Chapter Five: Birinchi Juma
September 4, 2006Today was my first full-day teaching this year. On Saturday afternoon, I went to Bishkek to say farewell to R., and then in the morning I got right back in another cab heading home, in what was perhaps the most mentally taxing taxi ride. Ever. The driver I eventually agreed on a price with lied to me and told me that there were already three other passengers in his car, waiting for one more passenger to be on our way. I settled early in the taxi selection process because at a quarter to 9 in the morning, the bus/taxi station is still entirely overwhelming. It takes an insane amount of willpower to remain aloof, treating all the drivers as, more or less, annoying flies. They see a non-Kyrgyz or Russian-looking person and assume that he or she is a tourist, and then as a result, assume they can then proceed to swarm and practically force them into the nearest stick shift Audi or Soviet-era Lada, ripping the said person ridiculously off with the fare, claiming that gas prices are “so high.” It really just comes down to stamina in the end, for both the driver and the passenger. The passenger cannot give in too easily, and the driver has to be persistent, or else he (and it is always a he) risks losing the traveler to his counterparts. It’s a tough game. But then again, so is life. Sheila would tell me to “knock it off, stop complaining and accept that life isn’t fair.”
I should have just kept this all to myself and dwelt more on the fact that R. isn’t going to be here anymore, and that the whole reason I went through the blessed affair was because she became such a good friend of mine this past year, and going with her to Bishkek was only an extension of what friendship entails. If I were to be honest, I’d have to admit that when I signed up for this whole PC business, I didn’t have any intention of making friends with other volunteers. It just didn’t cross my mind. So I suppose I look at the relationships I’ve made with other PCVs as added bonuses to this experience. And if nothing else, I now have a good reason to go through with my Tour de Pacific, starting in Seattle, Washington, making my way down to Portland, Oregon, and on and on South on Route 101. Surrounding myself with West Coasters, however involuntary it was, and their not-so Mid-Westerness, has indeed sparked my interest. I’m just saying.
But going back to dwelling on the negative, my fun game went on for another two hours as we waited for his, inevitably, empty car to fill up. Finally around 11:00 AM, we departed the capital, only to have to change a flat tire an hour into our trip. The man in the Audi’s backseat, who needless to say, started his drinking day off a tad too early or ended it a bit too late, was another bonus to my day’s awesomeness. At about 5:00 PM, we dawdled into Karakol, where I had to catch a connecting taxi to my village, some 20 minutes away. Inescapably, I was exhausted by the time my key went through my front door’s lock. I went to bed, woke up semi-earlier than I would normally in order to pretty myself, drank some French-pressed coffee, and at the last minute, changed from my dark jeans to a pair of black slacks (wow, I said “slacks”) so that my students would respect me more or something, where I then proceeded to leave my cute little house and head to school, arriving before the 8:00 AM bell. When I got to school, I immediately sensed the lack of urgency, and therefore took my time trying to read the cursive Cyrillic, deciphering my schedule. Only Monday and Tuesday’s classes were scheduled. Two classes today and four more tomorrow. All in all it was an uneventful day, save for the moving back in of all my teaching materials. Thanks to the World Wide Schools Program, I’ve somehow scrounged up quite a bit of supplies, so with hope, I’ll put them to use and make my lessons a tad more interesting than last year’s.
It’s nighttime now, and I can’t stop thinking about how I’m so many hours ahead of you. Like when I’m thinking about heading to bed (I’d say around 6 or 7:00 PM), you’re all just getting up. It’s been practically a year and I’m still amazed the time difference. I think time differences are going to be one of those things that I’m an eternal a kid about. And I’m fine with that. “Ooh, I’m in the future. I know what’s going to happen…” You know, things like that.
I’m back in my little house, and it’s freezing. I swear, the moment the calendar hit September 1st, the weather did a 180 like that, overnight.
I mentioned to She-She the other night that I was going to go dry for the next three months. She said that she’d do it too. When I mentioned it to B.P. over the Habitat for Humanity week, she bet me 5 com (the equivalent of about 12.5 cents) that I couldn’t do it. She was right. When I found out that my mom had a few the other night during her surprise 28th wedding anniversary party, I allowed myself one colimocho (red wine and coke) for R’s Last Supper. Hey, if Jesus rejoiced with those in his inner circle when he was saying goodbye and all that, I thought it was OK for me this one time too. Unlike the rest of the partygoers (all four of us), I stopped at the one, but because I bet on it, I promise to pay B.P. the 5 com I lost fair and square. Hold me to it.
I realize that 5 com, to all you high rollers, might not sound like a whole lot, but it’s a bus ride within city limits. No matter which Kyrgyz city you might find yourself. (I wanted to use an exclamation point there, but I couldn’t do it. What’s wrong with me?)
In other news regarding things my mother and I are trying to do simultaneously, my exercise plan fails each day. It might have something to do with the one shower a week bit, but I can’t be sure. What I do know is that, it got me thinking about the Nordic Trek that resides in my parent’s bedroom back in good ol’ LF. If you were to take a Marshall Home Tour, you might not even realize this once famous contraption is in fact there, but when it’s not being used as closet place for clothes from the dry cleaner or as a prop for my dad’s golf clubs, you’d be certain to see it. All early 90s worth.
X. diagnosed me with Irritable Leg Syndrome the other day. I told her that when I lay down for the night, my legs have a really hard time calming down. I have, on more than one occasion, had to get up and out of the (un)comforts of bed, to stretch for 20 minutes or so. I’m sure it is my body’s way of telling me it needs to be more physically active and what not. If I could only find a way to box the Nordic Trek and have it sent to Kyrgyzstan, I’d be set. I would put 5 com down on the fact that it hasn’t been used in the past 12 months. They’d hardly miss it. And I could use the pocket change.
September 7, 2006
OH. MY. GOD. While I’ve been spending the last hour or so editing this new post, I almost burned down this little house I’ve been bragging about. I was heating up water in a plastic bucket to do some dirty dishes later tonight, and I totally forgot about it. I bought this thing that needs to be plugged in and then placed into a full bucket of water in order to heat it up. It’s really sketchy, I’m not denying that, but everyone uses it. They just don’t forget about it like me. It takes about 10 minutes or so to heat the entire bucket, and I must have had it going for 45 minutes. Embarrassing story cut short, I might be inhaling toxic fumes from the bucket’s plastic right now. Must. Fix. Mistake.
One more thing, I went to have dinner at my Apa’s house earlier tonight. I happened to have my cell phone on me at the time, so I offered it to her to call her daughter, my sister, who was bride-napped a while back, and say hello. It was no big deal, really, but it was such a nice scene to behold. Mother, daughter, random American, all smiling because there was so much happiness in the air. My Ata poked his head around the corner whispering, not unlike my own American father, to my Apa, for her to say hello for him. I successfully flagged him over and made my Apa hand the phone over to him, so that he could do it himself. From what I know, that was the first time in six months that he’s heard his only daughter’s voice and she his. After dinner, when my Apa was walking me down the street, back to my new place, she told me that although this was a really hard first week of school for her, today was a good day. I know it’s simple, but she had a good day. That makes me happy. It was a good one.
Take care.
posted by C @ 2:41 PM
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