I ♥ Kazakhstan

Hear “I love KZ” leave my lips and you can assume one of two things: I’ve developed a sweet affection for this place and its people or, as Jack Ingram would put it, it’s the only four-letter word that’ll do. Any given day, both can be right on the money. And this “love” I have for Kazakhstan has admittedly become more intense with time. Thankfully, though, the sweet affection far outweighs the times of loathing, as (I hope) you can see as (I hope) you read on…

A Throne among Thrones
An entertaining (albeit absurd) way to reflect on 10+ months in KZ is by comparing the different places I’ve, well, relieved myself. Think what you may, but this is an exercise you just can’t have much fun with staying inside US borders. I mean, there, you may have multicolored toilet seats or fuzzy seat covers. Maybe a rug around the base that you’re nervous about putting your feet on. Or knobs that make it tricky to flush with your foot. But here, oh, is it a different story. Forget foot-flushing, you germaphobes. If you’re lucky enough to use a toilet resembling those in the US, there will be either a button or something to pull up on the tank. My first KZ toilet needed a good dose of finesse to flush right, even after a local explained what needed to happen. With many of those indoor toilets, don’t you dare drop your tp thinking it’ll flush fine. So the most common toilet is a tiny room with only the toilet and a covered trash can. Get out quick and go in search of a sink with soap.

Still, it’s a huge step up from the variety of outhouses. Some with doors that close… some that put you at risk of indecent exposure. Some with deep holes… and some unpleasantly shallow. Some made for one, some designed for socializing. And one with a beautifully carved exterior and equally interesting interior. Cutouts of wooden feet complete with toenail polish tell you right where to stand, and a porthole makes a nice place to lay a flashlight at night. Well done, Forest Brother and Mary. Well done. But going back through my now-extensive Rolodex of outhouses, I can’t say I’ve seen one with a place to sit – just holes (of varying size) cut in the floor. Your aim improves with practice…

But don’t go thinking my reflections end with ho-hum toilets and unavoidable outhouses. I can now say KZ is home to the most sophisticated toilet I’ve ever encountered. It makes automatic flush look old-fashioned. This sucker had an attached remote. Immediately upon sensing weight, a spray of air freshener is released into the bowl below the heated toilet seat. Then as you, you know, you can contemplate all sorts of options, most of which I didn’t dare try to understand. I mean, how many different types of bides can there be? And do I really need a toilet to wash and dry me?! Really, being able to flush my toilet paper is enough excitement for me. Sure, throw in a heated toilet seat, I guess, but the rest… I just don’t get it.

Even more than I don’t understand the sheer excessiveness of the throne I experienced in Astana, though, I am bewildered that each and every one of these toilets can be found within 5 or 6 hours of driving around KZ. Say what you want about Nebraska, but you won’t find that diversity between Lincoln and Scottsbluff.

Running around Kazakhstan
By train, in a bus, with a taxi, or on foot… I’ve been more places in the last six weeks than many Kazakhstanis have seen. And while many locals are quite sure I’ve just been vacationing like crazy, I swear there’s been work done in there, too. Three summer camps: first was Noelle’s.

For the second, I went north and west to Presnovka, where Patrick has done a superb job with a pioneer site. I joined a rock-star team of Kaz-20s and 21s, and finagled an American football from a PCV who clearly doesn’t need two. ☺ Thanks, Brendan. And does “publicly” thanking you mean I get to keep it instead of this “borrowing” concept you speak of? I may take your silence as a yes.

Third, I traveled east to beautiful Bayanaul. A horrendous bus ride (averaging 40mph (to be generous) because of awful roads… in clear weather… for over 5 hours) later, I was in a place with scenery to make up for my sore bum and rattled brain. For the next 10 days, I squeezed in with a small group of PCVs on the floor of Forest Brother’s cozy abode. We took advantage of our surroundings through excursions of berry picking, hiking, swimming, lazy evening walks, and even a few jogs. And for “showering”, prayers were offered that no one would be electrocuted and that no one would walk in on me as they innocently made their way in or out of the house. (Maybe I ought to post a note or two of the “shower” Rolodex I’ve got going sometime.) Crazy as it sounds, I’m pretty proud of how clean I can get with only half a bucket of water. And even crazier, there’s something I enjoy about being in a place where amenities are such that I get to walk down to the well for the bucket of water. Can’t imagine I’d enjoy it near as much in the dead of winter. Because of that, my beloved PCVs who are in such places will forever stand on a pedestal I’ve erected in my brain.

Back in Shakhtinsk, where on a good day I’ve got enough water pressure to take a respectable shower, the running continues, just with a great pair of Brooks. The events of the last month, though, deserve their own little heading.

Ivan Running Guy
It’s become a common sight as my phone rings. To explain from the beginning takes us back to a Saturday in June. Armed with my iPod, I headed out for my week’s long run. Only six minutes in, I gasped when I suddenly noticed a young man jogging beside me. He asked if he could run with me, and not seeing a reason to refuse, I responded in the affirmative. As we jogged… and jogged… and jogged some more, bits of conversation were exchanged. Yes, I’m American. No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I think that covers all the basics. Seven miles later, we finally slowed to a walk.

Wait, not all the basics. One last very important question to ask me… what’s my phone number? Ugh. A struggle far too many PCVs encounter far too often. Not wanting to be mean (but also not wanting to give him my number) I just said, “Later.” He was persistent, and creeping thoughts of the advantages of having a good running buddy added in to get me to the tipping point. Besides, I was leaving the next day for summer camp #2 and wouldn’t be back for nearly a month. And so, I surrendered my number. About an hour later, I answered a phone call and saved his. Not two hours later, caller ID showed me “Ivan Running Guy”. I push a button to silence the call and wondered just what I’d gotten myself into.

I made it quite clear that Saturday in June that I wouldn’t be back to Shakhtinsk until July 17. What I didn’t make clear, apparently, is that I was not interested in getting a phone call from him every day in between. A very important little detail to add here: he does not speak a lick of English. He is (can you believe) very interested in me teaching him English. Too bad I threw out the last of my instantly-speak-English pills… so answering any of his phone calls would have been completely pointless. I’m hundreds of miles away, so no, I couldn’t go for a walk, a run, or anything else. And I can’t speak Russian. Charades don’t work well over the phone. So that silence button got lots of use.

Back at site after all three camps, though, (and having forgotten what the guy looks like) I wondered as I ran… was that him? Uh oh, how about that guy? I have no need for enemies, so figured, heck, give the guy a chance before writing him off as a creep. I sent a text asking if he wanted to join me for a run Thursday morning. Immediate response: “I very much want to.” The message he didn’t get was that I’d start at 7am. I ran past his workplace on my way back a few minutes before 8am. Just then, a bus stopped and he got off. I paused and spoke with him for a minute. “Why so early?” “Whoops, sorry,” I said, “but I’ll run again on Saturday.” “Alright, how about 8am?” I agreed and took off to finish my run.

By the time I got to my apartment, my phone showed two new texts. First was an apology from him for coming late. The second was compliment after compliment. Apparently I’m excellent, he admires me, and he likes me. Does that mean he likes me? Mostly because of the incessant calling, I’ll go out on a limb and say he likes me.

I, however, was not anxious to reciprocate any of this. I’m looking for a running buddy who isn’t half-crazed, either about me or in general. So I continued to ignore his calls, some days needing to ignore three or four. I did nothing about the texts. Next, though, came this text (in rough translation): “I to you not interesting?” Good grief. I can’t very well yell at the guy in either English or Russian for acting like an adolescent. But if he was looking to get a response from me, he’d gotten me. I felt like I had to do something. After some hemming and hawing, I settled on sending this message (in Russian, for which I pat myself on the back ☺): “Sorry. Just, I don’t want a boyfriend and I don’t speak Russian well.”

In response, I got a message saying, “I really liked you. I want to run with you.” Note the switch from present to past time. Whew! I recognize, though, that the future tense can’t very well be ruled out. Regardless, things were moving in the right direction.

With any locals I spent time with, I relished recounting as much of the story as I could. Good Russian practice, and telling people adds an element of safety. One woman I explained all of this to, Ira, has told me before that she runs. Apparently Ira does more sprinting, though, and with a strange work schedule, I hadn’t figured out if running with her would be an option. So I thought nothing of it. Rather, I appreciated her concern, with her ordering me to text her before and after this run planned for Saturday at 8.

Early Saturday, I rolled out of bed to prepare for running 8 miles. I was even kind enough to answer a phone call from Ivan Running Guy to confirm that I indeed would soon be running. Ready to go, I left my apartment and started stretching a bit. Just then, an SUV pulled in, driven by none other than Ira! Surprised, I was speechless as she told me she wanted to try running with me. Oh, I was pumped. How perfect. So, Ira and I headed off and as we passed Ivan’s work, he came down from his lookout post on the roof, jumped over the fence, and joined us.

What a fabulous run it turned out to be. Four miles out, a bit of a break, and back home. Ah, and I collected some of my own details. He grew up in Astana, which rules out the possibility of local teachers knowing him. And rather than my guess of 22 (and fearing 19), he says he’s 28. I’m not sure I should believe him. Irregardless, both Ivan and Ira ran really well. …And both reported being all sorts of sore the following day.

Since then, I’ve run with Ivan once more. My plan to do some fast segments with breaks between was too much for his poor legs today, though, so it turned into a combination of running ahead and switching gears to jogging instead. Not keeping up with the faster pace: good if he’s a stalker, bad if he’s a running buddy. Oh, let’s hope my sense that he’s not a crazy stalker turns out to be true, eh? And let’s hope he doesn’t continue to be a slow poke if he does keep running with me.

Etc.
Gosh the summer is disappearing fast! I can scarcely fathom what I was doing last year at this time. And now Kaz-22s are in the thick of their preparations! With the rest of my summer, I’ll be preparing to take over a couple classes since Svetlana will serve as a TCF for some lucky trainees. I also plan to start a club at the local library for adults who want to learn English, and I have every intention of playing loads of volleyball, as I’ve been doing for the last several days. If I could only find a way to stretch the summer out even longer…