In Taraz

Dear Reader,

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the ROCK. Jingle all the ROCK." She concluded her song as she chopped away at vegetables bound for the pan.

I sequestered myself in the living room where I'd set up my computer and audio setup, fuming at myself for losing 500 Tenge ($3.25-oh no!) that no doubt escaped my pocket when I snatched my iPod from it to check off an item on the to-do list. One good deed balances out back to zero again...

Such is life. Sometimes you just can't win.

I’ll relate to you the first few days of arriving in Kazakhstan and the impressions I had of it.

When I arrived in Kazakhstan, I knew I’d be volunteering as an English teacher. What I didn’t know before was that even though I’d asked for a part time job, maximum three days a week, who’d have known a Kazakh part time job would look like this:



I was not happy about this, but the situation was a bit convoluted and FUBAR so I had no choice but to accept this for the first month.

As a result of this schedule, I still have no idea where I live in relation to the rest of Taraz, nor do I know where anything else is in this city, nor have I had the appropriate time to sit by myself and sort out my thoughts properly on this blog.

One life lesson I’d like to share with everyone is, regardless of all this new-agey, say yes to life nonsense, when you are in Kazakhstan, unless you like being happily raped with shit you don’t want to do in life, presuppose that your answer to anything will be “No” rather then “Yes”. Trust me, this will make life better, simpler and make you less prone to being completely boned in any and every situation.

Another thing about Kazakhstan; Never smile, ever; it’s against the law and people will be offended if you smile at them. Instead, maintain and permanent glare and dole it out freely and liberally; this will ensure that people won’t see you as crazy, drunk or American.

One more: if you look like any ethnicity other then American, (it’s not hard with the right clothes) say you’re Italian, Turkish, French, Swedish, anything but American. If you can’t swing not looking American, say you’re from Canada. When asked where you’re from in Canada, smile, look really stupid and say “Da, da. Spahceeba. Kazakhstan... [Thumbs up]!”

Regardless, the first days in Kazakhstan involved learning how not to be hit by cars (avoid them at all costs), taking a tour of the nearby bazaar, getting acquainted with my new students, and generally letting everything soak in.

Despite all the seemingly terrible things I say and will be saying on this blog, one fantastic thing about Kazakhstan is the quality of produce; locally sourced, fresh, and cheap. Much better then anything you could ever get in the USA. Not the variety you can get in the USA, but you know it’s not going to be from some petrochemical coaxed, GMO, Monsanto franken-crop! The carrots have dirt on them and the strawberries are small, but full of flavor. The cucumbers are full of water and extremely crisp and the tomatoes are quite good.

The days in Taraz started out and currently continue to be full of riding packed busses to work, teaching English, coming home, wash rinse and repeat. Luckily this life will change in June, and I’ll be able to spend more time to doing the projects and things I want to do (like working on this blog, for example).

Some thoughts on Taraz:
• Taraz is a very spread out city. Kazakhstan has massive amounts of space, so spreading out is no problem for a city.

The streets are impressively wide.

• The trees all have a white, paint like chemical painted at their base, so that they will fend off parasites more easily I presume.

• There is no real feeling of a “center”; although I volunteer in the center, I still get no feeling of a center, possibly because there aren’t many landmarks around or super-concentrated areas of shops, cafes, pubs, etc.

• Kazakhstan is very hot, but luckily, it’s a very dry heat and I do quite well in heat.

Cars are everywhere, and they’re usually imported cars from Germany and Japan and are always used and look fairly beat on. (Beating on cars with other cars is very popular here, actually.)

Old Soviet busses are some of the coolest busses I’ve seen!

Time seems to fly here for some reason, more so then any other place I’ve been to. Perhaps the rotation of the Earth is faster here due to the huge landmass that is Asia (???) or perhaps we’re in some kind of temporal rift, where space and time travel faster then in other parts of the world.

I have been learning how to navigate the bus system, and getting to know a bus system in a foreign country is actually quite tricky and risky; in all of Southeast Asia, I avoided them; they’re really more the expertise of locals and expats who’ve been in a place for years. But I am an expat, and my wife being my guide and companion was/has been able to show me how to use this useful, if not, uncomfortable system.

This was pretty straightforward, until one day, when construction crews decided to tear up the stretch of road that I would have usually caught by trusty no. 7 bus from, and I had to improvise. (Remember, I still don’t really have a clear idea of how Taraz is laid out, where anything is, where I live, where my work is, etc. due to the lack of maps that I was so used to getting as soon as I entered a new city.)

I walked a ways until I found something that looked familiar, a road or a particular sign, followed the herds of people, and eventually found a bus stop. And more amazingly, I found my #7! Even MORE amazing then that, this was the same 7 bus that was operated by an older couple who were/are the most professional, clean, polite people I’ve met in Kazakhstan (apart from my extended family and wife, of course).

The first time I met them was outside our apartment complex, or micro-region as the Soviets called these complexes. Their bus was lavishly clean by Kazakh standards, had modern technology in it with gears that ran smoothly and cameras in the front and back that then were displayed on the dashboard. “This bus rivals the busses in Seattle...”, I mused. (That being said, the bus system IS better and faster in Kazakhstan then in Seattle, so who am I kidding... the only difference is that Seattle busses are larger and more spacious.)

I got to conversing with the controller (the controller; a person who takes money, makes change, announces bus stops, etc.) and she was delighted and amazed that I was an American tourist in Taraz. “He’s American! An American tourist!” she yelled to everyone on the bus, much to my dismay and fear. I was placed in the seat of honor, in the very front of the bus, with a huge view of everything that passed by, and was treated with great respect. They were a great couple, and with the help of an iPod translator app, I was able to communicate to them “I go my home now.” When I got home, I told them I’d SEE-YOU-AGAIN... Understand See-you-again,”.

Now, fast-forward to the torn up street and the improvisation with trying to find a new bus stop...

There they were, that amazing no. 7 bus, driven and operated by the same great people! They greeted me and again, asked me to sit up front with them. We started off and headed towards home.

Except that, we were heading in the opposite direction of home, because unbeknownst to me, I got on the right but on the WRONG side of the street. I had no fear though; these were good people and if anything, I might get a chance to see some new things from this excellent front-seat position.

And I sure did, I saw parts of Taraz that most foreigners will ever see, if a foreigner ever sees Taraz. Weird old Soviet factories, trashed out neighborhoods, beautiful neighborhoods, the backs of train stations, we almost went practically out into the steppe!

I learned that Rita (the lady) and Mnafdvniueu(??? So sorry for not remembering your name, Mr. Driver) had one kid, 10 years old. After a while we were the only three people on the bus, and I was able to explain (sort of) why I was on this part of the route, and what I was doing in Kazakhstan. They even remember Asela’s name!

As other passengers got on, a lady who teaches at one of the local schools, realized that she knew some of the old Peacecorps volunteers who used to be here when Kazakhstan still had Peacecorps. I also knew some of these people, as their had reputation proceeded me and obviously left quite an impact on those they interacted with.

Finally, after about an hour and a half, with Asela panicking at home (I had her cell because she’d forgotten it some-damned-where), I arrived back at our micro-region. They refused to let me pay, which must mean something significant in a country where those trying to make money try to make it as hard and fast as possible, especially from WATM’s (Walking ATM’s=Foreigners). Again, I told them thank you and that I’d see them again.

After that, I was treated to a fantastic, American-esque dinner of chicken and mashed potatoes.

Speaking of food in Kazakhstan, I wouldn’t be a proper traveler if I didn’t mention how the food has been wrecking havoc on my body and digestive system. I didn’t know the true meaning of “Gastrointestinal Jihad” until coming to Kazakhstan.

Yeah sure, I’d eaten almost every part of a male sheep before, parts of cow most people throw away, unborn poultry fetuses, fermented this-and-that, some “off” meat spring rolls in Laos (the worst of which came up in the morning, but that was about it), but nothing ever prepared me for the doubled over pain, cramps, run-to-the-toilet experiences that Kazakh food expressed in me. I determined it’s something to do with the massive amounts of oils and fat that are inherent to the traditional cuisine.

When I tried bishbarmak, which is THE traditional food of Kazakhstan, and indeed most of Central Asia, I spent the rest of the day on the toilet. It is a mixture of plainly seasoned (okay, no seasoning) horse, cow and sheep meat served on a bed of thin, wide noodles.

Many other foods I can’t exactly remember the taste of but remember the effect of, made my stomach and guts do acrobatics and put me out of commission for a day/evening at a time. How can I tell people when they look at my expectantly and ask “What do you think of Kazakh food??” that, “Well, the traditional foods from your country that you so love and cherish make me ill and I can’t eat them.” and not feel terrible about it?

So instead, from now on I think I’ll simply, say, “Ah yes... Kazakh food is for a very strong people!” or the ambiguous but effective, “Ahh yes, It’s very traditional... Speaking of traditional, what’s your favorite music??”

That being said, no guide book ever said that traditional Kazakh food was meant to be inspiring; it is the food of a nomadic people, meant to kept you alive; food that helped you survive on deathly cold winter nights; food that you daren’t throw out due to the lack of other food around you... in other words, traditional food. Just wish I could stomach it!

One thing that’s really interesting is how people visually look. Since Kazakhstan was the going-through point for so many different ethnicities, those various heritages are expressed fully and beautifully in the people here. Physical features of Kazakh, Russian, Kyrgyz, Uzbek, Chinese, Mongolian, Caucus, and European all blend together to make a remarkably striking and beautiful group of people. Bright piercing blue eyes, tall, willowy women, wavy black hair, broad-shouldered men, it’s really an interesting bit of everything when everyone bones everyone.

Okay my brain is zonked. More stories to come later.

-e

PS Just because you're such a good reader...