Two Stops Past Siberia
- Projects
- Handicrafts
- Books
- A History of Inner Asia, Svat Soucek
- Beyond the Sky and the Earth, Jamie Zeppa
- Chasing the Sea, Tom Bissell
- Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present, Christopher I. Beckwith
- Erica Marat, The Tulip Revolution: One Year After
- High Adventure in Tibet, David V. Plymire
- Setting the East Ablaze, Peter Hopkirk
- Shadow of the Silk Road, Colin Thubron
- The Day Lasts More than a Hundred Years, Chingiz Aitmatov
- The Great Arab Conquests, Hugh Kennedy
- The Lost Heart of Asia, Colin Thubron
- This is Not Civilization, Robert Rosenberg
- Three Cups of Tea, Greg Mortenson & David Oliver Relin
- Informations
Archive for January, 2010
So Far, The Hardest Thing
The organ meat, the bone marrow, the horse milk mixed with salty oil-water, the cognate-less language, the never-rush culture, the post-Soviet people, all these things are just pieces of one big sweet pie. The greatest challenge to adapting to this place, by far and away, has been the outhouse at 20 below zero, centigrade.
In fact, we had our record low the other night, -35 C (that’s -31 F, not including wind chill, wink wink). Coming home in the cold with a frozen nose is bad enough. But knowing you’ll have to return to that cold, to do nothing but squat over an open hole in a small room is the icing on the cake.
As winter slowly approached, my growing habit had been to wait as long as possible to endure this tribulation. That might have put me at once every three days. Needless to say, my midsection was getting less and less comfortable.
Ironically, it was the vaguely offensive luxury of that hotel (see the video here!), however, that has got me aggressively adjusting to my icy outhouse. See, I got a little ill in the bowels at last week’s PDM, and of my fancy indoor toilet, I took full advantage. It was that little taste of the good life that reminded me how wonderful it is to be comfortable in the plumbing, and how a quick run outside is really worth the trouble.
So I’m working at it now, folks, rest assured. And truth be told, its never as bad as ya’ think it’s gonna be. Sure, I have to put on a hat, but I generally am already wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Plus, it’s also amazing how quickly you can go when you really need to.
Otherwise, this week is marked by some new “real” work I’m up to. Through some mean cajoling and pestering, I got the UNDP and local Aga Hun supported University of Central Asia to sponsor a course teaching rural handicraft cooperatives business skills. As a good community developer, however, I insisted the course syllabus not be drawn up until we conducted a needs assessment of the ladies we’d like to teach. What that means, really, is just more of the dream.
Thus far, we’ve been to 4 villages and met with 41 women. To date, these meetings have been entirely in Ak-Tala rayon, the poorest rayon here in Naryn, the poorest province of Kyrgyzstan. And for whatever reason, I feel like I have experienced the greatest honest luxury in recent memory.
We drive as many as two hours outside of the city, with the fingers of the mountains coming down to our left, covered in velvet snow. The women we meet with bear no signs of timidity. They tell us aggressively of their issues: they want accounting skills, to learn to harness capital, advanced felt production technology, guidelines for pricing, and most of all, more orders: no one’s askin’ for hand-outs here.
Then, inevitably, before we leave, they’ll show us their workshops, and with each visit, their work gets more and more impressive. For those details, tune in next week.
Kiva in Kyrgyzstan
Posted by KyrgyCarl in Bonus Content! on January 22, 2010
Kiva.com is a service that works with banks in developing countries to fund micro-finance projects worldwide. The bank finds clients, then puts their request on the Kiva website. You put money into the system, find loan requesters, and then put your money into their loans. They take your money, do their project, and then pay it back. The people get their loan, and the bank gets the interest. Once its paid back, you can then reivest your money into another loan, or take it out and have it, once again, for your very own.
So, my friend, Gary, has made lots of loans. Right when I got to country, Kiva opended operations with a local bank called Mol Bulak, literally Many Springs. My other friend, a PCV here with me in Kyrgyzstan, Dave, who worked with Kiva in Kenya, offered to help them get started, but found they were already very much on the ball, and didn’t need much helping. Since then, Gary has invested in two Kyrgyz groups, one that has already paid back in full, and this new one, a store in Kara Balta, a town near Bishkek.
Pretty sweet, I’d say. Check them out!
The Vast and Exciting Land of Kyrgyzstan
Kyrgyzstan is a vast, exciting and varied country. I spend the vast majority of my time home, in Sunny Naryn, but I’ve just returned for a veritable extravaganza of domestic traveling.
From my jaunt with Tamerlane in Darkon, I headed east to the center of University and tourist life in the northern country. Set on the idyllic shores of Lake Issyk Kul, Karakol surely ranks among the most wonderful towns in the country. It sports 75,000 people, and gaggle of universities. Many Russians (complete with their money and western mentality) never left the place, and that gives it an air much different than Naryn. This air, among other things, includes night clubs, peanut butter and applesauce.
From there it was to the Wisconsin Dells of Kyrgyzstan, Cholpon-Ata. This tourist town on the north shore of the lake, sports high quality hotels, that, in the winter, go for low low prices. This combination led our PDM to offer a strange bit of high luxury. My room, for example, included a Jacuzzi.
After three solid days of socializing, networking and, in tandem with our local counterparts, learning how to design and manage community based projects, on the boot heels of a giant celebratory bon-fire, the vacation was over. While many headed right home, I made my way back to the metropolis of Bishkek.
I was a man on a mission. I had handicraft samples to buy, high INGO officials to meet, and big groups of volunteers to connect with. I started my trip meeting with a supply chain analyst who works at the UNDP. We finished a proposal together for a central web-based marketplace for Kyrgyz cooperatives country wide, and then rolled on over to the Asian Development Bank to present it. Could this be the project that defines my service here? Only time will tell.
From there it was to an underground bar with no name that we PCVs refer to collectively as The Dungeon. It’s a smoky meeting ground for Bohemian youth of all nations, and it brews its own beer. Along with other escapees from the PDM conference, that weekend also included a gathering of PCVs charged with monitoring our safety, namely, those who hold the title, “warden.” With this collection of great minds from all over the country, there was never a dull moment.
And as with all trips away from home, I’m lucky if I can spend some time with friends I’ve made who don’t travel much. This time, it was my homestay family from Ivanovka. I spent just one night with them. They understand me. My 13 year old sister said, “boy, your language hasn’t gotten much better.” And she was right. We spent the rest of our time playing, or talking, explaining things slowly, helping me learn.
I then left in a cheap van through a worsening blizzard surrounded by my best friends in country. When I arrived at home, my family noted my cough and cold and commanded, “eat this lump of garlic. Drink some boiled milk with honey, and then go to bed. We’ll get you healthy in no time.”
Life. Way to go.
Originally Written January 18th, 2010
Tamerlane and a Wave of Dumplings
Posted by KyrgyCarl in Bonus Content! on January 18, 2010
So my old teacher, the saintly, scholarly Tamerlane the Hero King invites me to his home to visit everytime I’m in the vicinity. On this most recent trip, we all sat around the kitchen (a pleasent externality of having a cold house) and cooked together.
On the menu was Kyrgyz duymplings called Monty. They are made of shredded sheep meat and shredded sheep fat with bits of potato and onion. The way they are bound together is very important.
Cold Friends
So I’m heading out to another Peace Corps Acronym this week, hailed by volunteers as the most valuable of these things, we’re gearing up to be taught Project Design and Management at PDM. This conference will be once again held at the Hot Lake of Dreams, the perpetually unfrozen Lake Issyk Kul. That means travel, and travel on the Peace Corps penny means an excuse to see the country, and visit friends.
This has been my first time out of Sunny Naryn since the winter began, and in the rest of the country, its, different. The main road out of Naryn goes over the Dolan Pass into a region centered around the city of Kochkor (or, Ram). Kochkor is a windy place, and this combined with the surrounding mountains means Kochkor, very much unlike Naryn, was almost barren of snow.
The next stop on the route away from home is Balykchy (Fisherman). Balykchy is a dried up, formerly industrial Soviet city on the south west corner of the Lake. Once prosperous, like an American Rust Belt city, Balykchy has fallen on hard times. Its factories are largely closed, yet it still acts as a transportation hub. Maligned by travelers frequently mistreated by taxi drivers who know their customers have no choice but to come through, and no reason to stay, it exhibits a characteristic particularly reminiscent of home. Balykchy, not cold as Naryn, is nonetheless as windy as Chicago. Biting cold, but nostalgic nonetheless.
My next destination was at the fabled home of my old teacher, Tamerlane, the Hero King. The snow had recently fallen here. Upon arrival, there was no need to call my friend because, as a teacher in town, there isn’t a soul who doesn’t seem to know him, or know where he lives.
I found him hiding in his kitchen, cooking with his wife, watching the two six year olds cavort around like elephants, and his 2 year old take short, choppy steps. Over the next couple of days, we hid inside from the cold, eating, watching nature movies, and talking with his family. Dinner our first night was Kyrgyz dumplings, called monty, made of mutton, fat, onions and potatoes, with a side of pickled garlic and tomatoes. His mother, bedridden, always with something interesting and specific to tell me, was feeling passionate about how Hitler and WWII were terrible, and it was good that we live in peaceful times. Sometimes we’d do chores together, like chopping wood, or stoking his furnace.
And it was one ironic image that I thought would stick with me. My teacher, starting a coal fire, with the torn pages of a book entitled simply “Leninism.” But instead, it was the freshly fallen snow on the road out of town. Thick and unplowed, cars, vans and trucks competing with cows, sheep, and horse drawn wagons for space on the road.
From there, it was off to the Karakol volunteers, and their world of consumer goods, Russian influence, and skiing. Volunteers here do much of what we do in Naryn, though their material life a bit more advanced.
There seems to be nothing happier than visiting good people on cold nights. I wish you all, my friends, this same success.
Originally written Januay 11th, 2010
Kyrgyz Food! Chicago! Hot Dog!
Posted by KyrgyCarl in Bonus Content! on January 8, 2010
While I don’t think the deep fried hot dogs in the bazaar here in Naryn are on their menu, this spot has just opened up in Chicago, not one single mile from my boyhood home! Can you Believe it?
Right. Anyway, they’re getting rave reviews from both the Chicago Reader and the Yelp!. And they’ve also got a facebook page. They don’t seem to be serving the organ meat that I see so much of at home here, but thats probably all the better for you guys.
Anyway, for those of you in Chicago who want a real taste of what I’m doing out here (no pun intended), check them out!
Fun fun Language Tips:
Man on Man: greet with a hearty “Salam alaykum!” (“I wish peace upon you,” the traditional Muslim greeting). Then insist on going in for a handshake. If you haven’t totally blown their collective minds, you’ll be returned with an “alaykum asalam!”
When Greeting with a Woman (Man on Woman, Woman on Woman): Salamatizbi? (How are you?) Ideally they’ll break through their shock and respond “Salamachilik!”
With these formalities out of the way, given that their overwhelming friendliness will surely make you comfortable, regardless of gender, throw in a quick “kandaisiz?” (another “How are you,” often asked in rapid fire succession with the more formal greetings.) By this time, they’ll recognize your worldliness, and respond with a jovial “Jakshi!” (Good!)
Then, for kicks, if they sock you back with another “kandaisiz,” just give ‘em “jakshi.” But, if you’re a man, especially a young man, and they happen lob out the more casual, “kandai,” really knock their socks off with an “aigirdai!” and really roll that rrr! This is literally, “like a stallion!” It’s a little bit of casual, young man bravado, and would go over well between men.
Now, don’t get too comfortable. Flip back into English for the rest of your meal, but once your server comes out to see how everything is, really get ‘em smiling with the great compliment, “damdoo ecken!” (Full of Flavor!, So tasty!) Then, once its all over, throw a happy little “chong rakmat” (thanks a lot!) their way, and your reputation will be secured.
Oooh! You’re gonna have such a good time!
Coal for Christmas and a Suprisingly Relaxed New Years
The holiday season is a funny season for the tenderfoot volunteer. It is a time of watching, of waiting, and interpreting everything through a lens of the ever growing cold.
Our Dec. 25th Christmas (as opposed to the Jan. 7th Russian Christmas) started things off. While festive decorations went up around the 20th, aside the occasional Santa Clause, the only direct mention of Christmas comes in the form of “Christmas Tree.” Having these is a common tradition here, and they’re called that, however the date we accept as “Christmas” goes almost entirely unrecognized.
For my sake, my family breaded and fried some fish, a relative rarity in these parts. The complete oblivion surrounding our customs took an ironic form for me, personally. Before dinner on Christmas, we picked up two tons of coal, in the form of 30 large sacks to fill a 3×3x6 foot shed. That makes me, surely, the naughtiest kid Santa has ever seen.
The following day, 13 of the volunteers in Naryn Oblast convened into one volunteer apartment to celebrate American Style. We prepared a spectacular feast, held a Secret Santa, played games and told stories. It was a big slice of the familiar packed into just a few hours.
The period between Christmas and New Years, was one of working uncertainty. See, the name of the game out here is company parties. My Dad and the electricians celebrated one day, the NGO/Government leaders another, then the teachers, smaller companies, students, large families, etc. And with only 3 or 4 real restaurants in town, this means it is wholly unclear when anyone would be actually working, or just preparing for their parties.
Match this with the bitter cold cheelde having tushed (or arrived), means getting bundled up to find an empty office is particularly unappealing.
On the subject of the cheelde, the forty days of the bitterest cold of winter, I’ve learned the first day is not necessarily a unanimously agreed upon event, but for me, one day stands out. As I left the house that morning, patches of frost covered the gate, like lichens, every tree branch in town sported a thick, wispy layer of it, like a sheath of white bark.
As for the Jan 1st New Years (as opposed to the Muslim Noruz New Years holiday in March, or the old Russian New Years on January 13th), the celebrations were quit a bit more subdued than I expected. My family and I had a big meal together, complete with Champaign for toasting. Just after the stroke of midnight, the city erupted. For about 20 minutes the popping of fireworks was nonstop, and we went outside to be awed, locals favoring the big bright ones, over the copious noise makers I witnessed years ago in Beijing. After that initial burst, the cracking slowed down, but continued, intermittently, like a spent bag of popcorn, throughout the night.
Feeling the cold before my siblings, I headed inside, in time to make a toast with just my parents around. I thanked them copiously, for everything, their time, patience, their respectfulness, and eagerness to open their family to me. Their response brought a tear to my eye, “Carl, you’re now part of our family.” What more could I want?
Originally Written January 3rd, 2010
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Kyrgy Carl, Making Waves!
