Blurbs and Bits

As the waitress brought out my pork shashlik (meat on a stick, like a shish kabob without vegetables) my gluttonous hunger doubled in intensity. The wait at these cafes is always an extended affair, probably to make the food seem better when it finally comes. After a short silent prayer I examined the portion and found it to be meek and wanting. A small pile of grilled pork, a couple slices of stale bread, some onions, and a dollop of ketchup. The smell, however, was quite decent, so I decided to make due. 60% fat! Was the make up of that pile of flesh. Highly undecent. It made for good chewing though. I was sucking flavor out of those chunks like sweetarts. I glanced around the table. The makeup of my company was as follows: Valentina, a 22 year old Russian Kazakh girl that goes to the same congregation as me, Paula, a 29 year old Brit, spending a month in Kazakhstan in preparation for missionary work, and 7 other Americans; 4 families that have come to adopt children from Kazakhstan. Valentina, who speaks excellent English, works at a local adoption agency translating for families during court appearances and also helps navigate through the rigors of the adoption process. Consider the following; Valentina’s agency does everything by the book, which means they don’t give out bribes. Unfortunately, at every corner in K-Stan bureaucracy, people are waiting and hoping to get their hands on some sweet filthy lucre. And if you don’t play into them, you’ll get through the system, but not without your share of headaches, delays, and losses of temper. Such were the scenarios of the families around me. Just delays and minor headaches so far, they were a pretty calm bunch. In contrast, a different agency in the city forks over the bribe loot and the clients zip through like shashlik through my own system.

Akmaral, my counterpart, is pregnant. I think its recent news. I called her up and she said she’s going into the hospital for a week and a half to get some vitamin injections. I don’t know what that exactly means but this girl is skinny enough to hang glide on a dorito. And if it thickens her up, I don’t know..I might have to get some myself, while I’m still in a country where it’s legal.

Here’s more writings from my recent Almaty trip.

I showed up at my old host family’s and noticed everyone seemed a bit more plump. Earlier in the year both parents had turned 42, and the events weren’t without celebrations. Unfortunately about two months ago, Kuat (the father) had some kind of stroke. He was coming out of the house and passed out flat on the ground. Guldan (the mother) happened to be home that day (instead of working) and she got him to a hospital. It’s hard to tell if people ever get a direct diagnosis because I rarely hear specific names for a condition. Usually it’s blamed on cold weather or water and a healthy load of pills is prescribed. I’m not really sure what happened to Kuat but the doctor told him to stop drinking and stop driving for a few months. However his job depends on driving, so now he just drives carefully. The day after I got in to Almaty, Morgan (another PCV) arrived back from Italy with his father John. We traveled together for the next week and half and I had the pleasure of watching John experience what I experienced almost exactly a year ago; not understanding much except that people want you to eat gobs of food and wash it down with their blood warming booze. Being laidback and easy going, John negotiated Kazakhstan pretty well. He was here for a month and leaves tomorrow.

From Almaty the three of us decided to go to Taraz, a city about 7 hours West by taxi, to visit another PCV. We were originally hoping to take an evening bus but it left by the time we got to the station. So we settled for three seats in the back of a low riding minivan. This thing must have come from somewhere around England because the steering wheeling was on the right side. I didn’t realize it until half way into the trip as I was thinking, the driver’s doing a pretty good job for being asleep.. Anyway, it was one nasty ride; choppy roads, tight accommodations, basking in a potpourri of engine fumes, high priced merchants at the gas stops..it was an attack on all senses. Once in Taraz, however, we were taken in by the gracious hostess and PCV Yen Li. Yen is a girl about my age and was an Uzbekistan PCV who came to Kazakhstan after Peace Corps was kicked out. We spent a few days there feasting, conversing on all topics, and making a short visit to the public pool. Then we went back to Almaty by way of train.

Foray

I just arrived back from a small journey that took me around a giant loop in Kazakhstan. This includes about six days on trains, two separate seven hour taxi rides, and a whole lot of city bus joyriding. The main point was to go to Almaty and have a mid-service physical performed on myself. The physical turned up three expected findings; 1) I’m healthy 2) My weight is the same 3) I have no hernia And one unexpected finding: 1) The doctor was a lady. What can you do? Things got to get inspected.

The next region over (toward the east) is the Aktobe oblast (region). To go there by train from Uralsk (my oblast city), you need to cross through a sliver of Russia. Passing in and out of mother Russia, there is an hour and twenty minute stop to check for proper documents and contraband with drug sniffing cockerspaniels. Kazakhstan citizens can come and go out of Russia freely. But PCVs (Peace Corp Volunteers) are technically supposed to have a transit visa. No one really worried about it until PCVs started to get detained which was causing headaches for PC and the American embassy. A transit visa is expensive and a hassle to get. So what all this means is that I had to go to the Uralsk train station and get into a taxi 50 feet away from the track where I would’ve boarded the train, then went seven hours south to Atyrau, a city whose train runs on a different track.

Atyrau’s an oil town and is notorious for ruffians, high ballers, and expensive hotels. The secret is that in the train station you can get a twelve hour room with only three other strangers for about $6. I decided to take that challenge and ended up meeting Zhanbek (literally; Soul). We spoke in Kazakh and ended up having a spiritual conversation about life, Islam, and Christianity. Zhanbek, like many other young Kazakhs, is a cultural Muslim, which means that the extent of his religious behavior is saying, ”I’m Muslim.” I can’t get too complex with my language yet but I simply shared the basics of my faith and encouraged him to seek the Truth.
The train left the next morning. I had a Koopay ticket which put me in a small room with three other people as opposed to a full train car divided into open sections of six beds a piece and an overflow of ticketless passengers who secure a standing room only position by tossing a bribe to the stewards. I was with three youngish people. One guy brought a giant hunk of horsemeat that he generously offered, from which I would’ve eaten more than my portion had I not withstood the gluttony rising up within me. Soon after we started moving the vendors began to trickle through. People, mostly older ladies, will get on at different stops with bags of products, toss a bribe to the stewards, and lurch through the narrow aisles of the wagons peddling their wares. Water, sunflower seeds, socks, smoked fish, dombiras (two stringed guitar like instruments), booze, and many more non exotic delights. The two fellows in my Koopay each bought themselves a beer. Not twenty minutes later our door suddenly opened and a pair of policemen found what they wanted; some dude with a beer. Turns out its illegal to drink in a Koopay. The fine is about $10 and is questionable whether it ever goes to anything else than the receptive officer’s disposable income. So what about the ladies with bags full of beer? Well, they’re not drinking, they’re selling, and there’s nothing wrong with trying to make a buck.

In Kazakhstan, if you’re hot and sweaty from the summer time heat waves, there’s only one necessary common sense remedy; piping hot tea. Cold water, they say, will never quench the thirst and will cause you to continue to sweat. With hot tea, you cool down and stop sweating. At first I was about to laugh in some faces. Now, after trying it, I can honestly say I do not understand why people believe this lie. Maybe it just doesn’t work for me. I’m the type of guy where hot tea makes me hot. Which is why I drank ice cold water on the way to Almaty..about 7 Liters of it.