Three weeks from now I will say goodbye to Balkhash and begin my long journey back home. In the course of two years, a Peace Corps volunteer expects to experience a wide range of emotions – I know I’ve had my fair share of frustrations, joys and utter confusions. Peace Corps has told us time and time again that our service may be compared to riding on a rollercoaster. Though the metaphor has always slightly bothered me, it’s a hard one to disagree with. Now as my remaining days in Kazakhstan creep to an end, I’m holding on tight to the security railing.

I’m happy about returning home and starting a new life filled with hopeful beginnings (and Mexican food), but I’m equally troubled about saying goodbye to some of the most wonderful people I have ever known. I’m grateful for the internet and my ability to follow my students’ ambitions despite moving all the way across the world. However, it won’t be the same as walking back to my apartment with my hands full of roses and a pound of cherries just because Tanya wouldn’t let me leave her house empty-handed. It won’t be the same as looking at Helen across the classroom and suppressing my laughter, as I know she knows exactly what I’m thinking and is trying just as hard. It won’t be the same as watching one of my students smile meekly as she hands me a poem thanking me for being her teacher. There are many aspects of my life here that will be difficult to say goodbye to, but let’s not forget about what I’m looking forward to forgetting as well: Things I’ll miss: -Homemade everything

-Bazaars

-Communal train food

-Hot pink nail polish and glittery headbands

-Dance circles with strangers

-Conversations in Russian

-Teacher’s pets

-The stars in the steppe

-Letter writing and receiving

-Kazakh babies bundled up until August

-Loudly discussing someone in English without them knowing Things I won’t miss: -Bus rides

-The stares

-Lines (or lack of them)

-Carrying toilet paper around in my purse

-Meat salads, meat pies and meat “vegetarian” dishes

-Conversations in Russian

-The cement Soviet-style buildings

-Utilities shutting off without notice

-The craziness that is the scheduling system at school

-Undrinkable water

-Children (though adults can’t be ruled out) screaming “Hi! Hi! Hello! Good bye America!”

Below is a hodgepodge of my summer:

My time in Kazakhstan has allowed me the opportunity to look at certain things from a different angle. Gold teeth, horse meat and questions regarding what movies I've starred in become common place that replace the dryers, potable water and mild winters that I was used to back at home. In the past 18 months I've also realized something else: things are just less awkward here. I've made a brief list of specific things that you may deem embarrassing, but would be wrong to do so.   1. Headlamps - though arguably not sexy, provide excellent lighting when you want to read in bed and a table lamp just doesn't exist. You also look cooler than you think when you bring them on long train rides. "Yes, this is from America," regularly distracts people from thinking you're just the idiot with the headlamp.   2. Face masks - aren't just for robberies anymore. And why are these embarrassing again? I often asked myself that question as I walked to school in the arctic tundra. I'd rather have edgy winter gear than freezer burn. In fact, there weren't many things I wouldn't have done for a face mask in January.   3. Exercising in your living room - P90X may have my neighbors wondering why the crazy American regularly jumps for long periods of time, but it's not embarrassing. What is unfortunate, however, is that I know every word that comes out of Tony's mouth. Or that I even know that his name is Tony.    4. Pooping - is cool. One risk of living in the developing world is that your bowel movements could become an fixation, as well as a reasonable topic during mealtimes. Immediately after coming to Kazakhstan we were given entire lectures on the topic. In one Peace Corps medical session we were even asked to collectively sing the "Diarrhea Song". Everybody poops, so no one needs to be ashamed. Except the person who created that site.   So stop fooling yourself. Headlamps, face masks, indoor exercising, and especially pooping, are cool, and I'm sticking to it.

All modes of transportation in Kazakhstan can lead to an adventure.  However, three recent events have led me to believe that buses, in particular, are especially perilous. 1. Several weeks ago around the four-hour mark during my regular six-hour ride back to Balkhash from Karaganda (a city up north where many of my fellow PCVs live), my bus tipped over.  That’s right, tipped over.  As the driver pulled over to the side of the snowy road to drop a woman off at her stop, he went just a little too far.  The bus then plunged slowly into a ditch sending it and everyone inside tumbling leftwards.  I barely had time to realize what was going on before the bus collapsed on the hill that was (thankfully) located next to the trench.  What I found most startling about the accident wasn’t that I fell on top of the little girl in the row across from me, instead it was how everyone remained perfectly silent.  None of the expected chaotic noise of a bus tipping over ensued.  Eventually people started collecting their furry coats and hats and just climbed out the driver’s side door, inaudibly.  I did the same.  Outside in the frozen wilderness I began asking the other passengers what we were planning to do about this situation.  It was about 11 PM in the empty steppe, our bus was stuck in a ditch and we were all without cell phone service.  No one knew how to fix the predicament, including the driver who also remained helplessly silent on the side of the road.  So we simply waited.  But it was hard to stand still when I, like most Americans would, expected an explanation of what had happened and some discussion of an action plan.  Also where was my refund?  What about my free tickets for life?  Was the helicopter coming to save us?  No more than an hour later another bus pulled up and said it would be stopping in Balkhash.  I immediately hopped on that vehicle and wondered over the next two hours what other adventures were coming my way and where I could find a toll-free customer service number. 2. The bus system in my town is no less entertaining.  When I’m feeling lazy and intimidated by the -30 degree temperatures outside, I take the bus to school instead of walking.  Though seats are often available many people choose to stand.  A woman was standing next to me gripping her toddler’s mitted hand, both of them desperate not to fall over as we turned and skidded across the ice.  I bet they had wished they had decided to take a seat when the bus came to a sudden stop throwing them both against the side doors.  Without any warning, the baby quickly became a cushion for his mother who (accidentally?) made sure he was placed right between her and the door.  I immediately realized why they bundle their babies up so much. 3. On another local bus in Balkhash an old woman dropped her bags from the bazaar while attempting to climb into a seat.  Apparently even sitting down can be a hazard.  Several kilograms of apples, oranges and potatoes went rushing across the floor of the bus causing a few people to collapse along with them.  The woman shouted, “dominoes”, and the two of us started laughing.  Unfortunately, no one else thought her comment was funny and she picked up her produce by herself. Peace Corps mandates that every volunteer wear a helmet while riding a horse in Kazakhstan.  Though horses are a popular fare in this country, I’ve never been offered the chance to hop on top of one.  I’m regularly thankful that we’re not also required to wear a helmet while riding the bus, though I think that rule may be more practical. 

Returning to Kazakhstan after a short-lived hiatus brings along its challenges, rewards and ... laughter. If there’s one thing my students have difficulty grasping it’s the concept of the United Kingdom. Is it a country? Is it five? Is it in Canada? Helen and I started our latest lesson with a map of the U.K. The 9th graders’ level of English has increased since I started last year and it was evident in their attempts to explain the picture before them. However, their guesses weren’t as accurate. After one of the students proudly exclaimed, “This is California,” Helen started clapping. She turned to face me and with a big smile on her face she said, “We did it! Our children finally know that the United Kingdom is actually California.”I think now they understand. Later that week we were reviewing the present perfect tense with the 7th graders. One of my students continues to blow me away with his perfect grammar and unfailing energy in the classroom. I stopped at his desk while the class wrote down notes from the board simply to tell him that he was a genius. He unquestionably responded with, “I know”.  And I hope he always does. Outside of the classroom I still find little things that make me laugh. I received a text message from a girl who works at the local mayor’s office whom I met earlier that day. It read: “Sam, you are so cheerful, amiable, cool and so thin. Let’s be friends”. Her lovely message, an oversized armchair perplexingly stuck in a manhole outside of my apartment and the women who sell fruit, vegetables and inflatable swimming objects in -30 degree weather add to my enjoyment every single day.  Wintertime in Siberia is often too cold to breathe, but that doesn't mean it's empty of amusement. It’s the little things that count.

It all started with Papu.    Immediately after landing in the New Delhi airport, my boyfriend Myles and I were approached by a man holding a sign that read, "MYLES FISH". We had expected our hostel to arrange a driver to pick us up. We hadn't anticipated what would happen once we arrived at our destination. Despite appearances (our driver Papu closely resembled Dave Chappelle's character "Tyrone"), Papu didn't have a fixation for eating peanut butter sandwiches and somehow managed to drive like a pro among the chaos on the highways. As we approached our hostel at around 11 PM, fires were the only source of illumination. Shadowed across the street were images of wandering cows, families living in abandoned buildings, and a lonely man sleeping in a rickshaw. I thought I had made a huge mistake. However, with the sun came somewhat of an explanation. Our hostel was situated along the main bazaar and all the abandoned buildings were stalls emptied for the night. Rickshaws, autorickshaws, taxis, bicycles and motorcycles littered the bazaar during the bustle of daytime and well, I never did get an explanation for the cows.   After spending four days eating our way around Delhi, several hours admiring the beauty of the Taj Mahal and only a matter of seconds before deciding that we adored India, we headed for the train station to board our train to Mumbai. We hadn't been at the New Delhi train station for more than five minutes when a man approached Myles and said, "Russian?" Myles responded that he wasn't natively Russian but that he spoke the language if him and his friend needed some help. We then embarked on a wild chase to help the Russians figure out if they had made the wait list for their train while making sure we still got on ours in time. We were able to make it, and though I wasn't so sure about our new friends, something tells me they found a way to get on. Regardless of the fact that our 24-hour train ride ended up lasting over 36, we still celebrated Christmas Day in style on the Paschim Express, and I enjoyed my 70+ cups of chai.   I envisioned Mumbai to be overwhelming and exhausting (more people live in the city alone than in the whole country of Kazakhstan) and was pleasantly surprised to find it somewhat charming. We only had one full day in the city, so we hired a taxi driver and made our tour around India's business center stopping occasionally for ice cream or a stroll along Chowpatty Beach. We said goodbye to Mumbai 36 hours after our arrival and hopped on our second train of the trip to Goa.   We headed towards our resort around midnight and between the thick darkness of the palm trees I could see that something was lit up. I kept my fingers tightly crossed that arriving at our new hotel wouldn't be a repeat of Delhi. It wasn't. The sky was bright but this time it wasn't fires - there hung dozens of paper lanterns and the trees twinkled with glittering white Christmas lights. A huge smile crept across my face as the receptionist brought us to our little pink hut. We woke up to the sound of monkeys playing tag on our roof and waves crashing along the beach. No, I hadn't made a huge mistake.   To anyone who's familiar with the Bourne series, Palolem Beach was featured in the second film and you might remember Matt Damon running along the shoreline. Naturally, we had to do that too. We then spent seven days there relishing in its beauty. Sea kayaking, bike rides, fresh seafood dinners, and countless mini adventures filled up our days when we weren't asking each other if this was actually real.   After a frightening, tasty and magical two weeks in India we had to say goodbye. The Siberian winter is far from welcoming, but I've arrived back in Kazakhstan with a new source of energy. With less than seven months left here, I'm excited to get things done and have big plans of discovering how to cook Aloo Gobi as well. 

For someone who always has something to say, I’m surprised at my inability to speak. Losing someone so special, someone like Andy, causes even the most loquacious of people to become speechless. How can I articulately describe the day the world went black? How is it possible to explain my emotions when I have too many to pinpoint? I can’t. Therefore, I want to just write about Andy - that’s a subject on which I’m much more verbose. It was impossible to have a bad time around Andy. He was so much fun to be around, in fact, that we had to stop taking classes together. On three different occasions we shamelessly walked out of lectures because we were causing a scene crying with laughter. I can’t remember what brought us to tears, but I doubt we were laughing at the different functions of the retina. His wit was captivating and seemingly never-ending. He knew what made him happy and he did it whole-heartedly. His love for his friends and family was fierce. He was completely devoted to those he cared about – dumping ketchup on my plate was the only way to stop me from eating a fourth brownie, and he’d gladly do the deed (though I’m pretty sure he had just as many pieces). I don’t need condiments anymore, I just need my friend back. Andy, you are missed immensely, and the amount of people who love you is colossal. A thousand-people-wake is a true testament to the kind of star you are. And will always be. I miss you, Stick Boy. But I will be forever grateful that I called you my friend.   

Read this.

“We’re sending you to Thailand. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning at 8 AM.” I boarded a plane equally nervous and excited for my spontaneous trip to Bangkok. Nine days later I can thankfully say that my anxiety wasn’t nearly as justified as my eagerness was. Bangkok is hot, humid and lovely. The streets are sticky with moisture from the air and the roasted chicken cooking on the curbs. Incense and pad thai lull you into a peaceful mood, continuously bringing you to the present. And everything you can possibly want is right at your fingertips – it just might be hidden in some hard to find nook. My trip to Thailand wasn’t solely to eat, despite my over-indulgence in frozen yogurt and spicy noodles. However, while consuming all the food I had been craving for the past 15 months, I fortunately discovered I was healthy enough to return to Kazakhstan… maybe a little bit heavier, but twice as happy. Joining the Peace Corps meant I’d temporarily be saying goodbye to everyone I loved and a country I called home, but it didn’t mean I’d be alone. I’ve always had someone there that I could count on, talk to and laugh with. When I landed in Bangkok my security blanket was ripped off me, but I turned out just fine. I discovered several temples, rubbed substantial amounts of Buddha bellies, navigated the sky train, subway and bus systems like a pro, saw a contemporary dance show, read TIME and Newsweek on beanbag chairs, took relief from the heat in plush movie theaters, strolled through every single park I came across and yes, ate lots and lots of food. Bangkok was nothing short of entertaining. I saw an “I ♥ Life” and “I ♥ Alcohol” shirt on the same day. There are signs all over the sky train that read, “Please give up your seat to anyone who is pregnant, elderly or a monk.” Faux hawks are in. So are pigtails, Playboy bunny earrings and braces. Yup, Thailand’s alright with me. I leave Bangkok tomorrow evening and am looking forward to getting back to site. I soaked in the sun, smiles and cuisine as best I could, but now it’s time to return to work. I’m leaving Thailand thankful for the medical care that Peace Corps has provided for me and am more than ready to pick up where I left off.

Because vocabulary involving robots is essential to any 11th grader learning English in Kazakhstan, we spent 45 minutes last week discussing machines that were capable of carrying out a complex series of actions. Though I was hesitant at first to focus a lesson around robots, I was introduced with my new favorite student phrase so far, “I’d rather have a Mitsubishi than a human being”. You’d rather have a Mitsubishi than a human being? I provided my class with a list of several words included in the text and gave them this task to test their critical thinking skills – Together we will cross out this list, one bullet at a time, with the things we can do without. The last word(s) standing should be what is most important to us. -household chores

-robots

-large vocabulary

-human beings

-high prices

-Japanese manufacturers

-easy living

-Mitsubishi As a class, our list was narrowed down to this: -human beings

&

-Mitsubishi I had an especially hard time keeping a straight face when, “I’d rather have a Mitsubishi than a human being,” was yelled out. I may prefer easy living and company to a Mitsubishi, but I absolutely appreciate the grammar and enthusiasm in this car fanatic.  

Infrastructure isn’t Kazakhstan’s strong suit, so I had always blamed the roads for why buses seemed to go so slowly. However, a sleepless night on one of my last trips provided me with another culprit: watermelons. My bus driver thought it was appropriate to pull over twice to purchase fruit on the side of the road. At midnight. Someone was selling watermelons at midnight and, yes, someone was buying those watermelons.

  October in Balkhash means green pumpkins, sparkly scarves and central heating. For at least one of its residents the end of the month means something else: Halloween. I think this calls for a party.  

When people ask my best friend what it is that I do in Central Asia, she often responds with this: “She has Halloween parties”.  As my first year in Kazakhstan has successfully concluded, I find myself reflecting on my time over here and what exactly I have done.  Mostly, I’ve realized that Jill’s summary of Halloween parties is a pretty accurate one.  There is a lot that I’ve learned and accomplished in a year, but there’s just as much that I want to discover and achieve before I leave.  I could list all the overwhelmingly impressive insights that I’ve gained over the past 12 months, but I would much rather do this instead: Things I didn’t know I would miss: paved roads, Shirley temples, dogs with leashes, apple picking, jokes in English, grass, delivery, trees not painted white, online tickets, and costumer service that doesn’t start with, “Talk”. Things I didn’t know I would love: glitter, bus drivers, karaoke, teenagers, mullets, teenagers with mullets, nurses who wear chef hats, family dinners, and drinking beer out of straws. I have 14 more months in Kazakhstan and plan to ease my longing over all that I miss with the pleasure that I find in everything I have come to appreciate. And I vow to throw as many Halloween parties as I possibly can until I step on that plane.

Spring has (finally) sprung! And I couldn’t be more thankful. Spending two weeks down south was a nice break from the seemingly eternal bleak winter up north. Those fourteen days, however, were somewhat bittersweet. Seeing green grass for the first time in six months was a cheerful reminder of what was soon to come to Balkhash. Unfortunately, evidence of spring presented itself alongside the realization of how truly wonderful many of my fellow volunteers here are and the great distance I would soon have to endure apart from them.

But now that I’m back in Balkhash, readjusting to site has been much easier with all of the snow entirely melted and the skies no longer gray. I’ve also found that each one of my classes were just as nice to return home to. Because our charming textbook written by a Mr. Ayapova is less than satisfactory, my counterpart and I created our own lesson to review the future tense with our 10th graders and attempt to encourage a drop of imaginative reasoning as well. Our “Car of the Future” theme went over quite well, though I think our general subject matter was overlooked and you’ll soon see why. However, I instantly realized how much I had missed my students when I received this specific submission at the end of class:

“My car of the future will be a hummer. There will be two girls in my car. And when I drive, girls will give me ‘mohito’… I’ll be very glad”.

Pure genius.

At the end of class one day this week, we had several minutes to kill. I decided to take this opportunity to perform a Jelly Belly taste test, as I had a package sent to me for Easter (thanks mom and dad) and wasn’t especially craving “toasted marshmallow” jelly beans. The students loved it, though, and nearly exhausted their English vocabulary to occasionally guess the correct flavor. My favorite moment, however, was when one of my 8th graders spit out his candy like a flying projectile because he had the misfortune of receiving “buttered popcorn”. Apparently this taste is just as nauseating to the people of Kazakhstan. His guess? “Throw up”.

This weekend he’s vowed to write Jelly Belly requesting that whoever introduced, but primarily whoever approved, the idea of creating a “buttered popcorn” flavored jelly bean be fired immediately. While he’s busy honorably protesting disgusting tasting confections, I plan on finishing my pot of chili that has only made me realize how a batch of anything made for eight is not the same as something eaten by one person eight separate times. And all the while, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again.

How I obtained the position of a respected teacher at a secondary school in Kazakhstan is beyond me. However, I like to use this current state of power that I am entirely under qualified for to my advantage: last week my students played pin the tail on the donkey, had several three-minute dance parties and memorized the words, “Red Sox”, simply because I told them to.

In addition to spontaneous dance parties, I always look forward to my weekly English club at one of the local colleges to provide me with a reliable source of amusement. Those of you at home, who I know have been most overly concerned, can rest assured that my “Book of Questions” survived the flight to Central Asia. Since then, it’s also endured several absurd nights in Almaty with equally ridiculous volunteers, and I’ve recently discovered that seventeen-year-old Kazakhs appreciate it just as much. Would you kill an innocent butterfly for a million dollars? Obviously. What makes a person attractive? Money and good clothes. Would you rather have no arms or no legs? I don’t understand the question.

However, the interpreting professor that helped us organize the English Club is twice as entertaining as the sessions themselves. Olga’s a full time educator, part-time “entertainer” at a local dance club downtown. Though she doesn’t get paid, or technically work at this cafe, when Olga grabs a microphone, the party abruptly begins. Since agreeing to go out with her less than a month ago, I’ve seen her initiate spontaneous rounds of speed dating, dance competitions and awkward sing-alongs. Her fabulous corsets and dark, long wigs remind me of why I joined the Peace Corps in the first place.

Though locals promise winter’s conclusion at the start of March, the freezing rain and equally raw winds lead me to believe otherwise. Yet, less than two weeks from now, I’ll be traveling to a city down south where guarantees of green grass give me hope that spring could be on its way. I can’t wait to be able to put away my parka and see all the volunteers that I’ve missed so much over the past five months. 11 days and counting.

If I've learned one thing from my time here in Kazakhstan it's that you can find light even if the darkest of places, you just have to know where to look. Losing a student to suicide was one of the hardest things that I've had to endure, not only in Central Asia, but in my entire life. Just when I thought that maybe existence here was predominantly bleak, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye: my counterpart's four-year-old son, Anton. Sitting in the back of the room during our 6th period lesson, Anton was busy coloring. One hand was clutching his favorite "cerulean" Crayola crayon, and the other refused to let go of Vika's. These two first graders, one in a miniature black tux and one with her hair fastened high in a pink leopard-print scrunchie, were proof that tenderness truly exists in this country. I couldn't stop smiling.

I still am.

Apart from crushes, the smell of vanilla (Kazakshtan lacks liquid vanilla extract and manufactures it in powder form instead. This disturbed me at first, but I've come to love the smell of my kitchen cupboard filled with those packets), hairdressers that walk you out to a cab to ensure that you'll make it home safely (and then call you later on just to make sure), hearing Mozart's "Piano Sonata" through my headphones on my walk to school (Mom, you know I actually thought about doing ballet right in the middle of the sidewalk. I miss dancing around our living room while you played the piano), screaming wishes into the frozen earth to cap off my host mother's birthday, slow dancing at a local cafe like I was back in middle school and the constant support of an amazing counterpart have helped me see the light again and again. Kazakhstan, like every other place on this earth, has its troubles. But that doesn't mean there aren't wonderful aspects too, maybe you just haven't looked in the right places.

pretty mountains in Almaty

Coming to Kazakhstan, I expected to experience a series of first events: my first Russian conversation, my first time trying horse… the first time I found myself miming toilet paper. Apart from the latter, which was also unanticipated, I want to share a collection of unpredicted firsts that I underwent only in the past two weeks alone.

Recently was the first time I…

1. challenged a nine year old to DDR. Embarrassed to be the only two 20-somethings at a local “arcade” who didn’t bring their children, Christina and I pretended to be with one of the unattended girls by the Dance, Dance Revolution machine. As one can expect, this led to an intense competition and victory by the Balkhash volunteers.

2. ate a rock, peanut butter and KFC in Kazakhstan. No explanations necessary.

3. attended a Kazakh funeral.

4. owned Barbies. Aware of my mother’s strong conviction that Barbies would ultimately lead to self-esteem and body issues (but really just caused a sad and deprived childhood), my site mate gave me two for Christmas.

5. witnessed blatant cheating within the school system.

6. sat on a bus for four solid hours without moving. However, the most remarkable part of our incredibly frustrating idling was that not a single passenger seemed to mind. A striking difference between the people of Kazakhstan and those in the U.S. is their opposing views around the power of voice. No one spoke up once during the entire four hours that our bus stood stranded, because everyone assumed that there was nothing they could do to influence our situation. The bus simply wasn’t going to continue its route. And that was that. Contrarily, I can’t imagine a similar reaction occurring within the states.

7. partook in a backseat taxi sing-along to Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way”. Yes, the driver also participated like the rock star he was.

8. had three buses cancelled in one day. After finally arriving in Almaty, despite our four-hour roadside hangout, another blizzard hit. Our ride back to Balkhash was cancelled, as was, apparently, two city buses within Almaty itself. Twice we were asked to get off the bus, along with the rest of the passengers, to just get right back on another. If there were any explanations given, I was unaware. After our third bus, we’d just about had it with the transportation system within Kazakhstan. We ended up taking a taxi, which luckily didn’t also make us exit his vehicle in the middle of the road, and provided me with #7.

9. asked a student why he was using binoculars in the classroom. His answer: he “liked it”.

10. had a lengthy conversation about karma sutra. My host mother is deeply concerned about my lack of experience in tantric sex and has let me borrow her manual until I come to my senses.

Thank you 2010.

Underneath all the bus cancellations, the snowfall is beautiful.

My first Christmas and New Years were spent rather spontaneously and enjoyably here in Kazakhstan. Never spending a holiday away from home until recently, I was predicting a relatively lonely and cheerless celebration of two of my favorite American holidays. However, like Thanksgiving, I was pleasantly surprised by how satisfying even the most dreary of steppe can be. Gray is truly capable of being lovely with the right company.

In an attempt to bring Christmas into the classroom, my counterpart and I arranged a weeklong over-celebration for all six of the grades that we teach. Thanks to my friends and family back home, my students were able to bake sugar cookies in the shape of reindeer, watch some of my most beloved movies like Elf and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, carol around School 17 and eat copious amounts of candy. Though I have to say, my favorite lesson had to be when the 10th form had a "boys vs. girls bake off" competing to see which gender could craft the best cookie rendition of Santa Claus.

Only adding to my already cheerful mood, I was lucky enough to spend Christmas weekend doing some of my favorite activies: singing karaoke, wearing fuzzy dresses and watching Labyrinth (nothing puts me in the holiday spirit quite like borderline creepy puppets and close-ups of David Bowie's silver strench pants). I got to know a few volunteers I hadn't been close with before and visit those I already knew I adored. It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

However, New Years is the most important time of the year for the people living in Kazakhstan. The day before New Year's Eve, my school through an extravagant glitz-filled celebration. Each teacher was asked to bring in an hors d'oeuvre and it was requested that I bake my "famous" banana bread. Famous is in quotations for a reason - the concept of incorporating fruits of vegetables into starches is unheard of in this country. Many of my colleagues had already tried my pumpkin, banana and other various types of bread and those that hadn't were anxious to do so. I can't wait to introduce them to the wonders of zucchini bread (or tell them all about salads that don't include meat). After dinner, a dance party ensued fully outfitted with a strobe light and high-kick shuffle around the giant "New Years" tree. My counterpart and I then raced two zavuches to see who could make the better adaptation of the Statue of Liberty. With a toilet paper roll in hand, Helen circled my body at a speed I've never seen her move before, covering me from the shoulder down in toilet paper. However, we just weren't fast enough. Our opponents took first place, but I thought we deserved an honorable mention, as my torch was (obviously) a bottle of vodka.

Actual New Years was commemorated in Karaganda with several volunteers serving in various parts of the country. Camel riding, random party crashing, bountiful amounts of cheesy bread, a make-shit ruit game, learning new and interesting ways to cure hangovers, edifying conversations on a frozen park bench, and walking up and down the same endless street (the list only continues) were a perfect conclusion to 2009. Thank you for making its close memorable, and here's to an equally wonderful 2010.

The post office workers think I'm kind of a big deal. Thank you for my seven packages and the others on the way. I look forward to opening my presents under the tree.

And I love each of you very, very much.

For the first time since as long as I can remember, I spent a Saturday night entirely by myself. As you might expect, I was initially doubtful as to how enjoyable my night was going to be, as Boston weekends have spoiled me. However, I found contentment in the solitude and was satisfied by my homemade bread and long forgotten book. Holden Caulfield will forever remain my favorite protagonist, and the smell of baking bread will always make my happy. Seclusion can be very gratifying.

Other lessons that I've learned since arriving in Kazakhstan:

1. Take candy from strangers.

2. Life is a zero-sum equation and makes rushing only irrational.

3. Teaching is hard work but worth all of it.

4. -30 Celsius feels like -30 Celsius.

5. Embarassment hinders opportunities. Act as though you're not, and you'll find yourself doing things you never dreamed you would.

6. Laughter, no dancing, is the best medicine (as long as there's less than 8 people involved).

7. Tell people you care about them. You might not always have the chance to.

8. Pumpkins aren't only orange.

9. There are people who actually like Delilah Luke.

10. I'm stronger than I thought I was.

My frequent visits to Ardak’s apartment (Ardak is a 40-year old Kazakh woman who was one of my host family options) continue to make my week. For her 15 year old niece’s birthday celebration on Tuesday we had a “girl’s night”. This get together consisted of a plethora of cakes, photo shoots (refer to the quality picture) and Titanic theme song singing. Leaving her house too late for a Tuesday, I received my first drunk text from a local. I plan on saving what translates to: “You are beautiful. You may come back and drink some more now”.

For the Thanksgiving weekend I went to a “nearby” city called Karaganda. Even though the trip from my training village to site required a lengthy 10-hour bus ride, I wasn’t prepared for this 6-hour tour to Karaganda. I’m 5’9” with roughly 5’ long legs and this has proved a problem fitting comfortably on modes of transportation in the past. However, the lack of legroom on the bus required me to put both legs into the aisle, which apparently, is unacceptable. Realizing that it wasn’t my disrespect for the other travelers that caused me to do so, (I simply had no other choice) the driver instructed me to put my legs someplace else. His suggestion was to position them directly above the chair in front of me so my feet would be perfectly placed beside some man’s ears. He didn’t seem to mind. 6 hours later I pulled into Karaganda with two asleep legs and a lot of yoga practice.

Once in Karaganda, though, it was nice to see the other volunteers. Unable to have a traditional Thanksgiving, the 7 of us celebrated by going out for Georgian cuisine, playing billiards, dancing and drinking champagne. It wasn’t a conventional celebration, but it was well worth the bus rides across the endless steppe.

Now that the holiday is over, it’s time to get back to work. Let me quickly mention that the books provided to the students in Kazakhstan are quite inadequate. The reoccurring mistakes and irrelevant readings are a headache to any native English speaker. However poor, the texts still offer me some type of amusement. Today, the 10th grader’s lesson theme was “Chocomania”. My class spent 45 minutes discussing whether or not they were “chocophiles”, “chocoholics” or “chocophobes”. Check out the "phobes" on the right. Regardless of the lesson’s absurdity, the students had a genuine debate and I had a good time eating chocolate. You can guess which category I fall under.

It’s already December and that means I’ve spent over a month in Balkhash. It’s truly amazing how quickly time seems to pass since I’ve been at site.

Although I won't be able to, and don't particularly want to, express my confusion and grief through words, writing about my past couple weeks here would be superficial if I didn't mention the great loss in my life. The world is an awfully gloomier place without Steve Abramowicz. Though I too am struggling to understand, let us try and refrain from asking ourselves "why" or "what if". Let us instead take this time to reflect on how fortunate we were to have had Steve in our lives and to have each other now. He was a remarkable friend and brother and will be incalculably missed. I want more than anything to be home now to do just that (mom, you're the perfect person to give the eulogy. I know you'll do an incredible job). Wherever he is, I just hope he knows how much he's loved and that he will always hold the title of best catchphrase player. Ever.

My first week of classes went quite smoothly (despite the schedule changes, my classroom being quarantined and having to teach alone). I enjoyed watching the 7th graders perform charades using their recently learned animal names and listening to the 10th graders describe pictures of my friends from home in order to practice descriptions. Megan Gunderson’s “pink dress” was, naturally, the talk of the 16 year olds.

In exchange for teaching Serik poker he wanted to show me some magic tricks. So for several nights, him and his friends had a new one ready to mystify me with. His card tricks were amusing, but I’m dying to know what happened to my quarter.

My counterpart, and style expert, recently took me shopping for winter boots. My only requirement was that they’d be warm and wouldn’t have a 3-inch heel. Only one of those requests was met. I now own heeled, leather boots lined with what was once a raccoon. I used to laugh at the girls crossing the ice with their spiked boots, wondering how they possibly managed not to break their legs while I was simply struggling not to slip. However, I now navigate the sidewalks twice as well as I did before. I am no longer laughing - there has to be something magical about these boots.

In an attempt to get some structured exercise, I asked my counterpart about the local gym. It turned out that it was filled with only free weights, but a “shaping” class meets there three nights a week. What’s shaping? Well, shaping’s the most fun you can have in Kazakhstan. Last week Christina, roughly 5 other women and I gathered together in the gymnasium on the top floor to do something between Pilates and jazzercise. I thought our floor thrusts to “Boys, Boys, Boys” were the best part, until we ended the class with an impromptu dance party. Needless to say, I went back last night.

Sunday afternoon was the perfect conclusion to my third week in Balkhash. But after my trip to the circus, I was merely left with unanswered questions. What do clowns do for fun? How does one end up working on a traveling circus? And what is someone who eats fire afraid of? So Christina and I stuck around after the show to find out just that. After asking the clown what he likes to do in his free time, we were told to wait for him to finish working so we could actually talk. Regretting our decision to strike up conversation with the jester, we left before we ever had the chance to found out. I guess I’ll never know what clowns do on the weekend.

The school holiday drags on. I, like many of my fellow volunteers, am anxious to get to work and start teaching. I’m grateful for the break that’s allowed me to settle in to my site smoothly, but I can’t wait to finally begin.

Choosing a host family is a very peculiar and uncomfortable process. At no other time in my life will I ever be subjected to having awkward dinners, broken conversations and photo slide shows as a means to decide whom I should spend the next 6 months of my life sleeping next to. However, after living with Gula for only a week, I’ve quickly realized that it was worth all the hassle. She is the epitome of Kazakhstan hospitality. Upon meeting people for the first time, she introduces me as her daughter, and having only a son, she immediately follows my introduction with, “at last, I have the girl I’ve always wanted”. Also, discovering that I don’t eat meat, she has cooked only vegetarian dishes since I’ve moved in. In the U.S. I’d consider that a pretty big deal, but in Kazakhstan (a country where meals are made almost exclusively of animals) it’s huge. The kindness of strangers in this country never fails to amaze me.

On Wednesday my host brother, Serik, discovered Star Wars for the first time. Since then, we’ve spent countless hours in front of the T.V. watching each film in sequence. While I get a kick out of the producer’s decision to also dub Chewbacca, Serik laughs over Princess Laya’s hairstyle. Tonight, during part 4, Gula made us chocolate chip pancakes and delicious cinnamon chai. We’re looking forward to Sunday when we’ll conclude our series.

I think it’s fair to say that almost every Peace Corps volunteer worries about their relationships they’ve left back at home. We’ve all heard the stories of withering friendships due to the inevitable diverging lifestyles and consequently, the disability to relate. I’m lucky that those back in the states have been good to me- my inbox is full and my suitcase heavy with letters. And a conversation Sunday night dissolved all my fears. Jill, you make my life worthwhile. And the same goes for the people that I’ve grown to care about over the past two months. I appreciate your updates. (This excludes Johnny Sante- I don’t care about your shit… or your balls). We may be hours, days, or a world apart, but I’ll always have my friends. I’m more grateful than I’ll ever find a way to say to you.

I’ve been in Kazakhstan for roughly two and a half months and I finally gave in to blogspot. I spent Halloween alone on a bus attempting to fall asleep to a poorly dubbed Jim Carey marathon and hoping I wouldn’t have to use the bathroom for the next ten hours. I succeeded at both. I pulled into the station tired but smiling. At 5:00 Sunday morning, I arrived in Balkhash, my new home for the next two years. Since then, I’ve already had my first couple days of school, chilled out by the lake and was recognized on the street. My counterpart (the teacher I’ll be working closely with for the next two years) and I get along completely. She’s me- except Russian. I’m so lucky to have Helen. Yesterday night I moved in with my host “family”. For at least the next six months, I’ll be living with our school’s psychologist. She’s 45, fabulous and lives the single life. I think it’s important to mention that my room is pink and glamorous- just like Gulnara. It was hard to say bye to the people that I’ve become so close to over the past ten weeks. I got used to the comfort of having other volunteers close by that were experiencing the same things I was. It was surprisingly easy to forget that we would be separated eventually. I know that I’m really going to miss pushing games on everyone. There’s nothing quite like forced group fun (but there’s always the holidays for that). And I’m really looking forward to my next two years here on the lake.