Forrest Dunbar's blog

Looking back from my New Home

Well, I’ve been putting this off, but I guess it’s time to write one final post, and bookend my experience in the Peace Corps.

 

I am writing this in the library of the Harvard Kennedy School, where I have been studying for just over a month.  Before coming here, I spent a thoroughly-enjoyable three weeks back in Alaska, where I stayed in Fairbanks with my family for about ten days and also traveled down to Anchorage and Cordova to meet old friends.

 

I also met with Ethan Berkowitz, who is running to un-seat Don Young, and even did a day or two of volunteering for Obama.  Later, of course, McCain put Sarah Palin on the ticket and removed Alaska from contention, but while I was up there it looked like we had a shot to take the state for the first time since 1964.

 

It’s alright though; the Palin pick might go down as the “Hershel Walker” trade of political moves—McCain picked up Alaska, and brought home a few right-wing nuts, but in so doing he completely lost discerning independents.  Obama is up seven nationally, leads in all the key states, and has a 93% chance of victory, according to fivethirtyeight.com.  So in that respect I am happy.

 

I am writing this now mainly because my memories of the Peace Corps were jogged recently by events unfolding in Kazakhstan; namely, the departures of many of the Kaz-18’s.

Sarah, who figured prominently in my Peace Corps experience, just left her sight in Mamlutka (now someone else is the northernmost PCV in the world), and is traveling through China.  I wish her all the best.  I am sure she is having some strange thoughts and experiences right now; I know I did on the trip back home.

 

There is an RPCV group here at Harvard (with students from several of the graduate schools), which I am a part of.  It just started—previous attempts to get the club together have failed, apparently—and while I am not taking a leadership position at this date, I do hope to stay involved.  It’s funny: there are a couple of other RPCV’s from the Former Soviet Union, and we are all considerably less enthusiastic about our experience than the Africa Volunteers, who seem to have loved every minute they spent over there.  The FSU was a hard place to be, no doubt about it.  Even though we had more electricity and running water and internet, the people and societies are just so less welcoming and open, and the weather is pretty tough.  So the constant, grinding stress keeps our attrition rates among the highest in the PCV world.

 

While in Alaska I did some “Third Goal” work by giving a presentation to a couple of Miriam’s elementary school classes.  I think the presentations went pretty well, the kids asked great questions, and the thank you’s they wrote later were very touching.  However, the footage that was shot of the presentation wasn’t so good (the camera-woman never panned to the kids), so without a lot of work editing—which would take time I frankly don’t have at the moment—it won’t be able to go up on Youtube.  It’s alright though; an interesting piece of personal history, if nothing else.

 

One interesting thing being at the Kennedy School—a lot of people here are interested in international development.  We have MPP’s focused on it, MPA-ID’s (the ID stands for “International Development”) who deal with it exclusively, and even mid-Career students going from development work to Harvard and back to development work.  It’s interesting because… I’m just not that interested anymore.

The Peace Corps seems to have sapped my ability to care deeply about economic and social problems overseas.  Partly that might be due to the rising problems here in the US.  And part of it might just be the disillusioning nature of the Peace Corps experience; I feel that, at least in the country I worked in, a lot of the problems are caused by the government and the society.  They have the money, they have the opportunity to lift up their people and give them a liberal, democratic state with a high level of actual human development… and they haven’t.  And the people there seem pretty happy about it.  Of course, you can’t really blame the ordinary Kazakhstani; they are inculcated to believe their government and their god-head President can do no wrong.  But one would hope to see just a little more fight in the average Kazakh or Russian.  Is it possible they got the government they deserved?

 

Look at the recent war in Georgia, which broke out just as I left.  I guarantee you, guarantee, that the average Russian and Kazakh guy was ecstatic about the bombing, and completely supported Putin.  Anyone who lived in the Russian media market, as I did for the last two years, totally saw the invasion coming.  And breaking the Olympic peace too… Someday I am going to travel to Russia and literally dance on Putin’s grave.

Still, still, I refuse to completely give in to cynicism.  I expect that gradually my interest in foreign affairs and international development will return, as I internalize more of the lessons from my Peace Corps experience, and simultaneously get  a little more temporal distance from the most emotional (often negative) experiences.  I was an International Studies major after all and I still love to travel.  In fact, I am planning to go to Israel just this December.  Maybe South Africa in 2010, if I can afford it.

 

In the end, I am glad I did the Peace Corps.  Really, I am.  I might not have had the greatest, most happy-go-lucky experience.  I didn’t change the world or save anyone.  I didn’t get married, or use the Peace Corps as a springboard into a great career (if anything, it’s made my resume kind of muddled).  But if I hadn’t done it, I would have always wondered about it.  If I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have met some great people, both locals and PCV’s.  I’m proud to be an RPCV.  I’m proud to have served my country in some limited capacity, and maybe reached a kid or two.  And God, I’m happy to be back in America.

Д o встречи !

Дo встречи!

Homeward Bound

Hey all, I am back in Almaty.  Due to a bureaucratic screw up (or not screw up, according to one of the bureaucrats), I have to leave Kazakhstan earlier than expected.

 

It's ok, though-- I had three days in Petropavlovsk, and although it was rushed, I was able to see pretty much everyone.  I arrived here at 5:30 AM, and I've been running around trying to get all my paperwork done before I leave.  Right now all the staff are in a meeting, so I used the time to post the pictures from my trip to the UK (which Lyric was nice enough to pass along).  www.flickr.com/photos/forrest

 

I am getting on my plane at 1:35 AM tonight, flying through Frankfurt, then taking a direct Frankfurt-Fairbanks flight, the existence of which I find very puzzling.  So yeah, the next time I write for this blog, probably the last or second-to-last time, I should be in America.  Huzzah!

 

Дo встречи!

Successful Travels and Failed Cockfights

Ah, Kyrgyzstan.  Kazakhstan's smaller, poorer, moderately freer next-door neighbor.  What delights do your mountains hold?  What glorious views over your windswept lakes?  Who the hell are all those people on your many-hewed bills?

These are some of the questions Sven, Dusty, Dusty's Surly Kazakh Girlfriend (DSKG), Beth, and I attempted to answer in our quick tour of the Kyrgyz Republic.  Actually, as I write this Sven, Dusty, and Beth are still down there, probably almost to Osh by now.  I had to return to smog-filled Almaty early in order to begin teaching at the Professional Development Institute on Monday, accompanied by an extra-grumpy DSKG, who is going to a wedding or somesuch.

I only spent about five days in Kyrygzstan, but it felt quite a bit longer.  The marshrutka ride from Almaty to Bishkek was relatively painless, and the first night we not only found a nice, reasonably-priced hotel right next to the bus station, we also happened upon a late-night cafe that served (*gasp*) COLD BEER!  In FROSTED MUGS!  Hurrah!

The next day Sven, Beth, and I (Dusty and DSKG had yet to join us) made our way to the bazaar and the Kyrgyz Peace Corps Office.  We met several Bizzaro World versions of our staff, all of whom were very nice, and then made our way to Bizzaro World Bishkek Tsum, where we purchased some totally bitching Yuri Gagarin "Poyehali!" ("Let's go!") T-shirts for the princely sum of 500 Som.  I'm not kidding; 500 Som is equal to more than 1500 tenge.

That night we purchased and consumed an entire chicken, and then went out to Metro bar to meet Dusty.  Unfortunately, the young man we asked for directions pointed us towards the wrong Metro bar (actually called Retro-Metro), so we missed our rendezvous.  But, perhaps as a karmic payment for this, God rewarded us with a spectacle.  Several Kazakh...er, Kyrgyz... seriously they are basically the same, but don't tell that to the Kazakhs, they get upset... anyway, several Central Asian men were trying to have a cock fight.  They had four rather vicious looking roosters, replete with spurs on the legs, and were hurling them at each other in a big, grassy ring.  Only one problem: the chickens weren't fighting.  I don't know, maybe these were Buddhist Chickens, or maybe roosters just don't naturally maul one another, but for whatever reason they just could not be coaxed into having a bloodbath.  Finally, everybody just wandered off, and we went back to our beers.

The next morning we met Dusty and DSKG down at the bus station, and rented a taxi to Issyk-kul, Kyrgyzstan's largest lake, and one of the region's most beautiful.  We stayed in a village which name escapes me, in a guest house without running water, and everybody went swimming but me.  I just got my feet wet; it was overcast and I'd been swimming for two weeks at camp.

The next day we went to Karakol, one of the country's premier tourist locations.  We found our way to Yak Tours; as luck would have it a jeep was just leaving up into the mountains.  We caught it, and became acquainted with the other two Americans on board, handsome young fellows from Princeton by the names of Kent and Ross.  The ride up took about two hours over some very mountainous terrain, after which we dropped our stuff at the lodge and went for a hike.  Did I mention I have a sprained ankle?  Well, I do.  So the hike was not so great.

But what was great was the soak in the hot spring afterwards.  The naturally-hot and sulfurous water spills into several roofed pools of varying temperature.  On the first day our pool was not so hot-- we even dipped into the glacially-cold river to provide a sensation of contrast-- but on the second day our pool felt like a boiling lobster pot.  At any rate, with only one night in the mountains to share with the Princeton boys and our host Valentine, we decided to get nicely drunk.

Three bottles of Vodka later, the four PCV's were calmly chatting, the Russian was launching into a lengthy discussion about why he likes Americans, and Kent was trying to keep Ross from drowning in his own misery.  Some choice Ross-is-out-of-his-mind-drunk quotes:

-"Bring me a Space Blanket!"

-"Sven?  You're not Sven... you're... the other guy."

-"I'm so cold..."

-"(*sound of crying and whimpering*)"

-"F*ck Issyk-kul! Kyrgyzstan doesn't even have a Navy!"

-"(*sound of vomiting*)"

 

Kent did a admirable job keeping his friend alive through the night, and the next day Ross was surprisingly cheerful and healthy looking.  But it just goes to show: even recently-graduated college students cannot hang with Peace Corps Volunteers two years into their service.

 

The drive/hike down was eventful for two reasons.  Beth couldn't walk as fast as Sven and Dusty, and became furious when they left her behind.  And DSKG and I rode in a Soviet-military truck down with about 14 Russian tourists.  As our truck lurched forward the back door popped open, and I watched as my bag surreally swung out into space, suspended by a small strap caught on the door latch.  A woman screamed, a man pressed the intercom button to get the truck to stop, and I leapt over the baggage pile, reached out and grabbed my bag, in the process slamming the door closed.  That was an inauspicious start to what proved to be an extremely bumpy, often nerve racking crawl across cliffs and through cattle herds.  It wouldn't have been so bad if one particularly chunky and obnoxious Russian woman hadn't screamed every time the truck tilted.

Eventually we did make it back to civilization.  As I said, DSKG and I parted from the main group and came back to Kazakhstan early.  No problems with the border crossing, and now I have a whole day to prepare for the conference on Monday.  Let's see what nonsense I can pull out of the air.  Time to get back to work!

До свидания

 

Swing through Almaty

Ok, camp is done.  Everything went wonderfully, except that I messed up my ankle on the first night.  The kids were cool (most of them), and the other Americans I worked with-- a PCV named Matt and two African American girls named Crystal and Geneva-- were also good.  Hopefully there will be lots of pictures from various sources soon.  I didn't have a camera of my own, but plenty of photos were taken around me.  Just got to track them down.

I am stuck in Almaty for an extra day because Sven and Beth are having some visa issues.  Also, the bank messed up my new ATM card, so I had to get a cash advance from the Peace Corps.  I knew the bank would screw me somehow... and they did.

The weather here is gorgeous, if just a little too hot.  Coming into Almaty yesterday I immediately began to feel congested and nasty from the smoggy air.  Kyrgyzstan should be vastly different, being up in the mountains.

On the home front, it appears another small group of Harvard guys has set up an apartment which I can room in.  It's in Somerville, which is a bit farther from campus than I had hoped, but apparently a great area-- more down-to-earth than Cambridge (ie, more fast food chains)-- and close to the metro (or "the T" as I've heard them call it).

That's all for now.  I should leave Almaty tomorrow, be in Kyrgyzstan for four days, then return to Almaty to work at the Professional Development Institute.

 

До свидания

Back in the USSR

Ok, I am too tired and dirty and rushed to write a full post.  I have to get out to Taldy Korgan tomorrow and get to camp, where I will not have internet access.  So this will probably be the last post in a while. 

The UK was great.  Here's a run-down in quick, bullet-point fashion:

-London is surprisingly easy to get around.  With my friends I saw Regent's Park, Hyde Park, Green Park, the London Bridge, the Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, St. Paul's Basillica, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Trafalgar Square, and Buckingham Palace.  Also Oxford Street and Picadilly Circus.  All in two days!

-Oxford is old and academic.  Uh... good Thai restaraunt.  Nothing much more to add.  It was cool to see some old Truman buddies, of course.

-Liverpool was awesome.  The guys we stayed with were cool.  The Beatles museum could basically print it's own money it's so popular.  I also went to Anfield and bought a Liverpool FC hat.  Also went to the Cavern Club, "the most famous club in the world".

 

-Glasgow has beautiful parks and interesting museums.  And the university where the scientist Kelvin invented basically everything to do with electricity and heat.  We stayed with a couchsurfer named Harry who was druuuuunk.

 

-Stirling has an awesome castle and a big William Wallace memorial.  We ate a "Full Scottish" breakfast there, which included Black Pudding (made from pig's blood).  I ate Haggis in Glasgow as well.  Both dishes were ok, though I wouldn't go out of my way to eat them again.

 

-Edinburgh was spectacular.  We got a great free tour, and did some hiking.  Also the new Scottish Parliament (designed by a Spanish architect), is the exact opposite of all the new buildings in Kazakhstan: understated, subtle, airy, open, and totally unique.  Saw my friend Miles there as well; he is basically the perfect American.  Remember I told you about him when he's the governor of New Hampshire.  Also, in Edinburgh I bought a key chain with the Dunbar family crest and a swatch of our tartan.

 

-Everywhere I went I was accompanied (guided really) by Lyric Chen, my favorite Marshall Scholar.

 

-This is sticking in my mind because I just got back: while going through the metal detector at Heathrow the Kazakh guy in front of me had $23,000 in cash in his pockets.  Yeah, those are the kind of Kazakhs and Russians that fly back and forth from London.  Why wasn't his money in a bank?  Good question.  Anyway, the security guard took the guy to customs for a little chat.

 

All in all, the trip was wonderful.  I had forgotten how clean and nice everything is in the West.  I commented to Lyric that we traveled for more than a week, boarding a dozen buses and trains... and I never once got stopped and asked to show my passport!  I forgot that that kind of bullshit isn't normal in the real world.  Anyway, now I am back here in the Former Soviet Union.  The weather is nice, and I don't think I'll have too much trouble riding out the last two months.

 

Finally, for those of you who donated to my PCPP grant last year, you will be receiving your money back.  After being delayed by PC Washington, screwed by the Akimat in Petropavlovsk, and denied by every supposed "charity", "church", and "mosque" we went begging to, my soup kitchen project has at last died.  Losha is closing PHP, the grant's partner NGO.  Que Cera, Cera.

 

"Cheers" (that's how you say goodbye in British).

Return to Lake Pyotre

Here is the link to the new video, which Mike just put up.  We made this a while ago, before Phil broke his collarbone, obviously:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyPR6Oaxm0U#GU5U2spHI_4

If for some reason the link doesn't work, just go to Youtube and look up "Return to Lake Pyotre".

Little Blue Booties

Today Doctor Victor set up a dentist appointment for me at "Smile" down the street.  From the road it looks like any other business here: a tacky facade set in the crumbling structure of a Soviet-era apartment building.

I went inside and met Oksana, as Victor instructed, and was given a pair of disposable blue booties to put over my shoes.  This was not a good sign; it reminded me of the superstitious doctors of Almaty freaking out about people's jackets.

However, once I actually got into the dentist's room, I was greeted by gleaming, modern machinery.  The friendly, professional dentist used exactly the same tools you would expect in an American office.  And while the price tag (4400 tg) was probably expensive by Kazakhstani standards, for an American like me it seemed downright cheap.

The results have held up well-- my front teeth look about the same as they did.   But when I walked out of the dentist's I forgot to take off the little blue booties, and got some funny looks as a result.  Still, I am very cheerful today as a result of my new tooth.

Broken Bodies

First the good news: it appears I will not be sent home before August, as I had feared.  My administrators never bothered to resolve the issue—or at least they never told me if they did—so I have just continued on as if I was staying.  The financial office paid me my June living allowance, so now it would be silly to send me home prematurely.  I have a suspicion that this came about because the woman who was out for my blood—Karen Ramsey—went on vacation in Europe, and only saw the country director in the airport as he was arriving from DC.  My regional manager is also treating me as if I am staying, so I can feel a little more confident about my schedule.

 

For now, this is my summer itinerary:

 

I am doing various odd jobs here, including moving our PHP books into the public library, until the 12^th of June.

 

On the night of the 12^th, I am taking a train to Almaty.  Then on the 14^th I am flying to London, where I will stay for two nights with friends from my Waseda exchange.  After London I am meeting some more friends, these from the Truman Scholarship, who study at Oxford and traveling (hopefully) from Oxford to Liverpool, Glasgow, and Edinburgh.

 

After the UK I am returning to Kazakhstan to work at a summer camp—Camp Boomerang—near Taldy Korgan.  It is supposed to be one of the best camps in Kazakhstan, with a very “campie” feel.

 

On July 13^th my session at the camp ends, and I am hoping to meet Sven Stafford and Beth (another northern volunteer), and take a brief trip through Kyrgyzstan.  I already have the visa, and Almaty is quite close, so I think this is feasible.  I wanted to go to Tajikistan too, and they both probably will, but I cannot because I signed up for:

 

Professional Development Institute, a teacher training program, where I will work from July 21^st to 26^th.  It is in Almaty, along with:

 

My Close of Service Conference, which takes place from July 27^th to the 30^th.  We might have a brief Vesti conference the day after COS, so that Sven and I can hand over editorship to a couple of Kaz 19’s.

 

Finally, I will return to Petropavlovsk in early August, get my ducks in a row, teach a few more classes to the more intrepid 8^th and 9^th formers, and then head back to Almaty and out of the country.  I am hoping to leave on August 22^nd, though recent events have made me question where exactly in the US I will be returning to.

 

Ok, so that’s my summer.  And that concludes the “good news.”  Ah, one more thing; we made another short video last week.  However, Mike (who has free internet at home) never  bothered posting it.  I'll put up a link when that eventually happens. 

 

The bad news: a few days ago Phil was playing football when a big Russian guy plowed into him and broke his collar bone.  He flew to Almaty yesterday, and will know whether or not he goes under the knife today.  They only had ibuprofen to give him, so he was in pretty bad pain before he left.  A broken bone definitely throws a wrench into his summer plans.

 

A little less catastrophic was my injury yesterday.  I was playing basketball out in Bishkul (a suburb of Petropavlovsk), when another Russian guy jumped into me with his shoulder down and broke my left front tooth.  He’s a good guy and didn’t mean to cause any damage, so I wasn’t really angry with him.  I was just pissed at the world in general (and God in particular) for giving me this ridiculous chipped tooth so soon before I am set to travel.  Doctor Victor said that they can fix this kind of thing here, and I intend to visit the dentist tomorrow to have a consultation.

 

If they fill it with the white ceramic material, like they did my right one, I will have two inconspicuous false caps on both my front teeth.  But as you can imagine (particularly if you have seen all the gold teeth around here), that kind of subtle dental work is not what this country is known for.

 

До свидания

 

PS Phil Update: right before I posted this I got a text message.  Phil will not have surgery; they’re opting for a brace that holds his bone ends together.  He expects to be down in Almaty for quite a while.

Gearing up for Summer

Well, my back is feeling better, so that has cheered me up considerably.  My lyceum and most of the country’s secondary schools’, “Last Bell” is May 26th, which teachers everywhere look forward to like Christmas morning.  My college goes into testing a few days later.  Also, the weather has finally, and one hopes irrevocably, warmed.  Last night I went out to Pyatachok—local PCVs’ favorite bar—in just a T-shirt (two volunteers from out of town were here; that was the occasion.  I’m not such an alcoholic that I feel compelled to drink on a Thursday).

The big story in my life right now is an ongoing conflict with one of my administrators in Almaty.  Basically, the second-in-command of PC Kazakhstan, having learned that I was accepted to grad school and intended to leave at the end of August, has taken it upon herself to have me drummed out at the beginning of June (thus saving the Peace Corps… oh, about $1500 over 3 months.  Though they’ll probably lose quite a bit of that having to buy my plane tickets on much shorter notice).  Nothing is certain at this stage though; the Country Director is still in DC, he’s been gone for about three weeks, and returns on the 21st.  He’s the only one that can make the call.

I have changed my summer plans so that I am working more (allowing a huge number of vacation days I accrued over the last two years to vanish into nothingness), in an attempt to prove my worth.  If I stay, there should be a pleasant summer-is-here post on my blog in a couple of weeks.  If I am forced out, I promise a tirade.

Last week was “Victory Day” here in Kazakhstan, a topic I wrote about last year.  This year the celebration seemed a little less nationalistic and in-your-face, though it might just be that I have grown number to that kind of thing.  It was still just as historically-revisionist, with a pure-as-undriven-snow Soviet Union single-handedly saving the world from the fascist threat (no mention of the non-aggression pact with Hitler, the invasion of Poland, the crushing of Finland, etc. nor the role of any of the other Allies).

Russia marked the day with its first missiles-brandished-down-Red-Square parade of the post-Soviet period, replete with breathless news coverage beginning a full three days before the event (all the tanks and soldiers had to practice, and the Kremlin made sure everyone knew what a wondrous display of courage and power was occurring.  Because RUSSIA IS BACK, you see).  Somehow the fact that Medvedev and Putin are 5’4’’ and 5’7’’ respectively makes the whole thing seem a wee less fierce.  I cannot wait for the first joint Obama-Putin press conference, with our lanky Obomber looming a full head over the pugilistic little neo-fascist.

The week before Victory Day (I’m moving backwards in my thoughts this post), Phil, Mike, and I took a bus south to Yavlenka—a village about 70 kilometers away, and home to Tim Suschland, another Kaz 19.  There we met Tim’s charming host family, who laid out a sumptuous feast for us.  We also went to the public banya with his host brother, the first time I have gotten naked in a semi-public place since Ecik during PST.  Afterward there was a party in the center of the town, but by that point we were all so wiped out by the beer, banya, and beshparmak, we told the host brother to go on without us.  I slept like the dead.

Back in the present, it seems everyone is traveling these days.  Yesterday, my friend Sven emailed me from a wireless connection in Istanbul.  The two volunteers who visited us yesterday had been touring therir way north for twenty days.  And the first week of June, Mike is joining a group headed to Kyrgyzstan.  Yet, for some reason, Karen Ramsey (that’s the administrator out for my blood) thinks I am a particular drain on the finances of the Peace Corps.  Keeping me around for the summer vacation after I just worked a full school year might not “make sense”.  Well, we’ll see.  However it turns out, I think the teachers and students at my school will have fond memories of me, and I of them.  And that’s what’s important.

До свидания

A Belt Made of Camel

I have always been fascinated by chains of causality—how small events can have unintended consequences, both large and small.  The example I always use is how I wouldn’t have learned Japanese, or majored in international relations, if my best friend’s mother hadn’t been a Quaker.  To wit: Zach (my friend) had a Quaker mother from a wealthy East Coast family; she sent him off to an expensive Quaker boarding school near Philadelphia; lonely and bored in my hometown, I wanted to follow after him; my mother said we could not afford it (at the time no one had explained to me the idea of scholarships), and suggested I do a foreign exchange instead; I chose Japan almost at random, and for better or worse it altered the course of my life.

I am thinking about this today as I sit at my computer, having taken the day off of work, with a chemical heat pad on my lower back and a support belt made of camel around my abdomen.

You see, a few months ago Phil, Mike, and I were walking down Mira, one of the main boulevards in Petro.  As we passed the new mosque, a young Kazakh man and his pretty Russian girlfriend stopped us.  He explained that his name was Cerik (hers was Nastia); he had been good friends with Scott Burns, my predecessor at the Humanitarian College, and he would love to get together sometime and talk with Americans.

As it happens, Cerik is an avid fan of basketball.  He even has an American-made ‘Sonics jersey, bought during a summer he worked on the docks in Seattle.  Two weeks ago Cerik invited me out to play basketball in Bishkul (“Five Lakes” in Kazakh), a suburb of Petropavlovsk, and their old hometown.

On Tuesday I took Cerik up on his offer, and had a blast playing competitive basketball with a gym full of middle-aged Russians and Kazakhs (and a few young men to boot).  They play every Tuesday and Thursday, and it was so much fun I decided to go back for that week’s second round as well.

Coincidentally, the Peace Corps’ new doctor, Nadejda Ivanovna paid a visit to Petropavlovsk the week before.  When she asked me if I had any pressing medical problems I said no, though I did mention my lingering back pain.  Eager to help, she took me to the nearby hospital and scheduled ten massage sessions, then purchased warming gel and a few instant heat pads for my back and side (which has yet to heal completely).  This proved fortuitous, considering the events of last night.

Once more, Cerik picked me up in his steering-wheel-on-the-wrong-side used Toyota; we got Nastia and her friend Asel and cruised out to Bishkul.  The first two games went well, and we were well on our way to winning the third, when suddenly my back gave out.  I do not know what happened exactly; I believe one of our players had rebounded and out-letted the ball.  But rather than hitting our man for an easy layup, he threw the pass into the arms of a defender.  I was not particularly close to any of this, but I saw the interception; as I quickly tried to reverse direction a horrendous explosion of pain coursed through my lower back.

I tried to keep going for a play or two, but eventually called my own number and sat down.  We needed only one more basket to win the game, and when it came everyone headed home.  A few guys, especially Cerik, expressed concern about my injury, and recommended I lay down, which I did.  I had difficulty changing, not being able to bend over, but eventually struggled into clean clothes, at which point Cerik and I drove to Nastia’s parents’ house so he could say hello (they are all from Bishkul, and incidentally he is very close to her family, as his own parents passed away four years ago).

Nastia’s father had played ball with us, and knew that something was wrong with my back.  He insisted that we come in for tea (everyone always does), and then suggested a treatment for my back.  He had been a wrestler in his youth, a “sportsman”, as the Russians say, and proposed giving me a massage.  First I washed off in their banya, and then I laid face down on the bed, where Nasti’s father rubbed a substance quite like IcyHot into my back.

I have to say, it made me feel quite a bit better.  After the rub down, he brought out a brown, elastic heating/support belt that I slid on.  The tea was still being prepared, so he and Cerik went into the kitchen while I laid there, covered in a bathrobe for additional warmth.  Here is the message text I sent to Sarah as I waited:

“I threw out my back terribly playin bbal in bishkul, and am currently lying half naked face down and alone in cerik’s girlfriend’s house after her dad rubbed menthol stuff on my back gave me a massage and a belt made of camel.”

Note the poor punctuation and grammar. Genuine SMS.  Anyway, I had learned the Russian word for camel—“Verblut”—while in Turkistan, and decided it was my favorite word in the language.  I was thrilled to be wearing something made of camel.

The treatment made rising from the bed easier than expected, and I joined Cerik and the father in the kitchen.  As we drank and snacked on dried fruit and candies, Nastia’s dad (you’ll notice that I never learned his name) asked me if I enjoyed hunting and/or fishing.  I told him my quick nitty-gritty story from Alaska; how I didn’t particularly enjoy hunting myself, but respected those who did, and how my dad used to get caribou to help feed us through the winter.  And how I had worked as a fisherman, so I didn’t really enjoy that either as it felt like work to me, not play.  At which point I asked him if he owned any guns.

Dad’s face lit up.  I had asked the right question.  “Wait here”, he said, and sprung out of the room.

“He is actually crazy about guns and hunting,” Cerik explained.  “He and my dad used to get up at five in the morning and go shooting before work even started.”

Dad reappeared, holding a dull hunting knife and a12-gauge shotgun.  The fact that I knew enough to ask, “is this a 20 or a 12?” pleased him greatly.  I did not yet know that “gauge” was “Kaliber” in Russian, but he let that slide.  Soon he brought in a long-barrel Turkish rifle, and then a Kalashnikov 72 for my inspection.  I asked if it was legal, and he said he had a special license for it, and then asked me to follow him into another room, where he showed me a beautifully-stuffed hawk and martin he had shot and brought to the taxidermist.

Finally, it was time to leave, and the Dad walked us out, exchanging pleasantries.  On the ride home I marveled at how friendly he had been, considering we had only met each other twice.

Now, this whole episode is interesting on its own, but I think it is even more informative when placed in the wider cultural context.  Just that day, while walking home from the bazaar with my groceries, I had been thinking about how tense and unpleasant everyone is on the street here.  When Meghan’s parents came this winter they commented on the same thing; everyone is frowning and glowering, and often quite impolite.  In a way, it reminds me of the harder neighborhoods in DC I would visit occasionally, usually on some Alpha Phi Omega project.  Or some of the parties I went to my first summer in Fairbanks, where a perceived slight could very quickly degenerate into violence.  In situations like these people (especially young men) always have their “game faces” on—as if they want to preempt a conflict by indicating to the people around them, “you don’t want to mess with me”.

And yet, for all the callousness towards strangers, Russians (and I am just going to generalize about Russians here, since I have spent so much more time living and interacting with them than with Kazakhs) are some of the nicest people I have ever met once you get inside their homes.  I believe the concept of “insider” and “outsider” groups here is much stronger than in the US.  Which is both one of the reason’s my Russian host mother’s firm, which employs about 30 people, has only one or two Kazakhs in the whole bunch, and why Nastia’s father, concluding that I was connected to them through Cerik, went so above and beyond in helping me last night.  This is all quite ironic, considering the universalist rhetoric of the Soviet Union.

My hour and a half at Nastia’s house was a pleasant reminder that there are many good people here.  Sometimes that can get drowned out by the anti-Americanism on the TV, the strutting, preening, corrupt bureaucrats, or the random encounters with drunks, criminals, and people looking to pick a fight with someone speaking English.  There are good people here too bad they have so little influence on their own society.

This morning my back was absolutely killing me.  The massage at the hospital didn’t seem to help much (Nastia’s dad was much better at it), but the instant heating patch Nadejada Ivanovna bought seems to be helping.  I think that’s enough for today; I am going to go lay down and read.

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