I must first apologise for my tardiness in not posting a blog post in quite a long time; two weeks is far too long for my adoring fans. What exactly have I been doing that is more important than you, you might ask? Well, apart from devoting my week to work and my weekends to fun adventures, nothing much. Teaching has a way of consuming every single hour you have no matter how much you might want to spend your day doing absolutely nothing.
Let's start at the beginning, nearly two weeks ago. The last time I posted a blog, we were busy worshipping the demi-god Navarbayev. The saturday after I devoted primarily to learning about IELTS, the most evil testing system in the world. It wasn't all bad as I could enjoy this while getting slowly merry (as Mike would say) and eating the worlds second-best beer snacks. In the evening I had my first taste of just how expensive beer can be in Kazakhstan. Up until this point I was used to paying around £1.20 for 500ml at my local shashlyk cafe. £15 for 4 beers might not seem like a lot for some of you, but in Karaganda it's extortion, pure and simple.
I did however meet some nice people that night, including Valeera, whose phone number I have now lost for reasons that will become obvious later in the blog.
Last week continued on much the same as the first two in Kz; I had my dairy dynasty, the great-granddaughter of Nurken Abdirova (a local hero) and some random groups of students, all of who are characters in their own way. Welcome to Kazakhstan, the land of supreme character traits.
Of course, it wouldn't be a good blog post without some hi-jinx. At the beginning of last week I was told I would be going to the mountain resort of Karkarlinsk by my milk kids (there was no discussion; I WAS going) and that we would enjoy a varied mixture of Kazakh food, Russian girls and alcohol. Natürlich, I relented, and spent most of the week feeling great anticipation for what I was hoping would be an amazing adventure. And it was, for all the right and wrong reasons.
There's something about Kazakhstan. The Kazakhs have a great progressive spirit and it feels like the Russian minority here, who still dominate pretty much everything, really hold the country back. The Kazakhs want to move forward and make their country the best in the world and all the Russians want is for everything to be how it used to be. Maybe I'm wrong, but I have found a new respect for the Kazakhs that I wasn't even aware I had.
Anyway, back to the weekend. After a hard week of teaching I joined my Kazakh compatriots (or partners in crime, if you will) on a two hour journey to the mountains in the east of Karagandinskaya Oblast. We rode in a convey of two Toyota Land Cruisers that looked like they probably cost more than I will earn in 5 years of teaching out here. We climbed a mountain, we had kumiss in a Yurt. Then we headed out.
I should point out at this point that kumiss is fermented horse milk.
We rode on to the town of Karkarlinsk, surrounded by mountains. I was given a history lesson in Kazakhstan's national heroes by the director of Natige milk (the best milk in the world!). Mr Natige is the boys' father, a self-made businessman who prides himself on the fact his company is the only one in Kazakhstan that doesn't use chemicals in their milk. I get the distinct feeling his company is a success through hard-work and not by dodgy dealings in the wild 90s, after the collapse of communist central authority.
Anyway, we rode on to the hotel somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. There was a lake, banya, bar, restaurant and a tree-climbing thing. Maybe one day I will show the video of me climbing the trees, but I doubt it.
After a day of fun activities that mostly involved death-defying heights and beautiful women, we sat down to relax with a few beers and shashlyk by the lake. I spent that evening in the company of Mr Natige, his friend, and the German driver who, in true Kazakhstan style, doesn't speak a word of German. The kids ran off to try and chat up girls, although they sometimes came back one at a time to attempt to translate. After this things get a little hazy: the local Russian folk started to catch on to the fact I was clearly a foreigner. This naturally meant everyone wanted to drink with me. Much vodka was consumed (the Russian saying goes that vodka without beer is a waste of money), and me being incredibly foolish and naive I drank with pretty much everyone.
Mr Natige rescued me and took me to a banya, my first experience of such. He whipped the hell out of me with a birch branch, as you do, and then taught me some Kazakh in the break room. Then i'm not too sure what happened. I remember waking up in my bed the next morning fully clothed with a terrible hangover. My phone, watch and mp3 player were gone, nowhere to be found and never to be seen again.
A reconstruction of the events after the banya is not really possible; needless to say there was probably more drink involved. I have no idea how I lost most of my prized possessions, but my wallet and passport seem to still be in my position. Also, there is a priceless video of Mr Natige carrying me to bed. I will never live that down.
The sunday I spent relaxing and avoiding all forms of alcohol. Everyone at the hotel, guests and staff alike, all knew who I was and how I had lost all my stuff, so I had turned into something of a local celebrity. The Kazakhs would all come up to shake my hand, the Russians would all offer me vodka. It felt a little good, but it still didn't help me find my stuff much.
The drive back to Karaganda took another 2 hours. The steppe is truely an incredible place: a vast and totally infinite void. When you are out there, it feels like an endless sea of grass, totally desolate.
When we got back, we went to a Turkish cafe and I tried Kalyan (Russian for hookah) for the first time. Though it was relaxing at first, it ended up just making me feel sick. I was totally exhausted by this point, and walked back to the doma.
Pictures of my adventure:
A yurt, where we had breakfast
Inside the Yurt with the guys
Climbing a mountain with the dairy dynasty
View from the mountain
Kazakh tea
Our Land Cruiser convoy in the centre of Karkaralinsk
Medi: Kazakhstan's Robin Hood. A friend of Abay, Kazakhstan's most famous writer
A 200 year old house
The mosque of Karkaralinsk. Built by Abay's father
The Nature Museum
Our hotel by the lake
Banya!
Koshka
Since my return, I have mostly tried to live down the shame of losing pretty much everything I took with me. This has not been easy, seeing how I have to teach these kids every day. Also I went on a date with a girl who didn't speak any English. It was even more hilarious than it sounds.
Until next time,
The Little Knyaz
Let's start at the beginning, nearly two weeks ago. The last time I posted a blog, we were busy worshipping the demi-god Navarbayev. The saturday after I devoted primarily to learning about IELTS, the most evil testing system in the world. It wasn't all bad as I could enjoy this while getting slowly merry (as Mike would say) and eating the worlds second-best beer snacks. In the evening I had my first taste of just how expensive beer can be in Kazakhstan. Up until this point I was used to paying around £1.20 for 500ml at my local shashlyk cafe. £15 for 4 beers might not seem like a lot for some of you, but in Karaganda it's extortion, pure and simple.
I did however meet some nice people that night, including Valeera, whose phone number I have now lost for reasons that will become obvious later in the blog.
Last week continued on much the same as the first two in Kz; I had my dairy dynasty, the great-granddaughter of Nurken Abdirova (a local hero) and some random groups of students, all of who are characters in their own way. Welcome to Kazakhstan, the land of supreme character traits.
Of course, it wouldn't be a good blog post without some hi-jinx. At the beginning of last week I was told I would be going to the mountain resort of Karkarlinsk by my milk kids (there was no discussion; I WAS going) and that we would enjoy a varied mixture of Kazakh food, Russian girls and alcohol. Natürlich, I relented, and spent most of the week feeling great anticipation for what I was hoping would be an amazing adventure. And it was, for all the right and wrong reasons.
There's something about Kazakhstan. The Kazakhs have a great progressive spirit and it feels like the Russian minority here, who still dominate pretty much everything, really hold the country back. The Kazakhs want to move forward and make their country the best in the world and all the Russians want is for everything to be how it used to be. Maybe I'm wrong, but I have found a new respect for the Kazakhs that I wasn't even aware I had.
Anyway, back to the weekend. After a hard week of teaching I joined my Kazakh compatriots (or partners in crime, if you will) on a two hour journey to the mountains in the east of Karagandinskaya Oblast. We rode in a convey of two Toyota Land Cruisers that looked like they probably cost more than I will earn in 5 years of teaching out here. We climbed a mountain, we had kumiss in a Yurt. Then we headed out.
I should point out at this point that kumiss is fermented horse milk.
We rode on to the town of Karkarlinsk, surrounded by mountains. I was given a history lesson in Kazakhstan's national heroes by the director of Natige milk (the best milk in the world!). Mr Natige is the boys' father, a self-made businessman who prides himself on the fact his company is the only one in Kazakhstan that doesn't use chemicals in their milk. I get the distinct feeling his company is a success through hard-work and not by dodgy dealings in the wild 90s, after the collapse of communist central authority.
Anyway, we rode on to the hotel somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. There was a lake, banya, bar, restaurant and a tree-climbing thing. Maybe one day I will show the video of me climbing the trees, but I doubt it.
After a day of fun activities that mostly involved death-defying heights and beautiful women, we sat down to relax with a few beers and shashlyk by the lake. I spent that evening in the company of Mr Natige, his friend, and the German driver who, in true Kazakhstan style, doesn't speak a word of German. The kids ran off to try and chat up girls, although they sometimes came back one at a time to attempt to translate. After this things get a little hazy: the local Russian folk started to catch on to the fact I was clearly a foreigner. This naturally meant everyone wanted to drink with me. Much vodka was consumed (the Russian saying goes that vodka without beer is a waste of money), and me being incredibly foolish and naive I drank with pretty much everyone.
Mr Natige rescued me and took me to a banya, my first experience of such. He whipped the hell out of me with a birch branch, as you do, and then taught me some Kazakh in the break room. Then i'm not too sure what happened. I remember waking up in my bed the next morning fully clothed with a terrible hangover. My phone, watch and mp3 player were gone, nowhere to be found and never to be seen again.
A reconstruction of the events after the banya is not really possible; needless to say there was probably more drink involved. I have no idea how I lost most of my prized possessions, but my wallet and passport seem to still be in my position. Also, there is a priceless video of Mr Natige carrying me to bed. I will never live that down.
The sunday I spent relaxing and avoiding all forms of alcohol. Everyone at the hotel, guests and staff alike, all knew who I was and how I had lost all my stuff, so I had turned into something of a local celebrity. The Kazakhs would all come up to shake my hand, the Russians would all offer me vodka. It felt a little good, but it still didn't help me find my stuff much.
The drive back to Karaganda took another 2 hours. The steppe is truely an incredible place: a vast and totally infinite void. When you are out there, it feels like an endless sea of grass, totally desolate.
When we got back, we went to a Turkish cafe and I tried Kalyan (Russian for hookah) for the first time. Though it was relaxing at first, it ended up just making me feel sick. I was totally exhausted by this point, and walked back to the doma.
Pictures of my adventure:
Medi: Kazakhstan's Robin Hood. A friend of Abay, Kazakhstan's most famous writer
A 200 year old house
Since my return, I have mostly tried to live down the shame of losing pretty much everything I took with me. This has not been easy, seeing how I have to teach these kids every day. Also I went on a date with a girl who didn't speak any English. It was even more hilarious than it sounds.
Until next time,
The Little Knyaz
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