Week 1

This past week, after three days of the Kazakh language reminding me that every word is a tongue twister, I met up with some current Peace Corps volunteers. They are a part of the group that I worked with during training, way back in the fall of 2008. I remember them in their worst possible moments (just getting off the plane, during their first round of vaccines from doctors with Russian accents, struggling with their experiences in front of Kazakhstani classrooms); so it is wonderful to see them accomplished and feeling comfortable in this country. Their experiences have been very different from mine, yet I understand how they feel right now with just a few months left of service. Ready to go home!

They had plenty of gossip to pass along and also plenty of recommendations: a new Mexican-American restaurant, couches to surf around the country, and the marine-hosted Fourth of July party in Astana. It made me smile -- I remember well how it felt to have Almaty (and the Peace Corps office lounge) as a haven. How astonishing and wonderful it was to find carrot cake or a real pizza.

I tried to explain that, really, I have just come from America. That I’d lived another couple lives between my last time in Kazakhstan and now. That two weeks ago I was at the Ultimate Frisbee nationals tournament and spent an hour eating bratwursts and riding carnival rides. That I’m only in Kazakhstan for a few precious weeks. And that all I really want to do is stuff my face with laghman, manty, and cups of hot milky tea.

I am living with a great family near the center of Almaty. Our neighbor is the Esperanza café and discoteka. The family is helping me with my above food requests and has in general been very welcoming. Adizhan, the four-year-old youngest child, provides me with constant entertainment. I like to think we find each other equally fascinating. I’ve recently, at his mother’s urging, taught him to ask “May I?” with a good American accent before barging into my room. My first night here, blurry with jet lag and already falling asleep in bed, he came in to give me an impromptu goodnight hug. On the less fun side of things, I made him cry yesterday by telling him that he could not continue to play ping-pong against the wall (he lost the ball multiple times under the bed/couch). We do appear to be friends again today, though.

It is more than a bit strange to live in Almaty. For a recent Kazakh assignment, I produced the following sentence: “I think that the foreign students studying at KIMEP are not seeing the real Kazakhstan.” This is a bit harsh -- Almaty is certainly a part of Kazakhstan (though KIMEP, a regional powerhouse university, raises serious doubts), and city life in general is found throughout the country. But there is just something so unreal about being here. The traffic is crazy, but people still stop for pedestrians at marked crosswalks. Strangers on busses offer up their laps for the bags of standing passengers. The Mc Burger restaurant is near the bubble tea cart which is near restaurant with free wi-fi. Almaty is not an intimidating city, I don’t think. There is a sense of law and order, there are those looming mountains with their dramatic weather, there are fountains and many parks with rows and rows of blooming roses. I am enjoying having the time and motivation to wander.

One of my favorite things about Almaty is that no one ever seems to know where anything is located. I have already been asked for directions more times that I can count, and I was even able to help once. People ask what the next street is, where the bus stop is, how to get to the nearest pharmacy. Asking strangers is standard operating procedure, even for people who have lived in Almaty all their lives.

Then there are the wonderfully bizarre moments that I love. The bar, for example, with numerous prominently displayed signs reading “Smoking is strictly forbidden” that brings its patrons ash trays and makes no comment when cigarettes appear. The conductor who collects bus fare and passes out tickets while wearing a t-shirt that reads in large, friendly, pink letters: “I’m student. No money.”

I’m working on my collection of great t-shirts, by the way. Let me know if you have any to add. Personal favorites so far are: “I make boy cry” (so close!) and “party ou of bound” (and also out of space). There is a fabulous fake-newsprint plastic bag that I’ve seen a few people carrying on the street. I think it might be the Holy Grail of fake English, even better than the cartoon print shirts Jeff and I bought. Wish me luck finding one of my own the next time I go to the bazaar!
I’m spending plenty of time studying (3 hours of one-on-one Kazakh 5 days a week is motivation enough to do my homework), and I’m also catching up with friends. Saturday was my former co-teacher’s wedding, which came as a huge surprise when I called to tell her I was back in country. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get away or the tickets to make the trip to Zhelezinka this weekend. Last Friday was the circumcision ceremony for the Hooligan, who is now an astonishing 5 years old. Still not sure if I would have gone if I had found out in advance -- we had tickets to a concert at the grand Abai Ballet and Opera Theater, and the ceremony seems a bit, well, personal somehow. Might get a second chance if I’m still here in August, as Adizhan is approaching 5. At any rate, I’m hoping to get out to see my first host family soon.

That’s the news for now! Hugs to you all.