Visiting the Eagle Hunters

Posted on August 29, 2010 by rsiminkas

May 28, 2010

Three generations of eagle hunters.

Three generations of eagle hunters.

I think I have literally drunk more milk tea today than I ever have in my life.  So far I have had eight cups and it isn’t dinner time yet.  We had a number of social calls which all required multiple cups of tea.  Our plan today was to learn about hunting with eagles but it ended up being so much more than that.  I woke up earlier than anyone outside the family, mostly because I couldn’t breathe.  I am apparently allergic to something in the house.  It could either be the fox pelts, the eagle, the dung fire, or perhaps the other furry animal that nobody seems to know the English name.  My money is on the smoky poo fire used for cooking.  Anyway, so I was awake from not being able to breathe and this is when I was offered my first cup of milk tea of the day along with baursak.  I was already on my third cup by the time the rest of our group was awake and at the table.  I then drank an additional cup while everyone began to fill their cups.

In a milk-induced stupor, I began chatting with the eagle.

After breakfast the eagle hunter brought his bird outside for us for pictures and put on his hunting outfit.  They explained that winter is the main time for hunting, hence the heavy fur coat and hat.  During winter, the feed the eagle very little and so they are quick to hunt and attack the first animal they encounter.  The hunters will go out for long hours with the eagle perched on their forearms.  I tried holding the bird and I could barely raise it; granted I am not very strong.  I couldn’t imagine carrying the eagle on my arm for 8 hours at a time and also riding a horse at the same time.

Trying my best to hold up the heavy eagle.

Later on in the day, Nurbol unexpectedly informed us that he needs to go to another household in this area.  Lauren, a Fulbright scholar who was living in this area and is also an eagle hunter, found a donor to fund a cleft palate corrective surgery for her host brother.  She had no way of contacting them as she was out of town, so we went out to find the family to give them the news.

We first went to the town about 12k away to stop and visit the eagle hunter’s daughter.  We then learned that the family that we were looking for was in town that day.  We started asking around and through this found his son-in-law.  The son-in-law said that the child was actually in Olgii right now having surgery.  We waited a bit longer to speak to the grandfather.  Apparently, an American group had come to town on a medical mission and successfully performed the surgery.  I’m sure his journey is not over yet.  He is 7 years old and still cannot speak so I would imagine he will need some time with a speech therapist.  But, it is still very good news and the family was pleased that yet another group was willing to help their child.

After speaking to them, we then went back to the daughter’s house.  She sang and played the dombra for us and I had another two cups of tea there.  On the way back towards the house, we stopped at the eagle hunter’s family burial ground and they said some prayers.  While here, we enquired about the eagle hunter’s father, and shockingly he is still alive.  We were surprised mostly because the man looks about 120 years old but we figured he must have been in his 70s.  Even more shocking was that the eagle hunter is really only 14 years older than Bobby!  They then offered for us to go and meet his father, who is a well-known eagle hunter in the area and we of course accepted.  Meeting the father, one would think they are brothers.  They look nearly the same age; if anything the father looks younger.

I had one cup of tea and followed the proper etiquette of placing my right hand over the cup and thanking the server.  She looked a bit surprised that I was finished after my first cup (really my 6th of the day).  Moments later, Nurbol then commented that my cup was empty and offered more tea, which I replied no thanks and then the proceeded to pour it anyway.  At this point, I thought I would vomit if I drank another drop.  I drank about half and then experienced some lovely bile belches.

Digesting milk tea and spending time with the locals.

When we finished all of our social rounds and finally got back to the eagle hunters home I walked inside to put my bag down and saw the big cauldron of milk boiling away for our afternoon tea.  I ran out, willing to hide anywhere to avoid drinking another drop…at least not until the multiple cups that are sloshing around in my stomach have settled.   I found out they needed to go and fetch some water so I enthusiastically offered my professional water scooping services.  They took the vehicle to their water source, which was just a tiny flow of water and Bobby and I told them we would walk back.  This gave me the opportunity to digest some of the tea before the inevitable next cup arrives.  While walking over the hill to reach the house, children from the only other house around ran up to meet us.  They were very cute and curious little kids.  They were shy and just were observing us.

We walked back to the house and I was then ready to have my cup filled yet again.  The tea today reminded me a lot of the forced feeding in the Philippines.  We hated it when it was happening but we remember it so fondly now.  They do it out of kindness and hospitality.  Even if it is something that I don’t particularly care for, I am touched by the offer and try to accept anything offered to me with a smile.  And so, at the end of the day I gladly accepted my 9th and final cup of the day.

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Last Day at Summer Camp

Posted on July 12, 2010 by rsiminkas

A family portrait of the nomadic people we stayed with in the Baga Turgen Valley.

May 26, 2010

Last night we were invited by the family elders to join them for what was our third dinner.  This was true bishbarmak; flat noodles and fatty mutton.  We had already been stuffed from our meat tea and baursak.  While we were drinking tea, Nurbol turned to me and asked, “May I put some meat in your tea?” to which I responded “Sure, why not”.   The meat tea was certainly the most interesting tea I’ve ever had.  I think the idea was for the hot tea to soften the salty dried meat.  Following our big cup of meat, we were then served a big bowl of meat soup.  So were weren’t that excited for the third meal of more meat.

When we entered the elder’s ger, we first had some water poured over our hands to clean then and then sat by the table for a prayer, led by Bogy since he is the oldest guest.  They then brought a huge plate that was literally the size of the table filled with boiled noodles and meat.  The eldest guest is then responsible for making the first cuts of meat.  Of course the fat is the most desired piece so everyone made sure we got plenty of it since we are guests.  I made sure to take big chunks of noodle with my fat to dilute the taste and texture.  The meal was accompanied by endless cups of milk tea which is nearly a meal in itself.  We had to keep eating until there was no food left.

The men then came back to our ger with us for a round of Chinggis Khan vodka.  Each person makes a small speech before taking a drink.  I tried to get out of drinking but that wasn’t possible.  I made a speech thanking our guests for their hospitality and that it is something I will tell my children and grandchildren about.  I tipped the cup to my mouth pretending to drink and they seemed happy enough about that.  Fortunately there is no electricity in gers so they couldn’t see that I didn’t drink anything.

In the morning we took the family portraits and ended up buying a felt sarmak rug.  Nurbol explained that things like this are normally given as wedding gifts from family members for their household.  Kazakhs have such a rich tradition of handicrafts.  They have finely embroidered wall hangings they hang behind the beds and the rugs can also double as sleeping mats.  The family was happy to have the cash because now have a greater need for money to purchase fuel and household items.

On our way back to Olgii we bought a fish from some fishermen and had a nice picnic by a stream.  Rema and Bogy began cleaning the fish and Nurbol set off collecting dung to build a cooking fire.  Dried up cow pies are as plentiful as rocks are so it really is a perfect solution for the areas where there are few trees.  Considering the herds sometimes can have over a thousand animals, there is plenty of poo to collect.  It was a magical setting, the birds were diving into the water to eat the fish entrails and an ancient looking man in traditional dress rode up on horseback.  It felt like we were transported back in time.  I can’t wait for our next stop with the eagle hunter!

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Baga Turgen Valley, Altai Tavan Bogd National Park

Posted on July 9, 2010 by rsiminkas

Helping set up a ger in the Baga Turgen Valley.

May 25, 2010

The family has been awake since 3 am preparing for the big move.  A few of the men left on horseback to herd the animals towards the summer pasture.  The rest of the family gathered the rest of their belongings and began to load up the old Russian truck.  Even some of the weaker animals were thrown on top of the vehicle; the newborn, injured, ill, and also the family cat.  It was a very strange and cute symphony of meowing and bleating.  The last step was to board up the doors and windows and at around 8 am, we all set out for the 46 kilometer trip to the summer pasture.  Families make the seasonal migration for survival.  Firstly, there is no plumbing or wells for nomads.  The only source of continual snow in winter is up in the mountains while elsewhere is more of a frost.  The families are able to gather snow and melt that for their water source.  During the winter there is still a small amount of grass; frozen and puny but it is still something.  Once these pastures are depleted and the snow begins to melt the family is then able to move to the summer area by the lake.  The new grasses have already started to grow and it gives a chance for the grass in the winter camp to recover.  There isn’t any ownership of the land; it has become common knowledge which pasture is used by which family.

A sheep diligently guarding the newly erected gers.

Despite the trip only being a short 46 kilometers away, it took most of the day driving to reach their camp.  We did have a long break for lunch to eat some fresh yogurt and help comb the goats for the cashmere harvest.  We had the typical bumpy journey along with crossing some rivers and one rickety bridge.  As soon as the family arrived, they made quick work of unloading the truck and getting the gers erected.  The first step was to clean a giant wheel that had many holes running along its circumference.  They tied decorative ribbons which also helps keep the top of the ger in place.  They then lifted this wheel with a large stick in the air and we put fencing around it forming a circle.  Then, long wooden poles that have a bend and string at the end are inserted into the holes in the wheel and tied to the fence.  Once all of the poles are in place layers of fabric are then layered on top of the skeleton, beginning with a water proof plastic followed by a felt insulation and finally the white outside layer

It only took about an hour to set up a ger but still a few hours to get the household in order.  It was remarkable to enter the ger for the first time.  The ger appears to be such a humble structure from the outside  but is shocking explosion of color, tassels, and elaborate decorations on the inside.  Once all of the gers were up, everyone gathered in the senior family member’s ger for milk tea and baursak.  We were given the seats of honor at the head of the ger and on slightly elevated land. The family asked if we could take a full family portrait tomorrow.  I still cannot get over how much people enjoy having their pictures taken here.

Today was truly a remarkable day.  I am so thankful that our plans had changed so much and led us here today.  One thing after another seemed to happen to have us departing on a day that we never planned.  If it hadn’t worked out that way we would have missed the stunning weather (which is just now tolerable) the cashmere harvest, or the summer migration.  Even our driver and guide said that they have never accompanied a tourist to set up a ger before.  I am so grateful; I showed my thanks in the Mongolian way by splashing some of my apricot juice on the ground as an offering of thanks.

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Bayan Olgii- Mogoit Valley

Posted on July 7, 2010 by rsiminkas

In Mongolia, there are no roads, only directions.

May 24, 2010

Today marked the first day of our tour.  Our first order of business was to register with the police since we are staying in Mongolia for longer than a month.  It was simple enough; there was an office inside the police station on the square.  We just filled forms, provided a photo, and paid a 1,000 tugrik and we were finished.  After breakfast, the Russian van was loaded up and we headed west towards the border with China.  I am shocked by the vastness of the landscape.  Even each mountain range we see appears to be different in its coloring and formations.  Normally I would look at a mountain and think of it as only being that.  Here, people have a name for each peak and can navigate just by looking at the mountains.  Nurbol told us that there are no roads in Mongolia, only directions.  The drive today proved that point as you can take off any path and use the mountains to guide the way.

We are spending the night at the home of one of Nurbol’s relatives.  When we arrived, the whole household was active packing things away.  They will leave their winter home and move the family and herd to summer pastures.  We originally were supposed to be here on Saturday but because our trip was delayed from the flight cancellation and police registration, we arrived on moving day.  This is actually very fortunate for us because they have also invited us to come along to their summer camp.

I am amazed by how welcoming the people have been so far.  I have read that the nomadic culture is always welcoming to travelers because they would hope for similar treatment when they one day need it.  But still, I didn’t quite expect it to apply to foreigners.  All of the people that we have come across today haven’t seemed to pay any mind to the fact that we are foreign.  I’m sure that Mongolia will change as it develops but I am so grateful to be here at this moment where the people are so open and hospitable.  I am really looking forward to witnessing this family’s migration tomorrow.

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Olgii, Mongolia

Posted on July 2, 2010 by rsiminkas

May 23, 2010

Dinner with the local Peace Corps Volunteers.

Last night we went to one of the Peace Corps Volunteer’s (PCV) homes for dinner.  There was one PCV couple, a single woman, and two Kazakhs.  We certainly have a new appreciation for what the PCVs have to endure here.   Most Peace Corps countries are fortunately located in tropical locations where most of the hardships come from insects, sweating, and tropical diseases.  Here in Mongolia, PCVs spend more time than possibly any other country just trying to survive.  Winter can be -40 degrees, Celsius or Fahrenheit, at that point it is irrelevant.  Volunteers have to rush home before dark (which is the middle of the day) to chop wood to prepare for the night.  For the volunteers who live alone in the countryside in a ger, they have to wake up every few hours to add more wood to the fire.  They wake up to everything frozen regardless.  The volunteers told us that they found the most difficult aspect being the fact that there is barely any light during the day.  Those who live in apartments are a bit more fortunate and have central heating.  We discovered the downside of the central heating today.

Since the state controls the heating system, they pick an arbitrary calendar date to turn the heat on or off.   We have arrived just in time for the heat to be turned off despite it being slightly warmer than freezing temperature.  I have been wearing four layers of clothing here in the morning and at night.  We have heard during winter that people will bathe about once a week… I don’t blame them.  Just the idea of getting undressed to get in a hot shower is unappealing, but now, not only is the room heating off but so is the water heating.  The local bathhouses are big business.  We attempted to go today, Sunday, and there were lines nearly going out of the building.  Apparently Sunday is the most popular day to bathe and the wait can be up to two hours to get a shower stall.  We gave up eventually and asked the PCVs if we could boil a pot of water at their house and take a good old fashioned bucket bath.

Considering how the conditions have been in town, I have done some shopping to prepare for our trip out to the country side.  Firstly, I picked up some toilet paper, a lighter to then burn the toilet paper I use, and the most magical thing of all; baby wipes.  The baby wipes should keep us clean enough in between our weekly showers.  I think I am as prepared as I can be for the countryside conditions. I am looking forward to leaving for our two week tour tomorrow.

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Ust-Kamengorsk to Olgii

Posted on June 28, 2010 by rsiminkas

An aerial view of Olgii, the provincial capital of Bayan Olgii, Mongolia.

Considering how the day began, it is pretty miraculous that I find myself sitting in a Turkish restaurant in Mongolia.  Our flight was originally scheduled to leave yesterday but was rescheduled for today because of a persistent drizzle.  It took them several hours to finally decide to cancel the flight and we just sat in the lobby listening to Joan Osbourne’s “What if God Was One of Us” playing on repeat.  It was cute for the first few hours yesterday but this morning I found it taunting.

A little past 8 am they finally opened the doors to let us enter the security inspection. For the first time in our trip, I felt like we were actually in Asia rather than a former Soviet republic because everyone crammed themselves towards the door rather than forming a queue.  If there was a small gap between our bags on the floor then two people would amazingly squeeze in somehow.  Regardless of how we pushed our bags through or how long we waited, we were perpetually at the end of the line.  Finally, we made it through the doors and were able to get our bags inspected and bring them to the “check in” which was nothing more than an office desk by a door leading outside.  Two men were waiting, one to fill in our tags and tickets by hand and the other to pass our bags through a small swing door and we then advanced to immigration.

I typically am in charge of our documents so I had all of our tickets, documents, and passports in hand and for some reason they wouldn’t let Bobby go with me and briskly escorted him to another cubby.  I kept telling the officers that I have his passport but ignored me and finally realized and then another office rushed to my cubby to demand his documents.  The officer who held my passport kept flipping through and asking “Mongolia Visa”.  I tried to explain that Americans don’t need visas for Mongolia.  This officer called her superior who then asked the same question and got the same response.  They then got another superior who spoke some English.  Again; same question, same response.  This time I took out the Lonely Planet book and showed her the visa section which clearly stated that Americans do not need visas to enter Mongolia.  Apparently, what caused all of the trouble was that last week an “American” had been turned away on the Mongolian side for not having a visa.  I didn’t really believe this because they think that all Caucasian non-Russian speaking foreigners are American.

She left us to investigate and left us standing in our segregated cubicles while the plane finished boarding.   I tried to keep my cool and made sure to smile at every officer that passed.  I figured that there wasn’t really anything more that I could do then reiterate that we don’t need visas and everything is in order.  The officer came back after a while and said that she called the Kazakh embassy in Mongolia and they didn’t know.  I explained to her that every country has different rules for people of different nations; Kazakhs may need a visa to enter but Americans do not and suggested that she call the American embassy.  She left us again for a while and then returned asking me for the contact number for the U.S. embassy but curiously didn’t bother to write the number down.    At that point we took it upon ourselves and Bobby called a contact that we have at the embassy to let him know the situation and to find out if there is any staff there since it is Saturday.  HE was going to look in to it and allegedly so were the immigration officers and the entire time while we were standing waiting, Joan Osbourne crooned, “if God had a name, what would it be?”  Thought provoking lyrics for a long wait.

Bobby got tired of standing in isolation and scandalously crossed the yellow line to sit down on the other side in the waiting area.  They were going to stop him and then I suppose realized that they can still see us and that we can’t really go anywhere.  They then gave me permission to sit as well.  Once I sat down, a different officer rushed towards me asking to see our tickets and then there was all sorts of shouting back and forth dva billet, two tickets; of course there are two tickets!  That was established an hour ago when we checked in and they took our names and gave us the tickets; you need to sort out our VISAS, not tickets!  More than an hour had passed and nearly simultaneously we got a text message from the embassy stating that we do not need a visa and the officer running over to us with our passports.  Bobby showed her the text, she nodded and handed us back our passports, fully stamped.  I grabbed our things and ran towards the door.  I felt terrible for holding up the flight for more than an hour for people who have been waiting since yesterday for this flight.  But I was just thankful that they weren’t going to force us to fly back to Astana to go to the Mongolian embassy to purchase a visa that we don’t even require simply to board a plane.

We boarded the plane to find it completely full, expect for two seats in the second row that were saved for us, even the front row was filled with luggage.  I actually saw my huge bag lying there in the pile just like a carry on.  The pilots were also the stewards and came over to us to give us some candy and gestured to throw my actual carry on anywhere.  I do believe the word he used was the Russian equivalent to “no problem”.  Even more surprising to me was that nobody seemed to care that we were the ones responsible for the big delay.  Everyone smiled at us as we passed and I beamed back; I was so thankful to have such patient and understanding people.  If this happened in the states I would be scared of the reception I would get in a similar situation.  The stewards then became pilots again and went into the cockpit.  I slept for most of the short flight and we quickly arrived to Western Mongolia.  The plane landed, our pilot/stewards said goodbye and Mongolian immigration officials boarded the plane with big smiles and in English welcomed us to Mongolia.

We were quickly stamped in, retrieved our bags, and cleared customs to find our guides, Nurbol and Bogy, from Blue Wolf Travel waiting for us.  First we went to meet Canat, who I had been making all of our arrangements with and after Nurbol took us to get set up in Mongolia; get our phone sim, ATM, hotel, and internet.  Olgii is a small town considering it is a provincial capital and easy to get around walking.  Everyone here has been exceptionally friendly greeting us with “Hello” in English.  While we were strolling along the streets, we stopped to look up at some birds flying overhead. A police officer came running over; my first instinct was to cringe since normally police officers approach us if they want something.  He reached us and asked in English “What are you doing? Are you ok?” We explained that we were just looking at the birds.  He thought this strange because to them, these huge soaring birds were their equivalent to our pigeons and laughingly shared this with a man sitting nearby.

Nurbol is also friends with some of the local Peace Corps Volunteers and invited us to come along with him to a dinner they are having tonight.  It is such a pleasant shock to have successfully made it to Mongolia.  We started the morning off in a tense situation but will end it relaxing and chatting with some friendly PCVs.  Just from the few hours we have spent it Mongolia thus far, I can already tell we are really going to enjoy our time here.

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Ethnic Kazakh Food

Posted on June 26, 2010 by rsiminkas

While in Kazakhstan, we ate mostly what would be considered ethnic Russian food and some Central Asian staples. We had our real introduction to Kazakh food once we arrived in Western Mongolia. The Western province of Bayan Olgii is an ethnic Kazakh area that is free from the strong Russian influence that exists in Kazakhstan.

This plate of food is the perfect accompaniment to vodka or beer; smoked fish, pickles, boiled potatoes, and onions.

This plate of food for me really represents the Russian influence in Kazakhstan. It is the perfect accompaniment to vodka or beer; smoked fish, pickles, boiled potatoes, and onions.

Typical in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, lagman soup is made with fresh noodles, mutton, and vegetables.

Typical in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, lagman soup is made with fresh noodles, mutton, and vegetables.

Milky tea and baursak precede every meal at a Kazakh table.

Milky tea and baursak, fried doughnuts, precede every meal at a Kazakh table.

Shuzhuk is a horse sausage that is smoked and dried.

Shuzhuk is a horse sausage that is smoked and dried. We had ours on top of a slice of bread.

Hurdak is a tasty Kazak dish of fried noodles, mutton, and vegetables.

Hurdak is a tasty Kazak dish of fried noodles, mutton, and vegetables.

Bishbarmak or "five fingers" consists of boiled flat noodles and mutton which is eaten from a communal plate until nothing is left.

Bishbarmak or "five fingers" consists of boiled flat noodles and mutton which is eaten from a communal plate until nothing is left.

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Astana

Posted on June 24, 2010 by rsiminkas

A view of Astana's growing city skyline; complete with a pyramid and dog bowl.

Astana is a city filled with the unexpected.  Everything from the moment we arrived in the periphery of the city has surprised us.  Kazakhstan’s president, Nazarbayev decided in 1997 to move the country’s capital from Almaty to Astana and start from scratch.  Astana before had been a small town and overnight had plans to transform into a modern, world class city.  Renowned international architects were invited to design modern and innovative buildings and so the city skyline is comprised of the beautiful, the thought provoking and sometimes just bizarre.  My personal favorite was possibly the building I called the “dog bowl”, I still don’t know what the building is for though. Despite having the city being so young, you can see already the negative effects of racing to meet deadlines; the outskirts were already rundown in only 13 years.

Aside from getting to see such an interesting city, the main highlight was getting to meet some of the embassy staff.  I got to meet the Community Liaison Officer, which was inspiring.  I had been concerned about what will happen if I don’t get into the Foreign Service but fortunately this position is open to Eligible Family Members and has very similar duties to what I hoped to do had I been a FSO.  Now we just have to wait and hope that all goes smoothly and that we can start our careers.

I actually wish now that we could spend more time in Astana.  We’ve walked around a bit but haven’t gotten to enter any of the strange buildings, which is a shame.  We fly out tomorrow to Ust-Kamenogorsk and then fly the next day to Olgii, Mongolia.

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The Train to Astana

Posted on June 24, 2010 by rsiminkas

Children playing in the crowded aisle.

We didn’t get much sleep on our last night in Shymkent.  We luckily were able to switch to the cheaper room at the hotel next door.  There wasn’t a sauna but there was a shared bathroom where the women’s room door didn’t seem to ever properly shut, unfortunately neither did the door to our room.  At around midnight, Bobby tried to get out of our room to go to the bathroom and we were trapped inside.  We tried so hard to shut the door that we then couldn’t open it again.  It was a good ten minutes of panic of jostling the key and the door handle to get it open.  We were ready to get our army knife out and start unscrewing the door hinges.  We didn’t bother to force our door shut fully after that.

We were planning on leaving at 4:45 am in order to get to the train station since we weren’t sure of what the taxi situation would be.  After a few moments of standing outside in the dark a black car pulled over to us. Any car in Uzbekistan was a potential taxi so we just assumed it was similar practice here in Kazakhstan.  I asked for the railway station and he gestured with five fingers (for 500 Tenge hopefully) which was reasonable enough and we got in.  Driving around the deserted streets in a car that isn’t officially a taxi was un-nerving for a moment.  Of course the map failed to include the part of town with the train station so we couldn’t follow our direction on the map.  Then, every so often, we would see cars that had the illuminated taxi sign and I would wonder if we maybe should have waited another few minutes to get an official cab.  The driver actually got us to the train station in very good time and we were much earlier for our train than we anticipated, I think lack of sleep made us paranoid.

Our bunks were a tight squeeze.

After sitting on the platform for nearly an hour, the dark green train with the Red Soviet star finally approached.  We scrambled over to where our carriage was and forced ourselves on board, crushing little old ladies and children alike in efforts to reach our bunks.  The train was so full, we were only able to get 3rd class bunks and it seemed that even every bunk in this class was sold out.  It reminded me a lot of the trains in India, even though the trains we took there were never more than an overnight ride while this one is 24 hours.  There were so many people in the car (apparently loved ones that are not traveling like to board the train also to say goodbye) that we had to scramble into our little cubbies immediately to avoid being crushed.  The bunks are actually more like coffins; we were completely unable to sit up.  When I ungracefully clamored up to my coffin, I dragged my luggage with me and placed it by my feet and Bobby did the same leaving his bags by his head.  One of the conductors passed and began to yell at Bobby in Russian, which of course we didn’t understand.  He then swats at Bobby’s feet and made it clear that shoes on the bed are a no-no.  This same conductor then came by to rent us the linens for the trip (250 T) and we made our beds and went to sleep.

Eat, eat! Two families fed us well.

By the time I woke up, I was ready to escape my coffin and went out to locate the two most important things of a long trip, the toilet and food.  While cautiously stepping over people to try to get to the other end of the car, our conductor friend gestured to me something like “where are you going?”  I asked “restoran” and he then gave me a funny look, somewhere between disgust that I expect there to be a restaurant car on the train and pity that this silly girl has no food for the next 24 hours and shook his head no.  We had expected there to be some kind of food available on the train.  We did bring some bread, salami, and cheese but not enough for three meals for two people.  When I returned to our bunks, the couple sitting below us offered me some food, which I declined because I didn’t want to put them out.  The next thing I knew, they were passing a phone over to Bobby and they had an English speaker on the other end to translate.  The person explained that they want us to eat with them (no option for yes or no) and so we did.  They had some tea, bread, and bishbarmak (boiled mutton, fat, and flat noodles) that I identified immediately which seemed to please them.  I was grateful for their generosity of sharing not only their food but also the bottom bunk, which is more spacious and one can sit upright.

Baby Islam taking a break from causing mischief.

Later on, Bobby left to look for the toilet and then I heard him speaking English to someone.  I popped over to see what was going on and found him with a young couple with a small child and another four people who were in the same section.  We began talking to them and then more food comes out; tea, candies, fried dough balls which I swear they appetizingly referred to as ball-sack, and our first introduction to fermented mare’s milk.  The mare’s milk was interesting; sour milk with strange golden clusters (we guess congealed fat?) and I thought it tasted like barley or a grain.  Our new friend noticed that I had come over in my socks and the next thing I know, a conductor (who is conveniently our friend’s cousin) presents me with a pair of disposable slippers as a gift.  We stayed with our adopted train family for a while watching the antics of the two toddlers in our section, Aisha and Islam.  Islam was probably about a year old but I noticed he didn’t wear any diapers.  His mother toted a plastic bowl with a lid that she would put between her knees and then place bare-bottomed Islam on her lap and make hissing sounds.  She would then lay him down (to air dry I suppose) and then cover the bowl and place it under their bed until the next time.  Islam just loves his little red bowl.  He spent a good deal of time playing with it, pushing it around and picking it up. Islam even picked it up and brought it over to the other passengers and proudly lifted the lid revealing his morning’s efforts.  Nobody seemed to mind having a bowl of urine placed on their beds and would just glance inside and ooh and aah.  He then tottered over to me with his red bowl and placed it in my hands; I thanked him and then placed it back to where I saw his mother keeps it.  After our adventures in food and children’s potty training, a stop approached that was famous for fruit and I took that as an opportunity to escape the hospitality for a while and take a nap.

After awkwardly squeezing into my coffin, Bobby dashes to me saying that he had a close call with the police because he was taking pictures.  Before he even has a chance to tell me what the picture was of, two police officers approach him along with the conductor who doesn’t care for us and more scolding in Russian commences.  They demanded to see the pictures and Bobby began flipping through the images.  They were gesticulating to delete and Bobby would cry “that wasn’t even taken here!”  It wasn’t until the train was starting to leave again that the police officers got off and I learned which photo caused all of this trouble… it was a picture of plov.  I would have guessed that only Uzbeks would so jealously guard plov, not Kazaks.

The scandalous picture of plov that cause the police to chase Bobby.

The scandalous picture of plov that caused the police to chase Bobby.

The rest of the train ride passed comfortably enough since we now had enough friends to visit on lower bunks.  We were disappointed when we first learned that we had the crowded 3rd class bunks but has we been in a higher class we wouldn’t have had the same interaction.  Our new friend even offered us to stay in his home in Astana if we didn’t find a place to stay.  The people were truly so kind and hospitable, they will certainly be the most memorable part of this trip.  Well, that and the fermented mare’s milk.

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Shymkent- Day 2

Posted on June 23, 2010 by rsiminkas
My cheapest meal yet looked innocent enough...

My cheapest meal yet looked innocent enough...

I fell horribly ill last night.  It was probably either the strawberries or the borscht. I was pretty much attached to the toilet so we will stay another night in the pricy room.  I stayed in bed until noon making dashes between the bathroom and the bed.  The housekeeping staff tried to come in while I was on the toilet and I shooed them saying “I’m sick, I’m sick, we stay another night”.  They all began laughing repeating “sick, sick”.  I didn’t find that very funny at all and in my embarrassment I forgot to ask for more toilet paper as I had just used the last sheet.  Good times.

Our next plan was to try to go to the national park near Shymkent.  The Lonely Planet said that there is a tour company in town that owns cabins there and will also provide transport to and from town.  So, in the afternoon when I was feeling better we tried one or our good old fashioned death marches to save a buck.  We walked up and down the street where it was supposed to be and asked several people but no one had any idea.  We even had someone call the number listed in the book and it was not a travel company.  Our next stop was to go to what was said to be the best travel agent in Kazakstan, which also didn’t seem to exist anymore.  Lonely Planet was shockingly inaccurate for Shymkent.  I am guessing that a lot has changed here in the past few years since the book was researched.  I wouldn’t have minded so much if we had taken a taxi (which seldom happens if it is only a few kilometers away) and if I wasn’t ill.  We ended up just going back to the travel agent in our mall and we bought the last beds available for the train to Astana for Monday.

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