Котчик, Dogs, Cow, and Shadow

June 28, 2013

The problem with the dog being off his chain (in addition to his propensity for attacking small children) was the fact that while he was loose Котчик wisely made himself scarce. It wasn’t until midday today (after the dog was back on his chain) that the cat reappeared. I feel bad for the poor dog on his tiny chain, although it is definitely better for the kids and cats of the village that he be confined. I’ve made sure to visit him and scratch his head.

The reddish-brown Mochi-type dog remains elusive, although I can tell that he/she (don’t know, although given how friendly the big dog is with it, it’s probably a girl) would like to be my friend. She comes slinking towards me, wagging her tail, but chickens out when she gets a few feet away from me. Once she licked my outstretched hand, then ran for the hills. Of all bizarre things, I have seen it snuggling with the juvenile cow. The dog was on its back next to the cow, and the cow was nuzzling its belly.

Taken with my long lens.

The fact that the cow likes to hang out with the dog might explain the cow’s very un-cow-like behavior. Most cows ignore me, although some will lick my hand or tolerate a head-rub. I had been petting this cow and rubbing her forehead (which, like the big white dog, she obviously enjoyed). When I stopped rubbing her forehead and began to walk away, the cow went into what I can only describe as a dog’s playing routine – you know, the way a dog acts when it is trying to get another dog (or a human) to play with it. I’d certainly never seen a cow do that before. Now when she sees me she comes running up, wanting to play. I have to be careful to avoid her hooves and little horn-buds. She head-butted me in the shoulder and it was quite painful. I’m not sure how old this cow is, although she’s definitely not full grown. I’m glad she’s a girl, as most boy-cows get eaten, while most girl cows are kept alive for their breeding and milk-producing skills. (Of course, if my only options were death or breeding, that would be a difficult choice for me; who knows how the cow feels.)

In addition to Котчик, the dogs, and the cow (there are plenty of chickens, too, but they are not friendly) I have developed a Shadow in the form of nine year old Aidai. She is absolutely fascinated by everything that I do. Additionally, even though she is only 9 years old, she is essentially fluent in Russian as her second language. Granted, I have a more extensive Russian vocabulary than she does, but she’s nine. I’m sure her parents have a more extensive Kyrgyz vocabulary than she does. She’s constantly asking me how to say things in English, writing them down, and practicing them. Additionally, the family had a Japanese student stay with them for a week last year, and she picked up quite a few Japanese phrases from her in just that week. It’s really impressive. She just watched me plan one of my lessons for Monday, and has essentially already learned all of the content!

Aidai (left) and one of her friends

Злая Собака and other tales

June 27, 2013

In the morning, the weather had not markedly improved. It was chilly and drizzly. The dog doesn’t have a doghouse. Either they’d let him off of his chain or he’d worked his collar off. Either way, he’d spent the night up on the porch where it was reasonably dry. Oddly enough, I was the first person out and about in the morning – and as such, I got 70lbs of muddy, wet, playful dog focused entirely on me as I slipped and slid my way through the slick mud (er, баткак, haha) on my way to the outhouse. I am amazed that I didn’t wipe out, and that I managed to remain mostly paw-print-free.

After breakfast, Aidai and I made our way to the school. (We have the keys to the school building and to the classroom, so I don’t have to worry about being locked out!) The dog came along with us. As we entered the school’s courtyard, he bounded towards the group of students waiting in front of the door, wagging his tail. The girl closest to him panicked, screamed, and tried to run. Immediately the dog’s demeanor changed; he saw her as prey. He grabbed her pants near her hip, snarling, and had her down on the ground in an instant.

Now, I’ve broken up more than my share of dog fights in my life (I used to work at the pound, and my mom currently has eight dogs; fights happen) but this was my first time breaking up dog-on-human violence. Still, it’s the same concept. I shouted, then hauled off and slugged him with my purse. Luckily, this wasn’t anything like a pit bull going in for the kill and that was all it took. He let her go and backed away. I pointed at the gate and shouted, “Go home!” (in English) – he knew exactly what I meant and promptly slunk off looking properly chastised. The girl’s pants were torn, but she hadn’t been bitten, and she totally just shrugged it off (as did her classmates and, later, Rita). So I guess he can be a злая собака (evil/angry dog) at times.

By the time classes ended, it was raining and the power was out yet again. After lunch we all retreated to our various rooms for nap-time. There’s not much else to do in Bar Bulak when it’s raining and there’s no electricity.

I awoke a little after 3pm to discover that the sun was shining and the power was back on. After having some tea, Aidai, Jarkynai (who is 2) and I took a walk. We set out along the main road, and walked to one of Bar Bulak’s two small stores. While it didn’t have much more of a selection than the stores in Toguz Bulak, it did contain juice (only sometimes available in Toguz Bulak), bathing suits, and maxipads. And here I now have plenty in case my body decides to throw another two-week period my way. Ahh well. Aidai pulled four freshly-laid eggs out of her pocket, and traded them for three ice cream cones and a pack of gum.

Approaching one of Bar Bulak's two stores

Then we met up with some of her friends, and clambered around the barren, scree-covered slopes across the road from our homes for a while. Because when you climb steep, barren, scree-covered slopes, you should always bring along an infant, a toddler, a foreigner, and a dog. (This dog belonged to one of Aidai’s friends, and was also quite friendly, at least with us.)

Aidai climbing with Jarkynai on her back
Ryskul (neighbor/student) leads Jarkynai up the hill
Another neighbor, plus Aidai with Jarkynai on her back
Friendly dog

Then, of course, clouds began to roll up. I left the children to their antics and returned to my room before the next round of rain hit.

A genuine Kyrgyz picnic

June 27, 2013

After my first day of class had finished, I had a quick lunch with the family, then we grabbed our swimsuits, hopped into the car, and headed down to the lake shore to attend a picnic. When we left, it was in the 80s, hot and sunny, and we all set out dressed for a sunny summer’s day at the beach. You’d think I’d have learned by now how quickly the weather here can change, and therefore would’ve thrown some warm clothes in my bag… but of course I didn’t. But we’ll get to that later.

We arrived at the lake shore around 1pm, and found the picnic already underway. The older folks sat around drinking tea and chatting, while the younger folks and the kids played in the water and on the beach. I took a long stroll westward along the beach, taking photos as I went and splashing my feet in the rather chilly (IMO) waters of Issyk Kul. (“Issyk Kul” means “hot lake” in Kyrgyz, but even at the height of summer I’ve found it far too cold for my liking. I am a Floridian after all!)

I returned from my stroll to discover that Kuban’s Audi had been pulled up next to a gigantic and rather industrial looking truck. A blanket had been strung between the Audi and the truck, creating a tent to shade the tea-drinkers below – and I’d returned just in time for the first course (salads). After the salads, it was time for more swimming and hanging out.

The men played cards. The women busied themselves with cooking and/or tea drinking and/or taking care of infants. The teens and twenty-somethings swam and/or played that awful volleyball derivation which I’ve only ever seen in the former Soviet Union which involves trying to smack the crap out of your helpless opponent with the ball. The second course was a very flavorful sheep-based soup, containing a variety of spices and peppers! And tomatoes! All this variety!

Then the weather changed. The temperature dropped and drizzle began to fall. The locals all pulled warm clothes out of their bags. I shivered. Eventually the drizzle turned into rain and I retreated into the Audi. Despite the weather, the party was not going to end until we’d had our beshbarmak. Of course, by the time the beshbarmak made its appearance, the weather was truly frightful: pouring rain, biting wind (children had been drafted into holding the blanket in place above the table as the wind had blown it loose from its holds in several places), and it was bitterly cold. The blanket, which had provided excellent protection from the sun, did little to keep out the rain.

I was summoned from the warm, dry confines of the Audi to partake of the beshbarmak. Let’s just say that was the quickest divvying up of beshbarmak that I’ve ever seen. Despite the absolutely foul weather – and the fact that by the end of the meal everyone was completely soaked and shivering, everyone remained in good spirits, laughing and joking, even as we frantically passed portions of beshbarmak to one another. An elderly fellow – a retired cop – turned to me and said with a smile, “Вот: настоящий Кыргыз пикник!” (“This is a genuine Kyrgyz picnic!”)

The instant that the plastic bags had been passed around for us to bag-up our leftovers (which for pretty much all of us consisted of ALL of the beshbarmak) we fled to our various cars and made for home. The “road” to the shore – which had been nothing more than a sandy track on our way in – was an absolute mire of clay-enhanced mud on our way out. I am amazed that we didn’t get stuck, given how we slipped, slid, and spun our way up to the main road.

I huddled under the covers with Котчик for the remainder of the afternoon, then spent the evening planning lessons before returning to the warm, cat-filled confines of my bed.

Classes in Bar Bulak

June 27, 2013

I taught my first classes here in Bar Bulak yesterday. I used the same introductory lesson that I had planned for my first classes in Toguz Bulak. It worked really well in the first two classes, although it was rather over the heads of my third group.

As in Toguz Bulak I am teaching three groups, although the set-up here has little else in common with the set-up in Toguz Bulak. The classes in Toguz Bulak were organized by age, and the students were selected based on their English ability. Here, I am not entirely sure how the classes were chosen. The first two groups each range in age from 8 to 21, and the students range in skill from low beginner to high beginner.

The third group consists of students ages 7 to 11, all of whom at least know the alphabet (to varying degrees), and who range in skill from flat beginner to low beginner. (For some reason, a 21 year old had initially been assigned to Group 3, even though she is 21 and a high beginner – at the end of our classes I asked her if it would be possible for her to come to one of the other classes instead, and she willingly agreed.)

Classes went well, although like I said, my lesson was too difficult for Group 3, even dumbed-down as much as I could on the spur of the moment. I will be able to use the same lessons that I used for my groups 2 and 3 in Toguz Bulak for my groups 1 and 2 here in Bar Bulak, but I will need to prepare completely new material for Group 3.

One thing that I really like is that my three groups meet back to back, at 9:00, 10:00, and 11:00. This means that I am finished by noon, giving me a lot more free time. (Not that there’s a whole lot to do in Bar Bulak, but I do love free time!) 

From Toguz Bulak to Bar Bulak

June 25, 2013

My last classes at the school in Toguz Bulak went well. Many of my students had their cell phones out recording our songs and my last lesson, and of course many of them insisted on having their photos taken with me. I gave them all my address and my email address, but who knows if I will actually hear from any of them again (especially via the email address, given how few of them actually have internet access).

My last night with my host family was quite wonderful – although a tad bizarre. Nuraika and her Bishkek cousin decided that they wanted to dress in ‘traditional’ Kyrgyz clothes and have me take photos. Somehow the first part of this turned into dressing the two and a half year old boy, Nurel, in a shiny gold dress. Not sure why, but ok.

Then, once the girls had donned their outfits, Altynbek’s mother (who had definitely taken quite a shine to me) decided to gift me with a traditional Kyrgyz robe and hat. Then we took numerous family photos.

Best photobomb ever.
Me and the girls
Me and the family

Nursultan gave me a miniature felt yurt, designed to old pens, cell phones, documents, and other small items. I gave the kids a set of flashcards that I had made last semester and had brought with me (but which I hadn’t had the need to use) which consisted of photos of animals (both singular and plural) with the words identifying them in English on the back. I also gave Altynbek my wind-up lantern, as he had been so impressed by it during our snow-caused power-outage.

The following morning, though, my joy of living with these folks was slightly tarnished by their creation of the Worst Kite Ever: a bird with its leg tied to a string and a weight attached to the other end of the string to prevent it from flying more than a few meters. This catastrophe was then given to Nurel for his amusement. Given how I hate to see any animal suffer (especially when the suffering is merely for entertainment), this was rather traumatic for me, and an unfortunate final memory of my homestay in Toguz Bulak. (I did, however, get to use the seemingly useless phrase that I learned back in 2008 during my abortive attempt to study Kyrgyz: чымчыкка отурба – don’t sit on the bird.)

Altynbek and the bird kite
Altynbek flying the bird kite

Shortly after 10am, Kuban (pronounced with the b nearly silent), my “host father” from Bar Bulak arrived (not surprisingly, in a 20ish year old Audi) to ferry me to my new home. I put “host father” in quotes, as he is my age, and his wife, Rita, is a year younger than me. Although they have four kids… something that I cannot imagine ever having, much less having right now! He is some sort of imam at the local mosque, and he also owns or manages a farm. His wife is both a history teacher at the school where I will be teaching for the next four weeks and the school’s director. They have four kids, although one of the children is currently out of town. The remaining three are two girls (Aidai, 10 and Jarkynai, 2) and a boy (Akhmat, 4). Rita, Kuban, and Aidai all speak excellent Russian, so as in Toguz Bulak, I will have no trouble communicating with my host family. Akhmat seems a little confused as to why I don’t understand his Kyrgyz though!

I am actually staying in the older house next door to the house in which the family currently lives, and which seems to be used mainly for storage. My room, however, is quite comfortable and clean. After I unloaded all of my things into my new room, though, I discovered that the power was out. Hahahaha. Apparently I gave away my wind-up lantern too soon, as power-outages are fairly frequent here. Sigh. One of the first things I did was to turn on my computer to see if I had an internet signal of any sort with either my Beeline or MegaCom SIM cards. I had absolutely no cell signal on my phone, so I was quite surprised when my cell-modem connected. I was able to quickly shoot off a brief email to friends and family, letting them know that I had arrived in Bar Bulak, before I lost the signal entirely. The fact that I got a connection at all must have been a fluke, as I have yet to be able to re-connect. (You know the old adage that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? Well, my hosts probably think I’m a bit nuts as I continue to attempt an internet connection over and over with absolutely no luck.)

The family lives in the building on the right; I lived in the building on the left.

Giving up on the internet, I went outside to explore. Near the back of the property, I spotted a small, reddish-brown, Mochi-type dog, which I approached using my talking-to-dogs voice. It skeedaddled. (It belongs to one of the neighbors.) Then I heard a loud, large-dog WOOF! At the back of the property, sadly stuck on a very short chain, was a large, white dog. I approached him, continuing to talk in my talking-to-dogs voice, and he immediately began wagging his tail. He turned out to be a big baby, who wanted nothing more than to have his head scratched. I was later told that I should be really careful around him because he is a “злая собака” (evil/angry dog) – hah! The dog and I are friends and he’s going to get a head rub every day for the next month.

Then it was time for tea – a bit of a slow process, as there was no electricity and we had to heat the water inside a fire-powered самовар. While we were drinking tea, the elder daughter mentioned something about a мышык. Now while мышык might sound an awful lot like the Russian word for mouse, it’s actually the Kyrgyz word for cat. My immediate reaction was to ask, “You have a cat?!” The answer? “Oh yeah, he’s around somewhere.”A scrawny, young, black tomcat showed up about half an hour later, vociferously demanding food and attention – and to my joy he was welcomed into the house.

As I am sure you are aware, I usually either travel with my pets or acquire pets at my destination. Or both. Not having pets during my month in Toguz Bulak was really difficult for me. The only thing I’ve missed more than non-sheep food has been my pets. The dog and cat here in Bar Bulak aren’t my pets, but they certainly are making for some lovely interim substitutes.

After tea, I scooped up the cat (whom I have decided to christen Котчик since he doesn’t have a name) and headed for my room to nap. Котчик was thrilled with the attention and purred and snuggled like crazy. I always like to read before I nap/sleep, but this time sleep was not to be. As I snuggled with Котчик while reading a book, Rita came in and told me that it was time to go to a party. It seems it’s always time to party in Kyrgyzstan.

Apparently one of their relatives had recently gotten married, and her family was having a feast in order to celebrate. At this point in my trip, such feasts have become commonplace for me: tables laden with breads, jams, salads, cookies, and candies, and multiple courses culminating in beshbarmak. There were two things that were different about this party: 1. No booze, and 2. More vegetables! Juice! Ham! I’d been a little worried that I might come down with scurvy up in Toguz Bulak with our meat-n-potatoes diet, occasionally augmented by an onion or a carrot or a plate of sliced cucumber. In contrast, the vast selection of salads at this party was impressive and I ate a lot. (I was surprised at the inclusion of a Russian-style, mayonnaise-covered salad containing diced ham, given the no-booze and prevalent Islamic paraphernalia at the home where the party was held, but I didn’t question it too much – it was meat from a non-sheep!

I had prepared myself for a six+ hour affair, but was pleased when things wound down around the three-hour mark, as I desperately needed a nap. We returned home, and I rounded up Котчик to be my napping partner. He snuggled, purred, and accompanied me to sleep – and was still at my side when I awoke two hours later.

I got up, organized my things for my first classes the following day (using the same initial lesson plan that I had used in Toguz Bulak), and then went out to watch Rita milk the cow. I even gave it a shot. Turns out milking a cow is harder than it looks. You have to pull on the cow’s teats surprisingly hard. I was able to do it, but nowhere near as rapidly as Rakhat or Rita. At that point Aidai said that she wanted to show me the mountains. We met up with a friend of hers, and walked across the street.

Bar Bulak parallels the main road along the southern shore of Issyk Kul. The bulk of the village is located on the southern side of the road, which is lush, green, and fertile. Directly across the road are large, steep, barren, scree-covered hills. We climbed to the top of one of the hills. From the top we could see the entire village, as well as Issyk Kul (located roughly two kilometers away).

Aidai
You can see Lake Issyk Kul on the right

After climbing back down the hill, we wandered over to the old school, located about 50 meters from “our” house – and where I will be teaching. There is a brand new school building in which I had been given the option of teaching; however, it is located over a kilometer away and atop a steep hill. Needless to say, I chose the nearby old school. The school building itself was locked, but we walked around the playground. Aidai and her friends played on the equipment and then picked a bouquet of flowers for me. At that point it had grown fairly dark, so we returned home.

The old school building

In which I drive a car

June 24, 2013

A few days ago, the boys (Nursultan and his cousin Akhmat) had asked me if I could drive a car and if I could drive a stick shift. They had wanted to know all about what kind of car I drove, and I think they were a little disappointed to learn that I drive a ten year old, two-door Toyota. Yesterday afternoon, as I was planning my final lessons, the boys and Rakhat came into my room.

“So… the boys say that you can drive a car?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you can drive a stick shift?”

“Yes.”

“So…. Could you drive us to Turt Kul this evening? My mother’s having a party for her granddaughter’s first birthday, and Altynbek’s only just now leaving Bishkek. If you can drive us to Turt Kul, he’ll meet us there and drive us back.”

“OK – sure!”

“And you’re sure you can drive a stick shift?”

“Definitely!”

I love driving. Driving is one of those things that I always miss when I’m living overseas, and that’s not only due to the fact that I’m far less likely to become motion sick as the driver than as the passenger. I really just enjoy driving. And I far prefer driving a stick to an automatic. With a stick you’re far more in tune with your car – and you have much more control over your acceleration. (Believe me, if your car has a wimpy little four-cylinder engine like mine, you need as much control over your acceleration as you can get!)

Anyway, I was very excited about the opportunity to drive – especially since I’ve long wanted the experience of driving in Kyrgyzstan. Of course, I’m not licensed to drive in Kyrgyzstan, and the traffic police here are known for shaking down perfectly legal drivers for as many soms as they can get… Then there’s that interesting off-road detour alongside the road-work on the way out of the valley to the main road. I was looking forward to driving, but I admit that I was a little apprehensive as well.

I had changed out of my lounging-around-the-house t-shirt and shorts and into a nice going-to-a-party blouse and skirt, which of course caused everyone to ask me if I’d be able to drive in a skirt. Seriously. They asked if I should be wearing pants in order to drive. Haha, no I think I’ll be fine. Altynbek’s mother, Nurel, Rakhat and I loaded into the car and set off for Turt Kul.

It went off without a hitch. All that off-road driving I’ve done in the back woods of Georgia (in two-door Toyotas and other vehicles not designed for such things) certainly prepared me for driving the off-the-road stretch in a twenty year old Audi. Along the way we picked up two local hitchhikers, both of whom were hoofing their way to the main road in order to catch a marshrutka to Bishkek. They each did quite a double-take when they got into the car and realized that I was the driver. We also got obvious double-takes from pretty much every car we passed along the way. Obvious foreign chick driving a car full of locals, WTF? Haha.

As we were off-roading our way towards the main road, I had noticed that the gas gauge was really, really low. After we had dropped our hitchhikers off at the bus stop, I mentioned this to Rakhat as I didn’t know if she was aware of how low on fuel we were or not. Apparently she hadn’t been. Knowing that the nearest gas station was in Turt Kul (our destination) we began looking for any private homes or small stores selling бензин (gasoline).

As we drove, Rakhat and Altynbek’s mother peppered me with questions about my driving experience. They seemed quite impressed by the fact that I had been driving a stick shift since the age of 15 and therefore had been driving for 19 years. (Yes, I am that old.)

Eventually, in the second village we came to – as the car was running on fumes – we passed a home with a cardboard sign propped up outside which read ‘БЕНЗИН’ and I pulled over. Rakhat went inside and returned with a boy about 12 years old carrying two 2-liter bottles filled with gasoline and a funnel. Money changed hands, and the gas was funneled into our tank. A couple of locals walked by during this process, noticed me sitting in the driver’s seat, and cracked up like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. Once the four liters were funneled into the tank, we had plenty of gas to make it into Turt Kul without incident.

(Altynbek’s mother was apparently very impressed by my driving skills and history, telling everyone at the party about said skills and the fact that I’d been driving since I was 15. She told this to pretty much everyone as they arrived, to the point that I actually felt kind of embarrassed.)

The party was for the first birthday of Rakhat’s niece. Rakhat’s sister lives in Russia, and her two children live with their grandmother in Turt Kul. The party was held at Rakhat’s mother’s house, the same place where the forty-day memorial service had been held just a few days before. (And much of the food consisted of leftovers from the previous event.) This was a much smaller affair (only close family, close friends, and me) and much livelier – including games for the children and vodka for the adults. (As Altynbek joined us there, I was unable to use the excuse of being the driver in order to abstain.)

As always, we had a table of boorsook, other fried breads, rolls, salads, and candies, followed by beshbarmak and quite a few shots of vodka. After the party was over, we loaded into the car (this time with me as a passenger in the back seat). We swung through a gas station to fill up the tank for real, and then returned to Toguz Bulak.

Horse in all forms

June 22, 2013

I slept in late today, and as such it was nearly 10am when I was awakened by a summons: one of my students was taking me to spend a day in the mountains with her family. Okay. The mother of this particular student is a math teacher at the Myrzamambetov School, and she is also related to the director of the London School. (She is the director’s niece, and from what I understood, her husband is the director’s husband’s nephew – although I could be wrong about that.)

My student, Burella, took me to her family’s house where her parents, brother, and cousin were waiting. Her brother, Murat, is also one of my students. Their cousin was visiting from Bishkek. He was a first-grader, and definitely a city boy. He did not seem to be enjoying his stay in the country at all. They also had an incredibly sweet, one-eyed, white-haired dog.

The family had a table piled high with boorsook, candy, and salad – and they were preparing plov. Now, before I had left *my* house, my host family had insisted that I breakfast on plov. As such, I wasn’t sure how much more plov I could eat, as it was only an hour since I had eaten breakfast! Then I learned that instead of the usual sheep-meat, this plov was made with horse-meat. My apologies to Honey and Merlin (my/mom’s horses in the US), but that stuff was delicious and I ate a lot.

Burella
Left: Cousin; Right: Murat

After our late morning feast, Burella, Murat, their young cousin, and I loaded into the family’s SUV. Murat (who just finished 11th grade) drove. We drove up into the foothills of the mountains, not far from where Rakhat and Altynbek keep their sheep. Murat and Burella’s family has a small home up there where their grandmother lives, and where they keep several horses. Murat and Burella’s older sister Aliman (who studies at a university in Bishkek) was there visiting, along with the mother of the first-grader and her six month old infant.

Their land is the location of one of the nine springs which give the village of Toguz Bulak its name (toguz = nine, bulak = spring or water source). As a Floridian, the word “spring” conjures up images of large, round, deep, crystal clear holes from which large amounts water emanate, and in which swimming is possible. In contrast this “spring” was a boggy area from which water slowly leached out of the soil, first forming mud, then a trickle, and then a small stream. They showed me the spring and their horses, and then we drove further up into the foothills to visit their neighbors.

Murat and one of his family's horses
The "spring"
Me and Aliman

We arrived at a small house near a stream (fueled by snow-melts) and surrounded by chickens, turkeys, and their chicks. We met the woman who lived there and her young daughter, with whom we then drank several cups of kumys (fermented horse milk). While kumys is a fermented beverage, it is generally considered ‘mildly alcoholic’ and even the few Kyrgyz teetotalers out there still drink it. This stuff, though, was pretty potent, and after several cups I was feeling a tad buzzed.

Turkey family
Chicken, stream, and outhouse
Stirring the kumys
Aliman

Aliman and I wandered around the jailoo (high mountain pasture) for a little while, and visited another of their neighbors. This family lived in a yurt, and had an incredibly adorable puppy – which unfortunately was terrified of me.

We then returned to the first neighbor’s house to watch them milk their horses. The nursing foals are kept tied in a row during the day, away from their mothers. At milking time, the horses are rounded up and their mothers are herded over to their babies. Each foal is allowed to drink a little bit to get the milk flowing, and then the horse is milked in much the same way as a cow.

I was offered a fresh glass of horse milk. I was worried, because while I love fermented milk products, I cannot drink straight cow milk. It makes me gag. (I can drink chocolate milk, but not straight, white, cow milk. Yuck.) I was worried that I might have the same reaction to horse milk, but luckily I did not. In fact, horse milk tasted more like soy milk than cow milk – although I found the fact that it was still warm a tad disconcerting!

Drinking fresh horse milk
After the horses were milked, we said goodbye to the neighbors and returned to the grandmother’s house for a mid-afternoon bowl of soup (accompanied, of course, by tea and more kumys), and then it was time to return home.

Mourning

June 21, 2013

Today was an interesting day, if somewhat depressing. Weather-wise (in contrast) the local weather gods decided to honor the summer solstice with clear skies and temperatures in the upper 70s. For the past few days Rakhat and Altynbek have been away from home, and the kids and I have been in the care of Altynbek’s mother and youngest sister who arrived from Bishkek mid-week. (While Altynbek’s mother has yet to make good on her threat to split a bottle of vodka with me, she has coerced me into taking one to three shots with her every evening. This woman has birthed twelve kids; she doesn’t take no for an answer.)

Altynbek has been away on business. Meanwhile, Rakhat was off in her home village preparing for today’s event. In mid-May, Rakhat’s father died, and here in Kyrgyzstan, on the fortieth day after a person’s death, a memorial service is held. The even lasts all day, although only the chief mourners (in this case Rakhat, her mother, and their close relatives) were there all day. At around 11:30, Altynbek’s mother, sister-in-law (who arrived from Bishkek around 11:00) and I set off in a taxi for the village of Turt-Kul where Rakhat was born and where her mother still lives. (Turt-Kul is a small village just west of Bokonbayevo.)

When we arrived, we were shown into a yurt filled with wailing, crying, and praying women, all of whom were seated around the edge of the yurt, facing the wall. Among them were Rakhat, her mother and (I believe) her aunt. I admit that this was rather uncomfortable for me, as this was such a personal moment for these people, and yet there I was, right in there with them. I closed my eyes and tried to pray. “Dear Rakhat’s father, I never knew you, but you raised a wonderful daughter.” What else was there for me to say?

At a seemingly preordained point the crying and praying ceased, and we all turned to face the center of the yurt. Altynbek’s mother and sister-in-law then presented Rakhat, her mother, and her aunt with several clothing items. At this point, a young man (in his late 20s or early 30s, whom I believe is Rakhat’s brother) entered the yurt and knelt near the door. He then uttered a long, sonorous prayer in Arabic. Afterwards, we went into the house.

In one room, there were three tables was laden with boorsook, rolls, fruits, salads, candies, and cookies. We sat at the tables for about fifteen or twenty minutes, somberly eating and drinking tea. During this time, the same young man came, knelt by the door, and uttered the sonorous Arabic prayer three more times. We then adjourned to the next room for beshbarmak, this time served with rice instead of noodles. At the end of the meal, a middle-aged man came and knelt next to us and uttered the same sonorous Arabic prayer. At that point, the guests left. There were others in the yurt, praying and crying, while still others were drinking tea and eating boorsook. Apparently mourners would be rotating through all day.

Snow storm in June?!

June 18, 2013

Yesterday morning the weather was cool – highs in the 60s – but the skies were clear and sunny. By noon clouds had blown in and rain had started to fall. By mid-afternoon the valley had turned into a wind-tunnel, with wind and rain howling past my window. By about 6pm, the rain had begun turning into sleet and snow flurries. By 8pm we were in a full-on, mid-winter type blizzard. A freakin’ blizzard. In June. And me with all of my summer clothes. Around 9pm, the power went out. After eating dinner by candlelight, I retreated under my covers with my kindle. The power remained off until about noon the following day.

Apparently this is the only time that anyone in the village can recall a snow storm in June. A few years ago they had a snow storm in May, but never in June. Just my luck. I experienced the coldest winter in Russia in decades back in 2006, the coldest winter in Kyrgyzstan in decades in 2008, and now the coldest summer in memory in the Issyk-Kul region. For a native Floridian, this is a rather horrible string of bad luck with weather.

When I awoke in the morning, it was still quite frigid and the sky was an ominous grey – although the snow had stopped falling and the previous evening’s snow was in the process of melting away. I dressed in as many layers as I could gather. (I’d come prepared for summer, not for snow!) Then it was time to meet with Adilet and Aizhan, who had been sent out to Toguz Bulak from The London School to take photos of me, my host family, and my students for some sort of project. I was never really clear on what kind of project this was, but apparently the pictures absolutely had to be taken today. (For those of you wondering why I had to go to Bishkek on Friday to pick up my passport if people from The London School were going to make a surprise trip to Toguz-Bulak on the following Tuesday… well, this is Kyrgyzstan. Who knows?) Normally I would have been dressed professionally in order to teach – and especially for some kind of photo-shoot. I might have even considered make up… but it was really incredibly cold, and the only thing I was considering was warmth. I definitely looked a bit rough.

Adilet took photos of me and my host family at breakfast, and then we set off for the school… which was locked. My students were waiting by the locked front door, but no one else was around. Luckily, one of my students in Group 1 is the daughter of the school’s director, so I sent her off on a quest to locate the key. (Pretty much everyone here, including most of the students, has a cell phone, but as the power was out to the cell towers, no one had a cell signal, and they had to go in search of the key on foot.) Finally, after waiting on the frigid front step for a good half hour, they key arrived and we were able to go inside. Of course, being inside wasn’t much of an improvement, as the school was chilly on the best of days, and didn’t have any heat. Sigh.

Me with Nurel, Nuraika, and their cousin at breakfast
Me with Group 1 - locked out and waiting for keys
Adilet

Adilet took quite a few photos and videos of me teaching Group 1, and then returned to Bishkek. Some of the photos have since appeared on Facebook, but I’m not sure what’s going to be done with the rest.