Good Grief.

Oh, where do I begin?! Well over a month ago, I sat in a banquet hall with dozens of others, chowing down on who-knows-what. Since then, I’ve been all over the place… and you could apply that to location as well as spirits. Bear with me as I reach way back to places already beginning to collect dust in my brain.

Setting Sail
Date: March 20, 2010. First day of spring. A splendidly fitting day for Maxcat and Baldergan to celebrate love in the air. I dolled myself up as best I could to join my host family for their pre-wedding celebration. The couple was to officially tie the knot the following Saturday; the 20th marked the day the groom’s family ceremoniously took the bride from her family. Due to my plans to be in Southern Kazakhstan on the day of the wedding, my attendance at this banquet was of paramount importance.

The day’s layout: eat lots of food at reserved restaurant in the afternoon, return home quickly to collect my luggage for a two week trip, navigate to Karaganda and board a south-bound train in the evening.

Early afternoon, I scrambled to finish packing one backpack for 16 days (including two computers… more on that to come) as my family rushed me out the door. We joined various relatives of both the bride and groom for a lovely meal of bishbarmak, side salads, and …other delicacies. The celebration included scheduled toasts, and my arm got twisted into saying some kind words, too. Thank goodness I didn’t have to speak in Russian over a microphone – the groom speaks English well and seemed content to receive an English toast. (Though personally, I would prefer an English muffin. :)

In good time, I was offered a ride home from some relatives who were leaving early. Back in the apartment, my little brother and a friend of his kept me company as I readied myself for a long train ride. Ready to walk out the door, I swung my backpack on my shoulders, and turned the deadbolt knob. And turned it again. And heard a snap. And then freely turned the knob, which was no longer connected to the bolt that was still holding the front door securely shut. Panic gripped my little brother, who threw every pound of strength he has into the door, then rushed to the phone, calling his parents’ every number.

I like to call it cultural integration – blindly assuming (as it seems so many locals do) that everything will work out. So I crouched next to the wall, opened a box of Oreo cookies, and patiently waited. Mind you, I didn’t go to great lengths to calm my little brother. Somebody has to freak out. I just like my blood pressure to stay near its baseline.

And soon enough, my poor host sister and host father stood on the other side of said door and hollered directions in to my 8 year-old brother. A key turned into a clumsy screwdriver that, combined with help from a flashlight, moved the bolt. Whew! Within minutes, I was on a tense ride to the bus station in town. A certain someone lamented the problems that just had to come with the holiday weekend, and the two little boys who must have contributed. Never mind that the door has been falling apart for months now, with no moves to repair it… Darn human nature, leading us to shift the blame any chance we get.

My host sister filled in where I failed and called back to the apartment to a terrified, and now weeping, boy who did all he knew how to get me on the road as soon as possible. With all the extra time I had given myself to catch my train, there was nothing to worry about, but that doesn’t do much for a 3rd grader who has taken on the heavy burden of providing a top-notch home to some strange person.

Rather than assume you know the destination of this train, here’s the nutshell. First train: to Shymkent as a tourist for Nauryz (big Kazakh holiday) between March 21 and 26. Second train: arrived in Almaty on March 27, which is where I stayed until April 3, with Peace Corps training (IST) starting April 30 and finishing April 2. Third train: return to site, leaving Almaty April 3 and arriving April 4.

Train Snip-its
Oh, the wonders of the train system here in Kazakhstan. I enjoy pondering what it’d be like if the same system existed in the U.S. So you can ponder along with me, here’s the lowdown. We PCVs choose between two “classes”: Platzcart or Kupe. A kupe wagon has a bathroom at each end and a kettle of boiling water to use for drinks or ramen-type food at one end (next to the conductor’s little office space), with an aisle running lengthwise right next to the windows. Walking down the aisle, you pass sliding doors, which open into a compartment, or room. Each room has four beds and a small table that’s attached just below the window, in between the two bottom bunks.

Over in platzcart, you’ve got the same amenities and the same type of area with four beds and a table that flips down in between the two bottom bunks. But, the beds aren’t quite as long in order to maximize space. And now the aisle doesn’t run along the window. Instead, there are two beds, perpendicular to the group of four, running against the windows. The narrow aisle goes in between the sets of two and the sets of four. You end up with what I like to call “pods”. Six beds to a pod, with a wall running between each pod (except for in the aisle, of course). Without doors, platzcart is much less private, though people are still mostly confined to their respective pod.

In both kupe and platzcart, passengers are provided with bedding. Bedrolls are stored on upper bunks or on the third level (shelf two or three feet from the ceiling) along with folded blankets and pillows. Sheets are provided as the conductors walk through the wagon to check tickets. They hand you a sealed bag containing two large sheets, a pillow cover, and a small towel. It all makes for a decently comfortable ride, whether you’re in kupe or platzcart.

There are reasons for traveling both, but since kupe is nearly double the price of platzcart, you better have some darn good reasons. Going to site in November, Peace Corps got kupe tickets for all the volunteers traveling by train. In February, I rode in platzcart down to Balkhash.

For most of my travels in late March and early April, I purchased platzcart tickets. The gamble with this, of course, is exiting the train with stories of drunk men fondling your food, or sweet girls wanting to practice their English, or going ten hours without muttering so much as a word. By now, I’ve had all three, plus plenty more.

Riding with Louis L’Amour
On the ride to Shymkent, my bed was in a different wagon than other volunteers. Early on, I had visited them, and a local guy walking through recognized one of girls as a teacher at his college. We made small talk before wandering to different parts of the train. Later, I kicked back in my own bed and listened to an audiobook on my iPod. The local guy spotted me and stopped to say hello. Noticing my headphones, he asked what I was playing. “Oh, I’m just listening to a book.” His brows furrowed. I spoke more slowly, trying to catch where the misunderstanding lay. “You know, someone is reading the book out loud, and I’m listening to it.” He stood for several seconds, still visibly confused. “So,” he finally said, “it is a book for your …ears? …Not for your eyes?” “Exactly,” I agreed. Exactly.

With the same audiobook, I succeeded in confounding another local on another ride. This time it was a flirtatious conductor who couldn’t speak English but wanted to listen in on my music. Knowing perfectly well what would happen, I gladly handed over an earbud. His face scrunched up and he handed it back. Where’s the music, he wanted to know. Sorry, I replied. Just books. Works like a charm, assuming such sharing isn’t your thing.

Only thing is, if you’re listening to L’Amour, Kazakhstan’s setting substitutes all too easily, leaving you convinced that the train is probably in the process of being robbed, or that some renegade will emerge from the crest of the hill nearest the tracks. I kept my eyes peeled, and though the hills remained empty, I entertained myself with musings about the time when the steppe was alive with all too similar adventures unfolding.

Shymkent
Our quasi-tourist experience got off to a smooth start on March 21st with Shymkent volunteers haggling taxi drivers for us and leading us to the apartment we’d live out of for the next few days. (Quick note: per-KZ culture, visitors don’t rent hotel rooms. Here, we rent apartments, even if it’s only for a day.) Birds of a feather flock together, and that was the case in grouping together the masses who descended on Shymkent. Call it dull or call it peaceful, those of us who wanted a quiet apartment found each other and enjoyed it.

As for the cultural celebrations, the trip left something to be desired. Namely, Kokpar. We were quite upset at the lost opportunity to see horseback riders snatching a goat carcass from one another, polo style. Maybe next year. Instead, we filled ourselves with plof, and sashlik, and bauersak, and other deliciousness.

On Wednesday, another volunteer and I embarked on a tour of Southern Kazakhstan. We went into a National Park, stayed with two different host families, and had quite the adventures. Without a doubt, being a tourist is decidedly different in KZ. Suffice it to say, we made it back alive.

Radical Hospitality
Over in Almaty, everything worked out better than planned. And I’ll back up a minute and remind you of this renting-apartment business that’s so common here. See, many of us were arriving in Almaty earlier than necessary. We had to be there for IST, but until then, Peace Corps would not be providing lodging. For that, we were on our own.

On this trip, I hoped to stay with people I had befriended during PST. One Sunday in October, I met a lovely couple from South Africa who are currently teaching at an international school in Almaty. Though I only talked to them for 30 minutes, I got a generous and hospitable vibe. So in preparation for this trip, I asked them about the possibility of visiting them (and staying in their apartment). I got a warm reply, just asking for specific dates. I sent over my travel plans and awaited their response. Turns out they planned to be out of the country during the first part of my time in town. So, they insisted, they would leave the key to their apartment with a friend, from whom I could retrieve it. Dang! I was blown away. Really, they were willing to give their key to a person they had met months ago, and then only for 30 minutes?! I called another PCV for advice on the situation. Being in the same boat in regard to lodging needs, we came up with the idea of seeing if we could both stay there. Turns out I’m much more bold when it’s not just me.

With an invitation extended to both of us, we got off our train in Almaty and, with the help of a local, got a cab to the right part of the city. Oh, it couldn’t have worked out more smoothly. We settled in a bit and headed back out to meet other volunteers for lunch… came back in the evening and baked up a delicious dinner and enjoyed the fabulous apartment. Just to clarify, we arrived on Saturday morning. They returned from their travels late on Sunday. So, we got to spend time with them on Monday before going to training on Tuesday. Oh, I can’t tell you how pleased I was to stay there, in a beautiful place with such wonderful people.

More posts are in progress, but rather than wait until I get them all written, I’ll post in segments. You’ve got my word – there will be more soon!