August 24, 2008
I am writing this entry to celebrate the fact that as of yesterday, I have survived one year in Kazakhstan. Furthermore, rather than being the worse for wear, I am better than ever. There were tough times to be sure, but overall the experience here has been a rather positive one. My organizational skills have improved, and I am much more comfortable in large groups. I now really do like teaching, and what’s more I think that my students are actually learning. Also, when I lived in America I hated studying new languages; I never thought that I was good at it, especially when it came to speaking. In only one year however, I am reasonably conversant in Kazak and am looking forward to starting to study Russian. Another positive change is that I am even healthier than I was before I left. My allergies have calmed down significantly, and while it might just be the fact that I live somewhere without much plant life, I like to think that the bad air was just the shock to the system I needed. The diet may also be somewhat responsible. Before I got to Kazakhstan I worried about eating so much meat, especially because I only at chicken and fish. While the diet is high in red meat and can be heavy, however, the massive increase in protein consumption, coupled with the fact that it is fresh food has done wonders.
That said, I think that the biggest change has been in my ability to understand and empathize with the people around me. There are things that drive me crazy about Kazak culture; men are often spoiled, women are sometimes overly submissive, and “cooperative learning” is second nature. Still, I have done my best to not let my aggravation seep into my personal friendships. I have come to realize that these flaws are not the fault of the individual, but the culture, and that if I had grown up in such a culture, I would probably behave in much the same way. When I first got to Kazakhstan, everything, the people, the clothing, the language, seemed so different that it was at first hard to imagine forming such close friendships and working partnerships with the local community. After a year among them however, while I have not totally mastered the language or the dress code, I am getting closer, and it is now easy to see that our similarities far outweigh our differences. This is the most important function of the Peace Corps. While much emphasis is put on quantifiable achievements like number of students taught, or liters of water purified, etc., the most important thing that Peace Corps does for both volunteer and host country national is that it forces each other to recognize their mutual humanity. We all have similar ambitions and dreams of success, we celebrate the same milestones, and we mourn the same losses. Perhaps we might do certain things in different ways, but that does not deny the fact that we both do it. I think the moment that this realization truly broke was a few months ago when I was at the wedding of one of my “cousins.” The bride was about to leave to go to her husband’s house and all the family was gathered to say goodbye. I looked over and I saw that the father of the bride, my “uncle”, a pretty stoic guy, was weeping. It was then, watching my uncle say good-bye to his daughter, and remembering similar scenes from past weddings, that I realized how universal our emotions and thoughts actually are. Think about it, what parent, no matter what country, does not cry at their kids wedding? Some people, including some fellow volunteers may believe that I am being to sympathetic to the locals and their often corrupt and chauvinistic behavior, but again I remind them that I do condemn that behavior, and I certainly do not emulate it. Furthermore, I know that one of my main responsibility as a PCV is providing a different example. Still I refuse to condemn the individuals themselves.
I am happy that I have done and seen so much in my first year here in Kazakhstan, but I am also a bit worried because I realize that I have so much left to learn and only one year to do it! I have several goals and projects that I want to see completed before I go home, a departmental newsletter, and an “American Corner” for starters, and I wonder how it will all get done. Ultimately though, if I have had half as much personal growth as I have had in this past year, I think it will still turn out to be a successful year. Just to let you know, I do miss you all, although I am no hurry to return to the States. I will just remind you that this past year flew by, and I know that this next year will go even faster. So do not worry. I will be back before you know it, and maybe even before you want it!
четверг, 28 августа 2008 г.
вторник, 19 августа 2008 г.
A Note on Peace Corps Fashion
August 18, 2008
I know that it is a little late for this note to be of much us to the incoming Kaz-20 group, but maybe it will offer a brief example of how the Peace Corps gives pretty useless advice. I remember going around to REI, Eddie Bauer, and Wal-Mart this time last year to get the clothes the Peace Corps said I needed for Kazakhstan. Now, I know that part of the problem may have been my own images of what a Peace Corps volunteer should look like, but following that list, I ended up with lots of khaki’s, a couple of collored stripped shirts, and no blue jeans. Basically with the clothes I brought with me I look like I am either ready to go hiking or ready to go to the country club, neither of which helps me a whole lot. Kazakhstan may be a developing nation, but the people here have a fully formed sense of fashion. People here dress really nice, and not just on certain days and occasions, but everyday. At my university in America it was normal to see my female classmates role into class in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but here in Kazakhstan no girl would be seen wearing that outside the house. In fact, clothes like that are explicitly referred to as house clothes. All of my students come to school in the latest styles, and I often feel underdressed next to some of my male co-workers, many of whom wear a suit and vest to everyday. Ultimately, the only real good piece of advice PC gave about clothes was the suit. It is indeed a necessary piece of equipment. However, in their haste to include such items as zip off pants and boots, they forgot to mention that you are probably going to want your stylish jeans and leather jacket too. While it is true that after two years of hand washing those clothes are going to be shredded, but I promise you that the sense of wellbeing you get from fitting it just a little bit more will be worth it.
I know that it is a little late for this note to be of much us to the incoming Kaz-20 group, but maybe it will offer a brief example of how the Peace Corps gives pretty useless advice. I remember going around to REI, Eddie Bauer, and Wal-Mart this time last year to get the clothes the Peace Corps said I needed for Kazakhstan. Now, I know that part of the problem may have been my own images of what a Peace Corps volunteer should look like, but following that list, I ended up with lots of khaki’s, a couple of collored stripped shirts, and no blue jeans. Basically with the clothes I brought with me I look like I am either ready to go hiking or ready to go to the country club, neither of which helps me a whole lot. Kazakhstan may be a developing nation, but the people here have a fully formed sense of fashion. People here dress really nice, and not just on certain days and occasions, but everyday. At my university in America it was normal to see my female classmates role into class in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but here in Kazakhstan no girl would be seen wearing that outside the house. In fact, clothes like that are explicitly referred to as house clothes. All of my students come to school in the latest styles, and I often feel underdressed next to some of my male co-workers, many of whom wear a suit and vest to everyday. Ultimately, the only real good piece of advice PC gave about clothes was the suit. It is indeed a necessary piece of equipment. However, in their haste to include such items as zip off pants and boots, they forgot to mention that you are probably going to want your stylish jeans and leather jacket too. While it is true that after two years of hand washing those clothes are going to be shredded, but I promise you that the sense of wellbeing you get from fitting it just a little bit more will be worth it.
One Last Interlude
When I got back to Kyzylorda, I was glad to be home. It had been almost a month since I had left for Ust-Komen and I actually like my desert city, most of the time at least. Once I got there though, I realized that I should have been careful what I wished for. It had been pretty hot in Kyzylorda when I left, but once I returned the heat quickly became almost unbearable. The temperature was regularly in the mid 45 degrees Celsius, and the wind did nothing to help the situation. All it would do was just blow dust everywhere and make the heat even worse. Luckily, Kyzylorda has a nice big river, the Sidaria that has a man-made beach where we all go swimming every afternoon. On a side note, the locals call this the “Jewish Beach” because, and this is a direct quote, “its free.”
Still, as much fun as I was having staring at the ceiling and cooking in my own juices, I was glad when my friend from Zhezkazgan invited me to come up to one last camp before classes started up again. Unfortunately, he only gave me the heads up a few days in advance, but it was all right because a bus goes from Kyzylorda to Zhezkazgan daily and it was not that hard to get a ticket. The bus was an old soviet type school bus, although an all-terrain vehicle would have been more appropriate. The bus did not so much follow a road as a really bumpy dirt path, and it was even forced to leave that at times and just drive across the open step. To make matters worse, the bus kept stalling outwhich not only extended the trip from eight hours to twelve, but was rather scary because there was absolutely no sign of life between Kyzylorda and Zhezkazgan, and if we had gotten really stuck it would probably have been a full day until a replacement arrived. Ultimately however, all of the trouble was worth it I guess. Zhezkazgan was hardly the hole in the ground that I expected after hearing Robert complain about it for eight months. In fact when I finally got there, the second thing I said to Robert was “what the hell were you complaining about?” Zhezkazgan had, unlike my beautiful Kyzylorda, clear evidence of urban planning, and a fully functional downtown. Zhezkazgan has its drawbacks to be sure, even disregarding its isolation. Zhezkazgan also has a great deal of air pollution due to all of the copper mines and processing plants in the city. In fact, some days it was so bad that when I blew my nose I thought pennies were coming out.
The camp in Zhezkazgan was a lot of fun and a great success. It was a nice middle ground between the crazy schedule and counterparts of Alga and the apathetic students of Ust-Kamen. The camp schedule was busy but not super overwhelming, and the kids were interested and active in both lessons and sports. In fact, it turned out that I had four students in my class who showed considerable talents in Ultimate Frisbee. Another great thing about the camp was that it was one another chance to meet and hang out with other PCVs. Not only did I get to see my friends from training one more time before school started, but I also got to meet Robert’s site mates from the Kaz-18 group, Dusty and Valerie. Both were really nice, and it was good to see that all of the Zhezkazgan volunteers got along pretty well. Of course, with the next nearest volunteers being eight or twelve hours away, they had better right?
All in all, it was a great two weeks and I was glad I had that one last trip. I feel that I have fully recharged my batteries and am ready for the coming year. Also, I am happy that I got the chance to see a lot of Kazakhstan has to offer. It is kind of funny actually, despite their similar size, it took me much longer to see as much of America as I saw of Kazakhstan this summer. My family traveled a lot to be sure, but it was usually on the East or West coasts, rarely the middle. Now though, I am back at site, this time for keeps. Summer is officially over, but I have to say it has probably been one of the best ever.
пятница, 18 июля 2008 г.
Summer Vacation Pt .2
July 1-16, 2008
The second part of my summer vacation took me to the small village of Kalbatau, formally known as Georgivka in the Northeastern part of Kazakhstan. Getting there nearly killed me. It took two days by train, and while I was seated with some very nice people, and I have gotten pretty used to the amount of time it takes to travel around Kazakhstan, it was a long time to spend on a train. When I got there though, I saw that it was worth it. I had left a flat endless expanse of brown sand and scraggly trees, but in Kalbatau there was green grass, healthy trees, and actual hills! Anyway, as for the purpose of my visit, I went to Kalbatau to meet back up with my fellow Kazak speakers for another camp. Unlike the camp in Alga, the camp in Kalbatau was only one week instead of two, there were fewer students because most had gone on vacations themselves, and there were no counterparts, so at the end I was only moderately tired instead of completely exhausted. Like in Alga, the camp was split between class time and sports, and we also did cross-cultural work with different countries in addition to normal English lessons. Rather than designate each group as a different country however, every class worked with a different country every day. For example, one day we talked about Jamaica and made collages, another day we talked about Japan and made origami, and on a third day we talked about Brazil and made beaded jewelry. These cross-cultural activities were great, but my favorite part of the day was when we got to go outside and play sports. My site mate, Chris, was particularly into this part of the camp as he never passes up the opportunity to teach someone how to play baseball. I mostly stuck with football and ultimate Frisbee because I kept hitting a brick wall trying to explain to the kids that they could not throw the kickball at the members of the other team, they needed to throw them to their teammates at the bases. The entire week was great, although a little stressful sometimes because we literally could not get away from each other. All six of us were camped out in Kimi’s two-room apartment and there was barely room to walk around. Kimi was a great hostess, but I know that when we all went our separate ways she was probably glad to have some personal space back.
After the camp was over we all went our separate ways. Three people went to Tajikistan, Chris headed off to Italy to meet his folks, and I headed to Ridder a small town near the Altau Mountains to do some camping. The journey to get there was not too bad because Ridder and Kalbatau are in the same Oblast, but it still took awhile because the area is so mountainous and there are no through roads. On the day we all left, I went down to Ust-Kamen to meet Tony, Robert and some other Kaz-18s who were planning to do some camping as well. Robert needed to head to Ridder early, but Tony suggested that the rest of us head to a village a couple of hours away that was going to have a volunteer in the future. When we got there, we met our host Raxat, as well as a local friend of Tony’s named Vladimir who was in charge of activities for the few days we would be there. The area around the Altau Mountains is still very much a Russian enclave, and our host Raxat was not only one of the few Kazaks in the area, but also one of the few Kazaks in the area who actually understood Kazak. He thought it was an absolute riot that I spoke Kazak and actually took us to the river near his house one afternoon just so I could meet some of his friends and speak Kazak with them. Besides its use as a party trick though, speaking Kazak was a pretty useless skill to have up there, and I was glad I was with Tony and the others. The week really showed me that while Kazak is great as a tool of diplomacy and in showing that you are interested in the culture, outside of the south it does not have that much practical purpose. Wednesday morning we got up and Vladimir decided to take us Paragliding. After a short hike we got up to the hills around Raxat’s house that Vladimir said would be a good place to go from. In the end we did not actually get a chance to Paraglide because there was not enough wind, but the view made the walk worth it anyway. Even if I had gotten the chance to go Paragliding though, what we did later that afternoon would still have been the high point of my trip. That afternoon for the first time ever I got to go horseback riding. They just handed me the reins, gave me a few instructions, and I was off. The horse was a little hard to control at first, but he was very patient and very forgiving at my initial efforts. He never tried to buck me off or bite me, if he was irritated or I was not sure where I wanted to go next, all he would do was stop and eat grass.
The next morning we got up and headed back to Ust-Kamen. Ridder was only sixty kilometers a way as the crow flies, but as I mentioned earlier there are no roads that go through so we had to go back to Ust-Kamen and catch another bus to take us to Ridder. When we got to Ridder, we met Robert who took us back to his place so we could get cleaned up and re-pack for the weekend up in the mountains. Robert reminded us that though there was a base camp where we were going, the bus was going to drop us off three miles away from it and so packing light was a must. After a nice pizza dinner at a café, we went to bed early so that we could get up and catch the first bus out to the base camp at 7:30. The woman in charge of base camp was Tony’s Counterpart, a hard-nosed, but soft-hearted middle-aged Russian woman named Natalya. She was not that happy to see us arrive because base camp was totally full with a group from Petropolvisk, and so we ended up having to stay at a campsite a short ways up the trail. I actually liked where we stayed a lot better than the actual base camp. Our campsite had a nice fire pit, plenty of shady trees, and a river full of fresh glacial water right next to it. That afternoon another group of PCVs arrived, nine Kaz-19s, which of course made Natalya even madder. We got up the next morning around seven and got ready to go, the two girl Kaz-18s were not wild with the idea of dragging all of their stuff with them so we decided to do a day hike instead of a full on camping trip. Tony had told us that there was a series of lakes up at the top made from the remains of glaciers, which at least to me sounded like a place worth seeing. After two and a half hours of hiking we passed the tree line and entered the rock field, a field covered with the shattered rocks from when the mountains first rose out of the ground. It was a stunning site, but made for some extremely difficult hiking. We had to jump from rock to rock making sure we did not trip, and even though we had passed the tree line we knew we still had at least another hour or two of hiking before we got to our destination. On and on we climbed over one small hill after another, but each time we thought we had made it, we saw that there was yet another hill. After about two hours of this, the girls decided that they had about had enough, so we sat down for lunch, and they got ready to go back down the hill. I decided though, that I wanted to make one more push. I knew it could not be that much farther and we had gone so far that it seemed pointless to go back before we got to the end. I kept climbing and about forty-five minutes after we had split up I made it to the top to find…nothing. All that was there was a shallow depression with some ice that maybe had the potential to become a large puddle if it got warm enough. It turned out that where we needed to go way to the right we had instead gone straight, and so we went up to the wrong peak. I was a little disappointed, but it had not been a total waste of time. For even though there was no lake, the fifty-foot sheer wall of volcanic rock that we had thought was the side of a large rock bowl was still pretty impressive. After taking a few pictures, I began to make my way down. I was not looking forward to the long walk down by myself, but luckily the others were going slow and I caught up to them before they had gotten back to the tree line.
Dinner that night was spaghetti, which was surprisingly good considering all we had was tomato paste, a few onions, half a kielbasa, and some cheese spread to make sauce. After dinner we called it an early night. The girls’ feet were hurting, and they wanted to head back to Ridder on the morning bus. I on the other hand, was planning on doing some solo hiking and camping of the next couple of days and heading back to Ridder on Tuesday morning and then getting the Tuesday night bus out, but unfortunately when Natalya found out about this plan the next morning as the others were preparing to leave she said, “I don’t think so.” I did not have my stuff ready to go with the guys so there was no chance of catching the early bus with them. It looked like I was going to have to hang out at the base camp until the Kaz-19s and Tony came down the mountain from their campsite and catch the afternoon bus out with them. I was really bummed because I had wanted another crack at finding the lakes and I was not looking forward to sitting there for six hours with nothing to do. Then fortune shinned upon me once again. Natalya told me that another group was heading up to the lakes and I could go with them and rendezvous with Tony and the others. She threw me into a young Russian couple’s all-terrain vehicle with two guides and another couple and we sped off up the hill. I know it was sort of cheating, but riding in the vehicle was almost as much of an adventure as walking. The thing could not only power of rocks and through streams, it could nearly drive straight up. Sometimes the car was driving on such a steep slope that I was almost afraid that I was either going to fall out or the thing was going to tip over backwards. Still, even it could only go so far and at the tree line we had to get out and start walking. Once we started walking I realized where we had made the mistake yesterday. We had needed to be on the other side of the river and a large hill, but we did not realize this because the two peaks looked almost identical. We did not find Tony and the others, but after three hours we did manage to find the lakes! The first two were amazing, beautiful oases in the middle of desolate rock. I had never tasted water so naturally cold or fresh before. The best was yet to come, however. After spending a couple of minutes resting we continued on up and over the top of the mountain and entered into a small sun-covered valley where there were even more lakes. I had made it! In all honesty, the site was literally breathtaking. Not only was there no way to tell such a place was there from the bottom of the mountain, you could not even tell it was there until right when you got to the top.
After lunch we started down the mountain, and I quickly came to realize that it was probably just as well I was no longer planning on staying a few extra days. My feet were killing me! I worried a little that we were going to miss Tony and the bus because the hike up, including using the car part way had taken four hours and it was nearly two, but gravity lent us speed and we made it all the way down the hill on foot in two hours flat. After we got back to site we had a small tea with Natalya and then she put us all in the company bus to take us back to town. Once again, I split off from the Kaz-19s because I had to go get my stuff from Robert’s place. That, and I figured they would probably have a pretty late night. They had not actually done that much hiking, but I was dead on my feet. The Kaz-18s were already packed up to go and relaxing when I got there. They had to get back to their site and were on the noon bus from Ust-Kamen to Astana. I decided to go with them and buy a ticket for the 7:30 bus to Almaty. Unfortunately, when I got to the bus station it turned out that there were no tickets for that bus and I would have to wait until tomorrow. I made arrangements to stay with another volunteer who lived in a nearby village over night and then checked my bags at the bus station before around the city for a few hours. We had a fun night making quesadillas from scratch and hanging out, but clearly we were not yet recovered from Ridder, we all passed out in front of a movie by 11:30.
The next day we went to back to the city around noon and hung out for a few hours before I had to get on the bus. My friends asked me why I was taking the bus instead of the train, and I said I was doing it because it was cheaper, and there were no seats on the trains for the next couple of days anyways. I should have waited for the train. First, the bus was packed, and I got seated in the window seat of the very last row next to four incredibly obnoxious Russian guys. Then I found out that rather than taking seventeen hours as I was told earlier, it was going to take twenty hours to get to Almaty. I tried to settle in as best as I could but the guys were four of the biggest assholes I have met in any country, and did not seem to understand that I did not understand them, did not want to take shots with them, nor was I their pillow. I spent half the time trying to keep one of them from crushing me against the window when he passed out after doing shots. If I was not already heading that way before I think that bus trip made me a Kazak nationalist. Thankfully, unlike the real thing, this hell ended eventually and I stumbled off the bus around five p.m. the next day. After getting off the bus I got a ride to the Altin-Orda bus station where I caught a marshootka to Chamalgan, and I am happy to say I am now happily relaxing at home with my first host family. They are in the midst of remodeling the house and making it bigger because they believe that my brother Acxat will get married in the fall, so I am trying to help out or at least stay out of the way. No rest for the weary right?
The second part of my summer vacation took me to the small village of Kalbatau, formally known as Georgivka in the Northeastern part of Kazakhstan. Getting there nearly killed me. It took two days by train, and while I was seated with some very nice people, and I have gotten pretty used to the amount of time it takes to travel around Kazakhstan, it was a long time to spend on a train. When I got there though, I saw that it was worth it. I had left a flat endless expanse of brown sand and scraggly trees, but in Kalbatau there was green grass, healthy trees, and actual hills! Anyway, as for the purpose of my visit, I went to Kalbatau to meet back up with my fellow Kazak speakers for another camp. Unlike the camp in Alga, the camp in Kalbatau was only one week instead of two, there were fewer students because most had gone on vacations themselves, and there were no counterparts, so at the end I was only moderately tired instead of completely exhausted. Like in Alga, the camp was split between class time and sports, and we also did cross-cultural work with different countries in addition to normal English lessons. Rather than designate each group as a different country however, every class worked with a different country every day. For example, one day we talked about Jamaica and made collages, another day we talked about Japan and made origami, and on a third day we talked about Brazil and made beaded jewelry. These cross-cultural activities were great, but my favorite part of the day was when we got to go outside and play sports. My site mate, Chris, was particularly into this part of the camp as he never passes up the opportunity to teach someone how to play baseball. I mostly stuck with football and ultimate Frisbee because I kept hitting a brick wall trying to explain to the kids that they could not throw the kickball at the members of the other team, they needed to throw them to their teammates at the bases. The entire week was great, although a little stressful sometimes because we literally could not get away from each other. All six of us were camped out in Kimi’s two-room apartment and there was barely room to walk around. Kimi was a great hostess, but I know that when we all went our separate ways she was probably glad to have some personal space back.
After the camp was over we all went our separate ways. Three people went to Tajikistan, Chris headed off to Italy to meet his folks, and I headed to Ridder a small town near the Altau Mountains to do some camping. The journey to get there was not too bad because Ridder and Kalbatau are in the same Oblast, but it still took awhile because the area is so mountainous and there are no through roads. On the day we all left, I went down to Ust-Kamen to meet Tony, Robert and some other Kaz-18s who were planning to do some camping as well. Robert needed to head to Ridder early, but Tony suggested that the rest of us head to a village a couple of hours away that was going to have a volunteer in the future. When we got there, we met our host Raxat, as well as a local friend of Tony’s named Vladimir who was in charge of activities for the few days we would be there. The area around the Altau Mountains is still very much a Russian enclave, and our host Raxat was not only one of the few Kazaks in the area, but also one of the few Kazaks in the area who actually understood Kazak. He thought it was an absolute riot that I spoke Kazak and actually took us to the river near his house one afternoon just so I could meet some of his friends and speak Kazak with them. Besides its use as a party trick though, speaking Kazak was a pretty useless skill to have up there, and I was glad I was with Tony and the others. The week really showed me that while Kazak is great as a tool of diplomacy and in showing that you are interested in the culture, outside of the south it does not have that much practical purpose. Wednesday morning we got up and Vladimir decided to take us Paragliding. After a short hike we got up to the hills around Raxat’s house that Vladimir said would be a good place to go from. In the end we did not actually get a chance to Paraglide because there was not enough wind, but the view made the walk worth it anyway. Even if I had gotten the chance to go Paragliding though, what we did later that afternoon would still have been the high point of my trip. That afternoon for the first time ever I got to go horseback riding. They just handed me the reins, gave me a few instructions, and I was off. The horse was a little hard to control at first, but he was very patient and very forgiving at my initial efforts. He never tried to buck me off or bite me, if he was irritated or I was not sure where I wanted to go next, all he would do was stop and eat grass.
The next morning we got up and headed back to Ust-Kamen. Ridder was only sixty kilometers a way as the crow flies, but as I mentioned earlier there are no roads that go through so we had to go back to Ust-Kamen and catch another bus to take us to Ridder. When we got to Ridder, we met Robert who took us back to his place so we could get cleaned up and re-pack for the weekend up in the mountains. Robert reminded us that though there was a base camp where we were going, the bus was going to drop us off three miles away from it and so packing light was a must. After a nice pizza dinner at a café, we went to bed early so that we could get up and catch the first bus out to the base camp at 7:30. The woman in charge of base camp was Tony’s Counterpart, a hard-nosed, but soft-hearted middle-aged Russian woman named Natalya. She was not that happy to see us arrive because base camp was totally full with a group from Petropolvisk, and so we ended up having to stay at a campsite a short ways up the trail. I actually liked where we stayed a lot better than the actual base camp. Our campsite had a nice fire pit, plenty of shady trees, and a river full of fresh glacial water right next to it. That afternoon another group of PCVs arrived, nine Kaz-19s, which of course made Natalya even madder. We got up the next morning around seven and got ready to go, the two girl Kaz-18s were not wild with the idea of dragging all of their stuff with them so we decided to do a day hike instead of a full on camping trip. Tony had told us that there was a series of lakes up at the top made from the remains of glaciers, which at least to me sounded like a place worth seeing. After two and a half hours of hiking we passed the tree line and entered the rock field, a field covered with the shattered rocks from when the mountains first rose out of the ground. It was a stunning site, but made for some extremely difficult hiking. We had to jump from rock to rock making sure we did not trip, and even though we had passed the tree line we knew we still had at least another hour or two of hiking before we got to our destination. On and on we climbed over one small hill after another, but each time we thought we had made it, we saw that there was yet another hill. After about two hours of this, the girls decided that they had about had enough, so we sat down for lunch, and they got ready to go back down the hill. I decided though, that I wanted to make one more push. I knew it could not be that much farther and we had gone so far that it seemed pointless to go back before we got to the end. I kept climbing and about forty-five minutes after we had split up I made it to the top to find…nothing. All that was there was a shallow depression with some ice that maybe had the potential to become a large puddle if it got warm enough. It turned out that where we needed to go way to the right we had instead gone straight, and so we went up to the wrong peak. I was a little disappointed, but it had not been a total waste of time. For even though there was no lake, the fifty-foot sheer wall of volcanic rock that we had thought was the side of a large rock bowl was still pretty impressive. After taking a few pictures, I began to make my way down. I was not looking forward to the long walk down by myself, but luckily the others were going slow and I caught up to them before they had gotten back to the tree line.
Dinner that night was spaghetti, which was surprisingly good considering all we had was tomato paste, a few onions, half a kielbasa, and some cheese spread to make sauce. After dinner we called it an early night. The girls’ feet were hurting, and they wanted to head back to Ridder on the morning bus. I on the other hand, was planning on doing some solo hiking and camping of the next couple of days and heading back to Ridder on Tuesday morning and then getting the Tuesday night bus out, but unfortunately when Natalya found out about this plan the next morning as the others were preparing to leave she said, “I don’t think so.” I did not have my stuff ready to go with the guys so there was no chance of catching the early bus with them. It looked like I was going to have to hang out at the base camp until the Kaz-19s and Tony came down the mountain from their campsite and catch the afternoon bus out with them. I was really bummed because I had wanted another crack at finding the lakes and I was not looking forward to sitting there for six hours with nothing to do. Then fortune shinned upon me once again. Natalya told me that another group was heading up to the lakes and I could go with them and rendezvous with Tony and the others. She threw me into a young Russian couple’s all-terrain vehicle with two guides and another couple and we sped off up the hill. I know it was sort of cheating, but riding in the vehicle was almost as much of an adventure as walking. The thing could not only power of rocks and through streams, it could nearly drive straight up. Sometimes the car was driving on such a steep slope that I was almost afraid that I was either going to fall out or the thing was going to tip over backwards. Still, even it could only go so far and at the tree line we had to get out and start walking. Once we started walking I realized where we had made the mistake yesterday. We had needed to be on the other side of the river and a large hill, but we did not realize this because the two peaks looked almost identical. We did not find Tony and the others, but after three hours we did manage to find the lakes! The first two were amazing, beautiful oases in the middle of desolate rock. I had never tasted water so naturally cold or fresh before. The best was yet to come, however. After spending a couple of minutes resting we continued on up and over the top of the mountain and entered into a small sun-covered valley where there were even more lakes. I had made it! In all honesty, the site was literally breathtaking. Not only was there no way to tell such a place was there from the bottom of the mountain, you could not even tell it was there until right when you got to the top.
After lunch we started down the mountain, and I quickly came to realize that it was probably just as well I was no longer planning on staying a few extra days. My feet were killing me! I worried a little that we were going to miss Tony and the bus because the hike up, including using the car part way had taken four hours and it was nearly two, but gravity lent us speed and we made it all the way down the hill on foot in two hours flat. After we got back to site we had a small tea with Natalya and then she put us all in the company bus to take us back to town. Once again, I split off from the Kaz-19s because I had to go get my stuff from Robert’s place. That, and I figured they would probably have a pretty late night. They had not actually done that much hiking, but I was dead on my feet. The Kaz-18s were already packed up to go and relaxing when I got there. They had to get back to their site and were on the noon bus from Ust-Kamen to Astana. I decided to go with them and buy a ticket for the 7:30 bus to Almaty. Unfortunately, when I got to the bus station it turned out that there were no tickets for that bus and I would have to wait until tomorrow. I made arrangements to stay with another volunteer who lived in a nearby village over night and then checked my bags at the bus station before around the city for a few hours. We had a fun night making quesadillas from scratch and hanging out, but clearly we were not yet recovered from Ridder, we all passed out in front of a movie by 11:30.
The next day we went to back to the city around noon and hung out for a few hours before I had to get on the bus. My friends asked me why I was taking the bus instead of the train, and I said I was doing it because it was cheaper, and there were no seats on the trains for the next couple of days anyways. I should have waited for the train. First, the bus was packed, and I got seated in the window seat of the very last row next to four incredibly obnoxious Russian guys. Then I found out that rather than taking seventeen hours as I was told earlier, it was going to take twenty hours to get to Almaty. I tried to settle in as best as I could but the guys were four of the biggest assholes I have met in any country, and did not seem to understand that I did not understand them, did not want to take shots with them, nor was I their pillow. I spent half the time trying to keep one of them from crushing me against the window when he passed out after doing shots. If I was not already heading that way before I think that bus trip made me a Kazak nationalist. Thankfully, unlike the real thing, this hell ended eventually and I stumbled off the bus around five p.m. the next day. After getting off the bus I got a ride to the Altin-Orda bus station where I caught a marshootka to Chamalgan, and I am happy to say I am now happily relaxing at home with my first host family. They are in the midst of remodeling the house and making it bigger because they believe that my brother Acxat will get married in the fall, so I am trying to help out or at least stay out of the way. No rest for the weary right?
A Little Pomp and Circumstance
While the traditions and trappings of it may change from country to country, the graduation ceremony is indeed universal. Yesterday was my college’s graduation, and while there were several differences between this ceremony and my own graduation ceremony, other parts of it reminded me just how universal it is as a rite of passage.
The most notable difference I saw was the one that I was happiest about. No Caps or Gowns! Like in America, the students and teachers were all dressed to the nines, but unlike us they did not do something as silly as then covering themselves up with a cheap polyester robe. This decision may have been functional as well as stylistic however, seeing as how it was 92 F in the shade that day. If the students had been wearing American graduation regalia there would have been several cases of heat stroke.
I also liked that the fact that the ceremony was much shorter than the typical commencement ceremony in the U.S. This was partly due to the size of the graduating class, but even taking that into account, things moved along at a nice clip. For one thing, only the students who received the top or “red” diploma from each class group went up individually to receive their diploma, otherwise the head of the department just read out their names and gave the diplomas out by class group. The lack of a valedictory speech also helped in cutting time. Instead of one long speech, three of the best students gave short speeches thanking their teachers, parents, and fellow students, and each of the three speeches was in one of the three official languages of Kazakhstan, either Kazak, Russian, and English.
You might wonder how, even if the grading system is a sham, the administration could fail to recognize a valedictorian, but the fact is that departments and even to some extent is class groups are rather autonomous. Students pick their “major” when they first arrive at the college and are then sorted into different course groups with whom they take all of their classes, even those classes outside their department. Furthermore, after their first and second year, students take fewer and fewer classes outside their specific department. These factors, alongside the endemic cheating, makes choosing a valedictorian an exercise in futility, although I am sure that the P.E. department wishes they did as the award would then be for sale.
The ceremony was not the only thing that was different about graduation at my college. Even the diplomas are different. Unlike in America where all diplomas look pretty much the same unless you look inside, in Kazakhstan you can tell who the high achievers were at a glance. The best students received literal red diplomas while everyone else received regular blue ones. I was pleased to see that my two best students got red diplomas, and I was also happy to see that they did not hand them out like they were happy meal toys. In fact, I only saw one student from the English department get a red diploma who I did not believe deserved it. She is a nice girl, but her English skills are mediocre at best. Apparently however, she tested very well. Another contributing factor no doubt was the fact that in Kazakhstan you lose your diploma rather than earn it. For example, at our college you can have no more than thirty fours in four years to get a red diploma. The student managed this because she was out of school for several weeks after suffering a miscarriage. The assignments and tests she missed were of course not counted against her, nor was she required to make them up. At end of the year, when all the tallying was done, she only had twenty-seven fours, and thus the school deemed her worthy to receive the red diploma.
Those differences aside, I could tell that my students were just as excited as I had been when I finished school. Just as I was, they were preparing to enter into the real world, a world made even realer by the fact that several were already bearing adult responsibilities like marriage and children. It was just like at Wake, though perhaps a tad bit more chaotic because there was no special parents' seating section and no security personnel.
That night my counterpart’s group 4D threw a big party at a restaurant. Despite it being very similar to the Kazak dinner parties I had been to before, I had a surprisingly good time. At first I ate with the other teachers who attended the party, but after they left go visit the other grad parties I hung out with the two of the young husbands. They are always a fun group to hang out with because they are the only local people I have met so far that I would refer to as my peers. We are all between the ages of twenty-two and twenty-five, and even though they are married and have kids, they still have the sense of humor of a college student. Anyway, we had a great time, making toasts and chatting. We drank to the student’s success, danced a little, and then like all of the other twenty-something men in the city went outside to watch the Euro Cup match.
All in all, it was a great day, and I am sorry that it is over. None of those girls are my students anymore, and they were by far the best class I worked with. Still, I am happy because now they will be my colleagues, and hopefully they will be a part of a real effort to change and improve the education system of Kazakhstan. Also, this means that my summer vacation can officially begin!
пятница, 27 июня 2008 г.
Reading List Update
21. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
My mother read this book several years ago, but as strange as it is to say, this Irish-American only read Angela’s Ashes for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I think what was great about this story was that it was both about the unique Irish experience and the universal struggle against poverty. McCourt’s book also offers a powerful indictment of the forces that conspire to keep people in poverty, even more potent because he does it without hitting you over the head. He does not point out the corrupt government workers who demean those who come to ask for charity or the cruel priests who refuse to admit into their school the those that need it the most. Rather, McCourt simply tells his story and allows the reader to see how often the forces of the church and the state often join forces to oppress the very people they are supposed to be helping. Ultimately however, it is a story of great courage, of what is possible if you are willing to go for it, and perhaps to those of us that are more fortunate, the question of why have we not done more?
22. Dreams From My Father by Barak Obama
23. The Audacity of Hope by Barak Obama
I read these two books pretty much back to back, and while many people have said that his second book, the Audacity of Hope, is better due to Obama’s maturation as a both a statesman and a writer, I think that I actually like the first book more. Everyone has tried to understand their parents are, not just in relation to ourselves but also as individuals, though this is undoubtedly more difficult when the parent is not there. This search for knowledge and connection with another part of his family mirrored Obama’s more personal search for a fulfilling life and career.
Still, even if I liked Dreams of My Father a little bit more, Audacity of Hope was still and excellent book. The book is a powerful political treatise about what needs to be done n our country and how Obama intends to accomplish these goals. His political opponents may claim that he is inexperienced or naïve, but then I guess so am I as well as the several million other people who have found in his rhetoric a clear path to change and a better America.
24. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien
The Things They Carried is an interesting book that is both a collection of short stories and a memoir. The meaning of the title is two-fold. First, it refers to those objects, both mundane and significant, that O’Brien and his fellow soldiers carried with them during their service in Vietnam, and secondly it refers to the emotional and psychological damage that O’Brien and the other survivors carry with them. My favorite story was the one about O’Brien came to the army. He talks about he was set against the war and seriously considered going to Canada when he was drafted, but in the end he decided to serve anyway because he was more afraid of shaming himself and his family than losing his life for a cause he did not support or understand. Our country is now engaged in a similar military debacle, although at least service in this one is voluntary. Still, reading O’Brien’s book is great for not only getting a clearer picture of the Forgotten Generation, but also for gaining understanding about what members of my own generation are experiencing during their wartime service.
25. The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell
26. Oil by Upton Sinclair
Not many books written on such a specific subject retain their timelessness and authority. For example, The Jungle, another of Sinclair’s works, no longer packs quite the punch that it used to thanks to the efforts of the FDA. Oil however, remains just as interesting and relevant today as it did when it was first published. Unfortunately, this timelessness is due as much to the lack of progress in the Oil/Energy Industry as Sinclair’s writing. The book starts off a little slow, mostly because the main character, Bunny, is so milquetoast and wishy-washy, but eventually he does get a backbone when faced with financial and physical costs of his father’s work and the mind-blowing fact that in certain cases more money was spent on the drilling than the oil was worth. What was great about the book however, was that Sinclair did not focus solely on the industry, he also examined the complicity of those that lived off the earnings. Sinclair shows just how far into politics and society the oil man can reach, and why it will prove so difficult to remove him from our system so that we can make progress on alternative energy sources.
27. Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekara
28. Apples Are From Kazakhstan by Christopher Robbins
In one of the most interesting travel guides I’ve ever read, Robbins goes all over Kazakhstan to see some of its most important sites and examine Kazakshtan’s lost past, its present, and its uncertain future. Most of the book is a very clear and rational examination of the country and its people, but after he begins to travel with the president he clearly loses some objectivity in regards to the political and education systems of Kazakhstan. For example, he praises the country’s nearly 99% literacy and high number of students who complete secondary school, but he declines to mention that cheating in school is widespread or that bribes on big exams or for diplomas are still fairly common. Still, the picture he draws of Kazakhstan as the birthplace of apples and legendary horsemen is fascinating and makes me want to explore my new home even more.
My mother read this book several years ago, but as strange as it is to say, this Irish-American only read Angela’s Ashes for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I think what was great about this story was that it was both about the unique Irish experience and the universal struggle against poverty. McCourt’s book also offers a powerful indictment of the forces that conspire to keep people in poverty, even more potent because he does it without hitting you over the head. He does not point out the corrupt government workers who demean those who come to ask for charity or the cruel priests who refuse to admit into their school the those that need it the most. Rather, McCourt simply tells his story and allows the reader to see how often the forces of the church and the state often join forces to oppress the very people they are supposed to be helping. Ultimately however, it is a story of great courage, of what is possible if you are willing to go for it, and perhaps to those of us that are more fortunate, the question of why have we not done more?
22. Dreams From My Father by Barak Obama
23. The Audacity of Hope by Barak Obama
I read these two books pretty much back to back, and while many people have said that his second book, the Audacity of Hope, is better due to Obama’s maturation as a both a statesman and a writer, I think that I actually like the first book more. Everyone has tried to understand their parents are, not just in relation to ourselves but also as individuals, though this is undoubtedly more difficult when the parent is not there. This search for knowledge and connection with another part of his family mirrored Obama’s more personal search for a fulfilling life and career.
Still, even if I liked Dreams of My Father a little bit more, Audacity of Hope was still and excellent book. The book is a powerful political treatise about what needs to be done n our country and how Obama intends to accomplish these goals. His political opponents may claim that he is inexperienced or naïve, but then I guess so am I as well as the several million other people who have found in his rhetoric a clear path to change and a better America.
24. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien
The Things They Carried is an interesting book that is both a collection of short stories and a memoir. The meaning of the title is two-fold. First, it refers to those objects, both mundane and significant, that O’Brien and his fellow soldiers carried with them during their service in Vietnam, and secondly it refers to the emotional and psychological damage that O’Brien and the other survivors carry with them. My favorite story was the one about O’Brien came to the army. He talks about he was set against the war and seriously considered going to Canada when he was drafted, but in the end he decided to serve anyway because he was more afraid of shaming himself and his family than losing his life for a cause he did not support or understand. Our country is now engaged in a similar military debacle, although at least service in this one is voluntary. Still, reading O’Brien’s book is great for not only getting a clearer picture of the Forgotten Generation, but also for gaining understanding about what members of my own generation are experiencing during their wartime service.
25. The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell
26. Oil by Upton Sinclair
Not many books written on such a specific subject retain their timelessness and authority. For example, The Jungle, another of Sinclair’s works, no longer packs quite the punch that it used to thanks to the efforts of the FDA. Oil however, remains just as interesting and relevant today as it did when it was first published. Unfortunately, this timelessness is due as much to the lack of progress in the Oil/Energy Industry as Sinclair’s writing. The book starts off a little slow, mostly because the main character, Bunny, is so milquetoast and wishy-washy, but eventually he does get a backbone when faced with financial and physical costs of his father’s work and the mind-blowing fact that in certain cases more money was spent on the drilling than the oil was worth. What was great about the book however, was that Sinclair did not focus solely on the industry, he also examined the complicity of those that lived off the earnings. Sinclair shows just how far into politics and society the oil man can reach, and why it will prove so difficult to remove him from our system so that we can make progress on alternative energy sources.
27. Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekara
28. Apples Are From Kazakhstan by Christopher Robbins
In one of the most interesting travel guides I’ve ever read, Robbins goes all over Kazakhstan to see some of its most important sites and examine Kazakshtan’s lost past, its present, and its uncertain future. Most of the book is a very clear and rational examination of the country and its people, but after he begins to travel with the president he clearly loses some objectivity in regards to the political and education systems of Kazakhstan. For example, he praises the country’s nearly 99% literacy and high number of students who complete secondary school, but he declines to mention that cheating in school is widespread or that bribes on big exams or for diplomas are still fairly common. Still, the picture he draws of Kazakhstan as the birthplace of apples and legendary horsemen is fascinating and makes me want to explore my new home even more.
понедельник, 16 июня 2008 г.
Summer Vacation Pt. 1
June 16, 2008
I know that it has been a long time between updates, but I hope that these recent posts will satisfy. For the last two weeks I have been working at a summer camp in Alga, a small village in the northwest of Kazakhstan that is located near the city of Aktobe. The weather was wonderful, and the people very friendly, but unfortunately internet was scarce, so I had to wait until I returned to the big city of Kyzylorda before I could share my experiences.
The camp was great because it was a kind of reunion for my training group. Two of our friends from other sites came down to Kyzylorda first, and then the four of us went together to Alga. The train ride was hell. We were in Platzcar because it was cheaper, but this turned out to be a mistake. Our window would not go down so we just lay there and baked for nineteen hours, all while being stared at by every other occupant of the car. Seriously, I think sweated for at least twelve hours straight before nighttime finally brought relief. Eventually though, we made up to Alga where our friend Emiko was their to meet us with her counterpart Roman. The sanitorium we would be staying at was not quite ready yet so we first went to Emiko’s house to shower and have tea. A big bonus was that Emiko had somehow made Chocolate Chip cookies that unfortunately disappeared within three hours. We were soon settled in the sanitorum, and then were given the grand tour of the village that took all of 45 minutes. The school that Emiko works at was very nice, and conveniently located, and while it was definitely not the social scene that Kyzylorda was, Alga had everything that was necessary, including a rather nice bakery. The next day was Sunday, and it was the day we were to meet our host country counterparts and begin preparations for lessons. My counterpart was named Larissa, a middle aged Russian woman who was very friendly but not very active in planning or in class. At first I thought that maybe this was because she did not like me or that her English was bad, but I eventually found out that neither was the case. Rather, she simply wanted a native speaker to do most of the talking and enjoyed seeing what a young person like myself could come up with. The camp began that Monday with an opening ceremony and presentations by the volunteers. I was obligated to perform my fake Irish jig and fortunately no one was the wiser, and we also performed some demonstrations about the sports we would teach the kids during the subsequent two weeks. We then got together in homerooms, made introductions and chose which countries we wanted to be for the next two weeks. The kids at first were more inclined towards Canada, but I was able to convince them that Ireland was cooler, and they quickly became very nationalistic Orangemen.
The camp days were very long and tiring, but a lot of fun. Every morning we taught two hours of English class followed by two hours of American sports and games. All of us volunteers quickly found our niche. Some found a home making friendship bracelets, others teaching kickball. I myself, became head dodgeball instructor and spent the last two weeks happily instructing the students on the finer points of Battleball and teaching them how to properly use your shoulder to throw the power ball. Unfortunately, as good as my students did in class, they did not earn that many points in the competition for points, and so at the end of the two weeks we found ourselves near the bottom in the Camp Olympics. Still, I was very proud of my kids, who not only made a great deal of progress in class, but were also very enthusiastic about being Team Ireland. Besides teaching the students we were also expected to spend some one on one time with our counterparts after lunch. Most of this was spent lesson planning, but we also gave presentations on games and activities and instructed some of them on the use of the communicative teaching method. We also usually found ourselves busy in the evenings as well, either with pick up basketball games or Konocks at Emiko’s parent’s and counterpart’s house. Thus, when bedtime finally arrived I slept like a log.
Still, the vacation was not all work. Over the weekend we got to go into the city of Aktobe, which like Kyzylorda is an oil town, only even more so due to its proximity to the big oil fields in the northwest. While in many ways it has a similar appearance to Kyzylorda, it definitely was a lot bigger and we had to take the bus almost everywhere we went because the distances were so great.
Eventually however, the camp came to an end I was sorry that it would mean saying goodbye to all of my friends and all of my students. Still, parting was not too bad, because I know that I will see them again soon. On the 26th I am going to head up to Ust-Komen where we are all getting together again for another camp, and afterwards there might even be an opportunity for us to do some responsibility free sightseeing around Kazakhstan. Also, I must admit that I was a little homesick for Kyzylorda towards the end, and I was happy to see my desert outpost again when I got off the train yesterday. I stepped off the train, breathed in the scorching hot air, began to sweat like crazy and realized that a great summer was only beginning.
I know that it has been a long time between updates, but I hope that these recent posts will satisfy. For the last two weeks I have been working at a summer camp in Alga, a small village in the northwest of Kazakhstan that is located near the city of Aktobe. The weather was wonderful, and the people very friendly, but unfortunately internet was scarce, so I had to wait until I returned to the big city of Kyzylorda before I could share my experiences.
The camp was great because it was a kind of reunion for my training group. Two of our friends from other sites came down to Kyzylorda first, and then the four of us went together to Alga. The train ride was hell. We were in Platzcar because it was cheaper, but this turned out to be a mistake. Our window would not go down so we just lay there and baked for nineteen hours, all while being stared at by every other occupant of the car. Seriously, I think sweated for at least twelve hours straight before nighttime finally brought relief. Eventually though, we made up to Alga where our friend Emiko was their to meet us with her counterpart Roman. The sanitorium we would be staying at was not quite ready yet so we first went to Emiko’s house to shower and have tea. A big bonus was that Emiko had somehow made Chocolate Chip cookies that unfortunately disappeared within three hours. We were soon settled in the sanitorum, and then were given the grand tour of the village that took all of 45 minutes. The school that Emiko works at was very nice, and conveniently located, and while it was definitely not the social scene that Kyzylorda was, Alga had everything that was necessary, including a rather nice bakery. The next day was Sunday, and it was the day we were to meet our host country counterparts and begin preparations for lessons. My counterpart was named Larissa, a middle aged Russian woman who was very friendly but not very active in planning or in class. At first I thought that maybe this was because she did not like me or that her English was bad, but I eventually found out that neither was the case. Rather, she simply wanted a native speaker to do most of the talking and enjoyed seeing what a young person like myself could come up with. The camp began that Monday with an opening ceremony and presentations by the volunteers. I was obligated to perform my fake Irish jig and fortunately no one was the wiser, and we also performed some demonstrations about the sports we would teach the kids during the subsequent two weeks. We then got together in homerooms, made introductions and chose which countries we wanted to be for the next two weeks. The kids at first were more inclined towards Canada, but I was able to convince them that Ireland was cooler, and they quickly became very nationalistic Orangemen.
The camp days were very long and tiring, but a lot of fun. Every morning we taught two hours of English class followed by two hours of American sports and games. All of us volunteers quickly found our niche. Some found a home making friendship bracelets, others teaching kickball. I myself, became head dodgeball instructor and spent the last two weeks happily instructing the students on the finer points of Battleball and teaching them how to properly use your shoulder to throw the power ball. Unfortunately, as good as my students did in class, they did not earn that many points in the competition for points, and so at the end of the two weeks we found ourselves near the bottom in the Camp Olympics. Still, I was very proud of my kids, who not only made a great deal of progress in class, but were also very enthusiastic about being Team Ireland. Besides teaching the students we were also expected to spend some one on one time with our counterparts after lunch. Most of this was spent lesson planning, but we also gave presentations on games and activities and instructed some of them on the use of the communicative teaching method. We also usually found ourselves busy in the evenings as well, either with pick up basketball games or Konocks at Emiko’s parent’s and counterpart’s house. Thus, when bedtime finally arrived I slept like a log.
Still, the vacation was not all work. Over the weekend we got to go into the city of Aktobe, which like Kyzylorda is an oil town, only even more so due to its proximity to the big oil fields in the northwest. While in many ways it has a similar appearance to Kyzylorda, it definitely was a lot bigger and we had to take the bus almost everywhere we went because the distances were so great.
Eventually however, the camp came to an end I was sorry that it would mean saying goodbye to all of my friends and all of my students. Still, parting was not too bad, because I know that I will see them again soon. On the 26th I am going to head up to Ust-Komen where we are all getting together again for another camp, and afterwards there might even be an opportunity for us to do some responsibility free sightseeing around Kazakhstan. Also, I must admit that I was a little homesick for Kyzylorda towards the end, and I was happy to see my desert outpost again when I got off the train yesterday. I stepped off the train, breathed in the scorching hot air, began to sweat like crazy and realized that a great summer was only beginning.
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