Yeah well, your mom lives in Kazakhstan.

3:30 AM whilst camping near the Irytish.

With a renewed vigor for purpose, friendship, peace and love, a blog post is gurgled onto the inter-web once more from this glorious nation…


To recap the happenings:

From May 16th-June 12th, I enjoyed the most splendid of vacations in the United States of America. “But Andrew”, you kindly inquire, “how can one have such a wonderful time away from their work when all they really did was go to their home?” Great question, inter-web browser. It was so marvelous when consideration is given to the enormity and grandeur of my friends, family and most beloved one. The three-week vacation was an amalgamation of seeing old friends and learning about their new jobs or lack thereof, an ignorance of technological advances (I-Phone? Headache. Nintendo Wii? Ruptured spleen.), family visits around the eastern seaboard, lifestyle changes, beer and one hell of a girlfriend. Recipe for perfection. Try it for yourself one day if you can— you’ll see its rewarding and impossible to complete—to at least force yourself to fit in as many people that are important in your life within a small time period to catch up and say, “hey, we’re friends and that’s all right.”

So America was cool.

Additionally, it’s really fat. Pennsylvania should have cellulosed with cottage cheese ripples by now.

I YAmerica!

N your calorie intake, America.

A return to Kazakhstan:

One of my fellow volunteers and good friends has moved into my city of Pavlodar to act as a teacher of the English language at a local university. This increases Pavlodar’s coolness level by 50 percent.

A change of scenery was needed, though not due to roommate problems whatsoever, and a new apartment has been procured. The aforementioned roommate, the awesome Baurzahn Ablyavich is still in the top five coolest people in the world’s history. The bird needs to fly from the nest sometimes, even if it is one consistently filled with deliciously prepared egg and cabbage breakfasts.

Additionally, my first SPA (Small Project Assistance) grant was approved recently. The funds will be used to purchase technological equipment for computer skills training sessions and for a HIV/AIDS support hotline. Hooray for community development.


And so we start a new segment for this, promising as best I can, weekly posting: Photo of the Week. The winner this week goes to the empty chili pot of achievement in cultural exchange. Yes, when people of various backgrounds get together in a 95° F room and eat spicy chili, you have a recipe for greatness. Throw in a few toasty rips of the ‘little water’ and you really have a good time. And thanks for stopping by, Pavlodar.

This week's winner: An empty chili pot, housed.

Writing Contest: Write one sentence that depicts a birthday better than this one.

My 23rd birthday was spent in its entirety in a coupee on a train racing from Pavlodar to Almaty that was filled with four people; one Andrew, one man that drank two bottles of vodka by himself, pulled his pants down, resoundly pulled them back up, pissed himself and of course two prostitutes with very gentle eyes.

I ate that.

When it comes to new experiences, I'm generally all for it. I was ready and willing when I was asked to ride my bike off that ramp in the backyard when I was 9, I was ready when I was dared to eat dirt to get a girl's attention and affection, I was ready to eat the broccoli when my mom told me to, and I was ready to see how cool it would be to see my brother's karate kick up close, but I was not ready to eat this after my roommate (The amazing psychology professor Baurzahn Ablyavich) took roughly three minutes of description to tell me where this meat came from:


The kasha-type side dish wasn't really up to my tastes either. Am I picky?

In general, let it be known, that I love the food here, especially since Baurzahn is the one that prepares it. It's all natural, all the time, baby.


It was some kind of meat from a breast of some kind of animal.

Of note: I was 19 when I ate the dirt for the girl, and I'd do it again.

Springtime is near

What, me worry?

Springtime is coming on strong here in lovely Pavlodar. The temperatures are already running around 10-19 degrees Celcius. I don't know what I'm going to do, as my clothes are prepared for winter weather more so than this good stuff. Item A on the to-do-list when I visit the States.

I thought that I'd share some photos that are a little old, but bespeak to the beauty that is this country:

The rolling river Irytish in my home of Pavlodar. It froze over during the winter, but I plan on enjoying some shashleek (kabobs) and swimming in the near future along its mighty banks.

Here is a man playing an accordion, wearing a traditional Kazakh hat. I'm going to have a complex with how much I love this music here.

This was taken back in September, but there are the mountains in southern Kazakhstan, taking from a hike with my host grandfather while in Talgar. There aren't mountains near Pavlodar, but there are some forests around here that I'm excited to check out.

There is a lot more beauty to this country, my city of Pavlodar and its people, and I'll do my best to showcase it as best I can.

"The contents of this Web site are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps."

Ticket and Kids' Birthdays

I've been a traveling Wilderbury the past few weeks, as I've been in Almaty for nearly 2/3 of the month of March and the first part of April. I had the opportunity to meet with UNAIDS, UNIFEM, UNICEF, USAID, the International Red Cross and the European Union offices in Almaty. Not sure what will come of it, but I sure did give out a lot of business cards.

But because of being away with more English speakers and something like laziness, my Russian has suffered drastically. I don't even know if I can attach any form of possession to the language itself anymore. It hit a low point when I told my roommate that I had bought a guitar but "didn't know how to speak guitar yet." Jesus.

Yesterday, after a day of filling out extremely interesting budgets and grant applications with stamps and signatures galore, my professor roomate kidnapped me to head to a birthday party for his 5 year-old nephew. We enjoyed the customary Kazakh dish, bizparmak which is a huge dish of noodles, potatoes, onions and horse meat. The fun/meat never stops.

By the end, after countless toasts and handshakes and laughs and questions and such, we headed back home. One of the brothers asked me to head to the disco tech with him and his girlfriend, but I felt it was time to head out. With that, the whole family gave me a big hug and said that I was now part their family. Nice little moment there--take note Disney.

Additionally, my plan is to take a vacation to America's United States in mid-May. The ticket is already purchased. Hoping I don't get freaked out by all of America's strange, strange customs (see actually waiting in line in a civil manner). We'll see how it goes.

I also bought a wonderful conversation piece, I mean, guitar. I have time and a guitar, so the equation should solve itself.

Godspeed to the rest.

Nauryz!

The Monument of Kazakhstani Hope.

Church in Almaty with no nails.

Wedding.

The poet, philospher, cultural man Абай.

Me and a fellow volunteer with a mustasche.

Very well—the in-service training was more of a vacation period in which we learned of various ways to be effective volunteers (again) and blew off a little steam with some colleagues for a few days in a nice city and showers (individually).

They say that our responsibilities as a Peace Corps volunteer do not include changing the world, let alone saving it, but they do often preach providing new perspectives or improvements of life for a few individuals. I suppose that happens from time to time in most other professions. I wouldn’t know. Twenty-two.

And they give us such wonderfully lofty goals as to act with this in mind patiently, and in face of difficultly and confusion. That’s swell, but I think that you, dear reader, act unselfishly and capable to someone you know or don’t know all the time without having a fancy mission statement printed on copy paper and handed to you in a foreign country. Is this assumption correct or are we all damned?

March 8^th was Women’s Day. It was also my roommate’s birthday, so much celebration was had. This included dancing, smuggling drinks and ice cream into the restaurant (we're not the richest family, aight?) and dancing some more.

Example of dancing!

Presently doing the following:

« Website design for my AIDS organization

« Preparing Latin and Greek word origins lesson

« Preparing World History lesson plan

« Trying to master the pronunciation and proper usage of the phrases, “That was a pretty awkward situation” and “It’s going to be muddy like this for awhile, isn’t it?”

« Rolling my pant cuffs up

« Enjoying the Shins, Of Montreal and The Killers’ semi-new albums

« Obtaining tickets for a three-week vacation to the US and A

« Growing my sideburns back

« Preparing my students for their voyages to the US and A! Such eager minds!

« Anxiously awaiting the time when I can give my students their Amero-Kazakh Super Friends Pen Pal letters*—they might just eat the paper with elation.

*-This is a group of Kazakhstani students from my lessons and clubs that correspond with randomly selected, yet best of the best Americans to partake in the ole fashioned cultural exchange known as pen pals. If you would like to apply to be part of the Amero-Kazakh Super Friends Pen Pal Club, simply e-mail andrewholets@gmail.com and request membership. Ask for Andrew Holets.

I need to find a better internet joint to upload photos.

Additionally, I am opining and wishing for the finest recovery for Rob Lowry. He is indestructable.

"The contents of this Web site are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps."

Wintertime

I want to be sunburnt right now. Glorious Winter!

Ambiguity is a spice that I often use in conversation either with the intention of remaining mysterious (press fog machine button now) or because it’s a chore to be detailed and introspective enough to properly describe what that deliberative bee inside my head is buzzing for. This type of tactic can certainly bore the questioner, which is sometimes my aim; I am aware that this places me in the post-drizzling-puddle of social interaction, but it also has a slight potential for more in-depth conversation if the answers are truly sought.

And it can also lead people here and back in the States to ask, ‘what the hell are you doing exactly in Kazakhstan, you wooly fool?’

Thus, I shall give my best attempt to describe what the typical day of this wonderful country is like for someone in my position and disposition depending. I will make this a ?-part series so that I may be more detailed with the happenings.

If you have more websites and important tasks to do, here is the short version of the story below:

1) I wake up everyday.
2) I eat food and drink tea every morning.
3) I walk to the spot where the public transportation vehicle picks me up. I say hello to people along the walk that are interesting sometimes.
4) Things happen on public transportation.

And here is the long version of the routine day:

The Northern parts of Kazakhstan were formally used as the grain-raising areas of the Soviet Union. There are seemingly endless fields of nothing in a lot of areas, but I’m located in the city of Pavlodar. I don’t see much of this due to my urban environment. What I do see is a lot of blocked, cement apartment buildings. There are French boutiques, 24-hour supermarkets, internet clubs, WWII monuments, street musicians with squeeze boxes, cell phones galore, bazaars, dive bars with the only food option being fish or flavored croutons, elementary schools, bathhouses (banyas), hotels, office supply stores, notaries, movie theaters, convenience shops, florists, universities and water pumps.

Snow is everywhere. There isn’t much of it, however, as the winds kick it away before it accumulates. There are a fair amount of older people here. They are old men with gum drop hats of fur, women that are more wrinkled than the raisins they sell on the streets. I say hello to this one lady outside my apartment nearly everyday, and she has these eyes that are similar to Death’s but very blue. She’s lovely. They are all very highly respected.

I wake up around 8:30 AM everyday. I have an alarm clock that cost 70 tenge (roughly 48 cents) and a lovely lady from America that calls me nearly every morning. I brew tea—normally green—butter some bread, eat some kielbasa and I head out on my way. I wear nice pants, a button-up shirt and a sweater most days. I can’t be too flashy or casual, but I tend to use the ‘air-it-out’ method of keeping most of my clothes clean. I do handwash my clothes when needed, don't get me wrong, Mom. However, similar to college, I can wear the same outfit a few times a week and no one seems to care. I am unashamed!

From this point, I’ll walk along the sidewalk between school #24 and an apartment. There are normally a few teenagers outside the “парикмахерская” (Barbershop) that I know from a few random run-ins, so I normally shake hands and say hey to them. A few stray dogs will pass by me in search of food, other dogs or a hole to lie in. If I leave at the exact right time, I can catch the one homeless man crawling out of the steaming manhole from his slumber. He’s a nice guy too.

After cutting through a few alley ways and past the garages that aren’t big enough to hold anything more than the car itself, I cross the street to get to the tram stop for my work. I normally wait about three minutes or so, as the trams are on a pretty consistent loop, though there is definitely no structured schedule. When it’s colder than -15° C, I don’t like to chance a fifteen minute wait. This causes me to chase many a tram if I see it heading towards my stop before I get there. Allow me to make it clear that the women that operate the trams can be the nicest people going, if they see you. And yes, mostly only women operate trams; not sure why this is the case exactly. Anyway, there are times when I am a solid 60 yards behind the tram and the operator will wait and open the back door for me to get in. Running isn’t a problem here, as the air itself is crisp and clean, even for a city (Pavlodar population est. 300,000+).

I am normally very quiet on the tram, as it’s the fashionable thing to do. It is proper to give up a seat for an older woman or to whom is with child. The cost is 22 tenge (13 cents). I get off at the double school stop and walk to work. The tram is not without its faults as other means of transportation, as I have been involved in accident where a bus ran into its side, breaking a window and causing a lot of confusion during a very chilly snow storm, and have witnessed an apparent get-away attempt by a gentleman that had stabbed someone with a sizeable kitchen knife. He had the knife tucked in his coat and blood was dripping in a lot of places. There were a lot of shifting, ‘uhh…should we do something?’ type of eyes in that tram. Everything was fine, though.

That’s a basic day in terms of my travel during the work week. I understand the length and potential boredom of said routine. Sorry about that, but I tried spicing it up by using the phrases “steaming manhole” and “with child.”

There are times when a cold fog rambles through the city at night, and this is what it leaves in its wake.













-35 C yesterday.