The shock of theater culture in Bishkek

Going to the theater in Bishkek is always entertaining and not only because the tickets are affordable and the performances enjoyable (accept for that rendition of Carmen . . . shudder). No, the theater is great fun because the audience provides endless, awful distraction. Here are some examples.

During a ballet performance of Giselle at the Opera-Ballet Theater, audience members wearing gowns and wrapped in furs answered their phones (which rang at regular volume) to say, “Sorry, I can’t talk right now! I’m in the theater. Yeah, the ballet. It’s pretty good. Okay, okay . . . call you later.” My friend Nora and I – solid plebeians in our own country – cursed the uncultured oafs throughout the performance.


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The theater may be beautiful, but it is filled with chattering plebians.

On another occasion, I went to see a professional Swiss violinist at the Philharmonic who was performing with members of the Kyrgyz National Orchestra. The woman sitting behind us – who attended alone and was clearly a music lover – searched noisily through her plastic bag for snacks through the performance. Every time I leaned back to let the power and beauty of the music sink in – rustle, rustle, rustle; munch, munch, munch. Perhaps classical music is best enjoyed with potato chips?

However, the coup de grace was seeing The Hunger Games at Ala Too Theater. While I’d assumed that movie theater culture couldn’t possibly be more annoying than it was at formal performances, I was wrong. The movie was a free-for-all, with audience members answering their phones, talking loudly with one another without cease, and stomping up and down the steps during important scenes. Rue is dying, you say? Sorry I didn’t notice. I was too busy listening to my neighbor’s telephone conversation.

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Ala Too Movie Theater, haunt of gossiping teens and jigits being jigits.

This approach to theater is a cultural difference that I will learn to live with, but not adopt. I firmly believe that, out of respect for the artists and the cost of the tickets, theaters should be free of cell phones. Conversations – when necessary – should be whispered. If it’s not a medical emergency, what could possibly be so important that it necessitates disrupting everyone else’s experience?  

The mad genius of geographers past

As we approached the roadblock, the marshutka driver turned and shouted, "Quick! Get down!" Without understanding what was happening, I scrunched down in my seat. "Lower!" the driver demanded. I scooted uncomfortably low, my head squashed in my neighbor's lap.

At the roadblock, the Uzbek border guard stuck his head in the driver's window. "Tajiklar bormi?" he asked ("Are there Tajiks?").

"No, only Kyrgyz," the driver replied. The militia officer waved us on.

"You can sit-up now," the driver said. I stretched-out in my seat and looked around. "Now we are in Uzbekistan! In about 20 minutes, you need to get low again." Uzbekistan looked strangely similar to Kyrgyzstan.

Whoever drew the borders in the Ferghana Valley was either a mad genius or an inept geographer. Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan come together in a tangled mash with international borders twisting around one another. In the border mess, Tajik communities are in Kyrgyzstan, Kyrgyz communities are in Tajikistan, and Uzbek communities are everywhere. To further complicate matters, there are six foreign enclaves - four Uzbek and two Tajik. The Uzbek enclaves are largely populated by ethnic Tajiks; the Tajik enclaves are populated by Tajiks and Kyrgyz. And, because a geographer past looked at the Ferghana Valley and saw a joke that would only be hilarious in the future, the only good road from Osh to Batken travels through Uzbekistan and several enclaves.

Those with Kyrgyz passports can transit Uzbekistan and the enclaves without a visa. As a foreigner, I would need a transit visa to do so legally. Yet, the Uzbek border guards are apparently only interested in Tajik travelers, who they shake down for bribes on their way to and from the markets in Kyrgyzstan. Unfortunately, the Tajik enclaves are so strict that foreigners without transit visas have to drive the unimproved roads around them, adding hours to the journey.

Still in Uzbekistan, the driver told me to get low again as we approached the border crossing back into Kyrgyzstan, but in vain. This time, the Kyrgyz border guard opened the van door and demanded all of our passports. "Tajikter barbi?" he asked ("Are there Tajiks?"). Again, the driver stated that there were no Tajiks in our car. After checking our passports, the guard waved us on. The Kyrgyz border guards also bribe Tajiks on their way to the markets.

After about eight hours of overland travel from Osh to Batken (hours added to bypass the enclaves), I determined to find a direct flight the next time regardless of the cost. And I pitied the Tajik traders who lose on all borders and can't afford the luxury of a flight. The mad genius or inept geographer really screwed things up for the southern economy.

Four days in Batken

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, Batken was forbidden to us. Some years ago, members of the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) kidnapped American and Japanese climbers in two separate incidents. Because of this, Batken was deemed dangerous and, to me, it became like a blank hole on my map of Kyrgyzstan. My site-mate Sean and I used to joke that Batken was where we’d find all of the glorious things that we’d been missing – Starbucks, McDonalds (yes, McDonalds), washing machines.

Now that I’m no longer in the direct employ of the Department of State, I was free to travel to Batken last week. After four days there, I can say that it is no longer a blank hole on my map, but neither is it the land of glorious things.

Batken City is a large, dusty village consisting of two, very short, paved streets, an intersection with a statue, and a litter-strewn park. Rather than permanent structures, many of the shops are converted shipping containers. A short distance away from the paved streets, winding, dusty neighborhoods spread out in every direction. Women wear headscarves, men wear kalpaks or the Uzbek do’ppi, and groups of Central Asia gypsies – the Lyuli – travel from house to house hawking their scrap metal. Simply put, it’s very different to Bishkek.

Yet, there is beauty here. The city is surrounded by agricultural fields and, beyond those, stunning mountains. I’ve regularly heard doves in the trees, which takes me pleasantly back to vacations in England. And, perhaps best of all, the shashleek is abundant and cheap.

I’ll be back in Batken for two weeks in April, though I won’t be spending my time in the city. My Research Assistant, Rahat, and I will be staying in a village nestled up against a Tajik enclave (more on those later) while we conduct research on women’s land rights. More to come on rural life in Batken in two weeks!

Could it be? Is spring almost here?

Is that the sun? Shining on my street?

Lenin hails the coming spring.

Blue skies over the stadium.

When the weather is nice, the mountains provide a pleasant backdrop.

Thank God for yoga!

Today was definitely Monday. I sat at my desk staring at my laptop, willing the articles to make an impact on my brain. They didn’t. I developed a headache. The flickering florescent ceiling lights didn’t help. And, when I was crossing the street on my way home, a man talking on his cell phone while driving failed to look where he was going and almost hit me. I cursed the day.

But then (but then!) something wonderful happened. I decided that only yoga could make this day better and trekked across town, skidding on icy sidewalks the entire way. Once inside the classroom, I could feel myself slowly unwind. The low music, the heated floors, the soothing tones of the instructor all served to remove the pall that had fallen over my mind and replace it with positive energy. It was an hour and a half of pure bliss – and a little bit of pain, depending on the position.

Afterward, all the women in the class gathered in the locker room, chatting cheerily in Russian. I could only make out bits and pieces, but they were so kind, so happy, that today I was even glad to be the class dunce. Just to be there, surrounded by positive people doing something positive, put me in the right state of mind.

Слава Богу для йоги!

Running in Kyrgyzstan - seven years later

Back in my youth, I posted this blog about my negative experiences running in Kyrgyzstan. After re-reading it (seven years later – oh my God, has it really been so long?!), I believe that the bitterness, sarcasm, and poor attempt at tongue-in-cheek humor evident in this post was actually an expression of my deep frustration about the constant negative attention that I attracted as a blond foreigner living in southern Kyrgyzstan.

I thought about those experiences yesterday as I jogged to the stadium and completed my requisite laps. I continue to run in Bishkek, but I’m rarely bothered. Yes, people often look at me like I have two heads, but no one makes rude comments and no one ever throws things at me. Yesterday, another casual jogger even smiled and said hello as we passed each other on the track!

It’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly is different. The culture in the north of Kyrgyzstan is certainly less conservative than the culture in the southern regions, more exposed to foreigners, and slightly economically better-off. Could it also be the passage of time, and people’s minds opening to other ways of doing things? I know that I have also changed since I was last in Kyrgyzstan – I’m much less sensitive to being perceived as an outsider and I could care less if people make jokes about me. So maybe my previous negative experience were all in my head (though people throwing balls of ice at you is about as physical as it gets).  

My host-mom runs at the track in eastern Bishkek.

So, I’m continuing to run here and even enjoying it. To be fair, it’s early days yet and there’s no telling what the future will bring. Maybe it’s too cold for the hecklers to hang out at the stadium. It’s certainly too cold for people to be exposing themselves, as they did from time to time in Bazar Korgon. But, there’s snow and ice galore for the throwing and I haven’t been pelted yet, so things are looking positive.

Pictures of my apartment

By special request, here are some pictures of my Stalinka. There's another bedroom that I didn't include here, primarily because it's cold (there's no heater in that room, for some reason) and my laundry is currently drying there. No one wants to see images of my frozen underwear!

Bright Skies, Cold Outhouses: Pictures from Skiing in Kyrgyzstan

Learning the language of apartments: "Suitable for foreigners" means "expensive"

I've found an apartment and I'm moving in next Saturday!

Finding an apartment here has been easier than I expected. There are several websites that list available units and the Russian is so basic that even I can understand it. “после ремонт” means that it has been remodeled, “с мебелью” means that it is furnished, and “подходит для иностранцев” means that it’s expensive. Though I’ve generally found Bishkek to be an affordable city, many landlords want between $700 and $900 a month for a three room (two bedrooms and a living room) apartment in the city center. Outrageous!

Luckily, my friend Uran has been acting as a guide, translator and negotiator on my behalf. We saw three different spaces in two days, making me feel like I was on an episode of House Hunters International. We’d go look at every apartment, making comments like “The master bedroom has no door? Oh, that’s . . . interesting” and “The furniture looks like someone stuck postage stamps all over it. That’s . . . pretty nice.” Afterward, out of earshot of the landlord, we’d weigh the pros and cons of each place. The first one is big, but expensive. The second one, in the same building, costs $100 less per month, but is packed with uncomfortable furniture. Neither felt like home.

Yesterday, we went to see a third apartment and I fell in love with it. The building is just off the main drag, Prospect Chuy, on a quiet side street. Inside, it feels huge, and it is spacious, but it could also be because the ceilings are about 12 feet high. It’s a proper Stalinka – a Stalin-era apartment with wainscoting on the walls, big rooms, tall ceilings, and French doors into the living room. The furniture is all from the Soviet-era, which in Kyrgyzstan indicates that it’s well-made (read: none of that modern cheap crap from China). In true Central Asian style, all of the living room furniture is arranged around the perimeter of the room; I’m already imagining ways to rearrange and make it cozier. There are a few downfalls – limited electrical outlets, a little chilly, too many rugs – but I think it can be made to feel like home for the next ten months or so. Better yet, Uran – the Master Negotiator – got the landlord to decrease the price by $50 per month if I pay three months in advance. I move in next Saturday.

Please come visit me!

Welcome to Bishkek! Now eat some meat.

I’ve been in Bishkek for one week and I can’t believe it. It feels like it’s been a month – a month of new experiences, new friends and new Russian vocabulary, but also a month of mistakes, embarrassing situations, and loneliness. Needless to say, my emotions have been up and down. Luckily, mostly up, but with a few low points.

I arrived early last Sunday morning and was driven to my host-family’s apartment on the eastern outskirts of Bishkek. After sneaking in a few hours of sleep, one of the family members woke me to go “guesting” at her grandmother’s house in the mountains. This proved to be a perfect reentry into Central Asian life, complete with Ulug’ Tashtir (a game similar to polo, but played with a headless goat or sheep carcass instead of a ball), sitting around a table sagging with snacks, course after course of meat-heavy dishes, and vodka. Of course, the meat was tenderized by the game of Ulug’ Tashtir. As I watched, the carcass got flatter and flatter while the onlookers got drunker and drunker. That night I went back to my guestroom bursting with food and exhausted from jet lag, but excited to be back in Kyrgyzstan.

I started Russian language classes at a private language school on Monday. The classes run from 8:30 a.m. until 2:20 p.m. every weekday. Otherwise, my time is filled with studying and jogging. I’ve also had an opportunity to meet new friends at different establishments around the city. Thus, my schedule has been pretty full and I haven’t had much time to get bored.

My first impression is that Bishkek is a fairly easy place to live, once you get the hang of the public transportation and can speak enough Russian to find what you’re looking for. There are Italian, Indian, Chinese, Turkish, and British/American restaurants. There’s even a Mexican Cantina! There are bars galore, the Opera Ballet has cheap shows, and you can catch a new release (dubbed into Russian) at the movie theater. I saw Giselle on Saturday night and am planning to see Carmen at the end of the month. My host-family and I are planning to see Sherlock Holmes one night this week.

The downs have mostly been due to loneliness, missing Ritchie and my family, or feeling overwhelmed by my situation. I’m meeting lots of great people, but for the time being, I’m still alone here. Despite Skype, my husband feels very far away and I’m almost counting down the seconds to May. After getting hopelessly lost on my second day in the city, I found myself struggling with serious transportation stress. It was so bad that I’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it. And, I feel overwhelmed by what I’ve set out to do, wondering if I can actually accomplish it.

Luckily, I have lots of people rooting for me back at home and my host family has a kitten who loves to cuddle. So far, the downs have been more than counterbalanced by the ups, and I feel excited about finding my way here.

Merry Christmas from the UK!

Happy Holidays, everyone! It's Boxing Day in the UK, which means another day of feasting, presents, and general good cheer. In local news, Prince Phillip was hospitalized with chest pains, Kate is smiling mysteriously while holding her hands over her stomach, and the Army Wives are constantly on the radio with their endearing but slightly off-key Christmas song. Not to mention the Christmas specials galore (Downton Abbey, anyone?).

We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Ritchie's parents. On Christmas Eve, we had a traditional evening dinner and pints at the pub and then saw Puss in Boots 3D. The empty theater attested to the fact that most people who would usually be watching a children's movie were at home preparing for Santa Claus. It was fun, though a departure from my usual 'church and opening presents with the family' approach to Christmas Eve.

I woke up on Christmas morning overcome by the sads. I was homesick and missed my family back in Seattle. Merry Christmas, indeed! And then I was hit by more sads when I realized that I won't see them again for a further ten months. It was one of those moments that caused me to question why I've chosen to spend this year in Kyrgyzstan. In my emotional blur, however, a little voice niggled through to remind that all challenges must come with these moments. This was probably just the first of many.

I roused myself and went to Christmas Mass with Ritchie and his parents. Singing the carols and listening to the service made me feel closer to my family and less homesick somehow. From that point on, the day was cheery. We feasted on roast turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and then opened presents. I was also excited to get a Christmas care package from my brother and sister-in-law with goodies from Pike Place Market and an adorable picture magnet of my nephew to adorn my fridge in Bishkek. Today will also be family- and food-full as we're dining at Ritchie's eldest brother's house.

 The picture below is to prove to my Mom that I went to church on Christmas. Look, Mom! Crucified Jesus even popped in for our picture!

I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas!

God Bless Goa

No, literally. God must have blessed Goa or something because there are churches and shrines to the Virgin Mary EVERYWHERE. Hindus are allegedly in the majority in that state, but the Catholics must have a monopoly on advertisement.

We started our time in Goa with two days in Panjim (otherwise known as Panaji), the state capital and former  capital of the Portuguese colonists. We splurged on a heritage hotel which was a converted Portuguese mansion and had old wood furniture, elegant balconies, and a shady terrace. It was beautiful, and a far cry from our very modest lodgings in Mumbai. Also, the included breakfast was outstanding - always a plus.

Panjim itself is a mix of old Portuguese buildings - some crumbling, others lovingly preserved - and the typical trappings of urban India: motorbikes, exhaust, dust, and crowds. It makes for a very interesting combination. Old Goa, the original Portuguese capital of Goa, is nearby. The city was built in the 1600s and there are some large old cathedrals, one of which holds the relics of St. Francis Xavier. Quite honestly, I could have given Old Goa a miss. It was absurdly hot that day and I've seen old churches far grander than these, but I suppose that the tropical, Indian environment provides for an exotic contrast to the very European construction.

After two days in Panjim, we drove up the coast to a little beach town called Mandrem. I was anxious the entire way, having heard of crowded beaches, dust and all-night parties in many of the other beach towns. Really, Ritchie and I are not all-night party people (big surprise, right?) and don't particularly like crowds. Happily, my worrying was unnecessary. Mandrem was quiet, peaceful, and uncrowded. Our hotel, though basic, was clean and the beaches and swimming were plentiful. Another added benefit? Goa has very low alcohol taxes, so while a large beer might cost 150 rupees at restaurants in other states, in Goa the same beer at a restaurant is only 90 rupees. Ah, paradise.

What can I say about our time at the beach? We read for hours by the ocean, we swam, we rented motorbikes and sought out even more deserted beaches in southern Maharashtra (only an hour north from our hotel), and we . . . actually, that about sums it up. We didn't do much else, and it was divine. The only downfall was that a hippie staying in a hotel across the road from ours insisted on playing his didgeridoo (spelling?) for hours every day. Seriously, a didgeridoo?

Goa was probably the nicest beach vacation that I've had to date - even better than Belize. If it weren't so inconveniently located, I'd probably try to go more often. One elderly British couple that we met has been coming every winter for eleven years straight. Which reminds me of another nice thing about Goa - people on relaxing holidays are lovely to chat with. Everyone is in a good mood.

Now, we're laying over in the Mumbai airport (thanks airtel for the free computer and internet access) on our way to Delhi. I've been there before and we only have one day in the city, so I've charged Ritchie with identifying the sights that he most wants to see. He currently seems fixated on the Toilet Museum (yes, it exists), so that may be how we spend our day. Anyway, more to come later!

Namaste from Bombay!

We're in Bombay/Mumbai now and I've completely skipped over Udaipur, the wedding, and a bunch of other goodies. I'll come back to all of that when I have some more time and can upload a few pictures. What is a description of dancing in front of a blinging white stallion surrounded by a band without the pictures to prove that it really happened? Anyway, my mind is completed inundated with Bombay at the moment, so I'm in a better position to updated about my impressions of this city.

I don't know what I expected of Bombay, but it's not this. First of all, its hot and humid. Where Rajasthan was hot and dry during the day and cold at night, Bombay seems to be hot 24/7. Second, Bombay is green. There are lush trees everywhere, lining streets packed with old colonial buildings and surrounding modern apartment blocks. Parks abound. Third, Bombay is clean and beautiful - at least the parts of the city that we've visited.

My overwhelming impression of Bombay is one of a city developing at two different speeds. On one side are the laborers who are riding carts laden with goods around town on horse carts. On the other side are the young kids driving slick cars and eating at overpriced western-style restaurants (not to mention the billionaire who is building himself a tower as his family home).

We've done a fair bit of touristy stuff. Yesterday, we visited the famous Victoria Terminus and watched the comings-and-goings of seemingly hundreds of people within a 15 minute span. We wandered about the huge and stately Post Office where an elderly gentleman warned us off of touts and corrupt taxi drivers. We visited the Gate of India and saw the blockades, police, and security gates surrounding the Taj Mahal Hotel, where the terrorist attacks occurred in 2009. We took a boat to Elephanta Island - about one hour off the coast - where we saw sculptures of Krishna carved into caves by Hindu devotees a millennium ago. To top it off, we watched a bit of Gandhi in our hotel room. What visit to India is complete without watching Gandhi? Today, we toured the Gandhi Museum (the movie inspired us) and the history museum.

Obviously, there is a lot to do and see in Bombay that we didn't get around to, but I feel that we've done well in our two-day stopover. After the energetic city, I feel ready for a taste of the beaches of north Goa - and a break from touts and corrupt taxi drivers. 

Field Notes from Jaipur

Clearly I haven't been posting from India as frequently as I'd intended to, but it's been difficult to find the time and mental space to sit down and write. I'll try to broadly capture what we got up to in Jaipur, but will have to post pictures later. In the meantime, please be patient with this text-heavy blog post.

December 1-4: Jaipur
We arrived in Delhi via Air India on December 1. The airline wasn't as bad as everyone had made it out to be, though the movie selection was awful (the only English movies were Sex in the City I, Sex in the City II, and the Hangover). We made it through security without any troubles, and then went in search of the driver that we had hastily booked the day before to take us to Jaipur. After an hour of waiting, he was still nowhere to be found. Finally, after calling the cab booking company three times - and using up all of the credit on our UK SIM cards -  we found him and embarked on the five and a half hour drive to Jaipur. I can't say much about the journey, as I nodded in and out the entire time. However, Ritchie reported that it was an endless stream of small shops selling car parts and construction materials. He likened it to the Aurora Avenue of India.

We arrived at our guest house (austere, but clean) late in the evening and, due to jet lag, woke up at an ungodly hour. We set about exploring the city by foot and, true to form, did not use a guide but waited to stumble upon the sites. We were lucky the first day, taking in a museum, a palace, and the very dusty old town, all of which is hued the same shade of peach - hence the moniker, "the Pink City." We also stopped by the train station to book tickets to Udaipur, which was an interesting experience involving long lines, attempted hoppings of the queue by shady looking characters, and absolutely no available tickets in sleeper cars to Udaipur.

After the first day, we knew to expect no sidewalks, dust, animal crap, and other effluence on the streets and took tuk-tuks (three-wheeled motorized rickshaws) everywhere. Our first stop was the clothing bazaar, where I intended to buy cloth for a sari for the second night of the wedding. We spent some time wandering around, but I'm not a natural shopper and ended up buying some relatively pretty fabric in the first shop that we spent any real time in. The salesman then took us to see the "master stitcher" - a soft spoken gentleman with a pedal-run sewing machines in a tiny slot of a shop. He measured me as curious onlookers gawked and promised that my clothes would be ready the next day. We bought Ritchie a traditional korta and pajama, which he will almost certainly never wear again, but we figured was a critical part of the wedding experience. (The wedding was an experience in its own right, so I'll post about that separately - hopefully with pictures.)

On our third day in Jaipur, we had the opportunity to watch - and participate in - an elephant polo match. This was one of the highlights of our trip to Jaipur. As Ritchie described it, elephant polo is a game dreamed-up by a mad man. Who else would think that massive, slow-moving animals would be good sportsman? We sat on the back of elephants and held onto a rope with one hand and a very long - and heavy - polo stick with the other. The elephant driver sat in front and steered the beast by kicking it behind the ears. The elephants lumbered slowly from one end of the field to the other, while the players tried to hack at a soccer ball with the heavy polo sticks. Onlookers sat under a white tent sipping tea and eating little finger sandwiches while uniformed servers brought cold drinks - it all felt very colonial and something that I'll likely never do again. Unless, of course, anyone knows of any elephant polo leagues looking for players in Seattle.

On the fourth day, we rested. Sightseeing and weddings are exhausting work! The next day, though, we hired a tuk-tuk to take us to Amber Fort, which is a couple of miles outside of Jaipure. The site is the original seat of the Jaipur Maharajas and much of the palace has been restored. That evening, we caught a flight to Udaipur and so ended our five days in Jaipur.

Finally in the UK!

After several days of sad goodbyes to family and friends, we finally departed for the UK and arrived this morning. Unusually, the flight was pretty good! Without paying for an upgrade, I was able to claim five entire seats and sleep lying down. Ritchie had two seats and slept happily. Add a curry option for dinner and you have two very satisfied flyers. Anyway, boring airplane ride aside, we had a nice welcome at my in-laws house and got to visit with everyone for a few hours. (According to my mother-in-law, it wasn’t “dinner,” it was a “buffet.” I don’t know the difference). Ritchie and I only have two days in the UK before we leave for India; I fully plan on spending those two days relaxing, stuffing myself with pies and scotch eggs, and reading the Daily Mail while drinking tea. Please don't expect any interesting posts for the next few days - as exemplified by this post - as the real adventures have yet to start.

This is what packing for a year looks like.

Packing is a total nightmare. I like to think that I have a system to ensure that I pack everything I need. The system goes something like this:

1. A week before departure, throw every form of clothing that I own on the floor.
2. Arrange into sloppy piles.
3. Let sit for several days (but look at piles and feel stressed out every time I enter the bedroom).
4. Re-arrange piles into less sloppy forms; throw more clothes on the floor.
5. Hours before departure, stuff clothes into suitcases in a panic.
6. Once on airplane, remember important items that I have forgotten (probably somewhere on the floor).

This picture was taken with my phone which has a lame camera, but this gives you the general idea:

As I said, it's a nightmare. Yet, I have so many other things to do and I don't leave until Saturday! That leaves me at least a few hours on Saturday morning to haphazardly throw this crap into my collection of suitcases. Wish me luck!

Visas, Shmisas

Salam! I'm feeling excited about my future plans today, though a little apprehensive about all the pieces that need to fall into place before the Epic Journey can begin.

I'm submitting my paperwork for my Kyrgyz visa today. I'd heard that the Kyrgyz Consulate workers were not particularly friendly (or helpful) so I put on my most chipper phone voice when I called. It was true, the guy who answered sounded like he had somewhere better to be, possibly the chai room. With one-dimensional civility, he told me that they are no longer issuing one-year visas. The best I can hope for is three months, with multiple extensions. This seems like a ploy to get me to spend more money on the Kyrgyz Government, but I could be wrong (I'm not wrong). In addition to being grumpy and unhelpful, I'd heard that the Consulate is incredibly slow, even causing a friend to have to apply for a new passport the night before a flight because they never returned hers. So, I'm beginning early and hoping for the best.

After this biznass is all taken care of, I'll need to apply for an Indian visa, as well. But more to come on that later.  

Finally learning Russian - 10 years late

I'm kicking myself for waiting so long. At the age of near-thirty, I've finally decided to learn Russian. Of course, learning a language isn't as easy as it used to be for me. The complicated vowel and consonent clusters that sound so beautiful and elegant coming out of my tutor's mouth make me sound like a Wookiee. And I've only barely begun to study cases, which I'm told are the bane of any Russian student's existence. I need to get learning and I need to get learning fast. Kyrgyzstan is fast-approaching and I don't even know how to count past ten. How will I possibly interview people for my research? Better yet, how will I pay my rent?

Based on some rough calculations (four wasted years of university; one year studying Japanese; and two years of studying Uzbek), I could have spent SEVEN YEARS learning Russian and be near-fluent by now! Of course, as an undergraduate I never could have predicted that I'd want to spend months of my life eating mutton and drinking chai in Central Asia, but that is beside the point. I'm dedicated now, even if it may be ten years too late.

Which reminds me, it's time to hit the knigi.

Less Outdated Liberia Photos

I went to Liberia. I mentioned that I went to Liberia, right? I spent three months doing research on customary land rights, so the majority of my time was spent in far-flung villages without electricity, toilets, showers, etc. Despite some minor downfalls (such as being stung on the nose by a wasp and a few bouts of giardia), my time in Liberia was an amazing experience that allowed me to develop as both a professional and a person.

Also, I got to meet amazing people, climb mountains, and go to the beach. I'm so glad that this is my job!

Seriously Outdated Wedding Photos

No, seriously! I got married! And here are some photos to prove it: