baba-Ata Mountain. Sated, ford the river and follow the trail over verdant hills to Kilemche Jailoo. The name means “like a carpet,” and this swathe of grass covers whole mountain ranges, with shadings as subtle as any shyrdak. Dine and sleep in the yurt.
Day 2: After breakfast at Kilemche, spend the morning climbing to Jalgyz Karagai pass (3300 m), over the Song-Kol mountains and into the lake’s basin. The morning climb affords wonderful views of Kilemche jailoo,and the pass itself is rocky and exciting. From the pass, Song-Kol is still distant, but as you traipse down the slopes, it gets larger and larger, the mountains on the other side get higher and higher, until finally the lake fills most of your field of view and the southern mountains tower above it. After lunch at Jaman Echki, follow the lakeshore east for an hour to the CBT yurt at Batai Aral. Upon arrival meet your host family of Kyrgyz shepherds. Spend a day-time at the lakeside. Watching and / or participation in everyday life of shepherds: milking mares; making national milk products like kymyz (a fermented mare’s milk) or airan (a sour dense milk product); tending cattle. Eat a delicious dinner here, stroll along the lakeshore, and hope the legendary Song-Kol weather is kind. Meals and overnight is in a yurt.
Day 3: After a refreshing and well-earned rest at Batai Aral and breakfast, spend the morning at the lake. After a final lunch in the yurt, transfer to Kochkor village, 3 hours. Dinner and overnight stay at CBT home stay.
The next day we got up bright and early morning to a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, eggs, homemade bread and apricot jam, and tea. It was delicious, and the perfect start to our trip. We set out with our amused local driver and our silent guide named Batyr (“warrior”) for Kyzart Pass, where we would pick up our horses and begin our trek. It was a 2 hour drive along unpaved roads in a Lada (this is the exact model, though our vehicle was ancient) and we were happy when it was over. We arrived at a large sign next to the road that declared “Kyzart” and a semi-cirlce of what looked like metal gypsy wagons selling gas, water, and snacks. A man and his son were tying three horses up near the sign, and soon came over to fasten our packs to the saddles. Without any introduction to horseback riding, any safety precautions, or any recommendations, we were told to “get on” and began on our way.
The ride was cold and I was glad I had brought long underwear and my fleece. We were pretty high up in the mountains, and with no trees to block the wind it was chilly. We rode in single file across wide grassy pastures as Batyr told us the names of different mountains, pastures and rivers. We were finally amongst the Kyrgyz jailoos, or summer mountain pastures, where the traditionally nomadic people still returned every summer with there flocks. We passed yurts and small summer huts along with horses, cows and sheep all brought to the mountains from nearby villages to graze. The scenery was amazing, there's no better word to describe. We rode for hours without seeing another human, passing meadows of alpine flowers. Despite my lack of any previous horse knowledge, riding wasn't too difficult, though it was every bit uncomfortable as you would imagine. After a 5-ride we reached the Kilemche Jailoo, and the yurts that would house us for the night.
The family that hosted us has worked for CBT for a few years, offering food and yurt space to passing trekkers. We got acquainted through broken Russian and attempts at Kyrgyz with our hosts, a large family from a nearby town. The daughter-in-law Nazgul had recently married into the family and was now taking on the traditional role of the daughter-in-law, that of housekeeper, cook, farm hand, and child minder. We ate delicious freshly baked bread with jam, drank tea, and watched the family members milk the horses. After dinner we played traditional Kyrgyz games akin to Duck Duck Goose and capture the flag (though this version involved a sheep bone and yelling things in Kyrgyz) before falling asleep amongst CBT guides in our yurt.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Summer Adventures, PART 2
There's no excuse this time, dear reader, for the absence of recent blog updates, except for shenanigans on my part. So I'm making a vow to finish the story of my summer travels, update you on the work sitch, and write a bit about my recent adventure in Europe, all this week. I swear! For real! So fasten your seat belt, dear reader, this time I mean business.
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 2
So like I said, my traveling companion and I rise bright and early and head to the oasis that is “Fatboys” for some pre-travel sustenance. Now “Fatboys” is a place of pure magic and wonder on the main drag in Bishkek. It was about a 35 minute walk from our hostel, but the 35 minutes were well worth it. Our trusty Lonely Planet travel guide describes it as: “A prime foreigners' hang-out, especially at breakfast with fresh juices, fruit teas, hash browns, bacon, eggs, yogurt, muesli and pancakes. If only the staff weren't so morose.” Morose wait staff or not, American breakfast was a welcome treat after 9 months of the sub-par morning meal that Kazakhstanis throw together. We basked in the glory of iced coffees and cheap hashbrowns and browsed the Lonely Planet for tourist companies offering horse treks to Song-Kul, a sacred lake high in the Tien Shan Mountains. We finished breakfast, and headed the bus station to find transportation to Kochkor.
As luck would have it, just as we arrived at the bus station a marshrutka (mini-bus) with two spots left was departing for the Kochkor region. We shoved our hiking packs into the back, squished into seats among grandmothers toting bags of goods from the bazaar and men in track suits, and set off southwards. After a 4-hour ride through beautiful dusty mountains we arrived in Kochkor, population: not many . We hauled our packs out of the marshrutka, watched it drive away, and looked around, not quite sure what to do next. By this time it had started raining and the streets were quickly emptying as the usual loiterers around the town square headed to their cars or cafes to escape the rain. As we dug around in our bags to try to find our trusty Lonely Planet which would surely lead us to the warm and welcoming arms of the CBT – Community Based Tourism – agency's office. As we struggled with our luggage and the rain, an ancient Kyrgyz man in a tradition felt hat sidled up, eyed our luggage, and hoarsely mumbled “CBT?”. We nodded. Apparently accustomed to dealing with wayward, white travelers, he directed us further down the road, and went on his way. We found our way to the CBT office to discuss trek options with the CBT coordinators and find a place to stay for the night.
We arranged to do a 3-day “Jailoo-Hopping” horse trek (more on this later) that would begin the next day. We shelled out some American dollars, as there was no credit card machine and the nearest ATM was an hour away, and made arrangements to spend the night with a local family. Community Based Tourism is a great organization that works throughout Kyrgyzstan to employ local families in the tourism industry. They find local families to host travelers, supply horses, share their yurts, and act as trek guides. They made all of the arrangements for our trek, and we couldn't have been any more pleased with our choice in travel company.
Map in hand, we trudged along the muddy unpaved roads to our host's house to unload our packs and find some dinner. We were hosted by a wonderfully happy Kyrgyz woman, her mid-20s daughter, and 1-year-old grandson. The daughter spoke minimal Russian, but most of our communication with our host was through gestures and miming. Our room was neat, comfortable, and warm, and at $8 a night it was just perfect. We headed out to find dinner – fried lagman and local beer – before turning in. The driver would be by at 9am the next morning to take us to the mountain pass that would serve as the starting point of our trek.
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month) – PART 2
So like I said, my traveling companion and I rise bright and early and head to the oasis that is “Fatboys” for some pre-travel sustenance. Now “Fatboys” is a place of pure magic and wonder on the main drag in Bishkek. It was about a 35 minute walk from our hostel, but the 35 minutes were well worth it. Our trusty Lonely Planet travel guide describes it as: “A prime foreigners' hang-out, especially at breakfast with fresh juices, fruit teas, hash browns, bacon, eggs, yogurt, muesli and pancakes. If only the staff weren't so morose.” Morose wait staff or not, American breakfast was a welcome treat after 9 months of the sub-par morning meal that Kazakhstanis throw together. We basked in the glory of iced coffees and cheap hashbrowns and browsed the Lonely Planet for tourist companies offering horse treks to Song-Kul, a sacred lake high in the Tien Shan Mountains. We finished breakfast, and headed the bus station to find transportation to Kochkor.
As luck would have it, just as we arrived at the bus station a marshrutka (mini-bus) with two spots left was departing for the Kochkor region. We shoved our hiking packs into the back, squished into seats among grandmothers toting bags of goods from the bazaar and men in track suits, and set off southwards. After a 4-hour ride through beautiful dusty mountains we arrived in Kochkor, population: not many . We hauled our packs out of the marshrutka, watched it drive away, and looked around, not quite sure what to do next. By this time it had started raining and the streets were quickly emptying as the usual loiterers around the town square headed to their cars or cafes to escape the rain. As we dug around in our bags to try to find our trusty Lonely Planet which would surely lead us to the warm and welcoming arms of the CBT – Community Based Tourism – agency's office. As we struggled with our luggage and the rain, an ancient Kyrgyz man in a tradition felt hat sidled up, eyed our luggage, and hoarsely mumbled “CBT?”. We nodded. Apparently accustomed to dealing with wayward, white travelers, he directed us further down the road, and went on his way. We found our way to the CBT office to discuss trek options with the CBT coordinators and find a place to stay for the night.
We arranged to do a 3-day “Jailoo-Hopping” horse trek (more on this later) that would begin the next day. We shelled out some American dollars, as there was no credit card machine and the nearest ATM was an hour away, and made arrangements to spend the night with a local family. Community Based Tourism is a great organization that works throughout Kyrgyzstan to employ local families in the tourism industry. They find local families to host travelers, supply horses, share their yurts, and act as trek guides. They made all of the arrangements for our trek, and we couldn't have been any more pleased with our choice in travel company.
Map in hand, we trudged along the muddy unpaved roads to our host's house to unload our packs and find some dinner. We were hosted by a wonderfully happy Kyrgyz woman, her mid-20s daughter, and 1-year-old grandson. The daughter spoke minimal Russian, but most of our communication with our host was through gestures and miming. Our room was neat, comfortable, and warm, and at $8 a night it was just perfect. We headed out to find dinner – fried lagman and local beer – before turning in. The driver would be by at 9am the next morning to take us to the mountain pass that would serve as the starting point of our trek.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011 (or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month)
Dearest reader, thank you for your loyalty and patience. I was traveling without internet access for the last month, and have finally returned to tell you all about it. Just a warning, fitting a month's worth of travels into one blog post has been scientifically proven to be impossible, so I'll be dividing the post up into a few parts. With the cooperation of the internet, I'll post all parts in the next week. Your patience and good humor, as always, are greatly appreciated. And thus, I present to you...
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month)
The travel saga begins over a month ago on June 16 in Shymkent, Kazakhstan. After a rather disappointing spring in the office I had finally packed my backpack and hefted it, much to the amusement of the locals, to the train station, where I boarded a train for Almaty. My mid-service medical examination was scheduled for the next day, and my friend COBC and I had plans to leave for Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan the day after that. I'd spent the previous two weeks preparing for the trip. Knowing that I'd be gone a month in various locales, I had a lot to do before I left.
Pre-Departure Checklist:
1. Get my annual leave forms signed and stamped by my director
2. Submit annual leave forms to Peace Corps
3. Inform my landlady that I would be gone for a month, and convince her not to give my place away to another renter
4. Get a 30-day Kyrgyz visa
5. Get over the fact that I paid $115 for a visa for a trip that's only 6 days long
6. Submit summer calendar to Peace Corps regional manager
7. Buy a train ticket to Almaty
8. Pack
9. Pay the bills
10. Consume all of the food in my fridge so there are no moldy surprises in there upon my return
11. Leave my keys with a site mate
By the time I got to the train station, I had checked every single item off of this list, and was well on my way to a month of bliss out of my office and out of the blistering heat of the south.
I arrived in Almaty on the morning of the 17th and spent the morning and afternoon getting my medical and dental exams, finalizing travel permission with Peace Corps, and hunting down a Dungan restaurant for dinner with my travel companion. The morning of the 18th the real excitement began. We left the Peace Corps office early and headed to the bus station where we were hoping to catch a bus to Bishkek.
Marshrutkas (mini-buses) leave the station at least hourly for Bishkek, so we had no trouble finding one. Luckily there were two seats left, and room in the back to cram our hikers packs into. We paid the driver 1200 tenge (~$8) and were on our way. The trip to the border took 4 hours and I was sitting next to a mom and her 2-year-old son who was only minimally annoying, so the time passed quickly.
At the border we pile out, strapp on our packs and headed for the gate. Now, I've never crossed a border on foot, so I don't know whether or not the, ahem, “system” for letting people into the border crossing at this particular border is typical, but I do know it was pure insanity. Picture this, we get off the bus and walk towards a huge crowd of people simply milling about the gate surrounding the border office. We join the crowd, are sort of confused what everyone is waiting for, and before we know it the guards have opened the gate and every single person is making a mad dash to get through the gate to the office beyond. And I mean a maaaaaad dash. Old lady's are clawing their way past young men with huge bags of Kazakhstani goods they'll try to sell over the border, young women made up with enough body glitter and eye shadow to keep a hundred call girls in business for an entire week hold hands as they force their way through the crowd. Now the moment the chaos began COBC charged the gate and made it through to the other side. While she was making her move, my midwestern sensibility was too busy telling me that if everyone would just form a line things would go a lot smoother to kick my butt into gear and get me through the gate. Thirty seconds after the gate was opened, the guards start yelling at everyone to get back. I try to force my way through the gate, but don't make. Just as I'm beginning to silently panic to myself, COBC jogs back to the gate, speaks in purposefully horrible Russian to the guard, saying that I'm her translator and she doesn't know Russian so she can't go without me. Perhaps it was the winning American smiles we both flashed him, perhaps he was was feeling particularly nice that day, whatever it was, he opened the gate just enough to let me through, screaming at the crowd not to move.
Having made it over the first major hurdle, we make our way through the border office, get our passports stamped, change our money, and hop on a bus to the center of Bishkek. Bishkek is a strange but wonderful place. It's smaller than Almaty, less developed, yet holds the title for the Ex-pat Aid Worker Hub of Central Asia. The first person we talked to in the city was a man that approached us as we were studying our Lonely Planet to ask in English “Can I help you?”. He turned out to be a Russian man who lives in Bishkek and works for the UN Development Program. Oh and he went to Columbia Law School. This was only the beginning of our run-ins with ex-pats and aid workers over the next few days. We would later meet a British couple who was simultaneous making first ascents (or climbing as of yet unclimbed mountains) and studying how NGOs factor into stabilization in Central Asia and we would run in the Country Director of Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan at a cafe. In Bishkek we would find a small Lebanese cafe with the world's greatest hummus, a cafe that offers hard cider on tap, and the world's creepiest zoological museum that houses a terrifying number of taxidermied specimens.
After a comfortable first day in Bishkek, and a morning filled with iced coffee and scrambled eggs, we set off for the bus station to make our way to the town of Kochkor which would be our starting part for horse trek through the mountains.
The adventure continues the next time I have internet access, stay tuned!
The Epic Travel Adventures of One Peace Corps Volunteer in the Summer of 2011
(or What I've Been Doing For The Last Month)
The travel saga begins over a month ago on June 16 in Shymkent, Kazakhstan. After a rather disappointing spring in the office I had finally packed my backpack and hefted it, much to the amusement of the locals, to the train station, where I boarded a train for Almaty. My mid-service medical examination was scheduled for the next day, and my friend COBC and I had plans to leave for Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan the day after that. I'd spent the previous two weeks preparing for the trip. Knowing that I'd be gone a month in various locales, I had a lot to do before I left.
Pre-Departure Checklist:
1. Get my annual leave forms signed and stamped by my director
2. Submit annual leave forms to Peace Corps
3. Inform my landlady that I would be gone for a month, and convince her not to give my place away to another renter
4. Get a 30-day Kyrgyz visa
5. Get over the fact that I paid $115 for a visa for a trip that's only 6 days long
6. Submit summer calendar to Peace Corps regional manager
7. Buy a train ticket to Almaty
8. Pack
9. Pay the bills
10. Consume all of the food in my fridge so there are no moldy surprises in there upon my return
11. Leave my keys with a site mate
By the time I got to the train station, I had checked every single item off of this list, and was well on my way to a month of bliss out of my office and out of the blistering heat of the south.
I arrived in Almaty on the morning of the 17th and spent the morning and afternoon getting my medical and dental exams, finalizing travel permission with Peace Corps, and hunting down a Dungan restaurant for dinner with my travel companion. The morning of the 18th the real excitement began. We left the Peace Corps office early and headed to the bus station where we were hoping to catch a bus to Bishkek.
Marshrutkas (mini-buses) leave the station at least hourly for Bishkek, so we had no trouble finding one. Luckily there were two seats left, and room in the back to cram our hikers packs into. We paid the driver 1200 tenge (~$8) and were on our way. The trip to the border took 4 hours and I was sitting next to a mom and her 2-year-old son who was only minimally annoying, so the time passed quickly.
At the border we pile out, strapp on our packs and headed for the gate. Now, I've never crossed a border on foot, so I don't know whether or not the, ahem, “system” for letting people into the border crossing at this particular border is typical, but I do know it was pure insanity. Picture this, we get off the bus and walk towards a huge crowd of people simply milling about the gate surrounding the border office. We join the crowd, are sort of confused what everyone is waiting for, and before we know it the guards have opened the gate and every single person is making a mad dash to get through the gate to the office beyond. And I mean a maaaaaad dash. Old lady's are clawing their way past young men with huge bags of Kazakhstani goods they'll try to sell over the border, young women made up with enough body glitter and eye shadow to keep a hundred call girls in business for an entire week hold hands as they force their way through the crowd. Now the moment the chaos began COBC charged the gate and made it through to the other side. While she was making her move, my midwestern sensibility was too busy telling me that if everyone would just form a line things would go a lot smoother to kick my butt into gear and get me through the gate. Thirty seconds after the gate was opened, the guards start yelling at everyone to get back. I try to force my way through the gate, but don't make. Just as I'm beginning to silently panic to myself, COBC jogs back to the gate, speaks in purposefully horrible Russian to the guard, saying that I'm her translator and she doesn't know Russian so she can't go without me. Perhaps it was the winning American smiles we both flashed him, perhaps he was was feeling particularly nice that day, whatever it was, he opened the gate just enough to let me through, screaming at the crowd not to move.
Having made it over the first major hurdle, we make our way through the border office, get our passports stamped, change our money, and hop on a bus to the center of Bishkek. Bishkek is a strange but wonderful place. It's smaller than Almaty, less developed, yet holds the title for the Ex-pat Aid Worker Hub of Central Asia. The first person we talked to in the city was a man that approached us as we were studying our Lonely Planet to ask in English “Can I help you?”. He turned out to be a Russian man who lives in Bishkek and works for the UN Development Program. Oh and he went to Columbia Law School. This was only the beginning of our run-ins with ex-pats and aid workers over the next few days. We would later meet a British couple who was simultaneous making first ascents (or climbing as of yet unclimbed mountains) and studying how NGOs factor into stabilization in Central Asia and we would run in the Country Director of Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan at a cafe. In Bishkek we would find a small Lebanese cafe with the world's greatest hummus, a cafe that offers hard cider on tap, and the world's creepiest zoological museum that houses a terrifying number of taxidermied specimens.
After a comfortable first day in Bishkek, and a morning filled with iced coffee and scrambled eggs, we set off for the bus station to make our way to the town of Kochkor which would be our starting part for horse trek through the mountains.
The adventure continues the next time I have internet access, stay tuned!
Friday, June 10, 2011
The Kazakhstani Middleman (and woman)
There's something you should know about Kazakhstan. Everyone here is a middleman of some sort, selling something to someone. Even my 66-year-old, frail, Korean host mother. But we'll get to that later.
Every building has some kind of small general store in it. Every store has exactly the same products and exactly the same prices, so how any of them stay in business, I have no idea. There are at least 7 bazaars in the city, and again all of them carry the exact same products and much of the same prices. The sellers at the bazaar seem to be in league somehow, though I haven't quite worked it out yet. Here is a typical interaction at the bazaar.
American: How much is that dress?
Bazaar Guy: 4,000 tenge (~ $27)
American: But she's selling the dress for 3,800 tenge.
Bazaar Guy: But here it costs 4,000 tenge.
American: Let's make it 3,700 and you'll get my business.
Bazaar Guy: But it costs 4,000.
American: Okay, how about 3,800.
Bazaar Guy: If you want to pay 3,800 go buy it from her. Here it costs 4,000.
How exactly does this make sense?! The Bazaar Haggling Textbook clearly states that you should lower your price to get my business. But instead you send me across the way to your lady friend? This is confusing at best and not sound business strategy. Unless the lady friend is particularly attractive, or a good cook, in which case I give you credit for creativity. But I digress, back to the point at hand.
More than in any country I've ever been to (which, granted, isn't many) everyone in Kazakhstan is trying to sell something. More often than not, it's something they bought with the sole purpose of re-selling, and often they're not doing it terribly successfully.
My host mother comes home from the bazaar every Saturday with 5 kilos of pomegranates (for those of you not on the metric system, that's 11 lbs). Don't get me wrong, I love pomegranates, but who on earth needs 5 kilos?? So I finally asked and she calmly informed me that she sells 4 kilos to her neighbors. Sure she gets a 20 cent markup on those 4 kilos and makes a whole 80 cents in the whole affair (even here that's small change), but is it worth her effort to haul that extra 4 kilos all the way back from the bazaar?
In the office, co-workers resell things that they bought at the bazaar in much the same fashion. This week our accountant brought in a handful of bracelets that she had bought at the bazaar just so she could resell them to us. When she made all the possible sales in our office, she went upstairs to the other offices in our buildings to finish business. Three different women from three different cosmetic companies stopped in to show off their newest items, one boy came by selling kids books, and a woman stopped in to offer to pick up lunch for our office at a nearby cafe, for a small fee of course.
On the 5 minute walk from the bus stop to my office, I pass 14 “stalls” full of random stuff that people are trying to sell to passersby. Some people sell vegetables, one lady sells houseplants and underwear, there's a lady that sells fish at a small table ineffectively shaded by the world's tiniest umbrella, a man that sells fish from the trunk of his car, a man that sells dairy products out of the back of his van, and an ancient babushka that sells hand-knit slippers. Sometimes a husband and wife show up fresh from China (which they're eager to tell everyone within a 100 yard radius) with the back seat and trunk of their ancient Lada (which looks exactly like this) with crates of tomatoes and cucumbers. They sell to the other vegetable stand owners who in turn bump up the price by 15 cents a kilo and resell them. And yet, instead of just buying from the couple selling out of their car, people continue to go to the stands where they pay more. Perhaps it's out of habit, maybe they feel better buying produce from a mass-produced, pre-fab vegetable hut than from the trunk of a 30-year-old Soviet car, or maybe they just haven't really thought about it. It's a mystery.
Every building has some kind of small general store in it. Every store has exactly the same products and exactly the same prices, so how any of them stay in business, I have no idea. There are at least 7 bazaars in the city, and again all of them carry the exact same products and much of the same prices. The sellers at the bazaar seem to be in league somehow, though I haven't quite worked it out yet. Here is a typical interaction at the bazaar.
American: How much is that dress?
Bazaar Guy: 4,000 tenge (~ $27)
American: But she's selling the dress for 3,800 tenge.
Bazaar Guy: But here it costs 4,000 tenge.
American: Let's make it 3,700 and you'll get my business.
Bazaar Guy: But it costs 4,000.
American: Okay, how about 3,800.
Bazaar Guy: If you want to pay 3,800 go buy it from her. Here it costs 4,000.
How exactly does this make sense?! The Bazaar Haggling Textbook clearly states that you should lower your price to get my business. But instead you send me across the way to your lady friend? This is confusing at best and not sound business strategy. Unless the lady friend is particularly attractive, or a good cook, in which case I give you credit for creativity. But I digress, back to the point at hand.
More than in any country I've ever been to (which, granted, isn't many) everyone in Kazakhstan is trying to sell something. More often than not, it's something they bought with the sole purpose of re-selling, and often they're not doing it terribly successfully.
My host mother comes home from the bazaar every Saturday with 5 kilos of pomegranates (for those of you not on the metric system, that's 11 lbs). Don't get me wrong, I love pomegranates, but who on earth needs 5 kilos?? So I finally asked and she calmly informed me that she sells 4 kilos to her neighbors. Sure she gets a 20 cent markup on those 4 kilos and makes a whole 80 cents in the whole affair (even here that's small change), but is it worth her effort to haul that extra 4 kilos all the way back from the bazaar?
In the office, co-workers resell things that they bought at the bazaar in much the same fashion. This week our accountant brought in a handful of bracelets that she had bought at the bazaar just so she could resell them to us. When she made all the possible sales in our office, she went upstairs to the other offices in our buildings to finish business. Three different women from three different cosmetic companies stopped in to show off their newest items, one boy came by selling kids books, and a woman stopped in to offer to pick up lunch for our office at a nearby cafe, for a small fee of course.
On the 5 minute walk from the bus stop to my office, I pass 14 “stalls” full of random stuff that people are trying to sell to passersby. Some people sell vegetables, one lady sells houseplants and underwear, there's a lady that sells fish at a small table ineffectively shaded by the world's tiniest umbrella, a man that sells fish from the trunk of his car, a man that sells dairy products out of the back of his van, and an ancient babushka that sells hand-knit slippers. Sometimes a husband and wife show up fresh from China (which they're eager to tell everyone within a 100 yard radius) with the back seat and trunk of their ancient Lada (which looks exactly like this) with crates of tomatoes and cucumbers. They sell to the other vegetable stand owners who in turn bump up the price by 15 cents a kilo and resell them. And yet, instead of just buying from the couple selling out of their car, people continue to go to the stands where they pay more. Perhaps it's out of habit, maybe they feel better buying produce from a mass-produced, pre-fab vegetable hut than from the trunk of a 30-year-old Soviet car, or maybe they just haven't really thought about it. It's a mystery.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Deliciousness
Just a quick story. Today I had to work on a Saturday and was very angry. I spend all week doing mostly nothing in my dysfunctional organization, and then they pretend there's something really important we need to do on the weekend and make me come in. Very angry.
But then I went to the bazaar and what did I find? Strawberries! The first delicious bites of summer. I bought a half kilo for $1.83. Then my pal Sipra and I made summery salad for lunch at her house, and topped the meal off with ice cream and strawberries.
Best. Idea. Ever.
And I'm still trying to figure out my internet to load pictures. I'm working on it, I swear.
But then I went to the bazaar and what did I find? Strawberries! The first delicious bites of summer. I bought a half kilo for $1.83. Then my pal Sipra and I made summery salad for lunch at her house, and topped the meal off with ice cream and strawberries.
Best. Idea. Ever.
And I'm still trying to figure out my internet to load pictures. I'm working on it, I swear.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Nauryz!!, or Kazakh New Year in the Deep South
Backlogged, written March 27...
March 22 is Nauryz, one of the most important holidays here in Kazakhstan, especially in the very Kazakh south where I live. The holiday has been celebrated in this part of the world for a millennium. It's a time celebrate the arrival of spring with family, friends, and large amounts of food.
This time has special meaning not only for locals, but for volunteers who make a yearly exodus from the still-frozen north to the balmy south to join in the Nauryz celebration and catch up with friends. This year was no different. After a month of logistical prep (finding apartments, coordinating pickups at the train station, organizing projects to give our visitors business leave, at the beginning of last week we welcomed about 40 volunteers to Shymkent to spend a week living it up.
On Tuesday, the actual Nauryz holiday, we all went to the Hippodrome, the center of Nauryz festivities. Just outside the stadium grounds there were traditional dance performances and tons of food stalls serving traditional Kazakh fare including Nauryz-kozhe, a drink made from 7 ingredients (These seven ingredients can vary, but typically include: kefir, kurt (a rock hard, very sharp cheese), meat, wheat, salt, rice, and raisins). Locals love the stuff, and wait all year for it to make an appearance. I was less impressed with the dish. It sort of has the consistency but none of the sweetness of really water rice pudding, or super soggy cereal.
Apart from kozhe, there was plov (pilaf) and shashlik (grilled meat kebabs) served at food stalls, and huge feasts laid out at the dozens of yurts that had been set up around the square. Women in traditional dress waited around the yurt entrances and herded important-looking passersby (including a few volunteers) inside to enjoy the feast.
After gorging ourselves on food, we moved on to the stadium to take in the traditional horse games showcased during Nauryz. We watched horse races, horse jumping, kok-par (see previous post), a game that involved a boy on horseback chasing a girl on horseback and trying to kiss her, and a game that involved a girl on horseback chasing a boy on horseback and whipping him. The American section of the bleachers went crazy during this last event. We sat in a huge group eating ice cream, wearing t-shirts (the chill-fearing locals were all in jackets and sweatshirts), cheering on women's rights in horse games, and sticking out like a sore thumb. We were the uber-Americans, and we loved every minute of it.
March 22 is Nauryz, one of the most important holidays here in Kazakhstan, especially in the very Kazakh south where I live. The holiday has been celebrated in this part of the world for a millennium. It's a time celebrate the arrival of spring with family, friends, and large amounts of food.
This time has special meaning not only for locals, but for volunteers who make a yearly exodus from the still-frozen north to the balmy south to join in the Nauryz celebration and catch up with friends. This year was no different. After a month of logistical prep (finding apartments, coordinating pickups at the train station, organizing projects to give our visitors business leave, at the beginning of last week we welcomed about 40 volunteers to Shymkent to spend a week living it up.
On Tuesday, the actual Nauryz holiday, we all went to the Hippodrome, the center of Nauryz festivities. Just outside the stadium grounds there were traditional dance performances and tons of food stalls serving traditional Kazakh fare including Nauryz-kozhe, a drink made from 7 ingredients (These seven ingredients can vary, but typically include: kefir, kurt (a rock hard, very sharp cheese), meat, wheat, salt, rice, and raisins). Locals love the stuff, and wait all year for it to make an appearance. I was less impressed with the dish. It sort of has the consistency but none of the sweetness of really water rice pudding, or super soggy cereal.
Apart from kozhe, there was plov (pilaf) and shashlik (grilled meat kebabs) served at food stalls, and huge feasts laid out at the dozens of yurts that had been set up around the square. Women in traditional dress waited around the yurt entrances and herded important-looking passersby (including a few volunteers) inside to enjoy the feast.
After gorging ourselves on food, we moved on to the stadium to take in the traditional horse games showcased during Nauryz. We watched horse races, horse jumping, kok-par (see previous post), a game that involved a boy on horseback chasing a girl on horseback and trying to kiss her, and a game that involved a girl on horseback chasing a boy on horseback and whipping him. The American section of the bleachers went crazy during this last event. We sat in a huge group eating ice cream, wearing t-shirts (the chill-fearing locals were all in jackets and sweatshirts), cheering on women's rights in horse games, and sticking out like a sore thumb. We were the uber-Americans, and we loved every minute of it.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Adventures with Kok-Par
Backlogged, written March 14.
(Pictures to follow if the evil internet ever allows me to upload any...)
Last weekend I went to visit my pal Sarah (fellow Mac '10 Alum) in her town, about 2 hours south of me. I was aching to get out of the city, and itching for change of pace. Sarah telepathically sensed my discontent with city life, and called me up to invite me to spend the weekend with her and her host family. Her Kazakh tutor had heard about a traditional Kazakh event that would be happening that weekend and invited her along. She in turn invited me along. Hence, Friday afternoon I found myself on a bumpy, stuffy minibus ride down to see her and take in some Kazakh culture.
Friday night found us enjoying a traditional meal of plov (pilaf) and various salads in her host family's main room. We ate on the floor, lounging on mattresses (korpeshe), chatting, and intermittently watching Uzbek TV. [NOTE: They live so close to the Uzbek border, that they get better reception from TV channels in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, than from Shymkent or Almaty, Kazakhstan. The Kazakh and Uzbek languages are close cousins, so Sarah's Kazakh host family can understand Uzbek and Sarah, who's learning Kazakh, can follow along pretty well.] After dinner Sarah's tutor called to clarify plans for the next day. We were going to a village about 2 hours from Sarah's town to watch a game called kok-par (more on that later) with Sarah's tutor Sultan. We were supposed to take a taxi to a neighboring village and wait at a pastry stand near the town center for her tutor to meet us.
The next morning Sarah and I were up bright an early to eat breakfast before heading out to find a cab. During breakfast the Tutor called to change plans. Instead of making us take a taxi, he had found a friend that lived in Sarah's town to drive us to kok-par. The friend's name was Chinggis, and he would meet us at Sarah's school at 9am.
We left Sarah's house to walk to her school and meet Chinggis. He still hadn't arrived by 9:15 (Kazakhstani “on time” typically means being an hour late...), so Sarah gave me a tour of her school. Her students were all intrigued by the new American with curly hair that didn't speak any Kazakh, but instead spoke Russian. I met Sarah's fellow teachers, we chilled in her cushy teacher's lounge, and looked at the school yard out back. By this point is was 9:30, and we started to worry that we had somehow missed Chinggis and our ride to kok-par. Sarah called the Tutor, who confirmed that Chinggis had not yet arrived, but would be there in 10 minutes. We milled around out front of her school, talking to her students that were by this time hanging out the windows to talk to us instead of taking there tests.
Finally, at around 9:45 a car pulled into the school driveway. Sarah said something to him in Kazakh (presumably, “Are you Chinggis?”) he nodded, and we got in. We drove out of Sarah's town and through the neighboring countryside and villages. Thirty minutes into the ride, we still hadn't really spoken with the Driver, and began to wonder where Sarah's tutor was going to make his way into the plan. Sarah asked Chinggis where Sultan was, and Chinggis replied that he had no idea. This seemed problematic, so Sarah called her tutor and tried to figure out where he was, and passed the phone off to our driver so he and the tutor could sort things out.
Our driver Chinggis confirmed that we would pick up Sultan somewhere along the way to kok-par, and we drove on. About 20 minutes later, literally in the middle of nowhere, we see two men walking along the side of the road. There was nothing for miles around, so I have no idea how they got there, but these two men turned out to be Sarah's tutor Sultan and his pal Murat. We picked them up, and continued on our way to kok-par.
Sarah introduced me to her tutor, and he introduced us to our friends. [It was at this point that we found out that our driver's name was Kengis, not Chinggis, and had not bothered to correct us at any point in the ride.] So we had Sultan (the Guide), Kengis (the Driver), and Murat (the Security), as Sultan introduced them, and Sarah and me, driving off into the steppe in search of kok-par.
_____________________________________________________________________________________ASIDE: At this point, it's probably a good time to explain exactly what kok-par is. Some compare it to polo, some call is “Kazakh soccer”. Basically, you have a lot of men on horses and a headless sheep carcass. The sheep carcass has been soaked in salt water for 24 hours prior to game play to make it ridiculously heavy, and difficult to carry around. Then we have the field, which can really be an relatively large empty space, with a circle marked at each end. The goal is for the men on horseback to fight over the saltwater-logged sheep carcass, until one of them manages to haul it into a circle at the end of the field. Whoever succeeds in this, wins the round and any number of prizes. Play immediately starts again, as riders try to haul the carcass to the circle goal at the other end of the field.
Yes. This game is insane. People break bones, sprain things, etc. But it's actually surprisingly entertaining. Here's what Wiki has got to say about it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Sarah had warned me that her tutor didn't speak any Russian, and this turned out to be mostly true. In many of the villages in the south, life operates in Kazakh or Uzbek, rather than in Russian. The Tutor was really nice, but all of our conversation went first through Sarah who translated my English questions into Kazakh and his Kazakh answers back into English. He was curious about my work in Shymkent, my lack of any knowledge of the Kazakh language, and my vegetarianism, but he was eager to explain everything he knew about kok-par and Kazakh culture.
After a 2 hour drive, we turned off the road, and drove out onto the empty step. It seemed like we were going nowhere, but the Driver clearly knew what he was doing. We drove until we reached a gathering of cars, and the Tutor announced “We're here.”
We parked the car and walked toward some shelters that had been erected in the middle of the steppe. We passed a giant banner with a picture of an ancient Kazakh man and woman standing side by side.
It turns out that this particular kok-par event was put on by a regional government deputy (like a state representative) in honor of his parents who had just turned 90, and Kazakhstan's 20th year of independence. Tables were lined up under the shelters and filled with food. Kok-par is traditionally started with a feast to honor all the guests who had in turn come to see a game that was held to honor some 90-year-old Kazakhs. The food is prepared by the women of the neighboring villages, and was delicious and free. We ate plov, bread, fruit, salads, and sweets. Men carried giant trays full of plov and roasted sheep heads around the grounds, giving the choice pieces to the oldest guests. During the meal, various area dignitaries gave speeches to honor the organizer of the event and his parents, and recited prayers.
After lunch, we headed to a small stage to watch eitus, an age-old Kazakh tradition that is surprisingly similar to rap battle or poetry slam. One old Kazakh man and one old Kazakh woman sat on the stage with dombras (2-stringed guitar). They took turns insulting each other in long, elegant verse sung to strummed chords. The crowd absolutely loved them. I had no idea what was going on, but every once in awhile the Tutor would explain a joke to Sarah, and she would explain it to me. Most of the jokes seemed pretty universal (the woman joked about the man's femininity, etc.), but the crowd ate it up. The battle continued for about 1 hour, and eventually a winner was declared. By this point we had lost the Tutor (who probably went off to chain smoke somewhere), so Sarah went in search of the restrooms.
We assumed there would be no restroom, and that we'd have to find some place to squat, but eventually we found the “restrooms” that had been constructed specifically for this event. It was essentially six holes in the ground surrounded on three sides with corrugated iron. It wasn't classy, but it did the job. On our way back to the stage we found the Tutor and the Security. They had heard the game was supposed to begin soon, so we headed over to the playing field.
The Tutor bought us some sunflower seeds to munch on while we looked for a good place to watch the action from. We walked past the small grandstand, as far away from the playing field as possible. The Tutor didn't want us to get trampled (very reasonable), so we would watch from far away until he got a feel for the play and we could move closer. He looked at us very seriously and sad that if the riders came charging in our direction, we should crawl under the trucks so we wouldn't be trampled. He wasn't kidding. In real kok-par, there is no out of bounds. Play continues until someone scores, and then just starts all over again.
We milled around and chatted with locals and men climbed onto the trucks to get a better view of the field. All around us riders were prepping their horses for play. The Tutor told us that horses from China, Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Russia, and all the 14 regions of Kazakhstan were taking part in today's play. He estimated that at least 700 riders were there, in addition to a crowd of at least 5,000. Prizes included a car, $500, sheep, and camels.
Quick note about the crowd, there were no women. Historically, women had been forbidden to attend kok-par, as it was a man's event. Now women are allowed to attend, but the don't mostly because they traditionally haven't. The only women we saw after the feast and the battle of the bards was a few women selling water and sunflower seeds. Sarah and I were very white, very American, and very much women. We stood out like sore thumbs. Lots of people wanted to talk to us and we were followed by catcalls. The Tutor explained that this was why he brought along two friends as security. We met a man that didn't believe we were Americans, which seemed very silly. The Tutor explained to this old Kazakh man that we were American, then Sarah explained to him in Kazakh that we were American, then we spoke at him for a bit in English just to carry the point home, but he wouldn't be convinced. I'm not sure where he thought we were from, but it certainly wasn't America.
Finally the game began. We couldn't tell what was happening because we were so far away, but the Tutor thought it was too dangerous for us to go any closer. He kept reminding us of our exit strategy, “If the horses trample, under the trucks!” At the end of each round, the winner and his prize would be announced. The Tutor explained that although there are no formal teams and it's every man for himself, lots of unofficial alliances spring up. Riders join together and set blocks for each other, and then split the prize if they win. The game ran over two days, each day from 2pm to sunset (around 6pm). So the riders just raced back and forth between the goals, taking breaks when they wanted, joining back in when it was convenient. Eventually we moved closer to the grandstand to get a better look, and the horses did trample twice, but we ran between some large vehicles and no one was hurt.
It was amazing to see so many people on horses, all chasing after this single sheep carcass. Kok-par is brutal, folks. By the end of the day, more than a few horses and riders were limping off the field. As the first day of play came to a close, we set off in search of our car and the Driver. We eventually found them, and headed home, dropping the Tutor and the Security off at the exact same empty patch of steppe where we had found them that morning.
And that, dear reader, is the story of how I got to see traditional Kazakh kok-par in the middle of the steppe.
(Pictures to follow if the evil internet ever allows me to upload any...)
Last weekend I went to visit my pal Sarah (fellow Mac '10 Alum) in her town, about 2 hours south of me. I was aching to get out of the city, and itching for change of pace. Sarah telepathically sensed my discontent with city life, and called me up to invite me to spend the weekend with her and her host family. Her Kazakh tutor had heard about a traditional Kazakh event that would be happening that weekend and invited her along. She in turn invited me along. Hence, Friday afternoon I found myself on a bumpy, stuffy minibus ride down to see her and take in some Kazakh culture.
Friday night found us enjoying a traditional meal of plov (pilaf) and various salads in her host family's main room. We ate on the floor, lounging on mattresses (korpeshe), chatting, and intermittently watching Uzbek TV. [NOTE: They live so close to the Uzbek border, that they get better reception from TV channels in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, than from Shymkent or Almaty, Kazakhstan. The Kazakh and Uzbek languages are close cousins, so Sarah's Kazakh host family can understand Uzbek and Sarah, who's learning Kazakh, can follow along pretty well.] After dinner Sarah's tutor called to clarify plans for the next day. We were going to a village about 2 hours from Sarah's town to watch a game called kok-par (more on that later) with Sarah's tutor Sultan. We were supposed to take a taxi to a neighboring village and wait at a pastry stand near the town center for her tutor to meet us.
The next morning Sarah and I were up bright an early to eat breakfast before heading out to find a cab. During breakfast the Tutor called to change plans. Instead of making us take a taxi, he had found a friend that lived in Sarah's town to drive us to kok-par. The friend's name was Chinggis, and he would meet us at Sarah's school at 9am.
We left Sarah's house to walk to her school and meet Chinggis. He still hadn't arrived by 9:15 (Kazakhstani “on time” typically means being an hour late...), so Sarah gave me a tour of her school. Her students were all intrigued by the new American with curly hair that didn't speak any Kazakh, but instead spoke Russian. I met Sarah's fellow teachers, we chilled in her cushy teacher's lounge, and looked at the school yard out back. By this point is was 9:30, and we started to worry that we had somehow missed Chinggis and our ride to kok-par. Sarah called the Tutor, who confirmed that Chinggis had not yet arrived, but would be there in 10 minutes. We milled around out front of her school, talking to her students that were by this time hanging out the windows to talk to us instead of taking there tests.
Finally, at around 9:45 a car pulled into the school driveway. Sarah said something to him in Kazakh (presumably, “Are you Chinggis?”) he nodded, and we got in. We drove out of Sarah's town and through the neighboring countryside and villages. Thirty minutes into the ride, we still hadn't really spoken with the Driver, and began to wonder where Sarah's tutor was going to make his way into the plan. Sarah asked Chinggis where Sultan was, and Chinggis replied that he had no idea. This seemed problematic, so Sarah called her tutor and tried to figure out where he was, and passed the phone off to our driver so he and the tutor could sort things out.
Our driver Chinggis confirmed that we would pick up Sultan somewhere along the way to kok-par, and we drove on. About 20 minutes later, literally in the middle of nowhere, we see two men walking along the side of the road. There was nothing for miles around, so I have no idea how they got there, but these two men turned out to be Sarah's tutor Sultan and his pal Murat. We picked them up, and continued on our way to kok-par.
Sarah introduced me to her tutor, and he introduced us to our friends. [It was at this point that we found out that our driver's name was Kengis, not Chinggis, and had not bothered to correct us at any point in the ride.] So we had Sultan (the Guide), Kengis (the Driver), and Murat (the Security), as Sultan introduced them, and Sarah and me, driving off into the steppe in search of kok-par.
_____________________________________________________________________________________ASIDE: At this point, it's probably a good time to explain exactly what kok-par is. Some compare it to polo, some call is “Kazakh soccer”. Basically, you have a lot of men on horses and a headless sheep carcass. The sheep carcass has been soaked in salt water for 24 hours prior to game play to make it ridiculously heavy, and difficult to carry around. Then we have the field, which can really be an relatively large empty space, with a circle marked at each end. The goal is for the men on horseback to fight over the saltwater-logged sheep carcass, until one of them manages to haul it into a circle at the end of the field. Whoever succeeds in this, wins the round and any number of prizes. Play immediately starts again, as riders try to haul the carcass to the circle goal at the other end of the field.
Yes. This game is insane. People break bones, sprain things, etc. But it's actually surprisingly entertaining. Here's what Wiki has got to say about it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Sarah had warned me that her tutor didn't speak any Russian, and this turned out to be mostly true. In many of the villages in the south, life operates in Kazakh or Uzbek, rather than in Russian. The Tutor was really nice, but all of our conversation went first through Sarah who translated my English questions into Kazakh and his Kazakh answers back into English. He was curious about my work in Shymkent, my lack of any knowledge of the Kazakh language, and my vegetarianism, but he was eager to explain everything he knew about kok-par and Kazakh culture.
After a 2 hour drive, we turned off the road, and drove out onto the empty step. It seemed like we were going nowhere, but the Driver clearly knew what he was doing. We drove until we reached a gathering of cars, and the Tutor announced “We're here.”
We parked the car and walked toward some shelters that had been erected in the middle of the steppe. We passed a giant banner with a picture of an ancient Kazakh man and woman standing side by side.
It turns out that this particular kok-par event was put on by a regional government deputy (like a state representative) in honor of his parents who had just turned 90, and Kazakhstan's 20th year of independence. Tables were lined up under the shelters and filled with food. Kok-par is traditionally started with a feast to honor all the guests who had in turn come to see a game that was held to honor some 90-year-old Kazakhs. The food is prepared by the women of the neighboring villages, and was delicious and free. We ate plov, bread, fruit, salads, and sweets. Men carried giant trays full of plov and roasted sheep heads around the grounds, giving the choice pieces to the oldest guests. During the meal, various area dignitaries gave speeches to honor the organizer of the event and his parents, and recited prayers.
After lunch, we headed to a small stage to watch eitus, an age-old Kazakh tradition that is surprisingly similar to rap battle or poetry slam. One old Kazakh man and one old Kazakh woman sat on the stage with dombras (2-stringed guitar). They took turns insulting each other in long, elegant verse sung to strummed chords. The crowd absolutely loved them. I had no idea what was going on, but every once in awhile the Tutor would explain a joke to Sarah, and she would explain it to me. Most of the jokes seemed pretty universal (the woman joked about the man's femininity, etc.), but the crowd ate it up. The battle continued for about 1 hour, and eventually a winner was declared. By this point we had lost the Tutor (who probably went off to chain smoke somewhere), so Sarah went in search of the restrooms.
We assumed there would be no restroom, and that we'd have to find some place to squat, but eventually we found the “restrooms” that had been constructed specifically for this event. It was essentially six holes in the ground surrounded on three sides with corrugated iron. It wasn't classy, but it did the job. On our way back to the stage we found the Tutor and the Security. They had heard the game was supposed to begin soon, so we headed over to the playing field.
The Tutor bought us some sunflower seeds to munch on while we looked for a good place to watch the action from. We walked past the small grandstand, as far away from the playing field as possible. The Tutor didn't want us to get trampled (very reasonable), so we would watch from far away until he got a feel for the play and we could move closer. He looked at us very seriously and sad that if the riders came charging in our direction, we should crawl under the trucks so we wouldn't be trampled. He wasn't kidding. In real kok-par, there is no out of bounds. Play continues until someone scores, and then just starts all over again.
We milled around and chatted with locals and men climbed onto the trucks to get a better view of the field. All around us riders were prepping their horses for play. The Tutor told us that horses from China, Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Russia, and all the 14 regions of Kazakhstan were taking part in today's play. He estimated that at least 700 riders were there, in addition to a crowd of at least 5,000. Prizes included a car, $500, sheep, and camels.
Quick note about the crowd, there were no women. Historically, women had been forbidden to attend kok-par, as it was a man's event. Now women are allowed to attend, but the don't mostly because they traditionally haven't. The only women we saw after the feast and the battle of the bards was a few women selling water and sunflower seeds. Sarah and I were very white, very American, and very much women. We stood out like sore thumbs. Lots of people wanted to talk to us and we were followed by catcalls. The Tutor explained that this was why he brought along two friends as security. We met a man that didn't believe we were Americans, which seemed very silly. The Tutor explained to this old Kazakh man that we were American, then Sarah explained to him in Kazakh that we were American, then we spoke at him for a bit in English just to carry the point home, but he wouldn't be convinced. I'm not sure where he thought we were from, but it certainly wasn't America.
Finally the game began. We couldn't tell what was happening because we were so far away, but the Tutor thought it was too dangerous for us to go any closer. He kept reminding us of our exit strategy, “If the horses trample, under the trucks!” At the end of each round, the winner and his prize would be announced. The Tutor explained that although there are no formal teams and it's every man for himself, lots of unofficial alliances spring up. Riders join together and set blocks for each other, and then split the prize if they win. The game ran over two days, each day from 2pm to sunset (around 6pm). So the riders just raced back and forth between the goals, taking breaks when they wanted, joining back in when it was convenient. Eventually we moved closer to the grandstand to get a better look, and the horses did trample twice, but we ran between some large vehicles and no one was hurt.
It was amazing to see so many people on horses, all chasing after this single sheep carcass. Kok-par is brutal, folks. By the end of the day, more than a few horses and riders were limping off the field. As the first day of play came to a close, we set off in search of our car and the Driver. We eventually found them, and headed home, dropping the Tutor and the Security off at the exact same empty patch of steppe where we had found them that morning.
And that, dear reader, is the story of how I got to see traditional Kazakh kok-par in the middle of the steppe.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Happy Women's Day!!
To all of you ladies out there, Happy International Women's Day!!
International Women's Day (IWD) is a global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future. The first IWD event was run in 1911 with more than one million women and men attending rallies campaigning for women's rights, thus it is the centennial of this great day. It's a really important holiday here in Kazakhstan, and in the rest of the post-Soviet sphere, and in many ways has a similar status as Mother's Day. The main difference is that Women's Day in Kazakhstan sees men honoring their mothers, wives, girlfriends, colleagues, etc. with flowers, candy, and gifts.
As I work in an office solely operated by women, there's was lots of Women's Day camaraderie. I gave my co-workers American cosmetics (they love this stuff!!) and roses, and in turn received:
1. vanilla shower gel
2. "herb" scented bath salts
3. a candle
4. palmolive soap
5. "Forest Fruits" shower gel
6. "Forest Fruits" deoderant
People here love to give each other toiletry products. I mean, really like toiletry products generally. Our office neighbors brought us a cake, and with my English Club (all girls) we played an hour-long game of UNO.
Tomorrow for the actual holiday itself I plan to spend it strolling through various parks with my co-workers, and going to a movie with my host sister.
Ladies, I implore you. Take the day off! This day's for you!
For more info on International Women's Day, I refer you to The Internet.
International Women's Day (IWD) is a global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future. The first IWD event was run in 1911 with more than one million women and men attending rallies campaigning for women's rights, thus it is the centennial of this great day. It's a really important holiday here in Kazakhstan, and in the rest of the post-Soviet sphere, and in many ways has a similar status as Mother's Day. The main difference is that Women's Day in Kazakhstan sees men honoring their mothers, wives, girlfriends, colleagues, etc. with flowers, candy, and gifts.
As I work in an office solely operated by women, there's was lots of Women's Day camaraderie. I gave my co-workers American cosmetics (they love this stuff!!) and roses, and in turn received:
1. vanilla shower gel
2. "herb" scented bath salts
3. a candle
4. palmolive soap
5. "Forest Fruits" shower gel
6. "Forest Fruits" deoderant
People here love to give each other toiletry products. I mean, really like toiletry products generally. Our office neighbors brought us a cake, and with my English Club (all girls) we played an hour-long game of UNO.
Tomorrow for the actual holiday itself I plan to spend it strolling through various parks with my co-workers, and going to a movie with my host sister.
Ladies, I implore you. Take the day off! This day's for you!
For more info on International Women's Day, I refer you to The Internet.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
50 Years!!!
Can you believe it?? Peace Corps is 50 years old! 50! That's oooollllddd! Seriously, though, on October 14, 1960, then-Senator John F. Kennedy spoke in the early morning to a gathering of the students at the University of Michigan who were waiting for hours to hear the presidential candidate speak in Ann Arbor.
On the steps of the University of Michigan Student Union, President Kennedy challenged the students to serve their country in the cause of peace by living and working in developing countries, an idea that inspired the creation of the Peace Corps.
On March 1, 1961 President John F. Kennedy signed executive order 10924 to establish the program, and in September of that year congress authorized the program with the passage of the Peace Corps Act. The act declares the program's purpose:
"To promote world peace and friendship through a Peace Corps, which shall make available to interested countries and areas men and women of the United States qualified for service abroad and willing to serve, under conditions of hardship if necessary, to help the peoples of such countries and areas in meeting their needs for trained manpower."
Since 1961, over 200,000 Americans have joined the Peace Corps and have served in 139 countries. Currently 8,655 volunteers serve in 77 countries in the areas of education, youth & community development, health, business and information & communication technology, agriculture, environment, HIV/AIDS, and food security. Although times have changed, the Peace Corps continues to promote peace and friendship by remaining true to its mission, established in 1961:
1. To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.
2. To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.
3. To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
Peace Corps volunteers and RPCVS (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) around the world will be celebrating Peace Corp's 50 years all year long. Wanna join in the celebrations?! If you haven't seen it yet, check out Peace Corps Kazakhstan's website celebrating the 50th anniversary. The site has great information on how you can get involved in celebrations this year. One of my favorite features is our PC Kaz Family Mapping. On the top menu click "Map" to see where the supporters of Peace Corps Kazakhstan are. You can participate by printing out the PDF sign, filling it out, taking a picture and emailing back to us with your location. I can't wait to see this map fill up!
On the steps of the University of Michigan Student Union, President Kennedy challenged the students to serve their country in the cause of peace by living and working in developing countries, an idea that inspired the creation of the Peace Corps.
On March 1, 1961 President John F. Kennedy signed executive order 10924 to establish the program, and in September of that year congress authorized the program with the passage of the Peace Corps Act. The act declares the program's purpose:
"To promote world peace and friendship through a Peace Corps, which shall make available to interested countries and areas men and women of the United States qualified for service abroad and willing to serve, under conditions of hardship if necessary, to help the peoples of such countries and areas in meeting their needs for trained manpower."
Since 1961, over 200,000 Americans have joined the Peace Corps and have served in 139 countries. Currently 8,655 volunteers serve in 77 countries in the areas of education, youth & community development, health, business and information & communication technology, agriculture, environment, HIV/AIDS, and food security. Although times have changed, the Peace Corps continues to promote peace and friendship by remaining true to its mission, established in 1961:
1. To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.
2. To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.
3. To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
Peace Corps volunteers and RPCVS (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) around the world will be celebrating Peace Corp's 50 years all year long. Wanna join in the celebrations?! If you haven't seen it yet, check out Peace Corps Kazakhstan's website celebrating the 50th anniversary. The site has great information on how you can get involved in celebrations this year. One of my favorite features is our PC Kaz Family Mapping. On the top menu click "Map" to see where the supporters of Peace Corps Kazakhstan are. You can participate by printing out the PDF sign, filling it out, taking a picture and emailing back to us with your location. I can't wait to see this map fill up!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Work Shake-Ups
It's been forever and a day since my last post, and this is long overdue, so here goes.
These past couple months have been full of all kinds of crazy. On January 25, after 4 days' notice, my director Lena moved across the country to the capital city of Astana to take a job as some sort of program manager with the National Youth Congress. It was a good career move for her, a good change for my organization that was in need of fresh leadership, and was great for me. I finally felt the collar loosen a little, and felt like for the first time I was actually part of the organization, actually was allowed to have an opinion about things, and could actually start to get things done.
Things weren't easy after Lena moved. We all were trying to figure out our new roles, my counterpart Nastya became the new director, and we had to hire someone new to take over Nastya's old position (1. The new hire was our accountant's 19-year-old sister who is studying fashion design, 2. the position is “President of the Human Resources Department”... we have 4 employees and no long-term funding, but we have a President of Human Resources...). Throughout February things were still tricky, but beginning to look up. I still wasn't getting any kind of direction from my co-workers, but Nastya was at least working with me at Volunteer Club meetings and holding regular staff meetings.
Then yesterday, who should come bounding into the office in overly-sized sunglasses and and sequined hair scrunchy? Lena! Of course! Who else. It turns out that it's cold in Astana, and having a real job is hard. She didn't like working somewhere where she “couldn't do exactly what she wanted”. It made her “uncomfortable”. Thus, my old director is back, my new director is now no longer director, and we have an extra, recently-hired employee that we're not quite sure what to do with.
I'm rolling with the punches, etc., but it's been frustrating.
On the upside, it's March!! The month of spring, Maslenitsa, and Nauryz! Nauryz is the new year holiday celebrated by many Turkic people (Kazakh, Uzbek, Tadjik, and others) and falls on March 22. It's a national holiday here in Kazakhstan, and is especially important in the south, where I live, due to the large Kazakh population. Everybody gets off of work for 3 days, people gather with family and friends and eat copious amounts of food, these same people drink copious amounts of alcohol, and traditional events pop up all over. Traditional dances and performances are put on, and horse games [including but not limited to: polo with a goat carcass [kok par], races, men chase woman on horseback, and woman chases man on horseback with a whip. Exciting, huh?!]
Lots of Volunteers venture down to the south for a taste of balmy spring weather and traditional Kazakh culture. Only 2 weeks of eager anticipation before a glorious reunion with my friends from training, and epic amounts of Kazakh culture.
Oops, gotta run. My old/reinstated director Lena just sent one of our 15-year-old interns off as a representative of our organization. She's supposed to speak to the directors of 3 state universities and convince them to allow our organization to run voter's rights trainings at their respective places of higher learning. This could quite possibly end in disaster.
These past couple months have been full of all kinds of crazy. On January 25, after 4 days' notice, my director Lena moved across the country to the capital city of Astana to take a job as some sort of program manager with the National Youth Congress. It was a good career move for her, a good change for my organization that was in need of fresh leadership, and was great for me. I finally felt the collar loosen a little, and felt like for the first time I was actually part of the organization, actually was allowed to have an opinion about things, and could actually start to get things done.
Things weren't easy after Lena moved. We all were trying to figure out our new roles, my counterpart Nastya became the new director, and we had to hire someone new to take over Nastya's old position (1. The new hire was our accountant's 19-year-old sister who is studying fashion design, 2. the position is “President of the Human Resources Department”... we have 4 employees and no long-term funding, but we have a President of Human Resources...). Throughout February things were still tricky, but beginning to look up. I still wasn't getting any kind of direction from my co-workers, but Nastya was at least working with me at Volunteer Club meetings and holding regular staff meetings.
Then yesterday, who should come bounding into the office in overly-sized sunglasses and and sequined hair scrunchy? Lena! Of course! Who else. It turns out that it's cold in Astana, and having a real job is hard. She didn't like working somewhere where she “couldn't do exactly what she wanted”. It made her “uncomfortable”. Thus, my old director is back, my new director is now no longer director, and we have an extra, recently-hired employee that we're not quite sure what to do with.
I'm rolling with the punches, etc., but it's been frustrating.
On the upside, it's March!! The month of spring, Maslenitsa, and Nauryz! Nauryz is the new year holiday celebrated by many Turkic people (Kazakh, Uzbek, Tadjik, and others) and falls on March 22. It's a national holiday here in Kazakhstan, and is especially important in the south, where I live, due to the large Kazakh population. Everybody gets off of work for 3 days, people gather with family and friends and eat copious amounts of food, these same people drink copious amounts of alcohol, and traditional events pop up all over. Traditional dances and performances are put on, and horse games [including but not limited to: polo with a goat carcass [kok par], races, men chase woman on horseback, and woman chases man on horseback with a whip. Exciting, huh?!]
Lots of Volunteers venture down to the south for a taste of balmy spring weather and traditional Kazakh culture. Only 2 weeks of eager anticipation before a glorious reunion with my friends from training, and epic amounts of Kazakh culture.
Oops, gotta run. My old/reinstated director Lena just sent one of our 15-year-old interns off as a representative of our organization. She's supposed to speak to the directors of 3 state universities and convince them to allow our organization to run voter's rights trainings at their respective places of higher learning. This could quite possibly end in disaster.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Serious Clubbing
At the moment I'm sitting in my office prepping for one of my weekly English clubs, and figured I'd write a quick post about the kinds of clubs I lead every week. First off, you should know that Peace Corps loves clubs. I mean, LOVES clubs. Peace Corps is pretty convinced that community clubs make the world a better place, and in many ways this is true. Clubs that volunteers lead provide a safe space for youth to hang out, interact with their peers, and get a decently structured hour of after-school programming. Clubs are also an easy way to get a foot into the community door and to show your place of employment that even though you don't know the language very well, you're getting things done and working with youth. Hence, we do a lot of clubs around these parts.
Quite honestly, I don't really like clubs all that much. I'm not quite as beholden to their magical powers as my Peace Corps superiors, but my organization wants me to run clubs, so I run clubs.
On Mondays, I run a 90-minute English club for beginners at my organizations office. It's called "English Stars". My director thought it was really important that it have a name, so I let her choose. I have about 6 regular participants (which is a small group, but a good size considering we only have 6 chairs in our office), all girls between the ages of 16 and 20. They're a good group, but they really don't know any English and seem to be hoping that I can teach them to speak fluently overnight. They're not terribly patient, and not terribly willing to put in any extra study time. I bribe them with chocolate and the translations of their favorite song lyrics (usually Rihanna, Beyonce, or Britney Spears) to keep them motivated and engaged. For the month of February, we're doing a unit on biographical information; appearance, character traits, birthdays, family, work, hobbies, these sorts of topics. Most of our clubs start about like this:
Me: Today we'll be talking about character traits and personality.
The English Stars: In Russian?
Me: Is this Russian club?
The English Stars: No, it's English club.
Me: So probably English, don't you think?
The English Stars: But it's easier in Russian.
They generally mean well, and they're good kids, they're just still figuring this whole language learning business out.
Other than my organizations clubs, I also help out with other clubs that the volunteers here run as a group. We take turns leading to keep things interesting. On Tuesday we run an advanced English club at the American Corner of a local library. ( American Corners are amazing and wonderful things financed by the US Embassy. The American Corner in Shymkent has a conference table and chairs, a computer and internet, and a small English language library. It's a great space for English clubs, and the local staff are pretty great.) At this club we cover all sorts of topics from holidays to cooking to music. This month my pal Phillip is running a series of clubs celebrating Black History Month.
Wednesday is Women's Club day. I help lead this club with 2 other volunteers. It's more of a discussion group than a club, and is conducted entirely in English. It's a safe space for women to come and discuss topics that they often can't openly discuss at home or at school (sexual health, gender politics, all kinds of things). It's pretty sweet. This is one place that I can really feel the difference I'm making here. We bring topics to Women's Club that locals have never even considered, you can see their minds opening up and their perspectives changing. It's pretty sweet.
After Women's Club we run a movie night at an old Soviet move theater. We show movies in English with English subtitles, and provide important vocabulary and questions about the film plot and characters. It's a nice, chill end to the day.
Thursday one of my sitemate's runs a beginner's English club at the American Corner. When she's out of town, I take over for her.
Friday I run a volunteer club at my organization. We have about 10 serious local youth that come for the meetings. Right now I'm starting from the very beginning with them, discussing volunteerism, service, and community. There's no concept of volunteerism in Kazakhstan, so you have to start small. It's a challenge convincing my co-workers that we can't just leap right in with this group and give them huge assignments, because if we do that we'll lose them. We need to figure out what they're passionate about, what change they want to see in their community before we go any further. This is my most challenging club because it's run entirely in Russian, and my Russian really isn't good enough to discuss any of these sorts of things. But I try. I try really hard, and some days it seems like my volunteers are getting into the volunteer spirit.
After volunteer club I jet across town to a cafe where a local friend holds a conversational English club. It runs for 90 minutes and usually draws about 30-35 locals of all ages. We volunteers come to provide native speaker support, and to lead conversations. The only topics off limits are politics and religion. Other than that, any topic is fair game.
Well, dear reader, that's my weekly club schedule. As you can see, we're serious about our community clubbing here in Peace Corps.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
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This is a quick one folks, I promise. There have been a few interesting developments at work this last week, most amusing: our NGO office is now the home of Altau Car Insurance! Our cell phone-repairing office neighbor has recently come under the employment of said car insurance agency as a programmer, and came by to install the sales program onto our office computers and train my co-workers in salesmanship. Now about half of our accountant's day is spent with car insurance clients, we have boxes full of official Altau gear (mostly poorly functioning flashlights and some broken pens), and we have people coming in and out of the office far more interested in insurance than anything my organization does.
When I asked about this whole car insurance business a couple weeks ago, my co-workers explained that by law every driver in Kazakhstan must have insurance, but it's cheaper to buy fake insurance than to actually get insured. When we opened up shop in the insurance business, I asked my co-workers if we were selling legitimate car insurance, they looked at each other and giggled. So we may or may not be selling fraudulent car insurance out of our NGO office.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Nationality Question in Post-Soviet Kazakhstan
Yes, the title of this blog post could be a International Studies/Russian Studies course at a liberal arts college, no I'm not trying to be cheeky.
The question of nationality is an important one in Post-Soviet places, dear reader, including in Kazakhstan. I'm sure there have been a good number of academic articles written on the topic, which probably conclude that after 70 years of having a "Soviet" identity assigned to them by the state, people are taking their own identities back. I could see that. What's more interesting to me is how important ethnic identity is here.
When I first moved in with my host family, my host mom asked me my nationality. I was a bit confused. They had a volunteer live with them last year, so I assumed they new the Peace Corps is a program for Americans. I told her I was American, and she said, "But no one in America is "cleanly" American. There are all kinds of other nationalities mixed in." I said this was true, but that doesn't mean I'm not American. She said that there are no real Americans. I've been thinking a lot about this conversation, as I've met more and more people here. They always have the same first question "Who are you by nationality?"
Here's about how any taxi ride starts for me.
Driver: Where to?
Me: The 11th microregion, 300 tenge
Driver: 400 tenge, gas is expensive
Me: 300 is a normal price
(He, because cab drivers here are always male, gripes for awhile, and then usually gives in to my price.)
Driver: You're a foreigner?
Me: ... Yep
Driver: Are you English?
Me: Nope.
Driver: What's your nationality?
Me: I'm an American.
Driver: No, I mean your nationality.
Me: American.
Driver: No. Where is your family from? What are your roots?
Me: American.
Driver: You must not understand Russian.
I'm not try to be cheeky with locals when I say that I'm American. And I'm not trying to be the uberPatriot. It just seems more true to say that I'm American, than to say "Well my mother's family came over from Easter Europe, specifically Slovenia and Slovakia about 100 years ago, and my father's family includes a smattering of German, English, and probably a few more nationality's I'm forgetting long before then. So that's what my nationality is."
It's interesting to come from the US, a place where civic nationality is often just as important as (or more important than) ethnic nationality, to a place where the opposite is true. If I was a newcomer to the US, or if my family had come over more recently, I might agree that the "American" nationality doesn't properly fir the bill for me. But given the circumstances, I identify as American before any historical roots. No one in Kazakhstan would ever identify themselves as "Kazakhstani". Not in a billion years. Here when someone asks your nationality, they mean ethnic nationality. It doesn't matter that your family has lived here for 100 years, you still identify with the ethnic group your family came from.
Kazakhstanis are very proud of their nationality, and the national make-up of their country. One of the first things I often hear from locals is that there are 140 nationalities here, and everyone lives together peacefully. Though I hear plenty of racial slurs against minority groups here, the living peacefully together bit is true. I work in an office with 1 Russian, 2 Koreans, and one American. Our office neighbors are a Kazakh and an Uzbek that fix cell phones. Down the hall there is a Tatar businessmen and his Russian business partner. Regardless of all the peacefulness, nationality is still important, and often the first thing people notice. I guess that's mostly what I wanted to mention.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Alma Mater Shout-Out!
I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to my beloved alma mater Macalester College for making the Peace Corps Top Colleges 2011 list!! Macalester currently has 22 undergraduate alumni Volunteers, including yours truly, and ranks #6 among small colleges and universities for producing Peace Corps Volunteers in 2010. Way to go Mac!
You can see the complete list of schools here.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Job Details, and Other Exciting Stuff
So I feel like it's about time that I explain a little bit more about what I'm doing here in Kazakhstan.
According to the Peace Corps website:
Overview
As a Youth Development Volunteer, your role will be to work directly with at-risk youth and families, while helping communities, schools, and agencies develop programs to support them. You might work in an orphanage, school, NGO, or local youth center.
Depending on your specific assignment, you might:
- Conduct vocational training and promote activities to build self-esteem, leadership and life skills development
- Act as a health educator while providing HIV/AIDS education and awareness
- Work on community organizing and organizational development projects
- Train youth development workers
I work as a "Youth Development Facilitator" with an NGO that focuses on youth civic engagement. My organization (MISK) has a lot (too many, actually) of different focuses and currently: runs a school for young entrepreneurs; runs monthly "action" events that focus on informing youth about various topics such as HIV/AIDS transmission, leadership, volunteerism, and environmental issues; participates in round tables and conferences on civic and youth development. This year my director is looking to shift our focus toward youth employment. There is a relatively high unemployment rate among 18-29 year olds in Kazakhstan. Job placement is still very much based on personal connections and family, meaning if you don't know the right people, you can't get a job. Many organizations are trying to change with projects that aim to make local youth more employable. We're hopping on the bandwagon and designing a project to take place this summer that will be a week-long seminar on "Youth Employment." At the moment it's all very general and we don't have the details figured out, but essentially we will give trainings on resume building, interview skills, communication skills, professionalism, and job hunting.
My role at MISK is not terribly clear yet. I've only been here for two months, and my coworkers are still getting used to having me in the office, and I'm still getting used to the way they work and the flow of the organization. I'm in the office 10am-6pm Monday through Friday, and up to now I've been responsible for running a weekly English Language Club and a volunteer group, which mostly means trying to recruit local youth to take part in outreach projects and discussion groups. It's been a challenge to keep youth engaged and interested in our small, unfocused organization, especially with my limited Russian skills. My organization really wants local volunteers, but they don't have any sort of strategy regarding what we should do with the volunteers once they start coming regularly. There's not a lot of strategic or long-term planning in Kazakhstan, and none to speak of at MISK, so it's been an uphill battle to convince my coworkers that we need to have a plan before we take on large-scale projects.
Because there's not a whole lot of work for me at the office, starting next week I'll only be at work 10am-2pm every day, and will use the afternoon hours to lead community clubs, help out at other organizations, and put some hours in with my Russian tutor. There's some serious reorganization happening at the office right now, so these free afternoons will give me a chance to expand my NGO horizons, meet some locals, and hopefully stir up some interest in our organization. I just hope that this new schedule doesn't mean I'll be doing nothing but leading community clubs for the next two years.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Oh goodness, it's already 2011!! It's hard to believe that I've already been in Kazakhstan for nearly 4 months, and working at MISK for 2 months.
I spent the last hours of 2010 with other volunteers at one of my sitemate's apartments in one of the tallest buildings in the city center. We had a great view of the city and were in perfect position to take in all the New Years festivities. There are no official city fireworks displays, but that's alright because every family sets off their own. For the weeks leading up to the 31st you can buy fireworks of every imaginable variety on every street corner. On the stroke of midnight we were standing on the balcony of the 12th floor drinking champagne and watching hundreds of fireworks explode across the city.
(Photo courtesy of my man James)
Because New Years is such a major holiday here, most of the country come grinding to a halt for at least a week around January 1st. My organization closed down for 2 weeks of rest and relaxation to gear up for the new year. The first few days off were nice, but eventually things got a bit dull. I did some research for a grant that I'm looking into writing to fund a peer training program, read, lazed about, and was generally unproductive. The holidays were nice, but I was ready to get back to work on Monday.
I ended 2010 on a bit of a sour note, feeling generally unproductive and more than once wondering what on earth I'm doing at an underdeveloped NGO in southern Kazakhstan. I'm happy to report that the new year has brought with it a new sense of purpose and determination to get things done. Also a new sense of winter. Much of December treated us to above normal temperatures that required little more than a light jacket. Now that real winter has set in with its below freezing temperatures, my poorly heated office is a tragic scene in which my coworkers and I spend the day in giant down coats with hats and hoods pulled down so that not much more than our eyes are visible. Hopefully only 2 more months of this, before the pleasant breezes of spring arrive.
I spent the last hours of 2010 with other volunteers at one of my sitemate's apartments in one of the tallest buildings in the city center. We had a great view of the city and were in perfect position to take in all the New Years festivities. There are no official city fireworks displays, but that's alright because every family sets off their own. For the weeks leading up to the 31st you can buy fireworks of every imaginable variety on every street corner. On the stroke of midnight we were standing on the balcony of the 12th floor drinking champagne and watching hundreds of fireworks explode across the city.
(Photo courtesy of my man James)
Because New Years is such a major holiday here, most of the country come grinding to a halt for at least a week around January 1st. My organization closed down for 2 weeks of rest and relaxation to gear up for the new year. The first few days off were nice, but eventually things got a bit dull. I did some research for a grant that I'm looking into writing to fund a peer training program, read, lazed about, and was generally unproductive. The holidays were nice, but I was ready to get back to work on Monday.
I ended 2010 on a bit of a sour note, feeling generally unproductive and more than once wondering what on earth I'm doing at an underdeveloped NGO in southern Kazakhstan. I'm happy to report that the new year has brought with it a new sense of purpose and determination to get things done. Also a new sense of winter. Much of December treated us to above normal temperatures that required little more than a light jacket. Now that real winter has set in with its below freezing temperatures, my poorly heated office is a tragic scene in which my coworkers and I spend the day in giant down coats with hats and hoods pulled down so that not much more than our eyes are visible. Hopefully only 2 more months of this, before the pleasant breezes of spring arrive.
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