Back From Half Way Around the World

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled what seems like halfway around the world (over 8,000 miles) to Almaty, Kazakhstan. I went to visit my good friend Lauren, someone with whom I have had many grand adventures in the past, be it traversing Cornish bogs or climbing Welsh mountains. And this time around was no exception.

However, our adventures weren't necessarily on the same scale as before, and I think that is why I am just now getting around to writing about them. Kazakhstan is different from anywhere else I have ever traveled, a place not really regarded as a must-see tourist destination. That isn't to say there is not plenty to explore and experience...even just walking around the city was an adventure in some ways. But, there wasn't the typical sense of wonder and awe that have accompanied my past travels. I found this trip challenged me more on an nintellectual level, a truly intercultural experience in which I could barely find my footing. It was daunting coming to a country where visitors are often met with suspicion from the outset, and my normal manner of coping with the situation--a quick smile imbued with the apology for my overwhelming ignorance--was quickly dismissed. For once, I found it easier to get through by maintaining a cloak of indifference, not seeming overly interested in what others around me were doing. While it made it easier to blend in (if given a quick look over, I guess I can pass for someone of Russian descent...one of the more interesting things about Almaty is its mixture of peoples found in the area, a remnant dating as far back as Stalin's rule and his penchant for exiling people to as remote of places as possible), I found it discouraging. I had hoped to have a few more encounters with Kazakhs, to be honest. A naive thought in hindsight.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that everyone was unfriendly...I just found that the people of Almaty were far more reserved from what I am used to, a feeling confirmed by Lauren and the other non-Kazakh people I had the pleasure of meeting in my short time there. It takes time to break down the barriers that you encounter, so a quick five day trip doesn't allow enough time to establish any kind of rapport. And I want to note that there were several people who were friendly to me during the trip, it just was the exception rather than the rule. (One man, Kidur, sticks out in my mind. He is one of the guards at the international school my friend teaches at...we went to the construction site of the new school building, and he was there, smiling the biggest smile I had seen since arriving. It made my day, actually.)

Still, being able to walk the city, visit its parks, its markets gave me a glimpse of everyday life in Kazakhstan. There is an interesting mix of East meets West meets Soviet. (I am not really sure how to categorize the impact that being under Soviet rule has had on Kazakhstan, the country's identity, and its enduring culture.) As part of my exploration, I visited one of their malls. It was populated with several brand name stores found in any of your more upscale shopping centers in the United States, yet it felt like simulacrum of the real thing. Even now, I cannot put my finger on what gave it that feeling of artifice. Indeed, many of the more recent updates to the city feels a bit like that...as if in an effort to make its exterior more appealing to the outsider (which, I believe, is one of President Nazerbaev's goals), instead of building something authentically Kazakh, they have constructed a facade that they believe will appeal to the tourist.

It doesn't take long, though, to get beneath the facade. The moment you step on a bus, you are hit full in the face that this is NOT like any Western country you have ever been in. The more people who can be crammed into a bus, the better. No need to worry about maintaining a respectable amount of personal space...it does not exist. At the same time, if you find your backpack jamming its way into someone else's back just as someone's hand draws precariously close to your face, it is all part of the experience. No one gets angry, it is all just taken in stride. (Try that here and if the bus wasn't pulled over for being overcapacity, I do not doubt that there would be some kind of commuter rage that would spark small fights all over the place.) And, having endured the joys of the bus only to find the place you were going to go has been randomly closed (no warning, no real explanation) clinches it...it makes you want to hike the several miles back through the utilitarian concrete buildings littering the landscape back to your room, where you can close out the dirt and the grime for a little while (but only after taking a ride on an elevator so small, four average-sized adults have to strategically place themselves to fit while maintaining the right balance to prevent it from scraping its way up the shaft). It feels as if there is a blanket of unspoken oppression hovering above the city still. Lauren says that, even after twenty years of freedom, the oppressive force of Soviet rule still permeates and that as a result, few people have hope. While I would not go as far as to say that, I admit that something certainly is lacking, so much so that an outsider like me felt it the first day I was there.

As I write this, I notice that my words seem laced with negativity, and I can only say that comes from my level of discomfort and a little bit of disillusionment. I wasn't sure what to expect, but despite having few preconceived notions, I feel a bit let down. BUT, there is an amazing amount of beauty to be found there. A stroll through President's Park is enough to make anyone gape at its beauty, particularly with the trees blazing in all their fall glory in brilliant shades of gold, the Tien Shan mountains rising in the background. The fountains in this park alone prove a fair rival to those found throughout Kansas City (a mighty feat for those not too familiar with the KC area).  The level of pride expressed in the war memorials found in Paniflov Park resonate with anyone who knows the tragedy of war. The incongruous brightness of the Cathedral found just outside of Paniflov provides a contrast to the seemingly drab surroundings. Driving above the smog-line to be closer to the mountains reveals beauty incomparable, a true gem of natural beauty that few outsiders have ever had the opportunity to see.

I debated for a long time as to how I would answer people when asked what it was like to visit Kazakhstan. I still don't have the best answer. It was not quite what I had expected, but I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. No, I didn't go traipsing about the mountains or sit down and discuss world politics with the locals over a few shots of vodka. No, I didn't indulge in local foods, haggle at the bazaar, or anything like that. But I did get to witness, observe. I went somewhere that few others have ever thought to go, and I was reminded that what to us may seem so far in the past is still very much a reality for others. Reading about Kazakhstan and experiencing it for myself are two very different realities. And this is yet another reason to travel...it isn't enough to read about somewhere to understand it. The levels of complexity in experiencing somewhere new cannot be captured in words, no matter how skilled a wordsmith you happen to be. It also reinforced the reality that my world view is only one in a multitude and that I really do not know anything. I can travel to every country in the world, read every travel guide, and meet hundreds of people and not seen even a fraction of what is out there. Doesn't mean I won't keep trying though. 

In the Details

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if (God forbid) one day you were found lost without any clear form of identification, unable to say who you were or where you were from?  If the only hope of figuring out who you are came from the possessions you carried with you? For some strange reason, I find myself doing this on occasion, and while I admit it is a bit narcissistic to dwell so much on myself (should these solipsistic exercises really seem so shocking?), it is interesting to think about how I have decided to construct myself every day. 

I always start to think about the few things that are always there. What would they think about the ring on my left hand, encircling my middle finger? A band of seven cherubs, all of whose features are no longer distinct through years of wear. Would they discover that it was a gift from a high school friend, someone who saw me as a better person than I ever was? That I wore it to remind myself that in spite of all my self-doubt and insecurities, there were people out there who truly cared and who really did think I was a good person. That sometimes, I thought through wearing it, I could actually live up to those perceptions and be a better person; to act as a guardian angel for others, guiding and supporting when they most need it. As the years wore on, I let this friend down, probably numerous times. And while the distance has become significant, the memories are still very important. 

On the other hand, a Claddagh ring, a souvenir from my second trip to Galway, bought in a tiny jewelry shop just off the path from the open market. The small hands hold not only a heart, but hundreds of memories of a year abroad. Bike rides, long hikes, walks in the rain. Nights at the pub, the frenetic pace of the disco, the mornings after. Different language, different culture, a world apart. A time of growth and discovery and a time of challenges and frustration.  It is worn with the heart facing out, according to tradition, to indicate the heart is still free. In all honesty, purchased with the hope that one day it would face inward. (There was a particular man in mind at the time of purchase, but as the years have elapsed, he is not much more than a shadow, and while his influence is still there, it is more the idea of him that I cling to than the actual person. Ah...unrequited love; a power stronger than many of us can honestly fathom for something that is mainly generated in the mind.) Almost ten years later, the heart is still free, and no real sight to that changing.

The only other piece of jewelry (if you can call it that) is a simple watch. The date is perpetually set to the 26th. Something with the mechanism broke within a year of buying it. However, it still manages to keep the time, and really that is all that matters. The watch may seem a bit of an anachronism for someone my age, an outdated piece of technology replaced by the ubiquity of cell phones and their precise, satellite-driven time. Indeed, the lack of a cell phone on my person would probably seem strange. What 20-something (okay, almost 30-something) does not have a cell phone somewhere within hands' reach? I own it out of necessity, but I rarely, if ever, carry it with me. It sits forgotten most days, ringer on silent, hidden in the bowels of whatever purse or bag I have used for the day. You would not learn a whole lot from it. There wouldn't be any incoming call history (no one ever calls the phone) to check, and the outgoing calls would list only one number, a number with a Texas area code that hasn't changed in over 28 years and will always be, in some way, home.

Moving beyond the simple accessories, a quick assessment would show a woman of inexpensive tastes. On any given day, you will find me wearing at least one article of clothing from Target (if not the entire ensemble), supplemented by pieces picked up here or there on clearance from other major discount chain retailers. The style is basic--vaguely professional in that what is worn is a step up from jeans and a t-shirt, but nothing that calls attention to itself either. Colors tend to be neutral, cuts classic. It is possible that some of the dresses are a bit more feminine, but never really blatantly 'girly.' The shoes will most likely be a pair of flats, worn down from excessive use and long, drawn out walks during lunch. I don't bother with make up, and my hair is allowed to do whatever it feels. While I do care what others think about my appearance as much as I don't want to be dismissed as slovenly or tasteless, I don't make much more of an effort than that. If it's clean, matches, and comfortable, then it will suffice.

A Few Steps Forward

So, in an attempt shake things up a bit without throwing my entire world off-kilter, I decided earlier this week to turn in a volunteer application for the local library. Today, I met with the volunteer coordinator, and it looks like pretty soon, I will have my chance to work in an actual library. (After I mentioned I had my masters in library science, she looked puzzled and asked several times during the very short interview why exactly I wasn't working in a library. It was not the easiest question to answer.) Assuredly, you will hear more as this whole thing develops, but I am looking forward to this new challenge.  All that I have to wait for is my background check to clear (I am pretty sure there are no felonies on there...), and I should be meeting with someone to begin the training process.  Hooray!

And in another bit of happy news, my renewed passport came in the mail yesterday. It was weird not having my passport for the past month and a half. I didn't realize how much I valued the idea of being able to book a last-minute flight somewhere overseas and not have to worry about proper documentation. The feeling must attest to some greater need of not being "trapped," I guess. While I have no plans to leave the country quite yet, there have been some discussions of an upcoming trip abroad (some plans have not been so serious--a quick flight over to Italy for some authentic Sicilian cuisine--while others are truly being considered dependent on how schedules all work out for the friend I intend to visit). I do know, though, that it is looking pretty certain that come Labor Day weekend, I will have a quick jaunt over to Nashville to visit my best friend and her family. In doing so, I will get to meet her new daughter (yet to be born, but her birth is imminent) and visit a new city. I am already counting down the days.

Other than that, not a whole lot new in my world. I am looking for some inspiration to writing more intriguing blog posts, but for now, a weekly update is all you are going to get!