The Volunteer Experince

Hear Ye Hear Ye

Here is something that I would like all readers to know before reading this next blog. This blog entry was written around late October and early November. So... the weather was A LOT warmer at the time that this blog was written. I would have posted it earlier but the internet was down last time I was in Naryn. I’m sorry to say but as far as the frequency of blog entries being posted go, they are going to slow down a bit. As we venture further into the upcoming winter months the electricity situation in the Kyrgyz Republic is only going to get worse. But not to worry, the blog entries will continue to roll. So keep checking and I’ll keep posting. Enjoy

Just a Ride in a Taxi

With the completion of the first quarter of the school year, school was closed for a week for autumn break. Though there are no classes to attend or homework to complete, work does not cease in rural living. During this time children are collecting autumn dried tree branches for fire, running errands via donkey for parents, picking last minute potatoes (harvest time for potatoes was a month ago), sweeping floors, and rounding up goats for the Friday livestock bazaar. The school playground, as well as the soccer field, is empty for all the village children are hard at work. Fathers continue their daily routine of herding sheep and cattle while wives are cleaning freshly picked wheat for baking bread, making noodles, and brewing Bozo. If you haven’t read my previous blog entry, Bozo is a fermented beer-like beverage made from wheat and water. Nothing like a cold tea cup of Bozo after a hard day’s work! I take that back. There’s no way Bozo could possibly replace a fresh Ninkasi Total Domination India Pale Ale locally brewed from Eugene, Oregon. I’m sorry but no way. Anyway, with a whole week on my hands there was a lot that I could do. There were books to be read, lesson plans to create, and even time to get some travelling in. However, lesson plans were a definite priority. If you come to class full of Kyrgyz children unprepared, you are in for a long day of fights breaking out, swearwords, explicitly offensive hand gestures, girl’s hair being pulled, loud cell phone music being played while you’re trying to teach, sharpened pencils potentially impaling fellow students, students getting up and out of their chairs, jumping jacks, and burps. So for the first few days of break I was working hard; making lesson plans for the following week when school starts back up again. Getting this work done first thing freed up the rest of my week do what I want. I made plans with some volunteer buddies from another part of Naryn to come stay a day and night. The plan was for them to come over, hang out in my village for a day, go to Naryn and hang out the next, and get up super early Friday morning to get to Bishkek. All the volunteers from Talas, Issyk-Kul, and Chui were going to be in Bishkek that weekend. It sounded like it would a good time. Not only was I excited to meet up with some friend volunteers that I hadn’t seen since PST but I also having a big time craving for a finely ground Turkish coffee and hamburger. We were to spend two nights in Bishkek. I had called my old host family from PST earlier that week and they said that they would love to have me that first Friday night. Nick, a Peace Corps volunteer, and Masa, a JICA (Japan’s version of Peace Corps) volunteer, came that Wednesday morning and we spent the day climbing hills and drinking tea. Nick said something that has been sticking with me ever since. We had just hiked to the top of one of the taller peaks surrounding my village. We sat down on the dried grass and gazed out at the breathtaking scenery; red, snow covered, mountain peaks towering over the huge Naryn river gorge. The sky was an incredibly clear blue with a low sun making its’ high noon directly behind us. Days are much shorter here in Kyrgyzstan than they are back in the states. We sat there admiring the unique topography of this spectacular country. We got to talking and about our experiences here thus far. We weren’t even an eighth into our service and the experience here thus far has been much like a roller coaster. You think you’ve figured things out but you really don’t have a clue. You’ve heard that a marshrutka passes through Naryn on its way to your village but it doesn’t come and you’re stuck walking up the road out in the cold trying to hitch a ride back. You think you’ve adjusted to the food but you get food poisoning again the next weekend. We came to the conclusion that we are done trying to figure things out because they really cannot be figured out. During training Peace Corps staff told us that it’s best to just go along with the chaos because it is not in your control. This is starting to make more and more sense as I’m acclimating to this new and completely different way of life. I recall mentioning in an older blog entry about PST and feeling like a child. Well I’m getting well into my service and I still do feel much like a child trying to figure life out. Being child and a teacher at the same time is an interesting dynamic. Though I am a teacher when I step into the class room, however, I must be a student when I step out. That is I am a student of the Kyrgyz way of life. I must pay attention, listen, take notes, and even take exams (real life Kyrgyz encounters), on Kyrgyz culture, language, and behavior. This is most definitely one of the hardest classes I’ve ever taken. Keeping an open mind is only the beginning. That evening we made a big bonfire down at the river bank during sunset a talked more about our times here so far in Kyrgyzstan and how different Kyrgyz life and culture is. We watched the evening sun go down over the mountains and put the fire out; we were hungry. My host family was excited to meet some fellow volunteers and Nick commented that my host mom’s bread was the best he’s ever had in Kyrgyzstan. I have to say my host mom does make some damn good (naan). So my host family made ???? (Plov) that night. Plov is a Russian dish of carrots, rice, and sheep. We stuffed ourselves sillly and hit the sack for the night; we were beat. We retreated to my room aтв talked for a while before we passed out. The next morning I awoke to use the outhouse, only to find that everything around me was covered in snow.

English Teacher in Kyrgyzstan (Question and Answer Time)

There have been quite a few details that I’ve been leaving out in these blog entries that I’m sure friends, family, and readers alike are curious about. I feel that it is very important that these questions be addressed for not only satisfying readers’ questions but for my future well being as well. That sounds kind of strange but it is true. I don’t want to come home and approach my family and friends and have a void between us. I would have just spent a significant amount of time in such a foreign land with newly acquired knowledge and life experience and everyone around me would have little or no idea of what I went through. I would feel lonely with no real solid way of explaining the time here. That is where this blog comes in. I can update friends and family live right here in Kyrgyzstan through my writing. Brilliant! You all will have an idea what I’m going through during the good and bad times out in the field here. I can share stories with friends and family live as they unravel before my eyes. So what I’m trying to say is read my blog! Read it for the sake of entertainment, learning of Kyrgyz and Central Asian culture, Peace Corps life, and for me.So, what are some details about life out in the field here? Questions of my casual encounters with fellow villagers, daily routines, weather, etc. A basic question may be something as simple as “What the Hell are you doing out there Mike? I know you are teaching English but can’t be doing that all the time.” Or how about questions like; “How hard is it learning the language? Is it awkward around people when you can’t understand them? Do you get to clean yourself often? How dirty are you? Are you gaining or losing weight? How is it living in such an isolated area? Are you homesick? Do you get sad or lonely? Making new friends? Just to name a few. These are questions that I would be asking myself if were at home and someone I knew was on the other side of the planet. These are questions that you as a reader may have not been curious about but I want you to ask them to me anyway. So what are the nitty-gritty details of living out there Mr. Mike? Well first off, I am DIRTY. I clean maybe once every three weeks at most. My host family has a ???? (Banya) or ????? (Mohn-cho) which is a sauna made out of clay that is heated using a fire made from sticks and cow pies (manure); lovely indeed. No electricity necessary. The Banya heats up as you splash cold water from a bucket onto the hot stove to steam up the place. You can make warm water by mixing the cold water with water from the hot bucket that is located on top of the rocks. Using the warm water and the ladle you can give yourself a nice bucket bath. I’ll tell you after a month of no Banya you feel pretty dirty. After you Banya after not Banya-ing for a month you feel good. Damn good. Damn is feels good to be clean. Cleaning clothes is a major pain especially if your host mother makes you wash and rewash your socks three times. One night a few weeks ago I was washing my socks while my host mom and my 10 year-old little host sister were making strawberry jelly with strawberries from the Osh bizarre in Bishkek. My host mom had made the long journey up to Bishkek just to buy strawberries to make this jelly. No such thing as strawberries in Naryn. So I sat there scrubbing my socks while they cleaned and ate strawberries not bothering to offer me any. Just when I thought I was finished, my host mom said “????,” or “again.” I was like “are you serious? Again? Alright, I’ll do it.” It took me almost an hour to scrub all my socks the first time around and I didn’t want to do it again. So I kept scrubbing. My little sister kept smiling at me with her face full of strawberries. I was growing irritated so I scrubbed harder. Thoughts like “I am strawberry deprived. I, seriously, need some strawberries. Just one will do. Strawberries are so amazing.” were going through my head. My family still didn’t offer. I cooled off as I was nearing the end of scrubbing my last pair and when I finished my host mom said, “??? ????,” or “one more time.” I couldn’t believe it. Three times she wanted me to wash my socks! I wanted to dump my dirty sock water over my little sister’s head but then the Red Hot Chili Peppers song “Can’t Stop” came on the television. I’m not lying. The only American music that Kyrgyz people hear, or are at least enjoy, is 50 Cent or Brittney Spears. Red Hot Chili Peppers playing in Kyrgyzstan? A Miracle. It was on a Russian television broadcast from Moscow or something and there was some sort of fashion show going on and the song “Can’t Stop” from their album, By The Way, was playing in the background. Then I thought; “I can’t stop scrubbing now. The Chili Peppers are telling me not to stop.” I took it as a sign so didn’t stop and I kept scrubbing… one more time. It was getting pretty late so I sped through this last cycle. By now the family was dumping buckets full of sugar onto the strawberries. It’s about one cup of sugar to every cup of strawberries; a sugary overload. After I had wrung out all the water from my socks I cleaned up my little splashy mess that I made on their floor. I was still feeling pretty frustrated when I went outside to hang them up. The cold air was stinging and I knew for sure that the next morning my socks would be frozen solid. I hung them up and returned inside. I was just getting ready to go to bed when my little sister asked me to come join the family for tea. I sat down and they gave me a cup of tea and a bowl of fresh red strawberries. I thanked them greatly and they said it was nothing. Then I ate them… the strawberries, not the family.

We bundled up and had a Chai and bread that morning. We slept in and missed the 7 am ride into Naryn so we stuck around for the 1:30 marshrutka. We were silent on the walk to the bus stop on the main road outside my village; nodding our heads to locals as we walked through the frigid air. I was sniffling a bit; still trying to battle off a little cold that I caught a few days back. The snow had melted a bit but none the less it was still snowing weather; high, dark grey clouds and dry air. I had my fat jacket on and two pairs of gloves on. I gave one pair to Masa because his hands were frozen red. We waited at the stop for a half hour or so for the ride to show. We piled in the rickety orange colored van and took our “seats.” The ceiling was real low so I sat bent over next to an old Kyrgyz woman wearing a colorful headdress with her young girl who must have been six or so. The little girl had scratches and spots on her face and lay like a rag doll in her mother’s lap. It was a disturbing sight. The vehicle got on its way and before I knew it we were bouncing up and down on the road. The road to Naryn from my village is poor one loaded with pot holes. Cows and sheep were being herded their way back home from their morning grazing out in the pastures at this hour in the day. The driver would slow down but wouldn’t stop to let the animals pass so we’d be driving through these herds barley touching them. You feel like you’re in Jurassic Park or something while you’re in a car and huge cows are all around you. We’d be on our way and would just keep looking out the window. The road hugs the barren foothills of a mountain range that I don’t know the name of. To the North you can see the huge snowy peaks of the Moldo-Too mountain range and just below that is the wide basin of the Naryn River. Seeing nothing but mountains, barren fields, sparsely placed trees, and the occasional village or mud hut you realize how far away you live from everything. It is both a wild and lonely feeling. The bench in the van I was sitting on was very hot and the whole van was just too warm and stuffy. I think the only thing separating my bench from the marshrutka’s engine was a sheet of metal. It was warm and crowded the whole ride over so I shed a few layers. I looked around the vehicle taking notice of the others in van with me. Nick and Masa were fast asleep. There were couple children staring as usual and a man praying as we passed by the graveyards on the sides of roads. It’s customary in Kyrgyzstan to wipe your face with both hands as you pass by a grave site to honor the dead. We were another 30 mintues or so away from Naryn city when the lady with the little girl told the driver to stop the vehicle. The mother stood up, with her daughter in her arms still, and shuffled past me to get outside. The door opened and the rush of cold air from outside lifted my spirits. They got out of the car and just started walking. I don’t know where they were headed. I couldn’t make out any homes in that field. They kept walking into the field as we pulled away. Where were they going? We got to Naryn city and I leaped out of the car for some instant fresh air and a quick stretch after being smashed in like sardines in that marshrutka. We paid our driver, got some cafй food, and headed to our friends apartment to hang out. As the day winded down the snow began to fall. I went to bed early that night; unaware of the madness that was soon to ensue in the next 24 hours on that unforgettable taxi ride through the Dolon Mountain pass.

How’s the food situation out there?

This is problem that I’ve been trying to deal with since my arrival here in Naryn. What will take some serious trial and error is proper eating. Throughout the day I drag and lose focus; body mainly running mostly on bread, tea, and buckwheat. Then at night I’ll have dinner with the host family where it’s potatoes, potatoes, and more potatoes (I don’t know how the Kyrgyz people can live off of nothing but potatoes and sheep for all these winter months. Then again, they’ve been doing it for thousands of years.) I’m an active person who goes running, climbs hills, does pull-ups, and wrestles with the kids during wrestling club and doing this on this diet is not good. The food selection is quite the downgrade from the fresh produce, beans, chicken, eggs, and fish I used to cook for myself everyday back home. The fruit and vegetable selection in Naryn is extremely limited; true seasonal eating in this part of Kyrgyzstan. Root vegetables like carrots and beets are all that’s available this time of year here. In the Peace Corps it’s typical of men to lose 10 to 15 pounds of body weight and women to gain 10 to 20 pounds. This is characteristic of Peace Corps volunteers in most countries Peace Corps serves and it’s very characteristic to the seasonal diet of Naryn. Most of the male PCVs have lost a significant amount of weight, including myself, here but it’s not a healthy way of losing weight. A lot of weight that is lost is muscle because of the lack of protein in the diet. Volunteers living in Jalal-Abad or Osh Oblasts in the south of Kyrgyzstan you can buy a variety of fruits and vegetables all throughout the year for a more balanced diet. Osh and Jalal-Abad are located in the lush, fertile, soil of the Fergana Valley stretching from the Kyrgyz Ala-Too mountain range and well into Uzbekistan. Bazaars in these parts are loaded with exotic fresh fruits, vegetables, beans, and walnuts year round, however according to my host-family, pesticides are rampant. Valleys in Naryn and Issyk-Kul oblasts have a drier climate and too of hard soil to grow such variety. The Chui Valley, the Oblast where Bishkek is, gets a variety of fruit and vegetable imports from Uzbekistan and China. Oranges, plums, and apricots adorn the bazaars here. When I was in the Osh Bazaar in Bishkek last month I purchased a kilo of walnuts for 250 Som (about US $6) and a half kilo of oranges for 55 Som ($1.75). I hadn’t had an orange since I was back in the states! Ecstasy! No oranges in Naryn; no imports at all for that matter. It’s just Naryn-grown food here. Before my move to begin my service in Naryn I knew about the whole seasonal eating and that it was going to be hard but doable. Easy to think when you’re near Bishkek, living the pre service training life and you got fruits and vegetables at every meal. Now that I’m experiencing it firsthand it’s a lot harder than I imagined. There are times where I’ll be walking around and I’ll think “Damn I could REALLY go for a tomato right now,” however no tomatoes in my village. They went out of season a couple months ago. Don’t think that Naryn volunteers are completely deprived of fruits and vegetables. Naryn bazaars have plenty of all vegetables that are in season. My dilemma is that there is no bazaar in my village to buy these sorts of food. The closest bazaar is in the Rayon center 45 minutes away and, unfortunately, it’s only open Fridays: a working day for me. As important as these vegetables are they are not in comparison to the importance of protein; especially in upcoming winter months. My family and I will eat sheep with our potatoes maybe once a week which is good but not enough. With help of good ol’ mom and dad I get peanut butter, assorted nuts, and protein powder in packages from home. Nonetheless it is still a limited supply. Boiling eggs and taking them to school would be amazing but, according to my host mother, chickens don’t lay eggs this time of year. Not all volunteers are as critical of the foods they eat as me. For me it’s an issue that deserves a serious effort to solve. Figuring out how to get enough food is going to take some time. Much of it relates to the dynamic of how life is lived out here. This much slower pace of life is hard to adjust to. If I wear in America and I wanted an apple I could probably get one in 5 to 10 minutes. Here it’s much different. I’ll have to wait another week for the bazaar to be open and take a taxi forty five minutes away using the limited language I know. Just like any other problem here it’s going to take some time and effort.

What’s a typical in day like in the Peace Corps?

The first thing I do is I wake up around 6:30 and take my calcium and multi-vitamin. The electricity would have most likely gone out in the middle of the night so it is very cold in my room. I’ll quickly bundle up and make my way outside my room to the tea table. Do to the cold my family has moved the floor table to the little hallway outside my room where it’s the warmest in the house. At night I’ll be in my room writing lesson plans while rockn’ out to some Steely Dan or something and they’ll be sitting on the floor at the table drinking tea right outside my room. They must think I’m so weird. I’ll wash my face (It’s customary to wash your face every morning right when you wake up) then sit down and heat up some hot water and make tea while I eat my “breakfast” of bread. That’s one thing that deserves some serious work; I’m on a mission to find the perfect breakfast. I’ve heard of oatmeal in the Naryn bazaar… “Ohmeeen,” I’ll say, and grab my backpack full of lesson plans, put on my shoes, and head outside for the walk to the school. Walking in the frigid air on the dirt paths, now partially frozen, it is still dark for 7:15 in the morning and from what I hear it only get darker. To stay warm I wear long-underwear and wool socks along with a long sleeve dress shirt and a fleece sweater over that. On my head I got an awesome beanie my mom sent me and if it’s really cold I’ll throw on this fat winter coat that was a hand-me-down from a volunteer who just served in this a very area and COS’d (Completion of Service) this past summer. It’s a sweet jacket and as much as I want to keep it after I feel it will me my duty to hand it down to the next volunteer who serves here. As I was saying it’s pretty dark here for this hour. It’s interesting because lately nights have filled with bright moonlight. The moon rises to the middle of the sky and rains light. It’ll be 12 at night but you can see for miles and miles and even make out faces. There’s an enormous snow covered peak about 15 or so miles away but you can still see it perfectly. So I’ll be making the 10 minute walk to my school, dodging cows, sheep, manure, and frozen water streams. I’ll greet sheep and cattle herders every morning as I pass by them on my way to class. “Asalom-aleikom,” I’ll say. “Ah Mike! Aleikom-asalom,” they’ll reply. Everyone in town knows the volunteer’s name. Almost to the school now, I make past the last of the vicious barking guard dogs. I actually got bit pretty hard by one of these ferocious beasts one Monday morning. I was walking when a lady was pulling a barrow full of buckets of water crossed my path. Her guard dog stared me down and I stopped and stared right back= Big mistake. The dog came around me and just as I was making my way out that situation the dog came up from behind and nipped me right in my left calf and trotted away. The lady kind of had a frightened look on her face but I turned away and angrily and stormed off to school. Luckily I had my long underwear under my pants so there were no puncture wounds. I came across this lady again a few days ago, with her guard dog. “God-damn it not this again,” I thought. This time she herded the dog around me to avoid another confrontation. Had I blown up in her face the first time maybe she wouldn’t have protected me this second time? I don’t know but I’m running late for my sixth form class. I’ll get to school and children will just crawling all over the place; scrambling to get class. “Salamatsus-buh! Salamatsus-buh! Salamatsus-buh!” Children will say to me as there passing by in the hall; racing to their homerooms. I’ll walk down the nicely painted light blue, red, and white hallway (the same color and pattern I have right here on my blog) passing plaques of accomplished students. All the pictures of the students are a full on frontal mug-shot with no smile. Some of the pictures are downright freaky looking. There’s one of my little host sister and she totally looks like a dude. I’ll be approaching my 6th form classroom and already I can hear the madness that’s ensuing inside. First off school is a difficult, wild, and stressful ride; an emotional rollercoaster, so to speak. Now it’s different every day. Some days my counterpart (the school’s English teacher that I work with) will have gotten their first and would have calmed the children down but on this day I’m the first to arrive. It will barely be eight in the morning and fight has already broken out. With other students climbing around on top of desks and boys pulling girls hair, the classroom atmosphere takes on that of a scene from The Lord of the Flies. Fighting among students is common and when it happens right in front of me there really isn’t much I can do. I’ll peel kids off each other but right on after they’ll just keep fighting. Not losing your temper on these kids is a difficult thing to do. I’m getting pretty angry and I’m just about to lose it and then my counterpart shows up and says the magic words I don’t understand to get their attention. After a couple minutes of some fiery arguing between the teacher and students, the children calm down and take their seats. I’ll take a seat for a minute as well to cool off from that whole episode. I’ll take a deep breath and start the class. It’s important to start lessons off with a game or some sort of “warm-up” to get the kids interested. We’ll play grammar and vocabulary games like “hangman,” among many others. Then either my counterpart or I will present the day’s topic. If you have a good, solid, warm-up the kids tend to respond better and be more eager to participate during this part of the class. After the information has been presented we’ll usually read together or play another grammar activity. Then we’ll wind down with some more independent type work where students will either read or write on their own. After this activity we’ll give the students their homework and they’ll get ready to go to their next class. After each lesson, students who feel they deserve a grade for the day can receive one. Students bring their own grade book to class everyday in hopes of earning a 5 for that particular lesson. The teacher will give a student a grade on a scale from one to five, depending on the student’s performance. All grades must be filled in with blue ink. Failure to comply with these rules results in a talk with the assistant principal. I’ve heard of horror stories of volunteers getting absolutely chewed out by their principals because they put the students’ grade in the wrong section of the notebook. I’ve heard principals will actually scrape the blue ink off the page in order to correct it. This strict grading system is residual of the old method that the Soviet Union administered before its collapse in the early 90’s. Once the grading is completed the students will leave and I’ll usually have two or three more classes following and then it’s time for a little mid day break. This doesn’t happen all the time but on some days I’ll be getting my stuff together for the walk home and the vice-principal will approach me asking for something. Most recently she asked for a whole years worth of lesson plans for English club. I’ve just started English club and really have no idea what to do in it. I tell her I’ll work on it and I’ll make it on my way home feeling pretty beat up about the confrontation. I’ll go home eat some bread and tea, throw on some warm gear, lace up, and for a run down the dirt road outside my village. Having this time to run is great. It’s the middle of the day, the sun is usually out, and the scenery on these trails is incredible. It’s a great time to get away, forget about what happened at school, collect my thoughts, and mentally prepare for the rest of the day. I’ll come home do some push-ups and stretch out a bit. By then my host mother will have prepared either rice or buckwheat for lunch. I’ll devour this meal and get ready for my fifth form class in the afternoon. I’ll bring with me a snack of some peanuts and bread for I won’t have time to come home after this final class. Right after class I’ll have my Kyrgyz language tutor for an hour. I’ll work with the school’s Kyrgyz teacher to help improve my Kyrgyz language skills. Afterwards I’ll have my English club, which I’ve very recently started. I put on three English clubs per week; each one hour and divided by grade. We have a television and DVD player that the previous volunteer got so I’m thinking about playing some serious movies like Napoleon Dynamite. I’m still trying to figure out what to do for English club but at the moment I’m just playing UNO with all my students for the hour. It’s a pretty good time being able to hang out with these students at a different, more casual level. It feels like serious business in the classroom but at club I can just hang out with the students, relax, and be myself. It’s funny because at club none of the students are rowdy or out of control. Maybe by forming this kind of relationship with the students they’ll respect me more in class. After club there will still be a little bit of light out and some local farm boys my age, who’ve also finished their work for the day, will be playing a pick-game of volleyball in the schoolyard. I’ll role up the sleeves on my teacher clothes, kick it, and play some sets with the guys for a bit. The sun will soon start to set in the mountains queuing that it’s time to go home for it will be dark real soon. The evening sky will be purple and orange as I walk with a few of my students down the dirt road on the way to the small village store (built into the side of someone’s house). I’ll have gone through two Nalgene bottles of distilled water by now and I’ll still be pretty thirsty so I’ll go to the store to see if they have any water on sale. Because of the altitude and dry weather it’s pretty easy to get dehydrated out here. I’ll get inside and from behind the counter, I’ll ask for a bottle of water. “Sorry Mike,” the 10-year-old girl working at the store will say, “but no water right now. Would you like a liter of Coke or Sprite instead?” That’s probably how it goes 75% of the time. I’ll say goodbye to my students and I’ll head on home. When I get to my house I’ll go to my room and get my lesson plans for the next day out of the way. I’ll have dinner with the host fam and talk with them for a little while about my day. I’ll brush my teeth and retire to my room for the night. By then I’m pretty beat so I’ll read a book, type on my blog, or chill out to some Barry White on my iPod and pass out soon afterwards. And that, my friends, is what I do on a typical day in here in Kyrgyzstan; truly a buffet line of unpredictable emotions, stresses, highs, and lows.

Old-Soviet style Kvartieras (apartments) line the streets of Naryn. We spent the night in one of the Naryn city volunteer’s apartments and overnight snow had blanketed everything in sight. We got up that next morning to catch an early ride out to make it to Bishkek at a decent hour. Masa decided to stay in Naryn that weekend but Gene, a fellow Naryn volunteer, was going to join me and Nick. We were talkative; excited to meet up with the others and eat some tasty burgers at the American ex-pat hangouts in Bishkek. We got a taxi with ease, though, many of the drivers wanted 500 per person. The usual fare from Naryn to Bishkek is about 300 or so but today drivers upped their prices because of the weather conditions. We managed to get a ride for 400 som per person which was good. It was me, Gene, Nick, the driver and another young Kyrgyz lad in this taxi on our way to Bishkek. We loaded our backpacks and sleeping bags in the trunk of the beat up station wagon and then “BA-A-A-A-AHH!” There was a goat in the trunk tied up to its neck in a potato sack. I carefully slid him aside and placed my backpack down. Not uncommon in Kyrgyzstan to share a ride with livestock. We paid our fair and piled in and we were on our way before we knew it. We sped on the road through the once grassy and flowery fields outside Naryn city. The land had now turned completely white; very different from the summer pastures I witnessed here in September when I came here after PST. I pressed my face against the cold glass window and stared into infinite fields of pure white hills and mountains. We were approaching the mountain pass. “Dude, Nick, if you were to tell me I was on Planet Hoth from Star Wars Empire Strikes Back, I would totally believe you.” “We might as well be. I got no phone service out here and I don’t think this driver has got any chains.”He was right, we didn’t have chains. We were about a quarter away up the mountain pass when our car began to slide. We got of our idled vehicle and. “Oh no,” I thought. “We’re stuck. It definitely looks like we’re not getting to Bishkek tonight.” The driver lifted the hood and out came a cloud of steam. Not only was the car unable to drive on this icy road but the engine had over-heated. It turned out that the driver had been using water to keep the engine cool, not coolant. I stared at the long snowy steep mountain road ahead and thought for a long second. Up the road from us I could see the pile up of cars that continued all the way up the mountain’s switch backs. A very disconcerting feeling was coming over me. It was the inconvenience of it all and the possibility of us having to turn around to go back home was bringing me down. Even worse was thought of possibly sliding off the edge of the cliff in the car on this mountain tundra. The freezing cold wasn’t helping either. It was the middle of the day but the sun had been completely blotted out from the dark clouds and it was snowing. I looked over at Nick who was looking at the ground kicking the snow around. Both Gene and Nick had some frustrated looks on their faces as well. I had my little mental hissy fit but I soon realized that this is the Peace Corps. This stuff happens in places like this. You might a swell just go with it and not kick and scream about something that is entirely not in your control. “Soo barbuh?” The driver asked me. “Do you have any water?” I handed him my Nalgene and he emptied it into the coolant tank of the car. He fired up the engine again and had me, Nick, Gene, and the other dude start pushing the car. “Man, THIS is Kyrgyzstan… Well we might as well give it a shot,” I thought. We starting pushing the car and we actually got it going pretty fast. Our feet kept sliding on the icy road as we pushed. Some relief came over me as we were picking up more and more speed along the road; passing stuck cars and stranded people sitting on the side of the roads. Pushing harder and harder we gained more momentum up the road. “Reminds me of wrestling practice back in the day!” I said. The others looked at me with a “whatever, Mike”-type look. We came around a large switchback and had to stop. Cars were piled up even more and this time huge Chinese semi tucks were jack-knifed in the snow blocking the way. The driver put the emergency brake on and got out of the car to take a look at the hood. He opened it and again the engine was overheating. Using empty water bottles we must have refilled them eight times down at the creek on the side of the road. My hand felt frozen solid as I dipped them in the stream to fill bottle after bottle. I was feeling pretty miserable and things looked bleaker than before. We sat in the cold here for a while when it started to pour snow. A blizzard was upon us. Road maintenance dudes in bright orange vests, shovels, and, yes, Kalpaks on their heads were making their way up the road shoveling dirt on the ground in front of car wheels for traction. The road guys shoveled us some dirt and we managed to get the vehicle moving again. This time Gene and the other Kyrgyz passenger were sitting on a Tushuk (a thick, comfortable, rectangular, Kyrgyz traditional carpet that you sit on the ground with for picnics and such) on the hood of the car. The purpose being (Certainly not sure if even helps) is that gives traction to the front wheel drive. We started pushing; slowly but surely at first but gradually picking up speed. As we pushed the driver maneuvered the vehicle around the jacked semi. We continued up the road weaving around stalled vehicles and passing others who were pushing their cars up as well. Snow continued to fall; stinging my face and making it hard to see in front of me. As I pushed I looked down through the rear glass window into the drunk and could see the goat just hanging out in its’ little potato sack. I was running and getting pretty warm. I wanted to take my jacket off and slide through the passenger window but we were going too fast now. I kept pushing alternating looking at the ground and at the sheep tied up through the trunk window. We were really moving now I knew in my heart that we were going to make it up this God-forsaken mountain. “I’m getting in the car,” yelled Nick. He was getting pretty out of breath. “Alright, I’m right behind ya,” I replied still pushing the car, getting pretty tired myself now. Nick slid in through the right side passenger door and I followed. Gene was still sitting pretty on the hood of the car getting her kicks watching us. I ran faster pushing towards the open door. “Almost home free,” I thought. Then the driver switched gears and the vehicle started to pick up more and more speed and slowly the car was distancing itself from me. My heart began to sink as it was well ten feet in front of me and gaining speed. The driver wouldn’t stop to let me in; his car would get stuck again. Before I knew it the car was a good football field in front me.

What do you do in your free time out there?

Free time is something that I do have a lot of out here. I only teach, maybe, 18 hours a week, not including English club and wrestling club. So I’ll have free time in between teaching classes, evenings at home in my room, and weekends in my village. So what do to do with all this free time? That’s a good question since I’m living in the middle of nowhere in a rural village of 800. There aren’t movie theatres, bars where I can grab a brew, Americans/people who speak English, or coffee shops. It may sound pretty boring but in fact there aren’t really that many dull moments if you keep yourself occupied. There is actually PLENTY that can be done. Probably what keeps me the most occupied is exercise. I go running every other day or so here. To my surprise the locals are pretty cool with me going on runs around here; just as long as I shake their hands and say hello as I pass by. One time a neighbor came up to me asking why I didn’t go running the other day. “Mike, it’s been two days since you last went running. What’s going on?” There are some awesome running trails out here and even better hills to climb with spectacular views. Many times I go out exploring I find something new; a new valley, a new stream, a new path around the river, a new sight, a better view. Saturday morning trail runs can easily turn into three to four hour treks. It would take four years of Peace Corps service to fully explore and see all the natural beauty this land has to offer. At the school yard there usually is a pick-up game of soccer or volleyball going down. I’ll hang out with my students and do pull-ups with them on the old Soviet style playground equipment. And of course there always is wrestling clubs on Friday and Saturday afternoons. As far as work goes there is always a lot of work that can be done. I’ll spend about an hour to two hours a night writing lesson plans for school. Every lesson requires a different lesson plan so I’ll make about 18 plans a week which is pretty time-consuming. There is also sometimes work around the house that I’ll help out with.. They don’t say why but I’m pretty sure they think I’m incapable of certain tasks like cooking. I’ll fill buckets of water from the well outside the house or help my host brother chop firewood. During times when I’m in my room there’s always books to be read. Oh man the books! There is actually an American resource center at Naryn State University in Naryn City that has all sorts of books that volunteers can borrow. I’m a VERY slow reader but since I’ve been here I’ve gone through three fairly large books. Honestly, I’m a horrible reader (Seriously, I sometimes wonder how I graduated college) but here I’ve got plenty of time to get good at it and read what I want. Some fellow volunteers have already burned through fifteen to twenty or more books. If there is ever a time to read a book that you wanted to read but didn’t for some reason, this would be it. If I’ve done enough reading there is always more language to study, episodes of Arrested Development to watch, or music to listen too. Music sharing among volunteers is big and there is quite a collection of CD’s at the American center in Naryn. In my village I’ll go walking and talk with locals. It’s great talking with the kids; they’ll correct my Kyrgyz when I say something wrong which is good for my language skillz. Or sometimes I’ll hang out with my little host sister on a weekend day and eat ???? (Gee-duh) berries from the trees out in plantation outside our house. I’ve taken up playing the ????? (Ko-moos). The Komuz is the Kyrgyz national instrument; small and guitar-like with three strings. I’ll attend the music club, taught by the math teacher, every Wednesday evening after my English club. I’ll be sitting there in my little chair learning the Komuz along with 20 other sixth and seventh form students. As basic as some of these songs we’re learning it is still a very difficult instrument to play. I’m actually starting to make some friends out here with locals my age. My neighbor ?????? (Chingiz) if he’s not working is usually down to hang out. We’ll drink Bozo and he’ll help me with my Kyrgyz and I’ll help him with his English. He said he’ll help me learn Russian if I teach him English. I’ll help him learn English but I don’t know about Russian. Russian is a whole new ball game. That would be like trying to learn Chinese.

How’s the language coming along? Is it a hard language to learn?

I would say the language is coming along; slowly. It’s a difficult language but not the hardest to learn. If you take the time to study when you have free time you’ll learn the language pretty well. Studying goes along way when you’re living in it all the time. The Kyrgyz language is a Turkic language, similar Uzbek, Kazakh, Turkmen, Azerbaijani, and of course Turkish. Kyrgyz is mainly spoken in Kyrgyzstan but is also spoken in Kazakhstan, parts of Uzbekistan, and parts of Uyghur province of North East China. Kyrgyz, especially in Naryn, is spoken very fast by locals. When I came down here in September on my site visit from PST and I could barely make out a word of Kyrgyz that was coming out these folks’ mouths. The language struggle is a challenge to pretty much all volunteers. I’ll get pretty frustrated when I can’t communicate the things I need. It can also be pretty frustrating for host-family members and co-teachers alike when they can’t fully communicate to me. Nonetheless, though, I’m working on it. I have a tutor (the school’s Kyrgyz teacher) that I see twice every week and I talk pretty often with locals. My Kyrgyz for sure has come a long way since I first got here, however, I still have a very long way to go. Kyrgyz, man, what a trip of a language to learn…

The car had whipped around a switchback and it was completely out of sight by now. Snow kept pouring down, biting my face but I had a fire in my eye; I was going to catch that car. I was breathing harder than I’ve ever in a long time and my legs were burning. I made it around the switchback, looked up, and saw that the car had slowed a bit because of traffic. Maybe 20 meters now the car is front of but this only motivated me more to catch that. I was on a mission! My lungs were burning by now; the elevation was starting to get the best of me. I kept going and the car was getting closer and closer. The road took a dip and I flew down that hill and got within 10 feet of the car. By now we were above the clouds and the blue sky was in sight. I was passing people walking up the road. Probably because their rides had taken off while they were pushing their car. They yelled at me in Russian thinking I was some crazy Russian tourist. “Orooscha beeilbeim,” I yelled back. “I don’t know Russian!” Gene looked back and saw me sprinting towards the car. “Hey it’s Mike!” I was gaining on it big time. My lungs and my legs were on fire now but I was too close to quit. The driver kept weaving side to side avoiding potholes and ice. Nick still had the right passenger door slight open. “Yo Nick! Open that!” I yelled. “Oh shit,” he yelled, and opened the door all the way. Then, with everything I had left, I came into a full sprint and pushed toward the taxi. I wasn’t even thinking about the pain in my legs, or the burning in my lungs. Forward I went! Full stride now closer and closer and finally I was at the door! Nick moved down a seat and I grabbed the roof of the car with my left hand and door with my right, jumped, slid into the moving vehicle, slammed the door and I was in! Yes! I sat back huffing, puffing, and what felt like coughing up blood. It felt great; like I was in an action movie. “Damn, Mike, I thought you were a goner.” The driver kept driving up and over the mountain to other side where there was no snow; just dry rocks and sunny skies. I don’t know what would have happened to me had I not caught up with that car. We pulled to the side of road at the bottom of the pass on the other side to fill the engine with water again. The picture posted is of me and Nick after that whole ordeal. It’s definitely a memory that I won’t forget.We made it to Bishkek in one piece after that. I met up with my PST host family and had dinner with them and caught them all up on life down in Naryn. The next day I met up with everyone else who came to Bishkek. We cruised the city and stuffed ourselves with burgers and pizza. I’ll tell you this kind of food has never tasted so good before in my life! Mind blowing. I had no idea it would feel that good to get out of the village life for a while. It was a real vacation. Just so you know, the ride back to Naryn wasn’t nearly as treacherous as the way up. The next time I go back to Bishkek will be in January for In Service Training. Mind you this was Dolon Pass in November; not even winter yet.

I’m coming up on five months here in country and what a ride it’s been. There have been ups and downs and only more of that is expected. I’d say the hardest part thus far is not getting what I want NOW. I know it sounds like I’m spoiled but that’s because, compared to the Kyrgyz, way of life, I am. In the States if I want something I’ll just drive to the grocery store, whether it’s winter or not, buy my eggs and oatmeal, and have it minutes after getting home. That, my friends, blows my mind. Here I must wait a couple weeks before I can get a ride to the bazaar and buy my vegetables (from a very limited selection), buckwheat, and whatnot. I’m going to have to continue eating bread for breakfast for a while, while I wait for the opportune time to get to the bazaar or to the city. Even something as simple as a bottle of water is hard to come by in these parts. I’ll wait for a month and a half for those blessings of packages full of peanut butter, protein powder, almonds, coffee, Yogi Tea, books, magazines, apparel such as wool socks, and dark chocolate. Food, cell phone service, internet, rides back to the village and even contact with friends and family etc… These are things that I’ve taken for granted because they were at my disposal exactly when I wanted them. I’m realizing that life without these things is hard. I’ll have something that’s been bugging me on my mind but no one really to communicate it to with. The same drunk guy will bug me and want to talk even though I can’t understand a word coming from his mouth. My cell phone will have cut out in middle of a conversation with my parents. I’ll be dying for an apple or even a cup of coffee but nothing of the sort around. During times of frustration, when I’m not getting what I want and when I want it, I feel it’s important to realize the things I do have. I’m not sick, at the moment, no classes to teach right now, it’s cold but the sun is out, I can go play volleyball with the boys at the school yard, I can read a book, I can go for a run, I can climb a hill or skip rocks down at the river, or I can listen to some Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers on my iPod. Thank God for Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers on my iPod. Alright, that is it for now. Later