I dedicate this post to all you black-fleece-haters out there.
Last night I met with a man from the US embassy at a restaurant for dinner. It was not a particularly formal affair; the embassy apparently sends staffers on regional trips to conduct local business and check in on volunteers and perhaps other Americans. In the case of Zhezkazgan, it is obviously just volunteers. Anyway, in the course of our conversation, he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed a small MRG logo on my fleece. Apparently, he had lived in Vermont only a few towns away several years before and frequently skiied there.
It's a small world.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Kazakhstan: Life and Times
After English club today, Drew and I went to a Uyghur cafe for lagman and beer. Of course, the cafe was out of beer and instead the waitress directed us to the neighboring convenience store. Not a problem -- beer is cheaper that way. About 30 minutes into the meal, a friendly drunk guy came up to us, enthralled by the sound of a foreign language. We told him that we were Australians, a response that is extremely effective because it explains our English but stifles follow-up questions since nobody knows much about Australia here. Again, not a problem since there wasn't even a whiff of hostility around this guy. Not long after, we asked for the bill and waited for our change of 250 tenge. The cafe was busy tonight and apparently they were out of change, so we received a 200 tenge bill and about half a pack of gum. They didn't just give us a pack of gum for the trouble, they pro-rated the gum. The waitress brought a 3/4 full pack and gave us about two-thirds of what was left. This wasn't really a problem since 50 tenge is worth about 30 cents, which is cheaper than the price of the story, at least in my estimation. This incident wasn't even the first time I have seen volunteers receive gum in lieu of money at a cafe. So really, not a problem.
Sometimes, I remember that I am living in a strange country. The strangest thing of all is that this series of events barely seems remarkable to me any more.
Sometimes, I remember that I am living in a strange country. The strangest thing of all is that this series of events barely seems remarkable to me any more.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Quest for a Bancomat
In Kazakhstan, pay day never slips by quietly. It seems to me that a great many people live from month to month, paycheck to paycheck. Some do this by necessity, others by "choice" -- in other words, a complete lack of financial planning. In America, we can be more "sophisticated" about our budgetary recklessness by burying ourselves in debt, but the interest rates on personal loans in Kazakhstan sometimes give the impression that local banks are institutionalized loan sharks. Therefore, the Kazakhstani spendthrift lacks the option of elaborately lying to himself and is left with little recourse but to simply spend the monthly wages as they come in. Tongue-in-cheek commentary aside, life is difficult for many people here, so I don't actually begrudge people buying a little happiness by blowing their money on a lavish dinner party. However, my unscientific opinion is that the savings rate must be very low.
So on pay day, which is usually around the end of the first week of the month, there is a full-blown assault on all the ATMs ("bancomats") in the city. There are quite a few, but not enough to avoid lengthy lines and chronic shortages of actual cash. I have been meaning to go to the bazaar for the last two days, but every time I try to withdraw a little money, I am faced with an insurmountable phalanx of chattering grandmothers, who somehow either take out cash $10 at a time or have 16 different bank accounts. In truth I don't have any idea what goes on with them, but the level of incompetence with an ATM is at times infuriating. Around pay day, the promise of an open ATM is always fool's gold -- it means that the cash allotment for the day had dried up long ago.
One strange thing about ATM etiquette in Kazakhstan is that there is no privacy. If you step up to an ATM, people behind you in line -- and by in line, I mean trying to outflank each other to force their way to the front -- will crowd up on either side and examine every button you press in rapture. There is no thought to the idea that one might like a little space while dealing with their finances, but this is unsurprising in the greater context of local culture. People often ask what my salary is, how much I pay for my apartment, and so on. There just isn't any stigma about questions related to money here.
Today, I was once again unsuccessful in finding a working ATM. Since my refrigerator was looking awfully empty, I was left with no choice but to go bargain-hunting in the bazaar. Avoiding meat and cheese, which are more expensive, I walked into the fresh produce area, foolishly concerned about the fact that I had only a few small bills. I walked out with a kilogram of tomatoes, a half a kilo of bell peppers, and five small spicy peppers, which cost a grand total of 140 tenge, or about 90 cents. I don't know what I was worried about.
So on pay day, which is usually around the end of the first week of the month, there is a full-blown assault on all the ATMs ("bancomats") in the city. There are quite a few, but not enough to avoid lengthy lines and chronic shortages of actual cash. I have been meaning to go to the bazaar for the last two days, but every time I try to withdraw a little money, I am faced with an insurmountable phalanx of chattering grandmothers, who somehow either take out cash $10 at a time or have 16 different bank accounts. In truth I don't have any idea what goes on with them, but the level of incompetence with an ATM is at times infuriating. Around pay day, the promise of an open ATM is always fool's gold -- it means that the cash allotment for the day had dried up long ago.
One strange thing about ATM etiquette in Kazakhstan is that there is no privacy. If you step up to an ATM, people behind you in line -- and by in line, I mean trying to outflank each other to force their way to the front -- will crowd up on either side and examine every button you press in rapture. There is no thought to the idea that one might like a little space while dealing with their finances, but this is unsurprising in the greater context of local culture. People often ask what my salary is, how much I pay for my apartment, and so on. There just isn't any stigma about questions related to money here.
Today, I was once again unsuccessful in finding a working ATM. Since my refrigerator was looking awfully empty, I was left with no choice but to go bargain-hunting in the bazaar. Avoiding meat and cheese, which are more expensive, I walked into the fresh produce area, foolishly concerned about the fact that I had only a few small bills. I walked out with a kilogram of tomatoes, a half a kilo of bell peppers, and five small spicy peppers, which cost a grand total of 140 tenge, or about 90 cents. I don't know what I was worried about.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Catching Up
Yes, I have neglected Kokpar and Carnivores for the past month or so, but I plan on resuscitating these pages with a few updates over the next week. My sincerest apologies go out to the four people who read this blog.
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