The Amazing Adventures of Kyrgyzstan and Col

Chapter Two: Girl From The North Country

I should have written long ago, but these last few months have eluded even the most dedicated writer in me. I can’t believe it’s nearly November. Just yesterday it seemed like school had ended for the summer. June, July and August flew by without me blinking an eye. My trip back for the wedding probably played a significant role in breaking the time up. And then my parents came in late August, and it happened again. Before I knew it, it was mid-September, and school was starting. This time, however, I didn’t have to show up at the crack of dawn everyday to give English lessons. My school had planned on having a replacement volunteer, and therefore, pretty much left me out of the schedule. I periodically popped in to give tutoring lessons to other English teachers and the occasional enthusiastic village pupil. I took the opportunity to travel down to the southern oblasts as well. Another PCV and I flew down from Bishkek and traveled to the land of Uzbek walnut forest fairies and dined on raison and apricot “plov,” the national rice dish of Central Asia.

For my faithful readers, whom I have no doubt let down, here’s a quick recap:

She-She and Lar-Bear Meet K-Stan
Sheila: “I’m so scared of the neighborhood dogs! I’ve been holding it in ALL-NIGHT!”
Colleen: “Mom, just get up. I’ll take you to the outhouse.”
See, life does come full-circle.

Ortega, Marshall and the Tolkien-like Walnut Forest Incident
Colleen: “Where are we?”
Amy: “Is this the walnut forest?”
Colleen: “I don’t know. Should we ask that guy over in the tree there?”
Amy: “Oh, yeah, we’ll just go ask that guy in that walnut tree, surround by a bunch of other trees, if this is the forest.”
Colleen: “This probably is a forest… but where are all the walnut forest fairies then?”
Amy: “I know. I thought they’d be everywhere.”
We got lost for a little while longer, found our Uzbek Walnut Forest Fairy and then drank tea with him.

It’s now October 29, 2007. And that’s crazy. Today I had my last meal with my Apa and Ata. I stopped by this afternoon because I had a bunch things to leave with them. On the 20-minute walk from my cottage to their home, a man and his horse and wagon pulled over for me and let me hitch a ride. On the way over, another man got on and asked who I was and why I was riding on his wagon. The man answered, “She’s Syrtbek and Satkyn’s oldest daughter. Don’t you know that? She’s going there, and we’re taking her.” That made me happy.

Then on the way home I stopped by the bridge I helped facilitate and made sure its wood hadn’t been ransacked. Everything is where it should be. Nearly eight months later and it still provides the safe travel of over 1,000 inhabitants… and most baby carriages. I walked back and forth one time and then turned around to head home. A little girl ran over from her yard and asked me how I was doing. I told her I was well, and that I hoped she was studying hard or something like that; it was as motivating as an After-School Special. She said she was, and then asked me what any 10-year-old Kyrgyz girl asks the village American during autumn, “Miss. Colleen, will you not eat an apple?” I told her that I had some already (thanks to Apa), but that I was thankful nevertheless. She smiled and said, “Oh, of course.” Like it’s somehow not uncommon to be carrying apples around.

Then a little ways down the dirt road a van pulled over and asked me in Kyrgyz where Ak-Kochkor Village. Now this might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s huge. Trust me. See, I’m white, in case you didn’t know. And most of the time, white people only speak Russian, so I’m sort of a big deal, if you know what I mean. But the only people who know that I speak Kyrgyz are the locals I interact with on a daily basis in the village, not some strange, van-driving-man who doesn’t know where the sister-village of Jety-Oguz is located. He just saw me, accepted that he was “lost” and asked me if I knew where it was. I told him alright, in Kyrgyz, and it was wonderful.

I’m sure gonna miss this little land.

But only the good things. I’m overjoyed that it’s human nature to forget the bad things.

Last week I went running and haven’t been able to motivate myself to go out again. A 4th-grade boy flagged me down to say hello in the middle of my 45-minute run, and I stopped to be polite because I thought it might be the last time I ever get to see him. He rehearsed the traditional greetings and then went in for the handshake. I gave it to him. And then he went in for the hug. I thought, “What the heck? It’s just a little boy.” Yeah, no, I was wrong about that. He went for the full-wrap-around and then squeezed my butt. Both cheeks. I started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, then I just got pissed, told him that he couldn’t do that and that I was offended and that he was a bad boy. He stood there in awe, pretended like he hadn’t done anything, and then I ran away. Being molested by a child is something no one should ever have to experience. It’s kinda hilarious and kinda ‘effed up.

All my projects are done. I almost feel like I helped a little. They tell PCVS that most of us will leave our host countries and feel like we took away a lot more that we ever gave. It's true.

Water Works.


My room is sparse. I gave away most of my things, and it feels amazing. A person really doesn’t need that much to live. In my possession, I now have:

1 sweater
1 blazer
2 hats
2 scarves
2 pair jeans
2 t-shirts
2 pair socks
3 tank tops
3 pair of undergarment sets
3 journals, a pen and pencil
1 laptop, camera and iPod
12 dvds
5 books
Makeup and perfume
Jewelry
Toothbrush, paste and floss
Lotion and deodorant
Tylenol, Advil and Pepto
Flintstones and Flax vitamins
2 pair glasses
4 pair shoes
1 wallet with KGS and USD
1 large backpack
1 US passport
1 one-way plane ticket
And a picture of my siblings

See you soon.

I just got a text message informing me that my Vietnam Visa arrived this afternoon in Bishkek. This is big news. I’m headed to ‘Nam!

Oh, and I bought a cow for my host family. Her name is Kalinka.

Holy Cow!

posted by C @ 6:22 PM 5 comments

Part VI: The Freefall; Chapter One: It's Beginning To Get To Me

I probably should have written something while I was home, but in all honesty, I ran out of time. I forgot how go-go-go life can be in The States. I finally understand why America is infested with weight problems, both heavy and light. Then there’s me, the neurotic exerciser/calorie-counting/sweet-toothed/beer-drinking one.

I’m fairly certain I started pissing people off around Beer Three at Wrigley Field when I made some side comment on how I should drink slower or grab a diet pop because of all the “empty calories,” 140 to be exact. When I got the “shut the 'eff' up” stare from my dear friend Sara, I knew it was time to get another hotdog and a round of Old Style for the group. Go Cubbies!

Is this even making any sense? I’ll backtrack.

I think I alluded to being a bit nervous to go home this summer in my last post. And it’s all mainly because two years have gone by and I really haven’t seen or spoken with anyone. Plus, after three weeks at home, inundated by the comforts of suburbia, I knew I’d have to board another plane and fly once again halfway around the world. But, friendship called, and I wouldn’t have missed standing beside my friend Kristen as she declared her unending love for a Farm Boy.

Anyway, shortly after landing, I quickly got over any shred of anxiety I may have possessed. I credit the first two minutes of walking through my family’s front door, holding $70 worth of BBQ ribs, when each of my four brothers kissed me on the cheek and informed me that they wouldn’t be able to stick around for dinner because the Doobie Brothers were performing at Ravinia Festival. I suppose it was comforting in an odd way. My family is my family no matter how many Sunday masses and brunches I’ve missed since I’ve been gone.

So Sheila and I improvised and called up a few of her girlfriends instead. I mean, seriously, who would argue spending time with 50-year-old house moms upon return to America? My friends would eventually make it over, but until then it was Col and the gang, sipping wine and chomping on pork. There was a lot of love.

And other feelings. I felt love from those who’ve givin’ it all along, hurt from those who said they would but haven’t, and surprised thankfulness from those who showed up because they wanted to. My heart lies somewhere in limbo, not quite sure which way to feel. I’m ok with that.

I gotta admit though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care. All my 103 girls called or came into town to see me, and then there was the Whispering Oaks crew, too. But the thing that bothers me most is that while I’m a bit disappointed a few people let me down, I almost, almost, don’t feel anything at all. I wish I could be one of those people who throw worry and annoyance away like a quarter you toss into the toll booth and never miss again, but I’m not. I hold on too long. But the good thing is, this whole thing was like a resurrection of sorts and allowed me to see how many wonderful people are still around.

Anyway, Sheila (Oh, hold on. A clarification: I do not, nor have I ever, called my mother by her first name, to her face. Sometimes I do in writing or when I am speaking of her, but it ends there. Doing so helps me remember that she is an extraordinary individual with feelings and a past and a personality that cannot be forced into a box labeled “Mom.” She is, in fact, Sheila. And I mean no disrespect. The opposite really.) thought it’d be a good idea to remodel our upstairs while I was home. “Colleen, there is NEVER a good time,” was her response when I asked, “But why now?” And so, yes, I slept on my bed, with my sister, in the middle of my room like an island for four nights, while our bedrooms where being repainted and torn apart. The Pistachio I grew to abhor is now replaced with a subtle Restoration Hardware Butter Cream. It’s really quite nice.

My mom cried when our first family dinner finally took place. I guess it was the first time in over two years when all her babies were under one roof, sober or not. In order to document the few weeks, she hired Fitzgerald’s Photography to take a picture that, if we’re lucky, will make it onto a Christmas card by the winter of 2010. In matching crisp white shirts and blue jeans with flip flops we posed for less than 20 minutes in a public Lake Forest park. Upon completion, my dad informed us that we had dinner reservations at the local Italian restaurant, immediately afterward. There was to be no changing of clothes. So in typical Marshall Fashion, we walked in a single-file line around town, into the restaurant, where THANK GOD, people were too immersed at gawking at Vince Vaughn and his two LFHS buddies to barely notice us. Until we sat down, of course, and the lady next to our table, commented on how nice we all looked. A few easy cracks at us and a bottle of wine later, we walked out, doggie bags in hand, out of Francesca’s forever. We have the photo to prove it.

Instead of writing anymore, I’m just gonna list off some highlights:
-Medieval Times and the Black and White Knight giving me “the eye” and his rose, plus Dance, Dance Revolution
-My willingness to go to not one, but two baseball games at Wrigley Field
-Lempke's dinner date at Buffo’s
-Clark and her mother Carol, and the road trip heard round the world
-McNamara and (drunk) friends
-My little French friend and her visit to America from lands known as “Ohio”
-Field and her return trips in from NYC
-Jones and the eating of my Egg Harbor scraps in last minute fashion
-Beach Ticket with Hughes
-Mani and Pedi
-Solo road trip to Michigan for K&G’s wedding 2007
-My Dance Partner
-Christmas Card 2007/2008
-Blueberries and 100% whole wheat English Muffins
-Bratwursts and BBQs
-The Lantern, on Karaoke Night, with Over-21 Siblings Marshall
-iPod Shuffle and the Apple Store incident(s)
-Brunch and lunch with Grandmas
-Whoo Hoo for fillings! And the hour drive to the Southside Dentist
-Face planting at the Wiener Circle in classy Col-Col Fashion
-Wax on, Wax off
-J.Date, Abs of Steel, Dawson and Co. and The Columbian at Corcoran’s
-Meeting the Farm; Isn’t everyone in love with a Suburban Girl?
-July 3rd and LFHS reunion in all its glory at Chicago Yacht Club and subsequent bars
-Semi-safe Public Transportation, with Seatbelts!
-Target, twice

So, yeah, America sure is the Land of Plenty. More on my views about this later. See you in four months. Or not.

And now, the wise words of Snow Patrol.
Chasing Cars
We’ll do it all, everything, on our own. We don’t need anything, or anyone. If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me, and just forget the world? I don’t quite know, how to say, how I feel.
Shut Your Eyes
When the worrying starts to hurt and the world feels like graves of dirt, just close your eyes until you can imagine this place, yeah, our secret space at will.
It’s Beginning To Get To Me
I want something that’s purer than the water, like we were. It’s nothing now, ineloquence and anger are all we have. Like Saturn’s rings an icy loop around me, too hard to hold. Lash out first, at all the things we don’t like, or understand. And it's beginning to get to me, that I know more of the stars and sea than I do of what’s in your head... Are you beginning to get my point?
You Could Be Happy
You could be happy, I won’t know, but you weren’t happy, the day I watched you go. And all the things that I wish I had not said, are played in loops till it's madness in my head. Is it too late to remind you how we were? ... Do the things that you always wanted to, without me there to hold you back, don’t think, just do. More than anything I want to see you, take a glorious bite out of the whole world.

posted by C @ 12:13 PM 3 comments

Chapter Sixteen: "Everyday's an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines"

I guess that's normal for life though, here in Kyrgyzstan. Good thing I'm homeward bound.

posted by C @ 3:48 PM 1 comments

Chapter Fifteen: Super Duper Birthday Week

I like these people. Just as they are.

By the time we made it to the park's center, all the Russian photo booth lawns were closed up for the day. We had to make do with what we had.

posted by C @ 11:29 AM 5 comments

Chapter Fourteen: Cotillion

This past week was no doubt my emergence, or I suppose reemergence, into society. If I can get away with this metaphor, I'd just like to say how great a Debutante I made. For the winter months, I spent my time locked up, bundled up, tucked into my sheets, and only went outside my cottage to teach class or quickly get into a taxi that would take me the 20-kilometers to Karakol in order to check my e-mail once a week.

Now I really have to get going and finish this SPA grant proposal that's due on Wednesday. Hopefully, with funds from Peace Corps and USAID, I'll be able to get some decent books, boards and technology for the local teachers and students at my school. As of last week, my Partnership project has taken some pretty big strides in replacing the Soviet-Era water system in a neighboring village, which will, come summer, bring daily water to over 100 people. Below is a photo of what the kashar people now look like as they go down to fetch water from the few select wells.

posted by C @ 12:22 PM 1 comments

Chapter Thirteen: Spring Forward

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
Wordsworth (1807)

posted by C @ 5:17 PM 3 comments

Chapter Twelve: Safety and Security

Before I forget, I just wanted to get it down.

My dad called me the other night, and when I told him that I was already asleep because I had to get up early for my appointment at the U.S. Embassy, he asked me to take a picture to document the experience.

I agreed like any loyal daughter would.

As I was going through security and the embassy's metal detectors, the guard asked if I had a cell phone and/or camera in my bag. I responded that I did, so she asked me to take them out, or hand my bag over, where it would be safe in Embassy storage. Without a qualm, I gave her my big, orange bag and went on my merry way.

I spent about two hours in the embassy's library, gathering research for a potential book grant I will write soon. On my way out, I grabbed my bag and took my phone and camera out. While I knew taking pictures IN the embassy was against protocol, I wasn't 100% certain what the ground rules were once I was standing in the car parking lot. As a compromise to my uncertainty, I took my phone out in one hand and began texting. In the other, I turned my camera on and quickly snapped a shot of the front building, making sure to the US flag and sign was in the photo. When it was done, I turned it off, slipped it into my pocket, and continued walking out of the embassy lot. Within seconds, and I mean, seconds, a big, Russian security guard man was out the door, chasing me down, yelling, "Excuse me, excuse me!"

I knew right then and there that I had broken a rule that, in fairness to me, was not clearly stated. Anywhere. But politely, I responded, "Yes? Is there a problem?"

"Yes, big problem. You cannot take photo of embassy. Please delete photo."

"Ummm, OK. I'm sorry. I was unaware that I wasn't allowed to take a picture."

"Yes. Excuse me. It is safety and security. Let me see camera."

"Sir, I deleted it. It is gone."

"Excuse me, excuse me. OK."

"I'm sorry. "

And then, with my head in utter, embarrassed shame, and a fake smile across my face, I walked out of the gates forever.

So in short, Dad, there is now no photographic evidence of my short, lovely visit to the U.S. Embassy. I'll be back to village life in no time, where no one has any issues with me taking their picture.

posted by C @ 2:28 PM 4 comments