According to the locals, November was outright balmy, and really, it wasn't that bad. In early December we transitioned to what I am used to as "regular winter", which is the 15-35 degrees F range. That too was probably "balmy". Last week the temperatures really dropped, heralding the start of the real Kazakh winter. I still haven't figured out exactly how cold it is because I have yet to see a thermometer in this country. The locals don't really care exactly how cold it is and perhaps they actively don't want to know. I suppose the novelty of -30 C wears off after the first few years.
It hasn't gotten to be too bad yet and I don't think the temperatures have fallen much below zero degrees Fahrenheit. It's only the beginning, though. And yes, mom, I am already wearing thermal underwear. All that said, I have always liked winter and I want more. -40 degrees is about where Fahrenheit and Celsius meet each other so we might as well go all the way. I was promised miserable, freezing temperatures and I'll be disappointed if Zhez doesn't pull through.
Over the last week and half, Zhez has been blanketed with frequent but light snowfall and we probably have eight inches on the ground now, where it will stay until...April? We'll see. In any case, the snow has brought out an interesting development. From what I could tell from the summer, Kazakhs were never big on baby carriages and while they exist, there isn't exactly a suburban-mom-baby-stroller convention going on here. However, they are huge on "baby sleds". I see mothers dragging their 3-year-olds on tiny little sleds everywhere. Occasionally a man will come by dragging food or other random items on a big sled. The kids here are extremely sledding-deprived here, as you might expect from Children of the Steppe. Now that there's a little bit of snow, there are scores of little embankments up to and including snowed-over steppes to "magazines" (the identical convenience stores that make this country function) have been intentionally iced over and turned into pathetic little sledding hills. Better than nothing, I guess. But if those skiiers out West think it sucks in New England, they ought to come down here.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Sobering Thought
Drinking is a serious matter in Kazakhstan. I'd say too serious. Why? They don't have drinking games. Come on!
Not everyone in Kazakhstan drinks a lot and in fact many Kazakhs do not drink at all. However, the people who drink, drink a lot. Vodka is very cheap. As my sitemate Drew says, the cheapest stuff is fouler than you can imagine, but even the mid-tier vodka here is as good as higher-end vodka in America. I am a beer guy and while the local offerings are nothing special, they are much better than I had imagined. There's plenty of both and not much of anything else except for cognac.
Getting back to the original point, I had thought that a place like Kazakhstan with its long, cold, dark winters (sunrise is already after 9am) would be rife with drinking games to make the time go by until April. Sadly, I have been disappointed. I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a round of flipcup by my host family, but still -- there are no signs of anything anywhere.
This means only one thing. It's time to bring Dartmouth pong to Kazakhstan.
Wish me luck. I can't even convince the other volunteers.
Not everyone in Kazakhstan drinks a lot and in fact many Kazakhs do not drink at all. However, the people who drink, drink a lot. Vodka is very cheap. As my sitemate Drew says, the cheapest stuff is fouler than you can imagine, but even the mid-tier vodka here is as good as higher-end vodka in America. I am a beer guy and while the local offerings are nothing special, they are much better than I had imagined. There's plenty of both and not much of anything else except for cognac.
Getting back to the original point, I had thought that a place like Kazakhstan with its long, cold, dark winters (sunrise is already after 9am) would be rife with drinking games to make the time go by until April. Sadly, I have been disappointed. I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a round of flipcup by my host family, but still -- there are no signs of anything anywhere.
This means only one thing. It's time to bring Dartmouth pong to Kazakhstan.
Wish me luck. I can't even convince the other volunteers.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Food, Revisited
A while ago I pissed and moaned about the food here. It's true that Kazakh cuisine is pretty simple and lacks much of an imagination. However, my biggest problem has become clear to me over time. As much as I hate to say it (which actually isn't that much), my PST host mother was just a remarkably awful cook. I've had all the same dishes that she cooked since I've left Issyk and suddenly they are all decent. I think I'll write short posts about individual dishes at some point because some of them are pretty different, if nothing else.
I also received the Peace Corps Kazakhstan Cookbook in the mail. It provided a good view into food & vegetable availability too. This varies based on location in the country and city size, but it's a good rough guide. There's a decent variety in the summer, but the only reliably year-round items are apples, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, and beets. I think other perishables can be found in Zhezkazgan in the winter, but they come a long way in non-refridgerated trucks so they are expensive and often not very good quality.
The PC cookbook is a pretty great resource to have, albeit one that I probably won't use for a while. It's pretty hard for any male PCV to defeat the notion that no matter what he says, there's absolutely no way he could possibly know the slightest thing about cooking. Members of my family sometimes work odd hours so it's not too rare that I eat by myself. In that case, my host mother becomes direly concerned that I will starve to death and goes to great lengths to show me how to turn on the electric stove top. Come on. But at this point it's become a joke although they never can quite let go of their instincts.
While my family is fantastic in every way, the only thing I've never really adjusted to is also related to the female Kazakh belief that all males are completely worthless in any sort of domestic sense (however, Kazakh males do not go to great lengths to dispel this theory). I can't so much as wander into the kitchen without my host mother or host sister getting up, following me in and asking if I am hungry. Only once or twice have I managed to sneak off to wash a dish myself and the few times I've even managed to come close to pouring myself a cup of tea, I've been received with utter bewilderment.
This obviously isn't a big problem, but it's interesting to see how neither side has acquiesced to the other culture's gender roles. Gender roles here are definitely more clearly defined than in America, but there's still a fair amount of wiggle room should a woman choose something off the beaten path. I'll keep on fighting because I don't think I'll ever feel that comfortable being waited on hand and foot, but I'm not sure I can win.
I also received the Peace Corps Kazakhstan Cookbook in the mail. It provided a good view into food & vegetable availability too. This varies based on location in the country and city size, but it's a good rough guide. There's a decent variety in the summer, but the only reliably year-round items are apples, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, and beets. I think other perishables can be found in Zhezkazgan in the winter, but they come a long way in non-refridgerated trucks so they are expensive and often not very good quality.
The PC cookbook is a pretty great resource to have, albeit one that I probably won't use for a while. It's pretty hard for any male PCV to defeat the notion that no matter what he says, there's absolutely no way he could possibly know the slightest thing about cooking. Members of my family sometimes work odd hours so it's not too rare that I eat by myself. In that case, my host mother becomes direly concerned that I will starve to death and goes to great lengths to show me how to turn on the electric stove top. Come on. But at this point it's become a joke although they never can quite let go of their instincts.
While my family is fantastic in every way, the only thing I've never really adjusted to is also related to the female Kazakh belief that all males are completely worthless in any sort of domestic sense (however, Kazakh males do not go to great lengths to dispel this theory). I can't so much as wander into the kitchen without my host mother or host sister getting up, following me in and asking if I am hungry. Only once or twice have I managed to sneak off to wash a dish myself and the few times I've even managed to come close to pouring myself a cup of tea, I've been received with utter bewilderment.
This obviously isn't a big problem, but it's interesting to see how neither side has acquiesced to the other culture's gender roles. Gender roles here are definitely more clearly defined than in America, but there's still a fair amount of wiggle room should a woman choose something off the beaten path. I'll keep on fighting because I don't think I'll ever feel that comfortable being waited on hand and foot, but I'm not sure I can win.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Obama
Due to the presence of Russians, there are plenty of white people in Zhezkazgan, but nonetheless the three volunteers in the city stick out like a sore thumb -- in part because we may comprise the entire ex-pat community. Our obvious foreign-ness was summarized yesterday when I went to the post office f0r the first time. I walked up to the desk in the P/O box room and said hello to the lady, who obviously had never seen me before. Instead of questioning my identity or even asking what box, she reached into P/O box 18, handed me the contents, and resumed what she had been doing, all without saying a word. Well, that was easy. According to Robert, P/O box 18 gets every piece of English-language mail that comes to the city; if it is clearly labelled for another box, it is assumed a typo and given to us anyway.
When more talkative Kazakhstanis recognize that we are foreign, which happens frequently, there is usually a pretty standard set of questions whose lack of variety is limited by our language ability more than a lack of imagination on their part. It usually goes like this:
"Where are you from?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Where do you live?"
"Do you like Zhezkazgan?"
"Obama...he's good. What do you think about Obama?"
Talking American politics is a whole different ballgame here than it is in Europe. Kazakhstanis don't have a ton of knowledge about domestic American politics in part because they don't have the same international links that European society does, but mostly because the USA does not play a huge role in Kazakhstani foreign affairs. From what I can tell, most people know that (a)he's black and (b)he's not George Bush -- but most are unaware that he's not currently president. It's an interesting exercise in psychology that he can get universal approval from a society despite that society knowing virtually knowthing about him or his policies. I think Kazakhstan is far from unique on the world stage in this respect. I'm an Obamaphile but it's still slightly troubling to see the complete lack of reasoning behind a belief.
On the other hand, it's miles ahead of what it was like on the European hostel circuit during the Bush administration - especially because I've spent a fair amount of time in Eastern Europe when American travelers were more likely to be isolated. There's nothing worse than listening to a chorus of hypocritical coffeehouse Europeans bitching endlessly about everything under the sun. I became personally responsible for every decision and action of the US government and therefore became subject to knee-jerking groupthink of the worst kind -- even though I voted for the glorious John Kerry (sorry dad). Another one of my favorite things from this period were the Canadians who, to a man, had a maple leaf patch on their packs. They called it patriotism but it was clearly the "I'm not American so please don't even start with me" patch.
In any case, in over three months in Kazakhstan, I have yet to face even mild hostility over my nationality or anything else. The people here could teach most of the world a thing or two about hospitality.
When more talkative Kazakhstanis recognize that we are foreign, which happens frequently, there is usually a pretty standard set of questions whose lack of variety is limited by our language ability more than a lack of imagination on their part. It usually goes like this:
"Where are you from?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Where do you live?"
"Do you like Zhezkazgan?"
"Obama...he's good. What do you think about Obama?"
Talking American politics is a whole different ballgame here than it is in Europe. Kazakhstanis don't have a ton of knowledge about domestic American politics in part because they don't have the same international links that European society does, but mostly because the USA does not play a huge role in Kazakhstani foreign affairs. From what I can tell, most people know that (a)he's black and (b)he's not George Bush -- but most are unaware that he's not currently president. It's an interesting exercise in psychology that he can get universal approval from a society despite that society knowing virtually knowthing about him or his policies. I think Kazakhstan is far from unique on the world stage in this respect. I'm an Obamaphile but it's still slightly troubling to see the complete lack of reasoning behind a belief.
On the other hand, it's miles ahead of what it was like on the European hostel circuit during the Bush administration - especially because I've spent a fair amount of time in Eastern Europe when American travelers were more likely to be isolated. There's nothing worse than listening to a chorus of hypocritical coffeehouse Europeans bitching endlessly about everything under the sun. I became personally responsible for every decision and action of the US government and therefore became subject to knee-jerking groupthink of the worst kind -- even though I voted for the glorious John Kerry (sorry dad). Another one of my favorite things from this period were the Canadians who, to a man, had a maple leaf patch on their packs. They called it patriotism but it was clearly the "I'm not American so please don't even start with me" patch.
In any case, in over three months in Kazakhstan, I have yet to face even mild hostility over my nationality or anything else. The people here could teach most of the world a thing or two about hospitality.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thinking about Thinking
I've heard culture compared to an iceberg several times. It's a corny analogy but it persists because, sadly, it's fairly apt. The small, visible tip of iceberg conceals and draws attention away from the vastness submerged away from sight. It's easy to identify the music, art, language, architecture, food, dress, and even customs of a culture. A more difficult element of culture to grasp is the set of values that gives rise to those visible elements of culture. And more importantly, those values that comprise the foundation of a culture are inextricably intertwined with a cultural mindset, although I believe they are distinct. Combined, they result in the everyday attitudes, beliefs, and decision-making of a culture.
Of all the things I could possibly be thinking about on the subject of Kazakhstan, I dwell more on this than anything else. The way people think here is fundamentally different from the way an American thinks and this difference can be seen on a daily basis. The way kids behave in classrooms and in English club, the way people discuss relationships, the sort of questions they ask me and all the other volunteers, all the small cultural quirks people care strongly about (SHAVE your goddamn stubble for the love of GOD!!!), and many others things that I've gotten so used to that I am starting forget they are different -- they all belie not just different cultural values, but a different method of approaching fundamental things in life.
I haven't been here nearly long enough to make any sort of dramatic proclamations about Kazakhstani society because I am still learning and I still have more to learn before I can start to digest it all and really sort it out. At the moment, I am most fascinated by the challenge of explaining concepts that do not exist here. By concepts, I am not referring to discussing the finer points of Nietzsche or something -- I'm talking about trying to explain what a suburb is. Suburbs certainly do not exist in Kazakhstan, the 9th largest country in the world despite having a population less than half that of metropolitan Tokyo. (I don't think there's a word for "metropolitan" in Kazakh, either). That's not to say that an American wouldn't have some difficulty understanding some aspect of Kazakhstan that is foreign to us, but I do believe that this culture is a little less suited to that sort of thing. It's been isolated for a long time and only now do people have the freedom and in some cases, the money to travel.
On a micro level -- in a classroom, for example -- the kids are a strange mix of unadulterated enthusiasm and instinctive reticence that I suppose is an indication of the times; the first generation to have no living memory of the Soviet Union. They show up in big numbers and most of them are quite interested in learning English. When we run activities though, it's always hard to scrounge up volunteers to participate. They know the answers, but there's some instinctual nervousness preventing them, which isn't a huge surprise considering the rigidity and authoritarianism of the school system here. The worst aspect about it, to me, is that it really drills the creativity right out of these kids. Those kinds of activities are the toughest.
--
On Thanksgiving I was invited to a class of roughly 16 year olds who were studying to be English teachers (all girls -- any boy studying to be a teacher would be run ragged by his friends). The girls put on a presentation with a short play and some games. This school has had a series of volunteers spanning six years and ending this past October and it showed. They spoke good English, but what really stood out were several things -- the no-hands-baursak (pastry-ish) eating contest and a bake sale fundraiser for a local organization for disabled children.
On their face, those things are silly and mean nothing, but they do represent a creativity and an ability to think outside the box. If you take that creativity and willingness to delve into the unknown and uncertain and apply that to teaching or to running an NGO, you can accomplish anything. America is rife with the entrepreneurial spirit and as far as business ventures, marketing, fundraisers, and gimmicks, we've seen it all and we take it for granted, but it's not like that everywhere. Part of the reason we are so good at it is because we grow up with it and we are exposed to it from the day we are born. When it's just not there, it's a fitful learning process and one that isn't always successful. After the first wheel was invented, I'm sure everyone said "I should have thought of that!". That's easy to say, but as simple as that is, it took a sort of small brilliance to conceptualize something that had never previously existed.
I don't mean to paint a picture of extremes here and I hope that I haven't because that's clearly not true. Nonetheless, Kazakhstan is a country with ambitious plans and a promising future, but at the moment they aren't quite equipped on a societal level to drag their institutions (particularly education) forward. The average American's jaw would hit the floor if they were transported to Almaty or Astana, which are thoroughly cosmopolitan cities that couldn't be any more contradicting of Borat. However, the rest of the country needs to catch up to the city elite and building critical thinking skills is the best long-term way to do it.
The encouragement of that mental flexibility -- the willingness and ability to be creative and to critically analyze something and make it better -- is one of the pillars of every volunteer's job here. Even sitting at the kitchen table with my host mother, I frequently ask "why?". The question and the answer usually make both of us think about something in a new light.
Of all the things I could possibly be thinking about on the subject of Kazakhstan, I dwell more on this than anything else. The way people think here is fundamentally different from the way an American thinks and this difference can be seen on a daily basis. The way kids behave in classrooms and in English club, the way people discuss relationships, the sort of questions they ask me and all the other volunteers, all the small cultural quirks people care strongly about (SHAVE your goddamn stubble for the love of GOD!!!), and many others things that I've gotten so used to that I am starting forget they are different -- they all belie not just different cultural values, but a different method of approaching fundamental things in life.
I haven't been here nearly long enough to make any sort of dramatic proclamations about Kazakhstani society because I am still learning and I still have more to learn before I can start to digest it all and really sort it out. At the moment, I am most fascinated by the challenge of explaining concepts that do not exist here. By concepts, I am not referring to discussing the finer points of Nietzsche or something -- I'm talking about trying to explain what a suburb is. Suburbs certainly do not exist in Kazakhstan, the 9th largest country in the world despite having a population less than half that of metropolitan Tokyo. (I don't think there's a word for "metropolitan" in Kazakh, either). That's not to say that an American wouldn't have some difficulty understanding some aspect of Kazakhstan that is foreign to us, but I do believe that this culture is a little less suited to that sort of thing. It's been isolated for a long time and only now do people have the freedom and in some cases, the money to travel.
On a micro level -- in a classroom, for example -- the kids are a strange mix of unadulterated enthusiasm and instinctive reticence that I suppose is an indication of the times; the first generation to have no living memory of the Soviet Union. They show up in big numbers and most of them are quite interested in learning English. When we run activities though, it's always hard to scrounge up volunteers to participate. They know the answers, but there's some instinctual nervousness preventing them, which isn't a huge surprise considering the rigidity and authoritarianism of the school system here. The worst aspect about it, to me, is that it really drills the creativity right out of these kids. Those kinds of activities are the toughest.
--
On Thanksgiving I was invited to a class of roughly 16 year olds who were studying to be English teachers (all girls -- any boy studying to be a teacher would be run ragged by his friends). The girls put on a presentation with a short play and some games. This school has had a series of volunteers spanning six years and ending this past October and it showed. They spoke good English, but what really stood out were several things -- the no-hands-baursak (pastry-ish) eating contest and a bake sale fundraiser for a local organization for disabled children.
On their face, those things are silly and mean nothing, but they do represent a creativity and an ability to think outside the box. If you take that creativity and willingness to delve into the unknown and uncertain and apply that to teaching or to running an NGO, you can accomplish anything. America is rife with the entrepreneurial spirit and as far as business ventures, marketing, fundraisers, and gimmicks, we've seen it all and we take it for granted, but it's not like that everywhere. Part of the reason we are so good at it is because we grow up with it and we are exposed to it from the day we are born. When it's just not there, it's a fitful learning process and one that isn't always successful. After the first wheel was invented, I'm sure everyone said "I should have thought of that!". That's easy to say, but as simple as that is, it took a sort of small brilliance to conceptualize something that had never previously existed.
I don't mean to paint a picture of extremes here and I hope that I haven't because that's clearly not true. Nonetheless, Kazakhstan is a country with ambitious plans and a promising future, but at the moment they aren't quite equipped on a societal level to drag their institutions (particularly education) forward. The average American's jaw would hit the floor if they were transported to Almaty or Astana, which are thoroughly cosmopolitan cities that couldn't be any more contradicting of Borat. However, the rest of the country needs to catch up to the city elite and building critical thinking skills is the best long-term way to do it.
The encouragement of that mental flexibility -- the willingness and ability to be creative and to critically analyze something and make it better -- is one of the pillars of every volunteer's job here. Even sitting at the kitchen table with my host mother, I frequently ask "why?". The question and the answer usually make both of us think about something in a new light.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Night Sky
The night sky in Zhezkazgan is not particularly notable. While the city is hardly a metropolis, there's enough light pollution to render the fainter stars invisible. It's better than a big city, worse than an extremely rural region. That is, except for last night.
I had been invited to dinner to a local English teacher's house along with my sitemates Robert and Drew. She and her husband live on the outskirts of town and while everything in Zhezkazgan is walkable, the bus is only about 20 cents. The buses here are rather small and always incredibly crowded so when Bus #3 came the three of us just couldn't fit so we decided to walk it.
As we rounded the corner, we saw a huge light in the sky. My first instinctual impression was that it was the Northern Lights, but from the way the light was shaped it was clear that it was not. Zhezkazgan is roughly the same latitude as Seattle so we aren't that far north. Quickly we realized it was a rocket launching from Baikonur, Russia's space facility located several hundred kilometers away. It was moving fast and its exhaust trail was surprisingly beautiful. White light spread out a great distance on either end of its path, narrowing towards the horizon where it also turned increasingly red. Twice we could see the support booster rockets fall down through the sky.
It was pretty cool.
I probably have cancer.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Here
The train is a lot more fun with friends for two reasons. First, the time passes a lot more quickly through conversation -- even though the Zhezkazgan crew has now logged nearly 100 hours on trains in Kazakhstan. Secondly, with friends around we don't have to contemplate the sad fate of drinking by ourselves to kill time... The trip to Zhezkazgan acquired a sort of Polar Express feeling when we woke up to a moderate snowstorm south of Karaganda. While Zhezkazgan is not the North Pole, it sometimes feels like it might be soon considering it's only mid November and it's below freezing most of the time. This morning the sun rose fully above the horizon at about 8:40am and we still have more than a month to go for the shortest day of the year. Nonetheless, it's not yet cold enough to prevent people from being around and about.
One week into life as a Volunteer and so far, so good. My host family is great and thus far have epitomized the kind of legendary Kazakh hospitality. My Russian is getting better but even so my host mom has been patient and accomodating by speaking slowly and clearly which has helped a lot. The food is a lot better than in Issyk. The winter is going to be a five month long feast of borscht and potatoes, but that's really not that bad. I've heard there aren't many fruits and vegetables in the winter, but thus far the bazaar has been well stocked with the staples of Kazakhstan. Most of the vegetables they eat here are pretty hardy anyway -- potatoes, carrots, onions, beets, cucumbers.
I'm still learning the ropes with my organizations. I think there will be things to do immediately with my health organization but it will take more time with my eco organization. Unfortunately, my counterpart is in France for a while, so the only person in the office is a woman who thought I was going to be a chemical engineer, which sadly, I'm not. With my lack of high-level language skills, it will take some time to talk them into some realistic projects, but that's why they put us here for two years.
Mainly, I've been running around and meeting people. The first month is supposed to be a pretty crazy time, especially for the non-teachers because we have such a flexible job and it's hard to get in a groove when we can't speak well and don't know the organizations, town, or people very well either. It's normal to spend some time just settling in, but we all want to turn the corner as fast as possible.
One week into life as a Volunteer and so far, so good. My host family is great and thus far have epitomized the kind of legendary Kazakh hospitality. My Russian is getting better but even so my host mom has been patient and accomodating by speaking slowly and clearly which has helped a lot. The food is a lot better than in Issyk. The winter is going to be a five month long feast of borscht and potatoes, but that's really not that bad. I've heard there aren't many fruits and vegetables in the winter, but thus far the bazaar has been well stocked with the staples of Kazakhstan. Most of the vegetables they eat here are pretty hardy anyway -- potatoes, carrots, onions, beets, cucumbers.
I'm still learning the ropes with my organizations. I think there will be things to do immediately with my health organization but it will take more time with my eco organization. Unfortunately, my counterpart is in France for a while, so the only person in the office is a woman who thought I was going to be a chemical engineer, which sadly, I'm not. With my lack of high-level language skills, it will take some time to talk them into some realistic projects, but that's why they put us here for two years.
Mainly, I've been running around and meeting people. The first month is supposed to be a pretty crazy time, especially for the non-teachers because we have such a flexible job and it's hard to get in a groove when we can't speak well and don't know the organizations, town, or people very well either. It's normal to spend some time just settling in, but we all want to turn the corner as fast as possible.
Friday, November 7, 2008
On the road again...
Training has finally stuttered to a fitful close. Everything was essentially wrapped up by last Friday, so this past week has been light, filled with daily trips to the Peace Corps Office in Almaty for sessions on travel logistics and some other assorted last-minute trainings. The 55 remaining trainees of Kaz-20 swore in this morning and are now officially volunteers. Most of our group is actually on a train right now, but the groups going to Pavlodar and Zhezkazgan have trains that leave at night, while the Ust-Kamenogorsk people and volunteers within taxi/bus distance leave tomorrow. The bubble of training has burst and now it's time to get down to business.
While I have been ready to leave training for about two weeks now, it's a bittersweet moment. The 17 OCAPs in Issyk grew close over three months and yes, there were some tears shed by some people as we left. I think the other training towns are similarly close. At least we'll have plenty of couches available all across the country.
The route to Zhezkazgan once again goes through Karaganda because it's not the right time of the week for the direct train. We leave at 9:00pm on Friday and we'll arrive on Sunday morning. By the time I get to site, I'll already have logged about 100 hours on a train. I think that's one of those things I'm going to keep track of over the next two years.
While I have been ready to leave training for about two weeks now, it's a bittersweet moment. The 17 OCAPs in Issyk grew close over three months and yes, there were some tears shed by some people as we left. I think the other training towns are similarly close. At least we'll have plenty of couches available all across the country.
The route to Zhezkazgan once again goes through Karaganda because it's not the right time of the week for the direct train. We leave at 9:00pm on Friday and we'll arrive on Sunday morning. By the time I get to site, I'll already have logged about 100 hours on a train. I think that's one of those things I'm going to keep track of over the next two years.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Doldrums
Site visit was the beginning of the end, but it's reached full force now with only a week to go. I feel like we've learned all we are going to learn in training at this point and most of us are ready to move on to the real thing.
The situation has been exacerbated by what's been a downer week for a variety of reasons. First of all, the married couple in our group left to go back to America which cast a pall on everything. Secondly, the little things are starting to get to me in my somewhat bored state in the end of training. The weather is cloudy, our classrooms are absolutely freezing because we don't have heat, my apartment hasn't had electricity in two weeks, the food in my host family has made me a bitter, defeated man, we have a skeleton staff crew after a bank poached two people, technical training is going in circles, and after the language test, our Russian class has collectively lost the will to live.
In short, swearing in can't come soon enough. In reality, life isn't so bad but I think I've reached a culture shock phase in which I've become a little frustrated and irritable. It happens to everyone and in truth I have yet to have a truly miserable day.
The situation has been exacerbated by what's been a downer week for a variety of reasons. First of all, the married couple in our group left to go back to America which cast a pall on everything. Secondly, the little things are starting to get to me in my somewhat bored state in the end of training. The weather is cloudy, our classrooms are absolutely freezing because we don't have heat, my apartment hasn't had electricity in two weeks, the food in my host family has made me a bitter, defeated man, we have a skeleton staff crew after a bank poached two people, technical training is going in circles, and after the language test, our Russian class has collectively lost the will to live.
In short, swearing in can't come soon enough. In reality, life isn't so bad but I think I've reached a culture shock phase in which I've become a little frustrated and irritable. It happens to everyone and in truth I have yet to have a truly miserable day.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Dog Days of August
The stifling heat of August was long ago swept away by the chilly rains and cold nights of autumn. Snow is present throughout the entire year in the high peaks of the Zailiysky Alatau branch of the Tian Shan mountains, but lately it has crept down into the foothills above town, which receive a dusting every time it rains in Issyk. It feels like we are on the verge of deep winter despite it only being October and in the south. It's amazing to think that the sweaty days when we first arrived were only two months ago.
As time passes, some things change and some things don't. One thing that has remained a constant in Issyk is the very same thing that was the consensus most shocking thing to our group of trainees upon our arrival -- the state of the dogs. Everywhere in town is rife with strays, which are most frequently seen digging through the trash heaps for food. Many of the dogs exhibit the dichotomy of hostility and cowering fear that's found among animals that haven't been treated well. I have started to notice dogs running around in packs of up to eight in the mornings when I walk to class, as if they have started to shed their domestication and are rediscovering their natural instincts. And we've all seen dead dogs lying on the side of the road at times -- not every day, but more often than anyone would like to think. I don't know who takes them away, but they do disappear fairly quickly.
I'm neither a dog person nor a cat person. I've never had a pet so I am not as attached to animals or the concept of animals as others are, but it's still sad to see. This isn't to say that there aren't many well-cared-for dogs here, but there's clearly a higher number of strays here than anywhere else I've seen. It's just a small anecdote about cultural attitude differences.
As time passes, some things change and some things don't. One thing that has remained a constant in Issyk is the very same thing that was the consensus most shocking thing to our group of trainees upon our arrival -- the state of the dogs. Everywhere in town is rife with strays, which are most frequently seen digging through the trash heaps for food. Many of the dogs exhibit the dichotomy of hostility and cowering fear that's found among animals that haven't been treated well. I have started to notice dogs running around in packs of up to eight in the mornings when I walk to class, as if they have started to shed their domestication and are rediscovering their natural instincts. And we've all seen dead dogs lying on the side of the road at times -- not every day, but more often than anyone would like to think. I don't know who takes them away, but they do disappear fairly quickly.
I'm neither a dog person nor a cat person. I've never had a pet so I am not as attached to animals or the concept of animals as others are, but it's still sad to see. This isn't to say that there aren't many well-cared-for dogs here, but there's clearly a higher number of strays here than anywhere else I've seen. It's just a small anecdote about cultural attitude differences.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Five Days in the Steppe
To be honest, there's a lot of doom and gloom about Zhezkazgan among volunteer circles. They say a lot of things. It's the most isolated site in the country, which makes traveling in-country difficult. It's small and there isn't a ton to do. It's a provincial city with provincially-minded people. It's expensive relative to it's place on PC-Kaz's five-tier scale. The city shuts down in the winter. OCAP (non-teacher) volunteers sometime lack the quantity of work they were expecting.
And to be honest, I had a pretty good time. Admittedly, it's a long road and I'll have plenty of time to change my mind -- but it seems to be a Peace Corps tradition to have a love-hate relationship with one's site. I'll make that decision for myself. Site visit certainly does not provide the most realistic view of what daily life will hold because it's a whirlwhind of meeting people and touring local sites. My novelty factor was at its peak. Still, I have a number of reasons to be optimistic. My two organizations are very small, consisting of only two people each. I did not have a chance to talk with my health organization much at all, but the environmental organization seems to be staffed by people who are very interested and proactive, albeit a little bit directionless. That's not a problem -- if people care, that's all that matters.
I will greatly benefit from the networks in Zhezkazgan established by previous volunteers. There are two great tutors and a very good translator who are well known to PCVs. The education volunteers run a large English club that may be a source of participation and volunteerism for any of my eco or health related projects. I'll have three sitemates in the city and two in a town a short while away.
My counterpart, Bulat, who is also the head of the Damu-Ulytau ecological NGO is very active in the community. On Wednesday I arrived at the office expecting to speak with him with a translator. To my surprise, the translator was there for what was essentially a community press conference, with about 12 locals from schools and NGOs as well as a reporter from the Zhezkazganskaya Gazeta. And yes, the older men suspected that I am secretly a CIA agent. Zhezkazgan is a global hotspot, after all.
The trip home was only 30 hours instead of 39, but it felt longer because it lacked the stopover in Karaganda. Karaganda is the only city in weekend-visit range from Zhezkazgan, but at least it's one of Kazakhstan's larger hubs and is home to several volunteers. I won't be completely isolated -- especially because I've learned there are frequent 10-hour buses that make a weekend trip possible.
For now, we are riding out the rest of PST. Having had a taste of our permanent sites, staying focused is difficult. Fortunately, I feel like I am really breaking through with my Russian, which is a big help mentally. It's getting cold and we have two and a half weeks. We're eager to get going, but I know we'll all look back at PST fondly. Especially during our first months at site in the dark cold of the Kazakhstani winter.
And to be honest, I had a pretty good time. Admittedly, it's a long road and I'll have plenty of time to change my mind -- but it seems to be a Peace Corps tradition to have a love-hate relationship with one's site. I'll make that decision for myself. Site visit certainly does not provide the most realistic view of what daily life will hold because it's a whirlwhind of meeting people and touring local sites. My novelty factor was at its peak. Still, I have a number of reasons to be optimistic. My two organizations are very small, consisting of only two people each. I did not have a chance to talk with my health organization much at all, but the environmental organization seems to be staffed by people who are very interested and proactive, albeit a little bit directionless. That's not a problem -- if people care, that's all that matters.
I will greatly benefit from the networks in Zhezkazgan established by previous volunteers. There are two great tutors and a very good translator who are well known to PCVs. The education volunteers run a large English club that may be a source of participation and volunteerism for any of my eco or health related projects. I'll have three sitemates in the city and two in a town a short while away.
My counterpart, Bulat, who is also the head of the Damu-Ulytau ecological NGO is very active in the community. On Wednesday I arrived at the office expecting to speak with him with a translator. To my surprise, the translator was there for what was essentially a community press conference, with about 12 locals from schools and NGOs as well as a reporter from the Zhezkazganskaya Gazeta. And yes, the older men suspected that I am secretly a CIA agent. Zhezkazgan is a global hotspot, after all.
The trip home was only 30 hours instead of 39, but it felt longer because it lacked the stopover in Karaganda. Karaganda is the only city in weekend-visit range from Zhezkazgan, but at least it's one of Kazakhstan's larger hubs and is home to several volunteers. I won't be completely isolated -- especially because I've learned there are frequent 10-hour buses that make a weekend trip possible.
For now, we are riding out the rest of PST. Having had a taste of our permanent sites, staying focused is difficult. Fortunately, I feel like I am really breaking through with my Russian, which is a big help mentally. It's getting cold and we have two and a half weeks. We're eager to get going, but I know we'll all look back at PST fondly. Especially during our first months at site in the dark cold of the Kazakhstani winter.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Long and Winding Road
The route to Zhezkazgan is long and winding in a very literal sense. I've been on two night trains in Europe before but I've never done back-to-back nights so I wasn't sure what to expect or how hellish it was going to be. In truth, the odyssey went by much faster and more pleasantly than I expected. My counterpart Bulat and I had a five hour layover in Karaganda after spending all night and all morning on the train. His friend lived very close to the train station so we were able to shower and stay out of the wind and cold there. The woman who lived there spoke perfect English (she's a translator). Her son was wearing a "Life is Good" T-shirt and she brought out Smuckers chocolate sauce that her daughter had brought back from a work-study summer program near Denver. Her family has spent a summer in Boston and Orleans in Cape Cod. Was this Karaganda or was this someone from Nantucket? Sometimes, you just never know.
The train to Zhezkazgan departed after dark so I fell asleep pretty quickly. I awoke to the steppe. The steppe from Almaty to Karaganda was what I imagine North Dakota's badlands to look like: treeless and vast, but there were still rises and uplands that occasionally arose to block the view. The railway to Zhezkazgan was different; flat with only very slow rises and nothing but endless grass. Occasionally the train would putter through a tiny village of a few dilapidated buildings, but in general it was a very definition of solitude.
At around 9am Zhezkazgan rose out of the steppe, its presence heralded by the smokestacks flanking the railway on the outskirts of town. Zhezkagan is surrounded by the empty steppe with nothing in sight for miles, but inside the city limits the streets are surprisingly leafy. It's a small city and while it lacks the type of culture and options that are found in big cities, it definitely as a lot more than a typical Kazakhstani town. The shashlyk I have had in cafes has been excellent. More importantly than anything else, this week has been encouraging on the culinary front; eating meals at more and more families' dwellings has been eye-opening. I think I'll never be a fan of some of the true die-hard extremes of Kazakh food, but I'm starting to believe that the quality of the cooking is the major contributor to my problems.
The train to Zhezkazgan departed after dark so I fell asleep pretty quickly. I awoke to the steppe. The steppe from Almaty to Karaganda was what I imagine North Dakota's badlands to look like: treeless and vast, but there were still rises and uplands that occasionally arose to block the view. The railway to Zhezkazgan was different; flat with only very slow rises and nothing but endless grass. Occasionally the train would putter through a tiny village of a few dilapidated buildings, but in general it was a very definition of solitude.
At around 9am Zhezkazgan rose out of the steppe, its presence heralded by the smokestacks flanking the railway on the outskirts of town. Zhezkagan is surrounded by the empty steppe with nothing in sight for miles, but inside the city limits the streets are surprisingly leafy. It's a small city and while it lacks the type of culture and options that are found in big cities, it definitely as a lot more than a typical Kazakhstani town. The shashlyk I have had in cafes has been excellent. More importantly than anything else, this week has been encouraging on the culinary front; eating meals at more and more families' dwellings has been eye-opening. I think I'll never be a fan of some of the true die-hard extremes of Kazakh food, but I'm starting to believe that the quality of the cooking is the major contributor to my problems.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Welcome to Boiledbeefistan
I used to think that I was a very flexible eater, but then I came to Kazakhstan.
The core issue for me is that the most fundamental cornerstone of Kazakh haute-cuisine is lamb and cow fat. Kazakhstanis enjoy their fat in two ways. Sometimes, the fat is attached to a remarkably flavorless piece of boiled Grade C/D meat that it usually about half the size of its blubbery companion. At other times, Kazakhs bypass the high-maintenance hassle of boiling meat and simply dice the fat into cubes.
This is a problem, but in many cases it could be evaded by simply picking around the offensive parts of the meal. Kazakh cuisine has deftly blocked that strategy from working to any success by refusing to use any sort of spice at all. In a pasta dish, pasta tastes like boiled lamb and lamb fat. In borscht, cabbage tastes like...boiled lamb and lamb fat. Kazakhstani cuisine's definition of dangerously spicy begins with oregano. Some volunteers more enterprising than I am now go to war three times a day with a bottle of cure-all Tabasco sauce. It's great because all the locals view Tabasco sauce with intense fear and loathing, so it lasts a long time because you can't find anyone with whom to share, and it wipes away the residual fat taste.
To be fair, I believe my experience has been worse than most volunteers here. Some have host mothers who are excellent cooks, but others have been paired with a little less imagination. My personal lowlight was about a week ago when I returned home to find a sizable pot of sheep fat melting on the stove. Immediately suspicious, my worst fears were realized when it became the bulk of the stock for the soup served at dinner. It was not my favorite dinner. Today's lunch presented a more perplexing scenario, consisting of a ladleful of borscht in a jar topped with two fried eggs and then another ladleful of borscht. Why together?!? It smelled like scallops. It didn't taste like scallops.
If nothing else, I've lost a bit of weight here given the amount of walking we do combined with my efforts to eat as little as possible at the dinner table. My diet is mainly comprised of multivitamin pills, bread, Snickers bars, and apples. As bad as that sounds, it's actually a decent combination of vitamins, carbs, protein and the calories I need to get through the day. On the positive side, I only have three more weeks in Issyk considering I'll be out of town for nine days on site visit. Apparently Zhezkazgan doesn't have any fresh fruit or vegetables in the winter, but eating potatoes and cabbage every day beats the hell out of dining on soft, jiggly animal fat.
The core issue for me is that the most fundamental cornerstone of Kazakh haute-cuisine is lamb and cow fat. Kazakhstanis enjoy their fat in two ways. Sometimes, the fat is attached to a remarkably flavorless piece of boiled Grade C/D meat that it usually about half the size of its blubbery companion. At other times, Kazakhs bypass the high-maintenance hassle of boiling meat and simply dice the fat into cubes.
This is a problem, but in many cases it could be evaded by simply picking around the offensive parts of the meal. Kazakh cuisine has deftly blocked that strategy from working to any success by refusing to use any sort of spice at all. In a pasta dish, pasta tastes like boiled lamb and lamb fat. In borscht, cabbage tastes like...boiled lamb and lamb fat. Kazakhstani cuisine's definition of dangerously spicy begins with oregano. Some volunteers more enterprising than I am now go to war three times a day with a bottle of cure-all Tabasco sauce. It's great because all the locals view Tabasco sauce with intense fear and loathing, so it lasts a long time because you can't find anyone with whom to share, and it wipes away the residual fat taste.
To be fair, I believe my experience has been worse than most volunteers here. Some have host mothers who are excellent cooks, but others have been paired with a little less imagination. My personal lowlight was about a week ago when I returned home to find a sizable pot of sheep fat melting on the stove. Immediately suspicious, my worst fears were realized when it became the bulk of the stock for the soup served at dinner. It was not my favorite dinner. Today's lunch presented a more perplexing scenario, consisting of a ladleful of borscht in a jar topped with two fried eggs and then another ladleful of borscht. Why together?!? It smelled like scallops. It didn't taste like scallops.
If nothing else, I've lost a bit of weight here given the amount of walking we do combined with my efforts to eat as little as possible at the dinner table. My diet is mainly comprised of multivitamin pills, bread, Snickers bars, and apples. As bad as that sounds, it's actually a decent combination of vitamins, carbs, protein and the calories I need to get through the day. On the positive side, I only have three more weeks in Issyk considering I'll be out of town for nine days on site visit. Apparently Zhezkazgan doesn't have any fresh fruit or vegetables in the winter, but eating potatoes and cabbage every day beats the hell out of dining on soft, jiggly animal fat.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Zhezkazgan By The Numbers
This week is full of meetings in Almaty, which is a very welcome departure from the monotony of the standard PST schedule. Today the OCAP group beat our way through an hour of Almaty traffic to assemble at the Peace Corps office. It was a slow day of logistics, seminars, and flu shots, but at least we received our travel information at long last. It's a pretty diverse array of public transportation ranging from Melanie's 42 hour direct train to Aktobe to Jacob's 30 minute cab ride to the next town.
Zhezkazgan isn't nearly as far as Aktobe as the crow flies, but due to layout of the rail network here, it can be tough to reach. I had heard a million different answers to the question "How long does it take to get to Zhez?", so it was nice to find the truth at long last. The full trip checks in at 37.5 hours. I'm taking a Saturday evening train from Almaty-1 (the harder-to-reach train station, unfortunately) which arrives in Karaganda 19 hours later. At that point, I will have what will surely be a riveting five hours to spend in the train station there, which will be followed by another evening departure and a 9:15am arrival in Zhezkazgan on Monday. The timing of my return is such that there is a direct train back to Almaty-2, which is a mere 30 hours. However, I don't think I will mind the layover too much because it will give me a chance to stretch my legs and restock on food.
I think we are all excited and nervous to meet our counterparts tomorrow. Our counterparts are employees at our organizations, so they play an important role in what we do. From what I've heard from current PCVs, volunteers have quite a range of experiences with counterparts, so we all are hoping for the best. If it works out well, they will be a great resource to help you get started at our NGOs and just as importantly, help us integrate into the community. I still have little information on my environmental organization and even less on the health, so I am anxious to find out the details.
Zhezkazgan isn't nearly as far as Aktobe as the crow flies, but due to layout of the rail network here, it can be tough to reach. I had heard a million different answers to the question "How long does it take to get to Zhez?", so it was nice to find the truth at long last. The full trip checks in at 37.5 hours. I'm taking a Saturday evening train from Almaty-1 (the harder-to-reach train station, unfortunately) which arrives in Karaganda 19 hours later. At that point, I will have what will surely be a riveting five hours to spend in the train station there, which will be followed by another evening departure and a 9:15am arrival in Zhezkazgan on Monday. The timing of my return is such that there is a direct train back to Almaty-2, which is a mere 30 hours. However, I don't think I will mind the layover too much because it will give me a chance to stretch my legs and restock on food.
I think we are all excited and nervous to meet our counterparts tomorrow. Our counterparts are employees at our organizations, so they play an important role in what we do. From what I've heard from current PCVs, volunteers have quite a range of experiences with counterparts, so we all are hoping for the best. If it works out well, they will be a great resource to help you get started at our NGOs and just as importantly, help us integrate into the community. I still have little information on my environmental organization and even less on the health, so I am anxious to find out the details.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Жезказган
Site announcement has come and gone. We sat in two rows facing a map of Kazakhstan lying flat on a table with little yurts marking the 20 assignments that the OCAPs were receiving. One by one we went up and located out site, discovering where we'll live and work for the next two years.
When my turn came, I circled the table until I found myself in the heart of the steppe -- Жезказган (Zhezkazgan), an old copper mining town of 90,000 people. I will be primarily working with an environmental organization, but in an unusual situation, I'll also be working with a health association. As far as I am concerned, this is great news. I am excited to work in those fields and I'm happy to be in a place of Zhezkazgan's size, which by Kazakhstani standards is a small city. I'll have three sitemates in the city and two more in a village 20 minutes outside of town, so while I will be thoroughly geographically isolated, there will be several Americans around.
Zhezkazgan is truly in the middle of nowhere. There is a direct train from Almaty that is supposedly around 34 hours, but it only runs once or twice a week. During my site visit in two weeks, I will have to take a train to Karaganda and then backtrack to the Zhezkazgan spur which apparently tacks on an extra 10 hours. Kazakhstan is big, but it's not that big. To create travel times that long, the trains must be both very slow and stop at every podunk station across the steppe.
And Mom -- now it's time to buy a monstrosity of a winter coat. It's going to be cold and there aren't any trees to block the wind.
When my turn came, I circled the table until I found myself in the heart of the steppe -- Жезказган (Zhezkazgan), an old copper mining town of 90,000 people. I will be primarily working with an environmental organization, but in an unusual situation, I'll also be working with a health association. As far as I am concerned, this is great news. I am excited to work in those fields and I'm happy to be in a place of Zhezkazgan's size, which by Kazakhstani standards is a small city. I'll have three sitemates in the city and two more in a village 20 minutes outside of town, so while I will be thoroughly geographically isolated, there will be several Americans around.
Zhezkazgan is truly in the middle of nowhere. There is a direct train from Almaty that is supposedly around 34 hours, but it only runs once or twice a week. During my site visit in two weeks, I will have to take a train to Karaganda and then backtrack to the Zhezkazgan spur which apparently tacks on an extra 10 hours. Kazakhstan is big, but it's not that big. To create travel times that long, the trains must be both very slow and stop at every podunk station across the steppe.
And Mom -- now it's time to buy a monstrosity of a winter coat. It's going to be cold and there aren't any trees to block the wind.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Doomsday Beckons
Tomorrow morning at approximately 11am local time, the next two years of our lives will be revealed to us. If that sounds a little melodramatic, it is, but Site Announcement is still a momentous occasion that has been marked on our calendars for a long time. We have had the opportunity to express our preferences, desires, wishes and concerns and soon enough we'll know what the staff's deliberation has in store for us.
I've spent so much time contemplating the vastness of Kazakhstan and the incredible difference between the north and the south and village and city that I only recently considered how site placement would work in other Peace Corps countries. A PCV friend of mine is currently in Bulgaria, a nation that is positively dwarfed by the endless expanse of the Central Asian steppe. His entire training group will be no more than a few hours from each other at all times. Meanwhile, an OCAP will likely be faced with a trip to Aktobe, PC-Kaz's farthest-flung outpost which lies a mere ~45 hours by train from Almaty.
I can't say I am too nervous right now, simply because I understand that what I think I want right now may not be what I actually want. Since we still can't fully comprehend what village life or city life will be, it's hard to be confident in my preferences. What all this means is that if I have an existentialist crisis, it probably happen months down the road and not tomorrow. I think we're all too excited anyway.
I've spent so much time contemplating the vastness of Kazakhstan and the incredible difference between the north and the south and village and city that I only recently considered how site placement would work in other Peace Corps countries. A PCV friend of mine is currently in Bulgaria, a nation that is positively dwarfed by the endless expanse of the Central Asian steppe. His entire training group will be no more than a few hours from each other at all times. Meanwhile, an OCAP will likely be faced with a trip to Aktobe, PC-Kaz's farthest-flung outpost which lies a mere ~45 hours by train from Almaty.
I can't say I am too nervous right now, simply because I understand that what I think I want right now may not be what I actually want. Since we still can't fully comprehend what village life or city life will be, it's hard to be confident in my preferences. What all this means is that if I have an existentialist crisis, it probably happen months down the road and not tomorrow. I think we're all too excited anyway.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Biology Lesson
We find out our permanent sites on Friday morning, which is less than three days from now. It's tough to guess the field in which I will find myself or whether I will be placed in a city or a village. However, I've heard from the staff that there's a decent chance I will be doing at least some work with an environmental organization. That's a subject that I would be excited about even though I don't have a ton of practical experience in that line of work. Fortunately, however, I have been furnished with a real life laboratory in the comfort of my own home.
You see, my room is beginning to develop an ecosystem of its own now that the hot summer weather has been ushered out and the cold nights of autumn have begun. At first, I was simply bothered by flies who came in with the breeze that cooled my room. Not a big deal -- my host family has a fly swatter and frankly, swatting flies is the kind of six-year-old amusement that never really wears off...at least in my case. However, as time passed and the nights became chilly, more species took refuge in the nooks, crannies, walls, and ceilings of my aging Soviet-built apartment building. House centipedes began to appear on the ceiling and then I began to hear the listless rattle of pacing cockroaches somewhere in the dark recesses of the apartment paneling. But there's good news! I kill the flies and cockroaches love dead animal material. It turns out that house centipedes are one of the leading predators of cockroaches and it also turns out that I am one of the leading causes of death for house centipedes. As long as the house centipedes kill the cockroaches faster than I can kill the centipedes, I win. At least until the next generation of bugs establish a new homeland in the lofty fastness of my top-floor apartment ceiling.
The good news is that Africa would have been much, much worse.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend? For now....
You see, my room is beginning to develop an ecosystem of its own now that the hot summer weather has been ushered out and the cold nights of autumn have begun. At first, I was simply bothered by flies who came in with the breeze that cooled my room. Not a big deal -- my host family has a fly swatter and frankly, swatting flies is the kind of six-year-old amusement that never really wears off...at least in my case. However, as time passed and the nights became chilly, more species took refuge in the nooks, crannies, walls, and ceilings of my aging Soviet-built apartment building. House centipedes began to appear on the ceiling and then I began to hear the listless rattle of pacing cockroaches somewhere in the dark recesses of the apartment paneling. But there's good news! I kill the flies and cockroaches love dead animal material. It turns out that house centipedes are one of the leading predators of cockroaches and it also turns out that I am one of the leading causes of death for house centipedes. As long as the house centipedes kill the cockroaches faster than I can kill the centipedes, I win. At least until the next generation of bugs establish a new homeland in the lofty fastness of my top-floor apartment ceiling.
The good news is that Africa would have been much, much worse.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Oddities
In the Russian language the @ symbol in email addresses are referred to as "sabaka" which is the word for dog. Nobody seems to know why this is the case. I can't figure it out.
I found out today that my language teacher got engaged after knowing her husband for one day. I knew that Kazakhstani dating operated on a different timetable, but yikes. To be fair, by local standards she was very old at the time of her engagement -- 28. And yes, every guy in the OCAP group is now somewhere from nervous to terrified of local women (and particularly, their families).
I get yelled at when I sit at the corner of a table because that apparently is a terrible omen for my marriage prospects. Damn.
There are two other things that I just can't understand why they seem to be exclusively the trait of English-speaking countries. First, screens. It's not like Kazakhstan doesn't have heaps of scrap metal. It would be nice to open windows without turning the room into an exact replica of Vietnam, unless you enjoy the exercise of killing 25 flies and several other large unidentified bugs.
Secondly, years. English is the only language I've run across that says "19-93" as two numbers. Why would you say "One thousand, nine hundred and ninety three" when you could simplify it so much? No wonder the Soviet Union collapsed.
I found out today that my language teacher got engaged after knowing her husband for one day. I knew that Kazakhstani dating operated on a different timetable, but yikes. To be fair, by local standards she was very old at the time of her engagement -- 28. And yes, every guy in the OCAP group is now somewhere from nervous to terrified of local women (and particularly, their families).
I get yelled at when I sit at the corner of a table because that apparently is a terrible omen for my marriage prospects. Damn.
There are two other things that I just can't understand why they seem to be exclusively the trait of English-speaking countries. First, screens. It's not like Kazakhstan doesn't have heaps of scrap metal. It would be nice to open windows without turning the room into an exact replica of Vietnam, unless you enjoy the exercise of killing 25 flies and several other large unidentified bugs.
Secondly, years. English is the only language I've run across that says "19-93" as two numbers. Why would you say "One thousand, nine hundred and ninety three" when you could simplify it so much? No wonder the Soviet Union collapsed.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
С днем рождения
Last Friday happened to be the birthday of both my host mother and my host brother. Exciting stuff – they get to
enjoy a birthday feast, right? Not exactly. As Kazakh tradition dictates, it was my host mother’s responsibility to throw a huge dinner party for the whole extended family. My host brother chatted with the family for a little bit before slinking off to carouse with his friends, like he does seven nights a week. He’s even worse than Tim, for christ’s sake.
I’m still on the fence with beshbarmak. The meat and noodles are ok, but the Kazakhstani obsession with eating animal fat is a little too much to bear. Other than shashlyk (basically all-meat shish kebabs), they don’t use anything to spice up the meat here so it’s really bland. As far as the alcohol here, most of the trainees in Issyk have yet to throw back their first vodka shot. I think the Peace Corps staff put the fear of God into these host families and led them to believe that we were the quintessential lightweights. However, I don’t think my family drinks that much, which is more typical of Kazakh families. One of the trainees, Mike, is even doing Ramadan with his family. Observance of Ramadan is unusual even among the Kazakhs of the town though. Kazakhstan’s relationship to Islam is encapsulated by the huge post-Ramadan feast that Kazakhs celebrate even though most of them don’t actually fast. On the whole, Kazakhstan is probably more secular than the United States.
enjoy a birthday feast, right? Not exactly. As Kazakh tradition dictates, it was my host mother’s responsibility to throw a huge dinner party for the whole extended family. My host brother chatted with the family for a little bit before slinking off to carouse with his friends, like he does seven nights a week. He’s even worse than Tim, for christ’s sake.I arrived home from training on Friday to a madhouse. My host mother, my host sister and the
eldest daughter (now married and living in the next village) were crammed in the kitchen preparing all manner of food. The living room/storage room/three person bedroom took on yet another persona and had been transformed into a large dining room. The entire apartment was sweltering with the heat from the kitchen, primarily from that titan of Kazakh cuisine, beshbarmak (literally: five fingers). And yes, everything in the picture to the right was consumed -- even the fat, which was diced and tossed into the bowl.
Before long, the guests began to arrive in an unending stream. Everybody was speaking Kazakh, which immediately rendered me the functional equivalent of a two year old, but I was at least able to squeak through with a “Hello” and “How are you?”. We’ve only had about four hours of Kazakh, much of which was spent on numbers. That will be useful in the long run and in bazaars, but I don’t think listening to someone count to one hundred in Kazakh would really get their blood flowing. However, there was one spry old babushka sitting across from me who merrily chirped at me in Russian, trying to discuss something about languages and teaching but it was a little too much for me to understand.
eldest daughter (now married and living in the next village) were crammed in the kitchen preparing all manner of food. The living room/storage room/three person bedroom took on yet another persona and had been transformed into a large dining room. The entire apartment was sweltering with the heat from the kitchen, primarily from that titan of Kazakh cuisine, beshbarmak (literally: five fingers). And yes, everything in the picture to the right was consumed -- even the fat, which was diced and tossed into the bowl.Before long, the guests began to arrive in an unending stream. Everybody was speaking Kazakh, which immediately rendered me the functional equivalent of a two year old, but I was at least able to squeak through with a “Hello” and “How are you?”. We’ve only had about four hours of Kazakh, much of which was spent on numbers. That will be useful in the long run and in bazaars, but I don’t think listening to someone count to one hundred in Kazakh would really get their blood flowing. However, there was one spry old babushka sitting across from me who merrily chirped at me in Russian, trying to discuss something about languages and teaching but it was a little too much for me to understand.
I’m still on the fence with beshbarmak. The meat and noodles are ok, but the Kazakhstani obsession with eating animal fat is a little too much to bear. Other than shashlyk (basically all-meat shish kebabs), they don’t use anything to spice up the meat here so it’s really bland. As far as the alcohol here, most of the trainees in Issyk have yet to throw back their first vodka shot. I think the Peace Corps staff put the fear of God into these host families and led them to believe that we were the quintessential lightweights. However, I don’t think my family drinks that much, which is more typical of Kazakh families. One of the trainees, Mike, is even doing Ramadan with his family. Observance of Ramadan is unusual even among the Kazakhs of the town though. Kazakhstan’s relationship to Islam is encapsulated by the huge post-Ramadan feast that Kazakhs celebrate even though most of them don’t actually fast. On the whole, Kazakhstan is probably more secular than the United States.Sunday, September 7, 2008
The Sights and Sounds of Kazakhstan
Kazakhstan is a strange place. Every day as I walk to and from school, I see all manner of animals – cows, dogs, cats, donkeys, horses, and sheep, often eating the trash that hasn’t been set on fire at that particular moment. At the same time, I’ve lost count of the number of BMWs and Mercedes I have seen, even though our training town is about an hour outside Almaty. There are Trainees whose families do not have a flush toilet, but do have washing machines. Despite the fact that I have worn a collared shirt every day of my existence in Kazakhstan, my dressing habits are upstaged by the eight year olds walking to school in suits – seriously. These are the signs of a country in transition. People have the disposable income to buy nice cars, nice clothes, and unnecessary appliances, but the country is not yet wealthy enough to provide the kind of infrastructure that you’ll find in the United States or Western Europe. For example, the Soviets installed above-ground water pipes in parts of Almaty because it was cheaper. I’ve never seen anything like it. This kind of cheap-o solution might fly in Africa, but it is idiotic in a place with the kind of winters that Kazakhstan suffers. The cost to heat the water so the pipes aren’t frozen for five months must be tremendous.
Another quirk of Kazakhstan is the transportation system. Like any other place, they have airports, bus stations, and train stations. These are all pretty normal; what stands out is the fact that every car is a potential taxi. There are ‘regular’ taxis, but most of the taxi business is handled unofficially. You just stick your arm out as if you are hitching hiking (no thumb) and within a few minutes someone will stop. Within my town the standard fare seems to be 100 tenge (about 85 cents). It’s pretty convenient although I never need to take a taxi anywhere in town.
Yesterday we explored Almaty for the first time. We technically had been to Almaty during our first two days in country, but we did not have any time to go anywhere outside the grounds of the hotel. Almaty sprawled out more than I expected although (obviously) I was well aware that it is the largest city in Kazakhstan. The Peace Corps office in Almaty was literally miles away from the center, hidden away in a small corner at the end of a narrow alley. Apparently they are trying to move to a more convenient location, which would be nice because it will be hard to find again. The city feels rather European and yes, Kazakhstan’s largest city has its very own Tiffany’s and Cartier. We saw some of the major sites like the huge mosque and the large Orthodox church, as well as the Green Bazaar, which was a honeycomb of small stalls that seemed to go on forever. Over the course of the day we ran into each of the EDU groups who were roaming around town as well. It was nice to catch up with some of them although there wasn’t too much time to chat.
We also ran into two current volunteers. One of them was a Kaz-18 who is serving in the northeast part of the country working on developing ecotourism in the Altay Mountains and giving seminars on cabin building. He cross-country skis all the time and his town is supposed to be one of the prettier spots in the country. Who knows if that will be a Kaz-20 post, but I told Andrew that I would fight him for the spot if it came down to it… More seriously, we will find out our assignments in three to five weeks, which is a very exciting prospect.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Live from Kazakhstan
Hello! I am in the process of settling in to our training site. It is a town of, I’m told, approximately 50,000 people a little to the east of Almaty, lying in the shadows of snow-capped mountains to the south. It’s big enough to have shed the ambiance of a small town or village, but it doesn’t feel like a large town in a lot of ways. There is a huge bazaar in one section, but beyond that it feels very decentralized with various commercial establishments randomly placed in residential sections. I am still learning the layout of the town; I’m pretty sure no map exists (which obviously bothers me) and there are more unofficial roads than real roads. For example, my address begins with “Microregion” instead of a road because our apartment complex is in the middle of an ad hoc road network. There are many microregions to which scattershot groups of apartment buildings and houses are assigned. The town itself is just a town. It seems that everybody has electricity and running water. Some have hot showers and a washing machine (like my family). The architecture is pretty ramshackle – lots of corrugated iron, but not in a slum/refugee camp sort of way. I have never seen so many stray cats and dogs. The worst part of the town is the trash; anybody who is reasonably Green would have a heart attack. Hopefully I will post some pictures, but our internet connection is way too slow for that right now.
So far the Kaz-20 group has lost five people. One guy never made it to staging in Philadelphia, one girl left halfway through and three girls have already gone back home after a brief stay in Kazakhstan. Out of a group of 64, I imagine this is pretty typical. The 20 of us left in the OCAP group in this town are doing well, however, and it feels like we have known each other for much longer than a week and a half. In addition to technical training, we have Russian six mornings a week for four hours so we’ll be spending plenty of time together.
The host family experience has been interesting for all of us. Since we arrived completely non-functional in Russian, it has been a challenge to communicate although we are slowly improving our speech. Nonetheless, the families are very hospitable and many of them have hosted Peace Corps Trainees before, so the cultural quirks that Americans bring into their homes are not a surprise. The host families comprise of Russians, Kazakhs, Turks, Chechens, and possibly a few other ethnicities, which served as a quick validation of the assertion that Kazakhstan is a fairly diverse country. Thanks, Stalin! And Khrushchev, too, for that matter.
My host family is Kazakh and consists of a mother, daughter and son. They do know a few English phrases, but their command of the language trumped even my command of Russian in its inadequacy. Kazakh cuisine and culture dictates that they try to feed me as much food as possible, which is daunting at times. Most of their food is meat-based and green vegetables are lacking. They do frequently have sliced tomatoes and cucumbers which would be good news if they were not smothered in mayonnaise. And I mean drenched – it’s nasty stuff. The mayo fetish aside, the food is generally good and the family friendly. Lastly, I have consumed more hot tea in the last five days than the rest of my life combined. Due to the jet lag and caffeine that comes with drinking about 12 cups of chai a day, my sleep schedule has been awful. I have been exhausted by 9pm and my four mornings here, I have awoken at 3am, 4am, 4am and 5:30am respectively. Sounds like several people I know…
So far the Kaz-20 group has lost five people. One guy never made it to staging in Philadelphia, one girl left halfway through and three girls have already gone back home after a brief stay in Kazakhstan. Out of a group of 64, I imagine this is pretty typical. The 20 of us left in the OCAP group in this town are doing well, however, and it feels like we have known each other for much longer than a week and a half. In addition to technical training, we have Russian six mornings a week for four hours so we’ll be spending plenty of time together.
The host family experience has been interesting for all of us. Since we arrived completely non-functional in Russian, it has been a challenge to communicate although we are slowly improving our speech. Nonetheless, the families are very hospitable and many of them have hosted Peace Corps Trainees before, so the cultural quirks that Americans bring into their homes are not a surprise. The host families comprise of Russians, Kazakhs, Turks, Chechens, and possibly a few other ethnicities, which served as a quick validation of the assertion that Kazakhstan is a fairly diverse country. Thanks, Stalin! And Khrushchev, too, for that matter.
My host family is Kazakh and consists of a mother, daughter and son. They do know a few English phrases, but their command of the language trumped even my command of Russian in its inadequacy. Kazakh cuisine and culture dictates that they try to feed me as much food as possible, which is daunting at times. Most of their food is meat-based and green vegetables are lacking. They do frequently have sliced tomatoes and cucumbers which would be good news if they were not smothered in mayonnaise. And I mean drenched – it’s nasty stuff. The mayo fetish aside, the food is generally good and the family friendly. Lastly, I have consumed more hot tea in the last five days than the rest of my life combined. Due to the jet lag and caffeine that comes with drinking about 12 cups of chai a day, my sleep schedule has been awful. I have been exhausted by 9pm and my four mornings here, I have awoken at 3am, 4am, 4am and 5:30am respectively. Sounds like several people I know…
Arrival Musings
I wrote this on 8/21 -- the night of our first day -- but this is the first time I've had any sort of internet access.
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I’m so tired that it’s a mircle I can even muster the energy to type this.
Our plane from JFK was an hour late, but we gained back the whole hour in the air(!). This fact was rendered painfully irrelevant when we learned our flight to Almaty was five hours late and later extended to 7.5 hours late. Instead of arriving in Kazakhstan at 11:40pm on Wednesday, we arrived at about 7:30am on Thursday. All told, it was a 32 hour trip from Philadelphia to Almaty. We were driven to the hotel, we dropped our baggage in our rooms and neither passed go nor collected $200; we went right to training. Needless to say, it has been a difficult day, but it could have been a lot worse considering that PC-Kaz has done a great job keeping the schedule as entertaining as possible. Logistics, heaps of paperwork, and medical business has filled our day. There was an optional language session that I used to keep me awake before my medical interview. It turned out to be quite useful and bizarrely similar to Dartmouth’s “drill” system. Of course, the guy who designed drill – John Rassias – was a Peace Corps guy.
We have also had our first taste of Kazakhstani cuisine. Breakfast at the hotel consisted of several pieces of some soft cheese, tea, and porridge with white sugar and jam accompanied by a hard boiled egg served on a small plate with a small mound of salt. Lunch was comprised of some sort of innocuous soup, a small meat-and-rice dish and a very uninspiring salad. The really exciting stuff is dinner material, I think.
Now that our schedule is done for the day, most people are sleeping. It has been a struggle to stay awake for many people and I can sense that some here are very stressed out. We have an early wakeup tomorrow and a lot of tasks to complete before meeting our host families in the afternoon. Really, we are jumping straight into the fire considering how little language ability we have at this time, but we will be too busy over the next week to stop and reflect on it.
-------------------------------------------------------
I’m so tired that it’s a mircle I can even muster the energy to type this.
Our plane from JFK was an hour late, but we gained back the whole hour in the air(!). This fact was rendered painfully irrelevant when we learned our flight to Almaty was five hours late and later extended to 7.5 hours late. Instead of arriving in Kazakhstan at 11:40pm on Wednesday, we arrived at about 7:30am on Thursday. All told, it was a 32 hour trip from Philadelphia to Almaty. We were driven to the hotel, we dropped our baggage in our rooms and neither passed go nor collected $200; we went right to training. Needless to say, it has been a difficult day, but it could have been a lot worse considering that PC-Kaz has done a great job keeping the schedule as entertaining as possible. Logistics, heaps of paperwork, and medical business has filled our day. There was an optional language session that I used to keep me awake before my medical interview. It turned out to be quite useful and bizarrely similar to Dartmouth’s “drill” system. Of course, the guy who designed drill – John Rassias – was a Peace Corps guy.
We have also had our first taste of Kazakhstani cuisine. Breakfast at the hotel consisted of several pieces of some soft cheese, tea, and porridge with white sugar and jam accompanied by a hard boiled egg served on a small plate with a small mound of salt. Lunch was comprised of some sort of innocuous soup, a small meat-and-rice dish and a very uninspiring salad. The really exciting stuff is dinner material, I think.
Now that our schedule is done for the day, most people are sleeping. It has been a struggle to stay awake for many people and I can sense that some here are very stressed out. We have an early wakeup tomorrow and a lot of tasks to complete before meeting our host families in the afternoon. Really, we are jumping straight into the fire considering how little language ability we have at this time, but we will be too busy over the next week to stop and reflect on it.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
There And Gone Again
The first part of our epic 24 hour journey to Almaty is underway. The bus left Philadelphia at 1pm and left us with a five hour wait for our 9:35pm flight from JFK to Frankfurt. From there, we have a 90 minute layover, followed by an eight hour flight to Almaty. Arrival time: 11:40pm local time -- or 1:40pm EDT on Wednesday. It's going to be a rough transition, especially because I am guaranteed to completely botch sleeping at the opportune time on the plane.
Staging flew by. Fears were lessened, anxieties assuaged, jitters calmed, and butterflies minimized. I have an advantage over many of the people in my group because I have traveled fairly extensively abroad and more importantly, I have experience in a homestay from my Italian study abroad program. There is still the minor of issue of language and communication and the fact that we all know basically nothing, but it does sound like the Kazakhstani host families know what they are getting into.
We covered a lot of standard Peace Corps topics that every PCV has to learn whether they are going to Kazakhstan or Vanuatu or Cape Verde. Obviously, the more interesting part was getting to know the other 61 PCVs in my training group. It's a young group with nobody older than 29, so everybody is in a relatively similar stage of life, although we have come from many different places across the country. I think everybody has been encouraged and inspired by the friendliness and level of enthusiasm we have found in each other. It's the first time any of us have been completely surrounded by people who don't think we are crazy or who ask us why or what we are doing. Borat jokes have been extremely minimal.
By Saturday will we be living in host families outside Almaty. Our Kaz-20 group will be divided into training groups, each of which will train in their own village. I will be training with the entire OCAP group, which seems to be somewhere between a quarter and a third of the whole group. I've heard that the teaching groups will be much smaller, so I am looking forward to the opportunity to get to know a larger group of PCVs well during training. We have heard rumors of an epic feast that will occur when we arrive in the home of our host family. Let's hope it isn't as hard to convince Kazakhstanis that I am not, in fact, still hungry as it was to convince Antonietta Esposito, my Italian host mother, of the same idea. Let the clash of cultures begin!
Staging flew by. Fears were lessened, anxieties assuaged, jitters calmed, and butterflies minimized. I have an advantage over many of the people in my group because I have traveled fairly extensively abroad and more importantly, I have experience in a homestay from my Italian study abroad program. There is still the minor of issue of language and communication and the fact that we all know basically nothing, but it does sound like the Kazakhstani host families know what they are getting into.
We covered a lot of standard Peace Corps topics that every PCV has to learn whether they are going to Kazakhstan or Vanuatu or Cape Verde. Obviously, the more interesting part was getting to know the other 61 PCVs in my training group. It's a young group with nobody older than 29, so everybody is in a relatively similar stage of life, although we have come from many different places across the country. I think everybody has been encouraged and inspired by the friendliness and level of enthusiasm we have found in each other. It's the first time any of us have been completely surrounded by people who don't think we are crazy or who ask us why or what we are doing. Borat jokes have been extremely minimal.
By Saturday will we be living in host families outside Almaty. Our Kaz-20 group will be divided into training groups, each of which will train in their own village. I will be training with the entire OCAP group, which seems to be somewhere between a quarter and a third of the whole group. I've heard that the teaching groups will be much smaller, so I am looking forward to the opportunity to get to know a larger group of PCVs well during training. We have heard rumors of an epic feast that will occur when we arrive in the home of our host family. Let's hope it isn't as hard to convince Kazakhstanis that I am not, in fact, still hungry as it was to convince Antonietta Esposito, my Italian host mother, of the same idea. Let the clash of cultures begin!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Zero Hour
My bags are packed, my forms are notarized, my signatures guaranteed, my travel plans are in order. The amount of paperwork involved in the whole Peace Corps process -- the initial application, other information, medical clearance, granting power of attorney, drafting other legal documents, registration, insurance forms, and other crap -- is a testament (signed in quadruplicate) to our bureaucracy.
Unfortunately my sleep schedule is so out of whack that my 6:15am wakeup tomorrow will be a rude awakening. Or perhaps not, depending on whether or not I fall asleep.
Unfortunately my sleep schedule is so out of whack that my 6:15am wakeup tomorrow will be a rude awakening. Or perhaps not, depending on whether or not I fall asleep.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Last Rites
The time left until the flight to Philadelphia has dwindled to one full day. It's pretty hard to believe. Only in the last few days has the fact that I am really, honestly leaving for a long time sunk in. It hasn't helped that everything that I do now gets billed as "the Last " both in my head and by the people around me. Nonetheless, I am busy enough with last minute errands and packing so that I am not dwelling on it.
Tomorrow is the final day of packing, but it shouldn't be too hard because everything is assembled. It will be stressful to go through everything sixty-five times to make sure that I haven't forgotten anything. I really hope that my decision not to buy a winter coat here proves to be a wise one. The advice we got from various volunteers and PC-Kazakhstan staff members ranged from a "BRILLIANT IDEA!!!" to "IT'S A TOTAL NIGHTMARE!!!!". We'll see -- about that and many other things, too.
Tomorrow is the final day of packing, but it shouldn't be too hard because everything is assembled. It will be stressful to go through everything sixty-five times to make sure that I haven't forgotten anything. I really hope that my decision not to buy a winter coat here proves to be a wise one. The advice we got from various volunteers and PC-Kazakhstan staff members ranged from a "BRILLIANT IDEA!!!" to "IT'S A TOTAL NIGHTMARE!!!!". We'll see -- about that and many other things, too.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Why Am I Here?
In nine days, I will be flying to Philadelphia to join the other fifty-odd members of my training group. Two days later we'll depart on the first leg of the 16 hour journey to Almaty, Kazakhstan. The last few weeks have been so jammed with traveling, shopping, packing, planning, and the Cyrillic alphabet (Я говорю по-русски? ...нет.) that I've found it easy to lose focus on the things that brought me to this place to begin with.
When I was five years old, my mom took me to the Met when we were visiting my aunt in New York. In the gift shop, there was a children's atlas that I decided really wanted, but she didn't have the cash for both the atlas and the subway fare home, and it was pouring rain. I decided to walk it anyway and I still have the dog-eared atlas. And I'm still fascinated with geography, foreign cultures, and obscure locales.
I started considering Peace Corps last summer, but I really can't pinpoint when I truly began to take it seriously. I was hoping for a sudden epiphany that would elucidate my thoughts, but instead I came to a very gradual realization that this is what I wanted to do. In truth, I find many aspects of Peace Corps to be very appealing. Over four years of college I took advantage of free time to travel and experience life abroad and as time went on, I wanted to explore off the beaten path more and more. PC then, is the motherlode: all I could ask for and more.
That isn't to say that adventure is the main reason why I am leaving, nor do I have fanciful expectations of what life will be like, but it was the first thing to catch my eye. What really drew me in was what I learned about myself when I contrasted the Peace Corps with the standard corporate recruiting fare. I don't want to end up in an office in New York or Boston for forty years and wonder if it could have been different. I'll probably make my way to that scene soon enough, but I'm 22. I'm young, I'm able, I'm willing, and I've decided that the best way to lay a solid foundation for my adult life is to serve abroad for 27 months, help people in whatever small ways I can, and when I return home, benefit from the experience in practical terms and in general life terms.
All of us in the Peace Corps are leaving a lot on the table, yet we've chosen this path nonetheless. I can't wait to get going.
When I was five years old, my mom took me to the Met when we were visiting my aunt in New York. In the gift shop, there was a children's atlas that I decided really wanted, but she didn't have the cash for both the atlas and the subway fare home, and it was pouring rain. I decided to walk it anyway and I still have the dog-eared atlas. And I'm still fascinated with geography, foreign cultures, and obscure locales.
I started considering Peace Corps last summer, but I really can't pinpoint when I truly began to take it seriously. I was hoping for a sudden epiphany that would elucidate my thoughts, but instead I came to a very gradual realization that this is what I wanted to do. In truth, I find many aspects of Peace Corps to be very appealing. Over four years of college I took advantage of free time to travel and experience life abroad and as time went on, I wanted to explore off the beaten path more and more. PC then, is the motherlode: all I could ask for and more.
That isn't to say that adventure is the main reason why I am leaving, nor do I have fanciful expectations of what life will be like, but it was the first thing to catch my eye. What really drew me in was what I learned about myself when I contrasted the Peace Corps with the standard corporate recruiting fare. I don't want to end up in an office in New York or Boston for forty years and wonder if it could have been different. I'll probably make my way to that scene soon enough, but I'm 22. I'm young, I'm able, I'm willing, and I've decided that the best way to lay a solid foundation for my adult life is to serve abroad for 27 months, help people in whatever small ways I can, and when I return home, benefit from the experience in practical terms and in general life terms.
All of us in the Peace Corps are leaving a lot on the table, yet we've chosen this path nonetheless. I can't wait to get going.
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