Posts Tagged winter

Reflections in the Snow

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on February 3, 2011

While so much of America was getting pounded with snow this week, so too did we in Naryn get a little bit, though only an inch. While it still took me an hour to clear our whole driveway/compound, it was easy work; easy work that catered well to having a three-year-old helper at my side.
 
Folks, my time here is growing short, and that weighs on me more and more with each passing day. As my host dad stunned me at lunch today, “Carl, I’ve never seen your pictures from home. Would you show them to me?” I complied with his request, and then felt the most powerful homesickness I can recall. There, all of the sudden before us, were the smiling faces of my siblings, the warm embraces of my family; I was shot back to long evenings, falling asleep on the couches belonging to my closest friends.  
 
And at the same time, those feelings brought me back to the present, with a deep intensity. Last night I made paper airplanes and ambushed a screaming host sister, and then I wondered if she’d tell her school friends, “look at this design! It’s how they do it in America.” Later, I helped another host sister with an English paper, assuring her that “200 words or less” didn’t mean a relevant assortment of 200 nouns, adjectives and verbs; but instead a collection of cohesive sentences who’s total component words should total 200. “But Carl,” she said, “it says words, it doesn’t say anything about sentences. 
 
And this morning, as I put off going to work so I could shovel the snow, I made sure my little three year old host brother got dressed and came outside with me. He threw little snowballs at me. And while I batted them away with the snow shovel, laughing together with him, I wondered if he would remember even a single one of our moments together, or if years down the line, the older girls would talk about me, while he just sat quiet, or maybe asked, “did Carl play with me, too?” And later, while he crunched eggshells by the compost, ones I had so gingerly laid out for him, I wondered, how many of these moments, so important to me, will stay in these people’s minds.
 
But that is life for the transient, the temporary guest. My memories are largely my own, for I know that years down the line I will have very few to reminisce with, but so is the path I’ve chosen. But then again, each moment is new, and each brings with it a surprise to turn around my thoughts. 
 
When I broached the subject of a replacement volunteer with my host family the other day, they balked, and it made me happy. “Maybe, if there was another one, a boy, just like you, we could it,” said my host dad. But then he reconsidered as he looked at his daughters. “No,” he said, “we’ve grown accustomed to you. You eat when we eat, you are thirsty when we are. I don’t think we’d want a new volunteer after you are gone.” I smiled and knew I wasn’t a tenant, a source of income for the family. But why did I even need reminding?
 
Or this past Monday, during my weekly banya, I bathed with a guy just a few years younger than me. He said that even though he had no work and no money, he was hopeful, and spent his time going to the mosque to pray. He said he had sworn off alcohol and cigarettes, the real opiates of society. He asked if I was married, and when I would. I asked him if he’d marry for love, or just kidnap a girl off the streets, as is not uncommon.
 
“No, for love,” he said.
 
“Why?” I asked him.
 
“Because there isn’t enough love,” he said so simply.
 
And then, for the next few minutes I basked not only in the depth of his answer, but also its context. Here we were, in a deeply impoverished land, and this young man, with no education, in a community where men want to talk to me about little more than sex and prostitutes, he gave me an answer more profound than I could have imagined. He was marrying for love simply because there isn’t enough love in this world, and he wants to add to it. What better answer is there?
 
And so, these, among so many others, will be my memories. And that leads to the natural question, what will be yours? You, the readers of my letters, when my travels are done, let me be so narcissistic as to ask, what will you all take from all that I’ve shared?

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How Was YOUR Merry Christmas?

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on December 29, 2010

Kyrgy Carl here, writing from my snowy home in Sunny Naryn!
 
In response to many questions I’ve received lately about Kyrgyzstan and Christmas: No, people don’t celebrate it here. Yes, they know what it is, but No, not really. Let me explain.
 
See, one of those weird little quirks in globalization is that every hears about Christmas the way it appears in the media, most often as “Merry Christmas.” So, folks are familiar with this term, in English, but will often not know exactly what it means. This, then, led to one of my favorite encounters this year, when one of my host sisters woke me up one morning after Christmas and asked me so simply, “Sizdin Merry Christmas kandai boldu?” Or, literally, “How was your Merry Christmas?” Needless to say, I let her know that it was very merry.
 
(Other quirks have included one volunteer meeting a local who shook his hand and just said, “Santa Claus!”)
 
So, while for most Kyrgyz people December 25th was just another day, for the volunteer community, it was one of good food and good cheer. This year, we started cooking early, and gathered at one of the volunteer apartments and ate in grand fashion. We had squash and potatoes, veggies and spaetzle, and even two chicken dishes, one generously prepared by my host mom, who only wanted to ensure we had a good time. In fact, the meal was so good, and there were so many leftovers, that on the 26th my friends and I just layed around the house munching, and didn’t even bother to go outside. How’s that for doing it right, American style?
 
In the mean time, folks, Naryn city is gearing up for the real holiday of the realm: New Years. This perfectly secular holiday was a Soviet favorite, and continues to be right up to this day. The bazaars are loaded with beautiful cakes and firecrackers, plus all the fixings we normally associate with Christmas, like little plastic fir trees and sparkly garland.
 
The place is merry and cold, folks, much like much of America. For those of you in the cold weather (especially that snowy northeast) best of luck with the weather, and for anyone down south, keep dreaming of that white Christmas.
 
Now, stay tuned: New Years means high holiday, and I’ll be writing again, with every tantalizing detail.
 
P.S. For those of you wondering about last weeks Speed Bump of Snow: the day of my building it, as it turns out, coincided with a party my host dad threw for his co-workers. That means there was much to do, and little things like speed bumps (or nicely shoveled family compounds, for that matter) flew under the collective radar. I guess that means I escaped this time. Now, the next time the snow falls, who knows if I’ll be so lucky?

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Assertive Tendencies Among the Mounting Snow

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on December 22, 2010

Well, the snow is finally here. The last two times that I have written about snow here in Sunny Naryn, they were one time, freak events. Where last year we had boat loads of snow from October on, this year it has taken its sweet time. But, if the international news is serving me well, it sounds like compared to the Midwest and Europe, we’re still getting off easy.
 
On the one hand, folks, the snow has its upsides: heightened surface albedo makes a flashlight unnecessary at night. On the other hand, though, it brings with it new challenges, and that’s where my story takes us today: to the local politics of snow removal.
 
As I was shoveling the driveway this morning, I had a wonderful idea: why not make a speed bump of snow, I thought. That will slow down cars in this winter wonderland! And so, with my makeshift plywood shovel in hand, I killed two birds with one stone: pretty property, safe neighborhood.
 
Then one of my neighbors emerged. She was all dressed up for the cold, and had two kids in tow. “Hey, quite making a mess,” she said, motioning to my hump of snow. But my reply was curt.
“No,” I said.
“Cars will run into that,” she said.
“I know,” I responded, “kids play here, like yours. The roads are slippery, this will slow down the cars.”
That quieted her, and she just stood there. Then, whether to imply she was going to tell on me, or just as a shift to normal conversation she asked, “is your host dad at work?”
“Yes,” I told her, and then went on my merry way. 
 
Now, a year ago, the young Kyrgy Carl would not have been nearly so bold. It’s not that I wouldn’t have defended myself, but quite the contrary; I never would have done something like that in the first place. By this point, however, I’ve been around the block.
 
First off, I’ve seen more substantial, though still hand-made and ad hoc speed bumps in other places, even on the main roads between villages. Second, I’ve gotten taste for how things like this get done around here: by individual effort, and individual decisions. If I want to slow down traffic, it is up to me to do it. People will have their opinions about what I do one way or the other, but no one is likely to stop me, much less undo what I’ve done.
 
A year ago, I would have let the traffic continue to speed down my snowy street, feeling that it was not my place to impose my values. Today, I’ve got a lay of the land, and a sense of how to attack problems. I’ve done enough work that I can defend my decisions, and furthermore, my actions. I can put responses in context: this woman was about to go for a drive, her expressed desires don’t speak for the community as a whole. Last spring, when I drained a huge puddle, some old ladies lauded my efforts, a very drunk grandpa told me I was desecrating a holy space, and a crew of drunks help me did. The tenderfoot volunteer has a much harder time differentiating between individual voices and the sense of their community.
 
Now, when I get home from work today, I’ll surely find out what my host family thinks of my new blustery confidence, and we’ll see whether I’ve gotten ahead of myself after all.

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Twilight in the Cleansing Snow

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on November 22, 2010

First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for your overwhelming responses to my last email. Who knew I could get such a boost by just admitting to feeling under the weather.
 
The response to my illness by the locals, now, was a bit different. My favorite came from the stoic, Russian teaching woman who makes my laptop sleeves.
 
“I know what the problem is,” she said through her steely eyes. “It is cold, but is hasn’t snowed yet. It is always like that, for us Kyrgyz people. When the snow comes, it makes everything clean.”
 
But consider the world healthy again, folks; we got our first treatment of snow last night, and I’m feeling the healthiest I’ve felt all week.
 
Furthermore, the rapidly shortening days paired with this crisp snowy air are bringing me back to last winter, when I might wake up to a host-sister, ruby cheeked, rubbing her face in snow telling me that, “this is the best way to rise.” With the cold most assuredly set upon us now, we may soon slaughter another cow, and definitely will hearken in the days of warm sheep and noodle soup to end every (single) day. I know more of what to expect this year, and that comes with its pros and its cons.
Indeed, my friends, I am already making plans to be home next Spring. I can already feel my Peace Corps service winding down before me. With around six months remaining, the time for starting new projects has largely come and gone. Now is the time to fulfill the many grandiose plans I have made, to consolidate my connections, and impart as much wisdom as I can muster.
 
One exciting project that is currently barreling down the pipeline is a shyrdak design course underway at the University of Paderborn in Germany. Last year, a budding German entrepreneur approached me and asked if I’d help her execute a course at the textile design program at her local university. After plenty of emails, this course description is what emerged. For you eager beavers, run that little German gemstone through a translator, and you’ll notice a whole bunch of references to local Kyrgyz co-ops preparing the designs that the course produces. That, friends, is yours truly, hard at work. The course itself is underway as I type this. I’ve been told that participants boast old Soviet era ties to this part of the world. The best designs will come to me, and the local ladies will make them into reality.
 
Later this month we will winterize those trees from the spring, and come January next year, I’ll start telling you all about the (vastly increased number of) trees I’d like to plant to 2011. That plus a couple of local trainings seem to be how my service will finish up out here. It’s been a long road thus far, folks. I’m not quite on the final stretch, but I can see the last curve before, and even as I write, twilight is coming down over the city.
 
We’ve been together for 20 months so far my friends. I feel somewhat like Yossarian as Catch-22 winds to a close: of the 60 of us who convened in Philadelphia, only 27 remain; the faces of the new group now seriously outnumber the old. This time is a quiet and reflective time. And as just another chapter, it is exciting all the same.
 
 
P.S. Happy Thanksgiving! And how come nobody told me there’s going to be a new Mayor in Chicago?!

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Congratulations on New Years! (Just Try to Doge the Snowballs)

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on March 23, 2010

In Kyrgyz, a common holiday greeting is the idiomatic “congratulations.” While this is standard, its direct translation into English never ceases to make me chuckle. With that in mind, we’ve just celebrated the traditional Muslim New Years, called Noruz here, marking the vernal equinox.

That would lead the reader to assume Spring was on its way, marching steadily towards Sunny Naryn. However, with mountains of snow still lining the streets, and a fresh three inches for the holiday, us locals are feeling otherwise.

With the lion’s share of my family in Bishkek, it was just my host father and Kalima, the oldest daughter left with me at home. Kalima and I went out to check out the festivities in the town center at noon, and found the take-down of a concert in progress, as well as some remaining hundreds of people eating, taking pictures, and just generally enjoying themselves outdoors.

Kalima and I walked around, and I bought some ice cream, on sale in the street for the first time all year. At this point, I’d love to show a wonderful picture of Kalima eating hers with a snowy, crowded Naryn in the background, but when I asked to stage such a thing,  she said succinctly, “If I eat mine now, the boys will throw snowballs at me.” To be 14 here, it seems, is to be 14 anywhere on earth.

My host father showed no interest in celebrating. “I’m young,” he said, “now is the time for working, not partying.” Instead, he was happy to point out subtleties in the pictures I had taken during last week’s wedding.

“See these boys?” he said, “can you tell they are from Bishkek? They look more cultured. And these boys? They’re a little rougher. They’re all Naryners.”

“And what I about this boy?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s the worst of the bunch.” Naturally, we were talking about me.

Then, as the sun was setting on this, the last time the light won’t overwhelm the dark until Fall, I found myself watching a movie when my family got home. I was enjoying a Russian dubbed version of “Doomsday,” a tasteful film which follows the exploits of a small band of modern soldiers stranded in a post apocalyptic Scotland, as they run from tribes of equally barbaric urban punks and rural knights, all the while seeing advertisements at the bottom of the screen in Kyrgyz: “For a fat mare, call…” and “House for sale, city center, fruit tree, shop and banya on premises…”

My mother had left about a week ago, for a medical conference in the capital, and had brought the children with her. When she returned, the quiet house I had been growing accustomed to filled up again. The drying laundry ha been washed wrong, the 2 year old was spilling his tea on the table, and the shoes needed polishing.

All’s happy, well, and normal here in Naryn, folks. One day the snow will stop, but no one is quite sure when.

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Meat with Rice is Good

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on March 3, 2010

So, that warm snap I encountered in Bishkek last week has been creeping towards us Naryners here in the highlands. Where Bishkek was a mud puddle, we are simply awash with melted snow.

I guess I had forgotten how much snow we got over the winter, and how, in most places, it was never removed, but simply packed down. Aside from the heaps of snow piled in the limited green space along (and in) the roads, many of those roads and sidewalks sport ice or heavily packed snow as much as 6 inches thick!

This all means the amount of slushy water that has infiltrated the city is beyond the pale. I have never seen puddles this big in my entire life. They’ll occupy entire an intersection at the end of an alley, and submerge your foot to the ankle, like after a big rain in Chicago. But these puddles have no plans of going anywhere. Furthermore, they’re filled with snow and slushy ice, and bear an uncanny resemblance to the regular snow and ice we’ve had since October. That means, unless the guy in front of you just made waves, you’re unlikely to be able to tell the wet from the dry.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the melting icicles on the eaves of tall buildings are big like lightning bolts, and scare even the savviest of men. People can be seen marching around on their roofs, shoveling off big sheets of snow. I’m just waiting for another cold snap though, when these giant puddles turn our fair city into the largest urban skating rink the world has ever seen.

But, like all good cold-weather people, this nonsense hasn’t put a damper on a thing, and its business as usual. At work, our handicraft business course, which was originally supposed to start today, has been delayed, for a second time, to the 15th. Something about money, overlapping skill-sets, and an inkling suspicion that this same thing has been done before…

And at home with my lovely family, my homestay mom has just celebrated her 40th birthday. No one told me about this until I got home from work, but that was okay, as the whole celebration was decidedly subdued. We had cake. My dad gave silly, yet meaningful toasts. Aijamal, the six year old, presented a book half filled with pictures she drew of horses and mermaids, put it in a bag, and tied it all up with a scarf.

In fact, it was Aijamal, the Christmas whisperer, who really stole the show. She’d been a bundle of energy all day, just laughing and saying anything that’d come into her head. And one of those things, she said, while standing on her chair at the dinner table, after taking a bite of her rice with carrot shreds and boiled beef, was simply, “meat with rice is good, huh,” as if she was having it for the first time.

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Snow Removal and the Kyrgyz Home

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on February 15, 2010

So, according to everyone around, while temperatures this winter have been mild (yikes), where we’ve really had excess is in snow. It first came down from the sky in October. It hasn’t really ever melted, and for a while there was falling every day.

This makes snow removal an issue, to say the least. The one main street in town, Lenin, is one of the very few that are paved, and the only one that is plowed, though only rarely. On days when the snow is fresh, the cars that don’t have chains on their tires make sliding stops as regular practice. When the snow is tough and packed, the only real concern is slipping while you cross.

The side streets show no hope of plowing, and the thick snow does wonders to fill the pot holes. When kids aren’t sledding on the hills, or sliding, for fun, on every possibly decline, they’re grabbing onto cars as they slow down to round corners, and then sliding down the street attached to them (a practice I’ve heard is also common in Detroit.)

Now shoveling, as we think of it, is a bit different out here, if for no other reason than the curious layout of the standard home. Kyrgyz houses don’t generally have a front door. Instead, facing the street is just the plane side of the house, and next to it, a tall, metal gate. This gate will generally have one entrance for people and one for cars. Once inside, there will be a driveway, at the end of which features a garage. Before that garage, however, will be a turn off, sending you to what we would consider the back door of the house. This does not occupy all of the space in yard, however. Generally one can also find some yard space, an outhouse, maybe a fruit tree, and a large dog cage. Sometimes there will even be two buildings for different uses depending on the season.

Take note here: Long driveway, little lawn. Good for cars in the summer, bad for your back in the winter.

At my house, this all means starting from the gate and pushing all of the snow towards the back where there is a little strip of green. We filled that up about a month ago. Next was the same procedure, just a little farther back, to another green spot, until we filled that up too. The last timed it snowed we went way back, to a far corner. But for this maneuver, my family had a system. We’d shovel out a path, and then lay a fleece blanket down. We’d pile a mountain of snow on the blanket and then drag it to the back corner, where we’d shovel it again.

That was cool, but we’re the lucky ones. Up and down the streets here in Sunny Naryn, both big and small, there are huge mounds of snow, some 4 feet high, and the average American would assume them to be from the giant shovel of the plows. But no, not here. Here, it is the concerted labor of countless men, bearing one load after another of snow, carried in wheelbarrows, on blankets, pieces of siding and sleds. All of this sound pretty reasonable? Now, imagine that instead of an ergonomically correct, light plastic shovel, you’re doing this with a piece of plywood fitted between the teeth of a picthfork. But thats just life, folks, and I love it.

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Sledding in the Ruins of Russia

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on February 10, 2010

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?

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So Far, The Hardest Thing

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on January 25, 2010

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.

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Cold Friends

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on January 11, 2010

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

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