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.

Not at my best in Bishkek, Part 1

June 17, 2013

I had to go to Bishkek this past weekend to collect my passport with its extended visa from The London School. On the previous weekend I had told Rakhat and Altynbek my plans to spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in Bishkek and I had asked them how I could get from Toguz Bulak to Bishkek. I was told that there would be plenty of marshrutki and that as such it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know about “plenty” as I’ve only ever seen one or two marshrutki in Toguz Bulak, but I was reassured that they didn’t seem to think that it would be difficult for me to find transport.

I really began to look forward to my trip to Bishkek. I began fantasizing about Fatboy’s and Cyclone and Georgian food and rabbit, and basically anything that I might be able to eat which didn’t contain sheep. I had other plans too, including getting the long lens on my camera fixed, buying a new Coolpix to replace the one I’d ruined (the purpose of the Coolpix was to take video for my grad school independent study project since my DSLR doesn’t take video; I’d ruined it a week prior by accidentally dumping a bottle of Coke onto it and needed to get a new one), meeting up with various people, buying maxipads and tampons (yes, I was still bleeding at this point) as well as some new underwear, and taking a minimum of three long, hot showers.

But this is Kyrgyzstan, and I should know by now that there’s not much point in making concrete plans. Kyrgyzstan sees your plans, and raises you a laugh in the face.

On Wednesday, Rakhat told me that the entire family had decided that they, too, would go to Bishkek as most of Altynbek’s relatives (and a couple of Rakhat’s) live there… and they’d bring a sheep with them to slaughter. And of course I must attend the sheep slaughtering festivities because all of Altynbek’s family members were so looking forward to meeting me. My dreams of a sheep-free weekend went down in a boiling pot of mutton. They didn’t understand why I wanted to stay in a hostel, when I could just stay with them at the home of one of Altynbek’s relatives… my dream of a sheep-free weekend had already died, but I was not letting go of my dream of hot showers and sit-down toilets. I told them that I had already reserved my bed at the hostel and that I therefore had to stay there. Not really a logical argument, but I stuck to it. (I’m glad I did, as the relatives’ homes that I visited were on the outskirts of the city and did not have running water or sit down toilets.)

I asked them what time we’d be leaving on Friday morning. This was important as I needed to be at The London School no later than 6pm to pick up my passport, and the drive from Toguz-Bulak to Bishkek takes a minimum of three and a half hours. I was told that we’d be leaving around 10am, as Rakhat had some things she needed to do at the school in the morning. I’d have preferred to be on the road earlier, but leaving at 10am would still give me plenty of time to pick up my passport and knock some items off of my to-do list.

Friday morning I was up, dressed, packed, and ready to go by 8:30am. Over breakfast, Rakhat asked me if I was going to the school. Why would I be going to the school? It was Friday, and I don’t teach classes on Fridays. It turned out that this Friday was a ten year school reunion at the Myrzamambetov School, and all of the teachers (including me and Rakhat) were expected to attend. “But we’re going to Bishkek!” I was suddenly feeling a bit panicked, envisioning a combination of drunken American high school reunions and six hour long Kyrgyz feasts. “Oh, don’t worry,” I was told, “It will only take a couple of hours, then we can leave.” A couple of hours? Seriously? Arrrrgh. We didn’t leave Toguz Bulak until nearly 1pm, at which point I was feeling thoroughly stressed about whether or not I’d get to The London School before 6pm.

(As an aside, the ten year reunion involved the former students reuniting not only with each other, but with their former teachers as well. They also got to meet the new teachers, hired since their graduation, and quite a few of the current students who had turned out for the event. They took a tour of the school, watched a short video about the school, and listened to a speech by the director. This was apparently followed by dining and dancing, but luckily we left at that point, as we very much needed to get on the road.)

The road into Toguz Bulak from the main road along the southern shore of Lake Issyk-Kul into the village is being paved, and as such it is closed. Or perhaps I should write “closed.” It’s the only way in and out of this part of the valley other than a very lengthy detour. As such, no one heading in or out is bothering with the detour; they’re just off-roading alongside the roadwork instead.

Rakhat, Altynbek, the three kids and I loaded into the car – a twenty or so year old four-door Audi, the trunk of which was packed to the brim with everything we might possibly need in Bishkek, including satchels full of the boorsook we made the other day and a live sheep. The poor thing bleated from the trunk all the way to Bishkek. It was cold and rainy when we squished ourselves into the car, so they cranked up the heat before we began our off-roading adventure to reach the main road. Now those of you who suffer from motion sickness should already be cringing: cramped quarters, no ventilation, heat, and a bouncy, winding road? That’s a sure recipe for motion sickness right there. Now, I’d taken my homeopathic motion sickness meds (I can’t take even the “non-drowsy” Dramamine as it knocks me out cold for a good 8 hours if not longer) so I didn’t vomit, although I did develop that nasty dizzy feeling that accompanies motion sickness. As such, I did not feel too great by the time we reached the main road. Combine that with three more hours squished into the hot, unventilated back seat with a screaming toddler while stressing about whether or not I’d make it to The London School in time to pick up my passport and you have the prefect recipe for a migraine. Yay.

We arrived in Bishkek around 3:30pm, but instead of going to the hostel to drop me off, our first destination was the home of one of Altynbek’s brothers who lives in the north-eastern part of Bishkek, over by Dordoi (in fact, his wife works at Dordoi). For those of you who don’t know the geography of Bishkek, let’s just say that this is a long way from The London School. I mentioned that I really needed to get to The London School soon and was told, “It’s ok; you’ll have plenty of time. We’re just stopping for tea; this’ll only take about an hour.” My headache cranked up a couple more notches. It wasn’t yet a migraine, but I was pretty certain that it was heading in that direction. After “tea” (which was, of course, a full meal) I was finally delivered to my hostel, where I arrived at 5:30pm.

I popped two Excedrin and called The London School to explain that I’d only just gotten into Bishkek and that I was on my way to get my passport. The person whom I was meeting agreed to wait for me. I ran down to Sovietskaya and caught a taxi.

“What? You haven’t left for the village yet?” asked the taxi driver. Yes, I had been driven to The London School by this very taxi driver before, and had talked to him about what I was doing in Kyrgyzstan. I explained to him that I had been out in the village for a month and was just in town for the weekend. The previous time I’d ridden with this fellow, he’d seemed the friendly, avuncular type (although as I’m sure my mother would point out, he is now in my ‘datable age bracket’), but this time I got the standard ‘Are you married?’ question. I answered with “No, but I have a boyfriend back in the US” – and the response? “Well he’s there and you’re here… we should get to know each other a little better.” Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Really? I haven’t showered in a week, I’ve been in a hot car all afternoon, and I’m all squinty from my headache and you’re hitting on me? After I tell you I have a boyfriend? I was so not in the mood for this at all.

By the time I got to The London School, the migraine and the Excedrin were doing full battle, and the Excedrin was losing. I reclaimed my passport and tried to have a sensible chat with the folks there (although I’m sure I failed). Then I went to the grocery store in the VEFA Center in order to purchase some juice, a coke, maxipads, and soft toilet paper. I sat in the courtyard at VEFA drinking my coke and swallowing two more Excedrin in the hopes that my headache might go away. It didn’t, but for a while the Excedrin had the upper hand in the battle.

I took a taxi back into the center. When this fellow asked me if I was married, I answered yes. “Oh, how many children do you have?” “None.” “Why not?” “I don’t want any children.” “What? A woman who doesn’t have children isn’t a real woman, and a wife who doesn’t give birth isn’t a real wife. If a wife doesn’t immediately become pregnant, a Kyrgyz man will divorce her.” I was not in the mood for this either.

My next stop was TSUM in order to buy a replacement Coolpix. I told the guys at one of the camera-kiosks that I needed the cheapest camera they had that could take video – and they sold me the exact same model of Coolpix that I had ruined the week before, only in pink.

I then wandered along Kievskaya, looking for a place known as Dom Byta that I’d been told would probably be able to repair my DSLR's long lens. At that point it was after 8pm on a Friday, and I didn’t expect Dom Byta to be open, I just wanted to locate it and discern what time it might open the following morning. I knew roughly where it was, but I couldn’t locate it – and my attempts at doing so were hampered by the fact that I was in full migraine-aura mode. The Excedrin was still keeping most of the pain at bay, but I was having a fairly difficult time seeing straight.

I gave up on my quest for Dom Byta and stumbled over to Fatboy’s for some non-sheep dinner (which I admit I did not enjoy given how I felt). I then made my way back to the hostel where I took a long, hot shower (which alas, I also did not enjoy) before collapsing onto my bed, taking one of my three remaining Imitrex, and promptly passing out.

Arrival in Toguz-Bulak

May 28, 2013

This morning I awoke quite early, as I had to be at the London School with all of my possessions (which have grown to include a computer, a shyrdak, and a bucket). The taxi driver who drove me to the London School wanted to know where I was from, how old I was, if I was married, if I was a lesbian, if I had a boyfriend, and if I was a virgin. In that order. Great. Welcome to Kyrgyzstan.

I met the London School’s director and her driver at the school and we set off for Toguz-Bulak. We only stopped once along the way, at the rest area at Kholodnie Vodi – not much there other than some kiosks selling snacks, and of course a cold water spring from whence the tiny village gets its name. There was also an incredibly sweet little black dog there. If I had been in my own transport (and going to my own home), I would have taken her with me. I felt pretty terrible leaving her behind.

When we arrived at the village of Toguz-Bulak, our first stop was the Myrzamambetov Public School, where my classes would be held. All of the school’s students and teachers – and apparently a couple of parents – had turned up to meet me and to listen to the London School’s director give a presentation on who I was and why I had come to their village. From the exterior, it was obvious that the school was of fairly new construction, but the interior was dimly lit and frigid, despite the warm, sunny day outside. I grew chilled as the director gave her presentation. Her presentation was entirely in Kyrgyz – a language in which I can only speak a few words – so I don’t know everything that was said. I do know that she included things like:

Don’t ask the American for money. Just because she is a foreigner does not mean that she is wealthy. She is a graduate school student and is poor.

Americans smile a lot. This does not mean that they are crazy or that they want to date you. This is just their way of being polite.

If you wish to do anything with the American, please schedule it with her in advance – don’t spring it on her at the last minute.

Please be punctual. Americans value punctuality.

(While no one asked me for money while I was in Toguz Bulak, I’m pretty sure most people didn’t pay any attention to any of the other ‘tips’ for dealing with The American.)

The Director of The London School gives her presentation
The person on the left is a Smiling American

By the time the presentation had finished, I was feeling thoroughly chilled inside the dark school-building, and was looking forward to returning to the warm outdoors. Alas: during the time of the presentation, the sky had clouded up, and the outdoors had grown rather chilly. I found myself thinking how glad I was that I’d brought fleece-lined leggings to accompany my sundresses!

We left the school and headed towards my host family’s house on the northern edge of the village. They live in a brand-new, two-story house (it was just completed this past November), yet as is true in many Kyrgyz villages, they had no indoor plumbing to speak of. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a brand-new, two-story house with a pit squatter out back. And a yurt set up in the yard.

My home for the next month.

I met the family who were to be my hosts for the next month: Rakhat and her husband Altynbek, and their three children Nursultan (14), Nuraika (10) and Nurel (2.5). Rakhat teaches at the Myrzamambetov Public School as well – she is a teacher of chemistry and biology. Her husband is a farmer (they raise mostly sheep, but also some cattle, goats, and chickens) as well as the regional deputy who represents the three villages in the valley. We ate plov accompanied by boorsook and jam and copious quantities of tea, and then the London School’s director left.

The fried bread is called boorsook.
My room, complete with my shyrdak :-)

At that point I was feeling pretty exhausted and in need of a nap.

Two hours later, I awoke feeling refreshed and ready to explore my surroundings. I spent a little bit of time watching my hosts plow a small field, using a horse drawn plow. The horse was very compliant. I can just imagine the negative reaction if I attached a plow to the back of either of my horses in the US! They were plowing the field in preparation for planting wheat to feed their animals come wintertime.

Nursultan plows

After spending a little bit of time watching my hosts plow, I decided to go for a walk around the tiny and remote village. Toguz-Bulak is tiny – the size of many neighborhoods in the US – and very desolate: wide dirt streets, small cottages (many in various states of disrepair, although several even nicer than my hosts’ home, and all with pit toilets), livestock roaming free, and in the middle of a wide valley, lined on both the north and the south by tall mountains. From the western edge of the village, I could see two other villages of comparable size: Kul-Tor (where I was initially supposed to go) and one other village.

Main Street, Toguz Bulak
Nearly every village, no matter how small, has a monument to WWII. (The Soviet Union entered the war in 1941, thus the discrepancy with the starting date.)

Unfortunately, I managed to encounter not one but two Creepy Dudes, both in their forties, both quite drunk, and both way too interested in me. The second one actually followed me to my door. Unluckily for me, he turned out to be a childhood friend of Altynbek, and as such was invited in for tea. Aaaargh. Luckily, Rakhat and Altynbek only kept the drunk fellow around just long enough to be polite, then very forcefully sent him on his way. After he left, Rakhat said, “He’s actually a decent guy when he’s sober, but…” Yeah. I am all too familiar with that type, and let me tell you how not interested I am! I decided at that point to invent a fictional boyfriend to start telling people about. Toguz-Bulak is a small enough place that “fact” of whether or not I was single would probably spread very quickly.

After dinner, I sat down to plan my lesson for the following day. I knew that I would have three groups: high school, middle school, and elementary. What I didn’t know was what levels of English skills the students would have or whether or not any of them would speak Russian. I also didn’t know if the school had any materials available for me to use, or if the students even had textbooks. As such, I planned a lesson that was really simple: a personal introduction (including photos from home of my family, my house, and my pets), some basic vocabulary (translated into both Russian and Kyrgyz) and the song Hello, Goodbye by The Beatles. We’ll see how it goes!

The Breaking of the Fellowship

May 25, 2013

Friday morning it was raining. We slept in late, had breakfast at Fatboy’s, and then my companions – who were all getting ready to return to the UK – went on quite a shopping spree, buying souvenirs for themselves and their friends. I bought myself a second orange felt hat. One can’t have too many.

A and N in Fatboy's
B and me, Fatboy's
Awesome orange hat. Sadly it faded rather quickly, so it's no longer quite as awesome.

I had to go down to the London School to pick up a laptop, since for part of my volunteering program they wanted me to make some audio-recordings. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having a computer until I had the laptop in my possession. I told B, N, and A that I felt like a mother holding her firstborn and discovering that it was a cat.

Late in the afternoon – after an astonishingly easy trip to the post office in which the local employees were actually friendly and helpful – we walked down to Cyclone, an Italian restaurant on Chuy not far from the White House in order to consume some of their fantabulous hot chocolate. We decided to have pizza and fondue while we were there, as we were all rather hungry at that point, but the highlight was definitely the hot chocolate. I’m fairly certain that this place serves the absolute best hot chocolate in the world.

Me, B, A, and N in the outdoor part of Cyclone. Also, note our superawesome matching shirts. Nah, no tourists here.

While we were dining, we received a text from our friend Nargiza, one of the local staff at the London School who had worked there with us five years ago, asking if we’d like to meet up for dinner. We arranged to meet her at 9pm at Jalalabad, a lovely plov café not too far from Cyclone. (Apparently it was torched during the 2010 revolution, but it shows no signs of this now.) Dinner with Nargiza followed so closely on the heels of our late lunch at Cyclone that I wasn’t hungry enough to make much of a dent in my plov even though it was delicious. B ordered the “horse meat assortment” which contained straight-up horse meat, horse meat sausage, and horse meat guts. I tasted the regular horse meat, which was okay, if a tad dry. B apparently liked the meat and the sausage, but was thoroughly disgusted by the guts.

B and Nargiza, Jalalabad

Jalalabad is a halal restaurant, and as such doesn’t serve alcohol, so when we were finished with our food, we headed over to the Kant café on Kievskaya for some drinks. We hung out over there until midnight. Sadly, at that point it was time for N and A to taxi off to the airport.

Nargiza in Ala Too Square :-)
A, N, Nargiza, B, me, Kant Cafe

The next morning, B and I went to Fatboy’s for our last Kyrgyzstan 2013 breakfast together, after which it was his turn to taxi off to the airport, waving and shouting ‘No physical harm!’ as he sped off down Chuy.

B was pouting over having to leave.
It was sad to suddenly be alone in Bishkek, a feeling I had only experienced at the very, very beginning of my 2008 trip. Being in Bishkek without any of the 2008 crowd was somewhat surreal. Still, the first part of my journey was over, and the second part was just beginning (to loosely paraphrase Movie Gandalf).

I was scheduled to leave for Kul-tor on the following morning to begin volunteering. I went to one of the western-style supermarkets to stock up on quality toiletries (as opposed to the awful TSA-compliant ones I’d crammed into my carry-on). I then did some laundry out of our bucket and hung my clothes up on the roof of the hostel to dry. I then re-packed all of my things in order to fit the laptop into the mix. This was a bit of a challenge. I hadn’t brought my own laptop with me in the first place because I simply didn’t have room for it… however, once again, the bucket proved useful, as I was able to cram a whole bunch of stuff into it.

Around 4:30pm, just when I was beginning to ponder my dinner plans, the London School called. Apparently they hadn’t meant to give me the super-fast, brand new Samsung laptop that they had given me, and I needed to bring it back to them and exchange it for a different laptop. They also wanted to discuss some “changes to the program” with me. Could I come by the school at 6pm? Sigh. This meant that I had to completely re-do all of my clever packing.

I was feeling quite annoyed by the whole laptop exchange nonsense when I arrived at the London School, only to be told that actually, I’d need to stay in Bishkek an extra two days. The director of the London School wanted to meet with me before I left to discuss some changes; she would meet with me on Monday, and I would leave for the village on Tuesday. I have to admit that I returned to the hostel in a foul mood, between the exchange of a brand new Samsung laptop for an ancient Acer and the news that my departure would be delayed for reasons that were not entirely clear.

I decided to go out for overpriced curry to make myself feel better. There is a curry place called The Host located just across from the Hyatt. I enjoy local cuisine, but as I figured that as of Tuesday I’d be eating nothing but local cuisine, I figured I’d keep up my international menu as long as I could. The food was delicious and the service was incredible. I returned to the hostel in a much better frame of mind.

Back in Bishkek!

May 12, 2013

The first “day” of my trip spanned three dates (May 9-11) and roughly 43 hours (and for those of you who know my obsession with the number 43, not, I am not making that up). Thirty or so hours were spent in the tedious process of traveling from Orlando to New York to Istanbul to Bishkek. The trip wasn’t bad, although like any such lengthy trip, it wasn’t great either. I had a boring 5 hour layover in New York’s JFK (Terminal One of which seems to have been the design basis for Seoul’s ICN), followed by a ten hour flight in the middle seat next to a Bangladeshi fellow who was quite intent on sleeping on my shoulder. I’m not talking about the person who falls asleep and then topples over onto the person next to them whilst unconscious; this fellow actually said, “Can I sleep on you?” and then when I said no, proceeded to do it anyway. Grrrrr. I got very little sleep on the way to Istanbul as a result of this guy, but given how much I was fidgeting in my seat, I don’t think he slept much either. Hah.

In Istanbul I met up with B., and we obnoxiously cackled our way around the airport for about four hours before our flight left for Bishkek. (This included an incident in which B. became convinced that a flight departing for Mongolia with a layover in Bishkek – and which departed about 2.5 hours prior to our flight – was actually our flight. He even talked me into trying to board with him. The woman at the gate stamped his boarding pass before actually looking at it, and then telling him that this was a completely different flight and that ours left in 2.5 hours. Hah. Told you!) I was actually able to sleep on the flight to Bishkek, so I wasn’t completely dead to the world when we arrived at the Manas International Airport outside Bishkek at 5am local time on May 11th.

B with his incorrectly stamped boarding pass

I had to pay $70 (USD) for my student visa (yes, I was traveling under a student visa, even though I would actually be teaching, albeit as a volunteer) – this $70 fee was annoying as the tourist visa is free upon arrival, and since I had not been informed of this fee in advance. Luckily I had the cash I needed on me and was able to replace the “lost” $70 via an ATM in downtown Bishkek. I needed the “student” visa because I was planning to stay in Kyrgyzstan for two and a half months, and the tourist visa was only good for two months. While the initial student visa is only good for one month, it can be extended, while the tourist visa cannot be.

B and I met up with N and A who had arrived about an hour before us. We then hopped into our pre-arranged taxi (arranged through our hostel) and headed for said hostel – Sakura, located just outside the center of Bishkek, not far from the circus and the Hyatt. Check-in time at the hostel wasn’t until 11am, and we got there at 6am. Sigh. Luckily there was an incredibly adorable cat to play with. Eventually the owner awoke and let us put our bags up, although our beds were not yet ready. At that point we headed to Fatboy’s for breakfast.

B and the adorable cat
N and A at Fatboy's

On the surface, Bishkek seems nearly completely unchanged from 2008. Walking along Sovietskaya and Chuy, we felt as though we’d either never left or had stepped back in time five years. There were quite a few small, superficial changes, but overall nothing that stood out as a huge, fundamental change. Among the superficial changes we noted on our very first day back in the Motherland was the remodel of the interior of Fatboy’s. The menu was essentially the same, and the free selection of suspect reading material remained, but with the completely new remodel it was almost like being in a new (and not necessarily better) establishment. (In my opinion it was much cozier before.)

After breakfast, we strolled around the center of town. One main superficial change we noted was the replacement of the Erkendik (freedom) statue in Ala Too Square (which had been of a fantastical woman holding a tunduk – the top part of a yurt and the national symbol of Kyrgyzstan) with Manas (the legendary Kyrgyz hero), or as N put it, “trading freedom for nationalism.” The other was the addition of a new monument to the overthrow of Bakiev in the 2010 revolution. This monument is located next to the Kyrgyz White House. We also photographed Lenin (still lurking behind the State Historical Museum), then wandered over to Panfilov Park, taking pictures of creepy rides and riding the creaky ferris wheel. At that point we headed back to the hostel to check in and freshen up… then it was off to The London School.

Ala Too Square with the new Manas statue Ala Too Square looking the other direction One of the creepy rides in Panfilov Park The new monument to the 2010 Revolution

The London School has definitely changed a LOT in the past five years, although it remained quite similar nonetheless. The biggest difference was that it is now three stories (whereas five years ago it was only a two-story building – in my opinion this cannot be a good structural decision in a place prone to shoddy construction and earthquakes!) and it now has a huge office and reception area which filled half of the courtyard. Additionally, several of the old teachers’ apartments (including mine and B’s) are now classrooms. My old classroom, in contrast, is now the TLS teachers’ lounge. Most (perhaps all?) of the teachers live in a house off-site, and the remaining bedrooms where we all used to live are rented to foreign students who have come to TLS to study Russian or Kyrgyz.

The newly expanded London School as seen from the courtyard
My old bedroom!

We were very excited to discover that the tradition of keeping not entirely illicit cats at TLS continues (the staff continues to turn a blind eye). We met one of the resident cats, and of course played with it and held it for pictures while the security guard looked on in bemusement.

B, me, and N pose with a cat in front of our old rooms

After I had signed my volunteering contract and given TLS a copy of my passport and visa (so that they could begin the visa extension process) we went over to the VEFA center for the purpose of checking out the new (since 2008 anyway) Georgian restaurant located there. It turned out to occupy the expensive spot on the rooftop which can only be reached by taking the back elevator to the fourth floor then following a convoluted route of unmarked passages. We ate khachapuri adjarski (my favorite dish) as well as various salads. It was all quite delicious, although not as good as Mimino in Kiev (or actual food in Georgia I suspect, although I have yet to make it there).

N and A with khachapuri :-)

We then strolled through the grocery store on the first floor – no longer Ramstor, it is now Plus Market, where I picked up my “traditional” Kyrgyz snacks of Twix and chechil. Then we headed down Gorkova to the CBT office to confirm our homestay reservations for Kochkor and Arslanbob. CBT stands for Community Based Tourism, and this is without a doubt my favorite organization in Kyrgyzstan. They are incredibly well organized, very helpful, offer reasonably priced services, and something like 90% of the money they charge goes directly to the community members providing the various services (homestays, horse treks, transport, etc.).

At that point, I seriously felt like I was about to pass out from exhaustion – I was literally having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. We returned to the hostel, where I showered, then crawled into bed and slept for ten straight hours.

Smack!

July 5, 2008

The other day in one of my classes, while my students were quietly bent over their desks doing an exercise, the silence was broken by a loud WHUMP! We all turned and looked through the glass wall separating our classroom from the hallway... and there, dazedly stumbling about the hallway was a pigeon. It had flown in through the open window and smacked right into the glass, fishbowl-like wall of my classroom. I went out into the hall to see if it was OK, and as soon as it saw me, it recovered its wits and flapped right back out the open window. Then we noticed the "bird print" that it had left on our classroom wall - complete with a couple of feathers. The poor thing had been completely in full flight when it smacked into the wall. At least it was OK, if stunned. Check out the bird print though!

Of drivers and photos

March 8, 2008

Yesterday Kompanion had some sort of training pertaining to the ecology and environment of Kyrgyzstan (I wish I could’ve attended!) and as such I was without my morning class yesterday. I skipped my Kyrgyz class and slept until nearly 1pm. It was wonderful. Sadly, this means that next week I’ll be teaching my 8:00 Kompanion class on Wednesday morning in addition to the other four regular days – Boo!

Kompanion sends a car to The London School to pick me up in the mornings. My first two classes, I had drivers who were quite reserved, saying little more to me than hello. Thursday, I had a jolly, garrulous fellow as my driver, who wanted nothing more than to chat with me in order to practice his English. His daughter and grandson live in Tampa, so he was quite excited to learn that my father lives in Tampa. When he learned that his name, Evgeny, was the Russian equivalent to my dad’s name, Eugene, I swear he decided we were meant to be best friends. He says he’s going to try to get scheduled to be my driver as often as possible, which would be pretty cool.

Later Thursday, as I was taking a taxi to the Embassy, I had an interesting taxi driver. For one thing, he was totally hot, despite his mullet. Yeah, I said that. Shut up. He too was interested in chatting to practice his English. His car had the steering wheel on the right side instead of the left. While most cars here in Kyrgyzstan have the steering wheel on the left, I have seen a rather large number of cars with the steering wheel on the right. (Kendje and Bayan’s van has the steering wheel on the right, for example.) Anyway, my driver said that cars with the wheel on the right are much cheaper than those with the wheel on the left, so he purchased it because that way he could afford a car with more options. I asked him a question which, to be honest, has been bugging me for years: what are the differences when driving a stick on the right or on the left. I was imagining all the gears in reversed positions, and even possibly having to switch the clutch to the right foot... but apparently no. Everything is the same; it’s just that you’re shifting with the left hand.

My taxi driver then went on to tell me that if he gets pulled over for speeding, he just pays the cop 50 soms (less than $2) as a bribe, and everything is fine. However, if he gets pulled over for driving after drinking, he has to bribe the cop with $50 or $100, depending on the cop! Um, yeah.

Wednesday of this week was gorgeous: sunny and WARM. I was out and about without my jacket. For a while I was only wearing my t-shirt, and it was fabulous. I walked around the city, taking a bunch of random pictures for you to enjoy (below). The weather on Thursday had reverted to shit, and I was worried that we were going to have another spell of winter. Luckily, it seems to have been only temporary; today is gorgeous!

Jessica and Nick gave me this totally awesome fabric to cover my couch - which should go quite well with the orange walls which should be appearing later today!

My coolest slippers ever aren't faring too well, as Bee *loves* them a little too much. It's hard to tell from this shot, but I'm holding her up via the slipper. She's about 3 feet off the ground and refusing to let go!

I have *very* fresh garlic on my windowsill.

The London School is located on Baitik Baatur St (Байтик Баатыр), although this is a new, post-Soviet name. No one calls it Baitik Baatur - everyone still calls it by its old name, Sovietskaya (Советская). In some places, some people have expressed their displeasure at the name change with paint.

Bishkek, like so many formerly Soviet cities, is cursed with a lot of Soviet-era architecture.

Here's some more.

There's also this terrifying Soviet era "fountain" (minus water), which is oddly fascinating.

More fountain...

...and even more!

Ремонт обуви, or shoe repair - one of the best things ever!

A nice Bishkek street scene.

Those of you who know and love Cheburashka will be amused by this!

I'm tired. Я устала. Мен чарчадым.

March 5, 2008

At least I can express how I feel in three languages. This month I was supposed to have an easier schedule. Instead of having my first class of the day begin at 9:00am, I would be giving that class to a fellow teacher and moving instead to a class at 11:30am, thus earning a good two and a half hours more of sleep time per day. The 11:30 class was scheduled to be held on-site at MercyCorps Kompanion... but after I'd agreed to take the class, they called and said that actually, a class at 11:30 would really disrupt their working day, and it would be best to hold the class at 8:00am. Yeah. And you know how stellar I am with mornings. The class itself is actually quite fantastic - the students are all at the same level, they're all highly motivated, participate in class, and do their homework. Plus they're all friendly and incredibly funny. It's a really great class... but 8:00am. Yesterday I returned to The London School after my Kompanion class just in time for my Kyrgyz lesson, in which I was utterly useless and all but falling asleep in my seat. Not sure how long I can keep this up!

In which I feel a little like Salma Hayek in Desperado

February 27, 2008

The other day I had emerged from Tashrabat, the fancy Western-style shopping center on Gorkova where the "fast" internet cafe is located, and had just begun my trek back to The London School when an SUV with tinted windows pulled alongside of me and began honking. Now, in general, when a strange SUV with tinted windows pulls alongside of you and starts honking, the best thing to do is to ignore it, which is what I did. Then its window rolled down, and one of my students (er, former student; he's studying with Katy this month) appeared, leaning over, shouting, "Annie! Annie! Hello!" At which point he rear-ended the Mercedes in front of him. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I caused a guy to wreck his car. Luckily it wasn't serious, and he seemed more amused by it than anything else. He also told me that any time I needed a ride to give him a call. Because after seeing him wreck his car, getting into said car is exactly what I want to do.

Later that day, I went to my class at the embassy. Sort of. See, of the last four scheduled lessons at the embassy, one fell on Presidents' Day (woohoo for American holidays at the American Embassy!) and my one student was sick on the other three. And instead of phoning The London School to say that there would be no lesson, I discovered this each time after arriving at the embassy and going through the whole security rigmarole. Sigh. However, as this means less work for me, I'm not really complaining. Thursday was beautiful, so I decided to walk most of the way back to the school instead of calling a taxi; I think the school's staff thought I was insane for doing so!

Valentine’s Day Musings

February 17, 2008

When I was 18 years old and in high school, I had what I considered to be a serious boyfriend. I was head over heels in love with this guy, and thought he was wonderful. It was pretty obvious to literally EVERYONE else that this was a bad idea, except for perhaps my one friend whom he managed to convince to become his surreptitious girlfriend. Yeah. He was a great catch. What were we thinking? She and I are both well rid of that asshole. (Er, no offense to him or any of his relatives who might very well be reading this.) Anyway, during my senior year of high school, when I was besotted with said asshole, two teachers (who were at the time former teachers of mine) took me aside on different occasions to tell me that my boyfriend was a bad apple and a bad influence, and advised me that perhaps I should consider finding someone different. At the time, I simply felt awkward and uncomfortable during those conversations, and of course, I thought they had no idea what they were talking about. Looking back, it is nice to think that they were able to see that I was in way over my head in a bad relationship and tried to help me out, instead of simply looking the other way.

I bring all this up because one of my students is reminding me a lot of my high school self these days. She is sixteen, incredibly smart, very motivated, and an excellent student – one of my best. And she is completely in love with her boyfriend. I can totally understand what she sees in him: he’s very attractive, and is sixteen as well, although he looks older. He’s incredibly smart and funny, and he’s got that bad-boy thing going on that so many girls fall for. To top it off, comes from a pretty well-off family, which in a country like Kyrgyzstan can definitely be added to the plus column when rating a potential suitor. Sounds like a great catch, huh? Well, he wears this shiny rhinestone belt-buckle, decorated with a marijuana leaf, and his dream is to go to Amsterdam to “smoke the ganja” as he says. He’s also a total punk in class – smart, but much more interested in showing off in front of everyone else, making lewd jokes and whatnot. Those are pretty typical teenage boy kind of behaviors, but... Today he came into class with a video on his cell phone which he and his friends had edited and set to music. The video was shot yesterday. It was a video of him and two friends beating the shit out of another boy. Granted, the other boy fought back (the student in question came to class with an obviously bruised and swollen jaw), but he was no match for three other boys in tandem. By the end of the video, the victim was on the ground while the three others (including my student) kicked and beat him repeatedly. This was the video that they’d taken the time to edit, set to music, and load onto their cell phones. Let’s just say it was incredibly disturbing. Plus he was proud of it. I did lecture him about his behavior, but he obviously took my admonishments as some kind of a joke. I’d love to take his girlfriend aside and suggest to her that he is a bad apple and a bad influence, and that perhaps she should consider finding someone different... but I know exactly how she would react.

Studying Kyrgyz

February 14, 2008

Friday was our first day of Kyrgyz lessons. A group of 6 or so of us have decided to start studying Kyrgyz together once a week here at The London School. Unfortunately, on account of being out with the flu on Friday, I missed our inaugural class. I’ve been trying to catch up in preparation for this coming Friday. It doesn’t seem that I missed too much, and I hope I’m not deluding myself on this account. For those of you who are interested: Kyrgyz uses the Cyrillic alphabet (which I already know quite well), with the addition of three extra letters. One looks like a theta and sounds like the u in fur and church. One looks like a Cyrillic н with a tail, and it makes the ng sound. The other is a super-stiff looking y (as opposed to the relaxed looking Cyrillic у) and it makes a ew sound. (Sadly, even after installing what is allegedly “Kyrgyz Cyrillic” on my computer, I still don’t have those extra letters!) There are a lot of Russian to Kyrgyz cognates (ex: студент, ручка), although there are a couple that totally throw you off. Like мышык, which is Kyrgyz for cat, while мышь in Russian means mouse! Additionally, сабак is Kyrgyz for lesson, while the similar sounding Russian word собака means dog. It seems that the first lesson focused a lot on new vocabulary, and learning “Who is this?” “Who is that?” “What is this?” and “What is that?” so I think I won’t be too far behind the rest of the group. I’ll let you know though.

Just Call me Madame Ambassador

February 5, 2008

Okay, don’t actually call me that. I did, however, have my first class at the American Embassy on Monday. Going into the Embassy compound is just like going onto a military base – something I’m very familiar with from my days as the long arm of the law. Of course, back then, my badge would get me in wherever I wanted to go, unescorted. It was an odd feeling to have my things searched and to then be given a bright red MUST BE ESCORTED badge. Amazing how things have changed in my life in just three years. The compound had such an overwhelming US government feel, even though I only spoke with one American, and that was merely to say hello. So many buildings in the former Soviet Union are built of poured concrete, but the buildings of the embassy (at least in the part of the compound where I was) were made of standard US concrete blocks, covered in a thin veneer of bland paint, just like the innumerable government buildings I’ve been in during the course of my life. And it even SMELLED like a US government building: musty, vaguely mildewy, with a stale odor of coffee and that ubiquitous yet indefinable odor which makes one think good enough for government work.

Anyway, about my class: It’s a very low level class (still working on I am / he is / they are kind of stuff). I’d been told that they were very weak, so I’d prepared all sorts of activities to get them talking to one another in English, even if it was simply things like introducing themselves or their friends to each other. Unfortunately, while I’d expected three, possibly four, students, only one showed. He told me that one of the others was sick, and the other was considering dropping the class on account of not having liked the previous teacher. This meant I pretty much had to shelve all my interactive student-to-student activities, but I’d like to think the fellow got a lot out of his personal lesson. He’s the embassy’s plumber. We actually had a good chat (in both English and Russian) about the crackheads stealing my copper pipes, and about how stealing pipes is common in Kyrgyzstan, although here the thieves are usually common criminals, not наркоманки (drug users).

Part of the lesson dealt with nationalities. You know: He is from Germany, he is German. She is from Spain, she is Spanish. That sort of thing. Well, you’d think that He is from Kyrgyzstan, he is Kyrgyz would be a perfectly legitimate thing to say. However, nationalities in this part of the world are a wholly different concept from what we think of back home. I mean, I have grandparents who were born in Europe, but if you ask my nationality, I’ll tell you that I’m American, not Irish or Scottish or Italian or whatever. Perhaps it’s because everyone in the US is an international mutt that makes us all adopt “American” as our nationality; perhaps it isn’t merely the countries of the former USSR which have trouble handling this question. However, I do know that this particular concept is difficult for the entire land of Central Asia. My student and I had just gone over He is from Kazakhstan, he is Kazakh, She is from Uzbekistan, she is Uzbek, They are from Kyrgyzstan, they are Kyrgyz, and I asked him What is your nationality? His answer? I am Ukrainian. Apparently both his parents and all his known ancestors were born in Ukraine, although he was born in Bishkek (and, oddly looked more like an ethnic Kyrgyz than an ethnic Ukrainian or Russian). I didn’t press the issue or try to make him adopt the American point of view, that he is Kyrgyz, since ethnicity is still a big deal in this part of the world. Passports here have your ethnicity printed on them, and there’s definitely a division in the north between ethnic Russians and ethnic Kyrgyz. In the south, ethnic Uzbeks add tension to that mix – I believe the Uzbeks and the Kyrgyz massacred one another in Osh in the early 90s. And of course there are ethnic Uighars, Dungans, Chinese, Koreans, etc all floating around the country as well. Unlike the alleged melting pot of the US, where we all at least dress ourselves in the veneer of American nationality, these groups are far from ready to coalesce into something wholly and intrinsically Kyrgyz.

Next Month’s Schedule

February 3, 2008

Well, I’ve still got a pretty crappy schedule for next month – although I must admit that I quite like the extra $150 I received this month for having taught said crappy schedule. And I’ve pretty much gotten used to it. Being able to take a two to three hour nap between my morning and afternoon classes helps a lot. So yes, next month I still have my morning class. My afternoon schedule has altered somewhat, however. On Mondays and Thursdays I will now be teaching a class at the American Embassy! My students are Embassy employees, who are at the Elementary 1 level. I’ve told that it’s an incredibly weak class, and that I was chosen for it because I speak Russian. Cool. So on Mondays and Thursdays, my afternoon schedule is as follows:

2:30-3:50, Elementary 4

5:00-7:00, Elementary 1 at the Embassy

7:10-8:30, Pre-Intermediate 1

This is nice, since on Mondays and Thursdays I’ll have an additional break from 3:50-4:45 (when I leave for the Embassy). However, on Tuesdays and Fridays, my 2:30 and 7:10 classes will be the same, but I will be teaching Elementary 3 from 4:00-6:50. I’m not sure if that will be good or bad. Most of the students from that class should be students from this past month – if this is the case, it should be a good group. I’m just hoping that it doesn’t turn into nearly three hours of silent-as-death because my god, that would suck. (No class performance harm!)

Wednesday Warmth and the Whispering Club

February 3, 2008

A couple of my students have told me that the reason the power keeps going out is because of the severe cold this January. Supposedly, in addition to the sauna-like heat provided by the state-run heating system, people across Bishkek have been plugging in electric heaters to help alleviate the cold. They must not be receiving as much of the state heat as I am; I continually have to open my windows to cool my apartment down. (One senses inefficiency here...) This January has been exceedingly cold by Kyrgyzstan standards. I’ve been told that it’s the coldest January since 1984, and, alternately, the coldest in thirty years. (How is it I managed to land my southern self in Russia during the coldest winter in decades and then managed to do the same in K-stan?) Anyhow, if these electric heaters really are to blame for the frequent power outages in Bishkek, then we may very well have seen the last of them. Maybe. I awoke on Wednesday to blue skies, shining sun and melting snow. And unlike the previous and unbearably frigid Wednesday, I did not spend this glorious day out and about having adventures.

The view out my window on Wednesday

I awoke Wednesday morning utterly unable to utter a sound. For me, losing my voice is often the last stage of any illness, and sometimes my voice will remain absent for many days. I spent Wednesday morning and early afternoon in bed, feeling like hell while sipping mint tea with honey, and then got ready for work. No, we don’t teach classes on Wednesdays, but we do hold a weekly Talking Club late Wednesday afternoons. Teachers alternate as the host of Talking Club, and as such only have to work one Wednesday a month. I would be assigned to host Talking Club on the day I couldn’t talk. Oh, irony. Luckily, K (one of the other teachers here) was assigned to be my partner, so my whispery self wasn’t completely responsible for conducting Talking Club.

I wish I’d felt better – and had had a voice – as the three Talking Club groups were quite talkative. (You might assume this to be always the case, as it is a club for *talking* and all, but quite often we get students who come and just sit in silence.) The first group (pre-intermediate) didn’t like the chosen topic, and instead just wanted to chat. Since they actually were willing to chat (instead of needing to be guided by a specific topic), we let them. The most talkative ones in the group were my students, and they knew I was sick. They did me the favor of directing most of their questions and conversation towards K, so that I didn’t have to say much. The second group (intermediate) wanted to talk to me, however. This was fine... except that by the third group (advanced) I was feeling miserable, craving Nyquil and bed. The topic for the advanced group was marriage, including Kyrgyz marriage traditions (bride kidnapping, anyone?) and I would have loved to have taken an active part in that conversation. Instead it was just about all I could do to sit erect and look as though I were paying attention.