Journey To The Center Of The Earth

A few weeks ago, the Zhezkazgan volunteers were invited to go on a picnic day trip with the teachers and graduating students of a local college. The prospect of a day outside of the Zhezkazgan city limits is always a welcome proposition, so we gladly accepted. The destination was a village called Ulytau, located about three hours north of the city. Ulytau is not just any Kazakh village; it is as historic as a village in Kazakhstan can possibly get. While this is quite possibly damning with faint praise, it is true that Ulytau is the traditional home of Kazakh culture. It is said that the Kazakhs are split among three ancient tribes, although I personally have never heard anyone discuss this except when specifically referencing Ulytau. Nonetheless, Ulytau is recognized as the hallowed meeting point of these tribes. The village, which today consists of maybe 5,000 people, is located truly in the center of the steppe, miles from any other human settlement. What makes Ulytau interesting is that it lies in the shadow of a mountain that is remarkably large given the surrounding steppe.

We set out from Zhezkazgan early in the morning on a rickety, crowded bus. Fortunately, the road north of the city has been recently repaved, which allowed for smooth sailing all the way to Ulytau, unlike the road south. Beyond Ulytau, however, the road (European highway E123 - hah!) is from all accounts completely impassable even to the most intrepid vehicles. The only person I have met who braved the full length of the northern road was a Swedish cyclist passing through; the only cars he reported seeing were those rusting away on the side of the road, having been abandoned long ago.

(It's nearly impossible to capture the vastness of the steppe in a photograph. I don't have anything that can do it justice. Really, it is something that needs to be experienced over distance and time rather than something that one can comprehend with a snapshot.)

Our bus quickly passed through the smaller city of Satpaev, which lies only 15 minutes north and then proceeded through a maze of mines. I had always envisioned the Satpaev mines to be deep under the ground, but apparently they have their share of strip mines as well. Past this industrial section, the surroundings acquired a surprising beauty. I had previously held a rather low opinion of the asthetic value of the steppe, but my opinion had been heavily influenced by the brown months of fall and winter. In the early summer, at least, the grass took a strangely compelling shade of green. As we continued north, the landscape ceased to be as flat as the southern steppe and became a series of rolling hills. A bit later, real hills appeared on the horizon, shrouded in the purple mist of distance. The endless expanse of green grass (the "naked steppe", as they say in Russian), the bright blue sky dotted with cloudbursts, the purple hills, and the exposed mounds of reddish dirt created a palette the likes of which I had nearly forgotten existed during a Kazakhstan winter. It was refreshing.

(Rush hour on the road to Ulytau.)

We passed through a small village called Zhezdi one hour into the trip, where another road branched off to even more godforsaken locales to the west. After Zhezdi, the road was two hours of emptiness, although there were isolated houses strewn here and there and an attentive observer could spot the odd shepherd. As the hills in the steppe became more numerous, our 360 degree view became about as obstructed as is possible in Karaganda Oblast. After rounding one little flat-top, Ulytau came into view underneath a series of rugged-looking hills.

(A monument to the meeting place of the Kazakh tribes, a few kilometers from Ulytau.)

(Ulytau springs into view after we pass over a hump.)

We passed through the town, which seemed rather tidy by Kazakh village standards. I even saw an ATM! It should be noted that Ulytau is the capital of its region (think county), although that's not saying much considering the Ulytauskiy Rayon is home to only about 13,000 residents despite being the size of a small state. We passed through the center of the town and drove on towards the foothills. The bus managed to quite literally ford a stream, which fortunately was running low and eventually we found our way to a clearing where we set up shop.

(This is just the tip of the iceberg.)

The bus came to a stop and out came all the blankets, food containers, big pots, and shashlyk apparatus. We set out the dastarkhan (array of food -- it's an institution here) and "snacked" on some "light" food. After this relatively quick affair, the group split in different ways as we explored nature. Drew, Robert, and I separated ourselves from the pack since our mountaintop of choice was deemed to be too ambitious by the rest. I love a good aerial view and it was a great change of pace from the flatness of everyday life. Unfortunately, our ascent up the ridgeline was ultimately cut short by threatening weather. We retreated down the side of the ridge to the valley and eventually back to the campsite, where it was time for the shashlyk.

(Ulytau from above)

Shashlyk is a major Central Asian dish, although as far as I know, it is originally from the Caucausus region. It's basically a meat shish kebab and it is the closest thing that Kazakhs have to barbeque, although the meat -- lamb, chicken, beef, or less often, pork -- is much less tender than what you would find in an American patio. The existence of shashlyk is irritating in one sense because it proves that the local cuisine can marinade meat, yet they insist on boiling it in every other instance. (Note to my mother: if I see boiled lamb in my first month back in America, I am leaving for another two years).

(Shashlyk in action. It's always cooked this way -- a wood fire is made in the far end and the hot embers are slid down the chute to cook the meat.)

Despite the rain, we managed to light a good fire and successfully cooked everything. Ultimately, the rain shower was welcome because it drove away a Vietnam-like number of bugs that must have recently hatched. Free from the pestering of insects, we demolished round two of this Kazakh picnic as the rain subsided. Following the food, the teachers beckoned to us to follow them into the woods, which is how I ended up drinking vodka while standing in a distant forest in the rain with a bunch of middle-aged Kazakh schoolteachers. If that's not Peace Corps in a nutshell, I don't know what is.

(Raw, wet, late spring weather followed us home.)

Soon after, we began the epic task of cleanup and eventually boarded the bus once again. The ride back to Zhezkazgan was a sleepy one for everybody, especially because the trip lasted 13 hours in total. Seeing Ulytau was a fascinating experience for me. While I did not get the chance to wander around the town, it was by far the most isolated human place I have ever been in my life (yet we got great cell phone service, welcome to the 21st century). It was life at its simplest, far away from the bustle and worries of the larger world. Of course, it is easy to romanticize village life. Those volunteers who live there day in and day out and who eat beshbarmak every day might have a slightly different take.

Казахская Свадьба! (Not Just Any Wedding)

It has been a long time since I have written a blog post, but I am finally settled in my apartment which is never a simple process. C'est la vie in Kazakhstan.

(Proud parents await the official ceremony)

As I wrote earlier, about a month and a half ago, my host sister Sania got married. Coming into the wedding, I had no idea what to expect. The routine, the traditions, the ceremonies, and the general atmosphere were all a complete mystery to me. I could have dug deeper when asking my host family about the proceedings, but the family stress level was palpable. Some things in Kazakhstan are best experienced without any prior knowledge of what is supposed to happen, anyway.

(The couple during the civil ceremony. I'm not sure exactly what was said, because it was all in Kazakh.)

The classic image of an American wedding is that of the bride gliding down the aisle to the altar. This defining moment is not shared by Kazakh weddings. At around 3:30pm on a Saturday, we proceeded directly to a government office located about five minutes from our apartment. We waited in the hallway, collecting more family members, as another wedding was being performed in the main room. When it was our turn, we entered a modest room with a large desk and a huge sky-blue flag of Kazakhstan on the wall. This was the civil ceremony and was attended by a small group of about 30 family members. The best man and the maid of honor attended Sania and Kuanysh as papers were signed and the marriage was official.

That was quick.

(A quick dance.)

The Kazakhs clearly prefer to get the paperwork out of the way in order to clear the rest of the day for celebrations. In this case, the ceremony took about 20 minutes, although in reality it was simply the prelude for what ultimately became a 13 hour journey.

After the marriage ceremony, we went outside and waited in the blustery spring weather for the newlyweds to emerge. Kuanysh came out carrying Sania and swept her into the backseat of the first of seven waiting cars, all adorned with flowers and balloons. The best man and the maid of honor joined them in the first car while the rest of the wedding party filed down the street to the other cars. (Note: I don't know exactly what the 'best man' and 'maid of honor' are called here, but their roles are a little different. There were no extra groomsmen or bridesmaids).

As the celebrations continued through the day and into the night, the initial ceremony felt more and more like mere paperwork that had to be dispensed with. Our procession of cars left the government building and sped down the street, horns blaring and streamers flapping in the wind. When we reached the widest boulevard in Zhezkazgan, the cars began weaving between each other. My car would occasionally sidle up to another with windows rolled down and the guys in the back seat would clink their shot glasses together. Seeing that the vodka was already flowing at 4pm of what I knew would be a marathon of a day, I did my best to avoid doing a shot a minute. However, when it comes to drinking, locals are not accustomed to taking no for an answer.

(A quick candle-lighting ceremony at the local museum. What does the fire symbolize? Eternal love? I don't know -- your guess is as good as mine.)

As per Zhezkazgan tradition, the entire afternoon and early evening was spent traveling to a number of different local spots to take pictures and drink vodka. The first destination was the local history museum, where we took pictures and wandered around for a short while. After 15 minutes, everybody piled back into their cars and we drove to the neighboring town of Satpaev. While Zhezkazgan has a mosque of its own, it is rather dingy compared to the one in Satpaev. There was a minor catastrophe when, upon arrival, we realized that we had lost the car that was transporting the parents of the bride. Somehow, there had been a miscommunication and they had driven to the Zhezkazgan mosque! While missing the religious ceremony of their daughter's wedding might seem traumatic, the parents seemed to be only slightly bothered by this. I suppose that gallivanting around in cars while soaked in vodka is a young person's game -- we were only a party of 30 or so people, whereas dinner would be the true climax of the wedding.

(The mosque, which is located right across from the Russian Orthodox Church. Apparently they made sure that the minaret was slightly taller than the steeple.)

Following the trip to the mosque, we sped out of Satpaev and proceeded to skirt around Zhezkazgan to the airport, located a few miles outside of town. The airport is apparently the anchor of the "Zhezkazgan wedding tour". There are only daily flights to Astana and Almaty, a fact which lent the Zhezkazgan airport an air of importance about on par with the airport in West Lebanon, NH. Nonetheless, I had never seen the airport. Naturally, more pictures were taken although the strong wind and the cool spring air drove many back into their cars. The rest, of course, tossed down a few shots and champagne.

(The gang poses for a picture before running back to the cars as soon as it was taken. No, Kazakhs still have not gotten used to the wind around here.)

On the way back from the airport we stopped at a massive "ZHEZKAZGAN" sign overlooking the city. The standard pictures were taken and the newly-minted husband performed a tradition of tossing a champagne bottle in the air. Whether the bottle shatters on the ground determines the gender of the couple's first child. Of course, the bottle broke, but since it was never made clear to me which outcome meant girl and which outcome meant boy, I'm still holding my breath.

(Boy or girl?)

The final stop on the grand tour was in the main square in town. We took another round of pictures, but most people were too cold to stick around for more than a few token moments. We quickly retreated to the cars and finally drove to a restaurant.

(Satpaev Square in Zhezkazgan. Satpaev, by the way, was a Kazakh scientist who discovered most of the copper in this region.)

Restaurants in Zhezkazgan seem to thrive on wedding parties and the like. There is not a terribly strong culture of dining out, but families spend what I can only assume to be a ridiculous amount of money on big occasions such as these. A head count was impossible, but there were easily 200 people spread out among long tables. Like with most formal Kazakh functions, the routine was very standard. A hired emcee ran an agenda that included the formulaic games, music, and occasional dancing. All through the night food was brought to the tables and many people stood up to give toasts. And of course, there were pictures.

(The Scene as we entered)

(The table of leading dignitaries...and I want to stress that those are only the appetizers.)

(The four sitting at the main table would always stand as they listened to each and every toast throughout the night. Toasts play a much bigger role in Kazakh and Russian culture than they do in American culture. A regular dinner party will have many. A wedding... well, there were plenty.)

(Lord knows it wouldn't be a wedding without beshbarmak.)

(A better view of the whole room)

(The cake, which pretty much nobody ate because it was late and you can only be at a Kazakh dinner party for so long.)

(Yes, that is a Yulia Tymoshenko bobblehead on the vodka bottle. Tymoshenko is the Ukrainian prime minister and Princess Leia lookalike. Seriously she's got the hair. I want my George W. Bush bobblehead tequila bottle!)

The scene at the restaurant dissipated at around midnight. A long day of fluctuating between various levels of inebriation is the sort of thing that kills me and I was very ready for bed. This naive optimism was quickly dashed when it was announced that "молодёжь" -- the young people -- would all be heading to a night club. This was fun for a while, but I was a complete zombie by 4am. Thankfully, we left around 4:30 and I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The wedding was an interesting experience. At its core, it was not drastically different than an American wedding, although it was hardy the same thing. In truth, the wedding seemed to follow the exact same format that every large formal party follows, but with a pre-party and a post-party. I suppose it simply would not be a Kazakh event if it did not involve the дастархан, the enormous arrangement of food that leaves almost no empty space on the table. It was a fascinating experience, but not one I would want to do every weekend!