Wednesday, December 29, 2010
This Blog Post is a Test
Mostly with this blog post I want to see if it'll show up on Facebook feed. Is it there? I don't know. If you saw it there, let me know.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Book Suggestions
So I came into some wonderful Amazon money which I intend to spend on Kindle books, so what I need from you, my loyal readers, is suggestions of books you've read in the past year that you enjoyed, or books in general that you think I should read. I have a bunch of classics that Amazon lets you download for free (everything from Sherlock Holmes to Shakespeare to Dostoevsky). Anyway, let me know if you have reading suggestions.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Getting Home From Christmas (If Only it Had Gone More Like it Went in My Dreams)
After a happy Christmas, I woke up at about 8:30am the day after to return to my site. First, let me note that traveling is almost as much a part of Christmas for me as is opening presents. For the last I don’t really remember how many Christmases, we’ve either had visitors or we’ve had our Christmas morning at home, packed our bags and headed to the airport. So this should have been more comfortable than it was. Instead it was quite the ordeal.
I left the Frances’ house in Kurdamir at 9am with Todd walking me to where the bus would pick me up. En route, we had a nice talk about the ABLE summer camp, and how I could potentially work as the ropes/challenge course leader this coming summer, as well as helping out with site selection. The bus, which went to Shamaxi, but would deposit me in Agsu, was late. We got to Agsu in good time, and I hopped out and positioned myself on the road where a van coming from Baku heading for either Ismayilli, Sheki or Oguz would be driving. And so I waited. Every now and then a van would come by, but were always full.
Eventually (after an hour and a half) a taxi driver approached me as he attempted to fill up his taxi. I eventually agreed (to more than I should have, but he got me just at the right time of frustration), and then we drove in circles around the town circle trying to get someone else in the car. He dropped me off in Shamaxi (where the initial bus was heading, you will note), at a split in the road where I could supposedly pick up a van to Ismayilli. Again, an hour or so passed, filled vans speeding by, the driver waving me off. One car pulled over offering to drive me, but wanted 20 manat for the trip. He stuck around for awhile, obviously hoping that my desperation would make me succumb. HA! As impatient as I can be, my stubborn streak is just as powerful.
Finally, as this is the end of the story, another car pulled over and spoke a couple of us standing around waiting for cars. He told us to hop on in after we told him our destinations, shrugging off my questions about price. This put my hair on edge, of course, and I began preparing my arguments for fees. My best guess from talking to people was that it was 2 or 3 manat a seat in a taxi, so I would argue for 4-6 manat when I got to Ismayilli or throwing money at the guy and running away. When the other passenger got out, he paid 2 manat, further influencing my price evaluation. But the driver needed change for the ten the passenger gave him. Of course this bugged me, and I probably could have said I didn’t have it. People here always claim not to have change, and getting change from even a store is like pulling teeth. So maybe I shouldn’t have given him the change. But I did, 5 manat, which was right where I was expecting to be the uppermost I’d pay. Still, I worried that he’d try and charge more when we got to Ismayilli, but instead, he clasped my hand, told me that Washington was the bomb (“Vashington bomba-dur!”) and I went on my way and he on his. Maybe (quite probably) I got swindled out of a good bit of money, but I’m home again, and may have learned something from the experience.
I left the Frances’ house in Kurdamir at 9am with Todd walking me to where the bus would pick me up. En route, we had a nice talk about the ABLE summer camp, and how I could potentially work as the ropes/challenge course leader this coming summer, as well as helping out with site selection. The bus, which went to Shamaxi, but would deposit me in Agsu, was late. We got to Agsu in good time, and I hopped out and positioned myself on the road where a van coming from Baku heading for either Ismayilli, Sheki or Oguz would be driving. And so I waited. Every now and then a van would come by, but were always full.
Eventually (after an hour and a half) a taxi driver approached me as he attempted to fill up his taxi. I eventually agreed (to more than I should have, but he got me just at the right time of frustration), and then we drove in circles around the town circle trying to get someone else in the car. He dropped me off in Shamaxi (where the initial bus was heading, you will note), at a split in the road where I could supposedly pick up a van to Ismayilli. Again, an hour or so passed, filled vans speeding by, the driver waving me off. One car pulled over offering to drive me, but wanted 20 manat for the trip. He stuck around for awhile, obviously hoping that my desperation would make me succumb. HA! As impatient as I can be, my stubborn streak is just as powerful.
Finally, as this is the end of the story, another car pulled over and spoke a couple of us standing around waiting for cars. He told us to hop on in after we told him our destinations, shrugging off my questions about price. This put my hair on edge, of course, and I began preparing my arguments for fees. My best guess from talking to people was that it was 2 or 3 manat a seat in a taxi, so I would argue for 4-6 manat when I got to Ismayilli or throwing money at the guy and running away. When the other passenger got out, he paid 2 manat, further influencing my price evaluation. But the driver needed change for the ten the passenger gave him. Of course this bugged me, and I probably could have said I didn’t have it. People here always claim not to have change, and getting change from even a store is like pulling teeth. So maybe I shouldn’t have given him the change. But I did, 5 manat, which was right where I was expecting to be the uppermost I’d pay. Still, I worried that he’d try and charge more when we got to Ismayilli, but instead, he clasped my hand, told me that Washington was the bomb (“Vashington bomba-dur!”) and I went on my way and he on his. Maybe (quite probably) I got swindled out of a good bit of money, but I’m home again, and may have learned something from the experience.
Christmas Away From Home
This was my first Christmas away from home, away from family, away from friends. (Not entirely away from friends, as it turned out, as we will see.)
I was worried as the date neared. In part I was nervous about a package that had not arrived yet. In part I was worried about how I would be getting to Kurdamir. Mostly, though, I was worried because I knew what was happening back home, and I wasn’t feeling it here. It could be very easy here to hide out and pretend nothing was happening. They have Christmas trees and Santa Claus, but both are connected with New Year’s, so I’m missing the build up and excitement for Christmas that I would experience and love were I home. The specials on TV, the decorations, the tree, the Christmas books, the candles lit up in the dark church as we sing “Silent Night,” the recording of “A Christmas Carol” and Scrooge crying “I’m as light as a feather!” the thrill of seeing the stockings full and the cookie crumbs and carrot nubs from Santa’s visit. I am a Christmas person. Who would I be without Christmas being all around me?
And I did miss those things, very much so. But, you know what, I survived. In fact, I had fun. It didn’t feel like Christmas, necessarily, but it was a good time. A married couple in Kurdamir put us up for the weekend, and there were about 14 of us all together. Fortunately for us, Azerbaijani houses usually have a large number of roll up mattresses lying around, so we all had somewhere soft to sleep. We had Christmas movies to watch, games to play, and most importantly for any holiday, home or abroad, lots of good food to eat. Spaghetti, garlic bread, pancakes and syrup, chili, pizza, granola, burritos, cookies, and apple pie. As good as the Azeri food that my host mother cooks is, it’s wonderful to have the opportunity to eat food from home.
I know also that I was fortunate to have a group of people to share the weekend with. I am fortunate that we were able to get to know each other some before the holiday, so that we could share the time together. Just as this was not my ideal way of spending Christmas, it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been and perhaps I was expecting it to be. As much as I miss home and those at home that I love, I am fortunate in many ways. For one, that I have people that I love, and for another, that I have friends in yet another country, people that I’m learning I can count on to support me and help me through tough times, just as the friends I have back in the United States do. God bless us, every one.
I was worried as the date neared. In part I was nervous about a package that had not arrived yet. In part I was worried about how I would be getting to Kurdamir. Mostly, though, I was worried because I knew what was happening back home, and I wasn’t feeling it here. It could be very easy here to hide out and pretend nothing was happening. They have Christmas trees and Santa Claus, but both are connected with New Year’s, so I’m missing the build up and excitement for Christmas that I would experience and love were I home. The specials on TV, the decorations, the tree, the Christmas books, the candles lit up in the dark church as we sing “Silent Night,” the recording of “A Christmas Carol” and Scrooge crying “I’m as light as a feather!” the thrill of seeing the stockings full and the cookie crumbs and carrot nubs from Santa’s visit. I am a Christmas person. Who would I be without Christmas being all around me?
And I did miss those things, very much so. But, you know what, I survived. In fact, I had fun. It didn’t feel like Christmas, necessarily, but it was a good time. A married couple in Kurdamir put us up for the weekend, and there were about 14 of us all together. Fortunately for us, Azerbaijani houses usually have a large number of roll up mattresses lying around, so we all had somewhere soft to sleep. We had Christmas movies to watch, games to play, and most importantly for any holiday, home or abroad, lots of good food to eat. Spaghetti, garlic bread, pancakes and syrup, chili, pizza, granola, burritos, cookies, and apple pie. As good as the Azeri food that my host mother cooks is, it’s wonderful to have the opportunity to eat food from home.
I know also that I was fortunate to have a group of people to share the weekend with. I am fortunate that we were able to get to know each other some before the holiday, so that we could share the time together. Just as this was not my ideal way of spending Christmas, it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been and perhaps I was expecting it to be. As much as I miss home and those at home that I love, I am fortunate in many ways. For one, that I have people that I love, and for another, that I have friends in yet another country, people that I’m learning I can count on to support me and help me through tough times, just as the friends I have back in the United States do. God bless us, every one.
Some Stories, Mostly About Animals
1. Recently I had a computer scare. My computer would start up and freeze on a white screen of a blinking folder with a question mark on it. I, along with my visiting host brother, Seymur, began attempting to unscrew the back of it to get at the insides to see if anything was loose. We paused, pondering whether the warranty would be void if we opened it, and decided to try it again. Seymur Fonzie-d it, tapping the side and back, and the screen went away! Slow at first, my computer finally came back from the brink. My heart began beating once again.
2. I have so missed having a pet that I enjoy the persistent company of the cat that lives with us. In the United States, I wouldn’t give the cat the time of day, in stubborn persistence and fear of allergies. Our dog, who lives outside, barked incessantly at me for the first week and wouldn’t let me touch her. And so I turned to the cat. Or rather, the cat turned to me…for food. Every meal, she loves to hop up to the back of my chair and make herself at home, mewing every now and then to remind me she’s there. But then, following dinner one day, she moved around and curled up in my lap. I had a moment of dread, imagining the itchy, swollen eyes and wheezing that could follow. But damn if that purring creature wasn’t the cutest thing I’d seen in ages. Update: the cat’s name is Chapgoz, which means “cross-eyed.” The dog is named after a famous artist, Bozdar.
3. The other day the dog finally let me pet him. I miss my Lucy and Nora, and while I will not be able to curl up with the dog while watching tv, I did have contact with a dog! She’s still a bit scared of me, and peed a little when I got close (in and of itself was a reminder of home). Next step, best friends. No matter what, both the dog and cat are better pets than the turkeys or ducks out back.
2. I have so missed having a pet that I enjoy the persistent company of the cat that lives with us. In the United States, I wouldn’t give the cat the time of day, in stubborn persistence and fear of allergies. Our dog, who lives outside, barked incessantly at me for the first week and wouldn’t let me touch her. And so I turned to the cat. Or rather, the cat turned to me…for food. Every meal, she loves to hop up to the back of my chair and make herself at home, mewing every now and then to remind me she’s there. But then, following dinner one day, she moved around and curled up in my lap. I had a moment of dread, imagining the itchy, swollen eyes and wheezing that could follow. But damn if that purring creature wasn’t the cutest thing I’d seen in ages. Update: the cat’s name is Chapgoz, which means “cross-eyed.” The dog is named after a famous artist, Bozdar.
3. The other day the dog finally let me pet him. I miss my Lucy and Nora, and while I will not be able to curl up with the dog while watching tv, I did have contact with a dog! She’s still a bit scared of me, and peed a little when I got close (in and of itself was a reminder of home). Next step, best friends. No matter what, both the dog and cat are better pets than the turkeys or ducks out back.
On Being the Youngest
I looked to this past weekend with a bit of dread. I was going to be the younger sibling in my host family, something I am unused to. My host parents, Parviz and Meleyke, have two kids of their own, Seymur and Orxan, and have also hosted two previous volunteers. The first of those volunteers was part of the first group of Peace Corps volunteers in Azerbaijan, and is basically the favorite daughter of Ismayilli. Both Seymur and Amy would be coming to visit this weekend.
Visitors in general I’m not fond of here, where visitors often stop by without warning and stay longer than I understand. I know visiting families and being visited by others in the community are things that I will have to get used to, I’ll just have to get used to a different kind of personal boundary and space. In this case of visitors, they are people that are more familiar with the family and the rules and ways of the house. They will mess with the order and schedule I’ve gotten used to (it was nice after training to start to settle into a routine and even though it’ll get messed up next week with conversation clubs and Christmas, it’s still a routine), I thought.
I really shouldn’t have worried. Besides a few awkward moments here and there, it was really a pleasure to have them home, and those awkward moments were not their faults of course, but mine. Sitting down for dinner Saturday night, I was told quickly that the seat I had been told to sit in for the past week was now my host father’s and I should abdicate post haste.
Both Amy and Seymur speak English, I discovered (Amy it wasn’t a surprise, of course), and even though my host father speaks some English as well, having Amy there, who has now spent some five years in Azerbaijan, did wonders for the breadth of conversation topics. She was also full of information about places and people in Ismayilli and nearby areas for hiking and exploring. The mountains that rise up outside of town have been calling to me, and now I know how to get to them. Victory! Yukon Ho!
Visitors in general I’m not fond of here, where visitors often stop by without warning and stay longer than I understand. I know visiting families and being visited by others in the community are things that I will have to get used to, I’ll just have to get used to a different kind of personal boundary and space. In this case of visitors, they are people that are more familiar with the family and the rules and ways of the house. They will mess with the order and schedule I’ve gotten used to (it was nice after training to start to settle into a routine and even though it’ll get messed up next week with conversation clubs and Christmas, it’s still a routine), I thought.
I really shouldn’t have worried. Besides a few awkward moments here and there, it was really a pleasure to have them home, and those awkward moments were not their faults of course, but mine. Sitting down for dinner Saturday night, I was told quickly that the seat I had been told to sit in for the past week was now my host father’s and I should abdicate post haste.
Both Amy and Seymur speak English, I discovered (Amy it wasn’t a surprise, of course), and even though my host father speaks some English as well, having Amy there, who has now spent some five years in Azerbaijan, did wonders for the breadth of conversation topics. She was also full of information about places and people in Ismayilli and nearby areas for hiking and exploring. The mountains that rise up outside of town have been calling to me, and now I know how to get to them. Victory! Yukon Ho!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
The End of the Beginning
Here’s the cliché post that we were all waiting for. PST is coming to an end and I am preparing to pack up all my things into the two suitcases I brought and leave for my site on December 10th. In the next two weeks we will finish language classes and have our final language test, final program interviews, and a number of HUB days at which we will be loaded down with all sorts of papers, a Peace Corps sleeping bag, and (fingers crossed) a small space heater. Along with our water purifiers, it should be a bit of a hassle to get to site.
I will miss those who I have grown close to during PST, but am looking forward to the end of PST. It will be a huge relief for all of us to be done with the rigidity of the language and technical classes, of trips to Sumgayit for HUB Days and sessions with the CEDs, who through no fault of their own are two horrible bus rides away (one is actually a marshrutka), during which I invariably have to stand the entire hour plus duration. For my birthday, my cluster mates let me sit on the buses. That’s how I knew they cared.
I yearn for the chance to wear jeans instead of khakis, to sleep in, to discover a new community and city, to meet a new host family, and finally have some time to myself. I’m open to suggestions for hobbies to take up to pass the time, by the way. Twiddling my thumbs, counting tiles in the ceiling and contemplating my belly button are all options that spring to mind. Seriously, though, the sky seems the limit. Painting? Guitar? Writing? Don’t know. It could be a long winter.
Part of me is terrified of the impending lack of concrete. Part of me is thrilled. The last two months have been planned and replanned. Every hour of each day has been laid out on sheets of papers we received in the first few hours of arriving at the hotel. And now it’s up to me. Ahhh, freedom. I worry about too much freedom. I worry that I won’t push myself enough, that I won’t be able to motivate myself to put forth the effort to create events and activities when it’s hard, when the going gets tough.
I worry about the loneliness that I may feel. It will be strange to go from having a next-door neighbor whom I can go over to see to vent and talk to. It will be hard to adjust to a new host family, a new city, and a new routine. The latter will be my first priority, a routine. It should help keep me from going insane, if nothing else.
Amidst all my worries about the next step, I am truly happy to see it come. The suspense has been killing me and I am excited to begin trying to do the work I came here to do. I’m ready to develop some kiddos.
Addendum Several Days Later: With the end of training approaching rapidly, as well as other events around me, I have been thinking often of the ending of things and the scariest realization of all, that life goes on for our friends and family back home. This is probably worthy of a blog post unto itself, which I will probably come back to at some point over the next two years. When we left, we took an idea of what our lives were like before we left. It is of course silly and selfish to think that things would stay the same for two years. People come and go. People die. They would come, go, live, and die with or without us in the United States. We know this when we leave. But at a certain point, when things actually do start to change, we really KNOW. Lately, I’ve been re-taught this fact.
I will miss those who I have grown close to during PST, but am looking forward to the end of PST. It will be a huge relief for all of us to be done with the rigidity of the language and technical classes, of trips to Sumgayit for HUB Days and sessions with the CEDs, who through no fault of their own are two horrible bus rides away (one is actually a marshrutka), during which I invariably have to stand the entire hour plus duration. For my birthday, my cluster mates let me sit on the buses. That’s how I knew they cared.
I yearn for the chance to wear jeans instead of khakis, to sleep in, to discover a new community and city, to meet a new host family, and finally have some time to myself. I’m open to suggestions for hobbies to take up to pass the time, by the way. Twiddling my thumbs, counting tiles in the ceiling and contemplating my belly button are all options that spring to mind. Seriously, though, the sky seems the limit. Painting? Guitar? Writing? Don’t know. It could be a long winter.
Part of me is terrified of the impending lack of concrete. Part of me is thrilled. The last two months have been planned and replanned. Every hour of each day has been laid out on sheets of papers we received in the first few hours of arriving at the hotel. And now it’s up to me. Ahhh, freedom. I worry about too much freedom. I worry that I won’t push myself enough, that I won’t be able to motivate myself to put forth the effort to create events and activities when it’s hard, when the going gets tough.
I worry about the loneliness that I may feel. It will be strange to go from having a next-door neighbor whom I can go over to see to vent and talk to. It will be hard to adjust to a new host family, a new city, and a new routine. The latter will be my first priority, a routine. It should help keep me from going insane, if nothing else.
Amidst all my worries about the next step, I am truly happy to see it come. The suspense has been killing me and I am excited to begin trying to do the work I came here to do. I’m ready to develop some kiddos.
Addendum Several Days Later: With the end of training approaching rapidly, as well as other events around me, I have been thinking often of the ending of things and the scariest realization of all, that life goes on for our friends and family back home. This is probably worthy of a blog post unto itself, which I will probably come back to at some point over the next two years. When we left, we took an idea of what our lives were like before we left. It is of course silly and selfish to think that things would stay the same for two years. People come and go. People die. They would come, go, live, and die with or without us in the United States. We know this when we leave. But at a certain point, when things actually do start to change, we really KNOW. Lately, I’ve been re-taught this fact.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Indushka Day
It surprises me a little that this Thanksgiving was actually my first away from home, or at least, my first away from family. Fortunately, we had a determined group of people here who wanted to celebrate the occasion in grand fashion. We actually began planning the day at least a month ago, in particular a certain chocolate truffle cheesecake, ingredients for which we bought in Baku when we went as a group three weeks ago. In the end, we pulled out just about all the stops. We had two turkeys, which we had to cook on a spit as turkey kebabs, instead of in the oven. Turned out a bit tough (really, a lot tough, but we have muscular turkeys here, not those wimpy fattened turkeys like back home). We had mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy, green beans, steamed carrots, and even a salad (not an Azeri salat, which is either pickled or coated in mayonnaise). Instead of cranberry sauce, we had to improvise a bit and ended up with pomegranate sauce, and pumpkin bread that had some pomegranate in it as well, which was delicious. For dessert, apple pie and the aforementioned cheese cake, as well as some of the gold bars my mom sent from home (which were a huge success, she’ll be pleased to know—and even more pleased to know that I saved a bunch for myself; no starving and eating parsley in the grocery store aisle, thank you very much).
In many ways it really was like having a family dinner. It was loud and everyone was either talking or stuffing their faces with food. We said grace (both the Philmont Grace, at Erika’s request, and an impromptu grace by Crystal), and took turns saying what we were thankful for. We then went around talking about where we were this time last year and what our holiday traditions were. Now and then people would break off to take phone calls from family and friends. After dinner we played a charades-like game until it was time to go home (where my host mother may or may not have been a bit insulted that I was too full to eat any of her cooking—she didn’t walk me to the gate the next morning).
What am I thankful for? I am definitely thankful for the group of friends I have made here during PST. Without them I would surely have gone insane with loneliness and frustration over the adaptation process. I am thankful for everyone back home, my family, my friends, my meees, who has stayed in touch with me, who send me emails, messages, and love. I wouldn’t be here, in life, in Azerbaijan, physically or emotionally, without them. I wouldn’t be me without all of you. So thank you for you.
Update: Pictures will be forthcoming but may take awhile as I managed to delete the pictures that were actually on my camera of Thanksgiving, so I’ll have to steal them from other people at some point. Sigh. Stupid technology, I’m both thankful and unthankful for you.
In many ways it really was like having a family dinner. It was loud and everyone was either talking or stuffing their faces with food. We said grace (both the Philmont Grace, at Erika’s request, and an impromptu grace by Crystal), and took turns saying what we were thankful for. We then went around talking about where we were this time last year and what our holiday traditions were. Now and then people would break off to take phone calls from family and friends. After dinner we played a charades-like game until it was time to go home (where my host mother may or may not have been a bit insulted that I was too full to eat any of her cooking—she didn’t walk me to the gate the next morning).
What am I thankful for? I am definitely thankful for the group of friends I have made here during PST. Without them I would surely have gone insane with loneliness and frustration over the adaptation process. I am thankful for everyone back home, my family, my friends, my meees, who has stayed in touch with me, who send me emails, messages, and love. I wouldn’t be here, in life, in Azerbaijan, physically or emotionally, without them. I wouldn’t be me without all of you. So thank you for you.
Update: Pictures will be forthcoming but may take awhile as I managed to delete the pictures that were actually on my camera of Thanksgiving, so I’ll have to steal them from other people at some point. Sigh. Stupid technology, I’m both thankful and unthankful for you.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Birthday and Counterparts
Despite the fact that what has been posted on this blog is somewhat of a downer or at least fairly contemplative, we do have fun here. Take for instance, the last couple of days. The 18th was my birthday. I was worried about this. I knew that I would be homesick and depressed, missing my family and friends and normal birthday traditions. But the other volunteers here were really great to me. They let me sit on the bus to Sumgayit (usually, as a male, I have to stand when women get on the bus, and I seem to have bad seat luck), they paid for my lunch (chicken pizza with real cheese!), and my cluster mates came over for dinner after our language lesson. That night, I celebrated with Giovanni with a nice beer I bought in Baku and a couple glasses of cognac and coke. Oh, bromance.
Today, they followed me home and made a spaghetti dinner with garlic bread and a cake for dessert that they had more or less kept a secret from me. I knew they were planning something, but they refused to say what. I think by now my host mother is tired of us taking over the kitchen (my house hosted our recent Mexican food night as well).
Going through a birthday a long way from home was a hard experience to go into, and I almost didn’t want to plan anything. Partly this is because I don’t like being a center of attention, but I think I partly didn’t want to admit that I was having a birthday. Halloween was hard to go through here, and I expected other holidays to be the same way. Last birthday, I was whisked away to Washington, DC, something that certainly could not be repeated here. Baku’s not the same, and I missing a certain someone to spend the time with. Besides, I’m saving my Baku trip for the last weekend of training, the first weekend of December. I’ll need to stock up on certain essentials before going to site.
I was depressed, to be sure, and was almost to the point of drinking my beer alone, listening to calm acoustic indie music, but I’m extremely glad I ended up with a drinking buddy and such nice site mates who would plan a dinner for me. It’s almost enough to make me dread going to site, because I will definitely miss being this close to people. We settle into this way of living just to have it yanked out from under us after three months.
That brings me to the other big event of this week, our first meeting with our Azeri counterparts. These are Azeris who work at the organization we’ve been placed at who will be our main point of contact with the organization and with the community. We returned to the Neapol Hotel where our time in Azerbaijan started for the meetings.
My counterpart is the director of the school I’ll be working at. He speaks no English (though Russian of course, and apparently a bit of German and French). After meeting our counterparts we went the Neapol’s restaurant and had awkward broken conversations sometimes assisted by LCFs and other Peace Corps staff. We then went to a conference room and we (volunteers) presented our expectations and concerns to the counterparts (I was chosen by peers to stumble through our Azeri translations of our concerns) and they presented their concerns and expectations to us. Then we finally had a sit down with the counterpart to discuss our ideas and specific expectations. Rashad, my LCF, was kind enough to be our translator for this discussion. I’m excited by how open to my ideas he seems, while also having some specific ideas and goals of his own to build off of. Or course I’ll start with conversations clubs (after sitting in some on English classes to meet the students and get to know their language levels a bit, he suggested). One of his major goals is building exchange of ideas and culture between the US and Azerbaijan, so he suggested some sort of writing exchange with American students (and between teachers, as well, which was a cool idea I thought).
He also said that their sports teams had done well recently, and suggested sports as being something I could be involved with. I mentioned the softball league that Peace Corps volunteers have started here, with teams traveling between sites and periodically playing in tournaments.
Also, he mentioned he had created some sort of museum at the school and wanted me to develop a website for the museum. I’m thinking of doing that with someone there once I’ve gotten more of the language under my belt or if there’s an English teacher there who’d be interested. My counterpart is very interested in building technological knowledge. The school apparently has Internet and something like 30 computers. Now to see if they just sit there looking pretty in statistics about the school or if anyone knows how to use them.
To go along with his goals and ideas, I mentioned two other programs that are major Peace Corps programs here, the summer camps ABLE and GLOW, and the Writing Olympics. ABLE (Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience) and GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) are organized by Peace Corps volunteers and run along with Azerbaijanis and welcome students from across the country. Last year, the camps were held right near my site, so that seems something I should look into being involved with. The Writing Olympics is an international Peace Corps project, a competition for creative writing, the winners of which are published in a book and are invited to a conference (last year it was in Georgia). Peace Corps Azerbaijan, Armenia, Georgia and Moldova all participate in the program.
So that’s what it looks like I’ll be doing. Of course, subject entirely to change at a moments notice. The counterpart seemed to like me a lot, and we got along very well, regardless of language. After having heard some more negative/less than exciting things about my site (staring, conservative, etc), this meeting went a long way to make me feel more comfortable about my site and look forward to getting to work (or volunteer).
Today, they followed me home and made a spaghetti dinner with garlic bread and a cake for dessert that they had more or less kept a secret from me. I knew they were planning something, but they refused to say what. I think by now my host mother is tired of us taking over the kitchen (my house hosted our recent Mexican food night as well).
Going through a birthday a long way from home was a hard experience to go into, and I almost didn’t want to plan anything. Partly this is because I don’t like being a center of attention, but I think I partly didn’t want to admit that I was having a birthday. Halloween was hard to go through here, and I expected other holidays to be the same way. Last birthday, I was whisked away to Washington, DC, something that certainly could not be repeated here. Baku’s not the same, and I missing a certain someone to spend the time with. Besides, I’m saving my Baku trip for the last weekend of training, the first weekend of December. I’ll need to stock up on certain essentials before going to site.
I was depressed, to be sure, and was almost to the point of drinking my beer alone, listening to calm acoustic indie music, but I’m extremely glad I ended up with a drinking buddy and such nice site mates who would plan a dinner for me. It’s almost enough to make me dread going to site, because I will definitely miss being this close to people. We settle into this way of living just to have it yanked out from under us after three months.
That brings me to the other big event of this week, our first meeting with our Azeri counterparts. These are Azeris who work at the organization we’ve been placed at who will be our main point of contact with the organization and with the community. We returned to the Neapol Hotel where our time in Azerbaijan started for the meetings.
My counterpart is the director of the school I’ll be working at. He speaks no English (though Russian of course, and apparently a bit of German and French). After meeting our counterparts we went the Neapol’s restaurant and had awkward broken conversations sometimes assisted by LCFs and other Peace Corps staff. We then went to a conference room and we (volunteers) presented our expectations and concerns to the counterparts (I was chosen by peers to stumble through our Azeri translations of our concerns) and they presented their concerns and expectations to us. Then we finally had a sit down with the counterpart to discuss our ideas and specific expectations. Rashad, my LCF, was kind enough to be our translator for this discussion. I’m excited by how open to my ideas he seems, while also having some specific ideas and goals of his own to build off of. Or course I’ll start with conversations clubs (after sitting in some on English classes to meet the students and get to know their language levels a bit, he suggested). One of his major goals is building exchange of ideas and culture between the US and Azerbaijan, so he suggested some sort of writing exchange with American students (and between teachers, as well, which was a cool idea I thought).
He also said that their sports teams had done well recently, and suggested sports as being something I could be involved with. I mentioned the softball league that Peace Corps volunteers have started here, with teams traveling between sites and periodically playing in tournaments.
Also, he mentioned he had created some sort of museum at the school and wanted me to develop a website for the museum. I’m thinking of doing that with someone there once I’ve gotten more of the language under my belt or if there’s an English teacher there who’d be interested. My counterpart is very interested in building technological knowledge. The school apparently has Internet and something like 30 computers. Now to see if they just sit there looking pretty in statistics about the school or if anyone knows how to use them.
To go along with his goals and ideas, I mentioned two other programs that are major Peace Corps programs here, the summer camps ABLE and GLOW, and the Writing Olympics. ABLE (Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience) and GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) are organized by Peace Corps volunteers and run along with Azerbaijanis and welcome students from across the country. Last year, the camps were held right near my site, so that seems something I should look into being involved with. The Writing Olympics is an international Peace Corps project, a competition for creative writing, the winners of which are published in a book and are invited to a conference (last year it was in Georgia). Peace Corps Azerbaijan, Armenia, Georgia and Moldova all participate in the program.
So that’s what it looks like I’ll be doing. Of course, subject entirely to change at a moments notice. The counterpart seemed to like me a lot, and we got along very well, regardless of language. After having heard some more negative/less than exciting things about my site (staring, conservative, etc), this meeting went a long way to make me feel more comfortable about my site and look forward to getting to work (or volunteer).
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Language and Meaning
I don’t know if it’s too soon (or if it would ever not be too soon) to write about the Azerbaijani language and make the broad generalizations I want to make here. Anthropology has taught me a lot about studying language and particularly about how language can tell someone so much about a culture. The meaning and roots of words, the way they are used in daily speech, even the way sentences are formed all speak to the ideals and values of a culture. Some anthropologists feel that it is impossible to fully understand a language unless one is fluent, and some that feel, as there are connotations that are inherent in the culture, no one outside of a culture can be truly fluent. Because I am nowhere near anything remotely approaching fluent, I am a bit wary to put out the following, so bear with me and remember these are just vague impressions.
Azerbaijani is a very direct language. It is blunt and to the point. Azerbaijanis are very forward with their opinions about things. It is uncommon to be asked questions such as “Why aren’t you married yet,” and be told “You’re fat/skinny/etc.” At the same time, when you want information from someone, you have to be exact about it. If I want to know what’s in your room, I can’t ask “What’s in your room?” That will just get me “Stuff.” I have to ask, “Is there a bed, windows, shelves, and a table in your room?” All in order to be told that you have just what and only what I asked about, or if you don’t have one of the items I listed.
My anthropology kicks in and I wonder why the language works that way. Does it just seem that way because of the way we’re being taught or because we don’t know enough of how the language is used in daily life. Perhaps we are just too used to a classroom setting and not enough in the regions. But on the other hand, something we’ve discussed is how Azerbaijanis have not been introduced to creative and critical thinking in schools in the way that American students have been. So is the directness a result of this? Probably not directly, but they seem related somehow. At our most recent HUB day session, four Azerbaijanis spoke to us about the differences between Soviet life in Azerbaijan and the present day. We were surprised at first to find that they spoke to us in Russian, which was then translated to English for us. One LCF explained this was because Russian was a more subtle language than Azerbaijani.
Azerbaijani is a very direct language. It is blunt and to the point. Azerbaijanis are very forward with their opinions about things. It is uncommon to be asked questions such as “Why aren’t you married yet,” and be told “You’re fat/skinny/etc.” At the same time, when you want information from someone, you have to be exact about it. If I want to know what’s in your room, I can’t ask “What’s in your room?” That will just get me “Stuff.” I have to ask, “Is there a bed, windows, shelves, and a table in your room?” All in order to be told that you have just what and only what I asked about, or if you don’t have one of the items I listed.
My anthropology kicks in and I wonder why the language works that way. Does it just seem that way because of the way we’re being taught or because we don’t know enough of how the language is used in daily life. Perhaps we are just too used to a classroom setting and not enough in the regions. But on the other hand, something we’ve discussed is how Azerbaijanis have not been introduced to creative and critical thinking in schools in the way that American students have been. So is the directness a result of this? Probably not directly, but they seem related somehow. At our most recent HUB day session, four Azerbaijanis spoke to us about the differences between Soviet life in Azerbaijan and the present day. We were surprised at first to find that they spoke to us in Russian, which was then translated to English for us. One LCF explained this was because Russian was a more subtle language than Azerbaijani.
Now I Know
Last week the staff announced the site placements for the Youth Development and Community Economic Development groups and this week the TEFLs will find out where they’re going. After weeks of build up the last few days before announcements were the worst. The day before, our program officer came into a technical session and told us that she had finalized where we would be placed and even worse, she was bad at keeping secrets. Naturally we began offering her everything from monetary bribes to gifts, and threatened to barricade the door until she told us. The YD assistant director said he would be willing to tell us if we bought him tickets to the US. Lest the Peace Corps read this, I, hopefully needlessly, will note this was all said jokingly (at least on their end, we were dead serious).
I’ll be going to Ismayilli, near the center of the town, but near the mountains. Most everything I’ve heard about the site has been positive. I’ll have at least one site mate, another YD from my group, as well as a TEFL from AZ7 in a nearby village.
As excited as I am to know where I’ll be, it’s scary in a way to have the next two years set. I think of how I felt when I’d decided to go to Gettysburg College, and how that was a four year commitment. This is only two, I tell myself. But it’s different. College is full of breaks and opportunities to come home; holidays, vacations, weekends even provided a chance to escape. I know I won’t be in Ismayilli, or even in Azerbaijan for every day of the next two years, but the prospect of taking a break is a bit more distant. I feel claustrophobic on occasion during PST, as almost every day of our lives is planned for us. We’re either at language class or technical session or spending the day in Sumgayit for a HUB day. We only have Sundays to ourselves.
I know part of my worry for the future is a reaction to the way we live now, and that life will be different in just a month’s time. It’s just hard to fight it when it’s all we really know. The best parts of PST are when we glimpse the future through questions and answers with visiting volunteers, but these glimpses are brief and unfulfilling and the future is still such a mystery. We know next to nothing about our sites, our organizations and our living situations, all of which are fast approaching. Basically all the guidebooks say about my site is that the hotels there are decrepit and have questionable toilets. What will I do day-to-day? That’s up to me. Scary. What will the town be like? Is it pretty? Is it disgusting? Who lives there? Why does the town even exist? Some towns are known for apples or fish or some other export.) What will my new family be like? What will I eat? Will I be able to move out?
Knowing the name is such a relief, but, like an episode of Lost, one answer opens the door to a hundred new questions. Hopefully, that comment didn’t undermine the mood of the post too much. Of course I want to get to the answers right away, but training still has a couple lessons up its sleeve, even when it feels like a waste of time. I can’t keep myself from asking these questions about a future that I’ve committed myself to, without knowing everything about what I would be doing, but I know they will be answered in time. What do I know? Now I know I have questions.
I’ll be going to Ismayilli, near the center of the town, but near the mountains. Most everything I’ve heard about the site has been positive. I’ll have at least one site mate, another YD from my group, as well as a TEFL from AZ7 in a nearby village.
As excited as I am to know where I’ll be, it’s scary in a way to have the next two years set. I think of how I felt when I’d decided to go to Gettysburg College, and how that was a four year commitment. This is only two, I tell myself. But it’s different. College is full of breaks and opportunities to come home; holidays, vacations, weekends even provided a chance to escape. I know I won’t be in Ismayilli, or even in Azerbaijan for every day of the next two years, but the prospect of taking a break is a bit more distant. I feel claustrophobic on occasion during PST, as almost every day of our lives is planned for us. We’re either at language class or technical session or spending the day in Sumgayit for a HUB day. We only have Sundays to ourselves.
I know part of my worry for the future is a reaction to the way we live now, and that life will be different in just a month’s time. It’s just hard to fight it when it’s all we really know. The best parts of PST are when we glimpse the future through questions and answers with visiting volunteers, but these glimpses are brief and unfulfilling and the future is still such a mystery. We know next to nothing about our sites, our organizations and our living situations, all of which are fast approaching. Basically all the guidebooks say about my site is that the hotels there are decrepit and have questionable toilets. What will I do day-to-day? That’s up to me. Scary. What will the town be like? Is it pretty? Is it disgusting? Who lives there? Why does the town even exist? Some towns are known for apples or fish or some other export.) What will my new family be like? What will I eat? Will I be able to move out?
Knowing the name is such a relief, but, like an episode of Lost, one answer opens the door to a hundred new questions. Hopefully, that comment didn’t undermine the mood of the post too much. Of course I want to get to the answers right away, but training still has a couple lessons up its sleeve, even when it feels like a waste of time. I can’t keep myself from asking these questions about a future that I’ve committed myself to, without knowing everything about what I would be doing, but I know they will be answered in time. What do I know? Now I know I have questions.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Where Did My Voice Go?
On Friday we had our Site Placement Interviews, which I thought went well until I got out and realized there were about a dozen things I wished I had said. Oh, the tragedy of hindsight and second-guessing. It’s scary in a way; that the decision is now even more out of my hands than it was. A number of people have gotten the sense that Tarana, the Youth Development program director, already had an idea about where she intended to send them, and the interview was only a way for her to formalize the decision she had made. That’s almost scarier. Before she knew us, she knew where we were going to be for two years. And, it seems, more often than not, she’s right about where to send people.
It was a bit of a crazy day leading up to the interview. I had the house to myself this morning—my host mother left for a wedding in Nakchivan, the exclave, on Thursday—and got to cook breakfast for myself. I tried to shower, but ended up with scalding hot water that in fact would burn skin. When it came time to leave, I left my wallet at home, and Giovanni, my neighbor was nauseated, so we walked partway to school together. I then got on a bus, while he kept walking, and then realized the wallet was at home. In a bit of a panic I called Rashad, our LCF—language teacher—who wanted me to pass the phone to the driver or someone else on the bus. Fortunately, a man who spoke English overheard and offered me the money needed for the bus. Hooray for the kindness of strangers.
Another volunteer loaned me money for lunch, and on the way, I was attacked by a bag blowing in the wind, which turned out to have some sort of white powder—I think now that it was dry concrete or something like that, it was that sort of bag—and covered my legs in the stuff.
On top of all this, last night I started to lose my voice. In language class today, Rashad brought in students from School #4 to interview us in Azerbaijani as practice for our language test. In my hoarse voice I tried to describe my family, my house, and my room. This afternoon we had a conversation club, which was excitingly almost an actual conversation, as opposed to the English vocab lessons we’d been doing, but less excitingly for my voice. Then I had my interview. So, lots of talking, and not much voice to do it with.
It was a bit of a crazy day leading up to the interview. I had the house to myself this morning—my host mother left for a wedding in Nakchivan, the exclave, on Thursday—and got to cook breakfast for myself. I tried to shower, but ended up with scalding hot water that in fact would burn skin. When it came time to leave, I left my wallet at home, and Giovanni, my neighbor was nauseated, so we walked partway to school together. I then got on a bus, while he kept walking, and then realized the wallet was at home. In a bit of a panic I called Rashad, our LCF—language teacher—who wanted me to pass the phone to the driver or someone else on the bus. Fortunately, a man who spoke English overheard and offered me the money needed for the bus. Hooray for the kindness of strangers.
Another volunteer loaned me money for lunch, and on the way, I was attacked by a bag blowing in the wind, which turned out to have some sort of white powder—I think now that it was dry concrete or something like that, it was that sort of bag—and covered my legs in the stuff.
On top of all this, last night I started to lose my voice. In language class today, Rashad brought in students from School #4 to interview us in Azerbaijani as practice for our language test. In my hoarse voice I tried to describe my family, my house, and my room. This afternoon we had a conversation club, which was excitingly almost an actual conversation, as opposed to the English vocab lessons we’d been doing, but less excitingly for my voice. Then I had my interview. So, lots of talking, and not much voice to do it with.
Azerbaijani Food, Or, I Want Spicy Food
I’ve gotten some questions about food here in Azerbaijan, both in emails and on this blog, and I always like learning about food in different cultures (I took a Food and Culture anthropology course in college, for instance), so here we go.
First, the mundane; breakfast and lunch. Breakfast every morning, courtesy of my host mother, is a cup of tea, two scrambled eggs (sometimes with cut up hot dogs or some sort of ground meat called “cutlet”), and bread with butter and “cheese.” It’s not a sort of cheese I’m used to, and boy do I miss cheddar and mozzarella cheeses. For lunch every day, my host mother makes me a sandwich from half a round loaf of bread (picture a half circle of bread the size of dinner plate), with a slit cut into it stuffed with chopped up tomatoes, cucumber, and some sort of meat. Sometimes it’s hot dogs, sometimes it’s the ground meat from breakfast, sometimes it’s leftovers.
Azerbaijani food is often delicious, but doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of variety. A lot of food is cooked in oil, butter, or fat. I’ve heard about people who keep pots of fat beneath their sinks to use on the skillet when cooking. Sometimes it can be too much, just because of the regularity of the presence of oil and not a whole lot of other tastes or spices. Every now and then there’ll be some spiciness to foods, like one soup my family made me that had chicken and potatoes in it, but it’s kind of hard to tell what it’s name is when there are a lot of soups that have chicken (or other kinds of meat) and potatoes in them. Another soup, kifta, is large meatballs and potatoes in an oily broth.
One of my favorite dishes is called dolma. Dolma is meat and rice either wrapped up in cabbage leaves or grape vine leaves, or stuffed in peppers and tomatoes. The wrappings are then steamed. Dolma is exciting because there are several varities.
Another dish that I really like is called xengal (pronounced hain-gall), though it is one of the particularly oily ones. Flat noodles like you’d use for lasagna are cooked in oil and then topped with ground beef, and served with a yogurt topping. It’s not the sort of yogurt one would get at home, but more like the yogurt in India. Thinking about yogurt makes me miss the flavored frozen yogurt with cookie dough and chocolate chips and mochi that I had in LA this summer.
Right, back to Azerbaijani food. The main drawback, as I’ve said, is the general, stereotypical, lack of spiciness. It’s tasty but not always very exciting. I gave my family some Old Bay as a present, with which at first they didn’t quite know what to do. However, every now and then they’ll put it on the table, though I think that’s mostly meant for me. We’ve been told that part of the reason for this is because people don’t like to cover up or obscure the taste of the meat or vegetables.
Kebab is popular here, meaning meat that is cooked on a stick though served sans stick. Doner, which is a chunk of meat on a stick which people then cut shavings off of and put into sandwich bread with some onions and tomatoes is another popular dish, and is often available on the street (it’s also nice because they actually have condiments which they add to the sandwich so it’s more than just bread).
Pirashkis are a wonderful invention. My family made homemade pirashkis a few weeks ago, and they were godly. Fried dough with potatoes (sometimes meat) cooked into them. Reminds me of paranthas in India when made at the house, but on the street they’re fried doughy bread straight out of the state fair.
On the less appetizing side of things, I recently ate stomach. It was in a dish called qutab (pronounced with a “g”), which is basically a tortilla with something fried into it a la my old favorite tortilla-cheese rollups. This one had stomach and pomegranate seeds in it. While not as bad as I had expected, it definitely had a distinct taste. On the plus side, there was also a qutab that had butternut squash in it. Where they found the butternut squash, I don’t know, I haven’t seen any at the market. I’ve had some other organs, including, I’m guessing, heart and liver. We had a dish that was heart and liver and potatoes, and I will say this, the potatoes were delicious.
Meat here is considered expensive, compared to fruits and vegetables, though with those you have to hit them at the right season for the best prices. Because of the expense of meat, a number of volunteers have become basically vegetarian once they move out of their host families’ houses. Also, families will often buy meat in order to show that they are feeding their guest well, and as such, my family has had meat in almost all dishes. Fat is also seen as a positive thing, and at a recent meal, we had a very good soup, with pieces of beef that had a considerable amount of fat on them. When they asked why I hadn’t eaten much of the fat, I told them I didn’t like fat, and my host father declared that he did, and he took the items off my hands.
The dreaded xash, which is boiled cow or sheep head, but some in our group have. One person even was served it for breakfast. Still, there a number of butcher shops between my host family’s house and the schools where I have lessons, and I’ve seen my share of severed cow’s heads. Appetizing, non?
First, the mundane; breakfast and lunch. Breakfast every morning, courtesy of my host mother, is a cup of tea, two scrambled eggs (sometimes with cut up hot dogs or some sort of ground meat called “cutlet”), and bread with butter and “cheese.” It’s not a sort of cheese I’m used to, and boy do I miss cheddar and mozzarella cheeses. For lunch every day, my host mother makes me a sandwich from half a round loaf of bread (picture a half circle of bread the size of dinner plate), with a slit cut into it stuffed with chopped up tomatoes, cucumber, and some sort of meat. Sometimes it’s hot dogs, sometimes it’s the ground meat from breakfast, sometimes it’s leftovers.
Azerbaijani food is often delicious, but doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of variety. A lot of food is cooked in oil, butter, or fat. I’ve heard about people who keep pots of fat beneath their sinks to use on the skillet when cooking. Sometimes it can be too much, just because of the regularity of the presence of oil and not a whole lot of other tastes or spices. Every now and then there’ll be some spiciness to foods, like one soup my family made me that had chicken and potatoes in it, but it’s kind of hard to tell what it’s name is when there are a lot of soups that have chicken (or other kinds of meat) and potatoes in them. Another soup, kifta, is large meatballs and potatoes in an oily broth.
One of my favorite dishes is called dolma. Dolma is meat and rice either wrapped up in cabbage leaves or grape vine leaves, or stuffed in peppers and tomatoes. The wrappings are then steamed. Dolma is exciting because there are several varities.
Another dish that I really like is called xengal (pronounced hain-gall), though it is one of the particularly oily ones. Flat noodles like you’d use for lasagna are cooked in oil and then topped with ground beef, and served with a yogurt topping. It’s not the sort of yogurt one would get at home, but more like the yogurt in India. Thinking about yogurt makes me miss the flavored frozen yogurt with cookie dough and chocolate chips and mochi that I had in LA this summer.
Right, back to Azerbaijani food. The main drawback, as I’ve said, is the general, stereotypical, lack of spiciness. It’s tasty but not always very exciting. I gave my family some Old Bay as a present, with which at first they didn’t quite know what to do. However, every now and then they’ll put it on the table, though I think that’s mostly meant for me. We’ve been told that part of the reason for this is because people don’t like to cover up or obscure the taste of the meat or vegetables.
Kebab is popular here, meaning meat that is cooked on a stick though served sans stick. Doner, which is a chunk of meat on a stick which people then cut shavings off of and put into sandwich bread with some onions and tomatoes is another popular dish, and is often available on the street (it’s also nice because they actually have condiments which they add to the sandwich so it’s more than just bread).
Pirashkis are a wonderful invention. My family made homemade pirashkis a few weeks ago, and they were godly. Fried dough with potatoes (sometimes meat) cooked into them. Reminds me of paranthas in India when made at the house, but on the street they’re fried doughy bread straight out of the state fair.
On the less appetizing side of things, I recently ate stomach. It was in a dish called qutab (pronounced with a “g”), which is basically a tortilla with something fried into it a la my old favorite tortilla-cheese rollups. This one had stomach and pomegranate seeds in it. While not as bad as I had expected, it definitely had a distinct taste. On the plus side, there was also a qutab that had butternut squash in it. Where they found the butternut squash, I don’t know, I haven’t seen any at the market. I’ve had some other organs, including, I’m guessing, heart and liver. We had a dish that was heart and liver and potatoes, and I will say this, the potatoes were delicious.
Meat here is considered expensive, compared to fruits and vegetables, though with those you have to hit them at the right season for the best prices. Because of the expense of meat, a number of volunteers have become basically vegetarian once they move out of their host families’ houses. Also, families will often buy meat in order to show that they are feeding their guest well, and as such, my family has had meat in almost all dishes. Fat is also seen as a positive thing, and at a recent meal, we had a very good soup, with pieces of beef that had a considerable amount of fat on them. When they asked why I hadn’t eaten much of the fat, I told them I didn’t like fat, and my host father declared that he did, and he took the items off my hands.
The dreaded xash, which is boiled cow or sheep head, but some in our group have. One person even was served it for breakfast. Still, there a number of butcher shops between my host family’s house and the schools where I have lessons, and I’ve seen my share of severed cow’s heads. Appetizing, non?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
A Day of Culture and Mud
So yesterday we had a cultural day. The entire group traveled to Qobustan, a short drive from Baku and our PST sites, to visit two sites: the petroglyps (cave drwaings) of Qobustan and the famous mud volcanoes. The petroglyps are supposedly from a group of Stone Age hunter-gatherers, depicted clearly by a number of dioramas in the museum (3 manat entrance fee, 2 manat for cameras). Lonely Planet informs me that a Norwegian ethnologist named Thor decided that the similarities meant that Scandinavians came from Azerbaijan. This does not explain why the dioramas often included brilliantly red-haired Stone Agers hunting and playing the first instrument (a rock). Mark Elliott’s book adds that a number of the outer caves have collapsed, allowing easier access to the carvings, which I will note, relieves some of my skepticism of the easy access. My anthropology sense was tingling as we walked through and listened to the interpretations from our tour guide.
The best part was the opportunity to climb on the huge rocks. My inner Billy goat sprung forth, despite the fact I had been sick the night before. I flashed back to Devil’s Den on the Gettysburg Battlefield. We were “omaz”-ed at least once (Omaz being the Azerbaijani word for “not allowed”) for climbing where we shouldn’t have, but it was worth it. I was driven to find the way to the highest rock, only to see there was still one higher or more difficult to reach.
Almost more exciting than the climbing—what can be more exciting than climbing over huge rocks—were the mud volcanoes. After our bus refused to drive down the dirt road, we set out on foot to climb a large dusty hill. At the top we found a collection of bubbling pimple-like hills protruding from the summit. The hilltop was otherwise empty of any development or, for that matter, anyone else. Silent except for the fierce winds and the faint murmur of the mud bubbles, and with nothing in sight except for some factories out on the Caspian Sea. (An interesting aside, on the way to Qobustan, we saw a Halliburton factory. Sigh).
Now, I was split on whether mud volcanoes sounded interesting. On the one hand, they’re mud, so they’re boring. On the other, they’re volcanoes, so they’re exciting. With some of the volcanoes sticking out of the surface of the hill about 20 feet, the latter description is much more fitting. Most shocking was the fact that the volcanic mud was cold. Yes, I stuck a finger in. Anyone who knows me knows that there’s no way I would be able to help it. Of course, afterwards I realized I had no way to clean off my finger. Who else saw that coming?
The best part was the opportunity to climb on the huge rocks. My inner Billy goat sprung forth, despite the fact I had been sick the night before. I flashed back to Devil’s Den on the Gettysburg Battlefield. We were “omaz”-ed at least once (Omaz being the Azerbaijani word for “not allowed”) for climbing where we shouldn’t have, but it was worth it. I was driven to find the way to the highest rock, only to see there was still one higher or more difficult to reach.
Almost more exciting than the climbing—what can be more exciting than climbing over huge rocks—were the mud volcanoes. After our bus refused to drive down the dirt road, we set out on foot to climb a large dusty hill. At the top we found a collection of bubbling pimple-like hills protruding from the summit. The hilltop was otherwise empty of any development or, for that matter, anyone else. Silent except for the fierce winds and the faint murmur of the mud bubbles, and with nothing in sight except for some factories out on the Caspian Sea. (An interesting aside, on the way to Qobustan, we saw a Halliburton factory. Sigh).
Now, I was split on whether mud volcanoes sounded interesting. On the one hand, they’re mud, so they’re boring. On the other, they’re volcanoes, so they’re exciting. With some of the volcanoes sticking out of the surface of the hill about 20 feet, the latter description is much more fitting. Most shocking was the fact that the volcanic mud was cold. Yes, I stuck a finger in. Anyone who knows me knows that there’s no way I would be able to help it. Of course, afterwards I realized I had no way to clean off my finger. Who else saw that coming?
Mingachevir Site Visit Recap
I just returned from our Site Visit to the city of Mingachevir. The site visit is a three-day opportunity for trainees to visit and stay with a current volunteer at their site and learn and experience their life, work and experience. I, along with another Youth Development trainee, Jarret, stayed with Sean, a YD volunteer who we had actually met before at the hotel—he was part of our welcome committee. Three other volunteers traveled with us and stayed with other volunteers in Mingachevir.
Mingachevir is the fourth largest city in Azerbaijan, and was absolutely beautiful, particularly in comparison to the urban sprawl we’ve grown accustomed to on the Absheron Penninsula. Mingachevir was definitely a city, but it felt small and manageable. Most importantly to my eyes, was it was clean. Partly this was because Illham Aliyev had visited a few weeks earlier, but the main streets had public trash cans, and the streets and grassy areas were clean of litter. It was beautiful. Mingachevir, I should note for geographical followers, is located on the bottom tip of the large lake (actually a man-made reservoir) just northwest of the center of Azerbaijan. The city was started by the Russians and because of a hydro-electric dam, powers around 60% of the country, and supposedly some of Georgia as well.
We traveled to Mingachevir via marshrutka, which is a small bus/large van which seats about 15 including people sitting next to the driver. Four people were wedged into the back seat. Needless to say, it’s a bit cramped. The bus traveled through the mountains (large hills), which were coated in a thick fog which slowed us down, though not as much as a couple long rest breaks. On the way back these hills were clear, and we could finally see some of the countryside.
On the marshrutka to Mingachevir, a young man who spoke English was sitting with us, and revealed after a short while that he was one of the youth that Sean regularly works with. Talk about small worlds, even in Azerbaijan. (Another super small world moment is that there is another volunteer here whose aunt works with my dad back home). Upon arriving at the city’s bus station on the outskirts, he then helped us fend off taxi drivers and got us on the bus to the bazaar. Despite our arguments, he even paid for the bus fare for all of us. He was on his way back from seeing a heavy metal concert in Baku.
At the bazaar we met Sean, as well as the other two AZ7 volunteers in Mingachevir, one of whom is CED, the other TEFL (there are currently 6 total volunteers, 3 AZ6ers who will be leaving in the next two months).
One of the biggest highlights for us visiting was the chance to eat some American food. Dinner the first night was a potato soup, with all sorts of exciting spices and sauces (jalapeno sauce, mmmmm). The second night we made spaghetti with tomato sauce that included eggplant, and more interestingly Taco Bell hot sauce packets for extra zest.
The second day, Jarret and I slept in (unheard of during PST!) and then went to lunch with Sean and had possibly one of my favorite Azerbaijani dishes to date: xengal. We have had another version at the bar (and is now widely referred to as the “man cave”) we go to on Saturdays, which is basically dumplings. This was entirely different—wide flat noodles akin to those in lasagna, cooked in oil with ground beef on top and yogurt on the side to be added on top. Absolutely delicious. Clearly, food is important to me.
After lunch we joined Sean to observe and participate in his work. (whoa the purpose of the trip!). Sean took us to a conversation club meeting, at which we had a back and forth question and answer session with the Azeris. Then we went to a TOEFL lesson (basically the GRE for Azeris who want to learn to teach English as a foreign language in university). It was a complete flashback to high school English class as Sean taught about how to write an essay—a skill that many Azerbaijanis are unfamiliar with.
The most fun project was saved for last: the softball team. PCVs have created a softball league between different sites. The PCVs coach the teams, but Azerbaijani team captains lead the teams, and the players are all Azeri. We played a fantastic scrimmage game, no one knew who had actually won, and everyone, even those who were unsure about playing, had a great time. In related news, the Mingachevir team had just returned from winning the championship tournament the previous weekend.
The next day was the most relaxing day I think I’ve had since getting to Azerbaijan. We went up to the reservoir and spent the better part of the afternoon at a chai place playing cards and talking. The tables overlooked the beach and on the other side of the water was almost Georgia. We moseyed back to town to a bar/restaurant called Wild West. Perhaps the most humorous interpretation of American culture to date, Wild West featured hamburgers, chicken tenders, swinging saloon doors, a fake bear pelt on the fake fireplace, and pictures from the “wild west,” including rodeos and Indians.
We recently had a speaker come in who told us that Americans and Westerners in general don’t know the importance of sitting, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way we spent that day. It was just the break from the rigors of PST and language classes that I, for one needed. Most importantly, to me, it was a chance to see the concrete that had been so abstract. We talk and talk about how we can get to know people and understand their issues and start all these projects, but finally we saw these projects in practice. It was the first time I’ve felt for sure like this is something that I would be able to do, and even better, something that I wanted to do. I had wanted to do Peace Corps as a broad concept, but Youth Development has been such a mystery to define that it was hard to know what we would be doing. Now I have a better idea, and I want to go out into Azerbaijan and start. I’m sure the last month after we find out our sites will be a heck of a drag.
Mingachevir is the fourth largest city in Azerbaijan, and was absolutely beautiful, particularly in comparison to the urban sprawl we’ve grown accustomed to on the Absheron Penninsula. Mingachevir was definitely a city, but it felt small and manageable. Most importantly to my eyes, was it was clean. Partly this was because Illham Aliyev had visited a few weeks earlier, but the main streets had public trash cans, and the streets and grassy areas were clean of litter. It was beautiful. Mingachevir, I should note for geographical followers, is located on the bottom tip of the large lake (actually a man-made reservoir) just northwest of the center of Azerbaijan. The city was started by the Russians and because of a hydro-electric dam, powers around 60% of the country, and supposedly some of Georgia as well.
We traveled to Mingachevir via marshrutka, which is a small bus/large van which seats about 15 including people sitting next to the driver. Four people were wedged into the back seat. Needless to say, it’s a bit cramped. The bus traveled through the mountains (large hills), which were coated in a thick fog which slowed us down, though not as much as a couple long rest breaks. On the way back these hills were clear, and we could finally see some of the countryside.
On the marshrutka to Mingachevir, a young man who spoke English was sitting with us, and revealed after a short while that he was one of the youth that Sean regularly works with. Talk about small worlds, even in Azerbaijan. (Another super small world moment is that there is another volunteer here whose aunt works with my dad back home). Upon arriving at the city’s bus station on the outskirts, he then helped us fend off taxi drivers and got us on the bus to the bazaar. Despite our arguments, he even paid for the bus fare for all of us. He was on his way back from seeing a heavy metal concert in Baku.
At the bazaar we met Sean, as well as the other two AZ7 volunteers in Mingachevir, one of whom is CED, the other TEFL (there are currently 6 total volunteers, 3 AZ6ers who will be leaving in the next two months).
One of the biggest highlights for us visiting was the chance to eat some American food. Dinner the first night was a potato soup, with all sorts of exciting spices and sauces (jalapeno sauce, mmmmm). The second night we made spaghetti with tomato sauce that included eggplant, and more interestingly Taco Bell hot sauce packets for extra zest.
The second day, Jarret and I slept in (unheard of during PST!) and then went to lunch with Sean and had possibly one of my favorite Azerbaijani dishes to date: xengal. We have had another version at the bar (and is now widely referred to as the “man cave”) we go to on Saturdays, which is basically dumplings. This was entirely different—wide flat noodles akin to those in lasagna, cooked in oil with ground beef on top and yogurt on the side to be added on top. Absolutely delicious. Clearly, food is important to me.
After lunch we joined Sean to observe and participate in his work. (whoa the purpose of the trip!). Sean took us to a conversation club meeting, at which we had a back and forth question and answer session with the Azeris. Then we went to a TOEFL lesson (basically the GRE for Azeris who want to learn to teach English as a foreign language in university). It was a complete flashback to high school English class as Sean taught about how to write an essay—a skill that many Azerbaijanis are unfamiliar with.
The most fun project was saved for last: the softball team. PCVs have created a softball league between different sites. The PCVs coach the teams, but Azerbaijani team captains lead the teams, and the players are all Azeri. We played a fantastic scrimmage game, no one knew who had actually won, and everyone, even those who were unsure about playing, had a great time. In related news, the Mingachevir team had just returned from winning the championship tournament the previous weekend.
The next day was the most relaxing day I think I’ve had since getting to Azerbaijan. We went up to the reservoir and spent the better part of the afternoon at a chai place playing cards and talking. The tables overlooked the beach and on the other side of the water was almost Georgia. We moseyed back to town to a bar/restaurant called Wild West. Perhaps the most humorous interpretation of American culture to date, Wild West featured hamburgers, chicken tenders, swinging saloon doors, a fake bear pelt on the fake fireplace, and pictures from the “wild west,” including rodeos and Indians.
We recently had a speaker come in who told us that Americans and Westerners in general don’t know the importance of sitting, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way we spent that day. It was just the break from the rigors of PST and language classes that I, for one needed. Most importantly, to me, it was a chance to see the concrete that had been so abstract. We talk and talk about how we can get to know people and understand their issues and start all these projects, but finally we saw these projects in practice. It was the first time I’ve felt for sure like this is something that I would be able to do, and even better, something that I wanted to do. I had wanted to do Peace Corps as a broad concept, but Youth Development has been such a mystery to define that it was hard to know what we would be doing. Now I have a better idea, and I want to go out into Azerbaijan and start. I’m sure the last month after we find out our sites will be a heck of a drag.
Collected Stories of Azerbaijan
I don’t have as many ridiculous stories as some of my compatriots here. Part of me is disappointed by this. Go figure. Squat toilets take some getting used to, there’s no two ways about it. Figuring out how to clean one’s self without toilet paper is no easy task. Toilet technique is easily one of our most common conversation topics. We compare experiences, differences in technique, and a host of other related subjects. The stories get pretty hairy for some people, and I almost feel left out not having some ghastly story to share with everyone. I’m sure they’ll come, though. Karma has a way of making that kind of thing even out.
However, here are some experiences up till now:
1. Three other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) and I have taken to celebrating our half-day Saturdays by going to a local “bar” to have a few drinks and a bite to eat, talk about the week, and play cards. After a very long week, it’s been very relaxing and calming. It seems like it’s one of the few places where we can be without being the center of attention (though, compared to India, I feel like I’m more or less invisible most of the time anyway). However, the other day we were joined by a man who wanted to understand the game we were playing and what we were doing in Azerbaijan. Foreigners are still rare in the country, at least outside of the capital. However, they do get some exposure to foreign images and styles through television, so a number of misconceptions have formed amongst many Azerbaijanis. One of those is that Americans in the country are probably with the CIA. We spent some time explaining to the man that we were not in fact CIA spies, but were volunteers with the Peace Corps. Explaining this is hard normally, but when the person in question is extremely intoxicated, it becomes that much harder.
2. On Friday, we were set to meet with the organizations we will be working with during training. Another volunteer and I were assigned to the Modern Knowledge center, which we believe is some sort of technical school—meaning language and technology classes. However, come Friday, we were told that the organization was moving offices that day, and could not meet till Monday. Moral of the story is: Flexibility, thy name is Azerbaijan. I will share more of this soon; we have two more sessions after we get back from our PCV Site visits.
3. To get to and from school every day, my neighbor and I (another PCT) have to take the bus into Xirdalan-central. Our bus stop is named (bus stop is a loose term here, see note about flexibility) Rembo Barq, or Rambo Well, referring to a well that was named after a soldier the conflict with Amernia who was nicknamed Rambo.
4. I have now visited and touched the Caspian Sea, and can happily report that I have not lost any appendages, nor have I grown any new ones (also, I don’t glow in the dark). Sumgayit is still listed as one of the most ecologically devastated places in the world. Still, the beach only seemed moderately littered with trash, and the water looked no worse than the Inner Harbor. There was a nice breeze as I walked along the beach, the sand packed solidly beneath my feet. There were few people on the beach that day, obviously no one actually in the water. My one regret is that there were no oil derricks to be seen. I don’t think I would have been able to pass up the chance to dive off one of those, regardless of what color the water was.
However, here are some experiences up till now:
1. Three other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) and I have taken to celebrating our half-day Saturdays by going to a local “bar” to have a few drinks and a bite to eat, talk about the week, and play cards. After a very long week, it’s been very relaxing and calming. It seems like it’s one of the few places where we can be without being the center of attention (though, compared to India, I feel like I’m more or less invisible most of the time anyway). However, the other day we were joined by a man who wanted to understand the game we were playing and what we were doing in Azerbaijan. Foreigners are still rare in the country, at least outside of the capital. However, they do get some exposure to foreign images and styles through television, so a number of misconceptions have formed amongst many Azerbaijanis. One of those is that Americans in the country are probably with the CIA. We spent some time explaining to the man that we were not in fact CIA spies, but were volunteers with the Peace Corps. Explaining this is hard normally, but when the person in question is extremely intoxicated, it becomes that much harder.
2. On Friday, we were set to meet with the organizations we will be working with during training. Another volunteer and I were assigned to the Modern Knowledge center, which we believe is some sort of technical school—meaning language and technology classes. However, come Friday, we were told that the organization was moving offices that day, and could not meet till Monday. Moral of the story is: Flexibility, thy name is Azerbaijan. I will share more of this soon; we have two more sessions after we get back from our PCV Site visits.
3. To get to and from school every day, my neighbor and I (another PCT) have to take the bus into Xirdalan-central. Our bus stop is named (bus stop is a loose term here, see note about flexibility) Rembo Barq, or Rambo Well, referring to a well that was named after a soldier the conflict with Amernia who was nicknamed Rambo.
4. I have now visited and touched the Caspian Sea, and can happily report that I have not lost any appendages, nor have I grown any new ones (also, I don’t glow in the dark). Sumgayit is still listed as one of the most ecologically devastated places in the world. Still, the beach only seemed moderately littered with trash, and the water looked no worse than the Inner Harbor. There was a nice breeze as I walked along the beach, the sand packed solidly beneath my feet. There were few people on the beach that day, obviously no one actually in the water. My one regret is that there were no oil derricks to be seen. I don’t think I would have been able to pass up the chance to dive off one of those, regardless of what color the water was.
Time for a Post about Time
Is it too early for a time has flown by and dragged on at the same time post? At two weeks in, it seems a bit premature, but it’s definitely the way a lot of us are feeling. We’ve crammed a lot into the last two weeks. We went through orientation at the hotel for four days, which seem so long ago now. We’ve had four weeks of language and Youth Development (or TEFL or CED) sessions, and have actually started to be able to communicate needs and ideas to our host families and others in our communities. But then I look online at sports scores or happen across new movie reviews and realize that the Longhorns or the Ravens have only had three games since we left, and I realize that not that much time has passed really (and really, the less said about those Longhorn games the better—some things it’s easier to not miss than others).
The days all seem to go by quickly. I expected that paying attention during language lessons for four hours every day would be the most difficult thing in the world (I blame a certain sloth-like Bostonian Irish-descendant Spanish teacher for instilling in me this misconception about language classes). For whatever reason, though, whether it be the four people in the class, or the way we’re being taught, or some lingering newness of the material, the class goes by in a flash. YD sessions and more recently the practicum time, when we spend time working with an organization in Xirdalan (additional note: we have learned that Xirdalan means “changes”), goes just as fast. Before I know it, it’s 5pm and time to go home.
Already in language classes we can form sentences and conjugate verbs (first the past tense and then the present tense, for whatever reason). Our vocabulary also seems further along than I would have expected for having only been learning for the time we have had so far. I certainly can’t yet speak Azerbaijani in the way I could Spanish, and there are still Hindi and Spanish and even Indonesian words or phrases which come to me sooner than Azeri ones (It’s easy to fall into Hindi especially because there are a few words in common). But we really have done a lot in a little time.
A side effect of this time distortion field around us here in Azerbaijan is that while I have really been enjoying the food my family has made for me, including a dish called dushbera (I think) which was basically miniature dumplings in a broth, I have already begun to crave certain foods from home. My list of things so far includes: milk and Frosted Mini Wheats, cheese fries, Buffalo wings, mozzarella and tomatoes, and stir fry. So, if you love me, you should think of me when you eat these things. Or, better yet, find a way to mail them to me without them going bad. Just kidding. Sort of.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Host Family and PST
I have been at my training site for about a week now. Xirdalan is a modern city, for the most part. My host family lives a little bit outside the main town or city center, so I and my PCT neighbor must take the bus in every morning to the school where we have language lessons. Every day the bus is packed to the brim and it's a struggle to get off each day. There are four people in my language class, and another five people at another school in the city who we meet up with for our Youth Development lessons in the afternoon (along with another five people who are in the neighboring town).
Classes are going well, though they are definitely hard work. This is, of course unsurprisingly, particularly true about Azerbaijani language classes. However, we have a good teacher, who speaks very good English. His family was a host family last year, so he is very much in touch with our needs and has been very good about helping us get situated with our host families and the town. A number of current volunteers have visited our youth development classes to talk about their work and their lives. That has probably been the best part of the YD lessons so far to me. Six volunteers (two each from Youth Development, Community Economic development, and English Education) came during staging at the hotel to talk with us as well, which was very informative.
My host family primarily consists of a slightly older couple, whose children are all grown and live elsewhere. Their two daughters and their four grandkids visited over the past weekend. They each had a daughter about 10 years old and a son about seven. They've all been very sweet, though our communications are mostly pantomime or simple sentences, as they don't speak English, and I'm only beginning to get any Azerbaijani that can communicate meanings. Mostly it's one or two word sentences, though we are progressing rapidly. Not that I'll be speaking paragraphs any time soon, but we can almost conjugate verbs. For awhile it was frustrating because we were basically only memorizing phrases without learning how to make sentences, but that's changing as well.
It was hot for the first few days we were here, but overnight (literally), it got cold and windy and rainy/cloudy. Today we saw sunlight again for the first time in at least four days. I know that's nothing compared to what's been going on on the east coast lately, but it's been a very sudden shift here. My host mother wouldn't let me leave the house without a coat yesterday and today was worried because my hair was wet when I was getting ready to leave. She's been taking very good care of me and making sure I eat enough. And then some.
Last weekend, two other trainees and I played soccer (futbol) with their host brothers and other kids in their neighborhood. Otherwise, we have class from 9am until about 5pm everyday except Saturday when we have a half day and Sunday when we thankfully have off. By the end of classes, I'm usually wiped out.
Classes are going well, though they are definitely hard work. This is, of course unsurprisingly, particularly true about Azerbaijani language classes. However, we have a good teacher, who speaks very good English. His family was a host family last year, so he is very much in touch with our needs and has been very good about helping us get situated with our host families and the town. A number of current volunteers have visited our youth development classes to talk about their work and their lives. That has probably been the best part of the YD lessons so far to me. Six volunteers (two each from Youth Development, Community Economic development, and English Education) came during staging at the hotel to talk with us as well, which was very informative.
My host family primarily consists of a slightly older couple, whose children are all grown and live elsewhere. Their two daughters and their four grandkids visited over the past weekend. They each had a daughter about 10 years old and a son about seven. They've all been very sweet, though our communications are mostly pantomime or simple sentences, as they don't speak English, and I'm only beginning to get any Azerbaijani that can communicate meanings. Mostly it's one or two word sentences, though we are progressing rapidly. Not that I'll be speaking paragraphs any time soon, but we can almost conjugate verbs. For awhile it was frustrating because we were basically only memorizing phrases without learning how to make sentences, but that's changing as well.It was hot for the first few days we were here, but overnight (literally), it got cold and windy and rainy/cloudy. Today we saw sunlight again for the first time in at least four days. I know that's nothing compared to what's been going on on the east coast lately, but it's been a very sudden shift here. My host mother wouldn't let me leave the house without a coat yesterday and today was worried because my hair was wet when I was getting ready to leave. She's been taking very good care of me and making sure I eat enough. And then some.
Last weekend, two other trainees and I played soccer (futbol) with their host brothers and other kids in their neighborhood. Otherwise, we have class from 9am until about 5pm everyday except Saturday when we have a half day and Sunday when we thankfully have off. By the end of classes, I'm usually wiped out.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Firsts
In two days, I leave for Azerbaijan. I will be a Youth Development volunteer. For the first three months, I will be staying near Sumqayit (or Sumgayit), on the Absheron Peninsula, which is also home to the nation's capital, Baku.
The last few months of waiting to hear if I was accepted and where I would be going were difficult, but nothing compared to the last few weeks. This is not to say the last couple weeks have not been wonderful at the same time. I have had the wonderful opportunity to see friends, family, and loved ones and spend time with them. There just isn't enough time, and yet, there seems like there's been too much time. I know that once I'm on the plane, it will be easier to let myself be caught up in the excitement of the new adventure I'm embarking on.
Now is the time to start looking forward. My bags are just about packed. I've picked out a last dinner. Now is the time to stop thinking about lasts and start thinking about the firsts that are coming soon.
More important, I know that many of the perceived lasts are not really lasts, but actually, "last until's," that is, last, until I see someone or do something or be somewhere again. This will not be my last bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats, let me tell you.
This blog is for my friends and family to read and hopefully stay in touch with me. It is also for prospective Peace Corps volunteers. I avidly read the blogs of volunteers once I found out I was going to Azerbaijan, so I want this to be a resource for anyone who wants to use it.
Some of it will be more thoughtful reflections, some will be basic recaps of day to day life. There will be pictures. I hope you enjoy it.
The last few months of waiting to hear if I was accepted and where I would be going were difficult, but nothing compared to the last few weeks. This is not to say the last couple weeks have not been wonderful at the same time. I have had the wonderful opportunity to see friends, family, and loved ones and spend time with them. There just isn't enough time, and yet, there seems like there's been too much time. I know that once I'm on the plane, it will be easier to let myself be caught up in the excitement of the new adventure I'm embarking on.
Now is the time to start looking forward. My bags are just about packed. I've picked out a last dinner. Now is the time to stop thinking about lasts and start thinking about the firsts that are coming soon.
More important, I know that many of the perceived lasts are not really lasts, but actually, "last until's," that is, last, until I see someone or do something or be somewhere again. This will not be my last bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats, let me tell you.
This blog is for my friends and family to read and hopefully stay in touch with me. It is also for prospective Peace Corps volunteers. I avidly read the blogs of volunteers once I found out I was going to Azerbaijan, so I want this to be a resource for anyone who wants to use it.
Some of it will be more thoughtful reflections, some will be basic recaps of day to day life. There will be pictures. I hope you enjoy it.
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