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.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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.
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