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.
Home of shashlyk and short-shorted waitresses.
As usual, more are featured on Facebook.
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