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.
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