Saturday, 5 January 2013

The Interlude, Part 1: Speeches, cold and the Great Journey South

Three months is a long time to wait for an update, I know. I must sincerely apologise to all those family members/close friends/troglodytes who have been so patient in waiting for this reply. Actually, now I come to think about, you were all a little too patient. Where were your demands for updates? Where were your supportive comments? Почему я беспокою?

So, you are still here, which is good! As there is much to update you wonderful people on, I have decided to split this update into three parts, each of which will cover a certain series of events that have happened from September until now. So without further delay, let's begin.

From September until late October, before the bad weather set-in, I had an amazingly high-level of work. Although it felt like too much at times, it certainly helped me to keep control of my life. I rarely felt boredom, feeling stress instead, and I slept very well most evenings. Most of my well-behaved adult groups with eager learners that I had acquired over the summer had finished and were replaced by "young-adult" groups of teenagers with no desire to learn whatsoever. Most of my hard-efforts to create interesting lessons for these people were greeted with such fine insights as "let's play a game" or "I want to sleep". I did successfully implement a punishment system that stopped the students from speaking Russian though; there are small justices in the world.

As the weather got colder and all of the cafes closed their outdoor seating areas, I stopped venturing out into the world for beer and shashlyk. My travels mostly led me to the local supermarket or to the Samsa shack near my old house; even this closed once the weather reached -40. At the weekends I went out to drink with my one friend, Aidos, and also for Russian lessons. My Russian is still awful, but I can talk to taxi-drivers in Kyrgyzstan, so it's all good. More on Kyrgyzstan in the second post.

There were some unusual moments in these few months. I gave two speeches: one at a University in Astana (of which I don't remember the name) and one at Karaganda Economic University. I am pretty sure they were only slightly better than Alan Partridge's "Dante Fires" presentation (if you have never seen this, then look it up on YouTube). The events did give me an opportunity to visit Astana, and on both occasions to brush shoulders with important people in the Kazakhstan educational world (which is probably less impressive than it sounds).

Then, the Ottomans came. Not like some kind of invasion, more like a business trip. Two guys from the new Turkish side of the business came to tell us all about our new educational programmes. Although I was sceptical at first, they turned out to be really great guys who I really missed when they were gone, despite only being with us for a few days. We shared our views on the management, and went out for lunch. It's hard to imagine becoming so attached after only a few days, but these were seriously great guys. Even for Turks!

(Sorry Habib!)

Then of course there was a disastrous Halloween party, where I had to deliver yet another speech but this time to kids. Oh joy! The less said about this the better.

Throughout this whole time, my life had been plagued by a pretty large problem: I was in Kazakhstan on the wrong visa and needed to be sent to Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan to get the correct one by the company. I had of course sent numerous angry emails to the people (or person) involved, but of course to no avail. It was only in the beginning of December, a mere handful of days before my visa was set to expire, that I was sent by the company.

The journey started on a cold and snowy Saturday morning in Karaganda. I gathered my meagre possessions into my bag for what I assumed would be a short journey. Full of trepidation I left my apartment and got onto the Marshrutka to take me to the train station. I paid the caucasian guy next to the driver my 50 tenge, got into the cramped space, and dreamed of how my life would be in the south of Kazakhstan.

The train station was full of people, going this way and that. To Taraz; to Shymkent; to Novosibirsk. But I had only one destination in mind: Almaty. This city everyone I had spoken to said that I would fall in love with. Fishing out a handful of coins from my pocket, I buy a bottle of kvass and some samsa for the journey. I glance around; nothing serious, just people waiting. Waiting, waiting, forever waiting. That's always how it feels, isn't it?

Merely 30 minutes later my train arrived. Not being sure what to expect I pull the hood of my coat over my head, and walk across the track towards the train. I find my carriage whilst I'm walking down the platform, and the woman checks my ticket and passport. Not sure of what to expect, I jump aboard the train and into yet another adventure....

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