Written on 5 December 2009

--Just like last winter it looks like I'll sniffle until April.

--Spitting in Kyrgyzstan is not a gender specific activity.

--The Kyrgyz calendar starts the week with Monday. Why do American calendars split the weekend? It makes no sense.

--Lots of volunteers will travel to Europe over winter break. Primary reason? Job hunting. PC staff in Bishkek has never so many vols looking for work outside the States.

Your #1 Source for Kyrgyz News

Written on 10 December 2009

No, not me. Well, a little bit me, but a much better source and my favorite Kyrgyz web site is www.24.kg. It'll pop up in Russian but is available in almost grammatically correct English, too. It has to be independent because it exposes facts that I'm sure the government wouldn't want to be made public. For instance, it was reported that 70-80% of Kyrgyz citizens don't know their rights. An educated populace is a dangerous populace. The only reason women divorce their husbands is physical abuse, 99% of all divorces.

You oughta check it out once in a while. Makes America look like land o'goshen.

What's My Motivation?

Written on 5 December 2009

I'm can't speak for other volunteers, because I haven't talked to them about this, but I'm going through a phase where I lack the proper concentration for doing my job. Have I given up? I hesitate to call it job burnout after only 19 months. Have I succumbed to the realization that the influence I thought I'd have is, in reality, much less than I'd hoped and therefore figure why try? Or am I focused too much on what next year holds that I find myself daydreaming instead of being a committed volunteer?

I was thrilled when school was canceled this week because so many students had the flu. Not because they had the flu but because I wouldn't have to teach. Not a good sign. I told myself it would give me a chance to write an episode of Kok Asman or the second act of my play. I didn't write a word for four days and accomplished little when I finally put pen to paper. On the plus side, I had a stellar week playing Spider Solitaire.

I've decided what I'm feeling is natural. And temporary. Nobody can function at the top of their game 24/7 and I'm no exception. This is my first (and hopefully only) bout with such feelings. I'll admit that some of the second and third reasons stated above inhabit my mind. Teaching students who don't want to learn is frustrating. Fantasizing about next year and how much more effective I'll be no matter what I do is a lot more fun.

In three weeks winter break begins. When school restarts it'll be 2010. One semester and it's all over. If I think motivating myself is tough now...

Written on 1 December 2009

...that I don't think about what I should do after my two years with the Peace Corps concludes. Part of this also includes where I should live. Knowing I don't want to return to America (yet), what factors should I consider? My parents are now in their eighties. Is it right that I live half-way around the world? I miss my sister (my only sibling) and feel pangs of guilt that I'm not physically present to help her through life's tough times. And there's also my small, but vitally important group of close friends. But, what if the opportunities that are presented to me in the next few months won't be available unless I grab them now? Is it selfish to pursue personal happiness under these circumstances? Maybe my feelings are magnified by virtue of me living in a culture where family is everything. Culture clash.

Last week I sent my Country Director an email saying I need to explore other options since China was out of the question. I'd be willing to spend a third year in Kyrgyzstan if I can get what I want. This includes living in Bishkek, teaching at a university, conducting my drama workshops AND directing a play. These are not unreasonable requests. I have other options if I don't choose to stay with the PC.

I sent my resume' to my friend at American University of Central Asia, the Dean of Students. He replied saying he passed it on to the appropriate department and “We should hope. I would like to work with you again.” I could probably teach at International University of Kyrgyzstan if AUCA doesn't hire me.

Today I received a call from a friend in Bishkek who told me she made a call to a radio station there that does radio theatre and I should expect a call from them. They might be interested in producing “Kok Asman.” Are you kidding me? Who knows where that could lead if it becomes a reality? “Kok Asman” the TV series? Okay, probably not, but just to be on the radio in a major city, albeit a major city in Central Asia, is something I'd given up on happening in America.

Then I always come back to perhaps teaching in Puerto Rico or Costa Rica. This would allow me to explore a new culture and be much closer to my family. Serious consideration must be given to this option.

As you can see, in the coming months my mind will be filled with exciting, but difficult choices. I'm not complaining. I realize I'm presently living a somewhat charmed existence (in my mind anyway). Of course, as I mentioned in a post several months ago, if I think I'm in control of my life, I'm not paying attention. Wherever I land is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Oh, I almost forgot. As if my brain doesn't have enough information racing around it like a race cars in the Indy 500, yesterday my Country Director sent me an email saying that going to China with the PC is still a possibility, though she won't know for a couple of months. Say what?!

Written on 16 November 2009

If you had asked me last week which volunteer in my class was the most fortunate regarding their service, I'd've said me. I mean, all I wanted to do was have a little drama club at the university, maybe get the students to write a play or two. Instead, I'm giving playwriting workshops at universities, writing a radio series and co-hosting a radio show. Talk about your overflowing cup!

Then Little by Little...

The wheel of good fortune began to spin out of control. Let's talk about heat. Or, the lack of it. The entire building, except for four apartments, mine included, had heat as of last Wednesday. I finally got it on Sunday and then only in one room. Luckily, it's the one I sleep in. I have no idea what's wrong nor do I understand how they can give me heat in one room, but not the others. So, now I'm wondering if my heat and continuing water problems—I awoke the other morning to an inch of ice-cold water on my bathroom floor, my upstairs neighbor's pipes breaking for the second time—has anything to do with my apartment number. 13. I've never been superstitious, but I'm starting to think about it.

Teachers are paid such paltry salaries that they accept money to raise students' grades. Last week, I was told my host mother does as well. This hurt me because when I asked her last year if she did, she said no. I never doubted she was telling the truth and deep down I'm hoping the information I received is wrong. But, I don't think it is. My source is pretty reliable. At the same time I don't blame her for engaging in the practice. Family's gotta eat.

The UNESCO conference I'm supposed to attend next week may get canceled. I was looking forward to it as I'd have gotten a chance to talk about how a radio series can be used as an educational and social awareness tool. Word is that the “expert” who was to be flown in from India can't get a Kyrgyz visa. Don't know why. And, word is our sponsoring organization has been booted out of the country by the G-O-V-E-R-N-M-E-N-T. Don't know why.

Until Finally...

I had to hear some disappointing news, news that directly affects my future with the PC, second-hand. I had lunch with a volunteer today who was just returned from a week-long PC seminar in Bishkek. She's a K-17, in the class after me. During the week our country director mentioned to the assembled K-17s from across Kyrgyzstan that there was a K-16 who is interested in transferring to China but “he's not going to get it.” That K-16 is me. As upsetting as the news is, what's even more upsetting is her total lack of consideration and professionalism in not telling me first. Maybe she thought it'd never get back to me. But, I'm a firm believer that everything you do in the dark, comes to the light. As a playwright I'm no stranger to rejection, but I prefer it delivered directly.

I shouldn't be surprised for a couple of reasons. One, this is the fourth such instance of unprofessional behavior I've personally experience from PC staff. The other three times I was blatantly lied to—promised things that were never delivered. Two, I've learned that PC is not unlike any other organization or company. People will say and do whatever is necessary to protect themselves. Promises are made and broken, CYA is the rule of the day and anyone naive enough to think differently deserves what they get. I thought differently. I'm getting what I deserve.

For the first time since I arrived here 17 months ago, I've seriously entertained thoughts about ET-ing (early termination). Because of the deception.

On October 6th our country director sat in my living room and told me she'd support me all the way in trying to serve in China. Less than five weeks later she makes the above mentioned statement. So much for support.

Late last year I was asked to apply for a seat on a committee with the proviso, “You apply, we appoint.” I applied. They didn't appoint.

Earlier this year I was asked to apply for a trainer position even though I wasn't qualified because my language competency level wasn't high enough to meet the prescribed standards. I was told to apply anyhow, that the man telling to apply could fix it so I'd get selected. He couldn't. I didn't. He misled me. (I don't like to use the “L” word.) I went to my country director and told her of the situation. At first she thought I was speaking of a staff member other than the one who tried to bend the rules. When I told her who it really was, one of her top staff members, she went into CYA mode. She said she intervened and stopped my appointment, that the guy was going to appoint me. This was done, so she said, to keep the integrity of the selection process pure. Everyone selected to be a trainer had to meet all the requirements. I agreed that this was how it should have been handled. Situation explained satisfactorily. Not quite.

What she didn't know was that I knew of a volunteer who didn't meet the language requirement but was chosen as a trainer. So she spoke an untruth to try to cover up his.

Okay, that said, I received a call this morning (17 November) from my program manager. She informed me that two schools are excited about hosting my drama workshop next semester. One is a university and the other an English language high school. Opportunities like these are what make all the other crap worthwhile. Why I'll stay until I serve my two years.

I won't let them defeat me. And that's no lie.

Update

Written on 20 November 2009

I can't go to China because of a change in Peace Corps policy. My director learned of this after she visited me. Okay, but she still hasn't called me to say the policy's been changed. Perhaps she figured I've heard about it already. I think she should have told me herself.

Already working on other options. Stay tuned.

Written on 8 November 2009

As annoying as those four male students can be, I commend them for coming to class. And even more so for being involved. Boys, in my short experience, either don't attend class very often, or if they do, they don't participate or they disrupt.

Generosity of Spirit

Written on 8 November 2009

Today I wasn't feeling 100% so I sent a text to my student saying I'd see her on Tuesday. There's a lot of flu going around and I felt a day of rest was in order. At 4pm, my phone rang. It was my student asking if she could bring me some food she had made after I told her I was under the weather. She must've been outside the building when she called because a minute later she was at my door, handing me enough food to make an evening meal.

I taught entire classes on Wednesday and Thursday because my counterpart had the flu. I went to check on her Saturday to see how she was feeling. She was still sick but improving. I told her all was well at school and to take whatever time she needed to get better. As I was leaving she told me to wait. She handed me a bowl of fresh honey. She didn't say it was a thank you gift, but it's not in the culture to say so even if it was. I think she just wanted to share.

Students know I won't accept money for teaching extra classes, so they find another way to pay. Food. I've received apples, potatoes, airan (fresh yogurt), pastries and jam. Actually, I don't believe their generosity has anything to do with payment. It's just their nature to share with friends.

When I bake cookies I always give some to my students and Anara. Whenever I make pizza, I make two. One for me and the other for Anara.

I used to share food with my Brooklyn neighbor, Mr. Ric, on occasion. I realize now I didn't do it often enough.

I Want to Pull My Hair Out!!!

Written on 9 November 2009

I'm punctual. I'm not usually on time. I'm usually early. I can't help it. I remember having to be at a play reading in Manhattan at 6pm. These things never start on time so being punctual was not a necessity. I knew it usually took me about 40 minutes to get there. I left my apartment at 5:30. Wouldn't you know a train was pulling into every station where I needed one. I arrived at 5:55. Even when I try to be late, I can't. But, don't think I'm the King of Early. That would be my dad.

Time takes a different meaning in Kyrgyzstan depending on the situation. Classes always start on time. Meetings sometimes do; often times don't. Social events? Fageddaboutit. A 5pm party will rarely begin before 6. Closer to 7 most likely. I've learned to time my departures accordingly.

But, there's one aspect of time that drives me wild. If a student can't make a class they never call to say they can't. They just don't show up. If they're going to be late, they simply arrive when they can. I guess they think our classes are a social event, and in many ways they are, but they should still let me know of any schedule changes. I tell them that this is inconsiderate and unprofessional, you know, trying to impress upon them that they can't do this in the real world after college. A couple have learned very well. The others...

I think I know where this behavior originated. It stems from living in country which until recently had little access to technology. Even in a city like Talas, many people still don't have a land line in their house or apartment. Someone in the family probably has a cell phone, but that doesn't mean there are units on it to make a call. The most common excuse for not calling someone, for whatever reason, is “I had no units.” No cell plans here. It's pay as you call. Actually, I like it. (Cell phones are still relatively new here. Five years ago barely anybody outside of Bishkek had one because cell towers hadn't been built out in the sticks.) Village residents have neither, especially if they live in a remote or mountainous area. Anyway, what I'm getting at is this: the ability to notify someone that you'll be absent or late is a relatively new option. And the importance of doing so hasn't reached high priority status yet.

Frustrating? Yeah, for an on-time guy like me. End of the world? Nope. After all, the commodity in largest supply for a volunteer is time. What upsets me most are the lost classes. Classes I really want to teach and they need.

Written 1 November 2009

I've written about the groupmate system before, citing the pros and cons. To my mind, the most annoying negative (and there are many, so picking a winner wasn't an easy task) is the “helpful groupmate.” He takes two forms. In this case I mean he, as I have no girl students playing this role. The first is the whisperer. Anara asks the student on either side of him a question, and if they are at all stuck or don't answer immediately, he whispers the answer to the student. It's more like a stage whisper which can be heard through the entire room. The second method I call the “blurter.” No matter who Anara directs her question to, he blurts out the answer. Mr. Know-it-all. Now, if that's not annoying enough, and the reason I wanna smack these guys, they whisper and blurt incorrect answers. About 90% of the time. It's not like they're the brainiacs of the class.

Hopefully they'll dcide to go into retirement because I pointed out to the rest of the class that these guys almost always give wrong answers so nobody should listen to them. And, now, when they give an incorrect answer, we all laugh at their silly attempts to show off. My guess is they'll continue to play the role.

Volunteers Doing Wonderful Things—Playing to Your Strengths

Written on 29 October 2009

In the latest Volunteer newspaper, The Chaikana (The Tearoom), several volunteer projects were mentioned. At first glance I said to myself, man, you're not doing much. One vol got a cistern for her village, another is building a community center. A volunteer from my oblast, who finished her tour this passed summer, bought a room full of exercise equipment at the hospital where she worked. (She was a health volunteer.) Made my TV and computer look rather mundane. Could I have thought of something bigger and better?

The next day I was at the radio station. I heard two actors practicing their lines from the episode we're going to record next week. That's when it hit me. Not every contribution has to be something visible to the entire community. The cistern and community center are located in villages. I live in a city. We don't need a cistern. But, we do have a radio station which desperately wanted to air a radio series.

As volunteers we must adapt and fill the needs of our communties as best as we can. If we have a talent or strength, we try to find a way to use it. Everything we accomplish is greatly appreciated by the people in our cities and villages. Even if we can't always see it.

Desperado

Written on 29 October 2009

“Desperado” has been one of my favorite songs for many years. The version I have on my computer is sung by Johnny Cash, near the end of his life. His voice is full of emotion. If you ask me what the song is about I'd say it tells of a man who has spent his life trying to escape the pain he suffered early in life, I'm thinking from a broken relationship. He's sought pleasure and avoided commitment and he ain't gettin' no younger. The lyric that ends the song sums up its message and last week while listening to it, unexplainably, I felt as if I'd been hit by a speeding semi on the expressway.

“You better let somebody love you, you better let somebody love you,

you better let somebody love you, before it's too late.”

An ex-girlfriend, when I told her I was joining the Peace Corps, wrote me an email that simply said, “Looks like you're still running.” I replied that if I was running, it was towards something and not away from it. That exploring, seeking new adventures, is a core genetic quality of mine. Did I believe what I wrote? I don't know. I didn't take the time to analyze it. I just figured it must be true. My dear mother has told me on a few occasions that I have a commitment phobia. Of course, I was afraid to admit she was right. Now, that could be my phobia: Admitting my other phobias.

A few months ago, I began writing a new play. I'ts about a man who travels from country to country to teach English. He never stays more than 2 years because he gets involved in a relationship and decides to leave for a new destination before it hits its tipping point. His reason for moving so often, he tells his women, is that he's a cancer survivor and wants to see as much of the world as he can in case he gets it again. Actually, he started his journey when a long term relationship in the States broke up. His latest girlfriend finds his diary and discovers his lie. She confronts him with it and he must decide whether to commit to her or go to Spain.

Is my protagonist looking for adventure or avoiding the realities of life? Is this me?

Written on 25 October 2009

I noticed yesterday that there's no snow on the mountains. Not even the tops. I think this is weird weather because last year, as I recall, the first snow fell on 21 October. And in 2007, the first one came in September. I've heard snow has already fallen in the highest elevations between here and Bishkek.

This afternoon I walked to the babzaar. People were walking around without jackets. It was warm, but not that warm. At least not for me. I wore a jacket although it was unzipped. It's also that time of the year when it's warmer outisde than inside. (See next item) I'm not wishing for snow. It'll be here soon enough. It's just that it would have made it's maiden appearance for Winter 2009 by now.

Missin' the House

Written on 25 October 2009

Every decision we make carries a cost/benefit component. Apartment vs. Host Family. Freedom vs. Utilities. I've mentioned I don't get heat until 15 November. As I type this, I'm sitting on my bed, covered with my tushuk, wearing a sweater and sweatshirt and my PC heater on high. And I'm still cold. OH, yeah, plus it's only 3pm. If I were living with my host family, I'd be toasty because they'd be burning coal to keep their American guest warm.

I was without water again for three weeks, service being resumed this passed Friday. No shower, flushing the toilet with a bucket of water, nothing I haven't experienced before. My host family has a well. They always have water.

With all the challenges, the apartment is where I want to be. I can cook what I want. Invite guests (read female students) whenever I want and most importantly, speak English 99% of the time.

I realize I don't have to sit in a cold apartment. I could go outside. But, since there's ABSOLUTELY nowhere to go and nothing to do in this city, except the bazaar, and I've been there twice today already, I'd rather shiver and write. Walking around Talas is boring. Every house, except for the few new 2 story domiciles, looks alike. I like my friends and my work, but this country, unless you're into backpacking and mountains, is BOOOOOORING. Now I know why family is so important in Kygyzstan.

I know China will be different.

Catholics in Kyrgyzstan

Written on 25 October 2009

There aren't many. But there is a diocese, the Diocese of Bishkek, and it has a web site. This information and what follows was provided by one of the K-17s, a 60-something man named Bob who hails from Colorado. To my surprise I learned there's a Catholic church right here in Talas City. Well, it's not a church church. There's a priest who lives in the city and he holds mass in his house. I believe Bob said he's a Jesuit, which isn't surprising as they're missionaries as well as educators. So, given that the country is 85% Muslim and the Russians have their own churches, who goes to mass in Talas?

Back when Kyrgyzstan was part of the Soviet Union, it was populated by many Russians, Germans and Poles sent here to work. When the Union split in 1991 most of these people returned to their respective countries. But, not all. There are still some Germans and Poles, along with a smattering of Roman Catholic Russians who still live and worship here. The mass is celebrated in Russian and I understand quite crowded, but that would mean about 30 people. Mostly German and Polish women with their children. And one American.

Written on 15 October 2009

Students apply for several programs in order to get to get to America. Some are for high school stidents, some for university and a couple for graduate degrees. One of the graduate programs is called the Muskie, created by and named after the Maine senator. It's a witch to qualify. Not only does the student have to score well on TOEFL but also take the GRE.

My astudents apply for the UGRAD which allows them to study in the States for a year. The other is Erasmus Mundus. Through that program they can study in Europe for a year. Some of the countries that participate in the program are Spain, Belgium and Poland. There may be others.

The first step is completing the application and writing three essays. Get past that and they have to take the TOEFL test and score at least 500. Not an easy task. The final stage, if you clearthe 500 hurdle is the face-to-face interview. Out of the few thousand students that apply, I'm told 11 get to go. Better odds than winning the lottery, but not the the young people of Central Asia. Last year, one of my students made it to the second round but only scored 430 on TOEFL. She speaks and understands English very well, so you know the test isn't easy. I took one part of the reading comprehension section. It had 13 questions. I got 2 wrong. I'm looking for an English tutor.

Until this year, taking the TOEFL exam was free but for some reason—maybe the program lost funding—applicants will have to pay to take the test. The exam is given in Almaty, Kazakhstan so the fee is in tenge. 23,000 tenge. That's 7,666 soms or about $175. That's an itload of money for most families. I spoke to one student today who would have a decent chance of going, but won't even apply because her dad can't afford the test fee. She's just one of thousands of qualified students won't have the chance to realize their dreams or be able to lift themselves out of low paying jobs. It tears me apart, but I guess that's the reality of today's financial crisis.

Too Many Students, Not Enough Time

Written on 17 October 2009

I've mentioned this peviously, I believe, but this week was worse than most. Worse as in more than the average number of students approached me for tutoring help. It's be expected in that this is study abroad program application season. Those that can afford to apply (see above) need to practice for the TOEFL test.

Yesterday I had to say no to two of my former university students. I knew I had to say no, but even as I'm explaining my full workload, I'm mentally scanning my schedule to see if there was some way I could fit them in. I hate saying no. I don't do it often, but because of my increased role at the radio station, I don't have as many hours for English classes. I'm not unique in this regard. Every volunteer receives more requests for tutoring than they can handle. If I said yes to every student that wanted my help, I wouldn't have time to sleep.

Written on 4 October 2009

Today is actually Teachers Day (the first Sunday in October) but we celebrated it Friday at school. My counterpart Anara was recognized as best teacher again, an award she has won many times. They gave me a certificate for some reason. I think it just says I teach English but at least they know I'm doing my job. :)

After the awards were distributed, the students performed for us. Endless numbers of talented people reside in this country. Several of my students danced, acted, sang or served as MC. I did not attend the dinner/party following the concert. I attended last year's dinner when I taught at the university and my blog entry about it began the brouhaha that led to me leaving the school. I wasn't going to tempt fate again. There aren't any more colleges in town.

More Recognition I Can't Understand

Written on 4 October 2009

Nazira, one of the young journalists from the radio station—and a student of mine—is attending a five-week training session in Germany sponsored by Deutsche Welle (German Valley), a radio network. The station broadcasts in 30 languages; it must be a huge operation. Nazira is working in the Russian Department. Seems she wrote an article describing the programming we produce here in Talas. Included in the article was a mention of Kok Asman, the radio series, a brief bio of me as a volunteer and writer of the series, and a quote by me. I think it was her way of saying thanks for the English lessons.

Last year I saw myself on TV and written about in newspapers. Now this article, written in Russian. It's cool and all but it would be nice if I knew exactly what was being said about me.

Update: Life After Kyrgyzstan

Written 7 October 2009

My Country Director visited with me yesterday. It gave me an opportunity to discuss my ambitions after next September. I had sent her an email so she knew my first priority is to serve a year in China. She filled me in on what that entails and it sounds less like the Peace Corps and more like a visiting professor position.

The Chinese government pretty much tells Peace Corps what they want if volunteers are to serve there. They have requirements that the Peace Corps finds hard to meet. No volunteer can have any military experience, must be in good health and be “mature,” which I believe means “old.” I fit all three criteria, but you can see the larger problem. PC can offer thousands of young inexperienced volunteers, but not so many of us experienced types.

Many years the PC could not meet the number given them by China. In an effort to make it easier for PC, China relented in a couple of ways, the major one being that vols could serve for one year instead of two.

Two volunteers from the class before me transferred to China for a third year this past July. From emails received by staff in Bishkek, it sounds like they are thrilled with their choice. Their apartments have Internet access and color TV, but best of all, the university students want to learn. Motivation rules the day. How refreshing that would be. An entire classroom full of eager students.

For now I can only enjoy the time I have left in Talas as the call from PC Headquarters saying there are open slots in China, for the reasons stated above, won't come until April or May. Then Claudia, my CD, will submit my name and application for consideration. If accepted, PC gives me a round trip ticket to America—I can stay for 30 days—before I leave for my training in China. Yes, I must go through training again and attempt to learn the most difficult language I can imagine. I'm beginning to see myself as a jack of many languages and quasi-master of one.

Written on 30 September 2009

In America, poor people get ripped off in many ways. Higher prices at grocery stores in depressed areas because it's the only choice. Higher interest rates on loans at the “payday loan” joints becuase a bank won't give 'em one. Unscrupulous businessmen prey on the elderly and the ignorant (insurance, aluminum siding, remodeling, investing their savings). Volunteers suffer the same fate, only in reverse. The Kyrgyz merchants, who are not so wealthy, charge higher prices to Americans because they figure we're rich. The Robin Hood Syndrome. Examples. I had a sign made for the new English Language room at the school. It cost me 45 soms. My counterpart Anara had the same size sign made at the same business for 30 soms. My friend bought a bath towel for 180 soms. I bought the same one. 200. A taxi driver tried to charge me 100 soms for a ride that always costs 50. If you're a foreigner and want to rent an apartment, you have to use a front man/woman. Have the Kyrgyz friend inquire first and get the rent in writing so the owner can't double it when she sees your obviously foreign features. An Australian volunteer was here for a few months last year and paid 8000 soms a month for a 4000 soms apartment, which some PC vols pay. And 4000 is a rip-off because I have the exact same apartment and I pay 2500.

There are exceptions. The lady I buy most of my stuff from at the bazaar always gives me a few more grams than I asked for. She makes a point that I see she gave me 525 grams of oatmeal when I asked for 500. I try not to look but she leaves it on the scale until I do. And Talai always gives me a discount on whatever I buy. Lately it's been jars for making jam. I get the 35 soms jar for 30.

I can live with the occasional overcharging because it doesn't amount to much in most cases. And the sellers need the money.

Breaking the Ties That Bind

Written on 25 September 2009

What prohibits us from making changes in our lives? Duty, honor loyalty, friendship, fear, factors beyond our control. There are myriad others. For many of us making the change is swift and simple. For others, this isn't the case. A spouse and children may preclude an individual from realizing a dream. Financial obligations can be an impediment to pursuing a career one feels passionately about. Perhaps ailing elderly parents keep children close to home instead of moving to Brazil or France as they've planned to do for so long.

I've been moving and changing since 1985. Sometime in early 2007 I reached a point in my life where I decided another change was in order. Initially, I wanted to move back to North Carolina. It's fairly easy for me to move. I'm bound by only two ties. Job and apartment. I broke the first simply by quitting my job. I have yet to break the second.

Not that I couldn't have, mind you. I actually had my apartment sold in July 2007, but rejected the offer on the day the contracts were to be signed because my desire to produce my newest play grew to be greater than that of relocating. Lost lots of money on the play, then the American economy fell into an abyss. Still, I'd make the same decision today if I had to do it all over again. (Allow me to digress briefly. At the end of the run of The Greatest Story Never Told, the man who owned the theatre came up to me—he knew I'd taken a bath on the production and no doubt saw my look of despair—and said, “Michael, you're a man of great passion.” “I'm a bloody fool,” I replied. He said, “Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.” I smiled.)

Okay, so I still have my apartment when I get accepted by the Peace Corps and over the past year I've made another decision. I don't want to live in Brooklyn anymore. (I'll reveal all the reasons in a future email. Some you know from these missives, others you don't.) I want to break my final tie, but for reasons that are beyond my control, finding a buyer for my apartment is next to impossible for the foreseeable future. I try not to think about it. Most of the time I accomplish the task. But, occasionally it pops into my mind unexpectedly. Almost always the thought makes a social call and leaves in an acceptable ten to fifteen minutes. Occasionally it overstays its welcome. That's when it becomes a ball and chain, a sharp reminder that the freedom I crave is not yet available to me.

The desire to break my final tie to America is not because I've developed a dislike for it. In fact, I doubt anywhere I live will ever match the love I have for New York City. No, I just want to be free to live wherever I choose without having to care about anything except my family and my closest friends. (Ah, my closest friends, or “The Gang of Four” as I refer to them. Seven, if you count spouses. They live in Crown Heights, Prospect Heights, Stuyvesant Heights and Evanston Heights. They and my family are the emotional tie that I can keep wherever I live thanks to technology and jet travel.).

I have all the confidence in the world , through my positivity, that the Universe will sort everything out over the next year or two.

Written on 24 September 2009

We all have them. We fear their exposure. We only indulge in them in solitude, unless it's a group pleasure, and then we'll travel miles lest we be seen by someone we know. What would our friends and family think if they knew? Some are harmless, others not. I've revealed a multitude of pesonal thoughts in these emails, deep feelings I never thought I'd tell anyone. But reveal a guilty pleasure? Are you nuts? Well, for some inexplicable reason, today I've decided to voluntarily make one of my guilty pleasures public.

My musical tastes have always centered on jazz (mostly the sax men) and the blues (Buddy Guy, Keb Mo, Albert Collins), but also include '70's Rock (The Who, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd) and DooWop. I'd willingly mention these to anyone who asked. But, I don't think I've ever told anybody that I listen to—no, I can't do it. It's too embarrassing. Ok, I'll tell, but give me a minute. (one minute passes) It's no longer a secret that I know almost all the words to the greatest hits of Air Supply. But, under no circumstances—even the threat of never being able to hear “All Out of Love” again—will it ever be revealed why I do.

Spending

Written 14 September 2009

Certain spending we take for granted. Like spending money. It's a major aspect of our lives. How much do we need? Will we ever have enough? What should we spend it on? Spending money is the cause of much stress in our lives. It can break up relationships, push us into deep depression and in extreme cases, cause us to end our lives.

But, there's another kind of spending, one most of us would consider the most valuable of all, that I don't believe we focus enough on. Our lives. Over the weekend I watched a movie called “The Last Minute,” a British flick from about 2003. I've watched it three times and haven't tired of it. I'd recommend it. Anyway, in it a young girl, a teenage street urchin—homeless, drug addict, pickpocket—who once harbored a dream of being a ballerina until a foot operation extinguished it, has the following lines:

“We spend our lives. Ever think about that? We spend our lives without giving a thought to what we're buying.”

I suppose this is just a variation of what I wrote recently about what gives our life meaning, but I thought it was a great insight just the same. What is the currency of our lives but time and it's important that we get as much value as we can from it. This doesn't mean we need to be changing the world our every waking moment. Spending time with friends, just relaxin' is a necessary and valuable way to spend our time, as are many other less than earth shattering activities. I have several goals I still want to achieve in my life. The question that motivates me to pursue them with all the zeal I can muster is this: Will I have enough time?

Another “Thought for the Day”

Written on 24 September 2009

From a book titled “Belgrave Square” by Anne Perry:

“No one can please everybody. It's very important to know whose approval matters in the end.”

Written on 11 September 2009

I stood at a window of the architectural office where I worked. Manhattan. 26th Street & 8th Avenue. 20th floor. Unobstructed view of the World Trade Center's twin towers and the Statue of Liberty. An envied vista, symbols of America whether you liked them or not. A view I took for granted believing it would be there for my lifetime and beyond. While watching the first building burn, I saw the second plane strike. That's when I—and my fellow co-workers—knew for sure we were victims of a terrorist attack. Work needed to be done, but no one could pull themselves from the impending devastation. Talk centered on how the towers were constructed, how long they would stand and how they would fall. This was an architectural firm after all. A while later I, we, watched them collapse.

I've told this story many times; there's no need to repeat it here, except to say those images are as fresh in mind today as they were eight years ago. And they always will be.

Where Have All the Flowers, er, Volunteers Gone?

Written on 11 September 2009

While being a Peace Corps volunteer is without question easier today than thirty or forty years ago, it's still a test for my physical stamina and mental strength. I would like to think I could've survived two years back then. One element of my service has not changed over the years. The dropout rate. It has always hovered around 33%. Less in some countries, greater in others, of course, but steady nonetheless. Kyrgyzstan is no different.

The K-15's just completed their two years of service. They began with 60 trainees and 33 volunteers made it all the way. That's almost a 50% ET rate (early termination). My class (K-16) began with 63 trainees and after one year there are 44 still in country. (My one year anniversary as a volunteer is 18 September. Volunteers celebrate two anniversaries: time in country and time as a volunteer.) Rumor has it that another vol from my oblast will be packing it in at the end of the month. 43. We've already hit the 33% mark and we were touted as a strong class. Our numbers would be better if 6 vols hadn't been “kicked out” for rules violations, but that's all part of it. I'd like to think that after a year everybody who's still here will finish, but I know of 3 K-15's who left voluntarily with only 6 months left to serve.

At every Close of Service conference, the PC staff tells the two-year vols that they're heroes. I think that's a bit hyperbolic, but it is something to be proud of.

(Sing it) Stormy Weather

Written on 7 September 2009

It snowed it the mountains this morning. Yikes! Already, in the morning I need a light jacket for the walk to school. The afternoons are still warm, but once the sun sets behind the mountains, it's time to don the jacket again. Heat starts flowing though the pipes in my apartment on November 15th. Oh my goodness, that's over two months away. Rest assured there'll be many “thermal underwear” nights before then.

One of the best of the many positive features of living in Talas is the climate. The summers are not too hot, the winters not too cold (usually) and there's always a nice breeze. Once in a while it's more like a desert wind storm, but not often enough to be a pain. The rain falls mainly in the spring although we've had a couple of really nice, cleansing summer storms.

I have to buy a new pair of winter boots, some underwear and maybe a couple of sweaters. Everything else will see a second winter and like it. Then those clothes will be donated to a local organization. I'll only take summer stuff with me. I can envision leaving here with a nearly empty suitcase.

Written 28 August 2009

RIF. Remember that acronym? Reading Is Fun. In my case, it's necessary. I don't watch TV so I read a lot. (Anybody wanting to send me used paperbacks, I'll email you my address,) Through my reading I've discovered several pithy morsels of meritorious guidance. A couple are:

Courage and risk are born of the same mother.

Anyone who thinks they're in control of their life isn't paying attention.

The latest one comes from a Robert Ludlum super spy thriller called “The Janson Directive.” The lead character was a POW in Viet Nam and his VC interrogator questioned Janson about his work in military counterintelligence. He ended it with the following question: “And this gives meaning to your life?”

I've spent countless hours in bars in my life. “And this gave meaning to my life?” It verily sickens me—now, not when I was doing it—to think how much more I could've experienced or contributed to society, in a positive way, if I'd just cut those hours in half. Of course, I'm going to justify it by saying it was research. Because of all the people I've met, I'll never run out of characters for my writing.

Regrets, I've Had a Few, But Then Again...

Written 29 August 2009

This is a nice segue. I read in a recent email from a dear friend that one of her patients passed away. He was 92. He told her that there wasn't a single major decision he made in his life that he regretted. How many of us can say that? Sounds like a man who took chances, rolled the dice and accepted the consequences. My kind of guy.

So, do I regret the myriad hours I spent swilling suds at saloon after saloon, eyes glued to a televised sporting event or the next girl I wanted to chat up? In hindsight, it would be easy to say yes. But, when I was doing it, I never thought much about where I should be instead of The North Main Tap or Libby's or Bingo's or The Five Spot—the list is seemingly endless. I believe for much of my adult life, I was a committed hedonist, so my actions were quite in line with my character. If you take all the alcohol consumed and the cigarettes smoked, I should look like I'm 125. But, I actually look much younger than my age. So, now I should stop?

Emotion rather than intellect has played the lead role in every major decision I've made. Following my heart or my gut or whatever you want to call it seemed the natural way to go. I figured if I thought about any decison too long, I'd just think my way out of doing what I really felt like doing. They haven't all gone as planned, though I can count many more successes than disappointments. No matter how unwanted the final result, none of them were failures. And none regretted.

Kyrgyz Independence Day

Written 30 August 2009

On 31 August 1991 Kyrgyzstan officially received its independence from Russia. The Soviet Union was no more. In retrospect, for many, this has been a mixed blessing. Without Russia to artificially sustain the economy—creating jobs just to keep people employed, whether they were needed or not—it suffered. Greatly. Even today the unemployment rate is said to be somewhere around 40%. Those who kept working saw their wages drop. I've written enough about that in past emails.

Tomorrow night I'll go to the city center and listen to music, watch dancers and drunks and talk with my friends. The young people—born just before or right after independence was granted—remain optimistic in spite of electrical shortages, distrust of government and a lack of good jobs with equally good salaries. I was told it will take three to four generations to fully see the fruits of independence. We're just closing the book on the first (20 years per generation?). I'd like to check back at the end of the second.

Written on 9 August 2009

My friend, Mahabat, the assistant to our Country Director recently told me volunteers, after a sufficient time at site, fall into one of three social categories. They either hang mostly with fellow volunteers, surround themselves with locals or a combination of the two. I fall into the second category. I correspond with one volunteer. She lives in a village in Naryn and one of the many things we have in common is she doesn't keep company with the vols in her oblast, either. The reasons we don't differ, but we've both found contentment in having all Kyrgyz and Russian friends.

She was victimized by a false rumor (the #1 activity of PCVs is gossiping). I simply decided not to spend my two years of service chumming around with people I can find in Brooklyn. Additionally, I have little in common with know-it-all 22 year old white males. You may say I have even less in common with with my Kyrgyz friends, but I would disagree. We share a sincere desire to learn about each other's culture. The biggest obstacle I face is their age. Most of them are early 20's and their life experience is limited. In spite of this, they've enlightened me in many ways.

How Some Teachers Are Paid

Written 10 August 2009

I learned yesterday that my counterpart, Anara, is paid her teaching salary by the Kyrgyz government. I had always thought she was paid by the school. I've mentioned before that teachers are poorly paid here. Anara gets 33 soms for each class session she teaches. Most classes meet 3 times a week for 50-70 minutes depending on what schedule is in place at any given time. Schedules change regularly in this country, but I digress. So, that's 99 soms per week for each group of students. She teaches about 6 groups a day. That's 600 soms a week, 2400 a month. Something doesn't add up because she told me she gets paid 5000 soms a month. Maybe she get something extra because she's the head of the department. Even though 5000 soms is only a little over $100 ($116.28), it's a lot more than many people earn in Kyrgyzstan.

Based on my suggestion, she's also going to teach private classes at 50 soms an hour to make some extra cash. Actually, I told her to quit the Technical school and start her own. (It's not like she's losing any benefits.) The idea intrigued her and I think this is her way of testing the waters. She's well-known in the community and a good teacher. I think she'll find a number of students fairly easily. Getting them to pay is another story.

Summer's Over Already?

Written on 14 August 2009

Next Friday, the 21st, I'll assemble with my fellow English teachers and we'll plan the lessons for the school year that begins on 1 September. Seems like just days ago I was wondering how I'd keep busy over the summer and now I'm wondering where it went. Next I'm going to wonder where the school year went and what the hell am I going to do after this.

Speaking of which, 18 August marks 11 months as a volunteer. We celebrate two anniversaries as volunteers. Length of time in country (7 July 2008) and length of service as a volunteer (18 September 2008). I think, though, that after one year as a volunteer, most start a countdown to end of service.

Written on 3 August 2009

Thanks to everyone who donated to the school project. I know tough times exist for many people and families, so your sacrifice is doubly appreciated. The money should be in my bank account within two weeks. Then, my counterpart and I will travel to Bishkek to purchase the goods. When school starts, the students will be able to use their new TV, DVD player, computer and printer. The director has promised to give us Internet access, too.

One mystery remains regarding the funding of the project. When I wrote last week that the deadline for donations was 31 July, we still needed a little over $700. On the 29th I went to check the web site and I couldn't find my project. This meant it had been fully funded! But, by whom? One individual? Or did several donations come in over a span of two or three days? It's not important, but my curiosity is killing me. I'm supposed to get a printout listing all the donors, so that may solve it because I think I know who gave up to last week.

I'll be taking a photo of the new English Resource Center and including it in a future Mail from Kyrgyzstan. I'm going to see if I can record a group thank you by the students and include that, too.

What Is It With Water and Me?

Written on 3 August 2009

Last week a sign was posted in our entryway by the water department saying that if people didn't pay their water bills by 10 August, it would be shut off. Fine. This would give people about 2 weeks to find the soms to pay their bill. But typical of this “nothing makes much sense” country, the water was shut off on 1 August. Now, the explanation is that if everybody pays their bill by the 10th, the water will be turned back on. If not, then it won't be. But, wait a minute. Aren't we supposed to have until the 10th? If not, why put 10 August on the flyer if they knew the water would be turned off on the 1st and they weren't going to give the people the allotted time to pay their bills? Kyrgyz logic escapes me more often than it doesn't. THIS (among myriad other things) is why two years in this country will be all I can handle.

We're not alone in this 'pay your bill' sweep. All buildings will be hit. We're just lucky to be the first. I heard they started with the building that owed the most money. Well, I guess it's nice to be first at something. Anara told me some people pay their water bill last (after heat and electricity) when they pay it and others think water is free.

Ah, the pleasures of living in a developing country.

Written on 5 August 2009

Last night at 7:20 I had just finished drinking a cup of yogurt when I instinctively turned on the tap at the sink. Water!!! My neighbor and I opened our doors simultaneously to tell each other. We laughed at the indiscriminate timing of giving us our water. Not knowing how long this might last, I immediately filled my tub, ready for another shut off should it be in the offing.

KOK ASMAN – On the Air!!!

Written on 3 August

The radio series we began writing last November finally has a life. The first episode of “Kok Asman” (Blue Sky) aired on Sunday at 3pm. Only ten minutes in length, and in Russian, it gave me a thrill equal to having one of my plays produced. Everybody involved with the production, save one person, volunteered their time. I've written eight episodes and the radio station director told UNESCO we'd deliver thirteen. I hope we give them many more than that as this project can go on long after I leave. Our biggest task in that regard is finding someone who wants to write the show.

Along these same radio lines, two Australian volunteers have been doing an English Hour program for the past two years. They are going home in November after 12 years in Kyrgyzstan. (How'd they do it?!!!) They approached me about taking over the program. I said no, but they persisted and I agreed to do it when they said I would also have a partner. Her name is Rachel and she's a new volunteer from Australia. I was hoping her husband would do it with her, but he has no desire to be on the radio. So, in addition to all the cool stuff I've done here, I can add radio host to the list.

Thanks for listening!

Written 21 July 2009

Three of my university students have graduated and share a house in town. I meet with them at their house on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 5pm for a conversation class. A fourth student, who lives nearby, joins us. It's a great mix of girls. Their English skills range from very good to “you graduated?” Nurzada is getting married in the Fall; Nazgul is planning to move to Bishkek in October and Gulniza and Cholpon will be working here in Talas. Cholpon studied in Belgium for a year.

Tonight we all went to Nurzada's house for class. Her mother made lagman, a cross between a soup and a stew. It was delicious. We also had fresh baked bread, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, apples, apricots and a desert. I ate so much I had to crawl home. They also gave me a shopping bag with enough food to last me a couple of days. The hospitality and generosity of the Kyrgyz people never ceases to impress me.

Tonight we discussed how the young people of Kyrgyzstan seem to be moving away from their traditions and culture. In other words, going west. We had a lively discussion. Many questions were raised. Can a young person mix the old with the new? How are parents going to react to their children's new ways of thinking? How long will it be before Kyrgyzstan reaches the tipping point of westernization? These girls (If you call an unmarried female a young woman in Kyrgyzstan, you get yelled at.) have similar backgrounds but different views on how they want to live their lives. I was captivated by the depth of their thought.

I can't wait for Thursday.

The Winds of Change

Written on 25 July 2009

As a writer I think of myself as an amateur sociologist. My plays reflect what I see in society. Cabrini-Greene dealt with mixed income housing and an interracial marriage. The Gretaest Story Never Told explored the decreasing importance of religion in people's lives (in my opinion). When I see something dramatic happening around me I take notice. It excites me. Such is the case in Kyrgyzstan today and not everyone is happy about it. The youth are, in many ways, abandoning their traditions and culture and adopting a more modern western lifestyle. I liken it to the sixties when young Americans rebelled against the “establishment.” Out with the old, in with the new and who cares if it's good for us or not.

Without writing a dissertation on the shifting Kyrgyz culture, I'd like to describe briefly what I see happening and where I think it'll lead. Four steps must be taken for the shift to pass beyond the “tipping point.” They are exposure, imitation, thought and action. Kyrgyz youth reside in stage two at present. They've been exposed to the western ways through the Internet, foreign films (mostly American with Russian dubbing) and music. They are now imitating. Scantily dressed teens strut their stuff all 'round the town. Kyrgyz musicians are rappin' and their American counterparts top the lists of “who's your favorite musician?”. I won't be living here when they hit steps three and four, but I believe it'll happen (in the cities, at least) in the next five years. It won't take long for them to want to live like the young people they see in the movies. First, they'll think about the consequences of adopting many new cultural ways and then, one by one, they'll begin acting on these thoughts. The only question that will remain then is how much of their original culture will they hang on to?

Election Day

Written 23 July 2009

Today the voters of Kyrgyzstan began the process of electing a president. Their system is similar to France's. If one candidate gets over 50% of the vote, he's the president. If not, there are runoffs until someone does. You must get a certain % of the vote each time to stay in the race. I'm not sure what it is and no one can tell me with any certainty. Maybe they don't have runoffs very often.

Eight candidates are on the ballot including one woman. While she stands no chance of winning, I was surprised to see she was running. She hails from a village in my oblast, although she now lives in Bishkek. Two serious candidates are on the slate. One is the incumbent and the other is the main opposition party's man. Word has it that the challenger stands a decent chance of winning, given it's an honest election. The present president is none too popular with the masses although it's hard to get anyone to say so publicly. I know because of conversations I've had with my Kyrgyz friends. Here are a few things they told me.

1) The election has always been held on a Sunday. It is thought that the incumbent moved the day for two reasons. If fewer people can vote, his chances of winning are better. Second, if your boss gives you two hours off from work to go vote, the thought is, that out of gratitude you'll vote for his man. Management's man is the incumbent.

2) The main opposition candidate wanted to hold a rally in our city but was refused a permit to hold it at the stadium. No other place can hold the number of people expected to attend it. The HQ for the opposition party is in my city.

3) In order to vote you must bring the voter registration paper that was hand delivered to your house/apt. Some people never received their paper. (I wonder how many of them were thought to be supporters of the opposition candidate?)

I've heard other stories, but can't substantiate them so they'll go unmentioned. Also, since my emails are likely being read by the secret police of the KR, it's best I not mention anything too negative about the present administration. Plus, we still haven't got our passports back with renewed visas. They were promised at the beginning of July.

Written 25 July 2009

No surprise, the incumbent was re-elected. He supposedly received over 83% of the votes. Yeah, the same way some African leaders have gotten 100%. Creative mathematics mixed with a little fear, add a dash of malfeasance and voila! Five more years of the old boss. The citizens won't get fooled again because they know what's coming. I”ll tell all of what I heard once I leave the country.

Written on 8 July 2009

Now that summer is here, life slows down considerably. At least for the volunteers it does. So, there may not be much to report until school starts in September. But, what I do think of or come across, I'll send to you. Starting with the next email, I'll send some of the photos I took during my first year here.

But, Dad!!!

One of the best English speakers I've met is a university bound girl named Baktigul. She attended the Turkish Lyceum in town and placed 3rd in the country at the English Olympiad in Bishkek in March. She wanted to attend college in Malaysia, but her father said nyet. Then she asked if she could go to school in Turkey. Again, dad said jok. When she asked if it would be okay to attend our summer overnight camp for a week to serve as a translator, once again, dad said no. Here's my question. The Lyceum is the best secondary school in Talas. It's also expensive. Too expensive for most families. So, if Baktigul's father made the financial sacrifice to make sure his daughter get the best education possible, why is he stifling her further advancement? Baktigul will attend the Turkish university in Bishkek this fall. While it's a good school, I'm sure, she could've attended better if dad had been more agreeable.

After I wrote the above paragraph I took a walk to buy some food and I got to thinkin' maybe I was too hard on the old man. Denying his daughter's request for Singapore might have had something to do with distance or finances. It's one thing to come up with high school tuition, quite another for a university in another country. As for the summer camp, that could've been a cultural decision. Maybe he didn't want his beautiful 17 year old daughter in a co-educational environment for a week. (The Lyceum is divided into two campuses, one for each gender, and they are nowhere near each other.) But the Turkey decision baffles me a bit. One of the benefits of attending the Turkish schools around the world (they're in at least 110 countries) is that you can study at a Turkish university for free.

Visa Renewal Problem – Almost

I've been told the Kyrgyz government didn't want to renew our visas for another year. That would have meant the end of Peace Corps in Kyrgyzstan. They'll be renewed, but it took a phone call to the Kyrgyz Ambassador to the U.S., who, in turn, called his government and demanded they renew them. The reason for not renewing them? (This is second hand info. Can't verify the accuracy of it.) Supposedly, the government thought a couple of our volunteers were talking to the KGB. This is spy novel stuff. True or not, I don't know. Only the perception matters, though, right? There's precedence. Russia kicked us out because they thought we were spies for Washington. I believe it's happened in other countries, too. I wonder what they were discussing?

Hey, Neighbor, Can You Spare a Som?

Like America, not everyone qualifies for a loan from the bank. So, where do people go when they need money badly? Unlike America, they don't go to someone named Nicky the Shark. They go to a neighbor whose in the som lending business. Someone like my counterpart, for example. (She is not in the business.) The terms of the loan parallel the mob, though. If I want 10000 som, I must pay 1500 som interest every month. That's 15%, folks. 180% a year. Regular borrowers with a good history can get 10%. There are few pay back problems because there is always an underpaid militzia (cop) willing—for a modest fee—to call on the problem payer. One good beat down and the following payments are usually made on time.

Yeah, My Water's Back, But...

now my ceiling is cracking. Both my upstairs neighbor and the owners in the apartment next to hers made some renovations recently. This is my remodeling scenario in Kyrgyzstan: You contact some out of work guy who says he's done construction before. He comes over, looks at your place, makes a sketch in the margins of yesterday's newspaper and you agree to a price.

Anyway, whatever was done has made my ceiling crack in three different rooms. The cracking noise was loud enough the other day to awaken me from a nap. That was scary. Anara is looking into it for me. More to come, I'm sure.

At approximately 1:30am on 7 July 2008, our plane landed in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan to begin what has been to this point THE experience of my lifetime. And I expect my second year to be even better. While still fully American, changes in my lifestyle will be readily apparent to those who see me next year in America. How could I not change to some degree? Being immersed into a new culture, I will naturally emerge with some of it clinging to me.

How much has my Peace Corps experience changed me? I think the change has been a gradual movement along a continuum I was already treading. In Brooklyn, I lived a comparatively spartan lifestyle. I didn't have cable (before or after Penney), high speed Internet or an iPod. I bought an iPod a month before leaving and it was stolen here. What should that tell me? I didn't frequent expensive restaurants or dress in the latest styles. Over here I rarely go a cafe and my complete wardrobe can fit into a large suitcase. My biggest luxury in New York was the occasional Broadway show and having my laundry done for me. Now, I watch unknown, but very talented local singers and dancers and wash my clothes by hand. I began volunteering one day a month while living in Brooklyn. Then one day a week. This summer I'm teaching 25 hours a week. Living in Kyrgyzstan, then, has simply validated to a greater magnitude the personal choices I'd made in New York.

So, what would my ideal life look like? I've composed a short list of my major “wants” and a few lifestyle changes. They've become so as a result of being in the Peace Corps. I'm hoping the universe is in agreement with me on them.

I want to teach English and/or Playwriting to non-native speakers wherever I live.

I want to be immersed in new cultures every few years until I meet someone who will make me want to stop.

I want only enough money to live modestly and be able to travel a little.

I will not wear shoes in the house.

I will eat food with my hands whenever possible.

I will make my own jam.

I yearn to live a simple life but still want to live in large cities because of the energy and cultural possibilities they offer. Is simple big-city living an oxymoron? I truly hope not.

One of my students lives by the motto, “Life is a dream, experience it.” I have realized a few of my major ones (have a play produced, see a bit of the world, find a few lifelong friends) and many of the minor variety. For these, I'm thankful. My list of dreams is different than it was a year ago. The new ones are smaller in scale and much more personal in nature. But they'll be no less gratifying when realized.

Written on 28 June 2009

Standing in front of the university yesterday, I saw a familiar looking man walking toward me. Sure enough, it was my friend, Zamir, back for the summer from his studies in the Czech Republic. I didn't recognize him immediately because, to paraphrase Sir Paul, “he's not half the man he used to be.” He said he lost weight because of the stress of a new country, languages (Czech and English) and studies. I'm beginning to think it happens to men as some sort of biological phenomena. Anyway, he looked great and his English is improved to the point that I didn't have to repeat myself at all during our conversation. That was not the case before he left in February.

Written on 28 June 2009

Before I left for my vacation, I wondered how in the world I'd keep busy this summer. Most of my students return to their villages—they live with relatives in the city during the school year—and others have jobs. How would I find enough of them to fill my idle hours? Turns out, they found me. So many did that I've had to say no to a few because I want enough time to write a new play and some more episodes of the radio series.

The best way to describe what I'm doing this summer would be to say I'm running a finishing school. Two of my students are university teachers who need to score well on the TOEFL test so they can qualify for programs to study abroad. Most of the rest speak English well and are working on their proficiency, also in an effort to study abroad. I see four Technical College students three times a week. They fall into the beginner group, but are very motivated and a pleasure to teach.

I am teaching 24 hours a week this summer. During the school year I taught 18. Because all but my TC group are one-on-one classes, I'm able to tailor the classes to the individual and that's how I like to teach.

Written on 28 June 2009

Here is latest report for the fund raising project for my school (TV, DVD player, computer, printer).

Project Cost : $1146

Amount Raised 300

Amount Still Needed $ 846

If you have an extra $10 or $20 (and I realize some people don't), giving it to this project will help innumerable students in their efforts to learn English.

It's easy to donate. Go to www.peacecorps.gov and cliack on the Donations link (about 4 o'clock on the page). Then you type my last name where it asks for Volunteer Name. You may be prompted to type it again and use the country drop down menu. Choose Kyrgyz Republic. My project name is English Language Resource Center. Click on my project and donate. Thank you.

Written on 21 June 2009

--I was surprised to see women in traditional Muslim attire sitting in the park smoking cigarettes. I also saw some younger women, traditionally dressed, cuddlin' and smoochin' with their boyfriends/husbands as they sat on park benches.

--Seems like everybody—at least everybody I encountered over the course of two weeks—can converse in English to a certain extent. Many are fluent. Now, since I spent most of my time where tourists typically stay, that could be expected. But, I also walked in non-tourist neighborhoods and talked to shop keepers. Most of them spoke English, too. And since there are myriad English language schools in Istanbul, there has to be a desire for the Turks to learn it. Someone told me his version of why this is.

Turkey exports goods to many countries. Clothes, shoes, carpets, food products. If sales person has customers are in China, France, Russia and Germany, for example, the odds are low that they will be conversant in all those languages. So, the language they could all have in common is English. The universal language for business. I was told that many Turkish companies foot the bill for their employees to take lessons.

--We ran into 4 volunteers from Kyrgyzstan. I also saw many young Americans traveling in groups of 3 or 4. I have a feeling many of them were PC Volunteers from other Central Asian or Eastern European countries. Turkey is centrally located and easy to visit. You buy your 90-day, multiple entry visa at the Istanbul airport for $20. How much easier can it get?

--Turkey is notorious for credit card fraud. I had to email Citibank with the dates of my stay so they wouldn't automatically close down my debit card. Many banks, if they don't know you'll be in Turkey, will do just that if they see a transaction from there. I had to use an ATM twice and because there are Citibanks in Istanbul, I knew I'd have no problems.

--I don't mind growing old. Honest, I don't. But, I don't need to be reminded of it. Three times I was asked if Chris was my son. Excuse me?!

--I never thought I had a universal look, but perhaps I was mistaken. Three times I was approached by salesmen with “Habla Espanol?” Two guys asked me if I spoke English. I was also taken for Australian and Greek. The best one though, was the guy who stopped his car to ask me for directions. He asked in Turkish.

Written on 21 June 2009

Occasionally over the years I thought about getting a personal trainer. I never did. I said it was because of the cost—in reality, had I reallocated some of my “entertainment” dollars, I probably could've afforded one—but the primary reason was sloth. Not anymore. I've shed “lazy man” and on Monday, I start a fitness program. My trainer will be the physical training teacher at the college. He's 48, in excellent shape and very knowledgeable.

Why am I doing this? A couple of reasons. One of the bi-products of losing over 20 pounds, was losing muscle mass. I want some of it back. And I can use the equipment for free.

Written on 19 June 2009

I forgot to mention this in the last email. Two days after I left to go on vacation, our water was turned back on. Two months without running water. On Sunday I rook a shower. Then another on Thursday, but I think that's overdoing it, like I really didn't need one. I'll try one every five days, maybe that'll feel better. Funny, in the States, I used to feel filthy if I didn't shower every day. Talk about life style changes.

Oh, and I heard the guys who fixed the pipes ripped off the owners of the apartments. First they bought too much pipe and then overcharged to replace the old. To top it off, they were supposed to use the extra new pipe to replace additional old piping that led to each of our apartments. Of course, they never did. And I've heard no one has the brass to confront them about it.

Written on 14 June 2009

I lived in Chicago from July 2002 until December 2003. For most of that time my closest (new) friend was a woman named Tami Gearring. We met online. She lived near me and we spent a lot of time together, quite a bit of it at the Ale House, which was across the street from my apartment. We always sat at the end of the bar, me with my beer and Tami with her Jack and Coke. We would talk and laugh about anything and everything. She had a beautiful voice and we'd often stroll into the Zebra Lounge where she'd sing with the house piano man. She always received a hearty round of applause from the patrons.

Tami's boyfriend lived in London. I met him on one of his trips to visit her. She was madly in love with him and dreamed about the day they'd be living together in Paris or Brussels or wherever. Location didn't matter as long as she was with him. That was not his dream. He told me he loved her but didn't have any plans to marry.

Tami gave me a fabulously challenging idea for a musical which we started working on but quit when we realized neither of us could compose music. We placed the project in the “to do” pile until one was found. It's been sitting there ever since.

After moving back to New York, we kept in contact via phone and email. I can't be sure but I think it was 2005 when Tami planned to visit me. She never made it. Before the trip she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was 45. She thought she had it beat, but it spread to her lymph nodes. She battled that but then it spread to her spine. She was very sick when I left for Kyrgyzstan, but she was ever the optimist. We talked just days before my departure. It was the last time we spoke.

Since February or March I've had strong thoughts about Tami. I would write myself notes to google her, but I was afraid I'd find what I didn't want to see: an obituary. In Turkey, I finally found the courage and learned Tami passed away on March 9th. She was 49.

Here's an example of Tami's good nature. She was a beautiful black woman. Her ad stated she was 5' 10” and weighed 180 “well-placed” pounds. One night at the Ale House, Tami was moaning about her weight. I told her she looked fine, but I thought she lied about it in her ad, that her left thigh weighed 180. She laughed so hard she cried. Then she asked if I would've answered her ad if it said she weighed 225 “well-placed” pounds. I admitted I wouldn't have and that I'm glad she lied.

Obviously, I was meant to remember her as the robust, healthy, fun-loving, “talk to the hand” sister that I knew her as. I never told her what her boyfriend told me. I hope she held that dream until the end. I'm determined to write the musical and dedicate it to her, no matter how many years it takes me. It'll be my way of saying, “Thanks for all you meant to me, girl.”

Two Weeks of Joy

Turkey was great. The people (so friendly and so many who speak English), the weather (sun for 13 of 14 days), the food (fresh fish, kofte, kebaps, Turkish ice cream, baklava) and the sights. I read 2 ½ books and wrote an episode of the radio series while I was there so I was able to relax, but I also saw many of the touristy mosques and castles. I also walked in neighborhoods away from the tourist areas. Istanbul is built on hills (seven of them I believe). Walking up the narrow streets reminded a bit of San Francisco. I visited a couple of universities and investigated some of the several English language schools.

Our hotel room was small but conveniently located near a tram station which we didn't use because we walked everywhere. We ate breakfast outside on the top floor terrace which overlooked the Bosphorus and Topkapi Castle.

I didn't take many pictures, maybe 50, and most of them are just of the water and people I saw. Chris, on the other hand, took about 500. He said they'd be on a web site soon. When I get the address, I'll pass it on. One reason for my lack of photos, besides being a terrible photographer, is the “no flash” policy inside many of the buildings. My camera doesn't have that option. Chris's does.

I usually travel alone and my first choice for a travel partner wouldn't be a 23 year old, but I thoroughly enjoyed Chris's company. We were both very flexible and took turns deciding what we'd do and where we'd eat each day.

I've decided to resume posting. I no longer work at the university that caused me to close my blog and if those teachers ever read it again, they can get as mad as they like. They are no longer a part of my life. And while I wasn't faultless in my writing, I never should have been subjected to--ah, never mind.

I'm currently taking 2 weeks of my annual leave. When I return from my vacation, I'll post the next of what I hope will be many scribblings.

Written on 27 November 2008

To save my Peace Corps career (if a two-year stint can be called a proper career), it is imperative I no longer post entries to my blog. I have learned the hard way that cultural sensibilities—no, a better word is sensitivities—cultural sensitivities exist which I can't avoid no matter how innocuous I believe my words to be. Honestly, I am not used to, nor have I been happy censoring myself, but was willing to do so. When that wasn't enough, I realized it was time to pull the plug. I wasn't being true to myself as a writer and to what I wanted to accomplish through the blog, which was to educate and entertain.

To my family, close friends and interested parties, you will still hear from me. If you don't fall into that category but would still like to hear about my exploits via email, simply post a comment to this entry with your email address. If I feel you won't turn me into the PC authorities, I'll add your name to the list. To everyone else who read Scribblings of a PC Volunteer, I thank you. I only wish we could have spent more time together.

Although blogless, I still have a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Written on 23 November 2008

This afternoon I was sitting on the steps of the town government building, the White House. It's not a house nor is it white, but that's not the point. All offices were closed as it's Sunday, so I figured sitting on the steps while I waited for a volunteer would be no big deal. To occupy myself I began to write some notes for the writers of our radio serial. About 15 minutes in, I hear this voice behind me. It's this rotund toothless guy, who obviously is some kind of security guard, sans the uniform, and I think he was wondering who the hell I was. Maybe I was writing the plans tooverthrow the government. I tried to tell him I was waiting for someone, but it didn't take. He looked Russian so maybe he didn't understand my articulate eloquent Kyrgyz. Whatever. I got up and moved about 20 feet so I was no longer on his turf. Maybe five minutes later, these two young girls approach me and say, “Hi.” People are always saying hi to the Americans, but little else, because they usually know little else. This time I was wrong. One of them asked me in Emglish, “Are you American?” After responding that I was, I learned their names, what school they attended and their ages. They said good-bye and went on their way. Kyrgyzstan is full of happy endings like that.

We take so many things for granted in the States. I don't take anything for granted over here. What I know we don't have is a phone book. How do people learn the number of the bank or the bakery? I doubtthat 411 exists. And I'm almost positive there is no 911. As far as I know my city has no fire department. Maybe there's no need because all the houses are made of cement. I know we don't have regular electricity. Most days it's off for 12 hours; six in the afternoon (which makes no sense from a business standpoint, only an economic one as in cost savings for the country) and six at night (usually midnight to six; I can live with that). Indoor plumbing is found only in apartments and some commercial buildings. My school building does not have it. Early on, volunteers learn where the indoor toilets are and which ones we are free to use. Used to have that same problem in Manhattan once in a while, especially before Starbucks. Something else you won't find in my city is a garbage can, but I won't get into that. Let's just say that street side landfills are all the rage.

Dating like we know it in the States is on the rise in this country, but it differs in one significant way. The term “casual dating” does not exist. Yes, girls have boyfriends, but my students tell me the end desire is always marriage, at least for most Kyrgyz girls. I hear the Russian girls tend to have more of a Western outlook when it comes to boyfriends. You'd be hard pressed to find an over-30, never-been-married, single Kyrgyz girl in this country. Hell, over 25 isn't very common, although I do know a couple of 27 year-olds in Bishkek. They both have masters degrees from American University of Central Asia and their families think they will never find a husband. Also, the men of Kyrgyzstan want their wives to be virgins. And I believe many are when they marry.

Personally, I'm petrified of asking a woman to something as innocent as dinner at a café for fear her father will show up at my door the next day saying his daughter costs 100,000 som and 20 cows. Yes, dowries, or whatever they are called here, are still paid in this country. If the groom's family doesn't have the financial wherewithal to pay, they simply kidnap the girl. It's a practice called “bride kidnapping.” It can be a pretty complicated affair. Google it.

Two photos. Terrible photos, as usual, but the best this face can do. The first was taken the other day. The second one, the fat slob, was taken in May for my Peace Corps passport. (Thank the heavens you can't see it so well.) If that's how I looked in the States, no wonder I left. How embarrassing. When I showed the second one to my students they broke out in unrestrained laughter. They did not believe it was me. Neither did I. If it takes living abroad to stay in shape like this, y'all may never see me again. :)

Written on 20 November 2008

Based on my two months at my permanent site, best friend options are limited to fellow volunteers, the few people I meet through them, colleagues and students. The fifth choice is “none of the above” and given that I'm a solitary man (Neil Diamond) by nature, it is a viable option. But, I have found someone with whom I can laugh and joke, serve as a mentor and ask for help in just about any situation. She is an 18 year old student at the university and her name is Aijamal. We met when she asked if she could attend one of my extra classes for English conversation. I said yes even though I wasn't accepting second year students because her English was so good. Better than some of my 5th year pupils. She accompanies me when I need a translator; gives me advice about anything Kyrgyz; she's a writer in the drama club; and I'm helping her in her efforts to get accepted to a program where she can study in the States next year. (Sometimes I think I shouldn't be such a help. Who wants to lose a best friend?) She has a great sense of humor and a hunger to learn that is rarely seen in a student of any nationality. She is the most unlikely candidate for “best friend of a 53 year old American man”, but unlikely candidates sometimes win the race, right?

Written on 20 November 2008

I've been holding off on writing this post because I only had one person's opinion, but now I have two so I thought I'd share them. For the record, although I have an opinion on this issue, I did not offer mine in either instance as it is against PC policy to do so. But, I will say, from the day I arrived here, I wondered what people thought about the US and its actions over the passed eight years. Also, let me backtrack. Earlier this year, I don't remember exactly when, I saw a couple of polls in a magazine that asked people's opinion of who was behind the attacks. Both of views I will reveal had not insignificant percentages in the poll of Muslims. (Both of the men who talked with me about 9/11 live in Kyrgyzstan and are Muslim.)

During volunteer training I attended a family party and began talking to a relative who was an executive with the national electric company in Bishkek. He is about my age, has two children, houses and cars. Based on Kyrgyz standards, he does very well for himself. He is convinced that the Jewish people were behind 9/11 to make Arabs and Muslims look bad. The other opinion was given to me by one of my students. He is 20. He believes President Bush was behind it so he could go to war against Muslims.

Seven years later it is still a highly debated topic and probably wll be for years to come.

Written on 16 November 2008

Pizza. Chicken. Chocolate chip cookies. Pot roast. Muffins. Squash. My mouth waters at the thought of these foods. And they will be a reality now that I have my brand new oven. I think this replaces my radio as “best purchase since I've been here.” It will not fulfill all of my culinary cravings because, out of respect for my family, I will not cook pork in it, but it will expand my menu to the point I won't think I'm eating only potatoes and carrots all winter.

It carries a 2 year warranty which is useless in Kyrgyzstan. The reason? It's made in China. Like that was supposed to explain everything. When told that in America the warranty would be in effect, the saleslady didn't believe it. One of my students said the reason merchants don't honor the warranties on products is because they don't have to. The consumers don't demand that they do. Help Wanted: Consumer Advocate for Kyrgyz Republic. The way I look at it, if it breaks after two years, what do I care? I'm outa here.

Written on 15 November 2008

That’s who I’m beginning to feel like. Since my arrival two months ago, my family has lost two members. A sister-in-law, 46, died in a tragic car crash a few weeks ago and this past week my host father’s younger brother passed on. He was 44. I was told he expired from complications of the grippe. I've been told that's what the Kyrgyz people call catching a cold, but I think it's the flu or worse, pneumonia, because I've never heard of anyone dying from the common cold. Then I asked around and was told that Kyrgyz people always say people die of the grippe or blood pressure because they don't want to acknowledge cancer, stroke, heart attack, etc. The other factor that plays here is the deceased lived in a village. No medical care. Yes, there are doctors in my city, but they send their really sick patients to Bishkek. I'm thinking some of these patients never even make it our local doctors. I have ideas why but they would be speculation.

My host parents left for the funeral in a nearby village while I was in Bishkek. They returned last night after I had gone to bed. When I saw my host father I didn't know what to say. His usual jovial demeanor had been replaced by a slow walk and a quiet voice. I patted him on the shoulder because I didn't know what to say. I knew that was an insufficient gesture, well-meant as it was. I immediately looked through my Kyrgyz lesson books and fortunately found a phrase that translated to “accept my condolences.” So, book in hand, I read it to him. He thanked me twice and I felt better. I hope it was the first and last time I have to say it.

Written on 13 November 2008

Mostly because I don’t make episodes of my life like this public. But let me begin with yesterday. I was in Bishkek to visit AUCA (American University of Central Asia), hoping to secure a master class gig in January when we’re on holiday break. It’ll give me something to do for a few days during a cold, cold gray winter and it should be loads of fun. During lunch with the director of the student theatre, said gig was secured. Later, I attended a student dance performance at the city’s Opera House, an old ornate building that dates back to the Soviet era. Earlier in the day I visited a public school and worked with high school seniors (11th Form). That was a blast. I gave them a fictitious headline and, from it, they created characters and a storyline for a short play. They also had a gazillion questions about NYC and Barak Obama. I’m telling you the world is abuzz with Obama-mania. Yesterday was a great day. And then there was today.

I should have known it was going to be rocky when the receptionist at my hotel had a hard time getting me a taxi. I ended up riding with a driver who dropped off another fare, not the cab she reserved. He wanted 180 som for a 100 som ride. We settled on 120. He took me to the bus station where I would catch a marshrutka home. He pointed me to the waiting area and I hopped in to a waiting vehicle. In Kyrgyzstan marshrutkas don’t leave until they are full, so I had to wait about an hour for this to happen. That’s not really very long and I had a book to read. I thought the fare was less than it should have been but didn’t question it. The van was big and held lots of passengers. We took off and I immediately realized we weren’t going back the way I came. Then we hit the Kazakh border, but I still didn’t blink because a) sometimes in the winter the drivers go through Kazakhstan to get to my city because there is too much snow in the mountains and b) I have a Kazakh visa. Let me tell you, getting across the border was an ordeal. Not for everyone. Just me. To get out of Kyrg, the lady soldier took my passport and wrote all my information on a piece of paper, then called someone. I was finally allowed to leave. Then I walked a hundred yards and had to go through it all again as I tried to get into Kazakhstan. This time all the info was punched into a computer and my photo was taken. Meanwhile, I’m hoping the bus doesn’t take off without me. I’m also hoping by this time next year the world has a higher opinion of America and Americans and life will be easier for us overseas. (Do your thing, Barak!)

Back on the bus I sit back until we stop again. Now we’re in Taras, Kazakhstan and everybody is getting off the van again. I think it must be time to go back into Kyrgyzstan so I get off with them, but I’m getting a funny feeling because Taras isn’t on the border. It’s close, but that doesn’t count. I ask the driver if I need my passport again and I figure out that this is the end of the line. Then I look at the sign in the front window of the marshrutka, the one I didn’t look at before getting on. Sure enough, I took the wrong one. You see, it all goes back to that taxi driver from the hotel. I told him I needed a marshrutka to Talas and he thought I said Taras. Damn those language barriers. I’m really not panicking yet, but wondering how the hell I’m going to get home that day, and more importantly, how much is it going to cost me. I had about 1500 som on me, but there was no guarantee that would be enough to get me home. And it almost wasn’t. Not to get overly dramatic, although I am wont to do so at times, but let me tell you the scariest part. I looked around that bus station parking lot and there was no one around me. I was the lone tree in the field. I saw a waiting area full of folks, but what was I going to do, go up to each of them until I found someone who spoke English even a little bit? I realized/decided since I was totally on my own in communicating with anyone who could possibly help me, I’d start with my driver. And if I couldn’t do get through to him, who knew what I would do. As a last resort I’d probably start asking anybody I could find, but only then. If that’s not motivation to improve my Kyrgyz, nothing is.

Talking to my driver, who helped me back at the border crossing, I found vocabulary I didn’t know I knew. Amazing what desperation does to the mind. Anyway, he was nice enough to help me find a ride back to the right country. We waited until we saw a shrut (gettin’ tired of spelling the entire word) heading for Talas. I thanked him about six times, got on the bus and was ready to get home. That lasted about two minutes. I was told to get off for some reason having to do with my passport. Not knowing Russian, I had no choice but to obey. Then this weaselly looking taxi driver started spouting more Russian to my shrut guy. My “street” antennae activated. I’ve seen this guy’s cousin driving a cab in Brooklyn, if you know what I mean. Like alpha males, every country also has its crooks and con men. Still he says that he can get me across the border and home for 500 som. Steep, but again, what choice did I have? He also wanted the money upfront, which goes against what the PC told us, which is to always pay at the end of the ride, but this guy wasn’t moving until I handed him the cash. I did. We took off and he’s talking like I understand every word he’s saying, trying to be all friendly-like. Next thing I know we’ve pulled into this back lot where I see a few more taxis. Our trip took 5 minutes. I knew I’d been had. He points me to another car and says that’s my taxi home and it will cost me 500 som. I said, “I just gave you 500!” Then he drew his finger across his throat while saying something I figured to mean “Fugidaboutit” or close to it. One thousand som, the amount I just shelled out in the last 10 minutes, is about $25. Not much by American standards, but I’m not making an American standards salary. And I don’t have access to my American standards bank account. My newest, and third driver of the day, must have figured out the Russian weasel cheated me because they started yelling at each other. I didn’t get any refund, but I appreciated his saying something.

Settled into what I’m praying is my final vehicle of the day, I realize why I’m paying this guy 500 som. In Kyrgyzstan, every taxi has a flat rate based on distance traveled. So, from Taras to Talas it’s 500. If there’s only one passenger, he pays the whole fare. Two passengers split 500 and so on, until you get 4 people max. Since the other three passengers were the driver’s wife, infant son and a relative, it was like having just one passenger aboard. Hence my 500 som fare. But I finally felt safe because I didn’t think this guy would try anything with his wife in the car. Unless they were the Kyrgyz version of Bonnie and Clyde. Actually, they were very friendly, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I was too pissed at myself for not looking at the window sign back in Bishkek. For all of my survival instinct, at times, I’m the CEO of Airhead, Inc. I’ve slammed into walls and plate glass doors because of a preoccupation with a new play idea or some such thing. Anyhow, after only a couple minutes of self-flagellation, I decide to make the most of what’s left of my trip. I actually had a good Kyrgyz conversation with Samatbek and his wife. They are very nice people. Before taking me home, he dropped his wife, child and cousin at his father’s house. A crowd of people were there and all wanted to stare at the American in the car. One older dude actually got into the car and began speaking, I mean, slurring something in an unintelligible language. When I made to get out of the car, he got the hint and left. Then, after all the crap I’d endured today, I realized once again how the universe puts us right where we belong. A couple comes up to the car and apologizes for all the attention I’m getting. And they said it in English. And they live in Brooklyn! Sheepshead Bay. They’re Kyrgyz and back here for the sad occasion of the husband’s father’s funeral. They go back on Sunday, but said they were glad to talk to a fellow Brooklynite and I said likewise. We chatted for a couple minutes, I recapped my day and we said good-bye. Then I realized Samatbek was trying to tell me about this couple for several minutes but I couldn’t understand who he was talking about. All I could get was that someone from Kyrgyzstan came from New York. Nothing more. Anyhow, what a nice way to end a long and hectic day.

Written on 9 November 2008

This morning I called my parents, but couldn’t speak for long as they had company. I told my dad I would call next weekend. In closing I said “I love you and miss you.” He replied, “I miss you. Really.” And the way he said it, I knew he really meant it. So did I, but compared to his, my words sounded empty, like an afterthought. Has telling someone you love them become the new “Have a nice day?” I think it has. Back in the States, I can’t recall the last time I didn’t hear someone close a phone call with “Love you.” Most times it was said so nonchalantly as if to sound superfluous, like, oh yeah, by the way. Now, if a Chinese person tells you “I love you” feel honored. I recall reading many years ago that they say it maybe five or six times their entires lives. Shoot, I’ve had nights in a bar where I’ve topped that. I’d suggest we don’t say it so often, so that when we do it carries more meaning, but I don’t want to be labeled a hard-hearted heel. God forbid we forget to say it and another 9/11 happens. I mean, really, if you love someone, really love someone, do you have to tell them multiple times a day? Don’t they already know it? Or are we afraid someone might hear our omission and think we’re incapable of deep emotional feeling? Hey, maybe I was talking to my butcher and we’re honestly not that close, forget that he has the best pork chops in Park Slope. Listen, I don’t doubt the sincerity of anyone’s proclamation, but if you insist on saying it, how about putting a little sentiment or warmth behind it? Personally, I’m going to find a new way of expressing myself, even if it takes more than two or three words. Those dear to me deserve more anyway.

Speaking of missing people...No matter how hard I try, not a day goes by that I don’t think about someone in my family or a close friend and how I wish I could reach out and hug them, but it’s my double-edged sword, and, at the risk of sounding callous, I’ll attempt to explain. I’ve found the best way for me to cope with being away from the ones I care about most is not to think about them, to keep my mind on other things/people because if I allow myself to dwell too long along those lines, I might decide to pack it in and head back to Brooklyn. This occurs especially often on those days when nothing has gone right and I question my decision to spend two years six thousand miles from home teaching English to a group of students who profess a strong desire to learn the language, but decided not to come to class because they thought hanging out at the bazaar was a better use of their time. On a recent visit to the Internet, I saw an article on the World Series. I immediately thought about Godfrey and how much I missed having him tell me the batting average, on-base percentage and middle name of every player on both teams and listening to endless hours of babble on how Mussina belongs in the Hall of Fame (okay, MAYBE he does). My eyes welled up. I had to erase the image from my mind. It was too painful. The same thing has happened with others who are close to me.

As it stands, I call my family once a month. I’ve thought about calling more often (it’s only 9 cents/minute) but I don’t know if that’s a good idea for the reason stated above. On the other hand, maybe talking to them more often would make it seem like I’m not halfway around the world, that I’m still in New York and only a short plane ride away. Talk about your tough calls, no pun intended. In essence I do talk to them several times a month through this blog, although by definition, they are monologues and not conversations. Thankfully, my family is very good at emailing me. Even as I type this, I’m thinking, you know, I could be teaching English in Queens, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be satisfying the gypsy in me. And therein lies the problem. I’m not content unless there’s a challenge or adventure (or both) going on in my life. I have to stop writing now because, well, you know why.

Written on 7 November 2008

No school today. National holiday. We are celebrating the October Revolution. (Google it. I teach English, not history. I’ll give you a hint. 1917.) I’m guessing we’re celebrating the end of it, since today is 7 November. Quite a few of the old- and not-so-old-timers in Kyrgyzstan pine for the days of the Soviet Union. Back when a teaching job paid a decent wage and everybody had enough of everything. Freedom of choice vs. borscht in every bowl. Many would take the latter based on the first-hand stories I’ve been told. Hard to believe for us Americans, but not every Kyrgyz citizen is applauding the move to a capitalistic society (even 17 years after the move) with its “winners and losers” component.

Okay, so you and your 4 year-old are walking down DeKalb Avenue in Brooklyn and suddenly she has to go potty. Real bad. You panic. Where can you take her? All the business doors say “Restroom for Customers Only” and you are done shopping. Same with the restaurants. Is your little girl’s comfort worth a $3 glass of Pepsi? Well, if you were in my burg, you wouldn’t have a worry in the world. Just find yourself a patch of grass and let her go. It doesn’t even need to be secluded. Just not on the sidewalk. And lest you think this is a rare occurrence, I have seen this several times in my 2 months here. Gender matters not. Age does, though. I think 4 or 5 is the limit.

There are three weeks left in the semester and the other day I saw a student for the first time. Her story not unusual, but it is disturbing from an educational point of view. She is in the 3rd Course, which makes her 20 years old. She is married and has missed at least this semester and I believe part of the last one because she had a child. Actually, I think I heard someone say she has two. Anyway, the way it works in Kyrgyzstan, because of the groupmate system, if a student leaves school for a long period of time for any reason—work, sickness, newborn baby—when she/he returns, it’s to your old group. The time missed is never made up. So, this student of mine simply comes to class like she never missed a day. I’m still trying to put my head around the logic in that.

Written on 5 November 2008

First, let me just say, YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to my shortwave radio, I was able to catch election returns this morning, on the BBC and CRI. Hearing, live, that PA was projected for Obama and Obama has a sizable lead in FL. It was closer to the action than I thought I’d be. I must admit, I would’ve liked to channel surf, listening to the pundits. I did hear Eleanor Clift on BBC. Anyway, my radio was easily the wisest purchase I’ve made in Kyrgyzstan. No thanks to the Brooklyn Board of Elections, I was not able to vote, My absentee ballot never arrived. Of course maybe they didn’t have time to process my request, I mean, I only applied for it on June. Proof again that everything is New York City is more difficult than it should be. As much as I wanted to vote in this historic election, the outcome was more important. Which leads me to explain the title of this post.

In the Fall of 2002 I was the executive assistant to one of the top black executives in Chicago. One day the phone rings and I ask who’s calling. The man says, “This is Barak Obama.” I told him I’d have to take a message as my boss was out of the office. Since I’d never heard of him, I asked him to spell his name. Later that day I asked my boss about this Barak fellow. I learned he was beginning to raise money to run for the U.S. Senate in 2004 and since my boss was a brother with money, he got a call. As I recall, he wrote Obama a check for $1000. I was also told to keep an eye on this guy because he was a rising star. And I have. I spoke with our new president twice again after that first call. I remember the third call clearly. Perhaps sensing I might be a potential vote one day, or maybe it’s just his nature, we actually chatted for about two minutes. He asked me how long I’d been working for the company and I told him, but that it was just to pay the rent. My true love was playwriting. He wished me luck and that was that. Not a big deal, but I can say I’ve spoken to a president of the United States. I’m thinking maybe I’ll shoot him an email now that he’s got some pull in Washington. I’ll ask if he’ll work on increasing the Peace Corps’ budget. After all, we have a history.

Written on 4 November 2008

I am writing this at 6:15pm which I believe is 7:15am in Brooklyn. The polls are open for the most important presidential election in my life to date. I was a mere toddler when JFK was elected, but I’ve got to think the excitement surrounding him is akin to what we feel about Obama. By the time I post this, Barak should be president #44. The jersey number worn by Hammerin’ Hank Aaron. The first black president and the black man who shattered the white icon’s home run record. Many people of my generation never thought we’d see either of those. Pretty cool you ask me.

There are gas stations in Kyrgyzstan, but not in my city. Not sure why that is. Could be the oil company in Bishkek which seems to hold a monopoly on stations thinks it’s too much trouble traversing two mountain passes to deliver the petrol. So, how do drivers gas up in our hamlet? They simply pull up to one of the many houses that sell it. These families have sidewalk signs announcing the octane they sell (neighbors to either side of us have 85, 90 and 93). It’s sold by the liter, poured from plastic soda bottles into a funnel protruding from the gas tank. I can smell the gas as I walk past the houses because it is stored somewhere behind their gates. I wonder if the insides of their houses smell all gassy.

Walking on the sidewalks of my neighborhood in Brooklyn I played a game called “dodging the doggy doo-doo”. It was a challenge as small dogs would leave small specimens to avoid. Sometimes they were difficult to spot, even on the sunniest of days. In Kyrgyzstan, I play the same game, except it not as challenging. Here the game would be called “sidestepping the sheep sh#t”. It is everywhere. On the road, the dirt paths along the road, and yes, the cement sidewalks, too.

Written on 30 October 2008

Every country has them. Some more than others. We were told during training that every man in Kyrgyzstan between the ages of 15 and 70 is an alpha male. That was an exaggeration, but this country certainly has its share. You can see it in the way they walk, the way they spit on the sidewalk (seemingly every ten feet) and especially in the way they drive. Part of their behavior is, I’m sure, cultural as this is a male dominated society. The other part, God only knows where or how it was developed. It’s amazing how they must take the lead in everything. Kyrgyz woman have told me there is no such thing as holding a door for a lady. Guys just bust right through. (A view that was refuted by a few of my female students when I asked them about this. I was told there are polite men in Kyrgyzstan, but you have to train them.) They walk on the sidewalk in a line that never veers a centimeter. Everybody has to move for them. I’ve been in stores and at the bazaar trying to buy something when a Kyrgyz dude will walk up and start asking questions of the person to whom I’m talking. As for driving, I’ll be surprised if I don’t see someone hit (and most likely killed considering the speeds at which they drive) before I leave this country. Since I’ve been in my city—a little over a month—I’ve already come upon three dogs that never made it to the other side of the road. Not sure if the drivers have the right of way over here but it really doesn’t matter because they take it anyway. They drive through intersections without stopping, half the time without even slowing down. Forget about looking for pedestrians. In fact, pedestrians must look in all directions before crossing the street or take the risk of getting nailed. I imagine the big fun starts this winter when they see how fast they can drive on icy roads without losing control. Today I was already halfway across a street when this guy gives me a double honk on his horn. He was turning behind me and none too happy that I had the audacity to start my cross when he was a half block away. I stopped in the middle of the street just to look at him. This meant he actually had to stop his car—which is usually only a condition when the machine is parked and turned off—and he was sooo pissed. As he sped away, he gave me a look in his side view mirror and one last honk, just so I’d know who’s boss the next time we meet. I’ve decided that for safety reasons, I can’t spend a day over two years in this country even if the PC started paying me my NYC salary.

Written on 3 November 2008

Note: I don't claim to be psychic, but I do have feelings about certain people or events from time to time. Some of my friends think I’m a little loony when I talk about being in harmony with the universe, but check this. The day I wrote the above post, my host mother traveled to Bishkek for her sister-in-law’s funeral, returning yesterday. Last night I asked her how old her sister-in-law was. Forty-six. Then I asked if she had heart problems or cancer. In her limited English vocabulary, she told me, “She died in a car catastrophe.” A driver in Bishkek blew through an intersection killing both the sister-in-law and her passenger. The sister-in-law left a husband and six children behind, five still at home.

Our first snow fell the night of October 23rd. By the afternoon, the only reminder that it snowed wer the puddles along the road. It has been snowing in the mountains for a few weeks. My city is 1200 meters above sea level (3900 feet) whch could be why it has happened so early, by NYC standards. I was told last year's first snowfall occurred on October 1st. I immediately ran to the bazaar and bought my fur-lined winter boots (550 som).

The picture with all the people was taken the day after Ramadan ended (October 1). It a holiday where much food is eaten. These are neighbors of my host family and food was eaten at each of their houses that day. This is our house at 10am. We began at a neighbor's at 9:30am.

Written 26 October 2008

That’s what it must seem like to a couple of my 18 year-old students, as all of their group mates have shunned them. Perhaps a little background is in order. Kyrgyz students are put into groups. From Forms 1-11 they take all their classes with their group mates. They become very close (in theory) and are each other’s support network. This is a leftover from the Soviet system, collectivism. All for one and one for all. When the students arrive at university, their class is their group for the next five years and is usually broken into 2 or three sub-groups, depending on size. Still, they take all the same classes and spend an inordinate amount of time together. (There are no elective courses in the Kyrgyz system. Once a student chooses his/her major, their curriculum is set. I was told this is in the process of changing, but how soon is anybody’s guess.)

Okay, so last year my student, A, had a disagreement with one of her group mates. (I only have her side of the story.) I don’t know the reason, but A said she apologized after a conference with teachers and parents. She thought everything was cool. Not so. When school began in September, the offended girl resurrected the issue and somehow persuaded 30 group mates to side with her (including a couple of teachers, I’m told). Only one group mate remained friends with A. The other 30 taunt, make fun of and are basically nasty to A and A1. A and A1 have found some sanctuary with me. They are both in my drama club, and meet with me three additional hours a week for English lessons. Since they are 2nd Course, I don’t have them in a scheduled school class.

I believe some of the problem is jealousy. Both of these girls are highly motivated students who want to study abroad, take extra classes—not just from me, but wherever they can and speak English better than some of my 5th Course students. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re the top two students in their group. For instance, A studies English with me, takes German with my host mother and is learning how to drive (Her father has promised to buy her a car if she gets her license. Can we say “jealousy”?). She has a sister who lives in Kazakhstan and has studied at a Language Lyceum there.

I don’t know the aggressor’s side of the story. Knowing it may or may not be beneficial to me. As a teacher, I don’t take sides. I may have all these girls as students next fall and as neutral as I would attempt to be, by then, I will have grown very close to the two outcasts. Part of what could make this a difficult situation for me is I have been in their shoes. Twice. In grade school Jim Torrisi decided I wasn’t cool enough (or whatever) to be his friend. He turned all the guys in class against me for a time. Standing in the playground at recess by your self because no one will talk to you is a lonely place for a pre-teen. When I was in my mid-20s, a group of what I then considered my closest friends turned against me at the behest of someone they didn’t know nearly as well as me. Those friendships were never restored. I moved on (and away), made new friends and have not lost any sleep over their actions. In both cases, I believe jealousy played at least a small role in my exile.

I pray A and her adversary resolve their differences by next September. I don’t want to be the middleman/mediator in an ongoing feud. I don’t want to have to take sides. I just want to teach.

Written 24 October 2008

While I teach 21 hours a week and conduct four extra classes (one for the teachers in my department, and three for students [listening skills, grammar and my drama club]), that still leaves me with plenty of down time. Today I had my second meeting with the folks at the local community radio station and both of my program ideas—the radio drama and the music history program—have been accepted. Now the fun (and frustration) begins.

Four of my female students, which for now make up the drama club, are excited about writing a radio serial. They are 18-20 years old, but have a good sense of what it is we’re trying to accomplish. Two have acted in a play and all have seen one. We will be meeting weekly, or maybe twice a week, time permitting. Our next step is to determine if the show will revolve around one family (sitcom style) or be more like a soap opera and explore the fortunes of three families. Then we need to establish characters. The most difficult part, for me, at least, will be determining how far I can push the envelope in this country. My co-writers will rein me in if I go too far. The fact that we’ll be doing this with no budget is no problem as I have my NC thetare company experience. There was a reason we were called The Seat of Our Pants Players. We had no money then, either.

Written 23 October 2008

That’s one of the English speaking stations I’ve found on my new shortwave radio. I was told I could listen to BBC Radio if I purchased one. I have yet to find BBC, but I’ve located, in addition to VOA, CRI (China Radio Intrnational, I think) out of Beijing (which broadcasts in English) and some Australian station. None of the stations come in totally clear, but maybe later in the evening reception will be better (it’s about 7pm as I type this). This afternoon I couldn’t find any English stations. Today, much of the VOA news was the stock market (not that I needed to hear about a 400 point drop) and the election. That’s really the reason I bought the radio, to hear the election returns. And it was a real bargain (200 som, ~$5.50). There are several Asian stations which play music and I’ll listen to those as well. Listen, anything that’ll keep me company on those “cold as I’ve ever been” winter days when there’s no electricity will be a blessing.

Written on 21 October 2008

I have been a full-fledged volunteer for just over a month and away from the States for 3 ? , though it seems a lot longer than that. I would swear time passes more slowly here than in Brooklyn. Of course that’s not true, but just the same, I will tell you why I live with this feeling. First, I have almost nothing to worry about of any major consequence. Back in the big city my mind swirled with messages, issues, ifs, ands and buts, not to mention the financial obligations. Will I get another temp gig after this is over? Do I want to produce another play? Do I want to leave New York? Will there be another terror attack? Here my major daily worry is whether I should buy grapes or pears today. Okay, there are two non-Peace Corps related thoughts that seep into my mind occasionally, but they never linger for long. One is what I will do after my service is complete and the other, one I try to banish as soon as it makes an unwanted appearance amongst the brain cells, is the fear of losing my tenant in Brooklyn. While I have the pieces in place to find a new one, it’s a task I’d rather not have to undertake 6,300 miles away from home, especially with the economy in such bad shape. I’ve heard of two people in the last week who’ve been laid off in NYC, and , well, enough about that.

The second reason times seems to crawl is the lack of activity in my life. This is going to change, but for now, I have lots of free time. I teach 12 hours a week and hold three extra classes. I also teach two individual English lessons. That totals 17. When you factor in our daily electrical down time, we have no power from noon to 6pm (and this will last through March I am told), that limits me even more. I can’t use the computers at school for internet research or reading. One can only meander through the bazaar so many times in a week before boredom sets in. I read and write everyday, but with the increasingly common occurrence of clouds blocking the sun, there’s barely enough light to do so, even at 3 in the afternoon. I must invest in a battery powered lamp or a boat load of candles. I dread to think how I will pass the time in January and February when our school is closed during the most frigid portion of winter. (The long closure is due to the aforementioned lack of electricity which is the heat source for our building.) I have a few secondary projects in the works that should/could occupy several more hours of my activity-starved days. Beyond that, it’s books, books and more books.

Yesterday, I wrote about the sheep slaughtering. Last night we ate it. Tonight we have been invited to guest at a neighbor’s house and I just saw them cart away in a wheel barrow another placid, unsuspecting, alive for another 30 minutes sheep. (No, honest, we’re just going for a short ride. I promise you’ll be din—I mean, you’ll be back before dinner.)

Written on 20 October 2008

Kyrgyzstan possesses a cornucopia of traditions. I had the chance to watch one this afternoon, but decided to pass. Whenever guests come to your house, in this instance, two of my host mother’s sisters from out of town are visiting, it is customary to kill an animal. Yup. And we just happened to have a spare sheep in the barn. My host father asked me to watch, but I couldn’t. The poor sheep was so cute. And unsuspecting, I’m sure. I went to my room. About five minutes later, I heard a distant squeal. I live on a busy road, so I told myself it was probably a taxi making a screeching stop to pick up a fare. That happens a lot. But, no matter how many times I told myself that story, I never completely bought it. I knew it was that sheep’s last utterance in this world. I felt bad for a few minutes until I realized how good she was gonna taste at dinner tonight.

My host father got the last laugh on me. As I stepped outside a while later, I heard him call my name. As I turned my head, there he was, saying “Ehhhhhhhhhhh” as he was holding up the sheep’s head, eyes wide open, for my viewing pleasure.

Written on 18 October 2008

Okay, I’m not going to make a big deal out of this or drag it out like a suspense novel. I’ll just tell you, because it’s really no big deal. I mean, everybody eats it over here. Mostly at celebrations and special occasions, I’ve been told. Don’t ask me why it’s only eaten at celebrations and special occasions. Maybe it’s too expensive to eat on a regular basis. I know it’s not a big deal because I thought I was eating something else. In fact, what I was really eating tasted just like what I thought I was eating. Well, maybe not exactly, but very, very close. Close enough that I didn’t know what I had eaten until hours later when my host mother asked me if I had tasted it. I said yes, and it was very good. That’s when she told me it was only eaten at celebrations and special occasions. Again, I don’t know why. Okay, like I said, I’m not going to string this out like I know I could, I’ll simply tell you I have a new favorite red meat. Leaner than beef and tastes just as good. Horse. If I only had some A-1 Sauce to top it off. Mmmmm.

On a related topic, I’ve been wondering if my 20 lb. weight loss is the result of my Kyrgyz diet (fruits, vegetables, horse meat [did I mention they usually only eat it at celebrations and special occasions?]) or because, for the passed four months, I’ve not had a drink? I think it’s the latter, because the last time I lost this much weight (1992, grad school) I didn’t have a drink for, hey, whadya know, four months. Also, in both situations, I was living at or below the poverty line. I’m sure that has nothing to do with it, but it is another similarity.

Written 16 October 2008

I don’t know who reads this blog regularly besides my family and a couple of friends, but I’d like to take a minute to explain my position on emailing. I think some people feel I'm neglecting them. I decided to blog my experiences here because it seemed the most expedient way of reaching my intended audience. Instead of writing personal emails to a couple dozen people, I could post one entry to the blog and hopefully, all those people would see it. It’s not that I don’t want to write personal emails to my friends in NYC and elsewhere, it’s more about having the time, and especially, the som (money, which I don’t have a lot of) to sit at the internet cafe. And now, though I have access to the internet for free, I have to displace a university employee from her desk whenever I go online. To sit there for an hour or more writing emails is more intrusive than I want to be. I go in, do what I need to do and leave so she can get back to work.

IF, you send me a personal email (and those of you who would, have my email address), I will certainly respond to it. In fact, I have heard from a few people whose emails were unexpected pleasures and I replied posthaste. I love receiving non-spam emails. It’s just that I can’t be the initiator for the reasons stated above. I hope this explains that I am not intentionally avoiding/ignoring/slighting anyone.

Written on 13 October 2008

New volunteers must live with host families for a minimum of three months. After that we can move into an apartment. In my case, this will be December 20th. I was of the opinion I would move on that day or shortly after. As with any decision, I must consider the pros and cons of each alternative. I like living alone and apartments are virtually the only domiciles in my city with indoor toilets. During winter, when it’s zero or lower outside, that’s a huge plus. Still, it’s not the only factor to consider. Other positives include eating what and when you want (Out of respect for their values, I won’t cook pork in my host family’s house because they don’t eat it for religious reasons) and doing what you want, whenever you want. The negatives of apartment living? They can be very cold if the electricity is out for any length of time. (I hear rumblings of no power for 8 hours each day this winter.) If you need something fixed, the wait can be weeks. Also, it can be awfully quiet as I don’t have a TV. (I have to watch my DVDs on my computer.) As much as I like my solitude, living in a foreign land can be a lonely existence.

What are the advantages of living with a host family for two years? Well, in my case, there are several. I live two blocks from the university. Moving would mean a 20 minute walk (see winter weather above). Company (also see above). My family has a washing machine (huge plus), a banya (what better than a hot sauna bath in the middle of winter), power all the time (we live close to the hospital), and four tons of coal (heat, heat and more heat). Even though I told them I will cook for myself, they still insist in feeding me occasionally (and won’t accept any money from me). In my present situation, I spend much time in my room reading books and writing, but when I tire of that it’s nice to have someone around to talk with, even if the language barrier is a struggle. And this morning, I saw firsthand how much I think they would like me to live with them for my entire two years. An eating table with chairs was delivered to the house. My host mother said she decided to have it made when she agreed to have a volunteer from America live in her house. In other words, the table was made for me. Well, not just me as it seats ten, but you get the idea. I told her since arriving in Kyrgyzstan, I’ve really come to like sitting on the floor to eat, but I will gladly take a seat at the new table. To break it in, I even ate a second breakfast. Now, how do I tell them that I might be moving in December after they had furniture made on my account? I’d feel awful.

One of the favorite phrases of my students is “time will tell.” Well, time will tell if I stay or if I go. It will not be an easy decision. It will be especially difficult to tell them I’m leaving if it’s done while we’re sitting at the table.

These are from Culture Day in my training village. It took place on August 16th. One photo is me in traditional Kyrgyz clothing. Another photo is my host family sister (isn't she cute?), my host mother and the daughter of another host family. And the third pic is all the trainees dancing at a reenactment of a Turkish wedding. You can see the bride dressed in the white veil in the rear of the crowd.