Never fear! The cheelde is currently in the process of chik-ing! The cheelde, the forty coldest days of the year, come in and out with the bitterest cold of it all, and so far, February has been absolutely biting. While the present is positively painful, according to the locals, the end is in sight.
While that means it will be warming, it doesn’t mean other things, like fresh vegetables, will be returning. For the last two months or so, we have been living the high life with winter Mandarins, those tiny little oranges I remember from America. While at home they only seemed to be in abundance for two weeks or so, they’ve been a saving grace for what seems like all winter so far. Mostly from China and Pakistan, we’re starting to see their quality wane, and its clear the time of the Mandarins will soon come to pass.
Our diet these days is almost entirely dough based starches, like bread or noodles with frozen beef or fatty mutton, onions and potatoes. Top that off with the simple delights of honey, home made jam, and salads made last fall of tomatoes, garlic and onions, or red beets, and along with tea and fermented milk, that pretty much sums things up here in Sunny Naryn. Its amazing how much you can make with so few ingredients.
But life here is by no means as limited as our diet might suggest. While the instability (and the recently doubled rate) of our electricity keeps everyone on their toes (and their oil lamps on hand), there’s plenty of fun to be had in this hilly land of snow. Namely, in the suburb of Internat (not to be confused with Al Gore’s Internet) there is what used to be a ski-lift. I had heard the stories of this thing, and seen the ghostly apparatus trailing into the mountains, but didn’t believe it still worked.
Then this past Saturday, as I was shoveling out the driveway with my homestay father, he mentioned that we might attend, as a family, and I whole heartedly agreed. What we found was a happy collection of Naryners, perhaps 500 strong, just out and about, having fun standing around in the packed down snow, or climbing high to ski where it was still three feet of untouched fun.
While the old Soviet rope-tow wasn’t working, that didn’t stop the trailer/shack from renting skis and snowboards, nor the local kids from pushing their sleds on people at fifty cents for the day.
We came prepared with a thermos of tea, a dozen large fried dumplings, a little sled, and the rubber mat that is meant to protect the floor of our car from snow and mud. While the sled worked well, and kept its riders dry, I pioneered lying stomach down on the rubber pad, and cruising like a walrus through the crowds. More than once I heard, “Hey bro! Where are you from?”
We hiked and frolicked and hours later, landed home, cold, wet and happy. What more could ask from a Sunday?
