Акклиматизирование

....is the Russian word for acclimatisation. In case you hadn't guessed, that is what today's blog entry is going to be about.

I have seen some strange things since my arrival slightly over a week ago in Kazakhstan. I have seen people who live in old tin-shacks with their mothers drive new BMWs. I have seen street repair using tires and old wire meshes (see later pictures). I have seen families out in the park listening to Fifty Cent over the public radio, totally oblivious to the lyrics. I have seen how every corner shop (or магазин to you Russian folk) seems to have beer taps. But the hardest thing in Kazakhstan I have had to deal with is the heat. Yesterday this manifested itself in a severe sickness when I woke up.

I'm not too sure how this all came about. Wednesday evening after work me and Alf went out for shashlyk and a few beers at our local shashlyk cafe. I had quite a few beers but certainly nothing excessive, and I partook in some raw eggs and water for the purposes of sobering up. I awoke on thursday morning with a high fever, diarrhea and painful stomach cramps. Go on. Blame it on the fact I'm a raging alcoholic. You know you want to.

Two days before, I had been paid a visit at the school by a local Kazakh milk-magnate; an important man in the world of Karaganda's dairy production, one might say. He some kind of director at a milk factory, and naturally he and his English speaking, baby-factory of a wife want me to teach his offspring. Naturally I accepted once they mentioned me going for a holiday with them in the Kazakh mountains. I am easily swayed.

They are good kids, but being in their late teens means that they lack the motivation I sort of need to work with. They don't rebel either, so it's impossible for me to even ascertain whether they have understood what I am talking about. When I try and concept-check the strongest one of the group just shouts out the answers, to the bemusement of everyone else.

Anyway, this random tangent had a point. Wednesday, the day after, was my first experience with them. I had some sort of hopes for them given that their understanding at this point wasn't too bad. Later on I had an FCE class, which is always fun. Quite often you can use your cynical, sarcastic sense-of-humour to great effect on these students as their level is really good.

Flash forward again to waking up on Thursday morning. So there I was, in more pain than I thought was stomachly possible. Being British I naturally soldiered on for as long as I could, teaching a horrible lesson with the milk-baron's progeny which I am certain they didn't learn a thing. One of my colleagues noticed I looked like death and said I should rest. So I did. For 15 hours.

I awoke sometime today and spent the day locked up in the flat with 6 kilos of watermelon and the Russian TV series Brigada for company. Alf made dinner as he often does. I hope I am well enough tomorrow to actually get past my front door, as I had planned on visiting the central park for the first time. Oh and it's now raining a little outside. I cannot tell you how much of a relief that is.

And now, time for some pictures.

 This cat screamed at us for ages, then went and sat down next to a pigeon. Only in Kazakhstan...

A bottle on a tree. It's not a birch tree

This is how public repairs go in Kz. Hole in the road? Put a metal mesh over it with a tire. If you're really lucky, there might be a tree growing through it!

This is where I work! When I'm not battling intestinal juices

Home of shashlyk and short-shorted waitresses.

As usual, more are featured on Facebook.

A new day, a new adventure

The new flat is pretty typical of this part of the world; there are persian rugs on the sofas, an old 70s dressing cabinet and a mix of old and new decor. It's in a grey, aging Soviet apartment block (otherwise known as Khrushchevka) in the middle of the city. Still, I like it and will probably one day grow to love it. It feels very homely and is still, at the end of the day, a little piece of privacy and personal space. At the moment I am living with another native-English speaker named Alfred, but when he moves out in a months time I will have this wonderful little doma to myself.

The front door was actually installed in the wild-90s, when nobody had a pot to piss in and everyone pretty much turned to crime to fuel their various addictions.

In the five days that I have been here, it has so far yet to drop below 30 degrees in the day-time. At it's worst yesterday it was actually 40, which is far more than I am used to in England. I can't really stand this heat very well, but I think at some point I will go into town and buy a fan.

So, let's take you through what happened since I arrived at the flat. I was orientated into the ways of everyday living in the former communist-bloc by my colleague, flat-mate and fellow British Isles inhabitant Alf, and I was taken to get a new Kazakhstan phone by the other native-English speaker at the school, Patrick. I must say that Karaganda seems to have its fair share of beautiful women, on both sides of the Russian/Kazakh aisle.

The first day was pretty much a non-event apart from that and meeting the other teachers at the school. Friday proved to be a little more eventful, as I went out with the children in the morning to the museum of local history, and to some sort of origami museum. Karaganda seems to revolve around mining, so there was a lot of mining history thrown in amongst old banners of Lenin and Gulag barbedwire. Why there is an origami museum, or why they had groups of dancing children there, I simply do not know.

Complete with unruly children of Kazakhstan. Serious business.

You can't dance, so don't even try.

When we returned to the office, I partook in observations of the classes I was going to be teaching. Then straight afterwards I was told I'd be teaching them from Monday. Bummer. Still, I tried not to let it bother me and on Friday night we went out for our first Shashlyk at our local cafe. I have a feeling I am going to get to know this place intimately over the next year. I will take some pictures of the place the next time I am there.

Four beers, shashlyk, and some strange conversations with two drunk local women later about "little boy" later, I wandered the streets of Karaganda late at night with Pat. I walked into a tree, bought some more beer and headed home.

On Saturday I got lost for the second time, had to be rescued by Alf, and then pretended to prepare for my Monday lessons at the school. Mostly I went to the school despite the fact no-one was there because it has air-conditioning; staying in a stuffy flat in 36 degree heat is just not fun. In the evening I triumphantly returned to the Shashlyk Cafe with my new friend Sergei, a half-Russian, half-Korean teacher from the school. The local waitress is getting to know me quite well, although the waiter there looks like he probably couldn't give two shits whether I paid his wages or not.

On a totally unrelated note, the staff are beginning to notice my addiction to the Russian drink Kvass, a refreshing elixir made from fermented rye-bread.

On Sunday I went to the downtown shopping area, bought nothing, and then returned to the flat where I cut my thumb trying to open a jar of gherkins with a knife. A bazaar awaited me later in the day, where many dubious "bargains" could be had. It had more of a sort of Hong Kong shipping yard look to it than your average Arabic bazaar, and the absolutely appaling state of the public walkways could only ever happen in a post-Soviet country or in Africa. I would have taken some pictures, but I left my camera at home.

I ate more shashlyk and drank more Karagandskoye (the local beer), and thus forfeited myself from doing lesson planning as I had intended. Nevermind though.

Today I had my first true lessons. They were not like on my TESOL, where I had to create the entire lesson from scratch, but basically use the book to teach, with my own brand of wonderful humour. I believe they like my sense of humour but I could be totally wrong. We shall find out another time.

There are more pictures on my Facebook, for anyone who wants to see more of my whacky adventures.

First impressions

The old cliché goes that the first impression is the lasting one. So it's hard to describe the way I feel about Kazakhstan right now. In most ways I like it, but the city's flaws are so glaringly obvious that it makes it hard to avoid them. The streets are poorly maintained, there are building materials lying around pretty much everywhere, people seem to spend more on their cars than they do on their houses. I could go on and on, but I don't see this as anything essentially bad. It's just one of those totally incomprehensible places that while lacking in order more than makes up for it in soul.

The only part of the plane journey from Gatwick to Kiev that can be remarked upon is its total unremarkableness. Equipped with baggage and linen suit, I started my journey with a sense of complete apprehension. So many questions filled my head, so many worries. As soon as I arrived in Kiev, however, the apprehension started to subside. Even if I was only in the airport, the ancient Slavic city somehow got into my head and calmed my nerves with her soothing song. That and the three beers helped somewhat, too.

The flight to Karaganda was certainly more eventful. Sitting in front of me was a friendly if somewhat drunken Russian who showered me with duty-free cherry brandy. After failing to get any sleep, I arrived at Karaganda Airport at 6:15 in the morning (an hour behind schedule) and was greeted by Kazakh immigration officials. Naturally they had about a thousand questions for me which given my Russian was not an ideal situation. Thanks to the help of my new drinking buddy and an English-speaking customs official, I was let into the Glorious Republic of Kazakhstan! Hail Nazarbayev.

From there on it was a taxi-ride into the centre of the city and my new home.

What's in a Name? Karaganda, Kazakhstan

I had honestly never heard of Karaganda before I applied for the job here. I knew of Kazakhstan of course, and not just because I had seen Borat. But my view of Kazakhstan was still not exactly the most glittering: a forgotten, post-Soviet state that had some kind of history that no-one really cared much about. What possessed me to apply for a job in a country that I couldn't even name the capital of? Anyone who knows me will tell you that my knowledge of Europe is excellent, but Kazakhstan is somewhere in a vast amount of space "over there somewhere".

It was a mixture of things that made me apply for the job, the most prominent being that I wanted some kind of natural introduction to all things Russian before I actually go and live in Russia herself. Karaganda thus offered an interesting proposition; the school is overwhelmingly Russian in it's ethnic population and Kazakhstan is a country where pretty everyone speaks Russian in their daily lives apart from the most staunch Kazakhi nationalists. I also think the romanticised view I hold in my head of the Kazakh steppe being a land of horse-riding nomads had something to do with my desire to see Kazakhstan before inevitably travel out to Russia; as an adventurous sort of person I sometimes like to picture myself as Genghis Khan, riding out with the tribe.

Ultimately my picture of Kazakhstan so far has been shaded by what little information I have found on the internet and speaking with my Russian friends. In spite of their scepticism, I have come to see it as a beautiful land in its own way. I know that pictures are very rarely ever indicative of the reality of a situation, but I still like to marvel over the look of a post-Soviet city caught between it's Russian and Asian identities. Probably only such a thing could ever appeal to me. I don't really care. I have come to appreciate Kazakhstan as more than just a precursor to Russia, and I can't wait to go and discover a culture steeped in thousands of years of history. So far people have either thought I was crazy or have gently encouraged my ambitions. As for the whole teaching aspect, I haven't even given it any serious thought yet.

It's only two days now until I begin the greatest series of travels that I will likely ever embark on in my lifetime. I have most things sorted now, and the apprehension has given way to a feeling of excitement. I am unsure how the internet situation will be out there, but I promise I will update everyone as soon as I possibly can.

And now, a list of the things I am mostly looking forward to:

• Shashlyk
• Going to a banya
• Conversing with strangers in broken Russian
• Horse-riding on the steppe
• Hitting the beaches on the Caspian Sea
• Soviet-era beer
• My own sense of freedom again
• German bakeries
• That insane sense of confidence that comes with being a teacher

Until next time, compatriates.

A new beginning; a new life

Some of you may be wondering why this blog exists, some of you may know perfectly why without even reading this post. But the vast majority of you probably won’t care enough to scroll down this far. For those of you who have taken the time, your reward is a story and a little enlightenment into the world and mentality of the Little Knyaz.

My name is Tom Phillips, for those who don’t know already, and my whole life I have wanted nothing more than to see the world. Not as some bumbling, ignorant tourist, but to really see places; to live there and experience them the way those who reside there do. To meet wonderful new people and quite possibly to eat them out of house and home. Travel broadens the mind and speaks to the soul. That’s probably a quote, although I care not.

By this point, you probably have one of two opinions of me: either 1) that I’m either some kind of airy-fairy, naive middle-class boy who enjoys backpacking around South-east Asia, or 2) you may actually understand perfectly what it feels like to possess a certain kind of wanderlust. I would have to say though, the idea of spending my days bumming around Hanoi or Bangkok, or spending time in squat-houses somewhere in the jungles of South America or Africa never really appealled to me. Like a good Teutonic Knight I always thought of my future in the near-East; a place peculiar and beautiful but still distinctly European.

When I had finished my Military History degree at University I pondered a recommendation given to me by one of my tutors. He told me that in order to open my mind and learn more languages (which would help with my career plan at the time) I should go to foreign parts to teach English. At the time, I had decided on Spain but, as the ordinaryness of post-University life took its toll, my dreams of travel gradually faded away.

But deep-down, my nomadic soul had not died. Freshly envigorated after a series of life-misfortunes, I endeavoured to live the dream I had wanted since I was a nerdy, reclusive thirteen year old. I set my sights on the land of the bear, the land of the cold. Of Dostoyevsky, Tchaikovsky and Alexander Nevsky: the land of ancient Russia.

Fresh-faced and enthusiastic, I started out on my TESOL course in the beautiful city of Cheltenham. I however soon found out that life was not as easy here as I had hoped: the natives were rude and arrogant, and the course was a nightmare of never-ending phonemics and coffee fueled grammar lessons. Despite the difficulty I did enjoy myself a little bit, and I met some great people who I will never forget (and will probably play host to me next summer in warm mediterranean climates). On a side-note, the risotto balls in Cheltenham's Caffe Italia are absolutely to die for!

Skip to now. I am sitting here writing the first entry as I am about to embark on an adventure that will either consume me or mark me for life. I had originally intended to go to Russia, and I infact still do, but I am taking a slight detour. My first teaching position is in Karaganda, Kazakhstan. A place we shall explore more in my next post.