14:00 10 August 2008
Marshrutkas can be a range of adjectives; the first that come to mind are terrifying, comical, uncomfortable, and strangely efficient. In essence a marshrutka is a mini-bus used in Kyrgyzstan and other Russian-speaking countries. It is the primary/only form of public transportation here. They range from Soviet era van-like vehicles to relatively nice Mercedes Benz made minibuses. They are usually set up with five to six rows of seats, two on one side and one on the other with an aisle in between. The seats are laughably small, while I usually prefer the aisle seats, on a marshrutka, it’s not a preference, it’s a physical necessity, I simply will not fit in a seat sitting forward. However, I only know this from the few times I have had the opportunity to sit. In addition to the 15-20ish seated passenger room, there is about room for 10 to stand single file in the aisle. Regardless of the fact that there is only truly room for about 25 in a marshrutka, they are often packed with upwards of forty five or fifty people.
Their overcrowding is largely the reason for the aforementioned adjectives. These things are like clown cars, at the end of a line, people just keep getting out for a seemingly impossibly long time. A few days ago I had what I hope will be the penultimate experience with this method of transport. I was on a marshrutka so full, that there was not room in the aisles to stand. Consequently, I did an awkward wall sit against the side of the marshrutka about two inches above a Kyrygz man’s lap. I ended the ten minute ride with my quadriceps screaming in agony and I had seriously considered just plopping into this man’s lap. I didn’t because, though our proximity was certainly nothing unusual (he barely even looked up when I assumed my position), I felt that would almost certainly be considered culturally inappropriate.
Despite the ridiculousness of marshrutkas, they are a commonplace element of every Kyrgyz person’s life. This "everyone deals with it" status has led to a lot of nice habits, like offering seats to those who need them most (new mothers, older people, and children), passing back and forth the fare and change (with no one skimming as far as I can tell), letting the driver know if you hear someone ask for a stop (he certainly won’t unless he is sure), and most remarkably to me, seated passengers unquestioningly taking the held objects of standing passengers until they debark. While a marshrutka ride is cramped, uncomfortable, boiling hot, and often smells bad, it also is often an opportunity to see the best sides of people. I heard rumor that the U.S. Embassy doesn’t allow it’s employees to ride them (presumably because of the frequency of pick-pocketing) but that isn’t an option on Peace Corps salary, and anyway, I’m glad I get to have that cultural experience.
11 August 2008
One-month Anniversery
11:45 10 August 2008
I’ve officially been in Kyrgyzstan for over a month now. It seems like such a bizarre state of being. Some days, when language is going well and I’m in a good mood, it feels like I’m completely at home and have been here for years and the time has flown. Other days, if I am frustrated or can’t get my point across, I feel the newness of my being here and can’t imagine another twenty-seven months of the same. Fortunately enough, I have had more of the former kind of days and was kind of astonished when I realized that I had only been here a month.
Pre-Service Training overall is full of up-and-downs. The Volunteers we come across are constantly letting us know that it gets better at site, and at first I didn’t realize what they meant. I understand to a better degree now, PST has a lot of elements that add to the frustration, and your attempts to integrate are only just getting started. Our days are usually filled with some activity or another. Biweekly three-hour long technical educations are obviously necessary to teach us how to teach but can be tedious. We were recently evaluated and it has a lot of people upset, they believe that our teachers hardly know us an have little right to give us performance evaluations. I’m ambivalent on the matter (possibly because I received a favorable one) but I understand the confusion and hurt that could accompany seemingly arbitrary adjudication. These combined with homework that seems more busy-work than practical, again have upset some people. When people are frustrated, tired, and fed-up, stress levels raise and people take out their frustrations on one another. Peace Corps told us to expect this and realize the underlying factors when we found ourselves in fowl moods, but that doesn’t stop me from regretting it later if I snap at someone out of frustration at some beyond their control.
Wow! I just found out that there is a secret hiding place/storeroom beneath the floor in the house! My Baba was making tomato juice to jar for the winter months and Papa Kolya just came in, lifted up the carpet and went into the secret hiding place! Cool!
I’ve officially been in Kyrgyzstan for over a month now. It seems like such a bizarre state of being. Some days, when language is going well and I’m in a good mood, it feels like I’m completely at home and have been here for years and the time has flown. Other days, if I am frustrated or can’t get my point across, I feel the newness of my being here and can’t imagine another twenty-seven months of the same. Fortunately enough, I have had more of the former kind of days and was kind of astonished when I realized that I had only been here a month.
Pre-Service Training overall is full of up-and-downs. The Volunteers we come across are constantly letting us know that it gets better at site, and at first I didn’t realize what they meant. I understand to a better degree now, PST has a lot of elements that add to the frustration, and your attempts to integrate are only just getting started. Our days are usually filled with some activity or another. Biweekly three-hour long technical educations are obviously necessary to teach us how to teach but can be tedious. We were recently evaluated and it has a lot of people upset, they believe that our teachers hardly know us an have little right to give us performance evaluations. I’m ambivalent on the matter (possibly because I received a favorable one) but I understand the confusion and hurt that could accompany seemingly arbitrary adjudication. These combined with homework that seems more busy-work than practical, again have upset some people. When people are frustrated, tired, and fed-up, stress levels raise and people take out their frustrations on one another. Peace Corps told us to expect this and realize the underlying factors when we found ourselves in fowl moods, but that doesn’t stop me from regretting it later if I snap at someone out of frustration at some beyond their control.
Wow! I just found out that there is a secret hiding place/storeroom beneath the floor in the house! My Baba was making tomato juice to jar for the winter months and Papa Kolya just came in, lifted up the carpet and went into the secret hiding place! Cool!
06 August 2008
Family Pictures
Max and Aliona 
(From left to right- my Papa's sister, Mama (Grandmother) Lubov, Mama Ira, Aliona, Papa (Grandfather) Kolya, Max, and some cousin at Papa Kolya's birthday bash.)
(From left to right- my Papa's sister, Mama (Grandmother) Lubov, Mama Ira, Aliona, Papa (Grandfather) Kolya, Max, and some cousin at Papa Kolya's birthday bash.)
It was a hard days night
07:45 6 August 2008
Yesterday I gained a lot of respect for coal miners. My host siblings and their mother went on a trip to visit their father in Russia a few days ago. That means that I am left alone in the house with Mama Luba, my host Babushka, and Papa Kolya, my host grandfather. Papa Kolya bought a huge load of coal yesterday and I helped assist him move it from the place where it was dumped to the storage house, a difficult and dusty task. I took the precaution of wearing a wet kerchief over my face, but even still, it was black when I blew my nose for quite a while. It really made me think about how difficult and unhealthy it must be to work in a mine surrounded by the dust everywhere. It seriously got everywhere outside, the kitchen table 40 feet away had a thin layer of black powder on it. It can’t be healthy stuff.
In other news, I nearly got scared to death. There is one dog that lives in the back yard that hates me and wants me to die (I will post photos later). It always strained at its chain and barked ferociously and growled at me whenever I went out to use the outhouse. A few days ago, his straining came to fruition and he actually broke a link on his chain. I had been discussing this possibility and decided that if he did so, it would be best to either try and kick him if he tried to attack or grab his muzzle if he lunged. The thing I knew I had to do was avoid turning my back, because as soon as I did I felt certain he would attack. Well, as soon as he broke loose, he seemed as confused and bewildered as I was at the occurrence. He ended up just standing there as I slowly retreated backwards from towards the house ready to let loose a kick if need be. Scary stuff.
Yesterday I gained a lot of respect for coal miners. My host siblings and their mother went on a trip to visit their father in Russia a few days ago. That means that I am left alone in the house with Mama Luba, my host Babushka, and Papa Kolya, my host grandfather. Papa Kolya bought a huge load of coal yesterday and I helped assist him move it from the place where it was dumped to the storage house, a difficult and dusty task. I took the precaution of wearing a wet kerchief over my face, but even still, it was black when I blew my nose for quite a while. It really made me think about how difficult and unhealthy it must be to work in a mine surrounded by the dust everywhere. It seriously got everywhere outside, the kitchen table 40 feet away had a thin layer of black powder on it. It can’t be healthy stuff.
In other news, I nearly got scared to death. There is one dog that lives in the back yard that hates me and wants me to die (I will post photos later). It always strained at its chain and barked ferociously and growled at me whenever I went out to use the outhouse. A few days ago, his straining came to fruition and he actually broke a link on his chain. I had been discussing this possibility and decided that if he did so, it would be best to either try and kick him if he tried to attack or grab his muzzle if he lunged. The thing I knew I had to do was avoid turning my back, because as soon as I did I felt certain he would attack. Well, as soon as he broke loose, he seemed as confused and bewildered as I was at the occurrence. He ended up just standing there as I slowly retreated backwards from towards the house ready to let loose a kick if need be. Scary stuff.
At last, a tubular guitar!
20:30 4 August 2008
Several exciting thins have happened over the past few days. To me, the most exciting is that I bought a guitar! I had previously looked for one at this big department-like store in Bishkek but found that the wares they had there was of very poor quality and extraordinarily expensive. So I held off buying one there because I heard of a rumor of an underground passage that had a market where guitars where sold. Luckily, this rumor was correct and when I went into Bishkek this past Sunday I was successful.
We were really put on a wild goose-chase finding this place. I was told it was in an underground near the Osh Bazaar, one of the larger bazaars in the city. When we got there (I went with 3 other people from my village and the host sister of one them who speaks excellent English). From the Osh bazaar, we were directed to go about 15 blocks down and I had a bad feeling that it wouldn’t be the right place. These feelings were confirmed as we got there and they looked confused and told us to turn around. Luckily, once we got back to Osh bazaar, we found the sellers relatively easily. I was also impressed with the price. While the guitar I bought is by no means a nice guitar, it has a flat tone, tinny treble, and not terribly high quality construction, but it is a guitar, and it is acceptable. The guitar says that it is an Alvarez, a brand I recognized, but somehow I doubt it because it is labeled an “Alvarez Acustic”. I’m not sure what an acustic guitar is, but I paid equivalent of about 70 USD for it, so I’m not complaining too much.
During the same trip into the city, my friends picked up things, had some Italian food (or at least the Kyrgyz take on it), and wandered around the city for a while. Anyhow, I have to get lesson planning for my English club tomorrow. All the best!
Several exciting thins have happened over the past few days. To me, the most exciting is that I bought a guitar! I had previously looked for one at this big department-like store in Bishkek but found that the wares they had there was of very poor quality and extraordinarily expensive. So I held off buying one there because I heard of a rumor of an underground passage that had a market where guitars where sold. Luckily, this rumor was correct and when I went into Bishkek this past Sunday I was successful.
We were really put on a wild goose-chase finding this place. I was told it was in an underground near the Osh Bazaar, one of the larger bazaars in the city. When we got there (I went with 3 other people from my village and the host sister of one them who speaks excellent English). From the Osh bazaar, we were directed to go about 15 blocks down and I had a bad feeling that it wouldn’t be the right place. These feelings were confirmed as we got there and they looked confused and told us to turn around. Luckily, once we got back to Osh bazaar, we found the sellers relatively easily. I was also impressed with the price. While the guitar I bought is by no means a nice guitar, it has a flat tone, tinny treble, and not terribly high quality construction, but it is a guitar, and it is acceptable. The guitar says that it is an Alvarez, a brand I recognized, but somehow I doubt it because it is labeled an “Alvarez Acustic”. I’m not sure what an acustic guitar is, but I paid equivalent of about 70 USD for it, so I’m not complaining too much.
During the same trip into the city, my friends picked up things, had some Italian food (or at least the Kyrgyz take on it), and wandered around the city for a while. Anyhow, I have to get lesson planning for my English club tomorrow. All the best!
01 August 2008
Krunk Kyrgyzstan
13:20 1 August 2008
It continues to be really hot. Today it has reached a new high of 88.7 degrees Fahrenheit in my room. I can’t even imagine how hot it is outside, it must be well over 105 because of how cool my room feels compared to outside. Despite the heat, last night was one of the most wild experiences I have had in Kyrgyzstan so far. It was my host father’s (or grandfather, whichever you want to call him) birthday and the family through a big party. There were relatives that came into town from all over the country for the celebration and I would guess there were over 40 people there.
It started off, as most Kyrgyz parties, with lots of eating and toasting. Kyrgyz parties, I have found so far, tend to go in waves of eating and dancing. Chris, the volunteer that lived with my family during last year’s PST, even came, and it was nice to have someone to speak with in English there. He is a really nice guy and the level of his Russian is superb. Of course, we were both asked to make toasts, and after his eloquent speech, I got up, and made a basic, though I thought clever toast (of course in Russian). I said “I want to tell you, Papa, in German- Viel Gluck zum Geburtstag, in Spanish, Feliz Cumpleaños, in English, Happy Birthday, and of course, in Russian HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” So after the first round of eating and toasting, people got up to dance for awhile but then settled down for another round of eating. This is where the party turned away from what I imagine is the norm for Kyrgyz parties.
Papa Kolya (my host Papa) came out of the house dressed in a diaper, a bonnet, a pacifier, and was carrying a baby bottle filled with vodka (Why oh why didn’t I have my camera out!?!?). Of course this was greeted by a host of cheers and laughs, and it was certainly something I had never expected. He played the role for a while, talking about how he was new to this world and didn’t understand anything, and it was all a huge joke. If that wasn’t enough, his niece filled a hat with different actions, and everyone went around the table drawing and doing what they said. I was lucky that the one I drew was merely to sing a song, of course I chose “Happy Birthday”. Others weren’t so lucky and I saw two other babushkas (grandmothers) made to kiss each other, an older gentleman fill a plate with vodka and drink it, my host sister get up on a chair and crow like a rooster, and to top it off, another babushka down vodka from the bottle (the grimace on her face was painful even to me).
After this silly game, the dancing resumed, and I was thrust into the most awkward dance since middle school. This middle age lady grabbed me and started slow dancing with me and jabbering machine-gun fire fast Russian in my ear. Thankfully the song was only about 15 minutes long (I jest, it was only about 6) but it was incredibly funny and awkward and embarrassing as we became the center of attention (I think my host sister took a picture so I will show you when I get it). I eventually went to bed at the same time as Chris, around 11:30 or so, but the party was still going strong and I woke up around 2:00 when it had finally died down somewhat. All in all, a memorable and unique experience.
It continues to be really hot. Today it has reached a new high of 88.7 degrees Fahrenheit in my room. I can’t even imagine how hot it is outside, it must be well over 105 because of how cool my room feels compared to outside. Despite the heat, last night was one of the most wild experiences I have had in Kyrgyzstan so far. It was my host father’s (or grandfather, whichever you want to call him) birthday and the family through a big party. There were relatives that came into town from all over the country for the celebration and I would guess there were over 40 people there.
It started off, as most Kyrgyz parties, with lots of eating and toasting. Kyrgyz parties, I have found so far, tend to go in waves of eating and dancing. Chris, the volunteer that lived with my family during last year’s PST, even came, and it was nice to have someone to speak with in English there. He is a really nice guy and the level of his Russian is superb. Of course, we were both asked to make toasts, and after his eloquent speech, I got up, and made a basic, though I thought clever toast (of course in Russian). I said “I want to tell you, Papa, in German- Viel Gluck zum Geburtstag, in Spanish, Feliz Cumpleaños, in English, Happy Birthday, and of course, in Russian HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” So after the first round of eating and toasting, people got up to dance for awhile but then settled down for another round of eating. This is where the party turned away from what I imagine is the norm for Kyrgyz parties.
Papa Kolya (my host Papa) came out of the house dressed in a diaper, a bonnet, a pacifier, and was carrying a baby bottle filled with vodka (Why oh why didn’t I have my camera out!?!?). Of course this was greeted by a host of cheers and laughs, and it was certainly something I had never expected. He played the role for a while, talking about how he was new to this world and didn’t understand anything, and it was all a huge joke. If that wasn’t enough, his niece filled a hat with different actions, and everyone went around the table drawing and doing what they said. I was lucky that the one I drew was merely to sing a song, of course I chose “Happy Birthday”. Others weren’t so lucky and I saw two other babushkas (grandmothers) made to kiss each other, an older gentleman fill a plate with vodka and drink it, my host sister get up on a chair and crow like a rooster, and to top it off, another babushka down vodka from the bottle (the grimace on her face was painful even to me).
After this silly game, the dancing resumed, and I was thrust into the most awkward dance since middle school. This middle age lady grabbed me and started slow dancing with me and jabbering machine-gun fire fast Russian in my ear. Thankfully the song was only about 15 minutes long (I jest, it was only about 6) but it was incredibly funny and awkward and embarrassing as we became the center of attention (I think my host sister took a picture so I will show you when I get it). I eventually went to bed at the same time as Chris, around 11:30 or so, but the party was still going strong and I woke up around 2:00 when it had finally died down somewhat. All in all, a memorable and unique experience.
Kyrgyzstan is HOT HOT HOT!
18:30 31 July 2008
As I mentioned in my email, I got my official Peace Corps ID. This is a very exciting for a variety of reasons. During Pre Service Training, PCTs are on a fairly short leash, and our mobility is severely restricted. This is because of safety and security concerns and because we are still learning the language and they want us to err on the side of overbearing. There is a law in Kyrgyzstan that allows any policeman (militiaman here) to stop you and check your documents. Peace Corps still has our passports so for the past three weeks we have been walking around relatively undocumented (we were given a copy of our passport in case we were stopped but it wasn’t a problem). Now that we have our PCIDs, which are issued in conjunction with the government, we shouldn’t have any problems if we are stopped arbitrarily. They are also cool because of the way they look. It’s a wallet fold reminiscent of an FBI or KGB adgent badge. Who knew that Peace Corps could be so B.A.?
The last two days (today especially) have been hot. Really hot. It was over 40 degrees Celsius today (over 105 Fahrenheit) and my room, a cool spot for me, was a balmy 87 degrees Fahrenheit. Sheesh! While it certainly nice that the heat here is dry, the sun is extraordinarily strong (very few clouds) and when it is over 40 degrees, dry heat is still REALLY hot. For some reason which I may never understand, the Kyrgyz drink hot beverages regardless of the weather. This is one of the largest cultural differences I have had to deal with. Drinking a thousand cups of tea a day, despite the fact that I am sweating and could fry an egg on a car hood, is a big difference for Americans accustomed to ice in their water (even in the middle of winter).
As I mentioned in my email, I got my official Peace Corps ID. This is a very exciting for a variety of reasons. During Pre Service Training, PCTs are on a fairly short leash, and our mobility is severely restricted. This is because of safety and security concerns and because we are still learning the language and they want us to err on the side of overbearing. There is a law in Kyrgyzstan that allows any policeman (militiaman here) to stop you and check your documents. Peace Corps still has our passports so for the past three weeks we have been walking around relatively undocumented (we were given a copy of our passport in case we were stopped but it wasn’t a problem). Now that we have our PCIDs, which are issued in conjunction with the government, we shouldn’t have any problems if we are stopped arbitrarily. They are also cool because of the way they look. It’s a wallet fold reminiscent of an FBI or KGB adgent badge. Who knew that Peace Corps could be so B.A.?
The last two days (today especially) have been hot. Really hot. It was over 40 degrees Celsius today (over 105 Fahrenheit) and my room, a cool spot for me, was a balmy 87 degrees Fahrenheit. Sheesh! While it certainly nice that the heat here is dry, the sun is extraordinarily strong (very few clouds) and when it is over 40 degrees, dry heat is still REALLY hot. For some reason which I may never understand, the Kyrgyz drink hot beverages regardless of the weather. This is one of the largest cultural differences I have had to deal with. Drinking a thousand cups of tea a day, despite the fact that I am sweating and could fry an egg on a car hood, is a big difference for Americans accustomed to ice in their water (even in the middle of winter).
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