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.