Real Life

“PST is nothing like your real life here,” I was told recently, by a volunteer who arrived in Kyrgyzstan a year ago. My pre-service training – aka PST – is drawing to a close. In less than a week, I’ll leave the my little village outside Bishkek and the host family I’ve come to love, the cozy bubble of other volunteers and Peace Corps staff, my excellent language teacher and cultural guide, Temirlan. So much energy has gone into adjusting to this place, to settling into this new world – it has been easy to forget that my “real life” here hasn’t begun yet. I’m looking forward to moving to the town that will be my home for the next two years, to meeting the people who will be my friends and colleagues. At the same time, I’m trying to soak up every last minute here in Gavrilovka and enjoy the wonderful people around me now.

The past month has been busy! There have been a few downs – getting bit by a dog was a big one, for sure – but many ups. My Kyrgyz language is coming along, and every conversation with my host mother or a random stranger on the bus, every word that pops into my head just when I need it, is a small victory. Last week was “Culture Day” for Peace Corps trainees, and I made my harmonica performance debut, showcased my burgeoning knowledge of Kyrgyz customs in a skit and got to wear traditional Kyrgyz clothing. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know other volunteers, and feel very lucky to have scored such a great group.

On June 11, I’ll be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer (provided I don’t really mess something up in the next few days) and move to my permanent site – a town called Toktogul, in the further-south province of Jalalabad I will be working at a Health Promotion Unit, essentially a local health department. Right now, I don’t know the specific projects I will be working on – that will depend on the needs identified by my counterparts – but I do know that my work will be fairly unstructured and, consequently, self-driven. My counterparts don’t speak English, so my Kyrgyz language will be forced to come along. It’s definitely intimidating, but I feel increasingly ready to take on that “real life” I’ve heard about, the ambiguity and challenge that I knew I was getting myself into. It’s all about to begin. And it’s very, very exciting.

Another beautiful day in the K!

Overall, we’ve been having lovely weather here in Kyrgyzstan, and I woke up today to bright sun and chirping birds. The giant wall of mountains due south of me has been visible almost everyday, and never ceases to stun me. Our stretch of sunshine got broken up yesterday by an afternoon hailstorm, which turned out to be the perfect thing to cut the humidity that had been building for a few days. Spring weather here is pretty similar to that in Michigan, and I’ve been enjoying watching everything come into bloom.

This week was the third week of PST (“pre-service training”) and life is beginning to feel routine. We were at our hub site two and a half days this week for group-wide information sessions and sector-specific trainings (I’m in the health sector). The rest of the time, we’ve been in our language courses in our villages. This week, I learned the past tense, present continuous, indirect speech, possessives and a bunch of vocabulary. Sometimes it feels like the language comes in one ear and out the other, especially on our long days of class, but I’m realizing that I have to hear most words and concepts a few times and then they stick. It’s always a pleasant surprise when, in the midst of a conversation later on, I’m able to conjure up some word or phrase that I didn’t realize I’d actually retained. My trusty Peace Corps-issued Kyrgyz-English dictionary, while sometimes lacking in terms of common, useful words, has provided some interesting gems of new vocabulary. For instance: galantereyee (haberdashery), sogoosh (warfare), jaak sogu (jaw bone), zambeerek (howitzer).  Also, the word achoo means both spicy and angry, which I really enjoy.

Speaking of sogoosh: May 9, if you didn’t know, was WWII Victory Day. It’s a big deal here in Kyrgyzstan, as Kyrgyz soldiers fought in the war as part of the Soviet forces. My host brother explained it to me as “Kyrgyzstan beat Hitler,” and then mimed Hitler’s death to really drive home the point. I mentioned that the U.S. was also involved in that war, which was clearly a preposterous suggestion. After some thought, my host mom said that it was possible that the U.S. had been involved in WWII, but if so our role was probably kichinae (small). It’s interesting to be on the other side of revisionist history.

I got home from language class on Victory Day afternoon to find my house PACKED with relatives – my host mom’s parents and sisters, lots of kids running around everywhere. I even learned that one guy who I thought was just my host brother’s friend is actually a cousin (these type of realizations happen to me almost daily. The language barrier keeps life interesting). We barbequed “shashlik” (goat shish kebobs, marinated in a really great spicy sauce) and ate it with thinly sliced, vinegary onions. Midway through the barbeque, the hail came tumbling down and everyone ran for cover – reminded me a 4^th of July that got interrupted by a big storm several years ago in Marshall!

Another highlight of my week was making chocolate chip cookies with my host sister, Ainazik. Chocolate chips were improvised by breaking a chocolate bar up into little bits, but otherwise all ingredients were on hand. The cookies turned out surprisingly well, despite the fact that I was eyeballing all measurements. My host family (and a few neighboring Peace Corps volunteers who were magnetically drawn by the smell of baking cookies) enjoyed the “American pechenie” a lot. The best was my 4-year-old host brother Altai, who at first refused to try them. Then he took a nibble of one….then a whole cookie….then another….then another. I think he ate six or seven of them in the end (reminds me of another young man I know. CoughQuinnFlemingCoughCough).

Finally, last week I went on my first hike in Kyrgyzstan! It was pretty short, just a two hour romp up into the hills near the village of some other Peace Corps-ers. Half the adventure was getting to the village and back (modes of transportation utilized: mini-bus, taxi, donkey cart). What I saw was beautiful; it made me realize just how little of the country I’ve seen so far, and whet my appetite for all the traveling, hiking and general adventuring to come. 

Altai, coolest kid on the block.

View from the hike.

Just my daily mountain view.

Ainazik making cookies.

They weren't much to look at....but tasted great.

My language group having lunch at my house. From left: Hilary, Tiffany, Max,
the great Temirlan-agai, Erin and Sydney.

Shashlik.

Whole family digging into some Victory cake. 

Near my village.

I've arrived!

I’ve been in Kyrgyzstan for just under two weeks, and I don’t even know where to begin in describing it. The past 12 days feel like a year and a minute, all at once. So much has happened; I’ve met many new people and crammed many Kyrgyz words into my brain (or attempted to), tried new foods and drank about a thousand cups of tea. I’ve been enjoying the challenge of this new place, the sensory overload, the total exhaustion that sets in around 9pm each night.

The journey here was a little rough – due to flight delays, I was two hours late to “staging” in Philadelphia, where I met my fellow K-21s (we’re the 21^st group of Peace Corps volunteers to go to Kyrgyzstan. There are 38 of us) and was slightly concerned that I’d be kicked out of the Peace Corps for being late, which of course was not the case. The next day we got on a bus to New York and hopped flights to Frankfurt, Istanbul and finally Bishkek. By the end of it I barely knew my own name, let alone what time it was and where I was. I will say that I am now a huge fan of Turkish Airlines, mostly because they give you little Turkish candy at the beginning of each flight.

We spent three days at a hotel in Bishkek, attending different orientation sessions and starting our language studies. We weren’t allowed to leave the hotel during that time, which was probably for the best because we are infants in this country.

Once the Peace Corps deemed us sufficiently oriented, we moved in with host families in villages outside of Bishkek. I have two younger host brothers, Azamat and Altai (ages 18 and 4), and a host sister, Ainazik (age 9). My mother is a chemistry teacher and my father is a lawyer who works in Kazakhstan. It is pretty common for family members to leave the country to work, as there aren’t many job opportunities in Kyrgyzstan.

We’re taking intensive language courses in small groups based on which village we live in. There are six of us in my group, and though it’s difficult we’re having a blast. Our teacher is a cool character named Temerlan. He has a wry sense of humor, and keeps things interesting.  This is important because we have up to six hours of language class on some days.

On other days, we head to the “hub site” where we attend orientation sessions with the whole gang of K-21s. We’ve learned about the political/economic situation in Kyrgyzstan and the country’s history, Peace Corps policies and approaches to international development, all the diseases we might get and how to deal with them, and a lot more. The session on the political/economic situation in Kyrgyzstan was by far the most interesting – it was fascinating to hear about Kyrgyzstan’s rocky road since the fall of the Soviet Union. Nonetheless, instant coffee has been pretty crucial to me getting through “hub days.”

Between language courses and hub days, there’s been a lot of new information thrown at me in the past week. However, the most important education so far has been living with a host family, getting to know them and observing their way of life. My family has been so helpful and kind; I’ve been enjoying them a lot. I could go on and on, but I’ll let some pictures do the talking. 

View from the hotel in Bishkek.

My host mother, Nazi. 

My house.

Altai, my little host brother.

Altai again. He's cute, but don't be fooled - 100% trouble.

My host sister, Ainazik. We're buds. We do yoga.

My village, Gavrilovka.

Jade plants in the window of my house. Feels like home.

Near my village.

Goodbye, Lake Michigan

...see you in three years!

Meredith and Becca, beach babes. 

Going to K'stan!

Time to shake the dust off this old blog!

After many months of waiting, I finally got the word from the Peace Corps: On April 16, I'll be leaving for the Kyrgyz Republic! (aka Kyrgyzstan, aka K'stan, as my former prof/dear friend Gail Griffin has nicknamed it)

I am stoked beyond stoked, for many reasons. Including:

- The country is 95% mountains, and they look gorgeous. I'm bringing my hiking boots! http://www.kac.centralasia.kg/

- The national sport, Kökbörü, is "often compared to polo. Both games are played between people on horseback, both involve propelling an object toward a goal, and both get fairly rough. However, polo is played with a ball, and buzkashi is played with a headless goat carcass." 

- The diet seems to be heavily comprised of meat-rice. This surely means I'll get a visit from Andrew Mickus, champion of meat-rice consumption. 

....and many more. The bottom line is that I'm thrilled to know where I'm going, and start preparing for this crazy, tough adventure.

The Final Installment

I haven’t written for a while. When I left off, I was in the midst of wrapping up my time in Varanasi - writing final papers, saying goodbye to the friends I’d made and waiting for my family to arrive for their visit to India. Arrive they did - the plane was only an hour late, which is quite punctual by Indian standards. Apparently four Americans and their luggage were too much for the small car I’d hired to pick my family up at the airport, because it broke down halfway into the city. We split up into two rickshaws and completed the ride to our hotel, during which my mother seriously doubted that she would ever see my father and I (who were in the other rickshaw) again. I’d forgotten to tell her that it’s normal for rickshaw drivers to take a detour to buy some paan (chewing tobacco) along the way - no, they’re not trying to kidnap you, Mom. 

The rest of our time in India was filled with the trials and excitements that should be a part of any trip to India. My family was awed by the sights and sounds and smells of Varanasi. We took a boat ride down the Ganga - although I think they found the careening auto rickshaw ride through the crowded streets to be more of a thrill. We also had dinner with the family of Prastuti Mishra, my Hindi teacher. I was so happy that my U.S. family got to meet my Varanasi family - and eat some of their delicious food!

We left Varanasi by train, the first of four overnight trains on our journey. I was proud of my parents for handling these long trainrides with such grace - even the time we all had to jump onto a moving train and spend four hours sitting on the floor next to a stinky bathroom ended up being laughed about the next day.  We saw the Taj Mahal, in all its majesty - even though one member of the family had to conquer a nasty bout of food poisoning to make it there. We visited the Jodhpur, the “blue city” of Rajastan and wandered through a magnificent centuries-old fort on a hilltop. We saw the sights in Delhi - including the Gallery of Modern Art, the ghat where Gandhi was cremated and Indira Gandhi’s house - and met up with friends the Chopras, who had so wonderfully taken care of me during my time in India. 

After a whirlwind week and a half, my father and sister were headed back to the States. But my mother and I still had a week left in India, so we headed north - to the Himalayas - which quickly became our favorite place in India. McLeod Ganj, a small mountain village outside of Dharamasala, is home to tens of thousands of Tibetan refugees, including His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The town is quaint and clean, with lots of Tibetan babies to warm your heart and delicious Tibetan soups to warm the rest of you. My mom and I visited sites around the town - such as the temple complex that is home to His Holiness, and a Children’s Village that houses orphaned Tibetan refugee children. We relaxed at cafes with our books and wandered the shops. We ate great food - Tibetan soups and momos (dumplings), and even some remarkably delicious Burmese mutton - and took a cooking class, struggling to form dough into delicately pinched momos. (Last week at home we made pakthuk, one of the soups we’d learned, and it turned out wonderfully!). One of our favorite things to do was walk the path that circles the Dalai Lama’s complex - it is lined with prayer flags and prayer wheels, and each day we saw tiny elderly Tibetans walking the path to complete their prayers. All in all, McLeod Ganj was wonderful - clean, beautiful, calm and delicious.

After a nauseating car trip down winding mountain roads, we took a plane to Delhi. From there, my mom flew home - but I stayed another night, with the Chopras. On my second day in India, back in July, the Chopras had shown me around Delhi and welcomed me into their home, insisting that I come back to visit (as I later did) and alert them if I had any problems in India. It seemed fitting to spend my last night in India with them. My first visit in July seemed so long ago; so much time had passed and so much had changed - or maybe just I had changed. 

The next night, December 12, I boarded plane - on to Thailand and then home, to snowy Michigan, just in time for the holidays. The sprawling lights of Delhi disappeared into the dark as my plane took off. Goodbye, India. It had been quite a ride.

Meeting my family at the airport.

Last glimpses of Varanasi.

The fam at the fort in Jodhpur.

Anna at the Taj Mahal.

Tibetan cooking class in McLeod Ganj.

Beautiful McLeod Ganj.