My birthday...Woot Woot
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Build A Little Birdhouse in Your Soul
Written September 10
I’ve found that it’s much easier to get through time here, if it’s broken up in to chunks with little victories and treats to look foreword to. For example, this month will end with my parent’s visit! After that, the next major event on the horizon will be thanksgiving.
It may seem early to be considering Thanksgiving, but being here invariable means that things take three to four times as long as they would otherwise. But, planning ahead will ensure we can gather all of our fixings and celebrate to the fullest. It does require a lot of arranging. People are begging for their favorite goodies, and don’t worry, I’ll be joining their ranks by the end of this e-mail. There aren’t cranberries here, nor sage for stuffing. One volunteer is dead seat on bacon bits and mini marshmallows for green bean casserole and sweet potatoes respectively. Then there is the Turkey; it simply wouldn’t be thanksgiving without it.
After much deliberation and debate, we decided to raise our own. Actually, we aren’t raising them, She is. (Peace Corps has this thing about using names of people without permission; she probably would say yes, but I haven’t ask. This is my cover my bases in a litigious society.) She lives in a tiny village—the oba of the obas, and she decided that the only way we could get a turkey that had been fed more than watermelon rinds was to feed them herself. So, she went to the bazaar and spent about 5 dollars on two chicks. We hope they will fatten up in the next few months.
She also made this interactive, by leaving messages and photos of the chicks in our mailbox. We have questions to answer and points to ponder. For example, right now their names are either Bill and Ted or Pepe and Juanita. My vote is for Bill and Ted because they are both boys. Apparently boy turkeys are more delicious than the girls. I would have assumed the reverse, but you learn new things every day. We are also encouraged to submit diets. So far, the best has been to force feed them onions and garlic so as to imbue them with flavor even before they get close to the oven. I wonder if that would work? At the moment, though they have corn and wheat germ.
We already have the executioner lined up. He killed some birds last year, so he has the experience. I am just so thrilled at how we will create an all American holiday in the midst of what is decidedly not America. There will be more updates on the Turkeys from time to time, so keep reading. Stay tuned for such riveting information as color, age, weight, and perhaps even photos if I can steal them from her!
Now for the begging part…you knew it was coming and read on anyway! If anyone wants to contribute to operation thanksgiving we would appreciate any or all of the following.
All Spice (a jar)
Bacon Bits (2-3 packages)
Those thin fried onion things (2-3 packages)
Canned green beans (2-3 cans)
Cranberry sauce (jellied and with fruit)
Pie pans (2)
A meat thermometer (one—I’d rather not get salmonella)
Mini marshmallows (one package)
Brown Sugar (2 packages)
Sage
Packaged gravy mix for next day sandwiches (3-4)
Muffin Pan (1)
If you send something, please make a note of it in the comments section and the amount sent. I will appreciate everything that comes, but I have a fear of endless cranberry sauce. Please read the comments before sending.
I’ve found that it’s much easier to get through time here, if it’s broken up in to chunks with little victories and treats to look foreword to. For example, this month will end with my parent’s visit! After that, the next major event on the horizon will be thanksgiving.
It may seem early to be considering Thanksgiving, but being here invariable means that things take three to four times as long as they would otherwise. But, planning ahead will ensure we can gather all of our fixings and celebrate to the fullest. It does require a lot of arranging. People are begging for their favorite goodies, and don’t worry, I’ll be joining their ranks by the end of this e-mail. There aren’t cranberries here, nor sage for stuffing. One volunteer is dead seat on bacon bits and mini marshmallows for green bean casserole and sweet potatoes respectively. Then there is the Turkey; it simply wouldn’t be thanksgiving without it.
After much deliberation and debate, we decided to raise our own. Actually, we aren’t raising them, She is. (Peace Corps has this thing about using names of people without permission; she probably would say yes, but I haven’t ask. This is my cover my bases in a litigious society.) She lives in a tiny village—the oba of the obas, and she decided that the only way we could get a turkey that had been fed more than watermelon rinds was to feed them herself. So, she went to the bazaar and spent about 5 dollars on two chicks. We hope they will fatten up in the next few months.
She also made this interactive, by leaving messages and photos of the chicks in our mailbox. We have questions to answer and points to ponder. For example, right now their names are either Bill and Ted or Pepe and Juanita. My vote is for Bill and Ted because they are both boys. Apparently boy turkeys are more delicious than the girls. I would have assumed the reverse, but you learn new things every day. We are also encouraged to submit diets. So far, the best has been to force feed them onions and garlic so as to imbue them with flavor even before they get close to the oven. I wonder if that would work? At the moment, though they have corn and wheat germ.
We already have the executioner lined up. He killed some birds last year, so he has the experience. I am just so thrilled at how we will create an all American holiday in the midst of what is decidedly not America. There will be more updates on the Turkeys from time to time, so keep reading. Stay tuned for such riveting information as color, age, weight, and perhaps even photos if I can steal them from her!
Now for the begging part…you knew it was coming and read on anyway! If anyone wants to contribute to operation thanksgiving we would appreciate any or all of the following.
All Spice (a jar)
Bacon Bits (2-3 packages)
Those thin fried onion things (2-3 packages)
Canned green beans (2-3 cans)
Cranberry sauce (jellied and with fruit)
Pie pans (2)
A meat thermometer (one—I’d rather not get salmonella)
Mini marshmallows (one package)
Brown Sugar (2 packages)
Sage
Packaged gravy mix for next day sandwiches (3-4)
Muffin Pan (1)
If you send something, please make a note of it in the comments section and the amount sent. I will appreciate everything that comes, but I have a fear of endless cranberry sauce. Please read the comments before sending.
Keep It Light Enough To Travel
Written September 3, 2008
This is my dreadfully (In)exhaustive Packing List. I tried really hard to remember what I like/wanted/hoped for in training, but it does seem pretty far away from where I am no. Pretty much, you should only be packing for the first three months. Once you’re here and know you sites, you can get a better feel for what you will need.
Slip on-shoes: a dressy pair for work and croc-like shoes to make banya/outhouse runs.
Rechargeable batteries: they have weird AA batteries from China that aren’t the same size as American ones
Spices: Turkmen food is on the bland side
Computer and flash drive: saves time and electricity is pretty reliable
Favorite books, movies, and TV shows: mostly I want to borrow them from you, and sometimes you just need stuff in English
An album of family photos: practice saying talking about the photos using the Turkmen CD “Bu meng ejem” etc.
Camera: there will definitely be some memories you want to last a lifetime.
Good crayons and markers: you will come to hate crap office supplies from China
Gifts for 2 host families: be generous in your estimate of how many people are in a family. We don’t do it nuclear here.
Long underwear: I doubt you will suffer through the coldest winter since 1969, but it’s still good to have something under your koyneks.
A good sleeping bag: ditto on the winter, but you will crash on floors, trains, and my sleeping bag is the best thing I brought to this country.
Clothes: don’t overly stress about what to bring; be sort of conservative. Mostly, I recommend bringing stuff that’s durable. You will be hand washing and wearing and tearing. For training (girls) two or three below the knee skirts and some shirts will keep you in good stead. But if you have a pair of red shoes or a little black dress that you can’t live without, bring it. At any rate you can wear them in Ashgabat.
This is my dreadfully (In)exhaustive Packing List. I tried really hard to remember what I like/wanted/hoped for in training, but it does seem pretty far away from where I am no. Pretty much, you should only be packing for the first three months. Once you’re here and know you sites, you can get a better feel for what you will need.
Slip on-shoes: a dressy pair for work and croc-like shoes to make banya/outhouse runs.
Rechargeable batteries: they have weird AA batteries from China that aren’t the same size as American ones
Spices: Turkmen food is on the bland side
Computer and flash drive: saves time and electricity is pretty reliable
Favorite books, movies, and TV shows: mostly I want to borrow them from you, and sometimes you just need stuff in English
An album of family photos: practice saying talking about the photos using the Turkmen CD “Bu meng ejem” etc.
Camera: there will definitely be some memories you want to last a lifetime.
Good crayons and markers: you will come to hate crap office supplies from China
Gifts for 2 host families: be generous in your estimate of how many people are in a family. We don’t do it nuclear here.
Long underwear: I doubt you will suffer through the coldest winter since 1969, but it’s still good to have something under your koyneks.
A good sleeping bag: ditto on the winter, but you will crash on floors, trains, and my sleeping bag is the best thing I brought to this country.
Clothes: don’t overly stress about what to bring; be sort of conservative. Mostly, I recommend bringing stuff that’s durable. You will be hand washing and wearing and tearing. For training (girls) two or three below the knee skirts and some shirts will keep you in good stead. But if you have a pair of red shoes or a little black dress that you can’t live without, bring it. At any rate you can wear them in Ashgabat.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Wasting My Time in The Waiting Line Written August 1, 2008
The Aero Kassa or Howa Yollary brings the strongest volunteer to their knees. A trip to there creates that sick ball of dread that lodges uncomfortably under the diaphragm. It is a miraculous combination of every bureaucratic inefficiency, unnecessary obstacle, and waste of time. It is also the only (affordable) way out of the country.
The Aero kassa is the ticketing office for Turkmen Air. Turkmen Air is heavily subsidized, particularly internationally. For $500 or fewer volunteers—who pay local prices—have their choice of destinations: China, India, Thailand, England, UAE, Turkey, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and even Mecca during the Hajj. The last one is not, of course, for infidels. We rationalize that the Aero Kassa is a necessary evil; it is the purgatory before paradise. Its only saving grace is the air conditioning.
I had my first experience there today. I bought my ticket to Turkey! I’m really going on vacation! And, while I’m delighted and excited now, the actual purchase was an ordeal. It began with the disruption of my master plan. The Aero kassa is first come, first serve, so I hoped to get there as the doors opened at 9. Unfortunately, my director needed to sign something for my grant. I told him I would meet him at 8 at the clinic. He rolled in at 10. This put a monkey wrench in my timing. I didn’t make it to the kassa until about ten past eleven. I was somewhere between 13 and 15 in line.
Like many developing nations—and even some developed ones—Turkmenistan has never fully grasped the queue. The ‘line’ in front of the international window was a jumbled mass of dyzas, students, Russians, and people planning to work abroad. Everyone is carrying large bags of money because you pay for the tickets, between 3 to 6 million manat, in cash. People are jostling, arguing, kidney punching, cutting, and describing—forcefully—where they belong in line. People wander in and out of line as the mood strikes, content that they will be able to return to their spot, behind the boy in the white shirt.
The line moves incredibly slowly. The tickets are written out by hand, each page stamped individually, and passport copied in triplicate. I stood, uncomfortably, for 2 hours, and that’s way below the record. I was afraid to get out of line because my queuing without a queue skills are sadly lacking. I met some nice people who yelled as people tried to cut in front of me.
I was handling it well, I thought. I wisely brought my iPod and even made a soothing and relaxing play list for the occasion. I brought a big book of Sudoku. I didn’t fidget overmuch, and I made every effort to be civil and courteous. When it was almost my turn at the window, only one man ahead of me, a dyza pushed her way to the front. She insisted that she had been here at 9; the boys she was behind, she said, had obviously left. She further explained that she had been waiting for three days for her ticket; broken computers thwarted her earlier attempts.
The line rallied around me, explaining that I had been there for two hours, that I was the nice visitor from America that I knew Turkmen, and that no one believed her story. The woman behind the window was annoyed and fed up with the disruption. I’m sure she was also a bit catty because it was almost lunchtime. The dyza sensed her cause was not being well received, so she moved to the next window…the manager’s window.
She began gesticulating and crying. She was sick! He son was a brilliant student in Turkey! She had been to the hospital, which was why she had left her place in line! The man counting the money recognized her! Her mascara smeared and ran down her cheeks in crocodile tear tracks. Low and behold, right as I’m placing my passport in the window, the manager demands that the dyza be helped first. Those were the 15 minutes when I was sure I was going to lose it. To be so close to victory and have to wait was brutal. I wanted to cry, even felt by eyes burn in frustration, but I kept it together.
I got my ticket at 1:45 and booked it to the café where I was meeting friends for lunch. I had intelligently called one of them and asked them to order food in advance. I stopped to get a coke because I needed a pick me up. I walked slowly, trying to release the tension in my lower back and balls of my feet and forget the whole experience. Despite the anger, bitterness, and frustration, I told myself, I had the power to leave. Just when I was making peace with the situation, I opened the door to the café and the first person I saw was that dyza. IRKSOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Aero kassa is the ticketing office for Turkmen Air. Turkmen Air is heavily subsidized, particularly internationally. For $500 or fewer volunteers—who pay local prices—have their choice of destinations: China, India, Thailand, England, UAE, Turkey, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and even Mecca during the Hajj. The last one is not, of course, for infidels. We rationalize that the Aero Kassa is a necessary evil; it is the purgatory before paradise. Its only saving grace is the air conditioning.
I had my first experience there today. I bought my ticket to Turkey! I’m really going on vacation! And, while I’m delighted and excited now, the actual purchase was an ordeal. It began with the disruption of my master plan. The Aero kassa is first come, first serve, so I hoped to get there as the doors opened at 9. Unfortunately, my director needed to sign something for my grant. I told him I would meet him at 8 at the clinic. He rolled in at 10. This put a monkey wrench in my timing. I didn’t make it to the kassa until about ten past eleven. I was somewhere between 13 and 15 in line.
Like many developing nations—and even some developed ones—Turkmenistan has never fully grasped the queue. The ‘line’ in front of the international window was a jumbled mass of dyzas, students, Russians, and people planning to work abroad. Everyone is carrying large bags of money because you pay for the tickets, between 3 to 6 million manat, in cash. People are jostling, arguing, kidney punching, cutting, and describing—forcefully—where they belong in line. People wander in and out of line as the mood strikes, content that they will be able to return to their spot, behind the boy in the white shirt.
The line moves incredibly slowly. The tickets are written out by hand, each page stamped individually, and passport copied in triplicate. I stood, uncomfortably, for 2 hours, and that’s way below the record. I was afraid to get out of line because my queuing without a queue skills are sadly lacking. I met some nice people who yelled as people tried to cut in front of me.
I was handling it well, I thought. I wisely brought my iPod and even made a soothing and relaxing play list for the occasion. I brought a big book of Sudoku. I didn’t fidget overmuch, and I made every effort to be civil and courteous. When it was almost my turn at the window, only one man ahead of me, a dyza pushed her way to the front. She insisted that she had been here at 9; the boys she was behind, she said, had obviously left. She further explained that she had been waiting for three days for her ticket; broken computers thwarted her earlier attempts.
The line rallied around me, explaining that I had been there for two hours, that I was the nice visitor from America that I knew Turkmen, and that no one believed her story. The woman behind the window was annoyed and fed up with the disruption. I’m sure she was also a bit catty because it was almost lunchtime. The dyza sensed her cause was not being well received, so she moved to the next window…the manager’s window.
She began gesticulating and crying. She was sick! He son was a brilliant student in Turkey! She had been to the hospital, which was why she had left her place in line! The man counting the money recognized her! Her mascara smeared and ran down her cheeks in crocodile tear tracks. Low and behold, right as I’m placing my passport in the window, the manager demands that the dyza be helped first. Those were the 15 minutes when I was sure I was going to lose it. To be so close to victory and have to wait was brutal. I wanted to cry, even felt by eyes burn in frustration, but I kept it together.
I got my ticket at 1:45 and booked it to the café where I was meeting friends for lunch. I had intelligently called one of them and asked them to order food in advance. I stopped to get a coke because I needed a pick me up. I walked slowly, trying to release the tension in my lower back and balls of my feet and forget the whole experience. Despite the anger, bitterness, and frustration, I told myself, I had the power to leave. Just when I was making peace with the situation, I opened the door to the café and the first person I saw was that dyza. IRKSOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Away We’ll Go Sailing in a Race Among the Ruins Written June 24, 2008
There is a rich and varied history in Turkmenistan. Going backwards, there has been the invasion of Afghanistan—launched from my very own sweet Mary. There was the valiant stand at Gokdepe, where the Russian forces finally brought the Turkmen tribes of the desert to heel. There were the countless acts of banditry and violence that kept the Russians out until the last stand of Gokdepe. There were the Silk Roads and the pashas, shahs, and merchants that commerce brings. This was the age of the later versions of Merv and the Sultan Sanjar. Earlier still was the conquering by Alexander the Great. He, too, built at Merv back when the Ama Daryia flowed to the Caspian. Before this still, when the Sumerians were experimenting with cuneiform, there was Gonor Depe.
Gonor Depe is the ruin of a city that is 5,000 years old. There are mysterious allusions to it in less ancient history text, but it remained unknown until 1979. I went with another volunteer and some of his English students. It was carefree and careless, but incredible. It is an ongoing excavation, and the ground is littered with pottery shards and metal tools. They—an amorphous collection of scholars—believe that Gonor Depe is a civilization rather than a settlement, and I’m inclined to agree.
The king’s palace had indoor plumbing. They have uncovered a series of ceramic pipes that run through the palace. There was also advanced metalworking, both for tools and for pleasure. We were taken around by an excavator, who proudly showed us both ax heads and hairpins. They also had massive pottery kilns capable of great heat. They had copper based glazes, whose remains are still caked in the inside of the kiln. The pots they made where everywhere, and stunning. They also had an advanced and possibly monotheistic religion. They—again amorphous scholars—see links between the religion practiced in Gonor Depe and Zoroastrians. The role of fire—eternal and sacred flames—was prominent. Water was also sacred. They had an advanced filter system to purify water to be used in religious rituals. Traces of a hallucinogenic drink, along the lines of Absinthe have also been found. They were found in a massive brewery. It is speculated that this drink was used in religious rituals.
The coolest thing, though, and the most awe-inspiring was the burial of the king. Like the Egyptians, the king was buried with all of his worldly goods. They have found the bones of a horse, decorated with silver amour. Also with the king were gold and silver chalices and plates. There was a chariot; the oldest wheeled cart ever found in Central Asia.
It was fantastic to be there, but the trip was an ordeal. We left from Garagum at 7 a.m. and spent 2 hours driving through the desert in two soviet mini-vans. There was less of a road than tracks in the sand. Both minivans got stuck on several occasions, and we were left wondering how we were going to get out. Never underestimate the strength of young Turkmen when faced with such ordeals. We were routinely pushed free. The desert is spectacular in its sparse way. There is more aliveness here than in the deserts I’ve seen in Namibia, but it’s still not somewhere I want to be indefinitely.
We hike around the site for about 2 hours. It was HOT! But completely worth it. I drank 3 liters of water in those two hours. We went back to the excavators’ station to have lunch. The girls of Garagum had prepared a feast for us. There were somsas, cakes, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I don’t think I will eat a tomato like an apple anywhere else in the world. There were also, at the station, of all things, Americans. There were tourists. The kids were excited because they got to practice their English. The Americans were excited because they got to speak it and interact with real Turkmen. We laughingly jested after the fact that they would return to America thinking all Turkmen could speak English.
Gonor Depe is the ruin of a city that is 5,000 years old. There are mysterious allusions to it in less ancient history text, but it remained unknown until 1979. I went with another volunteer and some of his English students. It was carefree and careless, but incredible. It is an ongoing excavation, and the ground is littered with pottery shards and metal tools. They—an amorphous collection of scholars—believe that Gonor Depe is a civilization rather than a settlement, and I’m inclined to agree.
The king’s palace had indoor plumbing. They have uncovered a series of ceramic pipes that run through the palace. There was also advanced metalworking, both for tools and for pleasure. We were taken around by an excavator, who proudly showed us both ax heads and hairpins. They also had massive pottery kilns capable of great heat. They had copper based glazes, whose remains are still caked in the inside of the kiln. The pots they made where everywhere, and stunning. They also had an advanced and possibly monotheistic religion. They—again amorphous scholars—see links between the religion practiced in Gonor Depe and Zoroastrians. The role of fire—eternal and sacred flames—was prominent. Water was also sacred. They had an advanced filter system to purify water to be used in religious rituals. Traces of a hallucinogenic drink, along the lines of Absinthe have also been found. They were found in a massive brewery. It is speculated that this drink was used in religious rituals.
The coolest thing, though, and the most awe-inspiring was the burial of the king. Like the Egyptians, the king was buried with all of his worldly goods. They have found the bones of a horse, decorated with silver amour. Also with the king were gold and silver chalices and plates. There was a chariot; the oldest wheeled cart ever found in Central Asia.
It was fantastic to be there, but the trip was an ordeal. We left from Garagum at 7 a.m. and spent 2 hours driving through the desert in two soviet mini-vans. There was less of a road than tracks in the sand. Both minivans got stuck on several occasions, and we were left wondering how we were going to get out. Never underestimate the strength of young Turkmen when faced with such ordeals. We were routinely pushed free. The desert is spectacular in its sparse way. There is more aliveness here than in the deserts I’ve seen in Namibia, but it’s still not somewhere I want to be indefinitely.
We hike around the site for about 2 hours. It was HOT! But completely worth it. I drank 3 liters of water in those two hours. We went back to the excavators’ station to have lunch. The girls of Garagum had prepared a feast for us. There were somsas, cakes, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I don’t think I will eat a tomato like an apple anywhere else in the world. There were also, at the station, of all things, Americans. There were tourists. The kids were excited because they got to practice their English. The Americans were excited because they got to speak it and interact with real Turkmen. We laughingly jested after the fact that they would return to America thinking all Turkmen could speak English.
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