I recently read Obama’s State of the Union—I wanted to watch the video, but at an hour’s length, was taking much too long to download all the way. Each time I tried, I basically got to where the clapping died down and Obama got ready to speak.
I was struck a number of times during the speech, as President Obama said some very interesting, and to my mind, surprising things. The calls for bipartisanship make sense of course, especially given the shooting in Arizona. I have no doubt that a certain amount of the comments were born out of politics, but damn if he doesn’t make it sound good. And even if it is politicizing on one level, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t also mean it. He knows that now that Congress is split, he’ll have to compromise more, and it is impressive to see him noting just how and on what he is willing to compromise. I don’t remember recent State of the Union addresses sounding so candid.
I wasn’t as big a fan of the theme, “winning the future,” though not the idea, just the sound of it. It just sounded superficial to me in a way.
Something that surprised me was his call for colleges to open their doors to military recruiters and ROTC. I don’t know what it was exactly, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing one usually hears from, well, anyone. I remember the presence of ROTC being debated a bit while at Gettysburg, and even though it was not a major issue, there were distinct and strong opinions on the issue.
I was also surprised by the humor in the address at times, like the salmon stuff.
“The Interior Department is in charge of salmon while they’re in fresh water, but the Commerce Department handles them when they’re in saltwater. I hear it gets even more complicated once they’re smoked.”
I liked what he had to say about education, though everyone talks about education, but little seems to be done. Still, as someone dealing with children that are taught to memorize, I was impressed with this paragraph:
"What’s more, we are the first nation to be founded for the sake of an idea -– the idea that each of us deserves the chance to shape our own destiny. That’s why centuries of pioneers and immigrants have risked everything to come here. It’s why our students don’t just memorize equations, but answer questions like ‘What do you think of that idea? What would you change about the world? What do you want to be when you grow up?’”
It was strange not being at home for this. Not just missing the actual speech, but being away from the pundits, the analysis, the satire. Where were all the people telling me what to think about what I’d just read/watched? It’ll be even weirder being away from home during the next election season, missing all of the debates and ads and arguing and yelling. Come to think of it, that doesn’t sound all that bad. It’s odd though, how attached to America I get when I’m away from it.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Anecdotes and Ponderings
1. The other day as I was leaving my school, a young boy approached me and shook my hand, introducing himself. And he didn’t let go. At first I thought this was another weird situation of someone being a little creep (not to sound harsh, but it’s happened). But then I realized the kid just wanted to hold my hand, and so we walked down the street as we talked. At the corner with the main road, he looked up at me and asked if I liked Fanta. Realizing he wanted to take me home with him, I couldn’t help smiling. I couldn’t go with him because I was late for lunch, but that was such a sweet little kid, it made my day.
2. Now that winter is in full force here, getting strong gas flow for our heater (petch) is harder and harder. Everyone in Ismayilli needs to use their gas, of course, so everyone just gets a little. So I take a special pleasure in the evenings when people start going to bed. Every evening, my fire grows louder, my room warmer. Recently, I lit my petch and the fire began to burn slowly; disappointed, I turned my bag and began to deal with other things. A minute later, I noticed my eyes were getting hazy, turned, and realized the paper I used to light the petch was still smoking. Fortunately, I have a pitcher of water on top of the petch, and in a panic, dumped the paper in. No permanent damage, thank goodness, but I had to air out my room for quite a bit.
3. In my recent conversation clubs, we have been discussing food. I showed them the food pyramid and we discussed the different food groups and then broke down meals to see that the ingredients came from the different groups, all of which we need to be healthy. One of the few Western food items the kids here really know is pizza, so we talked about pizza. I asked them whether pizza was healthy or unhealthy, and they mostly said, by the logic that there were ingredients from multiple groups, it was healthy. However, a couple said that it was unhealthy because the meat in pizza was not fresh. I love the health rationale in this country.
4. Another conversation club note. We talked about the human body and body parts. It struck me that they have problems pronouncing some words, including the word, “eye.” It then occurred to me that it’s weird that we pronounced the word “eye” the way we do, because we pronounced the word “aye” the same way. What a strange language, English. No wonder people have a hard time learning it.
5. It snows here regularly, but is not particularly cold, so that in the day, the snow that has fallen overnight has melted and any falling snow no longer sticks. It’s wonderful to see snow falling when I wake up—makes getting out of bed slightly easier, but it sure is depressing seeing it turn to water during the day.
2. Now that winter is in full force here, getting strong gas flow for our heater (petch) is harder and harder. Everyone in Ismayilli needs to use their gas, of course, so everyone just gets a little. So I take a special pleasure in the evenings when people start going to bed. Every evening, my fire grows louder, my room warmer. Recently, I lit my petch and the fire began to burn slowly; disappointed, I turned my bag and began to deal with other things. A minute later, I noticed my eyes were getting hazy, turned, and realized the paper I used to light the petch was still smoking. Fortunately, I have a pitcher of water on top of the petch, and in a panic, dumped the paper in. No permanent damage, thank goodness, but I had to air out my room for quite a bit.
3. In my recent conversation clubs, we have been discussing food. I showed them the food pyramid and we discussed the different food groups and then broke down meals to see that the ingredients came from the different groups, all of which we need to be healthy. One of the few Western food items the kids here really know is pizza, so we talked about pizza. I asked them whether pizza was healthy or unhealthy, and they mostly said, by the logic that there were ingredients from multiple groups, it was healthy. However, a couple said that it was unhealthy because the meat in pizza was not fresh. I love the health rationale in this country.
4. Another conversation club note. We talked about the human body and body parts. It struck me that they have problems pronouncing some words, including the word, “eye.” It then occurred to me that it’s weird that we pronounced the word “eye” the way we do, because we pronounced the word “aye” the same way. What a strange language, English. No wonder people have a hard time learning it.
5. It snows here regularly, but is not particularly cold, so that in the day, the snow that has fallen overnight has melted and any falling snow no longer sticks. It’s wonderful to see snow falling when I wake up—makes getting out of bed slightly easier, but it sure is depressing seeing it turn to water during the day.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Black January
The Twentieth of January is a special day in Azerbaijan, a national day of mourning. It is the anniversary of the deaths of 130 men, women, and children who died when the Soviet army invaded Baku, having declared a national state of emergency. These people are memorialized by a monument in Baku, Martyr’s Lane , a walkway lined by their graves, at the end of which is a monolith covering an undying flame. Many towns and cities have their own smaller Martyrs’ Lanes, including Ismayilli, which memorialize those from the area who have died as martyrs, mostly in conflict with Armenia.
I awoke to discover it had snowed lightly over night, coating the ground with a white dusting. Last night as I went to bed, I realized it was actually hailing tiny ice balls. After breakfast, I prepared to meet my school on the way to Martyr’s Lane. It was still foggy and very lightly precipitating, and here and there it was possible to see people walking here and there, most heading towards the south of town, towards the monument. On the balcony of the Culture House in the center of town a speaker stood, loudly playing ghostly, mournful Azerbaijani music, all tars and sazes.
There I waited, trying vaguely to be obvious and inconspicuous at the same time, so that when the teachers arrived, they would see me, but at the same time, hoping I wasn’t being horribly awkward. A man stood at the corner selling artificial flowers to take to the memorial. Most people bought red rose, but every so often someone would walk by carrying a handful of lilies or bright orange flowers that cannot exist in nature.
Eventually I was joined by Humay Muellim (Humay Teacher) and Sakit Muellim, and we stood, the two of them conversing while I mostly listened, periodically receiving interpretations from Humay Muellim. And then out of the fog came the school, a mass of people strolled down the street. They quickly ushered us along, urging me along with the director and other male teachers, who led the way, periodically reminding the students to stay behind them. We took up the entire street, and cars were forced to park while we passed before driving again.
The snow picked up as we marched down the road, and finally up ahead we saw the hill where Martyrs’ Lane sits. Slightly below it stands a World War II memorial. Stairs led up to the platform where a soldier memorial stands and then further up the hill towards Martyrs’ Lane. We gathered at the bottom of the hill, at the steps to the World War II memorial, surely over 500 people. Police stood on the platform and allowed people through in large groups. The police briefly held me back while my school’s director went on, but he and another teacher stopped and called for me to come with them.
Slowly, as a part of the long procession, we entered the gates. More roses lined the path we were to circumambulate. The families of Ismayilli martyrs solemnly stood by their graves as passersby placed flowers in front of them. The director took several pictures with me as we walked, and instructed me where to place my flower. A man named Mayil, who died in 1993. There was not much time to stop and savor the moment, as more people were eager to visit.
And that was that. That was Black January. It was surprising to see how much smiling and laughter there was on the way there and back. For a country that is probably nowhere close to being over the traumas they’ve faced, it was relieving to see some happiness on this day. The event was free of political diatribes and posturing, no one lectured me about the events or the conflict; it seemed mostly to truly be about visiting and honoring the dead. A little pushing and shoving while we awaited entry kind of took some of the power out of the occasion, but by and large it seemed heartfelt.
I consider the recent understanding of death in America. Those Americans that we have lost in war have all been far away and out of site. Here, death is an immediate issue. On just the other side of the country, a country the size of Maine, people still die periodically. It is an entirely different situation and reality. The conflict and the deaths as a result have become a very strong part of the nation’s cultural history and identity.
I awoke to discover it had snowed lightly over night, coating the ground with a white dusting. Last night as I went to bed, I realized it was actually hailing tiny ice balls. After breakfast, I prepared to meet my school on the way to Martyr’s Lane. It was still foggy and very lightly precipitating, and here and there it was possible to see people walking here and there, most heading towards the south of town, towards the monument. On the balcony of the Culture House in the center of town a speaker stood, loudly playing ghostly, mournful Azerbaijani music, all tars and sazes.
There I waited, trying vaguely to be obvious and inconspicuous at the same time, so that when the teachers arrived, they would see me, but at the same time, hoping I wasn’t being horribly awkward. A man stood at the corner selling artificial flowers to take to the memorial. Most people bought red rose, but every so often someone would walk by carrying a handful of lilies or bright orange flowers that cannot exist in nature.
Eventually I was joined by Humay Muellim (Humay Teacher) and Sakit Muellim, and we stood, the two of them conversing while I mostly listened, periodically receiving interpretations from Humay Muellim. And then out of the fog came the school, a mass of people strolled down the street. They quickly ushered us along, urging me along with the director and other male teachers, who led the way, periodically reminding the students to stay behind them. We took up the entire street, and cars were forced to park while we passed before driving again.
The snow picked up as we marched down the road, and finally up ahead we saw the hill where Martyrs’ Lane sits. Slightly below it stands a World War II memorial. Stairs led up to the platform where a soldier memorial stands and then further up the hill towards Martyrs’ Lane. We gathered at the bottom of the hill, at the steps to the World War II memorial, surely over 500 people. Police stood on the platform and allowed people through in large groups. The police briefly held me back while my school’s director went on, but he and another teacher stopped and called for me to come with them.
Slowly, as a part of the long procession, we entered the gates. More roses lined the path we were to circumambulate. The families of Ismayilli martyrs solemnly stood by their graves as passersby placed flowers in front of them. The director took several pictures with me as we walked, and instructed me where to place my flower. A man named Mayil, who died in 1993. There was not much time to stop and savor the moment, as more people were eager to visit.
And that was that. That was Black January. It was surprising to see how much smiling and laughter there was on the way there and back. For a country that is probably nowhere close to being over the traumas they’ve faced, it was relieving to see some happiness on this day. The event was free of political diatribes and posturing, no one lectured me about the events or the conflict; it seemed mostly to truly be about visiting and honoring the dead. A little pushing and shoving while we awaited entry kind of took some of the power out of the occasion, but by and large it seemed heartfelt.
I consider the recent understanding of death in America. Those Americans that we have lost in war have all been far away and out of site. Here, death is an immediate issue. On just the other side of the country, a country the size of Maine, people still die periodically. It is an entirely different situation and reality. The conflict and the deaths as a result have become a very strong part of the nation’s cultural history and identity.
My First Haircut
In the past eight years, as far as I can remember, just one person has cut my hair. I always joke about it, because this person started out at the person who cut my mom’s hair, and what self-respecting young male goes to a woman’s beauty salon? My father would suggest every time I would go that I should just go to his walk-in barber shop and get a buzz cut like I used to and like he does. But dammit, I like the hair wash before hand and the hair cut, the conversation, the whole experience. For eight years, I’ve been going to Hot Locks, getting basically the same haircut every time (though for awhile in high school I was still getting it cut shorter). Until now.
I got my hair cut just before I flew out of New York, and I’ve now been in Azerbaijan for just over four months, my hair growing longer and longer. I was dreading this moment, getting a haircut. I worried about the language barrier, first and foremost. Second, it didn’t take long to guess that there’s not much in the way of education for barbers and hair stylists here. Men’s’ and women’s’ barbers are all over the place,, practically on the side of the street. In India I’d seen barber’s chairs literally on the street, and I feared it would be a similar situation here.
I realized though, that I had an ace in the hole here, or so I hoped, a host brother who speaks fluent English. If he came with me, there was no way I’d get a bad haircut. And so I recruited him to take me last week. Following my afternoon English conversation club, Seymur took me to a nearby barbershop. Just one chair and mirror, a simple set of scissors and brushes and a shaver, a water spritzer. The barber was sitting alone in the chair when we walked in, listening to radio. He stood quickly, and ushered me into the seat. Seymur explained my request, and off we went. With the comb he held up hair, and sheared away. Then he spritzed me down, and started more precise cutting. Seymur stood nearby observing and translating, including the fact that I wanted my “ears opened up.”
All together it took about 10-15 minutes. And now I’m shorn. It’s maybe a little shorter than I wanted, but I’d chalk most of that up to the fact that my hair was so long beforehand. It’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure, and I may finally take the advice of one of the other teachers, and start wearing a hat. It’s soyuq outside in the morning.
Before:
After:
I got my hair cut just before I flew out of New York, and I’ve now been in Azerbaijan for just over four months, my hair growing longer and longer. I was dreading this moment, getting a haircut. I worried about the language barrier, first and foremost. Second, it didn’t take long to guess that there’s not much in the way of education for barbers and hair stylists here. Men’s’ and women’s’ barbers are all over the place,, practically on the side of the street. In India I’d seen barber’s chairs literally on the street, and I feared it would be a similar situation here.
I realized though, that I had an ace in the hole here, or so I hoped, a host brother who speaks fluent English. If he came with me, there was no way I’d get a bad haircut. And so I recruited him to take me last week. Following my afternoon English conversation club, Seymur took me to a nearby barbershop. Just one chair and mirror, a simple set of scissors and brushes and a shaver, a water spritzer. The barber was sitting alone in the chair when we walked in, listening to radio. He stood quickly, and ushered me into the seat. Seymur explained my request, and off we went. With the comb he held up hair, and sheared away. Then he spritzed me down, and started more precise cutting. Seymur stood nearby observing and translating, including the fact that I wanted my “ears opened up.”
All together it took about 10-15 minutes. And now I’m shorn. It’s maybe a little shorter than I wanted, but I’d chalk most of that up to the fact that my hair was so long beforehand. It’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure, and I may finally take the advice of one of the other teachers, and start wearing a hat. It’s soyuq outside in the morning.
Before:
After:
Monday, January 17, 2011
Food, Glorious Food
Maybe this is just me being self-centered about people being interested in my daily life, food, and such things, but I thought it would be interesting to discuss and provide the recipes for some of my favorite foods here in Azerbaijan. My host mother here in Ismayilli is a very good cook, and we get lots of variety in our meals, and she seems to do a fair amount of experimenting, or at least, cooking things that don’t strictly have a name. They like spicy food, or some spicy food, as they have enjoyed the Jalapeno mustard I received in a package, which is odd for Azeris. One day we had what are basically healthy Hot Pockets, ground turkey meat in little dough pockets. When I asked what it was called, she listed the ingredients.
Azerbaijan has several national dishes, dolma, kifta, dushbera, and xash. Xash, of course, is the dreaded boiled cow head and feet, best served with a side of vodka shots (my host brother says it’s not real xash if it doesn’t come with vodka, mostly jokingly). Kifta is kind of boring, and is basically a meatball and potato soup. Dushbera is more interesting, and is kind of like a meat ravioli soup. Most soups here are oil-based, though we did have a sour cream/yogurt-based soup with onion, garlic, and herbs recently.
Dolma comes in two main varieties, Three Sisters Dolma or Cabbage Dolma.
For Three Sisters Dolma, you need:
1 kilo or pound or so of ground meat, usually beef or sheep
1 onion
6 tomatoes
6 small eggplants
6 green peppers
1 bunch of green beans
2-4 tablespoons basil
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup of water
salt and pepper
Here people grind their own meat, so the onion and meat are ground up together. The meat is then browned, and covered while it is allowed to further brown. Butter can be added to reduce burning. Boil a large pot of water, to which the eggplants are added for about 5 minutes, or until soft. Then remove them and allow to cool. Once cool, rub eggplants between hands until soft and carefully remove the insides by cutting deep slits into them. Cut the tops off of the tomatoes and peppers, but keep the tomato innards (not the seedy pulp)and add to the meat mixture, along with the chopped basil. Add cinnamon and mix thoroughly. Stuff the three vegetables with the meat. Then steam the dolmas in a pot with water over a layer of green beans for about 20 minutes or until soft.
Cabbage dolma differs slightly in that it is usally done with a cup of rice, and chestnuts. And of course, cabbage leaves instead of the tomato/pepper/eggplant. Blanch the cabbage leaves and then wrap the meat mixture in the cabbage. A sauce can be made with a tomato, green pepper, ½ teaspoon tumeric, and some sour sauce, which is then poured over the dolma when they are almost completely cooked. And that’s dolma. There’s also a vegetarian variety, though I’ve never had it, with a ground walnut, rice, onion, and yogurt mixture.
So if you’ve got a free evening and feel experimental, try some Azeri cuisine. To be really authentic, you should have a pile of herbs that you should eat raw, and have lots of bread on the side to eat with your meal and wipe up the crumbs. After dinner, have a glass of tea and some sweets.
Azerbaijan has several national dishes, dolma, kifta, dushbera, and xash. Xash, of course, is the dreaded boiled cow head and feet, best served with a side of vodka shots (my host brother says it’s not real xash if it doesn’t come with vodka, mostly jokingly). Kifta is kind of boring, and is basically a meatball and potato soup. Dushbera is more interesting, and is kind of like a meat ravioli soup. Most soups here are oil-based, though we did have a sour cream/yogurt-based soup with onion, garlic, and herbs recently.
Dolma comes in two main varieties, Three Sisters Dolma or Cabbage Dolma.
For Three Sisters Dolma, you need:
1 kilo or pound or so of ground meat, usually beef or sheep
1 onion
6 tomatoes
6 small eggplants
6 green peppers
1 bunch of green beans
2-4 tablespoons basil
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup of water
salt and pepper
Here people grind their own meat, so the onion and meat are ground up together. The meat is then browned, and covered while it is allowed to further brown. Butter can be added to reduce burning. Boil a large pot of water, to which the eggplants are added for about 5 minutes, or until soft. Then remove them and allow to cool. Once cool, rub eggplants between hands until soft and carefully remove the insides by cutting deep slits into them. Cut the tops off of the tomatoes and peppers, but keep the tomato innards (not the seedy pulp)and add to the meat mixture, along with the chopped basil. Add cinnamon and mix thoroughly. Stuff the three vegetables with the meat. Then steam the dolmas in a pot with water over a layer of green beans for about 20 minutes or until soft.
Cabbage dolma differs slightly in that it is usally done with a cup of rice, and chestnuts. And of course, cabbage leaves instead of the tomato/pepper/eggplant. Blanch the cabbage leaves and then wrap the meat mixture in the cabbage. A sauce can be made with a tomato, green pepper, ½ teaspoon tumeric, and some sour sauce, which is then poured over the dolma when they are almost completely cooked. And that’s dolma. There’s also a vegetarian variety, though I’ve never had it, with a ground walnut, rice, onion, and yogurt mixture.
So if you’ve got a free evening and feel experimental, try some Azeri cuisine. To be really authentic, you should have a pile of herbs that you should eat raw, and have lots of bread on the side to eat with your meal and wipe up the crumbs. After dinner, have a glass of tea and some sweets.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The Joy of Packages
Winter has hit, and hit for what seems like good. The next two months are supposed to be the hardest of our service, and if we get through them, it’ll be smooth sailing from then on. If we make it to March and Novruz holiday, we’ll make it to summer. But in the meantime, we must find the motivation somewhere to make it through each week. It’s harder now that Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone, as surreal as they were. Sometimes it’s enough to plan for a trip to see nearby volunteers, an escape to Baku, and in a month we’ll be able to look forward to the Super Bowl. But other times we need something extra, something unexpected. And that’s exactly what I got this past weekend. A package from home.
This package has been hanging over me for the last month. It was sent before I got to site, now exactly a month ago. It’s crazy to think I’ve been here in Ismayilli for a month, but that’s another post. I checked the post office day after day, waiting more and more impatiently. I had just about given up, after re-raising my hopes multiple times—because it’s a big package, because it’s the holidays, etc. I checked this past Friday before I went to visit my AZ7 sitemate in the village. Nothing.
As our falafel fried, he got a call from his host father saying a package needed to be picked up. Of course, they couldn’t deliver it, so he had to run to the post (not the office, but in fact some guy’s home, where all the village’s packages wait in his living room). So off he goes, and comes back lugging one heavy, beautiful package for me.
All three of us Ismayilli-ers were expecting, and I lucked out, finally. And was I ever lucky, for it was Christmas in a box. A nutcracker, New Yorkers, Frosted Mini Wheat’s, Resse’s Peanut Butter Christmas trees, and the biggest coup, a dog that dances and sings “Donde Esta Santa Claus?”
So, Merry Christmas to me, at just the right time, when I needed it the most. And to all a good night.
A small addendum: I have now been at site for one month, and it’s been wonderful how unlike training it’s been. It feels like I’ve done a lot and nothing at the same time, but since arriving, I’ve gone from sitting in on English classes to leading my own conversation clubs, and have gotten involved in the summer camp program we do for boys, ABLE. All in all, probably possibly a successful first month.
This package has been hanging over me for the last month. It was sent before I got to site, now exactly a month ago. It’s crazy to think I’ve been here in Ismayilli for a month, but that’s another post. I checked the post office day after day, waiting more and more impatiently. I had just about given up, after re-raising my hopes multiple times—because it’s a big package, because it’s the holidays, etc. I checked this past Friday before I went to visit my AZ7 sitemate in the village. Nothing.
As our falafel fried, he got a call from his host father saying a package needed to be picked up. Of course, they couldn’t deliver it, so he had to run to the post (not the office, but in fact some guy’s home, where all the village’s packages wait in his living room). So off he goes, and comes back lugging one heavy, beautiful package for me.
All three of us Ismayilli-ers were expecting, and I lucked out, finally. And was I ever lucky, for it was Christmas in a box. A nutcracker, New Yorkers, Frosted Mini Wheat’s, Resse’s Peanut Butter Christmas trees, and the biggest coup, a dog that dances and sings “Donde Esta Santa Claus?”
So, Merry Christmas to me, at just the right time, when I needed it the most. And to all a good night.
A small addendum: I have now been at site for one month, and it’s been wonderful how unlike training it’s been. It feels like I’ve done a lot and nothing at the same time, but since arriving, I’ve gone from sitting in on English classes to leading my own conversation clubs, and have gotten involved in the summer camp program we do for boys, ABLE. All in all, probably possibly a successful first month.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
New Years and Mountains
It rained New Year’s weekend. At the time, this was a miserable development. The day before, my computer told me, it was almost 60 degrees in Baku. While we were there the temperature dropped to a high of 40-some degrees, dashing my hopes for another chance to wander around the Old City during the day. Instead, I spent the days in the lovely Hotel Cenub, at the Peace Corps Office Lounge, and at various restaurants. Not that this was all bad, mind you. I got to sleep in, something that hasn’t happened since PST Sundays. I got to rummage through the shelves of books in the Peace Corps lounge and came away with all sorts of literary goodies—two of Clavell’s Asian Saga, the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Michael Chabon’s Gentlemen of the Road, and the Azerbaijan love story, Ali and Nino. The other non-food related highlight was having a meeting about the ABLE summer camp we run for Azeri boys from across the country. I signed up to help out with Supplies, Site Location, and most excitingly, I’m tentatively going to be in charge of the ropes/challenge course at the camp. Genesee Valley experience for the win.
Now, to food. I got to eat some non-Azerbaijani food. I finally made it to McDonald’s, and had my first Azerbaijani Biq Mak. I also got Indian food, falafel, and Chinese food. I haven’t craved Indian food since I got back from India, now two years ago, but darn it if Azerbaijan hasn’t made me have Indian food cravings. We visited Finnegan’s where I had another Guiness, and then we celebrated midnight at a small bar called Stranger. There, we were allowed to put our own iPods on and basically packed the place both nights. We tried valiantly to find karaoke, but were out of luck on New Year’s and when we finally found one at the Chinese restaurant, it was booked by, unsurprisingly, Chinese. There is a plan afoot by one volunteer whose family is from China to book it for his birthday, so there’s hope somewhere down the road.
The one downside, as I’ve said, was that it was rainy and cold, and the cold continued to hold over the country on my trip back to Ismayilli on Sunday. But Monday morning, I walked out of my house to go to the IREX center and post office, and happened to look up. The mountains surrounding Ismayilli were covered with snow. While we had struggled through the grossness of cold uncomfortable rain, the mountains were receiving a beautiful snowfall. Breath gone. Feet stopped. Staring more than an Azeri seeing their first foreigner picking their nose. There was the pick me up I needed after a gloomy (fun, yes, but gloomy) New Year’s weekend.
Now, to food. I got to eat some non-Azerbaijani food. I finally made it to McDonald’s, and had my first Azerbaijani Biq Mak. I also got Indian food, falafel, and Chinese food. I haven’t craved Indian food since I got back from India, now two years ago, but darn it if Azerbaijan hasn’t made me have Indian food cravings. We visited Finnegan’s where I had another Guiness, and then we celebrated midnight at a small bar called Stranger. There, we were allowed to put our own iPods on and basically packed the place both nights. We tried valiantly to find karaoke, but were out of luck on New Year’s and when we finally found one at the Chinese restaurant, it was booked by, unsurprisingly, Chinese. There is a plan afoot by one volunteer whose family is from China to book it for his birthday, so there’s hope somewhere down the road.
The one downside, as I’ve said, was that it was rainy and cold, and the cold continued to hold over the country on my trip back to Ismayilli on Sunday. But Monday morning, I walked out of my house to go to the IREX center and post office, and happened to look up. The mountains surrounding Ismayilli were covered with snow. While we had struggled through the grossness of cold uncomfortable rain, the mountains were receiving a beautiful snowfall. Breath gone. Feet stopped. Staring more than an Azeri seeing their first foreigner picking their nose. There was the pick me up I needed after a gloomy (fun, yes, but gloomy) New Year’s weekend.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Obama Appoints New Ambassador to Azerbaijan
Obama’s a smart man, and using Congress’ recess, he has had a strong influence on life here in Azerbaijan, whether he knows it or not. After over a year, Azerbaijan finally has an ambassador from the United States, Matthew Bryza. Bryza’s nomination for the post had been stalled out in Congress due to several senators’ reservations about Bryza’s past. In particular, they are concerned because the Armenian lobby is concerned about Bryza’s past. They claim he will not be able to act impartially.
However, on this side of the NK Zone, this appointment is a perfect fit. Bryza has worked in the Caucasus for a number of years, and is considered by those people in the embassy that I have heard speak on the matter, including the charges d’affairs, Adam Sterling, the best person for the job.
Azeris also welcome Bryza’s appointment. Given his experience in the Caucasus, the government is familiar with him and thinks of him positively.
But even if it wasn’t Bryza, the fact that there is an ambassador is a huge thing. All Azeris knew about the absent post, and saw it as potentially a slight against the country. Filling the position shows everyday Azeris that the United States cares about relations with the country. The strength of the Armenian lobby in the United States is also something the Azeris are aware of and naturally dislike. When the Soviet Union collapsed, and the Caucasus countries gained independence, the majority of Azeris who were abroad returned home, while Armenians stayed abroad. Azerbaijanis want their story to get out, the way the Armenians have been able to. If nothing else, though, they’ll settle for people recognizing that they have a side, and a US ambassador is just what the hakim ordered.
However, on this side of the NK Zone, this appointment is a perfect fit. Bryza has worked in the Caucasus for a number of years, and is considered by those people in the embassy that I have heard speak on the matter, including the charges d’affairs, Adam Sterling, the best person for the job.
Azeris also welcome Bryza’s appointment. Given his experience in the Caucasus, the government is familiar with him and thinks of him positively.
But even if it wasn’t Bryza, the fact that there is an ambassador is a huge thing. All Azeris knew about the absent post, and saw it as potentially a slight against the country. Filling the position shows everyday Azeris that the United States cares about relations with the country. The strength of the Armenian lobby in the United States is also something the Azeris are aware of and naturally dislike. When the Soviet Union collapsed, and the Caucasus countries gained independence, the majority of Azeris who were abroad returned home, while Armenians stayed abroad. Azerbaijanis want their story to get out, the way the Armenians have been able to. If nothing else, though, they’ll settle for people recognizing that they have a side, and a US ambassador is just what the hakim ordered.
New Years Resolutions
Every year, usually on New Year’s eve, my mother asks me what my New Year’s resolutions will be. Like for Christmas, it’s been a number of years since I had New Year’s not with my family. It seems that we’re usually, or perhaps just recently, in Texas, so I spend the evening entertaining my younger cousins, wrestling and watching movies, slipping away to nurse my wounds every now and then. So New Year’s away from home is a bit of a change to my system, as well.
New Year’s resolutions don’t make as much sense here as they do back home. That’s not to say I don’t need to make some changes to myself, but that the typical resolutions don’t apply. Diet? A bit out of my control at the moment. I could and will resolve to exercise more. I have a perfectly good pull up bar outside my room and actually have some floor space that I can use for push ups and jump rope and the like.
Nonetheless, it is an interesting dilemma. I almost feel like I haven’t been here long enough to make any sound judgments regarding what works here and what does not. But I do know myself, or at least I tell myself I do. (I do a fair amount of talking with myself here. One of the benefits and downsides to so much free time.)
I know that I want to exercise more, so I resolve to work out doing pull ups or push ups every day, and to learn more about the Olympic Center pool so that I might use it in the future.
I resolve to be more patient with the people around me. I know that the little things in life can often frustrate me, and that I need to take things more in stride.
I resolve also to read War and Peace, James Clavell’s Asian Saga series, and David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest.
I resolve to work harder to become situated with my community and my school and the students at the school. I want to be approachable so that when they have ideas for projects, they feel they can come to me and know that I will help them. It's too easy to get tired of all the Hello's and What is your name's that I could shrug off a legitimate inquiry.
I worry that I am taking it too easy, which is probably a common feeling at this stage of service, but one that still gnaws at me. So I resolve to be the volunteer I want to be and to branch out from conversation clubs to other activities.
I resolve to be closely connected to my family, my friends, my mees, to remind them always that I have not forgotten or left them, and to show them my life here as best I can.
New Year’s resolutions don’t make as much sense here as they do back home. That’s not to say I don’t need to make some changes to myself, but that the typical resolutions don’t apply. Diet? A bit out of my control at the moment. I could and will resolve to exercise more. I have a perfectly good pull up bar outside my room and actually have some floor space that I can use for push ups and jump rope and the like.
Nonetheless, it is an interesting dilemma. I almost feel like I haven’t been here long enough to make any sound judgments regarding what works here and what does not. But I do know myself, or at least I tell myself I do. (I do a fair amount of talking with myself here. One of the benefits and downsides to so much free time.)
I know that I want to exercise more, so I resolve to work out doing pull ups or push ups every day, and to learn more about the Olympic Center pool so that I might use it in the future.
I resolve to be more patient with the people around me. I know that the little things in life can often frustrate me, and that I need to take things more in stride.
I resolve also to read War and Peace, James Clavell’s Asian Saga series, and David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest.
I resolve to work harder to become situated with my community and my school and the students at the school. I want to be approachable so that when they have ideas for projects, they feel they can come to me and know that I will help them. It's too easy to get tired of all the Hello's and What is your name's that I could shrug off a legitimate inquiry.
I worry that I am taking it too easy, which is probably a common feeling at this stage of service, but one that still gnaws at me. So I resolve to be the volunteer I want to be and to branch out from conversation clubs to other activities.
I resolve to be closely connected to my family, my friends, my mees, to remind them always that I have not forgotten or left them, and to show them my life here as best I can.
Notes
First, Happy New Year to everyone who reads this. I had a good time in a Baku, and more details will follow on that later.
Second, I have changed up the settings on the blog for commenting to see if that helps people who were having posting problems. Now anyone can comment, but I will have to approve the comment before it is visible. The only reason I did that was b/c I wanted to avoid spam. If no spam appears, I'll probably take that last setting off. TBD.
Third, I want a new title for the blog, so I'm accepting ideas for that.
That's it for now. Thanks for reading!
Second, I have changed up the settings on the blog for commenting to see if that helps people who were having posting problems. Now anyone can comment, but I will have to approve the comment before it is visible. The only reason I did that was b/c I wanted to avoid spam. If no spam appears, I'll probably take that last setting off. TBD.
Third, I want a new title for the blog, so I'm accepting ideas for that.
That's it for now. Thanks for reading!
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