Philosophizing

9 PM

Mike here.

I can't help thinking that there must be more to write about during a trip to Kazakhstan than the mundane things with which I find myself consumed these days. But then again, life really is probably made up of multiple strands of mundane fibers woven together to make some sort of profound fabric. Perhaps a few strands...
* Last night, Tucker wouldn't go to sleep right away, so we let him stay up with us for a while. It seemed like years since it had been just the three of us. I couldn't convince myself that it had only been 48 hours.
* My days include many times during which I try to communicate with people though I speak only a smattering of the language. Ironically, I find myself connecting more with people around me than I do at home, not less. What I lack in vocabulary, pronunciation, and grammar, I have to make up for in eye contact, body English, and vulnerability.
* There is an entire branch of mathematics devoted to such problems as the one Linda tries to solve almost every day -- that of unravelling a skein of yarn.
* There are people in the world who, for whatever reason fate has bestowed upon them, go through their entire lives as a curiosity; a sideshow; an attraction. I have developed immense respect for these people, as, after only a few weeks, I'm already tired of being stared at everywhere I go because I look different than everyone around me. While I've always fantasized about mildly famous, or even somehow extraordinary, I must admit that I find the burden of peculiarity to be a heavy one.

Today's morning excursion to the green market netted Linda yet another four skeins of yarn -- this time including the beautiful, but not very practical, colors of the Kazakh flag. The "yarn lady" sees Linda coming and smiles.

Our afternoon excursion, to the park, included an exhilarating session of "bumper cars," with Tucker and myself in one car, Linda and Bacha in another, and two other people in two other cars. Tucker was thrilled, and Bacha slightly overwhelmed. We won.

We also paid for some time for Tucker and Bacha to romp around in one of those inflatable climbing gyms, with slides and catwalks and bins of balls. Tucker was a very good big brother, helping Bacha up some stairs at one point by taking her hand and leading her, then following up behind her to make sure "she gots it." He also confronted another little boy at one point, saying "she's my sister!"

Our attempt at settling down in the park's outdoor cafe to have some Shashlyk (kabobs) and beer was frustrating, however. Firstly, it wasn't clear how to order food. I figured out that we had to order at the window. Then I figured out that the lady in the window said you had to actually order the Shashlyk from the guy outside the fence who was cooking it. So I did. But by the time I got to order, the guy had run out. How do you run a restaurant by running out of food at 5 PM? I don't know. So we took our beer to go (you can do that here -- open containers are common).

Oh. We also made our first trip to the "goom" store near the park. Two years ago, this was a daily excursion, largely because it's across the street from the internet cafe (which we aren't using this time). The goom store is a large department store, Kazakh style. We did the marriage-saving thing of splitting up: Tucker and I stayed outside to guard the strollers (and eat ice cream) while Linda and Bacha went inside to endure the heat and buy some more clothes for Bacha. Tucker and I had a great time watching people. At one point he wanted me to climb the stairs, and I told him I wanted to stay near the strollers. He said "it's OK Papa, I'll stay here and protect them." Heh. There was also one interesting ongoing incident of a young mother and her 18-month-old (or so) son. He kept bawling, and she couldn't console him. It seemed ridiculously obvious to me that the reason he was so upset is that she simply wouldn't let him do any of the things he wanted to do: crawl (instead of walk) up the stairs, play with the plastic bottle, or... fall. It seems that it's extremely distasteful here for children to be seen sitting or even kneeling on the ground or the floor. Sure, it can be dirty, but the level of alarm here seems disproportionate.

Regarding how people dress... The last time we were here, I spent the entire time wearing one of two pairs of Adidas sweat pants that I bought here, because I felt too out-of-place wearing my jeans. The sweats were very common, and I felt that when I wore them I only stuck out like a slightly sore thumb rather than a completely inflamed one. This time, however, it's the opposite. Jeans are common -- although I like baggy ones, and the ones here are all skin-tight. The men all wear leather shoes with long, squared-off toes and hard soles. They wear short-sleeve, button-down shirts. Of all of this, I think it's not so much my clothing that makes me stand out, it's the fact that I'm white (though getting a pretty good tan), tall, and have a beard. I'm sure that the few who notice my earring raise an eyebrow as well.

The women dress very nicely, mostly. Dresses, skirts, tight tops, high heels... you get the idea. I watched a woman this morning wearing a tight white blouse, sheer, side-slitted skirt and high heels negotiate the dirt lot and road behind our apartment like it was nothing. She looked right at home stepping around mud puddles and onto the path behind the garbage dump.

Have I mentioned how the men squat? It's very common for men to rest by squatting -- at a bus stop, while talking in a group, just outside smoking a cigarette. I don't think most Westerners can even do it. I can't do it easily unless I have a little something under my heels (though then it's quite comfortable). It's just a sight you don't see in the States.

I figured out a thing about pedestrian traffic today. Until today I always felt unsure about when I could cross a street and have cars stop for me, or when they would beep and claim right-of-way. It's the crosswalk. If the crosswalk is painted with fat white stripes, then you're pretty safe to just step out into the road at any time (though the cars may pull up to within inches of you).

About the honey here... I love honey. I eat a lot of it at home. Usually the regular kind that you squeeze out of a plastic bottle of some kind. Sometimes the "spun" kind that you spread. I bought honey here the other day. I had to ask Sveta to confirm my pronunciation of it: "myud" (it was too close to "mud" for comfort). It's very good, but strange. You have to stir it, and it has a grainy sort of texture -- a little like the squeezable kind of honey I'm used to back home after it's started to crystallize. It's very strong, too. If you lick a spoonful of it, you get a pretty good sugar "rush," and you can practically taste the pollen.

That's it for now. Pacca Pacca. (bye)