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.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)