When I was younger, I was always haunted by thoughts of failure. I had a vision of myself living in the worst part of town, in a small rental with peeling paint and broken gray tile, rusting exposed pipes and chipped enamel bathroom fixtures, in a building with broken windows, no lights but several drunks in the stairs—overall, a place covered in a mist of poverty and despair. That vision is now an accurate depiction of the apartment I’ve been living in for the past seven months.
As I wrote earlier, nearly all cities and towns of the former Soviet Union have the same feel—endless blocks of identical, usually five-story, concrete and cheaply constructed flats. These housing units were rapidly built in the late fifties and sixties under Nikita Khrushchev to provide every Soviet citizen with a home. Today, they are still called Khrushchyovki. The residential neighborhoods in which these structures are located usually contain plenty of open space between the buildings. The open space has a few trees, but is mostly leftover dirt from the construction. Yet these spaces are highly utilized by the residents to relax, beat carpets, play cards, gossip, and for the kids, to run around and play soccer. Despite resembling some of the worst American inner-city projects, these neighborhoods have much more of an “alive feel” than the one in which I grew up and actually remind me of the street scenes in photographs of old New York.
My apartment is located in such an area and is pretty typical. The entrance and stairwell are extremely sketch, dark, and falling apart. But once you open a door, a comfy and bright apartment is presented to you. Mine is two rooms (apartments are described by number of rooms, not bedrooms) with a kitchen and separated toilet and bath areas. The living room is basically the only room I occupy. Typically, it is long and narrow and it is decorated with brown floral print carpet, brown and black patterned chairs, and a brownish zebra print futon. There is also a circular white patio table that I use as a desk and satellite TV. At the far end there is a door that leads to my balcony (almost every apartment has a balcony) where I hang my clothes to dry. A few stuffed animals and other knick-knacks are thrown about, but my favorite piece of décor is a decorative wooden shaft about a foot tall and with a carved eagle head on top that conceals a knife. I call it “L.J.” My bedroom is a much smaller room with a double bed, a vanity table and mirror, and a closet. I rarely sleep in this room because in both winter and summer it is too hot.
The kitchen is perhaps my favorite place, most likely because it is here that I can finally prepare food that I like, in the quantity that I need, and at the times that I want. Against the wall there is a Soviet era stove, a washing machine (real Peace Corps, right?) with a single cabinet above, and a sink. Most of the room is taken up by a medium size table and wrap-around seating. The room has a comfortable nook feel and due to the juxtaposition of the stove, table, and seating I can cook a whole meal without having to even stand up.
The switch to my own place has been ideal, although I still have a close relationship with my host family. It gives me greater independence and offers me more challenges to overcome. I’ve had to deal with broken appliances, water shutoffs, and a hysterical neighbor pounding on my door at midnight yelling that I was flooding her apartment. And even though I am in a sense living a childhood nightmare, I couldn’t be happier about my surroundings.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Kyrgyzstan: A Brief Visit to Kazakhstan’s Forgotten Sibiling
At the end of June, my friends Tim, Phil, and I took a weeklong trip to Kazakhstan’s southern neighbor—Kyrgyzstan. Kyrgyzstan is considered the country most similar to Kazakhstan in the region. The Kyrgyz are genetically and linguistically very similar to the Kazakhs and in fact have often been referred to in Soviet times as “mountain Kazakhs.” But whereas the empty steppes of Kazakhstan hid fantastic riches of oil and minerals, mountainous Kyrgyzstan was blessed with only water. Thus despite close relations, there is great economic disparity between the two countries. We decided to check it out and after a frustrating acquisition of visas, we caught a taxi from Almaty to the Kyrgyz capital of Bishkek!
Arriving at the Bishkek bus station was like entering the mirror world of Almaty. Yes, the bus station was the same Soviet monstrosity, and there were the same cab drivers with their ladas waiting outside, and even the same majestic Alatau Mountains towered over the city. But the whole scene was poorer, the mountains were to the north, and the lada-driving hagglers were screeching “Almaty, Almaty, leaving for Almaty” as opposed to the Bishkek-calling drivers to the north.
Thinking we were poor tourists, we decided to walk to downtown Bishkek. A woman selling piroshkis told us we had “to walk a very, very, very long time…about 500 meters” before we got to the main road. After that epic trek, we arrived in downtown Bishkek and witnessed a much poorer version of Kazakhstan. There was very little new construction, the people had the same fashion of small town Kazakhs, and aside from some new Kyrgyz symbols of independence the whole capital had a provincial Soviet feel. Yet being from Balkhash, I like these smaller Central Asian towns and the people were in general friendlier than their neighbors to the north. One thing that startled me, however, was the greater number of tourists and facilities to accommodate them. There were several souvenir shops in town and unlike the single one in Almaty, they were all packed with foreigners. Kazakhstan might be richer, but apparently tourists prefer the mountains and lakes of Kyrgyzstan to modern cities and barren steppes.
We explored central Bishkek for a few hours and then headed up into the hills to celebrate the 4th of July at the American Embassy. The embassy was built more like a base in an occupied country than a friendly “Hello!” to the host country. I am probably not allowed to say anymore about this. Anyway, once we passed some intense security the atmosphere was definitely that of a traditional Midwestern 4th of July BBQ. There was beer, real American burgers and buns brought in from the nearby US military base, festive red, white, and blue hats, and even those chocolate-chip cookie ice-cream sandwiches! There is a surprisingly large American community in Bishkek ranging from the typical NGO staffers to interning business lawyers. We met up with some local PCVs and exchanged stories. Their experience is a lot more “real Peace Corps” and one volunteer explained how in his waterless village, his host grandmother cleans the dishes with spit and her thumb.
That night we caught an overnight marshrutka to Karakol, a provincial town with easy access to mountain treks and Issyk Kul, one of the largest and highest alpine lakes in the world. The town has only 60,000 people, but at the time we were there it had eleven PC volunteers (Balkhash has 80,000 people and two volunteers). The volunteers showed us around town and introduced us to ashlyanfu, a Dungan soup with cold noodles, vinegar, and eggs. Yet the best part of Karakol is the Sunday Animal Bazaar. Herders from all over arrive in Chevy pickup trucks filled with sheep while others bring in cows and horses. The prize animals are sheep, whose worth is less in their meat or wool, but more in their ass (or fat tails). Some of the sheep had so much “rear-end” fat that it almost matched the weight of the rest of their body! Many of the Kyrgyz traders wore the traditional kolpak, a tall, white felt, four-sided hat with black thread detail work on each panel. These hats are a bit ridiculous-looking to an outsider and appear to be more cumbersome than useful. Overall, this place had a true Central Asian feel—obscure nationalities in odd outfits trading in animals in the shadow of great mountain ranges. For one of the first times in my life, I was experiencing a world of which Western media and education had not already given me a pre-conceived notion.
After a few days in Karakol, we hiked 15 kilometers up the Alatau Mountains and into the valley of Altyn Arashan. The walk was fairly easy and rather than the cold and rain of the previous days, it was quite sunny and warm. We arrived in the valley in the afternoon and arranged to stay in a yurt at the Yak Tours guesthouse. A yurt is a traditional Central Asian nomadic dwelling that resembles a squashed teepee and is covered with felt. In the evening, the proprietor of the guesthouse served us and some Polish travelers laghman and shashlik, played some songs on the guitar, and we all had a great time. At one point, Phil took over the guitar and Tim was accosted by two Polish men, was forced to drink vodka, and eventually he promised to meet up with them in Poland. That night we fell asleep exhausted with the sound of a glacial river roaring past our yurt.
With only a few days left in our journey, we decided to head to the most touristy part of Kyrgyzstan—Chopa Ata. The town is situated on the northern shore of Issyk Kul and is the tourist destination for Russians and wealthy Kazakhs. We met up with a local volunteer who showed us around and let us crash at her place. The town had some great facilities and decent cafes, but locals said that these places were designed for the “wealthy Kazakhs” and that the Kyrgyz cannot of course afford such amenities. It was remarkable that the locals I am assisting in Peace Corps are considered well off and privileged in the region. We spent the day at the lake, which is the same Caribbean blue as Balkhash but freezing cold since it is fed by glacial water. Although it is one of the largest lakes in Asia, one can still see a hazy view of the majestic Alatau Mountains on the other side. The following morning we left the town and after a quick transfer in Bishkek, I was back in Almaty that same afternoon. Although only a few hours away, Kyrgyzstan felt like a continent away from the glass towers and new Lexus SUVs of Almaty.
Arriving at the Bishkek bus station was like entering the mirror world of Almaty. Yes, the bus station was the same Soviet monstrosity, and there were the same cab drivers with their ladas waiting outside, and even the same majestic Alatau Mountains towered over the city. But the whole scene was poorer, the mountains were to the north, and the lada-driving hagglers were screeching “Almaty, Almaty, leaving for Almaty” as opposed to the Bishkek-calling drivers to the north.
Thinking we were poor tourists, we decided to walk to downtown Bishkek. A woman selling piroshkis told us we had “to walk a very, very, very long time…about 500 meters” before we got to the main road. After that epic trek, we arrived in downtown Bishkek and witnessed a much poorer version of Kazakhstan. There was very little new construction, the people had the same fashion of small town Kazakhs, and aside from some new Kyrgyz symbols of independence the whole capital had a provincial Soviet feel. Yet being from Balkhash, I like these smaller Central Asian towns and the people were in general friendlier than their neighbors to the north. One thing that startled me, however, was the greater number of tourists and facilities to accommodate them. There were several souvenir shops in town and unlike the single one in Almaty, they were all packed with foreigners. Kazakhstan might be richer, but apparently tourists prefer the mountains and lakes of Kyrgyzstan to modern cities and barren steppes.
We explored central Bishkek for a few hours and then headed up into the hills to celebrate the 4th of July at the American Embassy. The embassy was built more like a base in an occupied country than a friendly “Hello!” to the host country. I am probably not allowed to say anymore about this. Anyway, once we passed some intense security the atmosphere was definitely that of a traditional Midwestern 4th of July BBQ. There was beer, real American burgers and buns brought in from the nearby US military base, festive red, white, and blue hats, and even those chocolate-chip cookie ice-cream sandwiches! There is a surprisingly large American community in Bishkek ranging from the typical NGO staffers to interning business lawyers. We met up with some local PCVs and exchanged stories. Their experience is a lot more “real Peace Corps” and one volunteer explained how in his waterless village, his host grandmother cleans the dishes with spit and her thumb.
That night we caught an overnight marshrutka to Karakol, a provincial town with easy access to mountain treks and Issyk Kul, one of the largest and highest alpine lakes in the world. The town has only 60,000 people, but at the time we were there it had eleven PC volunteers (Balkhash has 80,000 people and two volunteers). The volunteers showed us around town and introduced us to ashlyanfu, a Dungan soup with cold noodles, vinegar, and eggs. Yet the best part of Karakol is the Sunday Animal Bazaar. Herders from all over arrive in Chevy pickup trucks filled with sheep while others bring in cows and horses. The prize animals are sheep, whose worth is less in their meat or wool, but more in their ass (or fat tails). Some of the sheep had so much “rear-end” fat that it almost matched the weight of the rest of their body! Many of the Kyrgyz traders wore the traditional kolpak, a tall, white felt, four-sided hat with black thread detail work on each panel. These hats are a bit ridiculous-looking to an outsider and appear to be more cumbersome than useful. Overall, this place had a true Central Asian feel—obscure nationalities in odd outfits trading in animals in the shadow of great mountain ranges. For one of the first times in my life, I was experiencing a world of which Western media and education had not already given me a pre-conceived notion.
After a few days in Karakol, we hiked 15 kilometers up the Alatau Mountains and into the valley of Altyn Arashan. The walk was fairly easy and rather than the cold and rain of the previous days, it was quite sunny and warm. We arrived in the valley in the afternoon and arranged to stay in a yurt at the Yak Tours guesthouse. A yurt is a traditional Central Asian nomadic dwelling that resembles a squashed teepee and is covered with felt. In the evening, the proprietor of the guesthouse served us and some Polish travelers laghman and shashlik, played some songs on the guitar, and we all had a great time. At one point, Phil took over the guitar and Tim was accosted by two Polish men, was forced to drink vodka, and eventually he promised to meet up with them in Poland. That night we fell asleep exhausted with the sound of a glacial river roaring past our yurt.
With only a few days left in our journey, we decided to head to the most touristy part of Kyrgyzstan—Chopa Ata. The town is situated on the northern shore of Issyk Kul and is the tourist destination for Russians and wealthy Kazakhs. We met up with a local volunteer who showed us around and let us crash at her place. The town had some great facilities and decent cafes, but locals said that these places were designed for the “wealthy Kazakhs” and that the Kyrgyz cannot of course afford such amenities. It was remarkable that the locals I am assisting in Peace Corps are considered well off and privileged in the region. We spent the day at the lake, which is the same Caribbean blue as Balkhash but freezing cold since it is fed by glacial water. Although it is one of the largest lakes in Asia, one can still see a hazy view of the majestic Alatau Mountains on the other side. The following morning we left the town and after a quick transfer in Bishkek, I was back in Almaty that same afternoon. Although only a few hours away, Kyrgyzstan felt like a continent away from the glass towers and new Lexus SUVs of Almaty.
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