Horseback ride *Pics added*

Kyrgyzstan is famous for its beautiful, untouched landscapes and up until this summer I had never taken advantage of my proximity to these huge mountains and had only enjoyed short hikes around the mountains. So when Fritz and Ginger, my two site mates, invited me to accompany them and three other volunteers on a four day horseback ride through Arslenbob I gladly accepted.

On the first Thursday of August we all drove up to a little mountain town called Arslenbob. I had been there once before the previous winter when it was covered in snow but arrived this summer to find the snow to be replaced by wild flowers. That night we all sat around over dinner with a couple bottles of wine laughing about how sore we were going to be and how delusional we were to think that we could make the trip comfortably. I know I was not the only one who went to bed that night anxious.

The next morning we were picked up at our guides house by 8 horses and 6 guides. It took about thirty minutes to arrange all the bags and supplies onto the horses before we could leave. That day we rode until 7 o’clock that night, only stopping for lunch and a few short stretching breaks. It had been a hard day. There had been terrifying cliffs, steep slopes and rocky trails so you can only imagine the distress we all felt when we realized there had been a miscommunication and the three tents we ordered for the group were not there. As we all stood there looking at each other unsure of what to do, a faint rumble in the not-so far-distance put a little more angst into our stares. After much discussion and insistence, the guides convinced us to take their tents as they had brought tarps and mats to sleep on and insisted that they were used to sleeping under the open sky.

Before dinner had even been made, it started to hail so all the Americans piled into one tent with a bottle of wine and the guides piled into the other. Thankfully for the entire group it turned out to be just a brief rain and we were able to continue on with dinner. It wasn’t 10 minutes after I ate before I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

The next morning we woke up surrounded by skyscraping mountains behind the small valley which we had slept in. Compliments to the brief rain and hail the night before, the air was crystal clear and mountains that were 30 miles away were clear enough to look 5 miles away! Sitting over breakfast, I ate in silence just taking in the absolute beauty of the view. Immediately after breakfast we packed up our stuff and resumed our ride. By lunch we had made it to our final destination, the Holy Lake. The Holy Lake was a small alpine lake which was nestled amongst snow capped mountains. The water was pristine blue and crystal clear, looking at it all I could think of was a glass of icy blue raspberry cool-aid as that was the only memory I could liken to that color.



We set up camp and had lunch on one of the smaller lakes just a mile away from the main lake, and after we had all eaten we rode around the lake just admiring the beauty. On one side of the lake there were groups of people camping and enjoying the lake as we were. They welcomed us to their country and offered us the fattiest sections of their mutton and large bowls of kumis (fermented horse milk) demonstrating great hospitality. Only because of the tremendous kindness they showed us were we able to choke down the meat and chug the kumis.

Unfortunately the next morning Brock woke up sick because of the meal and spent the rest of the day walking behind the horses. That same morning Fritz had us all worried as he woke up so dizzy that he was unable to stand for the first half hour of the morning. As the day progressed they both started feeling better and we decided to continue with the original schedule rather than take a short cut to get the two men home. That day we were all pretty eager to get Fritz to a lower altitude in hopes that his vertigo would ease but it didn’t. It was only after we returned to Jalal Abad and one MRI test later did we find out that Fritz’s dizziness was due to misguided crystals in his ear.

The night before our last day on horseback I slept outside under the stars. It was outstanding. The next day I arrived back into town tired, dirty, sore and absolutely inspired by the trek.

The Water Master

The Water Master is a jerk. He’s the guy that my NGO calls whenever there is a problem with the office pluming, so naturally he is the guy that they would call when I am having problems with the water in my apartment.

Ever since I had moved into my apartment last April I have had a dripping faucet, compliment from my cheap landlord. Despite the complaints I left with my NGO they never found it necessary to call this water master, so it dripped all through April and May. Finally the week before I left the little, old, Russian lady below me hiked up the staircase to tell me that the pipes had rusted through and that the water was leaking into her bathroom. At that point I was a day away from leaving for PST and decided that I would just turn the water off and deal with it when I got back. Well after three weeks of being in the north I return to work and had to coax my NGO into calling the water master so he would fix the faucet and pipes. Despite my NGOs daily claims that he was coming the following day, he never came. For two weeks I waited patiently, constantly reminding my NGO about the problem. During this time I was forced to go to my downstairs neighbor with buckets to fill so I could flush my toilet and clean my dishes. After those two weeks I left for a five day camp in the north only to return and find that still no progress had been made on the water problem.

At that point my water had been turned off for over a month and I could see no reason that the water master had not come. So I handled it in the most passive aggressive (and the most effective) method I knew of. I threatened to call the water master myself! The same method worked out months earlier when I told my NGO that I was going to start knocking on doors to find an apartment to live in! I guess they figured that it wasn’t that big of a deal till I threatened to take care of it myself.

The following Saturday morning, the 4th of July, a woman from my office shows up at my door with a man in tow. They spend about twenty minutes poking around my bathroom and then report to me that he will go to the bazaar, buy all the supplies he will need and return within the hour. Despite my hesitation, my coworker paid him the expenses and left, that had me worried immediately but I figured it wasn’t my money so it wasn’t my place to say how he should be paid. That same day some volunteers were throwing a 4th of July party in a neighboring village, I was still hoping that I would have time to swing by the party.

So for the next three hours I got lost in a book, when I finally pulled myself to reality and realized just how long it had been I got on the phone with my office inquiring on the water master’s where-a-bouts. They seemed just as confused at his delayed return and called him immediately, when they called me back they told me he was on his way and would be there in 15 minutes. Another hour passed. During that hour, I went from impatient to pissed to FURIOUS. Initially I was annoyed because it became clear that I would miss the party but as I dwelled on his absence it the anger outgrew the offence. It was about follow through, being honest, basic respect, and a sense of courtesy. I was turning red as I redialed my office to, once again, ask for his where-a-bouts.

While I was on the phone there was a knock on the door. I opened the door to him and his assistant and was greeted by a faint smell of vodka. I went into interrogation mode. I ask what had taken so long, where he had been, why he smelled like vodka and ended the conversation by instructing him to work fast and to stop wasting my time. Now on a regular day I go out of my way to be a nice, accommodating person but I had been pushed over the edge, I was RUDE to that jerk, water master.

Once again I settled down to read and once again I got lost in my book. After two hours had passed I started to notice the assistant packing up his bags so I got up and asked him if they had finished. Right then the water master stumbled back into my apartment, whatever doubt I had that they hadn’t been drunk before vanished.

I could feel my whole body filling with red, hot anger. I wanted to spit in his drunk face, I wanted to throw his bags out the window, I wanted to punch him- don't worry Mom, all I did was stand there and glare at him. It took me a moment to snap out of the trance and ask him if they had finished. It was hard enough to understand his slurred Russian but it became impossible to understand him as he would unconsciously slip back into Kyrgyz. Through gritted teeth, I would remind him to speak in Russian but within half a sentence he would switch back into Kyrgyz. As I watched him stumble around my bathroom I reminded him for the third time that I don’t speak Kyrgyz but this time I lost it! I was screaming in Russian, cursing in English and shoving him out the door.

As I slammed the door in his drunk face I looked around at my apartment to see piles of pluming that they neglected to bring down and rubble all over my floor, all I could do was cry at that point. I cried and cried and cried. Eventually my coworker swung back by the apartment to see what progress was made and found me red-faced and teary-eyed. As I explained to her why I was having a break down I realized that it had been a year to the day since I had last seen my mom, dad and sister. It had all been too much for one day. She promised to take care of everything the next day and that I just needed to rest.

The following morning she came back with the water master- I could tell by his face I had scared the shit out of him by my little tantrum from the day before. My coworker sat with me while we waited for him to finish, naturally it took one more visit before I had water again. Unfortunatly my toilet still runs, my water heater doesn't work and I have no shower but I have decided to live with the inconviences before I spend another day with the Water Master.



This is all the rotting pipes from soviet times that they pulled out of my wall and left in my apartment for me to clean up. Its still sitting just outside my door!

K17 Pre-Service Training (PST)

PST lasted a total of eleven weeks which had been divided into three training groups, I worked the final three and a half weeks with three other volunteers from across the country. During our time there we were responsible for giving trainings, assisting their group with their practicum, general Q &A, and wrapping up training so the new group could be sworn in as volunteers.

Unlike my work in Jalal Abad, my time was very structure during those three weeks. I started at 8 am Monday through Friday and finished at 5 pm. I had deadlines to be met and paper work to be filled out on a daily basis. By no means was this a bad thing, I really enjoyed the structure in my life! Another bonus was that everyone spoke English. I was amazed at how efficiently I was able to work when I understood and could be understood!

On the weekends I had time to see friends from the Chui region who I rarely got to see during the year because of the distance between the north and the south. Its funny, when you look on the map Kyrgyzstan in no larger than the state of Virginia but because of the massive mountain ranges running through the country it takes approximately 20 hours to travel from one side of the country to the other.

These mountain ranges also hinder the sharing of the northern and southern Kyrgyz cultures so over time two very distinct lifestyles have developed. The three major differences I notice are the food, language and dress. All of these factors are very much influenced by the surrounding countries. The food, for example, in the south has a much heavier Uzbek influence which means more spices and flavorful food, plus due to the fact that we are on the edge of the Fergana valley, we have more access to the fresh fruits and vegetables that do not grow in the north. The language in the south is also heavily influenced by the Uzbeks and is spoken much slower, while the predominant language in the north is Russian. In fact many of the Kyrgyz speakers struggle in the Bishkek metropolitan because Kyrgyz is the second language to most families. Finally the dress, this was by far the most shocking difference for me. In Jalal Abad I regularly see women in burkas, head covering and minimal amount of skin being shown. The men wear more traditional clothing and particularly in the summer you see men walking around with Kalpaks, a traditional hat of Kyrgyzstan. Upon arrival in Bishkek the first thing I noticed was women wearing tank tops, shorts and more western style clothing and the absence of traditional Kyrgyz clothing. I can only imagine the shock I will have the first time I go to an American bar!

All in all the three weeks of training was good; I met a lot of cool K17s, I saw old friends, I learned more about the Peace Corps administration and the people in it, and I got lots of shopping done but I was ready to return to Jalal Abad!

Getting to PST

Last March a new group of Peace Corps volunteers came to Kyrgyzstan, like my group, they spent the first three months of their service studying the language, culture and programs. For their last few weeks of PST (Pre-Service Training) I was brought up to their training site as a trainer for the SOCD group (Sustainable Organization and Community Development.) My role was to share my experiences as a volunteer in Kyrgyzstan, answer their questions and present sessions on culture and business.

Seeing as I had never left Jalal Abad for longer than a week, my director thought it fit to invite me my co-workers over for dinner the night before I left and to send me off in a proper Kyrgyz manner. The evening started out wonderfully, we sat outside on a topchan (an elevated platform with cushions and a small table where people eat) chatting about our families and work. Eventually dinner time came around and as the food was placed on the table, the glasses were filled with vodka. Throughout the meal we went around toasting to one another, to life, to family, to health, to happiness, to Kyrgyzstan, to America and to the world.

I was having a blast! That is until I went to the bathroom and my phone fell down the toilet. Now this is no western style toilet where your phone just plops into a bowl of water, no this is an outhouse where your phone falls down a deep, dark hole and sinks into years worth of shit. There was no way in hell I was getting that phone or SIM card back (although I have known more than one volunteer who has…) But this occurred late enough in the evening that I didn’t really care all that much and returned to the table unfazed to continue toasting with my co-workers.
I wake up the next morning at home with a splitting headache, a revolting taste in my mouth and the horrifying realization that I had to buy a phone, pack for three weeks of training and get to the airport all within the next three hours. That was a very painful morning.

Waiting for me at the airport was the new group of volunteers who had just spent a week visiting their new site, I did my best to hide my excruciating hang over, but several volunteers commented on the lack of color in my face. As I recounted the events of the previous evening, I reminded them all that this was the perfect example of how Kyrgyz parties got out of hand very quickly. I hadn’t even gotten on the plane and I was already showing them the ropes!
After check in, as we are waiting for the one and only flight out of Jalal Abad that week, an air traffic controller comes into the sitting area alerting all passengers that not only was the flight delayed but we were going to have to make a quick stop in Batkent (a restricted area where Americans are prohibited to go for safety reasons.) Seeing as I thought the Peace Corps security officer should know that we were going to the one prohibited place in Kyrgyzstan, I immediately started fumbling through my bags to find her phone number- which had been programmed into my phone that currently sat at the bottom of five feet of crap. I thought my head was going to explode.

Once the security officer cleared the situation we all boarded the plane for Batkent/Bishkek. At this point I am still in a very fragile state so when the turbulence began shaking the plane and the lady next to me started puking, it was really just a matter of seconds before I started puking as well. When we finally landed and got off the plane, I immediately noticed it was about 15 °F cooler in Bishkek that it had been in Jalal Abad, I was freezing in my sundress. After almost 2 hours of riding in marshrutkas from the airport to the training village, I finally arrived in the apartment where I would be staying for the next few weeks. After a bowl of spaghetti it was just a matter of minutes before I called it a night and crawled into bed.

Back in Jalal Abad

After a long summer of working around Kyrgyzstan I am finally getting back into the grove of life in Jalal Abad. Coincidently, I am just in time for my one year anniversary as a Peace Corps volunteer! Naturally at this point in my service I have started to reflect on all the things I have accomplished, what I have learned and what I want to come out of the second half of my service.

In a nut shell, I have learned that things never happen on time, to always have a backup plan, to not count on electricity and to carry hand sanitizer and toilet paper in your purse at ALL times!

In regards to my accomplishments at my NGO, I have found a nitch in the youth development area where I am working with local high school and university students. Although not the path I had anticipated, it has turned out beautifully as I have come to find the younger generation is comprised of the most optimistic, curious and inspiring people in the country. With my place at the NGO developed, this next year I will strive for larger trainings, bigger camps, at least one seminar and multiple learning activities for students of all ages.

For the next couple of blog entries I will be catching up on all the activities of the summer. Thank you for your patients as I have been absent for such a long period of time.

The Sacrifice

Currently I host three English clubs a week; Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. Last Monday the English club subject was the different holidays celebrated in Kyrgyzstan, this includes Christian holidays, Muslim holidays and non-religious holidays. Over the last nine months I have come to discover that the Kyrgyz love to celebrate and they will beg, borrow and steal holidays from other cultures just to have a good time! They even celebrated April fool’s day this month!!! Included in this hodgepodge of Kyrgyz holidays are some shamanistic celebrations.

Since I have been in Jalal Abad, I have witnessed many forms of a shamanistic lifestyle including fortune telling, superstitions and even sacrifices! I’ve only seen a sacrifice once, and it just happened to be right outside my kitchen window! The day I witnessed the sacrifice was a quiet Sunday afternoon, I was cleaning up the kitchen after several volunteers had left and I happened to glance out the window. Right at that moment two men, who were standing right outside my window, slit the throat of a tied-up goat! Believe me that was the very last thing I was expecting to see! I had never seen an animal killed before, given that whenever my former host family was killing an animal I made a point of being on the opposite side of the city!

The killing of the animal and the cleaning its carcass was actually very fast! There were four people working on the one animal; two women and two men. As soon as all the blood was drained into a large basin, the carcass was hung from its ankles and skinned. The intestines and stomach were the first things removed. They were handed over to the two women who immediately started rinsing out all the undigested and half digested food. Typical, the women were left cleaning up the shit! ; )

Anyway, as the women were running water and cleaning out the guts, the two men were standing over the carcass, which is still hanging from a nearby tree, and cutting the flesh off of the animal. As they cut off a piece of meat they would throw it into a kazan, a huge pot, where they would cook the meat and make besh barmak- directly translated besh barmak means Five Fingers. This is a traditional Kyrgyz dish which consists of noodles and meat which you eat with your hands, thus its name.

That afternoon I stood at my kitchen window for over 20 minutes and just watched this family strip this animal until it was nothing but bare bones. It was so methodical, I just couldn’t pull my eyes away. They must have thought I was a complete nut!!! As soon as the process was done, I went along my way- not quite as merrily as I had been prior to the killing but none the less I went about my day. For the rest of the evening I assumed that my neighbors had just wanted some fresh meat and so killed their own sheep but was corrected the next day by another neighbor who informed me that it was actually a sacrifice to god. That was fun to get across as sacrifice and ritual are not a part of my daily language.

So with the chosen topic as Kyrgyz holidays this week, I tried to ask the students if there were any shamanistic holidays which they celebrated, all I got was blank looks. I guess shamanism is slightly above their English ability, I know that it is several leagues beyond my Russian level!!!

I've been evicted

I used to assume only junkies, frat boys and the broke were evicted from their homes. But this week that stereotype was shattered when I became an evictee.

Last Sunday evening I was walking up to my apartment building when my landlady called me over with concern in her voice. After inquiring how my family was, she began to tell me that the owners of my apartment were returning to Kyrgyzstan. She explained to me that after almost three months in Russia they had been unable to find work because of this global crisis and were financially forced to come back to Jalal Abad. They would be arriving the next day and wanted their apartment back. At this last statement my jaw dropped. Finding a furnished apartment in Jalal Abad within the price range that Peace Corps had allocated was difficult and with the time crunch I didn’t know what I was going to do. Images of sleeping on my suit cases in other volunteer’s homes or me curled up on my office floor started running through my mind. My landlady must have seen the alarm in my face because she immediately started telling me that she has started asking her friends if they knew of any apartments and that all would be fine!

Since there is no Craig’s List to go look up apartments online in Jalal Abad the only thing I could do was call the other city volunteers and my NGO to let them know that starting the next day I would need their help to find a new apartment. From Monday through Wednesday, I got in touch with everyone I knew, went to real estate agents- who were located in stalls in the bazaar- and prayed for just one more day before the family began banging on my door and kicked me out.

On Thursday morning my landlady told me the family didn’t want to stay with the father’s family any longer and wanted to move in that day. At that moment, all the sympathy I had for the unemployed family disappeared. I told my landlady to tell them moving out wasn’t possible, I hadn’t started packing and I had nowhere to go; I needed one more day.

As I walked out of my apartment, I felt the week’s exhaustion hit me right in the face. I had finally found two apartments to look at and now I would be forced to take one of them. The first apartment I saw was over my price range by 1000 som (that’s a lot of money for a volunteer) and the second apartment was in my range but the only furniture in it was an old sofa that reeked of mildew!

That evening, as I was walking home to call my site mates and ask if I could sleep on their couch, I ran into my landlady once again. She looked about as tired as I did, seeing as we had both been looking for apartments for three straight days. She told me she knew of one last apartment and we could look at it in 20 minutes. Two hours later, she called me and told me we could finally see it. Conveniently, the apartment was just across the street, so the two of us walked over in our slippers to find a fully furnished apartment within my price range!

We walked back to the apartment relieve to have finally found an apartment and then said goodnight. But right as I had sat down and taken my shoes off, my landlady started knocking on the door again. Now she didn’t look so relieved, rather she looked quite mad! She told me she would help me start packing because the family was coming that night. With both of us mad as hell, we took a shot of rum and started throwing things into suitcases. She called a neighbor’s son to help me carry things across the street as she continued to pack up all my things. Over the course of the move I taught my two helpers a commonly used English phrase; “This is bullshit!” Believe me, I gave them plenty of examples to incorporate it into conversation!

Until ten o’clock at night this poor boy and I lugged bags from one apartment to the other, dumped out the suitcases and went back to the apartment for another load. The entire time I was moving, I kept going over in my head all the things I would say to this owner if I saw her. I wanted to ask her why she didn’t call me two weeks ago, I wanted to tell her how inconsiderate she was, and as I prepared the last suitcase I saw her pull up in her SUV! At that point I was so tired, all I could manage to say was that it had been a terrible week. With that said, I said goodnight and went home.