I added the Alpine Fund Blog to the links on the right of the page. I write trip reports there frequently. Mine are the long, windy ones. There are a lot more pictures on that sight.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Money Makin' in the New Year
America has lots of money, which we happily give out to smart people with good ideas so that they can make more money for us. The Soviet Union has many secrets and technologies unbeknownst to the West.
Sustainability is sure to be a topic of increasing importance. Despite its high profile of late, it is probably only underestimated in terms of the esteem it ought to bear upon the future of individuals and societies the world over. Politically, developing countries must continue to expand and improve. The alternative of stagnation and frustration will only repeat the worst features of the 20th century. Taking steps to prepare a smooth landing for the rapidly developing societies of the world is in everyone's interests.
The Soviet Union was, not so long ago, a source of technological innovation. A institute of prestige for environmentally minded technologies was Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. My host father was one of the scientist. He has a number of cheap and employable technologies that can assist the peoples of the world in their quest for sustainablility. I have access to the people and the market to make it a reality. Together my host father and I can do the world a favor and prosper ourselves.
So goes my host father's argument for why I should transform myself into a venture capitalist. I can't really say no. It brings a smile to my face everytime I think about it.
The Alpine Fund is doing well on the whole. We are doing more programs and probably doing a better job of running them. There is a new English class, a new French class, and more trips to the mountains. All in the last month. We are on the hunt for old gear related to camping, climbing, skiing or even ice skates. Most notably, kids climbing shoes. We have also discovered a way to ship things cheaply from the states. We have contacts at the US airbase near Bishkek. Shipping between the US and a US military installation abroad is the same as shipping within the US. So let me know if there is moderately used or new gear anyone wants to send.
My director and I just bought a 200 euro worth of supplies for orphans. The money was raised by having the kids make Christmas cards and selling the cards to the Spanish airforce guys. (They rock and do a lot around here with kids). It worked out to about 2+ dollars per kid for about 120 kids. With that we got each kid a good pen, a notebook, an 8 page sketch book, a good pair of socks, a toothbrush with paste, and laundry detergent. All thanks to the local knowledge and bargaining ability of our director. She is 20 years old. We shopped at one of the two huge Bazaars in Bishkek.
These bazaars are very much linked to the ancient tradition of Central Asian markets which once served as the Silk Road. Today's silk road could be called the 'Rediculously Cheap Chinese Manufactured Goods Road.' It is estimated that the value of Kyrgyzstan's unofficial or illicit economy is greater than it's official economy. Kyrgyz traders have setup all over Central Asia. Kyrgyzstan is a sort of hub for distribution in Central Asia because of it's relatively lax tariffs. Kyrgyzstan became the only Central Asian Post-Soviet member of the WTO shortly after independence.
Kyrgyzstan's officials are corrupt enough to allow you to get around the bureaucracy to do business but not so corrupt that it is not worth doing business. This only holds of course if you move enough material and make enough money to pay for bribes.
Anyway, the bazaar is alive and well here. I find it stressful and intriguing each time I visit one of these loud crowded polyglotinous marvels.
The Institute for Public Policy in Kyrgyzstan published a decent piece on bazaars a month ago.
I have to bring my camera next time, despite the risk of theft and certainty of being 'that tourist who thinks my livelihood is strange and fascinating guy.'
Sustainability is sure to be a topic of increasing importance. Despite its high profile of late, it is probably only underestimated in terms of the esteem it ought to bear upon the future of individuals and societies the world over. Politically, developing countries must continue to expand and improve. The alternative of stagnation and frustration will only repeat the worst features of the 20th century. Taking steps to prepare a smooth landing for the rapidly developing societies of the world is in everyone's interests.
The Soviet Union was, not so long ago, a source of technological innovation. A institute of prestige for environmentally minded technologies was Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. My host father was one of the scientist. He has a number of cheap and employable technologies that can assist the peoples of the world in their quest for sustainablility. I have access to the people and the market to make it a reality. Together my host father and I can do the world a favor and prosper ourselves.
So goes my host father's argument for why I should transform myself into a venture capitalist. I can't really say no. It brings a smile to my face everytime I think about it.
The Alpine Fund is doing well on the whole. We are doing more programs and probably doing a better job of running them. There is a new English class, a new French class, and more trips to the mountains. All in the last month. We are on the hunt for old gear related to camping, climbing, skiing or even ice skates. Most notably, kids climbing shoes. We have also discovered a way to ship things cheaply from the states. We have contacts at the US airbase near Bishkek. Shipping between the US and a US military installation abroad is the same as shipping within the US. So let me know if there is moderately used or new gear anyone wants to send.
My director and I just bought a 200 euro worth of supplies for orphans. The money was raised by having the kids make Christmas cards and selling the cards to the Spanish airforce guys. (They rock and do a lot around here with kids). It worked out to about 2+ dollars per kid for about 120 kids. With that we got each kid a good pen, a notebook, an 8 page sketch book, a good pair of socks, a toothbrush with paste, and laundry detergent. All thanks to the local knowledge and bargaining ability of our director. She is 20 years old. We shopped at one of the two huge Bazaars in Bishkek.
These bazaars are very much linked to the ancient tradition of Central Asian markets which once served as the Silk Road. Today's silk road could be called the 'Rediculously Cheap Chinese Manufactured Goods Road.' It is estimated that the value of Kyrgyzstan's unofficial or illicit economy is greater than it's official economy. Kyrgyz traders have setup all over Central Asia. Kyrgyzstan is a sort of hub for distribution in Central Asia because of it's relatively lax tariffs. Kyrgyzstan became the only Central Asian Post-Soviet member of the WTO shortly after independence.
Kyrgyzstan's officials are corrupt enough to allow you to get around the bureaucracy to do business but not so corrupt that it is not worth doing business. This only holds of course if you move enough material and make enough money to pay for bribes.
Anyway, the bazaar is alive and well here. I find it stressful and intriguing each time I visit one of these loud crowded polyglotinous marvels.
The Institute for Public Policy in Kyrgyzstan published a decent piece on bazaars a month ago.
I have to bring my camera next time, despite the risk of theft and certainty of being 'that tourist who thinks my livelihood is strange and fascinating guy.'
Monday, December 25, 2006
Ethiopia's Neoconservative Intervention
The Latest from the NYTs
Ethiopia has justified involvement in Somalia's civil war along lines that are remarkably similar to the US justification of the war in Iraq. Neoconservative foreign policy promotes the notion that nations are justified in going to war pre-emptively to stave off threats to their own national security. To the casual observer this may not appear to be an extreme position, the actual implications, however, are far reaching and destabilizing. Not to mention the fact that it flies in the face of over 2,000 years of Just War theory, dating back to Cicero in the first century BC (and Greek influence before that) and later popularized by Saint Thomas Aquinas in the 13th Century AD. The idea of a pre-emptive was allows the aggressor to interpret any form of threat or provokation as justification for armed conflict.
When the US used this justification for the War in Iraq it is my fear that we opened pandora's box by undermining any objective criterion for judging the validity of an armed conflict. (A Just War must meet a variety of criterion that makes violent resistance the lesser of two evils). The United States, and by extension the current international dialogue, no longer has firm moral footing for comdemning or shaming any war. For now our Executive is content to use this to our advantage, in this case tacitly supporting Ethiopia's pre-emption. A quick military victory will likely be short-lived, however, as the sources of the strife are intensified and the opponent rallies assistance to it's cause and learns to fight better.
The case may be that some degree of pre-emption may be necessary in a world of WMDs. If this is the case there must be criterion, hopefully based upon real, verifiable evidense. Realists have a point in arguing that states act in their own interests. However, over the long term it may be in the interests of states to adhere to norms of behavior (like individuals) in order to stabilize the global community of states (as within nations).
Merry Christmas. May there be one less Jihad, namely on the Horn of Africa.
Ethiopia has justified involvement in Somalia's civil war along lines that are remarkably similar to the US justification of the war in Iraq. Neoconservative foreign policy promotes the notion that nations are justified in going to war pre-emptively to stave off threats to their own national security. To the casual observer this may not appear to be an extreme position, the actual implications, however, are far reaching and destabilizing. Not to mention the fact that it flies in the face of over 2,000 years of Just War theory, dating back to Cicero in the first century BC (and Greek influence before that) and later popularized by Saint Thomas Aquinas in the 13th Century AD. The idea of a pre-emptive was allows the aggressor to interpret any form of threat or provokation as justification for armed conflict.
When the US used this justification for the War in Iraq it is my fear that we opened pandora's box by undermining any objective criterion for judging the validity of an armed conflict. (A Just War must meet a variety of criterion that makes violent resistance the lesser of two evils). The United States, and by extension the current international dialogue, no longer has firm moral footing for comdemning or shaming any war. For now our Executive is content to use this to our advantage, in this case tacitly supporting Ethiopia's pre-emption. A quick military victory will likely be short-lived, however, as the sources of the strife are intensified and the opponent rallies assistance to it's cause and learns to fight better.
The case may be that some degree of pre-emption may be necessary in a world of WMDs. If this is the case there must be criterion, hopefully based upon real, verifiable evidense. Realists have a point in arguing that states act in their own interests. However, over the long term it may be in the interests of states to adhere to norms of behavior (like individuals) in order to stabilize the global community of states (as within nations).
Merry Christmas. May there be one less Jihad, namely on the Horn of Africa.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
С Новым Годом! (Happy New Year!)
A great much has happened in the wide world of Central Asian politics. As everybody should know, Turkmenabashi died. Soon we will know the truth, was he evil on the outside with a creamy crazy interior or if his silly hijanks belied a far more sinister state system. I suspect that the answer will be yes. The latest NYT piece is here: http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/world/international-turkmenistan.html?hp&ex=1167022800&en=87fdcca48ea7802b&ei=5094&partner=homepage
Here in Kyrgyzstan all were surprised to hear that the government resigned. By government I mean all the ministers of all the cabinets including the prime minister. All are in league with the President. The Parliament did not resign. It is somewhat complicated but as I understand it the new constitution called for a simple, rather than 2/3 majority from parliament but it also upped the number of seats from ~70 (I think) to 90. As a result neither the government backers nor the opposition has enough seats for a majority.
The resulting stalemate frustrated the cabinet which is basically trying to discredit the system and for the parliament to self-dissolve. Parliament does not want to self dissolve however because many do not have to political or financial capital to be reelected. Chances are that despite their hesitation, pressure will force parliament to dissolve, sooner rather than later. If it happens in the next couple weeks, elections should occur in March or April. I will be most interested in how other nations weigh in on the elections. I would not be surprised to see more Islam this time around. http://ipp.kg/en/analysis/354-20-12-2006
At the Fund, things are being planned for next year. It looks like we may go for a van rather than a mashrootka. This will probably reduce the number of kids on the trips but will be more financially feasible. We figured out also that by sending stuff to Manas Airforce Base (the US base here) we can ship from the states to Kyrgyzstan really at US rates. We hope to exploit this. We are in the market for new, slightly used and still usable ski equipment (especially poles), cold weather gear, tents, climbing stuff (especially kids' shoes), ice skates, hiking boots, backpacks, and pretty much anything else you have used in the woods. So if that is something that would warm your heart, consider it this xmas. Email me (andersconway@gmail.com) and we can work it out.
My wallet got stolen for real today. I responded a split second too late to the old bump and grab. I even yelled at the guys that almost certainly took it. Without a direct witness however, I had to drop it. Not worth fighting over.
We got Ulan and Adilet (bazaar kids, english students and frequent helpers) cell phones. They do not have house phones and this seemed to be a good way to run things better and acknowledge our commitment to them and bind them ever closer to the fund.
I am taking the next couple weeks "off" this means I will catch up with words and office work. We have more volunteers coming in late January. That will be good.
I think that the bad-get adjusted phase has largely eclipsed and that I am mostly adjusted. I have been musing about how the cycle of adjustment to being abroad seems to work. The first month is dominated by wide eyes and bushy tailed wonder, followed by a frustrating period of 'almost there' during which language comes and goes in spurts as does familiarity and the feeling of "being on top of things." The frustration comes from know what to but not yet having it automated and thus not living up to expectations. Between two and three months this gives way to more reasonable self-expectation as well as improved competence. Thus my perception of success is more in line with my expectations. I have been through it all before, and knowing what to expect moderates the highs and lows but still, there is no escaping the process. I like that about life, you can know what has to be done and what will be hard and what will be great but you have to go through it. There is no avoiding life, change and either taxes or corruption, depending upon geography.
Losing the wallet teaches a similar lesson. I know it is not the end of the world and that a sequence of events can eventually deliver me from economic peril but it is still really really irksome.
I am a young adult coming to terms with reality. No way around that either. The break in studying and the gladness of emerging from a tougher period granted one of those lovely transcendental moments of clarity. Having seen the general lay of the trail ahead and being glad to have emerged from the switchbacks now behind me, I am happy. Happy where I have been, happy where I am and happy where I am going. That's the only real happiness there ever really is.
Also I received a Bistro and fresh coffee in the mail. This also made me very happy. Sometimes material crap does mean something. So with that, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year. May your long night be bright and your cold days cozy. Happy Rambings.
Here in Kyrgyzstan all were surprised to hear that the government resigned. By government I mean all the ministers of all the cabinets including the prime minister. All are in league with the President. The Parliament did not resign. It is somewhat complicated but as I understand it the new constitution called for a simple, rather than 2/3 majority from parliament but it also upped the number of seats from ~70 (I think) to 90. As a result neither the government backers nor the opposition has enough seats for a majority.
The resulting stalemate frustrated the cabinet which is basically trying to discredit the system and for the parliament to self-dissolve. Parliament does not want to self dissolve however because many do not have to political or financial capital to be reelected. Chances are that despite their hesitation, pressure will force parliament to dissolve, sooner rather than later. If it happens in the next couple weeks, elections should occur in March or April. I will be most interested in how other nations weigh in on the elections. I would not be surprised to see more Islam this time around. http://ipp.kg/en/analysis/354-20-12-2006
At the Fund, things are being planned for next year. It looks like we may go for a van rather than a mashrootka. This will probably reduce the number of kids on the trips but will be more financially feasible. We figured out also that by sending stuff to Manas Airforce Base (the US base here) we can ship from the states to Kyrgyzstan really at US rates. We hope to exploit this. We are in the market for new, slightly used and still usable ski equipment (especially poles), cold weather gear, tents, climbing stuff (especially kids' shoes), ice skates, hiking boots, backpacks, and pretty much anything else you have used in the woods. So if that is something that would warm your heart, consider it this xmas. Email me (andersconway@gmail.com) and we can work it out.
My wallet got stolen for real today. I responded a split second too late to the old bump and grab. I even yelled at the guys that almost certainly took it. Without a direct witness however, I had to drop it. Not worth fighting over.
We got Ulan and Adilet (bazaar kids, english students and frequent helpers) cell phones. They do not have house phones and this seemed to be a good way to run things better and acknowledge our commitment to them and bind them ever closer to the fund.
I am taking the next couple weeks "off" this means I will catch up with words and office work. We have more volunteers coming in late January. That will be good.
I think that the bad-get adjusted phase has largely eclipsed and that I am mostly adjusted. I have been musing about how the cycle of adjustment to being abroad seems to work. The first month is dominated by wide eyes and bushy tailed wonder, followed by a frustrating period of 'almost there' during which language comes and goes in spurts as does familiarity and the feeling of "being on top of things." The frustration comes from know what to but not yet having it automated and thus not living up to expectations. Between two and three months this gives way to more reasonable self-expectation as well as improved competence. Thus my perception of success is more in line with my expectations. I have been through it all before, and knowing what to expect moderates the highs and lows but still, there is no escaping the process. I like that about life, you can know what has to be done and what will be hard and what will be great but you have to go through it. There is no avoiding life, change and either taxes or corruption, depending upon geography.
Losing the wallet teaches a similar lesson. I know it is not the end of the world and that a sequence of events can eventually deliver me from economic peril but it is still really really irksome.
I am a young adult coming to terms with reality. No way around that either. The break in studying and the gladness of emerging from a tougher period granted one of those lovely transcendental moments of clarity. Having seen the general lay of the trail ahead and being glad to have emerged from the switchbacks now behind me, I am happy. Happy where I have been, happy where I am and happy where I am going. That's the only real happiness there ever really is.
Also I received a Bistro and fresh coffee in the mail. This also made me very happy. Sometimes material crap does mean something. So with that, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year. May your long night be bright and your cold days cozy. Happy Rambings.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Political Islam and the US
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/14/world/africa/14somalia.html?_r=1&ref=world&oref=slogin
I think the US's problems in Somalia of late nicely illustrate the cycle of botched confrontation that the US has had since the Afghan war. Each conflict tends to bring radicals from disparate regions together where they form "Al-Qaeda" connections and radicalize a new region... where we confront, attract radicals and repeat the process.
Even a military victory early in the conflict will only exasorbate the feelings of frustrated impotence and exploitation that feed the Islamist cause. The US would do well to recognize the government in Mogidishu, send flood aid to the devastated areas as a sign of good will and try to broker some kind of peaceable agreement between Addis-Abbaba and Mogidishu. The fact that they are already reopening old nationalist institutions suggests that the realities of sustaining and affecting governance may make the Islamist leaders more open to dialogue than the fiery rhetoric (which much legitimize any sweeping new movement) would suggest.
I would also say that an islamist with "links to al-qaeda" today is saying about as much as saying "a leftist with past communist sympathies" did during cold war incubation. Al-Qaeda's purpose was to germinate and disperse. That goal is already accomplished. It is time for US policy to move beyond 1995.
I think the US's problems in Somalia of late nicely illustrate the cycle of botched confrontation that the US has had since the Afghan war. Each conflict tends to bring radicals from disparate regions together where they form "Al-Qaeda" connections and radicalize a new region... where we confront, attract radicals and repeat the process.
Even a military victory early in the conflict will only exasorbate the feelings of frustrated impotence and exploitation that feed the Islamist cause. The US would do well to recognize the government in Mogidishu, send flood aid to the devastated areas as a sign of good will and try to broker some kind of peaceable agreement between Addis-Abbaba and Mogidishu. The fact that they are already reopening old nationalist institutions suggests that the realities of sustaining and affecting governance may make the Islamist leaders more open to dialogue than the fiery rhetoric (which much legitimize any sweeping new movement) would suggest.
I would also say that an islamist with "links to al-qaeda" today is saying about as much as saying "a leftist with past communist sympathies" did during cold war incubation. Al-Qaeda's purpose was to germinate and disperse. That goal is already accomplished. It is time for US policy to move beyond 1995.
Another Plunge
This weekend I will be taking kids from an orphanage I have yet to work with to the dacha. All other volunteers are unavailable or tied up with a pilot project on ski instruction. An expat volunteer (Toby) got a little frustrated with the reality that we tend to just supervise chaos on the slopes, lending a hand or a piece of advice here or there rather than really instructing the kids on how to ski. This is true. I have a mantra that has served me well working with kids and within various institutions. If you pick a battle, win it. If you are not sure you can win, don't struggle. That is why I did not try to teach how to ski properly. I do not think I could have.
His frustration gets to the heart of a dilema for the Alpine Fund. What is the point of bringing kids to the mountains for a weekend? I obviously think it serves a good purpose otherwise I would not be here. Doing activities thalike going to the mountains allows people to share interests and get to know one another. By transcending a giving receiving relationship, it builds trust, community, and understanding. These are things that, despite the best of intentions, are often lacking between NGOs and the people they are trying to serve.
The Alpine Fund has a way to go. Trips to the mountains are a base but I do not think it is enough in and of itself. Administrative instability the last couple years has taken its toll on our reliability and the continuity with our past. Because I met with the president of the Fund in Minnesota before my departure, I learned how it all got started. Interestingly, I have found myself continually correcting a some mythology surrounding our past from the "old hand volunteers." The longest term volunteer we have has been working with the fund on and off for a year. There are those who worked in the beginning but none have much of anything to do with the day to day anymore.
Getting inside institutions is great. Each is as idiosyncratic as any person. I always learn a lot and sometimes there is the opportunity to affect things a little, hopefully for the better. 'Tis late and four hours of straight English teaching has sucked me dry my will to be concious.
His frustration gets to the heart of a dilema for the Alpine Fund. What is the point of bringing kids to the mountains for a weekend? I obviously think it serves a good purpose otherwise I would not be here. Doing activities thalike going to the mountains allows people to share interests and get to know one another. By transcending a giving receiving relationship, it builds trust, community, and understanding. These are things that, despite the best of intentions, are often lacking between NGOs and the people they are trying to serve.
The Alpine Fund has a way to go. Trips to the mountains are a base but I do not think it is enough in and of itself. Administrative instability the last couple years has taken its toll on our reliability and the continuity with our past. Because I met with the president of the Fund in Minnesota before my departure, I learned how it all got started. Interestingly, I have found myself continually correcting a some mythology surrounding our past from the "old hand volunteers." The longest term volunteer we have has been working with the fund on and off for a year. There are those who worked in the beginning but none have much of anything to do with the day to day anymore.
Getting inside institutions is great. Each is as idiosyncratic as any person. I always learn a lot and sometimes there is the opportunity to affect things a little, hopefully for the better. 'Tis late and four hours of straight English teaching has sucked me dry my will to be concious.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
I met a guy who taught himself English "in his room." Then he worked at the US embassy for a spell. now he goes to the American University. He speaks really well. He called me today and we went for a walk. Apparently, he has relationship troubles. I think this juxtaposes the US University experience pretty remarkably. He had been dating the girl for a month and received no kiss. Last night she declared that she wanted to see him drunk. Then she kissed him. He thought that was not the best time for a first kiss "if she was interested in building a serious relationship." I enquired as to why she wanted to see him drunk. He said she said (sweeeeet) that men tell the truth, what is truly in their hearts when they are drunk. Presumably she remained sober, like a proper young Russian lady. Then they 'had quarrels.' This was in the city center. She asked how he would get home. He would walk. He walked the five kilometers home. Today he was miffed that she did not call to make sure he arrived okay. Also, he does not like that she has only called him twice in the entire time of their dating. BUT he really likes her. He asked me what I would do if I were him. He was torn about calling her or not.
I thought that was pretty funny. I said that I didn't now the nuances of the relationship. Okay, I can't say that. I actually said "I don't know exactly how your... (how do I say relationship?) relationship is. All of the preconditions to his situation were almost unbelievable. We talked the situation over for a while, the gyst of my advice being, call her if you want to call her, don't play games, just ask her what is going on and tell her how you feel. He remained torn about calling her but told that he was surprised to find himself talking to an American about such things. I thought that he meant it in the way that it can be odd the sorts of things you will reveal to a stranger at the bus station or that most American's wouldn't have understood his Russian, or that he doen't talk to many Americans now. But he explained that all the Americans he had met in Bishkek had been missionaries. Confronted with similar situations, they had advised him to follow the Lord, read the bible at least two hours a day and get married before you smooch.
Here I thought I was dealing with some strange conservative Russian relationship posturing and he was suprised to find me not overwhelmed by the scandal of it all.
It was then that I knew I wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up.
I like that about traveling, Ilearn at least as much about where I am from (and the assumptions I hold thereof) as I do about where I travelled too.
I thought that was pretty funny. I said that I didn't now the nuances of the relationship. Okay, I can't say that. I actually said "I don't know exactly how your... (how do I say relationship?) relationship is. All of the preconditions to his situation were almost unbelievable. We talked the situation over for a while, the gyst of my advice being, call her if you want to call her, don't play games, just ask her what is going on and tell her how you feel. He remained torn about calling her but told that he was surprised to find himself talking to an American about such things. I thought that he meant it in the way that it can be odd the sorts of things you will reveal to a stranger at the bus station or that most American's wouldn't have understood his Russian, or that he doen't talk to many Americans now. But he explained that all the Americans he had met in Bishkek had been missionaries. Confronted with similar situations, they had advised him to follow the Lord, read the bible at least two hours a day and get married before you smooch.
Here I thought I was dealing with some strange conservative Russian relationship posturing and he was suprised to find me not overwhelmed by the scandal of it all.
It was then that I knew I wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up.
I like that about traveling, Ilearn at least as much about where I am from (and the assumptions I hold thereof) as I do about where I travelled too.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
An Epic Post from Beyond the Moon!
Pictures are not working. I will abuse an internet cafe this weekend.
I've been struggling with how to approach absolutist worldviews as liberal or relativist in the classical sense. When I say liberal, I do not mean Ted Kennedy. I mean Thomas Paine.
Ulan says things that are a little hard to swallow sometimes. Like that Saudi Arabia is his favorite country. When I object he uses relativist jargon like 'there is no such thing as a bad nation, just bad people' or 'That's my perspective.' Exactly. But what Ulan doesn't know is that his perspective often claims to be the only correct perspective. Generally, I affect a passive interest in his studies and mosque attendence.
His mosque is teaching him arabic script. He wants to be able to read the Koran. He has not learned any words though, just how to read. It is more important to be read it correctly in complete ignorance of what is being read than to understand any part of it. That bothers me. At the end of the day I just think it's wrong. But live and let live. So even though Ulan wants to be a holy man, he has never read the Koran.
This sounds like I am being whiny but it is pretty found how the two outlooks are completely distinct and often fundamentally unreconsilable. The best I have found is to agree to disagree or to drop the subject. You pretty much have to because as soon as the conversation starts you are talking past one another or trying to alter an entire belief system. It's like trying to move an immaterial mountain. I also keep trying to have these conversations (I also had a counterproductive exchange with my 15 year old younger brother Stefan) with 15 and 16 year olds. Part of the reason is because you can have these conversations with kids that age without burning bridges. Often broach the topics with adults is to be arrogant and aggressive. But I think I am taking things a little too seriously. I got a good laugh out of that realization and re-realization when I repeated the process.
So this led me to the embrace of what I dubbed 'relative relativism.' It only makes sense. The false dichotomy implied would offer only 'absolute relativism' as an alternative. That just doesn't make sense. Not everything can be relative for that would be an absolute. Therefore only somethings need be relative. I love words, they can get you into and out of any contradiction. Necessarily so, for there could be no contradiction without diction.
Drunk man goes to sleep believing he has acheived sublime truth by cutting through complication to simplicity. The next day, Sober man has but disdain for Drunken works. They simply lack the nuance needed to arrive at Truth. Both seek, both find, neither may claim. Being defined, a thing escapes definition. That is the greatest source of wonder for me. The only thing I have stumbled across so far worthy of wonder and worship.
right...
Today is a Wednesday or as I have come to refer to them, Don't Lock the Dog in the Kennel and Everyone Leaveday. I leave late on Wednesdays because they are my morning off. I took my ice axe and quitely shuffled to the gate. The jingling of the keys always alerts 'EET' (dog in Kyrgyz) to my presence. I got the door unlocked quickly and I knew I was out of danger. The dog was regarding me curiously from the corner of the house. We stared. She gave a timidly assertive bark. I put the ice axe down and left. We may have turned a corner in our relationship. Probably not, I don't think she had a clear look at me.
The list of people I want to write postcards to is really long. I think I need to compensate for lack of quality intimate relationships on the ground with quanitity of distant relationships. As long as I am compensating, I may as well overcompensate and be sure.
This last weekend at the dacha I tested my bivy to the cold. It started out well and I caught up on my consistently inconsistent journaling. Then the heart-rate slowed as I attempted rest. The cooling of the body combined with the wetness generate by my breath made for a chilly night. The electricity/heat was out in the dacha. It took a while to warm up. I barely missed a cold, which is the best way to be. Ulan had it worse though. he slept in the dacha, but only with a sheet. That's cold.
The rest of the weekend was a success. We made potato dumplings... the girls most of the work despite my best efforts to rally the boys and lend a hand myself. Being unfamiliar with the exact routine, I would sometimes be slightly hesitant in the task at hand. Such weakness was not permitted and I struggled to salvage my self-respect as 13 and 14 year old girls tried to do my job (whatever job that was) all weekend.
Brown outs have been an uncommon presence in Bishkek. It is not easy to get out of bed before dawn when there is no heat. I have nothing but the most profound respect for the poorer folks on the edge of town that live without such conveniences as heat. The lows here get down around 0 degrees Fareignheit.
I had a surprising run in with the po-lice here. I was taking a picture of the 'I point at you then you bribe me game.' They didn't seem to notice, but 3 minutes later their tiny lada pulled up and they invited me over for a chat. I told them that we don't have Mashootkas in the USA and I wanted to show my friends at home as well as a cop in a fur hat. One seemed unconvinced but the other was more interested in being friendly. We took pictures. They offered to give me a ride. This is one of those moments when you have to make a split second decision and either option is full of potential pit-falls. I said yes, reasoning that hopefully I would stay on their good side and that I did not have very much money if they tried to get a bribe out of me. I did not want to offend and get them asking about my passport (at home to prevent seizure).
They never asked for my papers or anything. They did want my phone number. They also bemoaned the crazy drivers. I confirmed that things are different in the states. All were pleased with the encounter. So far, no phone call from my new friends(?).
I took videos from the last weekend. Maybe I can find a way to put them up. We pay per MG here, so part of the reason the pictures are slow coming is that it is expensive.
I am jealous of friends going home or having family visit for the holidays. Everyone I know abroad is doing one or the other (Ella, Pete, Pete, Greg and the crew in NZ). I plan to work straight through and pretend in a Scrooge-inspired performance. That or take the English class Caroling. We'll see. The thought that a plane ticket home could give a kid the training needed to be a professional (from a tech school) helps assauge the loneliness, and reaffirm my penchant for elitism.
I've been struggling with how to approach absolutist worldviews as liberal or relativist in the classical sense. When I say liberal, I do not mean Ted Kennedy. I mean Thomas Paine.
Ulan says things that are a little hard to swallow sometimes. Like that Saudi Arabia is his favorite country. When I object he uses relativist jargon like 'there is no such thing as a bad nation, just bad people' or 'That's my perspective.' Exactly. But what Ulan doesn't know is that his perspective often claims to be the only correct perspective. Generally, I affect a passive interest in his studies and mosque attendence.
His mosque is teaching him arabic script. He wants to be able to read the Koran. He has not learned any words though, just how to read. It is more important to be read it correctly in complete ignorance of what is being read than to understand any part of it. That bothers me. At the end of the day I just think it's wrong. But live and let live. So even though Ulan wants to be a holy man, he has never read the Koran.
This sounds like I am being whiny but it is pretty found how the two outlooks are completely distinct and often fundamentally unreconsilable. The best I have found is to agree to disagree or to drop the subject. You pretty much have to because as soon as the conversation starts you are talking past one another or trying to alter an entire belief system. It's like trying to move an immaterial mountain. I also keep trying to have these conversations (I also had a counterproductive exchange with my 15 year old younger brother Stefan) with 15 and 16 year olds. Part of the reason is because you can have these conversations with kids that age without burning bridges. Often broach the topics with adults is to be arrogant and aggressive. But I think I am taking things a little too seriously. I got a good laugh out of that realization and re-realization when I repeated the process.
So this led me to the embrace of what I dubbed 'relative relativism.' It only makes sense. The false dichotomy implied would offer only 'absolute relativism' as an alternative. That just doesn't make sense. Not everything can be relative for that would be an absolute. Therefore only somethings need be relative. I love words, they can get you into and out of any contradiction. Necessarily so, for there could be no contradiction without diction.
Drunk man goes to sleep believing he has acheived sublime truth by cutting through complication to simplicity. The next day, Sober man has but disdain for Drunken works. They simply lack the nuance needed to arrive at Truth. Both seek, both find, neither may claim. Being defined, a thing escapes definition. That is the greatest source of wonder for me. The only thing I have stumbled across so far worthy of wonder and worship.
right...
Today is a Wednesday or as I have come to refer to them, Don't Lock the Dog in the Kennel and Everyone Leaveday. I leave late on Wednesdays because they are my morning off. I took my ice axe and quitely shuffled to the gate. The jingling of the keys always alerts 'EET' (dog in Kyrgyz) to my presence. I got the door unlocked quickly and I knew I was out of danger. The dog was regarding me curiously from the corner of the house. We stared. She gave a timidly assertive bark. I put the ice axe down and left. We may have turned a corner in our relationship. Probably not, I don't think she had a clear look at me.
The list of people I want to write postcards to is really long. I think I need to compensate for lack of quality intimate relationships on the ground with quanitity of distant relationships. As long as I am compensating, I may as well overcompensate and be sure.
This last weekend at the dacha I tested my bivy to the cold. It started out well and I caught up on my consistently inconsistent journaling. Then the heart-rate slowed as I attempted rest. The cooling of the body combined with the wetness generate by my breath made for a chilly night. The electricity/heat was out in the dacha. It took a while to warm up. I barely missed a cold, which is the best way to be. Ulan had it worse though. he slept in the dacha, but only with a sheet. That's cold.
The rest of the weekend was a success. We made potato dumplings... the girls most of the work despite my best efforts to rally the boys and lend a hand myself. Being unfamiliar with the exact routine, I would sometimes be slightly hesitant in the task at hand. Such weakness was not permitted and I struggled to salvage my self-respect as 13 and 14 year old girls tried to do my job (whatever job that was) all weekend.
Brown outs have been an uncommon presence in Bishkek. It is not easy to get out of bed before dawn when there is no heat. I have nothing but the most profound respect for the poorer folks on the edge of town that live without such conveniences as heat. The lows here get down around 0 degrees Fareignheit.
I had a surprising run in with the po-lice here. I was taking a picture of the 'I point at you then you bribe me game.' They didn't seem to notice, but 3 minutes later their tiny lada pulled up and they invited me over for a chat. I told them that we don't have Mashootkas in the USA and I wanted to show my friends at home as well as a cop in a fur hat. One seemed unconvinced but the other was more interested in being friendly. We took pictures. They offered to give me a ride. This is one of those moments when you have to make a split second decision and either option is full of potential pit-falls. I said yes, reasoning that hopefully I would stay on their good side and that I did not have very much money if they tried to get a bribe out of me. I did not want to offend and get them asking about my passport (at home to prevent seizure).
They never asked for my papers or anything. They did want my phone number. They also bemoaned the crazy drivers. I confirmed that things are different in the states. All were pleased with the encounter. So far, no phone call from my new friends(?).
I took videos from the last weekend. Maybe I can find a way to put them up. We pay per MG here, so part of the reason the pictures are slow coming is that it is expensive.
I am jealous of friends going home or having family visit for the holidays. Everyone I know abroad is doing one or the other (Ella, Pete, Pete, Greg and the crew in NZ). I plan to work straight through and pretend in a Scrooge-inspired performance. That or take the English class Caroling. We'll see. The thought that a plane ticket home could give a kid the training needed to be a professional (from a tech school) helps assauge the loneliness, and reaffirm my penchant for elitism.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Not Yet the Eve of the Day That Shall Live in Infamy
Things have taken off at a sprint here for me in Bishkek. Anna and Sean took off via Almaty and I have been puttin' in work to make things flow. The current bigger project is auditing the alpine fund's last month of events. No one asked me to do it, but I think it will reveal some interesting stuff. That said, much of it is a bit arbitrary as I had to estimate the value of what we do based on the prices of comparable services.
It is snowing like the dickens here today. I even had a goodly frosty sheen on my beard and disappearing hair. I started a beginners English class for some of the kids that are willing to make a long trek from the orphanage to get some English. It is pretty remarkable how little one can learn after 7 years of "english class." The gals are in the 8th form (grade) which is a good time for them to get into a more intensive relationship with the fund.
I have lots of writing to do about the last week. I am going to try to get to it tomorrow but will surely be on top of things by this weekend. I don't need to go to the dacha this weekend. Despite the drain on office and event staff, a few folks have volunteered their services for the weekend trips.
I will be more thoughtful and hopefully thought provoking soon.
I miss everyone a whole lot but am happy to be here.
It is snowing like the dickens here today. I even had a goodly frosty sheen on my beard and disappearing hair. I started a beginners English class for some of the kids that are willing to make a long trek from the orphanage to get some English. It is pretty remarkable how little one can learn after 7 years of "english class." The gals are in the 8th form (grade) which is a good time for them to get into a more intensive relationship with the fund.
I have lots of writing to do about the last week. I am going to try to get to it tomorrow but will surely be on top of things by this weekend. I don't need to go to the dacha this weekend. Despite the drain on office and event staff, a few folks have volunteered their services for the weekend trips.
I will be more thoughtful and hopefully thought provoking soon.
I miss everyone a whole lot but am happy to be here.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Thanksgiving plus
One reason this is so delayed is because my flashcard broke. I will be more consistent starting... NOW.
Anna and Sean, the two other staple volunteers at the Alpine Fund, hosted thanksgiving at their Kruschev apartment. All of the Alpine Fund office folk and English students were there. All together, there were nine of us.
I asked my mother for some good recipes and was blessed to receive a family-friend’s apple crisp recipe. It is always delicious beyond explanation. It was well received in Kyrgyzstan, home of the apple. I also made a simple green salad with polmegranite-raspberry vinegarette. Even after winter hit and the produce prices have climbed, the grand total for all of my relatively fancy ingredients was something like $10. Not bad for salad and dessert for nine.
As I prepared the salad in our office kitchen, (the office was a one room plus bath apartment) Ulan informed me he wanted to be a chef. He has quite an ambitious list going. That I know of, he intends to become an Allam (like an Islamic bishop), work in the US, speak Arabic, Spanish, and English fluently in addition to Russian and Kyrgyz and be a professional chef. While none of those things are mutually exclusive, they are pretty much mutually exclusive. Perhaps Ulan should learn to juggle.
After I instructed Ulan on how to separate lettuce from stem to make “salad,” we headed over to Sean and Anna’s place. They prepared the bird and apple pie. Ulan and Adilet brought traditional Kyrgyz flatbread that they made at home. Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna and her sister Acel brought a variety of Russian salads. These actually lent authenticity to the gathering as the Russian style of picking and salting everything to Kingdom Come pretty much out-relishes any American relish platter. There is one thing, they put chicken in the veggies.
The relish tray and salad received ample attention because the Council of American Elders met for a goodly round of fact bargaining. The oven had taken a few hours to get up to 350 so the turkey warmed up at 325 for about 2 hours before gradually climbing up to 375 for a little more than an hour. The intent had been to cook it at exactly 350 for 2½ hours. None of us had any actual experience cooking a turkey. But we had plenty of perceived and relative experience. I really love those moments when a group of people is forced to resolve a problem with which they have no experience resolving, but they have to do it in a group and “expertly.” Having a car break down in the middle of nowhere or a plumbing problem at College are sure fire opportunities for watching humanity BS its way through adversity. After all concerns had been bargained (or shoulder shrugged) out of existence, we ate turkey. It turned out fine.
It is a bit odd to have two fairly distinct language groups at such a gathering. Much like the young colonies at the time of the revolutionary war, we were split about evenly three ways. The three other foreign volunteers don’t speak English well. Acel speaks English fluently… but a back and forth four person conversation will tire most any fluent speaker. Our Knowledgeable Director is almost as capable. I can speak/understand Russian when I concentrate very hard and the other party works at being understood. Ulan is the same way, the other way around. The other two students have studied English but are not conversational. Furthermore, one student only haltingly understands Kyrgyz, the language of choice for the other locals.
So at times we would all speak together but for the most part the language barrier stood about 1.3 meters.
We ate in Kyrgyz style. It is fortunate that Kyrgyz style involves sitting on the floor because it is almost certain that there would not have been space for any other style. We also ate college student style: on a broken closet door laid flat.
After dinner we set a digital camera to video recording mode so that Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna could tell Ulan that he was enrolled in the American University’s prep year. In one word, his reaction was muted. Destiny’s landscape appeared before Ulan for one of those rare moments when the past, present and future are both clear and endless. Ulan did what anyone would do, he stared blankly. Eventually prompted to respond, he mulled over a goodly silent moment and said “I will use this opportunity.”
Some of the volunteers, those who worked the hardest on arranging this for Ulan, seemed somewhat confused and a little distraught by his reaction. “It’s really true, Ulan.” “We’re not kidding.” So forth. Ulan remained unphased. I think this would be a little bit like someone coming up to you and telling you that you won a house. It’s clearly great… but it is unclear exactly what that means and it is going to be a lot of work.
This should put Ulan on a track towards a professional career. Once he takes the entrance exam, he will almost assuredly get a full ride due to his economic situation. A year’s tuition in Central Asia’s top school, The American School in Bishkek is about $950. That is less than the cost of my Ipod and digital camera combined. Rightfully, this makes me feel bad about how I value things.
The American School is the only school in Kyrgyzstan (perhaps the only in Central Asia) with a contemporary Anglo style curriculum in which the students take a base of classes, select a major and then select classes within the major. All of the other schools hold to the Soviet system. The applying students submit their score to schools with different specialities and once you are admitted into a program, the path is set. The top five scores for each school are given a totally free ride. This is a new reform to prevent rich kids from bribing for the scholarships. Apparently it is a big improvement. It still seems to ignore the advantage rich kids have in preparing for the test. But I suppose it is not too different from the SATs. Except that the scores are binding and the only consideration for getting into university.
On Friday everyone else from the office went to Ulan’s house to tell his family about his scholarship. They were most exuberant. His mother cried. His father hugged all present gratefully. The family lives in a house about the size of my living room at school (or a small cabin at camp). It has two rooms. There are six family members.
Ulan defines his father as “a good man now.” He helps the family and does not beat his kids. If this is the definition of a good father, so be it. Seeing the situations that people deal with here makes me view the concept of Human Rights with renewed skepticism. This is a hot-button issue, but prosethetizing people to another cultures norms of proper behavior seems quite egotistical. Before I can hope to change someone’s behavior I must understand it fully. If a devout Kyrgyz Muslim were to come to my home, kick out the filthy dogs and cats and get irate that I do make my mother and sisters cover their heads. I would react with perplexed awe and hope he would go away.
That said, I do not mean to advocate absolutist relativism. That would be self-defeating. Sometimes you can understand why someone does something and rightfully believe they are wrong for doing it. Torture, for example. People torture others when they see them as less than fully human. I can understand that they have that perspective, but disagree.
Since Thanksgiving, Ulan has asked if various people thnk he could go to football (soccer) school in London. At this school apparently you study, but mostly play football. I would guess that Ulan stands under 5 feet tall. He is not very fast. Bishkek is pretty sheltered and the boys love football. It is hard to gauge how to nudge this particular dream gently away without crushing one of his favorite things.
We are hoping that he plays on the University team. There it should be apparent that while Ulan is not a useless football player, that he is not going to play for Real Madrid.
In other events, I went to the big bazaar in Bishkek. It was quite overwhelming. It stretches great distances in all directions though the actual size is obscured by the laberynthine layout and seasonal variation. I was completely overwhelmed. It was crowded, I had no bearing as to where I had gotten off my transport relative or where I should go. I have learned in these situations to just follow the flow in situations like this and walk like everyone else. That is, purposefully and quickly. I am already one of the few men in Kyrgyzstan with a beard. My clothes are marginally within exeptible norms. But basically, I look like an American. Best to look like an American that knows what he is about. This prevents me from enduring extra-sales attempts and/or scams. Eventually, after walking in a few rapid and purposeful circles, I moved in for the purchase.
The cold weather has arrived, I could wear almost all of my clothes at once to stay warm on my pre-dawn trek to language school. About $50 later, my wardrobe more than doubled in size. I was no doubt moderately ripped off but I am an American, so that is my job. The proximity to China is very apparent on such occasions. No new wool pants though.
The being ripped off is fine by me, within reason. If it seems like a good deal to me, I accept, if I don’t want to pay that much I move on. It seems immoral to drive a hard bargain when a dollar or two is a few minutes work for me and half a day’s wage for successful people here. It is always funny though when I ask for a taxi fare and the driver hesitates for a solid 15 seconds trying to consider what the price should be for the guy who clearly is a foreigner but clearly speaks better than some.
Anna and Sean, the two other staple volunteers at the Alpine Fund, hosted thanksgiving at their Kruschev apartment. All of the Alpine Fund office folk and English students were there. All together, there were nine of us.
I asked my mother for some good recipes and was blessed to receive a family-friend’s apple crisp recipe. It is always delicious beyond explanation. It was well received in Kyrgyzstan, home of the apple. I also made a simple green salad with polmegranite-raspberry vinegarette. Even after winter hit and the produce prices have climbed, the grand total for all of my relatively fancy ingredients was something like $10. Not bad for salad and dessert for nine.
As I prepared the salad in our office kitchen, (the office was a one room plus bath apartment) Ulan informed me he wanted to be a chef. He has quite an ambitious list going. That I know of, he intends to become an Allam (like an Islamic bishop), work in the US, speak Arabic, Spanish, and English fluently in addition to Russian and Kyrgyz and be a professional chef. While none of those things are mutually exclusive, they are pretty much mutually exclusive. Perhaps Ulan should learn to juggle.
After I instructed Ulan on how to separate lettuce from stem to make “salad,” we headed over to Sean and Anna’s place. They prepared the bird and apple pie. Ulan and Adilet brought traditional Kyrgyz flatbread that they made at home. Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna and her sister Acel brought a variety of Russian salads. These actually lent authenticity to the gathering as the Russian style of picking and salting everything to Kingdom Come pretty much out-relishes any American relish platter. There is one thing, they put chicken in the veggies.
The relish tray and salad received ample attention because the Council of American Elders met for a goodly round of fact bargaining. The oven had taken a few hours to get up to 350 so the turkey warmed up at 325 for about 2 hours before gradually climbing up to 375 for a little more than an hour. The intent had been to cook it at exactly 350 for 2½ hours. None of us had any actual experience cooking a turkey. But we had plenty of perceived and relative experience. I really love those moments when a group of people is forced to resolve a problem with which they have no experience resolving, but they have to do it in a group and “expertly.” Having a car break down in the middle of nowhere or a plumbing problem at College are sure fire opportunities for watching humanity BS its way through adversity. After all concerns had been bargained (or shoulder shrugged) out of existence, we ate turkey. It turned out fine.
It is a bit odd to have two fairly distinct language groups at such a gathering. Much like the young colonies at the time of the revolutionary war, we were split about evenly three ways. The three other foreign volunteers don’t speak English well. Acel speaks English fluently… but a back and forth four person conversation will tire most any fluent speaker. Our Knowledgeable Director is almost as capable. I can speak/understand Russian when I concentrate very hard and the other party works at being understood. Ulan is the same way, the other way around. The other two students have studied English but are not conversational. Furthermore, one student only haltingly understands Kyrgyz, the language of choice for the other locals.
So at times we would all speak together but for the most part the language barrier stood about 1.3 meters.
Salavat, Christine, Me, Ulan, Adilet, Anna and Sean
We ate in Kyrgyz style. It is fortunate that Kyrgyz style involves sitting on the floor because it is almost certain that there would not have been space for any other style. We also ate college student style: on a broken closet door laid flat.
After dinner we set a digital camera to video recording mode so that Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna could tell Ulan that he was enrolled in the American University’s prep year. In one word, his reaction was muted. Destiny’s landscape appeared before Ulan for one of those rare moments when the past, present and future are both clear and endless. Ulan did what anyone would do, he stared blankly. Eventually prompted to respond, he mulled over a goodly silent moment and said “I will use this opportunity.”
Some of the volunteers, those who worked the hardest on arranging this for Ulan, seemed somewhat confused and a little distraught by his reaction. “It’s really true, Ulan.” “We’re not kidding.” So forth. Ulan remained unphased. I think this would be a little bit like someone coming up to you and telling you that you won a house. It’s clearly great… but it is unclear exactly what that means and it is going to be a lot of work.
This should put Ulan on a track towards a professional career. Once he takes the entrance exam, he will almost assuredly get a full ride due to his economic situation. A year’s tuition in Central Asia’s top school, The American School in Bishkek is about $950. That is less than the cost of my Ipod and digital camera combined. Rightfully, this makes me feel bad about how I value things.
The American School is the only school in Kyrgyzstan (perhaps the only in Central Asia) with a contemporary Anglo style curriculum in which the students take a base of classes, select a major and then select classes within the major. All of the other schools hold to the Soviet system. The applying students submit their score to schools with different specialities and once you are admitted into a program, the path is set. The top five scores for each school are given a totally free ride. This is a new reform to prevent rich kids from bribing for the scholarships. Apparently it is a big improvement. It still seems to ignore the advantage rich kids have in preparing for the test. But I suppose it is not too different from the SATs. Except that the scores are binding and the only consideration for getting into university.
On Friday everyone else from the office went to Ulan’s house to tell his family about his scholarship. They were most exuberant. His mother cried. His father hugged all present gratefully. The family lives in a house about the size of my living room at school (or a small cabin at camp). It has two rooms. There are six family members.
Ulan defines his father as “a good man now.” He helps the family and does not beat his kids. If this is the definition of a good father, so be it. Seeing the situations that people deal with here makes me view the concept of Human Rights with renewed skepticism. This is a hot-button issue, but prosethetizing people to another cultures norms of proper behavior seems quite egotistical. Before I can hope to change someone’s behavior I must understand it fully. If a devout Kyrgyz Muslim were to come to my home, kick out the filthy dogs and cats and get irate that I do make my mother and sisters cover their heads. I would react with perplexed awe and hope he would go away.
That said, I do not mean to advocate absolutist relativism. That would be self-defeating. Sometimes you can understand why someone does something and rightfully believe they are wrong for doing it. Torture, for example. People torture others when they see them as less than fully human. I can understand that they have that perspective, but disagree.
Since Thanksgiving, Ulan has asked if various people thnk he could go to football (soccer) school in London. At this school apparently you study, but mostly play football. I would guess that Ulan stands under 5 feet tall. He is not very fast. Bishkek is pretty sheltered and the boys love football. It is hard to gauge how to nudge this particular dream gently away without crushing one of his favorite things.
We are hoping that he plays on the University team. There it should be apparent that while Ulan is not a useless football player, that he is not going to play for Real Madrid.
In other events, I went to the big bazaar in Bishkek. It was quite overwhelming. It stretches great distances in all directions though the actual size is obscured by the laberynthine layout and seasonal variation. I was completely overwhelmed. It was crowded, I had no bearing as to where I had gotten off my transport relative or where I should go. I have learned in these situations to just follow the flow in situations like this and walk like everyone else. That is, purposefully and quickly. I am already one of the few men in Kyrgyzstan with a beard. My clothes are marginally within exeptible norms. But basically, I look like an American. Best to look like an American that knows what he is about. This prevents me from enduring extra-sales attempts and/or scams. Eventually, after walking in a few rapid and purposeful circles, I moved in for the purchase.
The cold weather has arrived, I could wear almost all of my clothes at once to stay warm on my pre-dawn trek to language school. About $50 later, my wardrobe more than doubled in size. I was no doubt moderately ripped off but I am an American, so that is my job. The proximity to China is very apparent on such occasions. No new wool pants though.
The being ripped off is fine by me, within reason. If it seems like a good deal to me, I accept, if I don’t want to pay that much I move on. It seems immoral to drive a hard bargain when a dollar or two is a few minutes work for me and half a day’s wage for successful people here. It is always funny though when I ask for a taxi fare and the driver hesitates for a solid 15 seconds trying to consider what the price should be for the guy who clearly is a foreigner but clearly speaks better than some.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Glory Be!
I received mail today. So that was pretty great. Things are going well. Our previously truant students have not missed class in a week and a half. Though he feels guilty that he has not been to mosque as much as he would like, he was reconsiled with himself by the fact that he got to play football.
My host sister started teaching a class for computer skills. I saw Geisha and had my perfunctory post-romance movie rant in a couple of emails. My host sister liked it. That's good.
There are really interesting self-identification issues among Russians and Kyrgyz here. The Kyrgyz are just Kyrgyz, this is their "homeland." Kyrgyzstan litterally mean "land of the Kyrgyz." The ethnic Russians, however, self-identify as Russians. It is not surprising but it is sort of an odd thought for me as an American. These ethnic Russian may have family ties in Kyrgyzstan that go back a century but they are not Kyrgyz. I joked with my Russian teacher/friend that I was Russian too. I reasoned that I don't speak Kyrgyz, I am white and I live in Kyrgyzstan. By her definition I must be Russian too. She tried to explain that it is just like how I am an American living in Kyrgyzstan she is also a Russian, just living in Kyrgyzstan.
I maintain that a 5 month stint as a volunteer is a little different that living somewhere your whole life. It really hits on the fact that "American" is a non-nationalist identity.
Now, if Americans could just shed the rest of the collectivist bodies that teach offer us the sweet nectar of faithful credulity... Then people would crave another arbitrary identity to give life meaning.
Darn.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
A Fulfilling Day
My writing skills have withered to a sickly stick of their former mediocre adequacy. I spent about ten minutes trying to think of synonyms for "explain" today. I caved and ran to dictionary.com like a whiny little babe. I am glad that I wrote my grad school apps during better days.
Despite my whining and the addition of a "Mаниак" (serial killer) to the otherwise humdrum hubbub of Bishkek, I feel energized today. I have found that small achievements amplify in significance during self-imposed cultural exile. Maybe that is why I have continued to move, emotional thrillseeking with reckless abandon for what I have so carefully invested in by the way of relationships back home. Like most anything that is a passion and piece of identity, I think that it is folly to pursue "why" too far. It is. So be it. Speaking of digression into the netherregions of proper grammar and quasi-irrationality.
Anyway, I had my first conversation in Kyrgyz today unaided by a model. I said that my mom was a dentist and my father a doctor. I regailed my teacher with facts about my siblings, such as their existence and relative ages before moving on to profound insights into the professions of aunts and uncles. I moved mountains for a moment. Then just like that, my potential was spent. The words were all used up. The cases one bridge too far.
Whistfully signing, I returned to the routine of exerices and premeditated dialogue followed by relevant (?) question and answer sessions. We had another hour left. I was pretty tired of signing whistfully by the time we finished.
Ulan missed class again today. Adillet too. They said they were going to help with the trip this weekend. I may have to act as de facto interpreter no. 1. That is not a comforting thought. We learned tuesday that he is going to mosque the full 5 times a day. He wants to me an Allam. That is acheived after decades of study. We have the money all lined up for him to get back into school but we have to film it when we tell him, because I guess Oprah gave us the money.
The cat is considered to be dirty in Kyrgyz culture. They have a utilitarian, if respectful attitude toward animals. The are only quasi-domestic. Thus I fear the dog in the yard more than the serial killer. The cat is welcome in my room (the fam said its okay). It sleeps on my neck. I have a single sized bed.
I live in Bishkek. I study Kyrgyz. I make funny noises all day. I yell at children in broken Russian while they look at me wide eyed with bewildered confusion (should I be scared, laugh, or just ignore this guy?). I sleep with a cat on my neck. My name, is Anders.
Somebody gave some money to the Alpine Fund in my name. Thank you, annonymous stranger.
Despite my whining and the addition of a "Mаниак" (serial killer) to the otherwise humdrum hubbub of Bishkek, I feel energized today. I have found that small achievements amplify in significance during self-imposed cultural exile. Maybe that is why I have continued to move, emotional thrillseeking with reckless abandon for what I have so carefully invested in by the way of relationships back home. Like most anything that is a passion and piece of identity, I think that it is folly to pursue "why" too far. It is. So be it. Speaking of digression into the netherregions of proper grammar and quasi-irrationality.
Anyway, I had my first conversation in Kyrgyz today unaided by a model. I said that my mom was a dentist and my father a doctor. I regailed my teacher with facts about my siblings, such as their existence and relative ages before moving on to profound insights into the professions of aunts and uncles. I moved mountains for a moment. Then just like that, my potential was spent. The words were all used up. The cases one bridge too far.
Whistfully signing, I returned to the routine of exerices and premeditated dialogue followed by relevant (?) question and answer sessions. We had another hour left. I was pretty tired of signing whistfully by the time we finished.
Ulan missed class again today. Adillet too. They said they were going to help with the trip this weekend. I may have to act as de facto interpreter no. 1. That is not a comforting thought. We learned tuesday that he is going to mosque the full 5 times a day. He wants to me an Allam. That is acheived after decades of study. We have the money all lined up for him to get back into school but we have to film it when we tell him, because I guess Oprah gave us the money.
The cat is considered to be dirty in Kyrgyz culture. They have a utilitarian, if respectful attitude toward animals. The are only quasi-domestic. Thus I fear the dog in the yard more than the serial killer. The cat is welcome in my room (the fam said its okay). It sleeps on my neck. I have a single sized bed.
I live in Bishkek. I study Kyrgyz. I make funny noises all day. I yell at children in broken Russian while they look at me wide eyed with bewildered confusion (should I be scared, laugh, or just ignore this guy?). I sleep with a cat on my neck. My name, is Anders.
Somebody gave some money to the Alpine Fund in my name. Thank you, annonymous stranger.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Fist Weekend
This is my blog entry for the Alpine Fund Site. Pictures are in order and forthcoming.
I arrived at the Voenna Antonivna children’s home at 9am sharp. No one was outside save a groundskeeper. Our Knowledgeable Director had warned me that getting the kids together can be a chaotic affair. I was unready for this unsteady calm. Quickly after hearing the van enter the grounds however, children began to appear. They came from every direction: East, West, North and South. I knew then that there would be no turning back.
As the leader of trip, I acted adroitly, delegated all responsibility and decision making power to Losha, a 16 year old regular at the Alpine Fund in his last year at the orphanage. Far too many of the kids want to come on our weekend trips than we can handle and Losha knows better than I who should come. With a list of attendees in hand, we prepared to leave.
A bristle-whiskered burly woman told us our list of attendees was not up to the orphanage regulations and it looked like she meant business. If there is one thing I have learned in my first two weeks in Kyrgyzstan it is never to contradict, argue with, or try to pull the wool over a bristle-whiskered burly woman who means business. They always mean business. Losha transcribed the names into a format more akin to business letter head, with a politely verbose introductory paragraph. I signed this. Now up to snuff, we prepared to leave.
At this point Arianna (our knowledgeable director) arrived unexpectedly. I was much relieved as my Russian had already been largely exhausted by the redrafting of the list.
We arrived at the Alpine Learning Center and took a moment to ceremoniously exchange Tuffli (shoes) for Tapichki (slippers) before exchanging tapichki for botinki (boots) under more utilitarian motivation. Just like that we set off for our hike. Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna stayed behind to prepare for lunch and learning at the Center. The children and I wandered into the hills.
Make-shift landfills provided us with impromptu sleds. Strong precipitation provided us snowy slopes on the North face. Impromptu sleds and snowy slopes imbued us with steely determination. We hiked up and sledded down various portions of the foothills of the Kyrgyz Range of the Tian-Shan mountains, reveling in the existential glory of our very own adolescent Oedipus complex.
Having had our fill of snow (in our pants) we returned to the Learning Center. There we enjoyed lunch and the downtime after. “Downtime” subtly transmuted into “intense-football-match-in-a-tiny-yard time” over the course of a few moments. We played football; it seemed like the thing to do at the time. The Learning Center’s yard was filled with the last apples of the season. We ate our fill and added the rest to the new compost heap.
After everybody won the football match (yay!) we learned about the first aid in the Alpine Learning Center. The subject was cuts. I gave the talk in English and Arianna, being quite a Knowledgeable Director, translated. We covered how to clean cuts, stop bleeding, dress a wound and assess and deal with infection. Afterwards we broke up into small groups and the kids explained how they would treat a cut in various real-life scenarios and how to prevent and then deal with progressive complications.
Now armed with the proper safety knowledge, we cut vegetables for dinner. I chose a back country favorite of my own from back home, calzones. Everyone got a chance to help in the process and cook their own calzone. Our hope is to get the kids accustomed to cooking, and eventually planning all their meals for themselves.
After dinner we played a few rounds of mafia. I have played this game every summer since I was 14 and I was pleasantly surprised to see it well loved in Kyrgyzstan. We moved on to Taboo (in Russian). All and all it was a great night of good natured hilarity.
The kids woke up around 8am the next morning. After a delicious breakfast of omlettes, we set off for the snowy foothills once more. We spent even longer trudging up and sliding down the mountain on Sunday and staggered back to the dacha for food. After a little bit of grounds keeping at the Alpine Learning Center, we picked up trash from around the river near the dacha for a half hour and then boarded the van to go back to Bishkek.
The kids asked if it would be possible to stay for more like 5 or 6 days. Arianna and I eyed one another wearily and responded with concerns about their studies. They assured us that arrangements could be made… I thought about what sort of arrangements I would have to make to get my hands on some industrial strength 14-year old tranquilizer.
I arrived at the Voenna Antonivna children’s home at 9am sharp. No one was outside save a groundskeeper. Our Knowledgeable Director had warned me that getting the kids together can be a chaotic affair. I was unready for this unsteady calm. Quickly after hearing the van enter the grounds however, children began to appear. They came from every direction: East, West, North and South. I knew then that there would be no turning back.
As the leader of trip, I acted adroitly, delegated all responsibility and decision making power to Losha, a 16 year old regular at the Alpine Fund in his last year at the orphanage. Far too many of the kids want to come on our weekend trips than we can handle and Losha knows better than I who should come. With a list of attendees in hand, we prepared to leave.
A bristle-whiskered burly woman told us our list of attendees was not up to the orphanage regulations and it looked like she meant business. If there is one thing I have learned in my first two weeks in Kyrgyzstan it is never to contradict, argue with, or try to pull the wool over a bristle-whiskered burly woman who means business. They always mean business. Losha transcribed the names into a format more akin to business letter head, with a politely verbose introductory paragraph. I signed this. Now up to snuff, we prepared to leave.
At this point Arianna (our knowledgeable director) arrived unexpectedly. I was much relieved as my Russian had already been largely exhausted by the redrafting of the list.
We arrived at the Alpine Learning Center and took a moment to ceremoniously exchange Tuffli (shoes) for Tapichki (slippers) before exchanging tapichki for botinki (boots) under more utilitarian motivation. Just like that we set off for our hike. Our Knowledgeable Director Arianna stayed behind to prepare for lunch and learning at the Center. The children and I wandered into the hills.
Make-shift landfills provided us with impromptu sleds. Strong precipitation provided us snowy slopes on the North face. Impromptu sleds and snowy slopes imbued us with steely determination. We hiked up and sledded down various portions of the foothills of the Kyrgyz Range of the Tian-Shan mountains, reveling in the existential glory of our very own adolescent Oedipus complex.
Having had our fill of snow (in our pants) we returned to the Learning Center. There we enjoyed lunch and the downtime after. “Downtime” subtly transmuted into “intense-football-match-in-a-tiny-yard time” over the course of a few moments. We played football; it seemed like the thing to do at the time. The Learning Center’s yard was filled with the last apples of the season. We ate our fill and added the rest to the new compost heap.
After everybody won the football match (yay!) we learned about the first aid in the Alpine Learning Center. The subject was cuts. I gave the talk in English and Arianna, being quite a Knowledgeable Director, translated. We covered how to clean cuts, stop bleeding, dress a wound and assess and deal with infection. Afterwards we broke up into small groups and the kids explained how they would treat a cut in various real-life scenarios and how to prevent and then deal with progressive complications.
Now armed with the proper safety knowledge, we cut vegetables for dinner. I chose a back country favorite of my own from back home, calzones. Everyone got a chance to help in the process and cook their own calzone. Our hope is to get the kids accustomed to cooking, and eventually planning all their meals for themselves.
After dinner we played a few rounds of mafia. I have played this game every summer since I was 14 and I was pleasantly surprised to see it well loved in Kyrgyzstan. We moved on to Taboo (in Russian). All and all it was a great night of good natured hilarity.
The kids woke up around 8am the next morning. After a delicious breakfast of omlettes, we set off for the snowy foothills once more. We spent even longer trudging up and sliding down the mountain on Sunday and staggered back to the dacha for food. After a little bit of grounds keeping at the Alpine Learning Center, we picked up trash from around the river near the dacha for a half hour and then boarded the van to go back to Bishkek.
The kids asked if it would be possible to stay for more like 5 or 6 days. Arianna and I eyed one another wearily and responded with concerns about their studies. They assured us that arrangements could be made… I thought about what sort of arrangements I would have to make to get my hands on some industrial strength 14-year old tranquilizer.
Friday, November 10, 2006
A Quickie
This week has been a roughshod wild ride of linguistic frustration. I am now able to ask about your health and your day in Kyrgyz, however, sometimes. Things in Kyrgyzstan cooled down after they heated up. The President, Akayev, signed the constitution the regional elites wanted. The system will become more parliamentary. I will write more when I learn more. Both sides claimed victory. President Akayev is still President Akayev and the regional elites got a new constitution. There were some injuries on Tuesday after the cops used flashbangs and tear gas to break up some drunken mobbery. Drunken belligerence turned to drunken panic and some people were injured.
One of the students here showed up for the first time in two weeks. He evaded questions about where he was and said he had a new job. After some probing, he revealed that he has been taking classes at the Mosque with the imam every day for many hours a day. The good thing is that he is learning Arabic. I am skeptical of any organization that asks you to overturn your life on a dime, however. We are hoping to find out what this mosque is like and offer the student a scholarship to the American University's catchup year program. Hopefully we can offer some life opportunities.
I will be at the Alpine Learning Institute, better known as the dacha (cabin) with kids all weekend. I am in charge of planning a seminar... which should be an interesting test of my Russian skills. If the weather stays hypothermia-tastic, I think we will learn about that. Other wise, maybe cuts or sprained ankles.
It is difficult to find the happy medium between not being productive and not being reflective. After this month, hopefully I will oscilate back to the middle again.
One of the students here showed up for the first time in two weeks. He evaded questions about where he was and said he had a new job. After some probing, he revealed that he has been taking classes at the Mosque with the imam every day for many hours a day. The good thing is that he is learning Arabic. I am skeptical of any organization that asks you to overturn your life on a dime, however. We are hoping to find out what this mosque is like and offer the student a scholarship to the American University's catchup year program. Hopefully we can offer some life opportunities.
I will be at the Alpine Learning Institute, better known as the dacha (cabin) with kids all weekend. I am in charge of planning a seminar... which should be an interesting test of my Russian skills. If the weather stays hypothermia-tastic, I think we will learn about that. Other wise, maybe cuts or sprained ankles.
It is difficult to find the happy medium between not being productive and not being reflective. After this month, hopefully I will oscilate back to the middle again.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Borat and Orphanfolk!
Things are moving and shaking in Central Asia as always. Bishkek has hosted an opposition protest for the last week. My host mother has used this for her own ends and has succeeded in worrying about my well-being constantly. The fact that no one knows there is a protest here is a sign that nothing spooky is afoot. When I wanted to go out for the first time on Saturday night she claimed people would see I am a foreigner and try to beat me up and take my money. Now, first of all everyone I have met in Bishkek smiles with delight when I say I am an American. The street vendors want to shake my hand and children ask me questions about pop culture. Secondly, this is just as likely to occur when there is no protest. The people do not need to gather in the hundreds or thousands to mug me. But none of my well thought argumentations could assuage her need to worry so I stayed home. Kyrgyzstan, interestingly, is probably the only Central Asian state where an actual opposition protest could take place, even if the are mostly upset that it is someone else, not themselves, who holds the keys to the palace of cronyism. Kyrgyzstan is seen as the weakest Central Asian state. It is poor and more sort of laissez-faire corrupt than systematically authoritarian.
Borat has put Kazakstan on the defensive. The state is up and coming, newly flush with carbo-dollars. It is trying to present itself as an emerging nation of young professionals, eager to bridge the cultural gap while holding on to it’s unique heritage. As far as Borat goes, I suspect that Sasha Cohen chose the country a long time ago because it is obscure and nobody has heard of it. But local opposition are seizing the opportunity to highlight that the country would not be the object of ridicule if its officials were not corrupt and the government were not repressive. That may be true, but if Cohen had been interested in choosing a truly crazy place out of touch with the world, he would have gone for Turkmenistan. That country has a truly insane leader. The people are dirt poor but he has built a giant lake in the middle of the dessert, written a history of world centered in Turkmenistan, dubbed himself “father of all Turkmen,” and recently completed a theme park worthy of Disneyland for surreality but based upon Turkmen folklore.
Tajikistan just held an election The system is bless/doomed to repeat itself. Like a poopy phoenix rising from the feces of the Soviet Union and civil war. Indeed, it is a crapulent politic. It makes me wonder if the US’s system is not similarly self-replicating. It may be obvious, but is very poignant here: systems, any system, seem adept at procreation. For better and for worse. I think the US is caught in a cycle well rutted enough to make any existential-Buddhist proud.
The economy here is insanely cheap on the service side. I get taught languages by professionals with degrees at an upper-end language school for $3/hr. And they are one-on-one lessons. A midday meal at a café sets me back a dollar. Everything is so cheap and the people are so worthy of my prosperity that I feel very obligated to buy things whenever I have the slightest inkling. I bought a bouquet of flowers from a babushka, kilos of apples from a variety of elderly sellers near my office that were hard to give away and many meat pie things (these are called ‘smiosa’s).
We had our first trip with orphans on Saturday the 4th. The kids had a good time and it was pretty hilarious watching them all bully the youngest in each group into playing the injured party for a first aid practice. A former orphan who works with the Fund went to NOLS last summer and learned first aid. I hope to convince Widji to open a similar space for next summer. They practiced a head-to-toe check. Though coerced into the victim the youngest kids needed no urging to be taken care of. They were constantly being pushed around but looked after by the older kids. We made it to the water fall and everyone agreed it was the poo-poo on the day’s platter.
I finished applying the UW’s Jackson School for International Studies Eurasian program for next year. I think I will be relieved whether I get in or not. Just to know where I stand. Both rejection and acceptance hold a good balance of possibility.
Tonight, I will murder the loud dog in the alley in cold blood.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Кыргызкий, Русский, and more Кыргызкий!!
I apologize for the cyrilic in the titles. Access to crazy keyboards, it turns out is my week spot.
My Visa card came early this time! The Fed Ex man was staring confounded at our office door when I sauntered up to him. Smoothly, I yelled "Fed Ex!?!!" With a Russian-English-Russian accent. My financial independence is once again restored by the wonderful odious system of accumulating debt. All Hail Capitalism!
I no longer have interesting and esoteric things to say because I am now a "busy guy." I again walk very fast by default and look down to make sure I don't trip and lose inertia. I still read a little everyday though, keeps out the riff-raff.
So far Kyrgyz has been interesting. Each value has a partener for life and everywork is to contain only those vowels. 'А' Cheats on 'Ы' however with 'У' who is all too rarely seen happily at home with 'O.' They added some extra vowels and a consonant for fun too. But they are not fun to try and say. Actually, I don't know why they added them at all. As if Russian hadn't done its part with a contribution of eight.
My attempts at do-gooding have produced lackluster results for myself. I am trying to teach english, but the bazaar kids do not show up (hopefully there is not a crisis). So it is just me and one pupil. For some reason she has the power to melt all of my language skills with the raise of a quizical eye-brow. It was really getting to me, all that failure. So I shaved it off.
We are working on prepositions and the future tense. If anyone knows what to do next, let me know. The knowledgeable guy is in Tajikistan and he left only me the inadequate reassurance of consolation, 'There, there. Don't worry.' His flight back was cancelled and now I am worried.
The climbing class was the peak of the anti-climax. We got there an hour late thanks in large part to my misunderstanding the directions I received long ago. The children were gone/unavailable. But now I know. This weekend "we" are taking the kids to a waterfall or something. I think I need to get a cell-phone so that I can find out who the other part of "we" is and make contact.
There is a demonstration today now so I have to go home before it gets dark and my host mother panics. As you can see, she does a wonderful job of host mothering. She tells me constantly not to do things. Like the good son that I am, I always nod my head and understand. All parties are pleased by this arrangement.
Saturday Night Is Hockey Night in Canada.
My Visa card came early this time! The Fed Ex man was staring confounded at our office door when I sauntered up to him. Smoothly, I yelled "Fed Ex!?!!" With a Russian-English-Russian accent. My financial independence is once again restored by the wonderful odious system of accumulating debt. All Hail Capitalism!
I no longer have interesting and esoteric things to say because I am now a "busy guy." I again walk very fast by default and look down to make sure I don't trip and lose inertia. I still read a little everyday though, keeps out the riff-raff.
So far Kyrgyz has been interesting. Each value has a partener for life and everywork is to contain only those vowels. 'А' Cheats on 'Ы' however with 'У' who is all too rarely seen happily at home with 'O.' They added some extra vowels and a consonant for fun too. But they are not fun to try and say. Actually, I don't know why they added them at all. As if Russian hadn't done its part with a contribution of eight.
My attempts at do-gooding have produced lackluster results for myself. I am trying to teach english, but the bazaar kids do not show up (hopefully there is not a crisis). So it is just me and one pupil. For some reason she has the power to melt all of my language skills with the raise of a quizical eye-brow. It was really getting to me, all that failure. So I shaved it off.
We are working on prepositions and the future tense. If anyone knows what to do next, let me know. The knowledgeable guy is in Tajikistan and he left only me the inadequate reassurance of consolation, 'There, there. Don't worry.' His flight back was cancelled and now I am worried.
The climbing class was the peak of the anti-climax. We got there an hour late thanks in large part to my misunderstanding the directions I received long ago. The children were gone/unavailable. But now I know. This weekend "we" are taking the kids to a waterfall or something. I think I need to get a cell-phone so that I can find out who the other part of "we" is and make contact.
There is a demonstration today now so I have to go home before it gets dark and my host mother panics. As you can see, she does a wonderful job of host mothering. She tells me constantly not to do things. Like the good son that I am, I always nod my head and understand. All parties are pleased by this arrangement.
Saturday Night Is Hockey Night in Canada.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Getting to It and No Booze домой
Last Friday was the first day of actual getting down to it at the Alpine Fund. Basically, many areas for improvement were revealed by the expected arrival of a volunteer for which the Alpine Fund seemed quite unprepared. This was similar to my arrival. But I will be here for six months. This volunteer will be here for two or three weeks and apparently he thought we would be able to occupy most of his time here. Somewhere there was a miscommunication that might be better characterized as a non-communication. So that is one thing to do better: communicate accurately with potential volunteers before they arrive so that all parties are prepared. As of now The Alpine Fund is a part time NGO run by a dedicated and responsible law student. She does a great job with limit time and resources.
After a stop-and-go meeting with the new volunteer, it was the perfect time for Arianna and I to hash out exactly what the Alpine Fund does and how it does these things. I then asked her some questions about the organization and, when appropriate, offered some ideas from the PSO playbook. There is also a lack of delegation or division of administration for the related-but-distinct activities of the Fund. Thus we discussed officially delegating and separating the weekly classes, the trips, the special events and the administration. Naturally there will be overlap and people need to be flexible, but having a good idea or who is responsible for what will help give me direction and keep me from feeling overwhelmed. Otherwise there would be a danger of being overwhelmed by possibilities, none of which are urgent and then stalling in confused discouragement.
As I wrote in an email to a friend, I have arrogantly begun not so much restructuring as just structuring the Alpine Fund. Inspired by God, I first considered trying to structure the administration in my own likeness. I fear, however, that the human form makes for a poor administrative body. I am making things like “data bases,” a “volunteer placement form” and a “master calendar.” I have to say that my crowning vainglorious achievement, however will probably be trying to put a dollar figure on the joy of orphans when they go to the mountains. Yessir, nothing sucks the humanity out of an NGO (to make room for new grants) like a little old-school econ101 utility maximization formulae.
There are lots of little things to do also, basically the goal for me will be institutionalization such that the Alpine Fund can survive being jostled between competent hands in a regularly unsynchronized fashion.
On the home front, I have discovered what I suspected after our big feast; no one in the family drinks (certainly none of the women and certainly not at home). I can see why people would shun the drink. When unemployment, corruption and poverty are high, drinking is often a sad, forlorn and helpless affair. The resignation to despair that only reinforces this downward social spiral is an ugly thing.
Then there is the scene which I am more familiar with, the Young American/Anglo Party Drinking. Far from despair, this manifests as revelrous delight and vainglorious pomp. It’s usually fun and it smells of decadence.
Of course often the two intersect. There is the fun for moment which veils underlying sadness, depression, soul adrift. Sad all day, happy when they drink.
And there those who wash away the phony smiles of the work week to wallow in despondency. Happy all day, sad when they drink.
In those terms, there is not much good to say about drink. Indeed it is fair to say that alcoholism is dumb and that it sucks. This sucky dumbness seems to me most acute in rural areas where other flashy distractions of civilization do not exist. Alcohol is the only route for the weary escapees.
So, why did it bother me somewhere far back in my mind that the family complete rejects drinking? Now, my dominant rational self hold no grudges and think nothing less of my wonderfully hospitably host family for their adherence to values that have clearly led to general happiness and success. But I will not lie to myself, nor to anyone else, rejection of drinking entirely out of hand strikes me as a bit drastic and a small voice inside protests. Maybe a little decadence and despair is healthy. For me, it has given life a flavor that puritan living would lack.
It’s that precocious Golden Mean. A little excess, in moderation, allows us to see our faults and potentials all the more clearly. It is never good to obsess over either, but keeping ‘em in mind can’t hurt.
After a stop-and-go meeting with the new volunteer, it was the perfect time for Arianna and I to hash out exactly what the Alpine Fund does and how it does these things. I then asked her some questions about the organization and, when appropriate, offered some ideas from the PSO playbook. There is also a lack of delegation or division of administration for the related-but-distinct activities of the Fund. Thus we discussed officially delegating and separating the weekly classes, the trips, the special events and the administration. Naturally there will be overlap and people need to be flexible, but having a good idea or who is responsible for what will help give me direction and keep me from feeling overwhelmed. Otherwise there would be a danger of being overwhelmed by possibilities, none of which are urgent and then stalling in confused discouragement.
As I wrote in an email to a friend, I have arrogantly begun not so much restructuring as just structuring the Alpine Fund. Inspired by God, I first considered trying to structure the administration in my own likeness. I fear, however, that the human form makes for a poor administrative body. I am making things like “data bases,” a “volunteer placement form” and a “master calendar.” I have to say that my crowning vainglorious achievement, however will probably be trying to put a dollar figure on the joy of orphans when they go to the mountains. Yessir, nothing sucks the humanity out of an NGO (to make room for new grants) like a little old-school econ101 utility maximization formulae.
There are lots of little things to do also, basically the goal for me will be institutionalization such that the Alpine Fund can survive being jostled between competent hands in a regularly unsynchronized fashion.
On the home front, I have discovered what I suspected after our big feast; no one in the family drinks (certainly none of the women and certainly not at home). I can see why people would shun the drink. When unemployment, corruption and poverty are high, drinking is often a sad, forlorn and helpless affair. The resignation to despair that only reinforces this downward social spiral is an ugly thing.
Then there is the scene which I am more familiar with, the Young American/Anglo Party Drinking. Far from despair, this manifests as revelrous delight and vainglorious pomp. It’s usually fun and it smells of decadence.
Of course often the two intersect. There is the fun for moment which veils underlying sadness, depression, soul adrift. Sad all day, happy when they drink.
And there those who wash away the phony smiles of the work week to wallow in despondency. Happy all day, sad when they drink.
In those terms, there is not much good to say about drink. Indeed it is fair to say that alcoholism is dumb and that it sucks. This sucky dumbness seems to me most acute in rural areas where other flashy distractions of civilization do not exist. Alcohol is the only route for the weary escapees.
So, why did it bother me somewhere far back in my mind that the family complete rejects drinking? Now, my dominant rational self hold no grudges and think nothing less of my wonderfully hospitably host family for their adherence to values that have clearly led to general happiness and success. But I will not lie to myself, nor to anyone else, rejection of drinking entirely out of hand strikes me as a bit drastic and a small voice inside protests. Maybe a little decadence and despair is healthy. For me, it has given life a flavor that puritan living would lack.
It’s that precocious Golden Mean. A little excess, in moderation, allows us to see our faults and potentials all the more clearly. It is never good to obsess over either, but keeping ‘em in mind can’t hurt.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Bazaar English
October 26th – 25 kulatov
Waking following first light, the mountains to the south of the city were large and snow covered. There was a thunderstorm on the 25th. My main achievement for the day was setting up Russian and Kyrgyz classes starting next week. For $360 dollars I will get a month of 6 hr/day instruction five days a week. That is 120 hours of class. I will do 3 hours of Russian and 3 of Kyrgyz a day. I will be exhausted by the time I get to the Fund, but with prices this low I’d be crazy not to! Right?!?! Right?!
For those of you curious where exactly my Russian stands, I was rated as Pre-Intermediate. A more un-outstanding rating would be quite impossible.
I made it back to the Fund to teach my first English class. Only one pupil showed. Her name is Salavat, a girl of 16. She has parents but doesn’t know who they are or where they are. She lives with her teacher at her prep college. Her older sister is rumored to be working in a café in Bishkek her face is on an Alpine Fund mini-calender. She loved to climb to relax. Salavat’s younger sister is in an orphanage hours outside of town. Salavat wants to speak English perfectly so that she can teach English and eventually come the USA to teach Russian. Though she was born to a Kyrgyz mother, she does not speak the language. As a result she is not sure whether she is Russian or Kyrgyz, or neither or both. Another befuddled victim of ethno-nationalism. Her grandmother is known and a “good woman.” Salavat visits her about an hour outside of town on free Sundays. Apparently her kids have abandoned her to a village with spoilt water even though they are “rich.”
The English teaching aspect of the Alpine Fund is quite small or to put it positively, precisely targeted. Larger outreach is beyond Fund’s ability/will-power for now. The orphanage closest to the Fund is run by a parasitic director nicknamed Satan by staffers. Regular English lessons should be easy and fruitful at this orphanage but Satan makes it not worth while. The Alpine Fund does not give material goods that can be misappropriated and sold for personal profit. Therefore, Satan wants nothing to do with us and would just assume not have meddlesome foreigners whistle-blowing or muttering about propriety in the corner. Another orphanage is well run but located 1½ hours outside of town (by crowded uncomfortable standing-room only Marshrootka). Thus to do an English lesson a volunteer would have to commit at least 6 hours. As projects such as this come and go on a volunteer by volunteer basis they are a daunting undertaking. The prospect of all ground being given up once a volunteer goes home and no one is there to take his/her place tips the scales in favor of discouragement. This is an example of something that I think we should be able to do with better consistency and organization. We may not be ready. It may be better to do a better job at what we already do than try and expand.
The Fund’s English classes focus on former orphans that became involved on the weekend climbs or weekly climbing-wall sessions that are now on the cusp between University and a life of low-wage labor in the bazaar (should they not get mixed up in a bad crowd). We teach 3 or 4 15-17 year old kids English once a week. These kids are too old to be in the orphanages which are geared to school kids only through the equivalent of 9th grade. Under the Soviet system they would then attend a technical college for 2-3 year and graduate as blue-collar professions. That system is now defunct but the orphanages are not reformed. The result is a bona fide dead end. But, if they score well enough on a TOEFL test or can raise the money to go to a year of university prep, they will almost certainly gain admittance to a local university where they will qualify for a full-ride on account of their destitute status.
Anna and Sean are trying to get about $1,000 together for a scholarship for Ulan, a very motivated and smart bazaar kid. His parents are blind so he was put into the orphanage. Now that he can’t stay there anymore he loads trucks at the bazaar all day to support his family. He studies English at night with the help of the AF classes. He even brings books home to soak up. He didn’t show up my night of English, but he is the star of the show right now. For kids like Salavat and Ulan, the Fund makes worlds of difference.
That is wonderful but it just feels like so few kids for an entire NGO. Others take part in the outdoors activities, as many as 60 kids a month. The impact of that is more of a break from an orphanage. A couple days of joy… a worthy cause in its own right but fleeting.
These impressions are just what I have picked up the last couple of days. I have no doubt made mistakes and am unaware of important information. I will continue to flush out the Fund on the blog as a means of helping me see what I should be doing. I have done almost no work for the Fund despite spending the last two days there. I have been meeting the people, learning what is up and getting my own life together. Speaking of getting it together, I was reunited with my bag. YAY! I had another good conversation with my host sister and mother about linguistics, fittingly this conversation took place in three languages, only my host sister took part in all of it. Did you know that modern Turkish and Japanese are both descendents of Hun? It’s True! My family here has the poster to prove it!
Waking following first light, the mountains to the south of the city were large and snow covered. There was a thunderstorm on the 25th. My main achievement for the day was setting up Russian and Kyrgyz classes starting next week. For $360 dollars I will get a month of 6 hr/day instruction five days a week. That is 120 hours of class. I will do 3 hours of Russian and 3 of Kyrgyz a day. I will be exhausted by the time I get to the Fund, but with prices this low I’d be crazy not to! Right?!?! Right?!
For those of you curious where exactly my Russian stands, I was rated as Pre-Intermediate. A more un-outstanding rating would be quite impossible.
I made it back to the Fund to teach my first English class. Only one pupil showed. Her name is Salavat, a girl of 16. She has parents but doesn’t know who they are or where they are. She lives with her teacher at her prep college. Her older sister is rumored to be working in a café in Bishkek her face is on an Alpine Fund mini-calender. She loved to climb to relax. Salavat’s younger sister is in an orphanage hours outside of town. Salavat wants to speak English perfectly so that she can teach English and eventually come the USA to teach Russian. Though she was born to a Kyrgyz mother, she does not speak the language. As a result she is not sure whether she is Russian or Kyrgyz, or neither or both. Another befuddled victim of ethno-nationalism. Her grandmother is known and a “good woman.” Salavat visits her about an hour outside of town on free Sundays. Apparently her kids have abandoned her to a village with spoilt water even though they are “rich.”
The English teaching aspect of the Alpine Fund is quite small or to put it positively, precisely targeted. Larger outreach is beyond Fund’s ability/will-power for now. The orphanage closest to the Fund is run by a parasitic director nicknamed Satan by staffers. Regular English lessons should be easy and fruitful at this orphanage but Satan makes it not worth while. The Alpine Fund does not give material goods that can be misappropriated and sold for personal profit. Therefore, Satan wants nothing to do with us and would just assume not have meddlesome foreigners whistle-blowing or muttering about propriety in the corner. Another orphanage is well run but located 1½ hours outside of town (by crowded uncomfortable standing-room only Marshrootka). Thus to do an English lesson a volunteer would have to commit at least 6 hours. As projects such as this come and go on a volunteer by volunteer basis they are a daunting undertaking. The prospect of all ground being given up once a volunteer goes home and no one is there to take his/her place tips the scales in favor of discouragement. This is an example of something that I think we should be able to do with better consistency and organization. We may not be ready. It may be better to do a better job at what we already do than try and expand.
The Fund’s English classes focus on former orphans that became involved on the weekend climbs or weekly climbing-wall sessions that are now on the cusp between University and a life of low-wage labor in the bazaar (should they not get mixed up in a bad crowd). We teach 3 or 4 15-17 year old kids English once a week. These kids are too old to be in the orphanages which are geared to school kids only through the equivalent of 9th grade. Under the Soviet system they would then attend a technical college for 2-3 year and graduate as blue-collar professions. That system is now defunct but the orphanages are not reformed. The result is a bona fide dead end. But, if they score well enough on a TOEFL test or can raise the money to go to a year of university prep, they will almost certainly gain admittance to a local university where they will qualify for a full-ride on account of their destitute status.
Anna and Sean are trying to get about $1,000 together for a scholarship for Ulan, a very motivated and smart bazaar kid. His parents are blind so he was put into the orphanage. Now that he can’t stay there anymore he loads trucks at the bazaar all day to support his family. He studies English at night with the help of the AF classes. He even brings books home to soak up. He didn’t show up my night of English, but he is the star of the show right now. For kids like Salavat and Ulan, the Fund makes worlds of difference.
That is wonderful but it just feels like so few kids for an entire NGO. Others take part in the outdoors activities, as many as 60 kids a month. The impact of that is more of a break from an orphanage. A couple days of joy… a worthy cause in its own right but fleeting.
These impressions are just what I have picked up the last couple of days. I have no doubt made mistakes and am unaware of important information. I will continue to flush out the Fund on the blog as a means of helping me see what I should be doing. I have done almost no work for the Fund despite spending the last two days there. I have been meeting the people, learning what is up and getting my own life together. Speaking of getting it together, I was reunited with my bag. YAY! I had another good conversation with my host sister and mother about linguistics, fittingly this conversation took place in three languages, only my host sister took part in all of it. Did you know that modern Turkish and Japanese are both descendents of Hun? It’s True! My family here has the poster to prove it!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
From Bulgaria to Bishkek
I put this post in chronological order. The stuff from Sofia is first. WeSorry about the lack of photos. I will get those up... eventually.
Silly Stories of Bulgaria
-The Guru-
An elderly man staying several nights at the hostel in Sofia landed the unfortunate bed directly next to the door to the main living room. 1.5 inches of pine separated his resting head and the voices of our hostel’s night scene. The receptionist did her best to beat them but eventually gave in to Jenga’s powerful allure.
He never complained, however. He lay stiff as a board, impossible to tell if he managed to out-sleep the din. He was thin, almost frail, with grey hair and a full if unkept white beard. He looked old, not senile. Perhaps 70. His motions were stiff, abrupt and deliberate especially when he walked and got into and out of his bunk. He never appeared either in pain or at ease. His awkward movements were on account of a chronic deterioration of his nervous control that originated with whip-lash from a joy ride gone wrong at 16.
He was quiet, his social mannerisms mirrored his physical movements. Slow, simple, awkwardly abrupt. None doubted that he had the making of a first-rate guru.
True to form, after a couple days of lingering silently with hunched shoulder on the margins of our little hostel universe, he joined one of the periodic conversations about where someone was going or where they had come from. These most often occur just before dinner as new guests, rested and settled explore the social space of their new home hoping for kindred sprits or at least some good tips about where to go and what to do.
He piped up and all of us, younger and eager to hear from the mysterious man of many years in our midst, piped down to listen, “you know I first went to that area [Iran] in the 1960s. Back then the thing to do was the 3Ks… Kabul, Kathmandu and…” We brainstormed for the final K for a few moments. Despite the formidable knowledge of geography between us, the final K escaped us. I suggested Kashgar even though that area would have likely been a no-go during Mao’s reign. Seeing the wisdom in my incorrect response, the others gladly turned a blind eye to its obvious deficiencies and we turned back to our mentor.
“Yeah, well of course then you could go to all those places you can’t really go today and then back then there was no chance of traveling where you guys are headed [destinations in former Communist Eastern Europe].”
With that he retreated to silence… having been brought to a conversational impasse, we interrogated the elder gentleman for his story.
Canadian, worked for the [Royal Mounted?] Canadian Weather Service before retirement from Yukon to remote posts in BC, traveling his hobby. He takes it in legs of a month to two months, has been everywhere at least once. Living alone he writes an annual 12 page letter to former companions every January.
The next day he approached me suddenly and stood by my bed until I was sure he really wanted to talk to me and stopped reading.
“You know the other day I was thinking about our conversation from the other day.”
“yesterday?”
“Another big difference between traveling then and now is the water. You couldn’tt drink the water most anywhere back then and today it’s good in most everywhere.”
“Yeah, huh.”
“Yup, we always were drinking tea back then. All the time all day long hot tea.”
“That’s a lot of tea.”
“Oh yeah. And of course back then we didn’t talk about human trafficking and other academic stuff. Mostly travelers were burned out drifters that hated talking about booze, sex and weed but couldn’t speak to anything else.”
“Geez.”
“Well, that or ignorant hippies hoping for a spiritual revelation during a two month road trip.”
The guru scoffed at cathedrals. “No thanks. Not another European cathedral.” Long may he runneth.
-Maritime Legal Nicities-
Before I resigned myself to not seeing my visa card until Bishkek I went through a period of agitation which culminated in an anticlimax. I had been wasting money all day calling the US with phone cards in Bulgaria. In Macedonia, relatively cheap phone centers had been the norm but in Bulgaria they were no where to be found, the market for long distance phone calls abandoned to telecom credits usable on company pay phones. Twenty dollars disappeared in 5 or 10 minutes of navigating an automated “customer service” program. Even having memorized the buttons to be pushed, the waste was putting my patience to the test.
I had to make a final call to see if the card could be found in New Jersey and sent on its merry way to Bulgaria. The appointed hour arrived when their offices opened and I put my card in a pay booth and prepared to dial my way to peace of mind. Visa’s first few cues are voice activated. This is meant to make you feel like you are talking to a robot person instead of a machine or something, I don’t know but my memorization of the correct key strokes had to wait until I had passed this first obstacle. I hollered speak to a representative at every pace, volume and accent that I could think of but the connection was just too craptacular. The machine couldn’t get it. This wasted like 4 dollars or something and the idea of spending that money to yell into a phone on a busy street in Bulgaria in English was disheartening. So I quickly packed up my stuff and set off. About 30 seconds and one left hand turn later, I realized that I had left my notebook with the proper numbers at the phone.
I pulled a pretty fancy ambulatory one eighty if we do say so yourself and was surprised to see that my note book was not at the booth. I scanned the crowd. People walking, people waiting to cross the street, bum throwing paper into a dump, people walking… hold up!
The double take confirmed that a grey bearded holy-oversized trench coat man had my not book on a dumpster and was tearing out page after page. I walked over. He backed up surprised to see me, like I caught him kissing my daughter or something. He looked me in the eyes, still gripping the notebook. I looked at the notebook, looked into his eyes. My move. Without the benefit of the vocabulary necessary to artibitrate this dispute I thought it best to default to maritime law. He had clearly salvaged my abandoned vessel.
But he had similarly scrapped all of the irreplaceable information that I needed. I gave the captain a salute in the form of a curt nod and did some salvaging of my own. Papers in hand, he approved of my assessment of the situation. He permitted me to review the gutted book and ensure I had all I needed. He had something to sell to a poor soul in need of half a notebook and I was free to pull out more hairs calling the credit card company.
Munich
The trip to Munich and the first couple of days were spent with intestinal complications. Greg nursed my back to health with the ample nutriciousness of buttermilk cookies. Sweet delicious buttermilk cookies. We went to a sauna built for the Olympic Games and hung out with man an elderly anonymous naked German. Some were good natured and jolly, others demanded silence. Silence in the sauna? Who ever heard of such heresy. So be it Wrinkly German Man, you win this round.
My last day there we played ultimate for hours. It was glorious. I hadn’t moved my body like that in well over a month. I was a little rusty, but it wasn’t embarrassing on account of the relaxed/sloppy nature of the game. After the game we ambled tired, sore and hungry to a outdoor beer house. These places are amazing, they manage to make every day feel like a holiday. They darn well better for 6 Euro per liter of bier. I ate two foot long brats, fries and sourkraut. In short, I was back and better than ever.
My time in Germany was great. It was wonderful to watch CNN, talk with Greg and generally bum around with that ol’ college buddy. Can I call a friend from college an ol’ college buddy only 6 months after graduation?
Bishkek Baby!
My arrival in Bishkek followed two nights of poor sleep: one anxiously awaiting a pre-dawn alarm on Greg’s floor and another in the plane. I walked off the 757 with about a dozen other volunteers. Tellingly, all were plump North Americans going to work for NGOs. Huh.
The airport was well kept but tiny. Two rooms compose the baggage claim. Unfortunately neither contained my bag. I blame New Jersey. I filled out a form and breezed through customs.
Despite the fact that the sun had not risen, I was warmly welcomed to Kyrgyzstan with my very own gaggle of young taxi drivers to pull and prod me to their capital city. Being a fair man, I chose the tallest taxi driver. I got into his unmarked car after repeating my price of 300 som like a brain dead parrot. I got in the passenger seat. At this point my driver and I were graced with the presence of my driver’s friend in the back seat. I knew it would be stimulating conversation as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot as our backseat talker began lamenting Kyrgyzstan’s gas prices which are among the most reasonable in the world. He wanted $40. We had agreed to $8. We haggled and haggled though there was no haggling to be done. The climax of the conversation came when the man in the back said, “You a good guy. We wait all night for you. I shoot you. $40.”
“You will shoot me?!? No! You’re not going to shoot me! And I don’t have $40.”
They exchanged Kyrgyz phrases for a moment and then the man in the back corrected himself, “I sure you! Sorry I sure you!” I think me meant ‘I assure you’ or ‘I am sure of you [being a good guy].’ We had a good laugh. I paid them $12 for the cab ride. Taxis are always an experience.
At my new home I was greeted by Asooloo my 24 year old host-sister and my tossle-headed host-father who goes by Mister Uzbek though he is Kyrgyz and not Uzbek. I slept four hours.
My new home is fittingly constructed of poured concrete, just like all those houses in Albania that I thought so irredeemably silly. It is quite large however, and I curious how they will heat it in the winter. Poorly, I suspect. My area is separated from the rest of family’s living space by a living room that is spacious and sparsely decorated. Judging by the lack of comfy furniture it is also sparsely used. My room is 10’X10’X10’ with a carpet to keep my toes safe from the frigid floor, a table, a single-sized bed and bed end shelf-space. There is also a large window, which is good.
The best part of the house is actually not part of it. The courtyard sports a loud dog and a 50’X25’ garden. They have a friendly cat that looks remarkably similar to my first cat as a four year old. Unlike my missing cat, it is not named “kitty.”
I learned some Kyrgyz words, inconveniently written in cursive Cyrillic. I suppose I have to learn some day. I asked about going to the Alpine Fund but the day of my arrival was the day after Ramadan, a holiday. We piled into the family’s Lada limosine and headed to an uncles place. There a HUGE feast awaited us. I ate as much as I could, everytime I stopped they stopped their Kyrgyz conversation to urge me onward “kooshi! Kooshite! Kooshi!” meaning “Eat! Eat! Eat!” I ate ate until all parties were satisfied with my performance and I was stuffed.
At this point we took some time outside. After a while I noticed another stove going and learned that there was another course. Wily devils, the Kyrgyz after Ramadan. We had eaten perhaps ¼ of the food piled on the table and now we were cooking more. After some polite conversation in Russian the family turned excitedly back to more interesting matters in Kyrgyz. As I was about to lose conciousness, the next course arrived. There was fried rice with meat and, the piece-d’resistance, boiled beef. I got the thigh and the knee.
On our way home I saw a Bactrian camel walking along the road. It can be mine for the price of 300 dollars. Men in small scattered groups conversed along the road, hoping for some short-term work. The water is potable. My family has four working daughters, two are married. My host-padre teaches at a technical university. I think this means I landed a place with an upper-middle class family.
October 25, 2006 - Bishkek
My room has mosquitoes that required swatting last night. They awoke me. I felt rested. It was dark. It was 11:30. I had slept an hour and a half. Damn. Rolling out of bed at 10am after 12 hours in bed was not easy. I woke up later than expected. Damn.
Mr. Uzbek, who is Kyrgyz and my host father, kindly gave up trying to explain how to find the Alpine Fund via public transport and drove me. Arriving at the building I knew I must have written down an old address for there was no Alpine Fund signage in sight. Before me was a excellent of Soviet apartment architecture, designed by Kruschev himself in fact. We asked inside an office. They replied that a couple years ago there was some fund in back but they hadn’t seen any evidence of it in some time. They had moved. Just to be sure we went around back, there the apartment number 16 would be. After a couple of fruitless forages into the apartment block (open to the public courtyard, naturally), I went into the basement of the last door. There was a door with an Alpine Fund sign. By sign I mean piece of paper with “Alpine Fund” and a logo printed on it.
Sean opened the door. Mr. Uzbek who is not Uzbek bid me ado and explained how to get home. Sean handed me a stapled packet including a color map of Bishkek. “It’s from the Hilton.” Aha. “Their information is the best in Bishkek. If you have a question, call the front desk or go visit. They assume anyone with an accent is a high paying customer.”
Yes, Sean is clever. He went to Pacific Lutheran University. If the University of Puget Sound is the Harvard of the Tacoma then PLU is the Harvard of South Tacoma. His fiancé is likewise from PLU. All three volunteers then are residents of Tacoma. The odds, if you are wondering are approximately 132,348,093:3.
He informed me of the Alpine Fund’s woes for a while. I consoled him and reassured him that I, an inexperienced college graduate, would make it all better in six months. Basically the AF has structural problems with organization and consistency. Tellingly, my tenure of 6 months at the Fund is on the long side. Most come for a month or two. Anna and Sean for 4. On the one hand, the AF would not run without these volunteers who give time and effort and get no compensation. On the other hand, by the time most volunteers figure out what to do, it is time for them to go. Hopefully, I will help to systematize the AF so that people can get into the swing faster. Hopefully, the AF can find funding for longer-term volunteers in the future. There is only so much an NGO with a part-time local director and short term volunteers can do. It is unrealistic to ask people to give up more than months without subsidy or compensation. The director position, currently help by the competent and capable Ariana has seen similar troubles. Most directors have lasted not longer than a year. Ariana will be there for a few, but she is putting herself through law school. The end result of all of this is non-existent long-term management. There is almost no record keeping, collaboration, or accounting.
The AF runs on good will. It is enough to keep going but not enough to excel by my first impressions. I will vainly through myself into the ego-grinder. The rest of the day I spent meeting Anna and Sean and dining with them, the director Ariana and her sister. Sean and Anna Take off for Tajikistan tomorrow. This will afford me the opportunity to feel what it’s like to walk into the AF naked. After meeting the President in the states, I have a feel for the long term goals but the day-to-day is still nude. Sean explained to me that it seems a de facto tradition that each volunteer take on a project. Theirs is a scholarship for a very bright kid. If he passes a prep year of school, his financial situation will qualify him for a free ride at most any University in Bishkek, especially the American University (“Harvard of Central Asia”). Ironically, my project will be to kill this system-less system and try to do what Westerners do best. That is, analyze, categorize and, in the pursuit of efficiency, render heart and soul separate from the body.
A side note about Islam in Kyrgyzstan: during dinner the director’s sister (_) spoke about the fact that Kyrgyz are getting more religious, even in liberal secular Bishkek (the liberalist and secularist dern town in Central Asia). The religiosity makes her uncomfortable, “I am for freedom of expression or whatever but stay away from me, you know?” She is pursuing a political science Masters at a local university. Hizb Ut-Tahrir, the international non-violent political Islamist movement is still illegal and underground in Bishkek.
I took public transport and found my house after sloshing around dodgy backstreets/Kruschev apartments for a spell. IN THE DARK. Booyah. Once home I put my Russian to good use during a conversation with host sisters. A fine first day… already it is long and there is much to do for the foreseeable future.
Silly Stories of Bulgaria
-The Guru-
An elderly man staying several nights at the hostel in Sofia landed the unfortunate bed directly next to the door to the main living room. 1.5 inches of pine separated his resting head and the voices of our hostel’s night scene. The receptionist did her best to beat them but eventually gave in to Jenga’s powerful allure.
He never complained, however. He lay stiff as a board, impossible to tell if he managed to out-sleep the din. He was thin, almost frail, with grey hair and a full if unkept white beard. He looked old, not senile. Perhaps 70. His motions were stiff, abrupt and deliberate especially when he walked and got into and out of his bunk. He never appeared either in pain or at ease. His awkward movements were on account of a chronic deterioration of his nervous control that originated with whip-lash from a joy ride gone wrong at 16.
He was quiet, his social mannerisms mirrored his physical movements. Slow, simple, awkwardly abrupt. None doubted that he had the making of a first-rate guru.
True to form, after a couple days of lingering silently with hunched shoulder on the margins of our little hostel universe, he joined one of the periodic conversations about where someone was going or where they had come from. These most often occur just before dinner as new guests, rested and settled explore the social space of their new home hoping for kindred sprits or at least some good tips about where to go and what to do.
He piped up and all of us, younger and eager to hear from the mysterious man of many years in our midst, piped down to listen, “you know I first went to that area [Iran] in the 1960s. Back then the thing to do was the 3Ks… Kabul, Kathmandu and…” We brainstormed for the final K for a few moments. Despite the formidable knowledge of geography between us, the final K escaped us. I suggested Kashgar even though that area would have likely been a no-go during Mao’s reign. Seeing the wisdom in my incorrect response, the others gladly turned a blind eye to its obvious deficiencies and we turned back to our mentor.
“Yeah, well of course then you could go to all those places you can’t really go today and then back then there was no chance of traveling where you guys are headed [destinations in former Communist Eastern Europe].”
With that he retreated to silence… having been brought to a conversational impasse, we interrogated the elder gentleman for his story.
Canadian, worked for the [Royal Mounted?] Canadian Weather Service before retirement from Yukon to remote posts in BC, traveling his hobby. He takes it in legs of a month to two months, has been everywhere at least once. Living alone he writes an annual 12 page letter to former companions every January.
The next day he approached me suddenly and stood by my bed until I was sure he really wanted to talk to me and stopped reading.
“You know the other day I was thinking about our conversation from the other day.”
“yesterday?”
“Another big difference between traveling then and now is the water. You couldn’tt drink the water most anywhere back then and today it’s good in most everywhere.”
“Yeah, huh.”
“Yup, we always were drinking tea back then. All the time all day long hot tea.”
“That’s a lot of tea.”
“Oh yeah. And of course back then we didn’t talk about human trafficking and other academic stuff. Mostly travelers were burned out drifters that hated talking about booze, sex and weed but couldn’t speak to anything else.”
“Geez.”
“Well, that or ignorant hippies hoping for a spiritual revelation during a two month road trip.”
The guru scoffed at cathedrals. “No thanks. Not another European cathedral.” Long may he runneth.
-Maritime Legal Nicities-
Before I resigned myself to not seeing my visa card until Bishkek I went through a period of agitation which culminated in an anticlimax. I had been wasting money all day calling the US with phone cards in Bulgaria. In Macedonia, relatively cheap phone centers had been the norm but in Bulgaria they were no where to be found, the market for long distance phone calls abandoned to telecom credits usable on company pay phones. Twenty dollars disappeared in 5 or 10 minutes of navigating an automated “customer service” program. Even having memorized the buttons to be pushed, the waste was putting my patience to the test.
I had to make a final call to see if the card could be found in New Jersey and sent on its merry way to Bulgaria. The appointed hour arrived when their offices opened and I put my card in a pay booth and prepared to dial my way to peace of mind. Visa’s first few cues are voice activated. This is meant to make you feel like you are talking to a robot person instead of a machine or something, I don’t know but my memorization of the correct key strokes had to wait until I had passed this first obstacle. I hollered speak to a representative at every pace, volume and accent that I could think of but the connection was just too craptacular. The machine couldn’t get it. This wasted like 4 dollars or something and the idea of spending that money to yell into a phone on a busy street in Bulgaria in English was disheartening. So I quickly packed up my stuff and set off. About 30 seconds and one left hand turn later, I realized that I had left my notebook with the proper numbers at the phone.
I pulled a pretty fancy ambulatory one eighty if we do say so yourself and was surprised to see that my note book was not at the booth. I scanned the crowd. People walking, people waiting to cross the street, bum throwing paper into a dump, people walking… hold up!
The double take confirmed that a grey bearded holy-oversized trench coat man had my not book on a dumpster and was tearing out page after page. I walked over. He backed up surprised to see me, like I caught him kissing my daughter or something. He looked me in the eyes, still gripping the notebook. I looked at the notebook, looked into his eyes. My move. Without the benefit of the vocabulary necessary to artibitrate this dispute I thought it best to default to maritime law. He had clearly salvaged my abandoned vessel.
But he had similarly scrapped all of the irreplaceable information that I needed. I gave the captain a salute in the form of a curt nod and did some salvaging of my own. Papers in hand, he approved of my assessment of the situation. He permitted me to review the gutted book and ensure I had all I needed. He had something to sell to a poor soul in need of half a notebook and I was free to pull out more hairs calling the credit card company.
Munich
The trip to Munich and the first couple of days were spent with intestinal complications. Greg nursed my back to health with the ample nutriciousness of buttermilk cookies. Sweet delicious buttermilk cookies. We went to a sauna built for the Olympic Games and hung out with man an elderly anonymous naked German. Some were good natured and jolly, others demanded silence. Silence in the sauna? Who ever heard of such heresy. So be it Wrinkly German Man, you win this round.
My last day there we played ultimate for hours. It was glorious. I hadn’t moved my body like that in well over a month. I was a little rusty, but it wasn’t embarrassing on account of the relaxed/sloppy nature of the game. After the game we ambled tired, sore and hungry to a outdoor beer house. These places are amazing, they manage to make every day feel like a holiday. They darn well better for 6 Euro per liter of bier. I ate two foot long brats, fries and sourkraut. In short, I was back and better than ever.
My time in Germany was great. It was wonderful to watch CNN, talk with Greg and generally bum around with that ol’ college buddy. Can I call a friend from college an ol’ college buddy only 6 months after graduation?
Bishkek Baby!
My arrival in Bishkek followed two nights of poor sleep: one anxiously awaiting a pre-dawn alarm on Greg’s floor and another in the plane. I walked off the 757 with about a dozen other volunteers. Tellingly, all were plump North Americans going to work for NGOs. Huh.
The airport was well kept but tiny. Two rooms compose the baggage claim. Unfortunately neither contained my bag. I blame New Jersey. I filled out a form and breezed through customs.
Despite the fact that the sun had not risen, I was warmly welcomed to Kyrgyzstan with my very own gaggle of young taxi drivers to pull and prod me to their capital city. Being a fair man, I chose the tallest taxi driver. I got into his unmarked car after repeating my price of 300 som like a brain dead parrot. I got in the passenger seat. At this point my driver and I were graced with the presence of my driver’s friend in the back seat. I knew it would be stimulating conversation as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot as our backseat talker began lamenting Kyrgyzstan’s gas prices which are among the most reasonable in the world. He wanted $40. We had agreed to $8. We haggled and haggled though there was no haggling to be done. The climax of the conversation came when the man in the back said, “You a good guy. We wait all night for you. I shoot you. $40.”
“You will shoot me?!? No! You’re not going to shoot me! And I don’t have $40.”
They exchanged Kyrgyz phrases for a moment and then the man in the back corrected himself, “I sure you! Sorry I sure you!” I think me meant ‘I assure you’ or ‘I am sure of you [being a good guy].’ We had a good laugh. I paid them $12 for the cab ride. Taxis are always an experience.
At my new home I was greeted by Asooloo my 24 year old host-sister and my tossle-headed host-father who goes by Mister Uzbek though he is Kyrgyz and not Uzbek. I slept four hours.
My new home is fittingly constructed of poured concrete, just like all those houses in Albania that I thought so irredeemably silly. It is quite large however, and I curious how they will heat it in the winter. Poorly, I suspect. My area is separated from the rest of family’s living space by a living room that is spacious and sparsely decorated. Judging by the lack of comfy furniture it is also sparsely used. My room is 10’X10’X10’ with a carpet to keep my toes safe from the frigid floor, a table, a single-sized bed and bed end shelf-space. There is also a large window, which is good.
The best part of the house is actually not part of it. The courtyard sports a loud dog and a 50’X25’ garden. They have a friendly cat that looks remarkably similar to my first cat as a four year old. Unlike my missing cat, it is not named “kitty.”
I learned some Kyrgyz words, inconveniently written in cursive Cyrillic. I suppose I have to learn some day. I asked about going to the Alpine Fund but the day of my arrival was the day after Ramadan, a holiday. We piled into the family’s Lada limosine and headed to an uncles place. There a HUGE feast awaited us. I ate as much as I could, everytime I stopped they stopped their Kyrgyz conversation to urge me onward “kooshi! Kooshite! Kooshi!” meaning “Eat! Eat! Eat!” I ate ate until all parties were satisfied with my performance and I was stuffed.
At this point we took some time outside. After a while I noticed another stove going and learned that there was another course. Wily devils, the Kyrgyz after Ramadan. We had eaten perhaps ¼ of the food piled on the table and now we were cooking more. After some polite conversation in Russian the family turned excitedly back to more interesting matters in Kyrgyz. As I was about to lose conciousness, the next course arrived. There was fried rice with meat and, the piece-d’resistance, boiled beef. I got the thigh and the knee.
On our way home I saw a Bactrian camel walking along the road. It can be mine for the price of 300 dollars. Men in small scattered groups conversed along the road, hoping for some short-term work. The water is potable. My family has four working daughters, two are married. My host-padre teaches at a technical university. I think this means I landed a place with an upper-middle class family.
October 25, 2006 - Bishkek
My room has mosquitoes that required swatting last night. They awoke me. I felt rested. It was dark. It was 11:30. I had slept an hour and a half. Damn. Rolling out of bed at 10am after 12 hours in bed was not easy. I woke up later than expected. Damn.
Mr. Uzbek, who is Kyrgyz and my host father, kindly gave up trying to explain how to find the Alpine Fund via public transport and drove me. Arriving at the building I knew I must have written down an old address for there was no Alpine Fund signage in sight. Before me was a excellent of Soviet apartment architecture, designed by Kruschev himself in fact. We asked inside an office. They replied that a couple years ago there was some fund in back but they hadn’t seen any evidence of it in some time. They had moved. Just to be sure we went around back, there the apartment number 16 would be. After a couple of fruitless forages into the apartment block (open to the public courtyard, naturally), I went into the basement of the last door. There was a door with an Alpine Fund sign. By sign I mean piece of paper with “Alpine Fund” and a logo printed on it.
Sean opened the door. Mr. Uzbek who is not Uzbek bid me ado and explained how to get home. Sean handed me a stapled packet including a color map of Bishkek. “It’s from the Hilton.” Aha. “Their information is the best in Bishkek. If you have a question, call the front desk or go visit. They assume anyone with an accent is a high paying customer.”
Yes, Sean is clever. He went to Pacific Lutheran University. If the University of Puget Sound is the Harvard of the Tacoma then PLU is the Harvard of South Tacoma. His fiancé is likewise from PLU. All three volunteers then are residents of Tacoma. The odds, if you are wondering are approximately 132,348,093:3.
He informed me of the Alpine Fund’s woes for a while. I consoled him and reassured him that I, an inexperienced college graduate, would make it all better in six months. Basically the AF has structural problems with organization and consistency. Tellingly, my tenure of 6 months at the Fund is on the long side. Most come for a month or two. Anna and Sean for 4. On the one hand, the AF would not run without these volunteers who give time and effort and get no compensation. On the other hand, by the time most volunteers figure out what to do, it is time for them to go. Hopefully, I will help to systematize the AF so that people can get into the swing faster. Hopefully, the AF can find funding for longer-term volunteers in the future. There is only so much an NGO with a part-time local director and short term volunteers can do. It is unrealistic to ask people to give up more than months without subsidy or compensation. The director position, currently help by the competent and capable Ariana has seen similar troubles. Most directors have lasted not longer than a year. Ariana will be there for a few, but she is putting herself through law school. The end result of all of this is non-existent long-term management. There is almost no record keeping, collaboration, or accounting.
The AF runs on good will. It is enough to keep going but not enough to excel by my first impressions. I will vainly through myself into the ego-grinder. The rest of the day I spent meeting Anna and Sean and dining with them, the director Ariana and her sister. Sean and Anna Take off for Tajikistan tomorrow. This will afford me the opportunity to feel what it’s like to walk into the AF naked. After meeting the President in the states, I have a feel for the long term goals but the day-to-day is still nude. Sean explained to me that it seems a de facto tradition that each volunteer take on a project. Theirs is a scholarship for a very bright kid. If he passes a prep year of school, his financial situation will qualify him for a free ride at most any University in Bishkek, especially the American University (“Harvard of Central Asia”). Ironically, my project will be to kill this system-less system and try to do what Westerners do best. That is, analyze, categorize and, in the pursuit of efficiency, render heart and soul separate from the body.
A side note about Islam in Kyrgyzstan: during dinner the director’s sister (_) spoke about the fact that Kyrgyz are getting more religious, even in liberal secular Bishkek (the liberalist and secularist dern town in Central Asia). The religiosity makes her uncomfortable, “I am for freedom of expression or whatever but stay away from me, you know?” She is pursuing a political science Masters at a local university. Hizb Ut-Tahrir, the international non-violent political Islamist movement is still illegal and underground in Bishkek.
I took public transport and found my house after sloshing around dodgy backstreets/Kruschev apartments for a spell. IN THE DARK. Booyah. Once home I put my Russian to good use during a conversation with host sisters. A fine first day… already it is long and there is much to do for the foreseeable future.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Homestay in Kyrgyzstan
I have been emailing back and forth with a tourism agent who connects tourists with homestays. I want to spend my first month in a homestay. This is much longer than normal. On relatively short notice the agent was struggling to place me with a family as the families normally like to have guests just for a day for a two and work off of a set price list for meals and what not. So she asked her mother. The mother agreed. So I will be staying with the tourist agent's mother. The daughters now live on their own.
It begins.
Illicit... Bulgaria.... Scotsman... Language and Other Otherwise Unrelated Thoughts
October 16th - Sofia, Bulgaria
Illicit Political Economy in
Brendan Former Afghanistan Expat Goody-do-right Scott, Anja German Student of Bulgarian Social-Realist Literature and I Babbling Idiot went out Friday night. We searched
“
Back in the center it was decided that the last viable option would be
Human Trafficking
Perhaps by coincindence an American woman of 25 years arrived to the hostel the next day. She has lived in various parts of
Good looking Eastern European girls (of which there are many, a typical Eastern European build resembles the ideals of beauty in the West and thus the world) are approached by a friend, relative, or a “business recruitment” agency. The ladies come from places where there is little hope for the lifestyle promoted by magazine, song, and film should they stay at home. Promised high wages and the dream of a good life in a Western country, they are duped into leaving everything behind and to trust the guidance of an agency. The places they are promised work often do actually exist or at least have web-pages. Those that exist outside of virtual reality rarely are aware of their Moldovan recruitment efforts.
Once displaced their lives or the lives of their families are threatened and the girls are put to work, most often as prostitutes. A cost of $2,000 for documents and transportation becomes an exorbinant debt of tens of thousands of dollars that must be “paid back.” Large destinations for Eastern European women include
Several organizations work to repatriate the girls. This typically costs about US$ 10,000. An ounce of prevention often is worth more than a pound of damage control. The American woman hoped to resolve the sources of the problem, namely the inability of the girls to assess the claims of recruiters and the complete lack of alternative economic opportunities. A few distinct ideas seemed to appear over the course of our conversation:
- Microfinance for girls to have opportunities other than taking a chance.
- An informal network of people to check into the proclaimed destination of a recruiter
- A certification organization to look into the claims of actual talent recruitment business.
- Traveling education lectures to visit the most likely victims (this approach is currently supposedly undertaken by some huge NGOs whose names I forget).
Ideas about education are a simple start but the level of desperation that compels someone to leave home all on their own despite the apparent obvious risks makes a DARE-style lecture seem to me unlikely to have lasting effects (of course if you sway 1 or 2% on the fence not to do it, that is significant).
The technique used to rope girls into this blatantly evil practice strike me as unusually devious and malicious. People need hope. Coming from a bleak past and with vision only of a bleak future, the need to hope compels an individual to take an ill-advised chance… perhaps even if they know it is ill-advised. The endemic nature of corruption in many source and destination countries makes working through governments towards enforcement little more than wishful thinking.
I hope that people like the American woman find ways to start initiatives like those listed above. If anyone who reads this wants to know more, email me and I get you in contact with the under-experienced 25 year-old
Talking and thinking about this made me look back on the run in with the “not-professional” prostitute in Ohrid with renewed nausea. My intuition tells me that her situation is much different from those trafficked but prostitution still sucks.
Brendan’s Plan to Save the World or Get Rich Trying
I spent the majority of the last week bumming around with Brendan, a 26 year-old Scotts-man with a flair for quoting literature and poetry, a zestfully bleak attitude to veil his deeper optimism and a height of 6 feet 5 inches. Brendan is intelligent and hardworking, characteristics that led him to the highest academic heights of British and American law programs. Working single-mindedly with every waking minute to achieve academically burned the man out eventually. To be first in your class offers a path so well worn for such a golden child of
Brendan and I conversed epically to a fault. Even attempts to talk about women in the most superficial of ways turned into dialogues exploring what shaped our opinions. Eventually resigned to our fate, we drank begrudgingly to endlessly good conversation. Brendan, upon returning to
I learned a great deal from Brendan. His presence in
Random thoughts on Language and Culture (cont’d from last entry?)
Brendan traveled through
Learning languages is like seeing new colors. These colors may only be concepts of the mind but nevertheless the richness of perception of the world increases exponentially.
October 19, 2006 –
I have abandoned all hope of seeing my precious visa credit card ever again. After departing
I did the bus dance for two days. I was very sick for the first day, which worked out well. I was stuck on a bus where I could expect only to be cramped and sweaty and where I could hope only for sleep. Stiff and sweaty from fever, sleeping was all I wanted to do. After a brief layover in
Sometimes the fulfillment of a stereotype can be a beautiful thing.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
update's a-comin!
I have a lengthy post on my computer that i have been unable to post.
here is what's on tap:
Sofia is a land of gurus.
My Long-Held Suspicions that New Jersey Is the Black Hole that Sucks the Life Out of All Things Pure and Good Have Been Confirmed.
My fever broke on hour 20 of the Sofia-Prague express.
The Koran is not a "page-turner."
here is what's on tap:
Sofia is a land of gurus.
My Long-Held Suspicions that New Jersey Is the Black Hole that Sucks the Life Out of All Things Pure and Good Have Been Confirmed.
My fever broke on hour 20 of the Sofia-Prague express.
The Koran is not a "page-turner."
Friday, October 13, 2006
October 12 – Sofia, Bulgaria.
October 12 –
Social customs remind me a bit of
“No.”
“Why not? She is not pretty? You don’t like Albanian women?”
Another day off the map. We parted ways as I boarded the bus bound for Sofia and they for
I met interesting people on the bus. A young couple of about 30 kept an eye out for my well being and informed me of when I was being corrected by the driver (the lack of eye contact killed any comprehension meager Russian might afford). An Albanian student in
Upon hearing me speak English the doctor was keen to practice his. After a few early stumbles within 20 minutes he was unstoppable. What started as a mundane conversation about family became a discussion of borders, identity and race. This progression is quite natural when people ask about my name, where my family is from or about how they have family living in
I mostly listened, putting in a word or two here and there about staying in SA several months “liking Mexican” but the hints of difference or opinion were brushed aside with a “well, yes perhaps I agree, BUT…” onward and downward. He regretted the privatization of
There was a time not long ago when I would have responded with a “yes, perhaps I agree, BUT…” all my own. I tend to find myself defending open markets, but then I know of nothing else in practice, having grown up in the states. For him the socialist security of the past meant low wages, cheap goods and a good life on the whole. It sounds like endemic stifling of potential to me.
Now while I maintain personal preferences of comfort on issues like race, socialism and dinner tonight, I no longer see any system of belief, governance or living as inherently better or worse. Perhaps such distinctions can be made on a case by case basis but not upon ideas as a whole. When I lived with my Stalinist host family in
These sorts of experiences draw me way from a clear picture of truth and toward an evaluation of relevance. This equivocates any lesson to be gleaned from an experience while recognizing the subtlety of variation. The weakness of this perspective is its strength. I live for seeing (or perhaps imagining) beautiful paradoxes like that. To me, they are moments of epiphany.
Learning languages well also holds lessons that I value very deeply about the subjectivity of cultural perception. This is most clear in the translation of closely related concepts. “Sorry” in English is translated (or poorly transliterated, as the case may be) as “iz-ven-eet-tia” in Russian. Sorry suggests compassion, and shared sorrow for another’s suffering, though we use it so often that it has lost this gravity. It is the speaker who is active in English by expressing her reaction of regret. In Russian, the phrase is a verb conjugated in the second person formal and means something more like forgive me. It is similarly used only slightly less frivolously than its English counterpart. Russians are far less inclined to establish themselves as the principle actors in their sentences. English is full of possession and personal initiative. The differences are trivial translations at first glance, but taken as a whole they add up to a significantly distinct world outlook. English speakers see themselves as able to affect change boldly in the world. Russians see themselves as the recipients of others’ or God’s actions.
To stretch the applicability of the idea perhaps beyond capacity, I would utilize the framework for justifying Russian as well as American expansionary and interventionist policy. Russians perceive rivalry and subversion along their borders (others negatively causing injury to
From my limited familiarity with the period of
A writer/editor for
People almost always tend to pursue their interests to the nth degree. Climbers want to climb the hardest route, swimmers to swim the fastest and runners to run the farthest. Travelers to travel further and homemakers to perfect the abode. Linguists search for odd, dying languages and anthropologists for unique cultures. Each person is both admirably determined to get the most out of their experience and trapped into alleys of narrow definition by this process. In considering motivations from this perspective, I wondered what compels me to go to
It is another tally mark on the vain score-card of the odd and remarkable places briefly where I have briefly lived. It is the chance to broaden and deepen my youth-guide identity. It is to solidify my Russian and grow another tongue in a futile effort to understand everyone. I have a specific curiosity now after reading part of the Koran. The Koran is more prescriptive in its approach to handling everyday affairs than I would have guessed. I want to know how it is that Kyrgyz people reconcile their identity as a secular Islamic society. According to my reading of the Koran so far this is akin to proclaiming oneself to be a married bachelor.
I suspect that perhaps the effort to establish order through rigidity may be self-defeating. In Islam’s case, so much is at stake that competing claims for the all-or-nothing legitimacy resulted in decentralized religious authority and dissent though the holy book clearly declaims this outcome.
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