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.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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.
Monday, August 24, 2009
One Year
This past Friday was a landmark for Kaz-20: on August 21, 2008, we belated arrived at the Almaty airport after a lengthy delay in Frankfurt. While the end of the summer signifies the passing of one year, we still have another month or two until the halfway point of the 27 months spent in country.
Like with every experience I have in life, I look back on my first year in Peace Corps with two perspectives. On the surface, it feels as though one year has sped by and it is hard to believe that we have lived here for so long when it feels like I arrived yesterday. On the other hand, when I focus on a specific event from training or even when I first came to Zhezkazgan, it feels like it happened centuries ago.
One of the things that happens to volunteers around months 6-12 is a reclamation of a feeling of normalcy. During this period it is finally possible to find comfort in a daily routine, to familiarize oneself with one's organization and city or village, and to progress in language enough to free oneself from the shackles of being able to communicate only on a rudimentary level.
Considering how much progress we have all made in integrating into the community, getting to know locals, and speaking Russian, I am excited to see what the next year holds. Now that I better understand how everything works in society and in my organization, I am hoping that the progress in year two will be exponential.
Like with every experience I have in life, I look back on my first year in Peace Corps with two perspectives. On the surface, it feels as though one year has sped by and it is hard to believe that we have lived here for so long when it feels like I arrived yesterday. On the other hand, when I focus on a specific event from training or even when I first came to Zhezkazgan, it feels like it happened centuries ago.
One of the things that happens to volunteers around months 6-12 is a reclamation of a feeling of normalcy. During this period it is finally possible to find comfort in a daily routine, to familiarize oneself with one's organization and city or village, and to progress in language enough to free oneself from the shackles of being able to communicate only on a rudimentary level.
Considering how much progress we have all made in integrating into the community, getting to know locals, and speaking Russian, I am excited to see what the next year holds. Now that I better understand how everything works in society and in my organization, I am hoping that the progress in year two will be exponential.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
On Showers
Coming from the cozy land of Western plenty, living in the developing world often provides sharp perspective on what is really necessary in daily life. Many of the creature comforts and technological marvels that have become indispensable to American life begin to slip out of one's consciousness. If I feel this way in Kazakhstan, I can't imagine what is going on in the head of the typical Peace Corps Niger volunteer.
For example: vegetable peelers. My mother sent me a peeler in the mail when I moved into my apartment. The gesture was, of course, appreciated, but the truth is that I rarely use it. (Sorry, Mom!) Everybody in Kazakhstan uses knives and while our worldviews don't always see eye to eye, I have really come around on this particular topic. Anything but a knife seems altogether unnatural now. From volunteer anecdotes, the vegetable peeler is a popular gift sent from a volunteer's family back home to his or her host family in Kazakhstan. I have never once heard of an instance where a host family actually used the peeler. Why? Well, people everywhere often stubbornly cling to what they are accustomed to, but in this case a knife is simply more efficient. Vegetable peelers: slightly less pointless than Febreze.
The dryer is an appliance that I have come to see as utterly superfluous. It is an awfully expensive alternative to a piece of string, which accomplishes the same task albeit a little more slowly. On the other hand, the purchase of a washing machine must add about three or four years to a person's lifespan. Hand-washing is back-breaking work and almost never results in a truly clean article of clothing. Jeans are the worst -- an absolute nightmare that require at least 10 minutes per pair. Coincidentally, my jeans happen to be a little dirty at the moment.
I first began to dwell on this theme about a month ago, which was about the last time I have had hot water although I have lost track of time since it disappeared. The lack of hot water is a mild inconvenience and not one that is worthy of a serious complaint. Many volunteers, even in a relatively rich country like Kazakhstan, have no hot water -- and many in the villages have no running water at all. Often, people in the villages clean themselves only in the banya (the Russian variant of a sauna), which is often only once a week. Volunteers can drag the ol' bucket out to the banya house whenever they want in the summer, but when it's -30 degrees outside it's not conducive to even a bucket bath.
Anyway, my district in Zhezkazgan seems to have fallen victim to a massive water main leak. This summer has seen a number of minor public works projects all over the city, which is good to see: repaving roads, beautifying parks, etc. Unfortunately, about two weeks after they repaved the little "streets" that snake through the haphazardly-arranged apartment blocks of my district, they promptly dug up about half of them in an effort to root out this water main issue. As the weeks have gone on, the digging has created a trench about half the length of the Maginot Line and it shows no signs of abating so it is safe to say that my poor apartment will be bereft of water for quite some time.
The lack of hot water posed a big threat to my daily routine, which includes a morning shower because like any good American I am completely and totally obsessed and addicted to showering daily. Faced with the prospect of a cold shower or the old-fashioned bucket bath, the choice was clear. My new routine is to put water on the stove to boil in a teapot when I wake up. I then pour the boiling water into my laundry bucket and mix it with cold water from the tub. With the bucket in the center of the tub, I squat nearby and I scoop water onto myself with my head over the bucket to catch most of the water so that I don't burn through it too fast. Shampoo, a little soap, and it is not even a hassle. As somebody who was prone to taking overly long showers in the US, it is amazing to me how little water is required to take a perfectly effective "shower". To be fair, it is easier for a guy with short hair, but all I need is about three or four liters of water. Since I have been forced to run with the "bucket shower" method, I would estimate that I have used about as much water in one month as I did in a one day's regular shower. That's pretty crazy, huh?
(Who knew that a green and purple bucket with festive drawings on the bottom could be a source of contemplation?)
For example: vegetable peelers. My mother sent me a peeler in the mail when I moved into my apartment. The gesture was, of course, appreciated, but the truth is that I rarely use it. (Sorry, Mom!) Everybody in Kazakhstan uses knives and while our worldviews don't always see eye to eye, I have really come around on this particular topic. Anything but a knife seems altogether unnatural now. From volunteer anecdotes, the vegetable peeler is a popular gift sent from a volunteer's family back home to his or her host family in Kazakhstan. I have never once heard of an instance where a host family actually used the peeler. Why? Well, people everywhere often stubbornly cling to what they are accustomed to, but in this case a knife is simply more efficient. Vegetable peelers: slightly less pointless than Febreze.
The dryer is an appliance that I have come to see as utterly superfluous. It is an awfully expensive alternative to a piece of string, which accomplishes the same task albeit a little more slowly. On the other hand, the purchase of a washing machine must add about three or four years to a person's lifespan. Hand-washing is back-breaking work and almost never results in a truly clean article of clothing. Jeans are the worst -- an absolute nightmare that require at least 10 minutes per pair. Coincidentally, my jeans happen to be a little dirty at the moment.
I first began to dwell on this theme about a month ago, which was about the last time I have had hot water although I have lost track of time since it disappeared. The lack of hot water is a mild inconvenience and not one that is worthy of a serious complaint. Many volunteers, even in a relatively rich country like Kazakhstan, have no hot water -- and many in the villages have no running water at all. Often, people in the villages clean themselves only in the banya (the Russian variant of a sauna), which is often only once a week. Volunteers can drag the ol' bucket out to the banya house whenever they want in the summer, but when it's -30 degrees outside it's not conducive to even a bucket bath.
Anyway, my district in Zhezkazgan seems to have fallen victim to a massive water main leak. This summer has seen a number of minor public works projects all over the city, which is good to see: repaving roads, beautifying parks, etc. Unfortunately, about two weeks after they repaved the little "streets" that snake through the haphazardly-arranged apartment blocks of my district, they promptly dug up about half of them in an effort to root out this water main issue. As the weeks have gone on, the digging has created a trench about half the length of the Maginot Line and it shows no signs of abating so it is safe to say that my poor apartment will be bereft of water for quite some time.
The lack of hot water posed a big threat to my daily routine, which includes a morning shower because like any good American I am completely and totally obsessed and addicted to showering daily. Faced with the prospect of a cold shower or the old-fashioned bucket bath, the choice was clear. My new routine is to put water on the stove to boil in a teapot when I wake up. I then pour the boiling water into my laundry bucket and mix it with cold water from the tub. With the bucket in the center of the tub, I squat nearby and I scoop water onto myself with my head over the bucket to catch most of the water so that I don't burn through it too fast. Shampoo, a little soap, and it is not even a hassle. As somebody who was prone to taking overly long showers in the US, it is amazing to me how little water is required to take a perfectly effective "shower". To be fair, it is easier for a guy with short hair, but all I need is about three or four liters of water. Since I have been forced to run with the "bucket shower" method, I would estimate that I have used about as much water in one month as I did in a one day's regular shower. That's pretty crazy, huh?
(Who knew that a green and purple bucket with festive drawings on the bottom could be a source of contemplation?)Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Escaping the Steppe
During the summer months, OCAP (NGO) volunteers and TEFL (teacher) volunteers have very divergent schedules. Sadly, NGOs do not have summer vacations, so we toil away at work while the TEFLs craft nomadic itineraries that take them from summer camp to summer camp across the country. I am a bit jealous of it all because it is a fantastic opportunity to tour the country and to spend time with other volunteers. That said, it is hard to begrudge my teaching counterparts anything because their daily schedule during the school year is a lot more grueling than life in most NGO offices.
Fortunately, it is not totally impossible to leave my island in the steppe. Recently, I traveled to a small town in northern Kazakhstan called Schuchinsk, where a number of volunteers assembled for five-day Russian language camp. The atmosphere around Schuchinsk was very, very different from what I have becomed used to in Zhezkazgan. Like most northern locales, Schuchinsk is much more Russian than the southern part of Kazakhstan. In truth, the biggest difference had nothing to do with the people; instead, it was the environment that really stood out. An hour or two south of the town by train, the steppe more or less ended and gave way to forested land. While there are trees in Zhezkazgan, it hardly feels forested, so walking under a canopy of greenery was a strange experience after living in the center of the steppe for so long.
(The road to the local volunteer's house was delightfully tree-lined by national standards)
(Locals clamber into boats at one of Borovoe's lakes. In the back left is Borovoe's signature rock formation that is fairly famous in Kazakhstan. It's basically the Old Man On The Mountain, except in a lake. You might have to click on the picture and expand it to see it well.)
It should be noted that the "green line" in Kazakhstan does not extend uniformly east or west. In the Kokshetau region (containing Schuchinsk) and around Petropavlovsk a little further north, the countryside is apparently forested. However, I've heard that Pavlodar and Kostanai -- located to the northeast and northwest of Schuchinsk respectively -- are classic steppe towns. This green island in Kazakhstan is well-known locally. Schuchinsk is the gateway to a small region of lakes and hills known as Borovoe. Locals will describe this area as "The Switzerland of Kazakhstan". It is certainly a pleasant area that is a welcome change from the endless monotony of the brown steppe, but this is a grotesque exaggeration. In terms of the dramatic beauty of nature, Borovoe is more along the lines of a typical lake in New England. The comparisons to the sweeping majesty of the Alps are...lacking, to be charitable.
(A Borovoe nature view)
(If you lived in the steppe, you'd call these hills mountains too)
Fortunately, it is not totally impossible to leave my island in the steppe. Recently, I traveled to a small town in northern Kazakhstan called Schuchinsk, where a number of volunteers assembled for five-day Russian language camp. The atmosphere around Schuchinsk was very, very different from what I have becomed used to in Zhezkazgan. Like most northern locales, Schuchinsk is much more Russian than the southern part of Kazakhstan. In truth, the biggest difference had nothing to do with the people; instead, it was the environment that really stood out. An hour or two south of the town by train, the steppe more or less ended and gave way to forested land. While there are trees in Zhezkazgan, it hardly feels forested, so walking under a canopy of greenery was a strange experience after living in the center of the steppe for so long.
(The road to the local volunteer's house was delightfully tree-lined by national standards)
(Locals clamber into boats at one of Borovoe's lakes. In the back left is Borovoe's signature rock formation that is fairly famous in Kazakhstan. It's basically the Old Man On The Mountain, except in a lake. You might have to click on the picture and expand it to see it well.)It should be noted that the "green line" in Kazakhstan does not extend uniformly east or west. In the Kokshetau region (containing Schuchinsk) and around Petropavlovsk a little further north, the countryside is apparently forested. However, I've heard that Pavlodar and Kostanai -- located to the northeast and northwest of Schuchinsk respectively -- are classic steppe towns. This green island in Kazakhstan is well-known locally. Schuchinsk is the gateway to a small region of lakes and hills known as Borovoe. Locals will describe this area as "The Switzerland of Kazakhstan". It is certainly a pleasant area that is a welcome change from the endless monotony of the brown steppe, but this is a grotesque exaggeration. In terms of the dramatic beauty of nature, Borovoe is more along the lines of a typical lake in New England. The comparisons to the sweeping majesty of the Alps are...lacking, to be charitable.
(A Borovoe nature view)
(If you lived in the steppe, you'd call these hills mountains too)
Friday, July 24, 2009
Not What The Doctor Ordered
All Kaz-20 volunteers were required to make the trek to Almaty during July for a standard checkup with the doctor and a trip to a local dentist. For some volunteers, this entails a one-hour taxi ride. In my case, it was a 70 hour round-trip odyssey on three different trains, all for 16 hours in the city. At least I ran into a few other volunteers who were in town for an English teachers' conference.
As ridiculous as that may sound, though, you simply become accustomed to long train rides. They aren't nearly as unbearable as they may seem. For one thing, trains are timed to maximize sleeping time; the Zhezkazgan-Almaty train leaves at 11:30pm and arrives at 5:50am two days later for a total journey of around 30 hours, the majority of which I slept through. To cope with the ponderously slow speed of Kazakhstan's trains, locals have developed a great train culture and more often than not I find myself in interesting conversations with kind people. In this country, people aren't always overly friendly in the public sphere, but on the train this is very rarely the case. Life on the train is worthy of much more than a paragraph, however. When I finally get around to taking pictures on the train, there is a tour de force of a post waiting to be ridden about The Train.
As ridiculous as that may sound, though, you simply become accustomed to long train rides. They aren't nearly as unbearable as they may seem. For one thing, trains are timed to maximize sleeping time; the Zhezkazgan-Almaty train leaves at 11:30pm and arrives at 5:50am two days later for a total journey of around 30 hours, the majority of which I slept through. To cope with the ponderously slow speed of Kazakhstan's trains, locals have developed a great train culture and more often than not I find myself in interesting conversations with kind people. In this country, people aren't always overly friendly in the public sphere, but on the train this is very rarely the case. Life on the train is worthy of much more than a paragraph, however. When I finally get around to taking pictures on the train, there is a tour de force of a post waiting to be ridden about The Train.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Globalization
A few moments ago in the Шаруа bazaar in Zhezkazgan, Kazakhstan, I bought a Granny Smith apple with a little grown-in-Chile sticker on the side. The distance between Santiago, Chile and Almaty, Kazakhstan is about 10,530 miles.
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