I’ve been out here a little while now, and there are some things that are just normal. Like, normal normal. But then again, sometimes, when I’m in the right mood, I notice them, some of them.

For example, I stopped by my old host family the other day, to give them some information on a project going on in the town government. It never even occurred to me to call before I came. I just walked into the back yard and opened the door. My first round of greeters were some extended family. They were excited, invited me in and we talked. Then, as it turned out, my former mom and dad were hosting two just-married couples, each around 21 years old, plus some other neighbors. The spread was as grandiose as anything I’ve ever seen. And me, this unexpected visitor, I received a warriors welcome. A prime seat at the table, appetizers, tea, vodka, anything I could have wanted. That night, my paltry command of Kyrgyz and my mangled toasts received applause.

Right. Normal.

The next night at dinner, at my own home, we were having soup: broth, potatoes, carrots and a giant hunk of lamb, still attached to a broken in half bone. Well, I cut off all of the meat, and most of the fat, just leaving the cartilage. For the first time, as I watched the my family pound their bones on the table to release the marrow, I did the same. Not liking the taste, I gave it to my dad. To my surprise, instead of eating it himself, after pounding it out on his spoon, he served it to my two-year-old brother. Then, with his own knife, he finished off the cartilage.

Yeah! Normal!

Now, last night, I went to the banya (the sauna, steam room, bathing place.) This was a private one, one you make reservations for. I go with two guys who live down the street. One is 25, my same age, and the other is 27. This little banya we frequent features a side room with pine panels and hot rocks. Its just big enough for the three of us to sit, naked, with our thighs touching. If this wasn’t normal enough, I’ve also gotten used to compliments on the cut of my circumcision.

Usually, I look at the ground, and just kind of laugh. “Well, I didn’t cut it!”

“Who did?”

“A doctor!”

“Oh, our grandfather cut ours, when we were three years old! Look, see, yours is way better.”

Like I say. Totally, completely, normal.

I must not be naïve to think this is necessarily the normal life for a Kyrgyz. Would the average person, showing up unannounced to a guesting, be invited in as I was? Would he be called to take shots with the oldest man at the table wrapped in each other’s arms? I don’t know. Would I get the same attention in the banya that I do, if I were just a regular Kyrgyz guy? Who’s to say. What I do know, is that regardless of how life is for anybody else, this is all becoming quite normal for me.

Originally Written December 3rd, 2009