Life on the Edge

Stimulation Overload

2012-01-10T11:24:00.002-05:00

-I saw the tallest fountains in the world, at the base of the tallest building in the world.
-I went to the highest lounge in the world, located in the tallest building in the world.
-I rode the fastest rollercoaster in the world.
-I skiied on one of the only indoor ski hills in the world.
-I ate (and drank) more than my body weight in the ten days I was in Dubai.

Being in a place (I almost wrote city, Balaken? City?! Ha!) that does not have any skyscrapers is the least of my adjustment issues currently.

But I must say, I'm surprised at how happy I am to be back.

Dubai was amazing. My Dad was a great tour guide, having lived in Dubai city center only a month, he took great care of us. We did all of the cool touristy stuff (including a simulation sky-diving experience - floating in a wind tunnel, basically), and still got to lounge around the apartment like it belonged to us. Because well, it does. My mom met us a few days in, and that was her big move to Dubai from home. I think she's adjusting well. I think the beach will help...

Dubai is like all the great things about America, on drugs. Only without the drugs. (You can get arrested for having trace amounts of codeine on your system - and that's arrested until you can prove that it was prescribed). And the alcohol is 'controlled' meaning that anywhere but hotels it is illegal, but in the hotels it flows like water.

The city is beautiful, clean. My first impression was the smell of the gulf and thinking, "everything is so shiny." There is no shortage of things to do, but I'm certainly glad we were able to have Dad's paycheck help us get around. I doubt we'd have gotten very far on a Peace Corps salary. But that isn't to say that everything is crazy expensive...most stuff is reasonable by American standards.

Getting on that plane was difficult. But I was comforted when I came back to my apartment and found everything just the way I left it. I went to school, and was even happy to see my difficult fifth formers tattling on each other in the hallway. When I was in Dubai I thought about not coming back. But I'm glad I did. It'll be hard to be here in the Balaken cold thinking, "I could be sitting on the beach right now." But five months isn't really that much time...

Adventures in Coloring with Azerbaijani School Children

2011-12-22T11:38:00.003-05:00

My first assignment is, yes, to teach English. But for me, what is far more rewarding, is teaching kids how to be creative, and how to think for themselves. Tomorrow is my second Azerbaijani Christmas Pageant. (No, they don't celebrate Christmas here. But I don't know what else to call it. All of my teachers call it, "Ingilis Gecesi" which means "English Night" but seeing as how it is at 1pm, that seems wrong. So, I have my own little pet name for it). And in honor of the occasion, I'm having the kids do some coloring to decorate the walls.

Now, coloring is not something kids here are necessarily used to. Markers are kind of expensive, and um, terrible, and you don't find published coloring books around. So, in comes Stephanie Teacher with a shoe box full of American markers and chaos ensues. I hand each child a half-size paper with a black and white outline of either a snowman, a tree, a bell, or a child dressed in winter clothes. These are the questions I get/conversations I hear:
Child: "What do I do with this?" Me: "Color it." Child: "Color it?" Me: "Yes, color it."
Child 1: "What color should I color the tree?" Me: "Any color you want!" Child 2: "Trees are green, it must be green." Child 1: "She is right. Very clever. It will be green."
Child (with snowman): "Do I color the arms?"
Child (with bell): "Should I color the bow?"
Child (with tree): "Can I color the star on top red?"
Child (with child-image coloring page): "This is a boy. I must color him blue."
Child (with with child-image): "Do I draw a face?" Me: "I think you should." Child: "Eyes, a nose, do I draw ears?" Me: "If you want." Child: "Hm."
Me: "Don't forget to write your name so you can remember it is yours and take it home!" (several) Children: "Do we write our last names?" Me: "It's up to you." Children: *confusion.

I think you get the idea. My counterpart and I found it terribly funny that not a single child could make their own decision about what color to color their pictures. The word we use to ask permission in Azerbaijani is "olar," and all I heard all day was, "olar muellime?!" Which essentially means, "can I do THIS, teacher?" Over and over and over again. And they were all quite frustrated when all I kept saying was, "nece isteyirsen" or, "as you wish..." They are used to being told what to do, even in art class. But generally, I refuse to do that, and insist they decide for themselves. Decisions are difficult (trust me, I know). And even a decision as simple as picking what color to color a tree can be terrifying - especially if you aren't used to having that kind of power. It's a little tiny crisis moment for them, one that I take an immense amount of joy from.

Wait, wasn't I supposed to be home by now...?

2011-12-21T08:23:00.005-05:00

Peace Corps sends out in every newsletter a list of 'milestones' and 'cultural adjustments' that happen during the timeline of a volunteers service. Specifically, things that we should expect along the way, and certain emotions or roadblocks that we will have to deal with. Generally they are correct, but I'd like to make a list of my own (and also, this list is coming from the first volunteer in a site, and a volunteer who is staying):

Training, Months t-minus 2 to 0: Everything is bright and shiny and new and quaint. "Why does my host mom keep trying to fix my bra? She's so silly." "They don't drink cold water here, isn't that WEIRD?!" I call this the honeymoon stage with Azerbaijan. It's all crazy and funny. And every encounter is interesting. Also, you are optimistic and bright eyed. And a little arrogant and naive. "I'm going to change the world!" you say. You have no idea...

Arrival at site: Months 1 to 3. This is particularly sadistic of Peace Corps, dropping you off at site in the middle of the holiday season and some of the coldest months of the year. You go from seeing Americans 9 hours a day every day to seeing them basically never (depending on whether or not you have sitemates). You find yourself in a culture that you aren't familiar with and a language you don't understand. You make cultural faux pas. You forget to stand when the director comes in the room. You put your feet up on the chair. Some days you don't want to leave your sleeping bag, but host mom comes in at 8am and makes you get up. You get sick of her trying to fix your bra, and you get really mad when they won't just give you a friggen' glass of cold water. But things are still exciting, because now, site is new. The first time you taste pumpkin qutab (a quesadilla type thing) or xengel (dumplings) you think you've died and gone to heaven. And everything you do is your own.

Months 3 - 6: You've spent the first three months being fed and poked and prodded. Asked why you aren't married. When you'll get married. If you want to marry the neighbor's son. And guess what? You're still getting asked these questions. But you are starting to come up with creative answers. "I'll marry an Azeri when you find me an Azeri man who will do half the cooking and his own laundry." And you get excited when you understand the retort, "is there any man who will do his own laundry?" Maybe you move out of your house...and that takes a lot more work than just calling up a real estate agent. You feel guilty you spent the first three months at site guesting and stress eating, so in a frenzy to lose those extra five pounds, you start going out more and you try desparately to begin projects. Likely, your first few projects will fail. You don't know the right people. You scheduled it when all the children are out picking chestnuts (duh. Why didnt you know that?) You'll realize that there was an important meeting at school - yesterday - and no one told you. You'll be frustrated, and you are starting to take ownership of the town. You are not broken...yet.

Months 6-9: Jaded sets in. You've nearly killed yourself trying to implement all of the things Peace Corps told you you had to do during training. And you realize that no matter how hard you try, your counterpart is never going to get permission from her husband to help you run a club. Your girls will never play soccer on the field because it is too public. You've gone to an early service training and seen volunteers you hadn't seen since PST...and some of them won't stop bragging about how awesome their site is and how amazing they have it. And you worry that some people won't last another week. You take your first trip out of country, it's summer after all...and you see your family or friends. Or just remember what normal feels like. You come back - and it takes you another three weeks to really come back. You realize exactly what you gave up to be here. And it hurts.

Months 9 - 12: Projects finally start to take shape. You've learned to end everything before dark so the kids can get home on time. You've learned to tell them to ask their parents, because they won't do it on their own. You've found a handful of people - adults, kids, teenagers - who think like you. You don't know how they happened in this culture, but something clicked, and they get you. New volunteers arrive, and you see how they flounder with the language and find everything quaint. Compared to them, you've got this whole country figured out. Or so you think.

Months 12-15: Damn, it's cold. It's winter. Again. And all those projects that were doing so well come to a screeching halt because it is too cold to hold club in the run-down building you were using before (because there is no heat there) and no one wants to leave their house anyway. Seasonal Affective Disorder, anyone?

Months 15-18: It's Novruz again...and this time you're ready. You know what to expect, and it was the only thing that got you through those awfully cold nights. The paxlava is delicious. But somehow, over a year in this country has affected your immune system and you are sick - or should I say ill - really ill...and you're living alone. You just want someone to make you some soup. And you are craving ginger ale. It's rough.

Months 18-21: Your parents come, and through their visit, you realize how integrated you are, and how many people here love you and your company and just how much you have touched their lives. You realize that you arent here to change the world, you aren't capable of doing that. But you can change minds. And from there, lives. And you realize that you have already done that. Also, it's summer! Yes! Travel! Your own summer camp, because hey, by now, planning and executing a project is a breeze. COS is around the corner. But wait, I havent DONE anything! Well, ok, I've hosted clubs and camps and painted a mural and met a lot of people and made a lot of friends. Ok, I have done a lot. But I'm not READY to leave. I just got here! I have friends and students and basically a family here...not to mention a comfy house and a job and a paycheck. (A small paycheck, but it is independence). And that means I need to figure out what to do when I get back to America...wait, do I even go back to America? Graduate school? Travel like a bum? Get a job in a terrible economy? Um, stay in Azerbaijan a little longer? Yes.

Months 21-24: COS conference - but I'm not leaving. That's weird. All my friends are leaving. That sucks. Depression. Crap, I need to find some new friends...So you turn back to the friends you've had all along...your Azeri friends. And you realize that as much as you've changed their lives, they've changed yours in ways you'll never be able to express to them. You realize that what you thought you had figured out about the country and the culture...you really don't. You're just trying to get by like everyone else. You're just trying to be happy, and to spread a little bit of happiness along the way.

And now I'm at Month 24...and I'm trying to figure out what's happening. I've reached a strange moment of humility. I've accomplished all of the personal (read: selfish) goals I had set for myself, and now, I really am staying for others (read: my kids). But I've also found myself questioning: what more do I have to give them? I've seen the minds of some of these kids open up, and they are just taking off...they are capable of more than I could ever give them. I like to think that I helped them access that, but who knows? They've had it in them all along. That's what I think Peace Corps really is all about. We aren't changing the world. I have not changed the world. But I have changed minds...and I swear if anyone is going to change the world, it's the group of kids who I was just at club with. It's all in them.

On another note, I received acceptance letters from two of my graduate programs! Now I just need to figure out how to pay for them. Also, Boardwalk Empire is the best show currently on television.

A Note on Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T14:20:00.003-05:00

I'm going to be honest, it's been a tough couple of weeks. Well, probably longer. But there is a lot of change happening, in my life here, my life at home. And it has been hard.

Here is what I am thankful for this year: I'm thankful for the struggle that I'm going through. Because what it means is that I have been so blessed in my life, that I don't want to let it all go. When I left two years ago I didn't know that things were going to start changing faster than I could ever imagine. I didn't know that I'd be giving pieces of my heart to new friends and to new family members, only to watch them leave. Or to leave them behind. I didn't know that when I returned I'd be creating a new life when I came back. I'm thankful that I have had all of these blessings, and all of these opportunities. And I'm thankful for all of the blessings that I hope and pray will be ahead.

Happy Thanksgiving. This is #3 overseas...and hopefully the last.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Choices

2011-10-22T02:01:00.003-04:00

I've been kind of obsessed with this concept lately, the paradox of choice. This is a TED Talk by Barry Schwartz (I'm also a bit obsessed with TED Talks). He wrote a book. He talks about it.

My first year here in Peace Corps found me relatively content. Plugging away, doing my job. In retrospect, I realize often times where I found myself, was not born out of my choice. I didn't choose to come to Azerbaijan specifically, to come to Balaken specifically. I had one clear counterpart I was supposed to work with, I had only one option for independent housing. I was sent here. So I came. And because I'm the kind of person who tries to find the silver lining in everything, I made myself pretty happy.

Year two rolls around, and with it, a lot of choices. I have more teachers, more students, more classes, more projects, and more friends. Who do I spend my time with? What classes do I teach? Who do I work with? Which club do I teach?

And currently, there are even more choices.

As I look at whether stay in a house I've been in for a year and a half, or live in an apartment closer to work with better utilities.
As I look at whether or not to adopt a pet to help ease the loneliness.
As I look at whether or not I made the right choice to stay another 6 months...as I watch my friends leave.
As I see in the future the impending decision of what graduate school to attend, and once again, where to spend my life for two years.

We're sort of trained to believe 'the more the better,' and with that, the idea that the more choices we have the luckier we are.

Schwartz tells his point of view through an anecdote about buying jeans. All his life he bought the same kind of jeans...crappy, fit kind of odd, but once he broke them in they weren't so bad. He went to the store to buy a new pair, and was overwhelmed with several different styles of jeans. The salesperson asked, "What kind would you like?" He answered, "the same kind I always buy." An hour later, after trying on multiple pairs, he left the store with a bag in hand. The jeans fit better than the normal pair, and were actually of a better quality, but he found he was less satisfied than he usually was when he bought his new jeans.

Why?

He realized that with so many choices, he expected one of the pairs to be perfect. When none of them were perfect, his expectations weren't met and he was disappointed. When he expected the one pair of jeans to be crappy, and he got a crappy pair, his expectations were met. And he was satisfied.

The key to happiness is lower expectations.

This statement gets even more shocking when you think about expectations of people. I tend to have very high expectations of the people I am close with. Careful...

The more choices we have, the more chances there are to make the wrong choices. This causes anxiety. I agree with Schwartz in his theory that the escalation of depression rates might have something to do with the explosion of media and technology, and the subsequent barrage of choices we have raining down on us each day.

I'm currently working my way through The Unbearable Lightness of Being (the book - well audiobook - is definitely better than the movie). Tomas, a notorious womanizer, is dealing with his affection for Tereza. He doesn't know whether to let her live with him, or kick her out. He says he wishes he had two lives, so he could live out each of the possibilities, and then decide which is the best choice. Or, if he knew that he was going to live this life again, he could make a different choice in the next life, and he'd know that eventually he'd make the correct decision. But as we only live one life, we only get one choice, and we'll never really know.

It's easy to walk down a path that's been laid out for you. And if you are a generally positive person, you're going to have a generally positive time of it. But the moment you hit that fork in the road...

I guess you flip the coin, and the best of it. And more importantly, don't look back.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2011-10-04T12:20:00.002-04:00

It got cold. Fast. I sat here freezing for about an hour, too stubborn to light my pec this early in October.

And then I lit it anyway.

This winter is gonna be a cold one, I can tell.

On Sunday, we enjoyed what may be one of our final nice days of the year by taking our rag tag softball team to Oguz for a tournament. We scrounged up 9 kids, hopped on a bus, and headed to the field. It turned out to be a great day. We won one of the three games, but the kids hardly noticed the losses, and were just happy to be out! We were joined by teams from Oguz, Kurdamir, Goycay, and Zaqatala. Three of our kids passed out in the back of the marshrutka on the way home they were so exhausted. (Once again, thank you to our donors to the Softball grant because we would not have gone without your help!!!)

Now, I'm still putzing around school without a schedule, hoping that something will materialize soon so I can get my own clubs started. Unfortunately, we have kids from the Russian sector school having classes in the afternoons until their school is repaired, so I'm losing rooms to have conversation clubs. My current project is graduate school applications. I did very well on my GMAT thank you, so I'm still applying to all the same 7 schools...and hating all the self-assessment essays. I'm tired of talking myself up (one reason why I couldn't cut it in the actors crowd), and I've realized how limited my vocabulary has become. Suddenly, I can't think of synonyms for 'skills' or 'experience.' It takes me way too long to get through an essay because I keep having to consult my thesaurus.

This is where being an extendee is a blessing. As all my fellow 7s are panicking, trying to say good-byes, teach, AND write graduate school applications in less than 6 weeks...I get to prioritize. For once, time is on my side. I hope it stays there for a while longer...

We hit our two year anniversary on October 1st. As in, two years in country. It's remarkable...I feel like I just showed up, but like I've been here forever. And yet I know that when I go home (or to Dubai), and start new things, this whole experience will be a distant dream. Like something that happened to a close friend...a lifetime away. That part of it is heartbreaking. I'm not worried about readjusting. I'm worried about forgetting.

Which do you believe? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Or out of sight, out of mind?

The answer I keep coming too generally just makes me sad...

Adventures in Cooking: OSU Tribute, Buckeye Cupcakes!!

2011-09-28T06:33:00.002-04:00

Well, they started out as the usual birthday cupcakes. And then I got an idea!

First, make some vanilla cupcakes, and if you're feeling festive, add a little food coloring to make them pretty.
Second, with a knife, cut a cone out of the top of the cupcake. Scoop a spoonful of peanut butter into a ziploc baggie, and cut off a corner. Squeeze a dollop of peanut butter into the cupcake.

So it looks all cute. Put the top of the cone back onto the top of the cupcake, so you've hidden the peanut butter.

Add icing (in this case, nutella) and a dollop of peanut butter to finish it off.

Enjoy with friends! (But be sure to hoard a few in your fridge for later...they're great with Georgian coffee!)

Feeling Fall

2011-09-25T03:52:00.003-04:00

With the beginning of school and the changing of weather, it's officially fall. Nar is growing on the trees, pears fall and make a thudding sound on the roof of my kitchen. And things move along.

Typical of the Azerbaijani schools, my school still doesn't have a set schedule, so teaching has been sporadic to say the least. It's good to see the kids, and it's nice because this year, I'll be teaching extensively with two different counterparts. I'm hoping that this week we'll have something a little more set, so that I can begin to select classes and make a plan for the year. I'd like to do another English Evening (a la my Azeri Christmas Pageant of last year...), get some teacher trainings set up, and maybe even take some of my own time to drop in at the Internat School once a week or so. I also need to arrange a clubs schedule, but I'm waiting for the schools to have everything in place, and for students to finalize their tutoring schedules, before getting anything written down.

Tuesday we'll be taking the kids to Sheki for the FLEX exam like we did last year, the only difference is this year, I feel like some of our students have a very good chance. We've been preparing them for a while now, and the group this year is stronger and more enthusiastic. Fingers crossed.

October is going to be madness (as I find October always is), because softball is in full swing. In one month we have three tournaments to get to (a little ambitious considering we haven't been to a tournament yet...), but I think we can get our kids ready. On that note, a big THANK YOU to everyone who donated to our grant, we ended up filling it at the last minute, and now we're able to compete!

In the personal sphere, good news on my end! It comes in the form of a successfully completed GMAT. That is one stressful test, and I'm glad it's over. I got the score I wanted, and luckily, am still in the running for all the programs I wanted to apply to. It's a big amount of stress off of my shoulders, though I know there is more around the corner in the form of applications, essays, resumes, and recommendations. Sigh.

I took the test in Tbilisi, and went along with Trey, Jake, Jake's parents, and Lori. We had a lovely time, and it was a nice way to really acknowledge the end of summer and time to get back to work. We spent the first day taking a tour of a winery in Sighnaghi, a small town on the way to Tbilisi from Balaken. We wandered the vineyard, plucking different grape varieties right off the vine. (There are over 500 grape varieties growing in Georgia - impressive considering there are only about 1200 known grape varieties in the world - and the owner of the vineyard has collected about 230 of these varieties and planted them just for tasting - not production - in the vineyard). We saw the traditional winemaking style of Georgia, putting the grapes for fermentation directly into qvery, or clay pots, buried in the ground. We drove to the town to the tasting room for a great meal and a nice wine tasting. The wines were definitely better than anything I get in Azerbaijan (save Caspian Coast wines - those are pretty good), but they weren't amazing. Unrefined might be the best word.

That night Lori and I headed to Tbilisi for our tests, we checked into the hostel and had a hot chocolate night cap in the nicer part of Old Town Tbilisi. Next morning I headed to the test a ball of nerves, but ready. That afternoon we met up with the rest of the gang and spent the evening and next morning eating delicious Georgian food (it's sooooo good, potato xenqeli that reminds me of pierogies, badimcani that is eggplant with a garlic-walnut paste, and of course, xacapuri - cheesy bread!), wine tasting (you can walk into any wine shop and immediately be offered a taste of the shop keepers favorites), and delicious ice cream (a great shop, like gelato, only lighter - strawberry/lemon and banana-coffee were the highlight combos). And then, back on a marsh, and back to reality.

I've got a lot ahead of me. A lot to do, a lot to accomplish, and yet, I still feel like I need something more concrete to keep me occupied. It's hard, watching the 7s get ready to leave, knowing that I'll be here for another 6 months. Sometimes I question my choice to stay, but then I see my kids and I know what I'm doing here. I just need to remind myself of that when I'm back in my empty house. Dad's doing great in the UAE, and Mom's getting ready to move. It's hard being apart from them, and knowing that we're all in different countries. I feel fragmented. I feel like I'm not completely in one place at any one time. Martin Seligman would say I've lost my flow. (Points if you get that reference...) I'll find it.

I'll leave you with some images of Georgia!

St. Stephan's Church in Sighnaghi...

The wine's we tasted, all from Pheasant's Tears Vineyard. (Those are the reds, on the right is chacha, which is alcohol distilled from the remains of the winemaking process - grape skins and the like. It is usually clear, but this one is gold because it is aged in oak. Makes it so much smoother than typical chacha...)

The little road of Sighnaghi.
The vineyard and qvery - the clay pots. Generally they are buried, and the ones Pheasant's Tears uses are much larger - about 4 meters deep.
And Tbilisi. Lovely lovely Tbilisi. Photo taken from the fortress on the hill.

...and SCENE!

2011-09-13T11:45:00.000-04:00

So we had some fun last Saturday, Mike came up from Zaqatala and helped us make a movie. Our kids took the book "Play Ball, Amelia Bedelia" (anybody remember those books?) and turned it into a script. It's our first pro movie, can't wait for more. Any Oscar noms coming out of this one? Not sure yet, but pay close attention to the evil-American cameo...

Enjoy!

World Map Project Comes to Azerbaijan!

2011-09-11T12:24:00.003-04:00

Order.
Design.
Composition.
Tone.
Form.
Symmetry.
Balance.

More red...
And a little more red...
Blue blue blue blue
Blue blue blue blue

(points if you can name that musical...)

And so, that's how the creation of the world began.

Well, actually it started with a coat of primer, on an empty wall in the local Children's Library.

We taped out some stuff, painted an Ocean blue, and then using a projector, we sketched the world onto the wall.

And then, the fun began. Country by country, matching it up to a PCV-produced handbook, deciding which country should be which color. Defining the borders, filling in the middle (I can say more than once we did have to re-negotiate some territories. Due to a pixelated projection, there were more than a few disputed areas.)
Some kids had really never painted before, so we had to go step by step with them, how to hold a brush, how to get the right amount of paint. But they have turned out to be great little artists, with quite the curiosity for geography. Before letting any of them paint, they had to identify which country they were painting, and sometimes even the capitals!

Each day, we took a progress shot...
And each day, more and more kids showed up. If you paint it, they will come...The World Map Project is a thing many volunteers do around PC countries, but as this was the first one in Azerbaijan (what what!!), we wanted to make ours special. Around the sides, we have cities and the distance to them from Balaken, and along the top we listed several different cities and the time differences from Balaken.And of course, we had to put the Peace Corps Azerbaijan logo...

Finally, complete!!
Looks good? I think our next one will be a more freeform mural...we've tapped the talent, let's let it loose!

Back to Acting

2011-09-04T02:22:00.002-04:00

I should be studying for the GMAT right now. I have all day...

Instead, I made muffins. Made some coffee. And read the NYTimes.

Kind of like a normal Sunday morning?

Came across a fantastic article, all about Hugh Laurie. Apparently, he's releasing an album.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/04/magazine/hugh-laurie-sings-the-blues.html

There are only so many film actors I truly admire for their work (though let it be noted that most of these great film actors got their start/have also had significant roles in the theatre). Marlon Brando (duh.) Bill Nighy. Emma Thompson. Meryl Streep (again, duh). Phyllip Seymour Hoffman. Of course there are more. And of course there are plenty of stage actors I also have deep respect for. But let's deal with the big names...

Hugh Laurie is also one of those actors, as he seems to be able to do what he wants when he wants, and pull it off rather gracefully. That was the kind of actor I always wanted to be. Smart. Competent. Consistent. I never really aspired to be the actor with moments of brilliance, but just one who could always be relied upon to deliver a solid performance. That seemed to be more in my skill set. And I suppose if I go back to it and continue to work my butt off, I could achieve that. But with that comes so many other obstacles, and so many other challenges...

Image, for one. I'm a little too tall, I have this crazy birthmark (more than once I've been told by the costume director, "We'll probably have to cover that. But let's see how it plays in the light." A respected Cleveland actor told me about my headshots, "I'm glad you're confident enough to show your birthmark here. But you probably can't use these.")

I for one, appreciate Laurie's comment: “I think good-looking people seldom make good television,” he said. “And American television studios almost concede before they start: ‘Well, it won’t be good, but at least it’ll be good-looking. We’ll have nice-looking girls in tight shirts with F.B.I. badges and fit-looking guys with lots of hair gel vaulting over things. So at least we’ll have achieved that base standard of entertainment.’ ” Now, I think there are some pretty competent, pretty attractive actors out there (Natalie Portman comes to mind...yes boys, I appreciate her talent, not just her looks). But the idea that you have to be pretty to be successful is just downright offensive.

I encountered a similar bias in one of my auditions for college. I walked into the audition, and the director of the Musical Theatre program looked at my application, looked at my GPA and SAT scores (enough to get me to NYU and to graduate to 10 in my high school class...) and he said to me, "Why do you want to be an actress?" Implying that I was somehow too smart to be an actor. Thank you sir, I officially hate your program.

I suppose like any business, there is plenty of crap out there, and plenty of foolish people who give a bad name to what I still believe is a truly special, and truly necessary craft. But in Hollywood, when someone casts a movie, nowadays they aren't casting a part, they're casting a celebrity. I don't want to go to a movie and see Julia Roberts fall in love with Richard Gere. I want to see characters, I want to see real people I can relate to. I can't relate to Julia Roberts. Her legs are too long and her mouth is too big. And she makes way too much money.

That's part of the beauty of acting, and the beauty of the theater. It's a space to watch other people play out our biggest hopes and our biggest fears. We let them make the mistakes, we let them speak the words that we ourselves are too afraid to say to each other. But when they are up on that stage, right in front of us, we can't help but live through it a little bit too...

That's why, this is for you Sarah Palin (ahem!), organizations like the NEA are important. Probably even more so now, when families are dealing with a bigger crisis than they've known before. How many of the great American Theater pieces are about financial instability, economic hardship, and family strife?

I don't know when this turned into a manifesto on the need for theater in an economic crisis. I just wanted to talk about how cool Hugh Laurie is.

I suppose it's on my mind, as I hear about theaters losing money, and thinking about my own future, attempting to jump onto a sinking ship and try and see what I can save. (Man, I am melodramatic.)

But, to bring it back full circle, I have a huge respect for these actors, who are intelligent, humble, talented, and can remain somewhat normal in the face of an unstable career, that puts limitless demands on you. You chose a lifestyle that I just don't want for myself. But you do wonderful things with it.

I'm going to go take a 3hour practice test. Hopefully I'll score high enough to get into a program that'll help me get a job, and give you a place to work your magic.

Just a little more time...

2011-08-22T06:52:00.004-04:00

27 months is a long time to be out of America. It's a long time to dedicate yourself to one place, to one job, to one group of people. I've never held a job this long in my life, and past high school, never lived in one place this long either. I've either moved from one place to another, or there's always been another home. At NYU, I always had Cleveland. In Cleveland, I was always going off to NYU.

It's been a challenge for me actually, to sit still this long. I like to move, I like to travel, I like to bounce around. But it's forced me to slow down. The pace of life in NYC was killer, and here, I just have to take things day by day. I enjoy sitting in my garden drinking coffee. Or just sitting there, thinking. Things move slower in Azerbaijan too, meetings don't start on time, they start when everyone gets there. Classes get paused for families, plans get rearranged when it rains.

Sometimes, I really like it. It gets frustrating at times from a very Western-OCD worker, but it helps with priorities. And of course, what I like most, is the people. I've made some of the closest relationships I've ever had in this country, with Americans, Azerbaijanis, Georgians, Russians...it's surprising. And somehow not surprising that as my 27 months comes to an end in December - and all of my AZ7 mates talking about what they're going to do and how they are so excited to go home - I find it difficult to think about leaving.

I've never done super well with transitions. (See former blog entries). But this one is going to be especially hard, and I've been fortunate enough to get approval from Peace Corps to stay for another 6 months. That makes my new COS date June 9, 2012. It'll give me time to finish out the school year, and end on a positive note - instead of just not showing up to school one day...

After coming back from America, I had some second thoughts about seeking the extension. I realized a lot of things when I was home - some very difficult things - that made me question the need to stay pass my contract. I have given my time, so maybe it's time for me to focus on taking care of myself (the medical stuff alone I've dealt with might warrant just taking some good 'ol R&R)...but on the other hand, I genuinely do want to stay. I have more work to do - granted, there will always be more work to do - and I have people here I really care about - and yes, they'll always be difficult to leave - but this buys me just a little more time...

It isn't going to be easy. I'm already finding myself in this weird middle place with not too many people to relate to. Fellow 7s are planning on leaving Azerbaijan, life after PC, graduate school, travel plans, talking about seeing their families and eating Chipotle. To the 8s, I'm still a Senior, and I am still a little futher ahead than they are when it comes to my own planning and my own mindset. Fortunately, there are about 4 of us 7s (that I know of so far) who are staying, and that's a comforting thought. It's going to be good. It's going to be hard. Never one to take the easy road, I'm looking forward to the challenge....

Lahic

2011-08-16T13:18:00.001-04:00

After a clearly depressing two weeks (see many previous posts), it was time for a break. The side effects of the antibiotics had worn down…it seemed…and so I headed to Ismayilli to meet Matt, and from there we went to a little village in Lahic.

Lahic is an old little village, tucked beyond winding roads and rocky mountain passes. I have no doubt that it would be nearly impossible – if not lethal – to try and make this journey in bad weather. We got lucky because it was sunny, and the temperature was just right.

After a cramped ride in a small melon-filled vehicle from a Lahic villager, we arrived in a very medieval looking town. Narrow cobblestone streets, flanked by mid-sized buildings with wooden doors and balconies and dark iron work. Doors open to shops filled with handmade crafts, and even a few guys more than happy to let you try on some “Azeri cultural clothing” and take a picture (for at least a manat, of course…).
We stayed at a guesthouse near the mosque, run by a fantastic gentleman named Ibrahim. He showed us to a quaint room with a lovely balcony, and offered us whatever we needed. We spent the afternoon walking the city, talking on the balcony, and then had dinner. He was kind enough to let us buy our own food and use the kitchen to cook, and the whole time he was standing over me, making sure I prepared everything right. He insisted on checking to see if the potatoes were properly fried, and warned me about the “microbes” on tomatoes if I didn’t wash them. Before heading to bed, he assured us if there was anything else we needed, he’d be more than happy to provide it.

The next morning we made breakfast, and met Ibrahim’s friend Iktiyar, who continued to try and persuade Matt to do shots of vodka with him. (It was 10am). He asked Matt for permission to offer me a shot (they thought we were married, if you’re going to offer anything to a woman, you must ask her husband…so…). Naturally I cut in, and for once, the antibiotics proved to be a good excuse. (Though of course this turned into a discussion about the benefits of natural medicine, and Ibrahim assured me that he could cure me in one week with his herbal tea, where it takes my Western Antibiotics two weeks…).

After breakfast we hiked up the river to a waterfall, which, honestly, was less than impressive. So we hiked to above the waterfall and hung out there for a while. Back to the guesthouse for lunch, and then, as Ibrahim had promised, he arranged for us to go horseback riding.

There was some confusion at first, because Ibrahim assumed we knew how to ride, and was just going to give us a couple of horses. Since this was not the case (I haven’t been on a horse since girl scout camp), Ibrahim’s idea of arranging a guided tour was to convince two local boys, who seemed to have nothing better to do, to humor us by letting us ride their horses around. So our two guides, Seymour (think Adrian Grenier type), and Kid with a Cowboy Hat (he had some ‘tude…loved him) took us to ride their horses Qafqaz (Azeri for Caucasus) and Demir (Azeri for Iron) up into the mountains.
It was so much fun. They didn’t give up the reigns so much at first, just leading us up and letting us look. The view of the mountains was beautiful, and you could see villages that go even past Lahic. We went up to an apple orchard and took a rest there, and then Matt and I switched horses for the ride home.

This is where the crazy began. At this point, Seymour and Kid with a Cowboy Hat seemed to think we were pros, and they just let us go. Which was great, until both of our horses took off at full gallop, and I wasn’t really sure how to stop Qafqaz. Fortunately, I knew to stand up when the horse is running, (though I still think I bruised my tailbone a bit), and he seemed to eventually understand my request to stop. I was a little scared for my life there…just a bit…

After the ride we had dinner, and the next day, when the Peace Corps salary ran out, it was time to go home. Being outside, being active, being relaxed, was really just what I needed. I headed out sad it was over, but re-energized as well…I knew the next few weeks were only going to get hectic once again…

International Youth Day

2011-08-16T13:11:00.002-04:00

August 12 has been named International Youth Day by the UN, and because yours truly and her siteys are so awesome, we were invited down to Baku to help the UNDPI with their big youth day event.

We hopped on an early morning marsh (Trey had to sit in a stool in the aisle), and got into Baku early afternoon. We headed over to SOS Children’s Village youth house to begin the event.
SOS Children’s Village takes in orphaned children, and while the main village is outside of Baku, a Youth House is in the city for older students. There are also perks for “graduates” of the village, like a resource center in town and continuing guidance. It’s a really great program, and the UNDPI branch of Baku chose them to host the event.

The old PC housing coordinator now works for the UNDPI, and when she heard about our arts camp, called us up and asked us to come down and organize an art project for the students to do, to kick of the event.

We arrived, and immediately got to work. This year’s theme is “Change the World,” and the focus of the last year of programming has been about dialogue and communication. We opened with a discussion about art, what art is, what art styles exist, etc, and also discussed how art can be a form of communication, and can be used as a means to express a difficult or lofty idea.

We gave each kid a square of construction paper, and told them to draw from one of two prompts:
1) What is one small think you can do to change the world?
2) If you could send a message to a world leader, what would you say?

They got to drawing, and it was really inspiring to see the kind of independent ideas they had, and the sheer skill they had in sketching. As they finished, we took each square and compiled them into a quilt of sorts, to hang in the Youth House.

It looked bomb. I drew the middle square based on this year’s logo and theme, and the rest was the kids!

After that, there were speeches and introductions by participating organizations, UNDPI, OSCE, Save the Children, SOS Children’s Village, us (!). Then we went upstairs for a concert prepared by the youth.

There was music and lip-syncing, but what got me most was the dancing. Most Azeri dancing is cultural, and very formulaic. The two pieces we saw were modern, lyrical, and told a story, or dealt with an idea. The first was a young girl in a white dress, and it seemed through the piece she was discovering her identity, and becoming a strong woman. The second presented two girls dressed identically, facing the audience, seemingly mirroring each other. At one point, their lives split, and you can see as one girl chooses a path of study and moral fortitude, while the other gets corrupted by drugs, alcohol and rock and roll (yeah, rock and roll…). At one point in the dance, both girls seemed to be walking and they came to a door. For the one girl, the door opened at a simple turn. For the other, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get it open.

I was really proud we got to be part of this event, and proud to meet such intelligent, creative youth. I have no doubt that any one of these kids will be able to open any door placed in front of them.

Cabin Fever

2011-08-06T04:29:00.003-04:00

Literally. The temperature has been consistently above 100 this week, and I've been losing my $#@!.

When I woke up to the rain this morning it was like the fever was breaking. I'm finally relieved and rational enough to blog about it.

From past blogs, you'll note, coming back was not so fun, and I was/am having some adjustment issues. I've been sick on and off probably since March, and so upon my return Dr. Sevinj asked me to come in for some tests.

Dr. Sevinj is a rock star. But having a camera attached to a tube shoved down your throat is never fun.

So when I got the meds she prescribed me, I was relieved. Only to be afflicted by fever and nausea and vomiting on the first day of taking them.

These symptoms suck anyway, but when your body temperature matches the temperature outside, and the only relief you have is a fan and ice cubes...life sucks. The minutes just creep by...leaving me to lie in bed and either a) watch the entire Human Planet series (which is bomb and I'm obsessed with by the way) or b) stress out and worry about your future and your life and your friends (who either seem terriby far away, or are dealing with their own kind of crazy). When I wasn't doing a, I was doing b. And repeat.

I was lucky in that it passed, and now the 6 pill a day regimen I'm on for the next 11 days doesn't seem like a death sentence. (I swear these drugs were still manufactured by the devil - until they actually work. Then I'll get back to you). So I went out yesterday (because my home, once a place of sanctuary, started to seem like a prison. The little trinkets and reminders of home seemed to mock me, saying "You're not here! Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" And the GMAT book just looked so big...), went to Zaqatala to see friends which was exactly what I needed.

I now understand how they say loneliness can legitimately affect your health, and make you lose your mind. Solitary confinement anyone?

Though yesterday had its own kind of crazy, when first off, I apparently realized I'm a VERY interesting person, because I discovered some strange rumors floating around about me. One I won't get into for personal reasons, the other, I discovered from a neighbor girl on the way home.

Girl: "Sen kocurubsen?" (Meaning literally, "Have you moved?" In AZ, when this is asked to a girl, it means, "Have you moved into your husband's home?"
Me: "WHAT?!" (and here I'll switch to English because I don't know how to type Azeri characters).
Girl: "Yes, did you get married? I have heard this."
Me: "Uhh, nooo...not that I know of. Still single!" (I say with a helpless sort of shrug)

I'm assuming (hoping) that this is just a misinterpretation of "Stephanie went to America for a wedding." But you never really know...

Fortunately, the cabin fever/depression went from bouts of sobbing on Weds/Thurs, and hit the point of absurdity with these rumors, so now it all just seems funny.

Also, it's cooler, and somehow that's inspired me to take a rainy day work day and actually figure some stuff out in regards to grad school. Productivity. Always a good distraction.

This is also a good distraction, and will give you sort of an idea about how I've been feeling lately.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-bbbQDjkTY

I don't know why there are subtitles...

What's Love Got to Do With It?

2011-08-01T02:59:00.006-04:00

One of the first books I read in country was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Generally I liked it. If you aren't familiar, it is her personal story of coming to terms with a difficult divorce, while travelling and trying to find herself.

What she finds along the way, is a Brazilian man named Felipe. They fall in love. Book ends.

Book doesn't end though, as both of them have survived difficult divorces, they pledge to never marry. Which generally wouldn't be an issue, until the Dept. of Homeland Security devides to never let Felipe into the country again.

So, their only option, if they want to live in America, is - to get married.

Leave it to Elizabeth Gilbert to be faced with a challenge and spend many months and an entire book obsessing about the issue.

Hmm. Sounds like something I would do.

So, cut to me coming home and my mother handing me a copy of the book Committed.(My Mom's been working on it since December, I devoured it in about a week).

Note: My mother tried to convince me to read the book by citing a passage that stated why men and women get married, and the benefits to each of them . Turns out the benefits are largely skewed in favor of the man, in that married men live longer lives, make more money, are less prone to depression and alcoholism, and are less likely to die a violent death. In all instances the OPPOSITE is true for women. Married women do not live longer, they make less money, are more prone to depression and alcoholism, and are more likely to die a violent death (more often than not at the hands of their husbands). Thanks Mom, for pointing this out to me. Are you trying to tell me something?

It's enough to say I enjoyed the book, but not just because I went to a friend's wedding back home, and one of the first things I did after coming back was go to an Azeri toy (wedding).

I was struck most by her discussion of choice. Gilbert introduces the paradox of how in society after society, the moment marriage is allowed to be based on choice, and love and freedom of intention, the divorce rate skyrockets. How is it that arranged marriages end in less divorce?

Turns out, arranged marriages are usually arranged with the support of the entire community. Usually these matches are based on financial stability, the merging of land or funds, or tend to be more pleasing to the community as a whole, and therefore have more investment from others. (This isnt to say these marriages are necessarily happier - it is possible in these cases couples are locked in a state of unhappiness because they aren't allowed to divorce...but we'll shelve that point for a moment).

In the society I've grown up in, I've always been told to wait for the right moment, to wait for love, and to choose when I am ready. This makes the choice to marry ultimately personal, making it that much harder for outsiders to support and have a share in my personal commitment. At the same time, when the power is left to me, it gives me a choice. When there is a choice, when there is more than one possible option, there is ultimately anxiety. Anxiety that I will make the wrong choice, anxiety that the path I choose will turn out to be less satisfying than the other path (or paths) I could have gone down.

Cut to 15 years down the road, when all that white-knight stuff has faded away, and you're left with this man sitting across from you drinking coffee, and you think, "What if..." Dissatisfaction (maybe) begins to grow. Some relationships make it through, and for a million varied reasons, some relationships dont.

Note: I grew up in a loving family, and my parents just celebrated 25 (generally) blissful years of marriage together. I know nothing about divorce, I know nothing about the kind of pain it can cause having to make that decision, and the guilt and sorrow that must come along with it. I will never pretend to know, and I hope I never will know. But unfortunately, I can't be sure. I'm just trying to talk about trends. And culture.

I was taught that I am entitled to happiness, and I shouldn't settle for anything less. It's no wonder that when things get tough, I look for ways to fix it. I was also taught that love is real, love is true, and that I deserve to be loved unconditionally.

I think it boils down to expectations, and choice.

You make a choice. If your expectations are unrealistic, whatever choice you made will never be satisfying.

Sometimes, I look at my own future and see too many choices, and too many possibilities for disappointment. (I also have slightly depressive tendencies, which according to a recent TIME article means I am able to more realistically forecast my future than optimists. That's a sad statistic). But then I step back and I look at some Azeri women who don't have a choice. Whose expectations are likely more realistic than the average American bride...and I wonder.

The divorce rates here are very low, because divorce is stigmatized and second weddings (for women at least) are basically unheard of. But there's always a price. Low divorce rate could signify better external support systems for couples (from th family and from the community), and couples more willing to work it out and accomodate each other. But it could also mean more unhappy marriages. I suppose in America, the price we pay for the freedom to love who we want and how we want, and to chase after our own happiness, we have to accept that sometimes, we're going to want a way out.

Marriage is a very social contract, and the more we have personalized our choices, the harder it is to allow marriage to be something that the community is part of. Maybe that's why marriage is on the decline in America.

If I've learned anything from living in a society with strange rules and customs, and trying to maintain my own relationship in this foreign place, i've learned that it's personal, and it's a choice. And with that, comes the beautiful freedom to write your own rules, and your own story.

And whatever the sacrifice, I will always choose to have that freedom.

And here we go again...

2011-07-31T02:54:00.003-04:00

My father arrived in Dubai.

He got off the plane, the driver picked him up, and call to prayer started.

Driver promptly left him alone for a few minutes so he could go do namaze.

Welcome to a Muslim country, Daddy.

Ramadan starts tonight (or so I've been told), also, a great time to show up in an Islamic society. People in Azerbaijan are more socially conservative than they are religious, so if it is like last year, I doubt I'll see much change because of the holiday. But in the UAE, stuff shuts down.

Though it is damn hot. My electricity bill is going to be ridiculous because all I do is run my fan, 24/7. This baby is getting a good work out.

Being back at site has been nice - good to be in my house. Even though I came home and it looked like someone had robbed me. No no, my landlady had shown up, and 'cleaned' and rearranged things how she saw fit.

Whatever.

Everything seems to still be here. Generally.

I haven't done any clubs yet (we don't do much on the weekends), but I saw two of my girls and we have softball tonight - and I'm super excited to see everyone's faces.

It's strange to be back, especially since I've arrived as a lot of crazy is going on around me. Not crazy happening to me, just going on around me, and it is hard not to internalize all of it. I had a lot of realizations when I was home, one being that I think I've gotten most of what I want out of this experience. Personally, at least, I feel like I've achieved what I set out to do. There's some big stuff in the next few months, and if I have to leave in December, it'll be a fine way to go.

*note: I almost wrote, "if I have to go home in Dec," but then I realized that I wouldn't be going home. I'd be starting something else...it's odd to constantly be checking and revising your vocabulary, and the things you've been saying for months on end...

I don't think it's news to anyone at this point that I'm considering extending, and I'll find out in the next 2 weeks if Peace Corps has approved me to stay.

That's one of those things I'm getting used to. Sitting in my uncertainty. It's not fun, I don't like it, but I'm used to it.

It's hot. I don't like the heat. I miss air conditioning. And, you know, my family and friends. Them too. :)

2011-07-25T13:30:00.001-04:00

I’m having a complicated relationship with adjectives.

Namely, that I can’t find the right one. Or I seem to be using/hearing the same few over and over again:

Crazy
different
exciting
interesting

Those are the only four things people keep saying about my life.

I mean, I’ve never thought about myself as special, or unique. I’m just an only child who grew up in a predominantly white, relatively affluent, suburb of Cleveland. Except for a few minor, recent, developments.

I’m in the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan. As I’m thinking about moving on and coming home, my parents are moving to Dubai.

Huh?

America was amazing. Before leaving AZ, I dreaded going home mainly because I knew it would be so hard to leave. And today, it was so hard to leave.

My friends at the wedding almost had me convinced not to go. Angela’s sleepy voice this morning (the first thing I heard):
Stephy?
Yeah?
Don’t go…

Coming home made me realize just how much I gave up to be a PC volunteer. I know I’ve said this before, about going to London and Vienna and Istanbul, you see the modern world and look at the technology you’ve missed, you eat food that you haven’t seen in a while, and you enjoy some social freedoms you gave up to be here.

But this week I went home and stepped back into my old life. And got a glimpse of what I could be if I were there.

And you know what? I liked it.

Perspective. It put things in perspective for me. It’s easy to sit in my house in Balaken and get caught up in the little things, be absorbed by all the worries and the stresses of living in Azerbaijan, get bogged down by the stares and the questions. But going home helped me remember where I came from. What I’ve achieved. And what my life used to look like. And what my life can and will look like when all this is over.

Unfortunately, I’m childish and want it all right now. Friends. Closeness. Stability.
I missed a lot in these 22 months. I missed weddings, births, deaths, developments. My friends have grown into beautiful , independent people with real lives and jobs. My cousin is so much taller, smart as a whip, and totally into Harry Potter…we had great conversations. But through them I also got to see how much I’ve grown too. The person I was two years ago is, I’m thrilled to say, not the person I am now. But that didn’t stop me from jumping back into life at home like no time had passed. That’s how I know the relationships are true. After however many years, I was still invited to be part of one of the most romantic and personal weddings I’ve ever seen. I picked up old conversations like we just hung up the phone, inside jokes are still funny, only now they’ve got a different feel to them.

As expected, I cried my share of the time during my friend’s wedding ceremony (and I was a bridesmaid, so it wasn’t a secret), but I held it together for the most part. That is, until the reception. My friends are music majors, and the chorale gathered together again to perform an acapella song called, “Hear My Prayer.” I stood there, listening to the voices, hugging my best friend, and suddenly, it all caught up with me. All the big, crazy, exciting changes in my life…and everything that I’ve had to miss out on to enjoy them. And I do miss singing. It was ok though, knowing what I have created in PC. But what got me was the slow song that came next, when my Dad asked me to dance. I haven’t danced with him probably since the Girl Scout Father Daughter Dance in middle school. Thinking about him embarking on this adventure to Dubai (him being the guy who never left America until last summer when I made him and Mom meet me in Istanbul), my mom staying in Westlake until she closes up her practice, and me going to Az the next day (staying for who knows how long) was just too much to take. The life that I had so comfortably slipped back into in Ohio was there just as long as I was. It’s Sunday, and my Dad is moving Thursday. The timing couldn’t have been better, for me to give one last little goodbye to things the way I always knew them.

I guess I should be thankful that every time I leave a place it's really hard for me. It means I have a lot of great ties, in a lot of great places. But right now, there's a lot up in the air.

Everything is changing. It’s exciting. It’s scary.

It’s crazy.

Dear America, Remember Me?

2011-07-18T17:28:00.004-04:00

I thought once I left Azerbaijan people would stop trying to marry me off to their sons.

The manager at Original Pancake House fixed that one for me.

I used to dress cute.

I'm eating a lot, but somehow, the food isn't as good as I had built it up to be in my mind. I'm making a homecooked meal tonight that miraculously resembles something I'd make in my Azeri kitchen. Add asparagus and avacado.

The beer is as good as I remember. Thank you Market Brewery 6-tastes flight.

The community theater is still there. Some of the faces are new, some of the faces are old. The Pizza Hut is an El Senor crappy mexican restaurant. My bedroom is there, but looks like a posh hotel room. The yellow walls and black bedding contrast more now without the vases of sunflowers and childhood trinkets. Oh yeah, and there is a baseball player living in my bedroom now too. I get to sleep in the guest room. The house smells like artificial fresh and is impeccably clean. The lawns are all too well manicured to be real. Everyone is on their cell phones all the time, I find myself frustrated when my friends in AZ don't text back within the hour, whereas my US friends seemed to be glued to their phones.

PC feels like a dream. I think this is what Alice felt like when she climbed out of the rabbit hole.

I'm back, and I fit in like nothing. But in the back of my mind images of camping trips and Azeri kids playing softball dance around and nag at me like small children seeking attention. I tell my stories, and my friends dutifully listen and nod and respond at the appropriate times. But they've moved on. My friend's are getting married for goodness sake, I'm just honored to be involved.

It's great to be home. It sucks too. I suppose it just comes with the job.

Balakan Arts Camp: Epilogue

2011-07-17T13:25:00.005-04:00

I couldn't have asked for it to go better.

It was the perfect storm of planned chaos.

I planned like crazy. Knowing that my plan would fall to shambles at one point or another.

We had:

(at least) 4 people throw up (*all counselors)
One back injury
One twisted ankle
One child need medical attention (just some scrapes)
One girl back out of the showcase due to stage fright
One belly-flop competition into a kiddie pool in my back yard
One epic game of softball (yeah my team won. Thanks to Resul's awesome pitching)
One stage-combat brawl in Heydar Park (the kids started it, I swear I didn't prompt that one)

Friday and Saturday, Jake, Bailey and I did a ton of running around to buy materials, prep the space, prep for registration, and thanks to Loki's help, screen print 64 t-shirts to be tie-dyed on Monday. Sunday was a pre-camp training for our Azeri counterparts, just to get them in the right state of mind.

Monday: Writing and Dance. Dance was a big hit as Clarissa and Lori decided to teach LMFAO's Party Rock Shuffle. Summer. Anthem. 2011. Writing was great, day one just had the kids decorating their notebooks and talking about story writing. Break time saw us tie-dying t-shirts...and no one could wait to unwravel their shirts and see what the creation looked like!

Tuesday: Writing and Dance. Dance was a continuation of the day before, and saw the addition of salsa. In writing the kids began to write their own dramas. Tuesday night, volunteers went to the park for an awesome dinner and a ride on the dragon! Tuesday's break time was more arts and crafts and sports. Friendship bracelets are (as expected) the big hit, but the fortune-telling cootie catchers are also a real winner!

Wednesday: Music and Photography. Trey led the kids on a walk around Balaken after teaching the basics of photography. Matt took over Music and did a Music Around the World lesson, exposing the kids to different styles of music, limbo, and even having them make their own instruments. Today's break was more arts and crafts, and blowing stuff up. Try putting a couple mentos into a 1L bottle of diet coke. Just try it...

Thursday: Music and Photography. Trey took the kids out again and had them do some slightly more advanced photo-taking (not just pictures of themselves), and Matt taught the kids some American and Azeri favorites, like Five Little Ducks, and Running Scared. Today was our last day of arts and crafts at break, and there was still plenty to do!

Friday: Visual Art and Drama. Mike and Erika helped the kids make salt dough and did some stop motion animation with them, while I led Drama. We played some basic drama games, and then with the little kids we made paper bag puppets, and then to the older kids I taught some basic stage combat (hair/ear pull, slap, punch, throw/fall). Today was the epic Balaken Arts Camp Olympics, where three teams competed in approximately 6 different competitions to bring home the Championship. The Yellow Team of Trinidad and Tobago took it home after the final competition - the Egg Drop. (This is also where yours truly twisted her ankle by falling into a hidden 10-inch hole in the lawn. My team won though, so it was worth it!) AFter camp the counselors came back to my house for a picnic, and that's where the kiddie pool and some creative kitchen/bar skills came out. We met all the kids in the park after, and played games, rode rides, and ate ice cream!

Saturday: Visual Art and Drama. Today in Visual they made picture frames and did other arts and crafts, and in Drama we worked on preparing skits for that night's showcase. At 6pm we invited parents, teachers, neighbors, siblings, and even one of the heads of the ministry to see what we had worked on all week. The reception was amazing, and everyone was thrilled!

Again, I cant begin to explain how thrilled I was that this camp went so well. Some people have had criticisms for it being too structured, but all I can say is that for a camp this size, with this specific of goals, it just had to be. I think of myself as lucky that in my site, I can do something this big, this expansive, and expect this much out of my kids and fellow PCVs. I want to thank all the kids for their enthusiasm and their effort, all the PCVs for their dedication and energy, and all the people in America who sent us materials and money. It wouldn't have worked without every piece of the puzzle. Thanks!!

Next stop: America!

Balaken Arts Camp: Prologue

2011-06-25T10:30:00.002-04:00

Today was one of those really productive days, where I didn't even leave my house.

After running around Zaqatala yesterday trying to find and build a contraption for screen printing, we succesfully brought it home last night, and used it today to screen print 64 t-shirts.

Yes, 64 shirts.

It is pretty satisfying, seeing 64 shirts neatly folded on the bed, all with the design I drew saying "Balakan Arts Camp 2011" printed on them. Some of them took on a horror movie feel, as the screen built up paint, and the letters look like they're running a little bit. It's ok, we've got some emo kids. But they do look great. White shirts with black print, and then Monday we'll tie-dye them. Them and my new cheap fake converse tennis shoes I bought at the bazar...the ones that say "ALL SPRT" Yeah, I don't know either.

The SPA Grant money is in. I've already had a few freak outs about whether or not I had misplaced money, but in each instance it turned out I forgot I had given somebody some cash for something or other. As of right now, I still know how to do math, and I haven't screwed anything up yet.

Materials have been purchased and sorted. I've gone through our boxes of donations to come up with project ideas (including God's eyes and friendship bracelets, hand puppets and picture frames), and then bought more stuff when needed (like for a variety of science experiments we are doing: mentos and coke, a volcano, etc etc).

Applications are in. We've got about 30 confirmed, and we're planning on a few day-of registrations, so we're hoping for 40 kids.

Tomorrow we're training our Azerbaijani counterparts. Bailey's put together a nice neat little training that I'm hoping people will show up to and will learn something from.

All that needs to happen now is for the kids to show up on Monday at 9am.

It's been a stressful week - but this is the kind of stress I thrive on, because at the end I'll know I have something to show for it. This camp is sort of like my baby...if it goes off well...well, I'll be one happy camper.

The Top 9 Roles I'd Drop Anything to Play

2011-06-23T04:18:00.002-04:00

I'm coming to terms with not acting all the time, and I know that somewhere in my future I will again - on some little community stage somewhere. And that's ok with me. But there are a few roles, that I swear, if given the chance, I'd drop anything to play.

9 - Louise from Stage Door by Edna Ferber

I had the chance to play this in high school, but didn't because I was auditioning for college programs and, like any high school senior, doing way more than I should have. Louise is a budding actress in the 1930s, relocated from a small town to a boarding house in NYC with a million other girls, trying to find her big break. I love Louise's courage, and her dedication to the stage. The way she's willing to step down, and let the play go on without her.

Best Quote: "I suppose that's the kind of girl I am - you know - rather live in a garret with her true love than dwell in a palace with old moneybags."

8 - Isabella from Measure for Measure

I think she's the only ingenue in Shakespeare that doesn't get tripped up by a man. She's a nun, and comes into play when her brother is sentenced to death for sleeping with his fiancee before they are engaged (the duke "left" only to go undercover and spy on the people, leaving a fanatic in charge - a fanatic who tries to get Isabella to sleep with him to pardon her brother). She sticks to her guns, and sticks to God, which makes this part really difficult to play now.

7 - Lola from Damn Yankees

I did get to play this part in high school, and it is probably the most fun I have ever had working on a production. Joe Hardy sells his soul to the devil in order to get his team to win the World Series, and Lola is the devil's temptress brought in to distract Joe when he begins to miss his wife. Lola's got some fierce dance numbers (which maybe once in my life I could've pulled off), and a really complicated character. Eventually, she falls for Joe, and helps him get out of his deal with the devil. When we played it, my Joe was Mormon, and our stage kiss was his first kiss ever. My second...so I guess we're almost even!

6 - Ophelia from Hamlet

Hamlet is pretty much my favorite play ever, and every time I read it I find something new. I played Ophelia in college, and had a blast, but I know there were many things I wasn't able to achieve in the rehearsal process and in production. I think it's easy to play Ophelia as passive and meek, but I think if she were just that, she never would have gone mad. She would've just been depressed. Her madness (I believe) comes from some force of will that is smothered by her environment. And no, I won't tell you whether or not I think she kills herself.

5 - Millie from Thoroughly Modern Millie

Small town girl, rolls up in NYC, looking not for love or fame, but money. Her goal is to get a job as a secretary and marry her boss, marry up, and live every day the high and fancy life. This was the first modern musical I fell in love with, and I remember when I went to see it in 2002, I started to tear up at the Overture (curtain hadn't even opened yet.) It's campy, it's silly, but it still resonates somehow.

Favorite Quotes: "Burn the bridge, bet the store, baby's comin' home, no more...not for the life of me!" and "Pin my future on a green glass love..."

4 - Lady Macbeth from Macbeth

Power. Madness. War. Passion. Need I say more? It's every actress' dream (I'm convinced), and hey, I haven't passed the age to play this one yet!

3 - Catherine from Proof by David Auburn

As the play opens, we see Catherine talking to her father. As the scene goes on, we realize her father has passed away a few days before. In her father's last years, his mathematical genius deteriorated into madness, and with Catherine's intellectual gift may come the same curse. The play is her struggling against visions of her father, and her own fears about her future, as well as solving a mathematical proof that many years of mathematicians could not solve. I love this play and I love this role. I get her connection to her father, and her feelings of isolation.

2 - Eurydice in Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl

Every time I read this play I cry. When I saw this play, I cried. It's beautiful. I played Eurydice in a play about various myths in college, and in my research came across this piece by Sarah Ruhl. It's a re-invention of the story. We see Eurydice in the Underworld, where she struggles to regain her memories of her life before, with her relationship with Orpheus (her true love and a renowned musician) and with her father (a man who cares very deeply for her). We see the two men send letters to her in the Underworld, and Eurydice try and deal with being where she is - and whether or not she chooses to keep these memories and long for them, or forget them and be happy. The prose is elegant (and terribly difficult to act).

1 - Kate Monster/Lucy the Slut from Avenue Q

Still such a good show, and I think it would be amazing to be in. Kate is a kindergarden teacher living on Avenue Q when Princeton shows up and steals her heart. The actress who plays Kate also plays Lucy, the stripper at the local bar who seduces Princeton. Not only would it be killer to alternate between these two opposing characters, but you get to manipulate puppets onstage, and sing some pretty bomb songs.

Favorite Quotes: "Yeah, they're real." - Lucy and "You never know til you've reached the top if it was worth the uphill climb. There's a fine fine line between love, and a waste of your time." - Kate

Don't get me wrong, there are a MILLION other roles I'd love to play, but these are the ones that really get to me, and really have a hook.

4 cities. 2 countries. Not enough days.

2011-06-20T12:06:00.004-04:00

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

Dumb. But I love it.

I just got home from our trip, home to find the house just as messy as I'd left it, and feeling like I'd hardly left it at all. The vacation-bubble burst the second I hit my gate to find two bills tucked in the door. Time to dive into the icy cold pool of reality...

We started in Tbilisi, from there we headed to Batumi, then we crossed into Turkey through Trabzon, and hopped a flight to Istanbul. I arrived in Tbilisi at 3am this morning, slept - wait - tried to sleep in the airport, and ended up lying there for four hours til the train started running and we could get into the city.

Just finished my take away xacapuri in a futile attempt to hang on. Laundry's on the line, and paperwork to be done. I'm exhausted, which never helps the emotional side of coming back to life here. It's strange, if it is so hard to come back, why do you? If it is so hard to come back, why do you want to stay longer?

Maybe I'm sadistic? No...definitely not that. It's because I do love it here, but going to the outside world makes me realize how much I'm giving up to be here. A lot of freedoms, a lot of luxuries, a lot of comforts...you realize again that the life you are leading really is a lot harder than most of your friends have it.

Normalcy is not something I ever thought I would crave.

But on a happier note, it was a wonderful trip. I'm typically a planner, but Matt insisted that we just go and see what happens. We did, and as predicted, it all worked out perfectly. There were too many highlights to do any of them justice here, but really, the vacation was great, and it was really hard to leave.

But all good things must come to an end (who ever said that was right, but still should be punched), and at least I have a full load of work to throw myself into. Normal day of clubs tomorrow, camp starts next week (why I planned a trip right before camp still boggles my mind...idiot...), and there is plenty to do. It's 9:30, I'm running on about 3 hours of sleep (generous estimate) and I think it is time for bed.

A Stormy Spring

2011-06-09T08:59:00.002-04:00

I feel like whenever I sit down to write, I want to start every post with, "Things have been crazy since I last wrote." Or "I've been so busy, I can't believe it's already MonthX" or whatever.

But generally, every time I sit down to write it's true.

And the storms have been epic. Pretty much every night, just as the sun sets, the clouds roll in, and in it comes the rain and the thunder and the lightning...it's always a great show.

I can't believe it's June, and another year of school is behind me. At this point, it is interesting to see how my priorities have changed since last year, and how my outlook is just, well, different.

The past few weeks have been emotionally torrential, both up and down, for all sorts of reasons, but suffice it to say it's been exciting and I think we're in the clear.

Work wise, my life has been beautiful. We finished school, we took our softball team on a field trip to Danaci to play another team (the team never showed up - our kids just said, "They were afraid of us!" so we went to the park and ate ice cream and rode old carnival rides), we went to the Internat school (a school for underpriveleged kids, including orphans and refugees) to donate clothing we had spent weeks collecting (I even got an invitation to go back and teach there next year!), we received our SPA grant for the Arts Camp, and clubs have just been booming.

Personally, things have been odd...I spend a lot more of my time now with my male sitemates, and so gender restrictions that I never noticed before are much more glaring. Also, they're 8s, so they are thinking about completely different things, while I'm spending my time trying to think about what to do Post-PC, where I'll go, when I'll go, etc etc. And I don't HAVE to know, but I have to know if I want to go to grad school, because if I want to do that I have to take the GMAT, and if I have to take the GMAT I have to start studying NOW...yeah, that's my mind set. I don't really want to deal with any of it. But it doesn't help when you are surrounded by some people who keep asking what you want to do and where you want to go, and then others ask when you are leaving and the look in their eyes just begs you to stay. I've realized what I want, really, is to go back to America, and just take everybody with me. Or bring my life and my luxuries and my comforts from America to my place in Balaken, and keep working here. But you can't always get what you want...

I don't enjoy being mean to children...

2011-05-25T10:50:00.003-04:00

I swear, I don't. I really do like kids, but sometimes, you gotta be mean.

It's the last week of school, my counterpart is worried about making the gradebook look perfect, my kids don't want to learn, and they all come up to me, shouting, 'a game! a game!'

So, I try to make it educational.

One 6th former: "Your heart is like ice. It is the last days of school. We want another game!"

Punk.

So, I forced him to suffer through the educational bit.

The kids have stopped coming, and it really is pointless for me to go. I go anyway, to see the few who have come run through the halls and pick flowers in the courtyard. I'll go tomorrow to collect the posters I've hung in my room...I can't believe the year's already over. You'd think it would slow down for me, but I see no sign of it letting up in the near future.

Softball is in full swing, and though we're still at a loss for money, we've arranged a trip on Monday to go to a village in Zaqatala to play a game. The kids are really excited, and so am I. They're getting better...today, in an hour, we played a full four innings (and could have probably played another). As opposed to an hour, with barely two innings, each inning getting at least 6 runs, and hardly any outs. There is improvement, it's amazing to see.

On top of that, we're prepping for our First Ever Balaken Arts Camp, which is hugely stressful and exciting all at the same time. I feel like it's kind of my baby...I'm way invested, and I hope it goes well. Unfortunately, we only have 30 slots for kids...which means when at least 30 are coming to softball each week, and upwards of 40 are coming to clubs...we have to draw the line. Too many times this week I've had to single kids out, and pull them off to the side. Of course when that happens their three friends follow them, and I have to say, "Is your name Sevinj? No. Then go away." And I don't enjoy that.

But, so far, I think we're putting together a group of our 30 best kids, and it's going to be awesome. We've got about 12 other PCVs from other regions committed, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the grant we wrote will come through. If it doesn't, camp will still happen thanks to the AMAZING donations from my friends and family back home.

And of course, personally, I'm trying to get ready for a trip to Georgia and Turkey - 2 weeks before camp. (Yeah, I'm a REAL good planner). I really need a vacation. For some reason, I've been feeling like I've been under a lot of pressure lately - pressure to perform, to be a certain way, to deliver certain things...and I'm just tired. I think a change of scenery is just what I need right now.

Life is One Big Beautiful Improvisation

2011-05-15T11:53:00.003-04:00

When my parents came, they brought me Tina Fey's new book, Bossypants.

Now, I think anyone who knows me knows that Tina Fey is kinda my idol. And the book, though interesting, isn't anything amazing, but she does go into her time at Second City, an Improv Group in Chicago.

Her stories remind me of my own improv classes at the local community theater, and at NYU. I remember the first Improv class I ever took, learning the Rules of Improv, and dilligently writing them down in my little notebook.

What I didn't realize at the time, is not only are they great rules for Improv, but they're great rules for life.

The Rules of Improv

Rule #1: Agree and say YES. Always say YES. The scene will fall dead if you walk in and say, "What a lovely Cruise Ship we're on" and I say, "No, we're on the moon." That'd be stupid.

Rule #2: Don't only say YES, say YES, AND. Add something. "What a lovely cruise ship." "I know, did you see the pool of jell-o on the starboard side?" Your contributions are always worthwhile, no matter how silly they might sound in your own head.

Rule #3: Make Statements, Don't Ask Questions. If I keep asking, "Where are we?" "Who am I?" I'm putting all the pressure on you to make up the scene. Maybe You say, "What a lovely cruise ship" and I say "Especially for two convicted jewel thieves." Boom. Scene.

Rule #4: There are no mistakes, only opportunities. (That one was quoted from Tina). Fine, I say something really, really, REALLY dumb. Let's go with it, see just how dumb we can get, and that's gonna be really, really, REALLY funny.

I was always terrible at improv, probably because I was spending so much time writing in my little notebook...now I'm just trying not to be terrible at life...;-)

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 5

2011-05-15T00:38:00.003-04:00

Georgian Pilgrimage.

I remember the first year Lori took us to this, she sort of invited us along the lines of, “there's this Georgian holiday thing, I guess we hike to a church and have a picnic, I don't know, should be fun...” So we went and fell in love. Ive been to every one since, and I hope to continue the tradition.

This year we were actually up and out ON TIME (shocking!), with bags packed of dishes, silverware, potato salad, pasta salad, tons of bread, wine, and pork for kebabs. (The veggie kebab stuff didn't make it...oh well...). Four taxis got all the Americans to Kurmuk Kilse (Kurmuk Church) in Qax, a contested Georgian Church/Albanian Temple. (We're talking old stuff here in the mountains of the Caucasus, everyone has a slightly different idea of who all of it belonged to...). Either way, it's now a little church situated on the hillside. You hike up to the church, and this time I went barefoot. If you have an intention, an illness, or something to pray for, you hike barefoot and it will be granted. Mine has yet to be granted, but I'm being patient...

You hike up, circle the church three times, and then go in and light candles. Off to the side there is a big rock, which also has special significance, and you can get even to the top of that for the most beautiful view of the valley below. You see all sorts at this pilgrimage, Georgians from Qax, Georgians from Tbilisi, Azerbaijanis, Norwegians (there's a contingent in Sheki), and of course now, Americans!

After we hiked, we came back down and I made Dad go all boyscout and help set up the fire for the Kebabs. Him, Jake, Trey, and James were more than content to do the bro thing and stand around and watch it burn. I don't get that...Mom and I laid out the picnic stuff, and just people watched for a bit. Then we ate, and I turned my back for just one second, and my parents were guestnapped by a neighboring Georgian family.

Thankfully, Dad was in a bright red shirt, so I found him and Mom easily, now with wine in their hands, toasting with this family. Apparently, one of the kids was a student of Lori's, and they had called them all over and insisted they share some food and drink together. We hopped from family to family for about 15 minutes, and finally I introduced Mom and Dad to Nona and her parents, Julieta and Mische. They're a family that Lori is very close with, and when I go down they take me in, too.

Before I knew it, it was almost 2:30, and that meant it was time to go back to town to catch the taxi Ilias had arranged for us the day before. (When I told him I had arranged to go for 100 manat, he laughed at me and said, “for that much I'll drive down and take you to Baku.” So he called a few friends, and got us a taxi for 60!)

We went to Lori's house, gathered our things, and hopped in the cab for a drive to Baku. The weather was perfect, and we took the road through Sheki, Qebele, Ismayilli, Agsu, and Qebele. It's a lovely drive through green trees and mountains, and my Dad was so excited. Much better than the train. A quick coffee stop in Ismayilli (I, the youngest female in the group, paid the bill, much to the surprise of our young waiter), and we got into town in about 5.5 hours. Much better than a 9 hour bus ride.

The hotel we stayed at was right downtown, in Old City, the historic part of Baku. No problems checking in, even though I had called just days before to get a reservation (and an extra night because our plans for the train fell through). The concierge was cute, he said they screwed my name up on check-in, and said if they know an American is coming usually they just write the reservation in the name of “George.” Hehe. The room was modest, though cheap, and the accomodations were just enough. The staff welcomed us warmly, and so we took a little time to go and walk around before I bought my parents ice cream and sent them to bed, while I met up with a few volunteers for their last night in town for a quick drink.

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Epilogue

2011-05-12T03:46:00.001-04:00

It was a great trip, and though expected, went way too fast.

I got back to town at about 6 on Tuesday, and it was so sad to come home to an empty house. It was so nice having my parents stay with me for the week, and showing them the life that I've built in town. They met everyone that was important to me, Azerbaijanis, Georgians, and Americans, and I think they have a better understanding of why I'm here, and of some of the reasons I'd like to extend my service just a little longer. It was good for me too, it seemed to give the people I interact with so regularly the chance to express how they feel about knowing me, and having me around. We don't get much positive reinforcement, and I don't really need it, but it is nice to hear every once and a while.

Of course, having them around also made me realize how much I miss them, and how much I miss having a normal life style, with water that comes all the time, being healthy more days than not (whereas lately I feel like I've been unhealthy more days than I've been healthy), and being able to see all the people you love whenever you want to see them. It doesn't help either that my Mom has always done this thing, where she leaves little notes for me. She's done it as long as I can remember – when I'd go to camp I'd find a weeks worth of notes stuffed in my suitcase (one for each day of the week) – and this time, I got back home to find little notes tucked in my wardrobe, next to my pillow, and under the teddy bear she brought for me from home.

But, it's part of growing up, and it's part of the choice that I made to be here. And these feelings will pass, things will get busy again (two weeks of school, trip to Turkey, Arts Camp, home to America, COS conference...then school starts up all over again!) and I'll remember what I'm doing here in the first place. It's just hard sometimes. But it reminds me of how lucky I am, to have such wonderful support in America, and such a wonderful life here...I'm lucky to not know which place I'd rather be because they are both so important to me.

Mama and Papa O Come to the Baijan: Part 7

2011-05-12T03:45:00.001-04:00

I may never eat a mussel again.

Ok, rewind.

Up at 9:30 to have a nice cup of coffee (well, a nice cup of instant) before starting the day.
Then, we go, and walk to Chinar, a trendy restaurant in Baku that is sure to make you forget you are in Azerbaijan. The have a Sunday brunch, and I thought for Mother's Day, it would be an appropriate place to celebrate.

The bruch was lavish. Sushi, salads, curries, duck, mussels, soups, anything you could imagine was there, and we ate like it. They have a great little drink menu too, so I got my Bellini and I was happy. We were there for a few hours, enjoying the food and the company.

When we were finally finished (we had to try the desert...they make AMAZING macaroons...), we went out walking again. Back to Old city, my mom wanted to bargain for a table cloth (although the boys thought that I didn't bargain well enough – to that I say, why didnt you say anything?!!! Though I think it was still an ok price.), and then into another little shop to get a quick lesson on carpets. There's a shop in Old City where the owner sells to the generations of PCVs, and he was very happy to have us. In fact, we got scolded for not announcing our PCV status upon arrival. He was nice though, and I think if I end up buying a carpet before I leave, I'll definitely go there.

Unfortunately, as I was sitting there, the room began to get warm, and I started to get a little dizzy. “Hm, maybe it's just the room.” Nope. About an hour later I was at the hotel room re-visiting my Chinar brunch. Not so good the second time. I felt awful, not just physically, but also because the weather was beautiful, it was Mother's Day, and the last day with my parents, and all I wanted to do was lie in bed and not move. Womp Womp. Fortunately, it didn't stop them from going out and exploring, and while I was napping, Matt scored some major points by going out and finding the soccer ball for my cousin my Mom had been spending all weekend looking for. He came back with it and she was thrilled, my guess is she'll have a hard time sharing it with my cousin.

A few hours later, I was feeling at least good enough to walk around, so we went and showed my Dad The Brewery, one of a few places in Baku where they brew their own beer. We only stayed for a quick drink, and then headed to Adam's for dinner. (A cruel fate, to be at Adams and not be able to eat the deliciousness. I did ok with a few tastes though.) We stayed there for a while and chatted, my parents being kind and not telling Matt too many embarassing stories about me as a child. (I guess I was just too damn cute to be embarassed by anything!) When it was late, we headed back, and set up the taxi for 3:30 am the next morning to take my parents back to the airport, and then to America.

The alarm was cruel, but we walked out to see them off. Turns out it wasn't a taxi so much as the owner of the hotel driving my parents to the airport! We went back to bed, and when I woke up the next day I was not quite well enough to sit on a bus for 9 hours back to site. I knew I had to get moving in that direction though, so I slept a little longer, and went back to Goychay with Matt for the night. (Thankfully, Goychay is about halfway between Baku and Balaken, so it breaks up the trip pretty well).

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 6

2011-05-12T03:44:00.000-04:00

Up on Saturday, the weather was a little drizzly, though not awful. We had breakfast at the hotel, and when the staff found out I could speak Azerbaijani, they were thrilled. They loved asking me about the regions, and seemed very familiar with Peace Corps. We went out to walk around Old City, and I forget that now that I'm with two other Americans, I have become a tourist. We got lots of attention from shopkeepers, and one sort of crazy taxi driver slash tour guide who told us all about how he owed his life to America because the KGB had him and broke his arm several times and now he can't play the piano. I don't know if any of that was true, but my parents, God love them, can't ignore a soul, and so let him chat, as I just started walking away...I guess living in NYC taught me a few things, for better and for worse.

But we had somewhere to go, and that was to my landlady's house. The woman who owns the house in which I live in Balaken, lives in Baku now with her family. I go there from time to time to hang out, and when she found out my parents were coming, she wouldn't let me not bring them to her. We went and had a lovely time, my mom had her first taste of pomegranate (fresh, and sliced like a true Azerbaijani), and learned how to make pumpkin qutab (one of my favorite dishes, it's basically a quesedilla stuffed with pumpkin instead of cheese or anything else...so good! My mom insists she knows how to make it now, so hold her to it back in America and ask for it!).

My landlady invited over her relatives who speak some English, and so I think it was nice for my Dad to meet a male Azeri (and a Bakuvian at that), who he could communicate with. His sister was adorable too, and she helped translate for my mom when I got overwhelmed!).
Around 3 we left (3 hours is a pretty good guesting time I think), and went to the Turkish Airlines office so my Dad could fix the reservation that the airline had inadvertantly cancelled on their travels here. We met up with Matt, and went for coffee at one of my favorite little places, Ali and Nino Cafe in Targova. We walked Targova, my mom was in search of a soccer ball for my cousin, but unfortunately, we couldn't find it! We walked the Boulevard down by the Caspian Sea, took some pictures, and just enjoyed the weather. It's spring, and it's fresh, and you can feel it because everyone is out and about and in good spirits. Everyone is still wearing black, though not quite as much as they usually do...

Mom bought a few souvenirs, and then we all met up with Martin and Tama at Cafe Beirut for a lovely Lebanese feast. Several courses of food, two bottles of wine, and a couple hours later, we were full and happy, and walked to ISR plaza to go to the rooftop lounge for a nightcap. I love it up there, a great view of the city, and on such a clear night, it really was a lovely day.

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 4

2011-05-12T03:41:00.001-04:00

Somehow, the weather worked to our advantage (except for the whole shutting down the water thing...). Blue beautiful skies as we're watching parachuters, and grey drizzle and rain as we're headed to travel again.

Thursday morning we woke up leisurely, ate breakfast, cleaned up the house, and packed to get ready to go to Qax. Farid finally returned from Dubai (I owe him a punch for leaving the darn country the week my parents are in town), and so my parents got to meet with him for a quick 15 minutes before the taxi came. Farid is one of my besties in town, and even though we've both been busy lately and haven't gotten to hang out much, I've known him over a year now and feel like he's one of the more important people in my service. Fortunately, I have this funny feeling that he'll end up in America again, and my parents can meet him then!

At 12 on the dot my counterpart's husband shows up to take us to Qax. He was our private chauffer for the time we were in Balaken (him and Elvin), and he was more than happy to do it. He drove us down to Qax, and just as we arrived at Lori's house, the rain lightened up. We got out just as she and James were coming home from running a few errands. We got my parents stuff in the house, and then headed up the hill to see the only working Georgian Orthodox church in Azerbaijan, and then across the street for some fine Georgian cuisine at Migidana. I ate way too much khachapuri (cheesy bread)...but there was still plenty to take home.
After that, we went back to the house to meet up with all the other volunteers who were in town for the weekend, and there were a bunch. I was glad it worked out that way, because then my parents got to meet a lot of other volunteers, from a lot of other regions, and got to compare the experience we all have. Up in Balaken I lead a pretty nice life, and my sitemates do too. They got the chance to meet people who have had different challenges, and have a different routine than I do.

It happened to be Cinqo de Mayo, so Megan cooked us a fabulous Mexican fest. Unfortunately, after the khachapuri, I didn't have much room left for food, but I enjoyed it anyway. My parents and I headed out just as the boys were threatening to put their jorts on, and we walked to the hotel across the street where we were staying.

Let me just say this, for 5 manat a person, that's exactly what we got. Thankfully, Lori's was close, so we didn't have to spend much time at the hotel. We wanted to get our sleep, because the next day was the Pilgrimage!!

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 3

2011-05-04T14:20:00.004-04:00

Woke up today to two options: school, or parachuting competition.

The weather was good, so they were flying, so school didn't really happen. (Though I didn't feel bad because once we got to the airport most of my kids were at the competition watching, so I pretty much could say I was on a 'field trip.')

We arrived at the airport as they were filling up the hot air balloon with a shiny picture of Heydar waving to the world on the side. We walked around, Mom, Dad, Me, Jake and Elvin, schmoozing, saying hey. We really were celebrities, more than once I saw a group of girls point and giggle in a, "oh my gosh it's THEM" sort of way. It was good that we went, there were a lot of important people there, and I got to say hey and show off my parents.

As we were walking, we saw a group of Azeri parachuters. As we got closer, we realized they were really young...and then we got even closer and saw that one jumper was one of our students! We walked over to say hello and take some pictures, and realized that another girl on the team was a 12-year old, and set the record for youngest jumper in Azerbaijan. Now, they were doing slack jumps, but who cares, they were going it alone and that was awesome!

They took the biplane up (the one we climbed in yesterday), and let out 7 Azeri jumpers, and right behind them four trick jumpers (the ones who can stack themselves on top of each other in the chutes). We watched them, and then they started the awards ceremony from the jumps the day before. Azerbaijan placed second in jumps, and third in the team jumps, though oddly, none of the team looked to be actually Azeri. Lots of blondes. Hm.

We headed out after soaking up some of the sun, went to try and get train tickets only to be denied for the third time. I throw in the towel, we're taking a taxi to Baku. I'd always prefer to take a cab, but it is more expensive. But I suppose when you've got Mom and Dad with real paychecks footing the bill...I'm not complaining.
After lunch (introducing Mom to Natakhtari Grape Soda...so good!) and a quick nap at home (I made Mom do the dishes because I cooked. We still had no water, so she did it bucket style with bottles of water I had stored up. They could make it as PCVs. Minus the violent aversion to squat toilets...), we headed to club. Today was Women's Club, and it gave my parents the chance to ask about gender differences in Azerbaijan, as well as get a greater insight to Azeris relationship to Russia and the Soviet Union. I think it was good for the women, and my parents.

At 4:45 kids started showing up to the office, asking about baseball practice. We walked over to my school's field around 5 o'clock, to about 25 kids just sitting on the field. We've NEVER had that many kids...I think every kid who has come to club came to play today. We organized an informal game, my Dad pitched, and my Mom helped me coach out in the field. We had a ball. (pun intended)

We got kicked off the field by some Azeri punks who wanted to play soccer, but we were pretty much done, because we had a guesting date that night. We headed to Bailey's old host family, who has since adopted me as their own too, and I have to say, I think my parents had the most wonderful time. The oldest daughter had called me earlier that day, to verify I was really coming, and to reassure me that they were waiting for me impatiently and just couldn't help themselves they were so excited. When we got there we found the kids sitting outside waiting for us, and they jumped up and ran in the house shouting, "They're here!!"

They laid out the SPREAD. We were escorted in for some basic discussion with the host Dad, me translating the whole time. Commiserating about how he has been working like crazy this week because there's no water, there's no mayor, the electricity keeps blowing out, and the like. But he was in good spirits, so we joked. Then, we were shuffled into the dining room for all the national meals (the host father had insisted we get a tasting of all the important things, dolma (quince leaf dolma, pepper dolma, and eggplant dolma), plov (with beans and meat, and apricots and raisins), dovga (which is a yogurt and greens soup), lots of salads, and mushrooms and potatoes for me! Host Dad started the toasting with my Dad, with two shots of black vodka (I was side-coaching my Dad as to when to drink, how much to drink, etc. Good thing Trey had given him the rundown the day before, just to be sure), and then Bailey and I were invited to join as we got deeper into translating.

Unfortunately, for most of the night the youngest brother was hiding in the back room. He's four, and apparently, was circumcised a few weeks ago in Zaqatala. (They wait a LONG time to get that taken care of here...poor little suckers). Anyway, he's terrified of doctors now (rightfully so). But, to mess with him, the hfam had told the kid that my parents were doctors. (They like to mess with him. It's easy, it's funny, it's harmless).

Hehehe. We had fun with that all night. Threatening that my Dad had a pair of scissors with him...so he kept his distance, but he was constantly on guard...

Eventually, the tea came out, and then we got to watch (of course) a Toy video from the most GESHENG toy ever in Baku...little girls dressed up as angels doing a choreographed dance during the couple's first dance, fireworks as they walked in and cut the cake, etc etc.

They were amazing to us, and my parents kept saying over and over again how wonderful it all was. That's the thing about it here, being hospitable is a thing for Azeris, but when you find a family who is genuinely hospitable...well they're a keeper. They were so cute, arguing over whether I looked like my Mom or my Dad (I look like Dad with my hair up, and Mom with my hair down), and how no matter what culture or language we have, we all have the same heart.

That was never more true than it was tonight. Sitting, laughing, two different languages, but somehow, we were all part of the same conversation.

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 2

2011-05-03T13:49:00.003-04:00

Su yoxdur.

Woke up this morning, still no water. I was concerned that they had shut me down because no one had come to collect money. I was fully prepared to yell at the water guy and say, "My Mother and Father have come from America and you cut off my water, now what will they think??!!"

But the sun was shining, so it didn't seem to matter too much. We headed out, went to the mosque, and I finally got to climb to the top. It's the tallest mosque in the Caucasus, and the mortar is made of egg. Super cool. A great view and a good climb.

After that, we walked up to the park, only to be called by Elvin who told us that there was a parachuting competition at the Balaken Airport. So we hopped in his car and drove up. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, the parachuting had ended (although we got to see a few fly from the window of the car on the way there), but we got to talk to some Russian guy who worked on their space program, a few Azeri officials who were more than welcoming, and a pilot who let us climb into his Antonov Airplane...as my dad said, "leaking oil like it should, looking old like it should. This is great!" He was terribly excited to see it, and we got to climb around in it and take pictures. Most of the guys there invited us back tomorrow, when there will be a hot air balloon and they'll take us up. Inshallah, the weather will stay clear so we can actually go!!
After that, we had a quick lunch outside at the Turkish restaurant in town (doner, pide, lahmacun, salad, ayran), and then to club. The kids were pretty excited to meet my parents, asked questions, asked what kind of student I was when I was a kid, if I studied my lessons well. (My Mom's response, "Stephanie is very smart. But she is a lazy student. Is she lazy now?" To which one student sassed me and said, "mmmm, so-so." Love that girl. Then my mom went on to talk about my math competitions, and how when I was a kid and scored well on a gifted-and-talented test she thought I had cheated...thanks mom).

After that, went to the post office to get a three month old package from my grandma's church group (yay!) and then we walked back to the park for dinner. We bought some Natakhtari on the way (mmmm), and ate fried xengel (I had my first piece ever...I've never eaten them bc of the meat, but I figured what the heck I might as well...good...the meat tastes like taco meat...good but not enough to convert me), greens and shor qutab (like quesedillas), salads, and of course plenty of bread. Jake walked out to ask the waiter something, got dragged into chatting with some guys sitting around, and came back with an open and partially empty bottle of whiskey...only in Azerbaijan. We finished that and then headed back to the park.
Up the steps, and then we met our buddy at the cayxana Ibish, who served us tea at the top of the park, one of the best places to see all of Balaken, and the surrounding mountains. We hung out there for a bit, took some pictures (we decided that my relationship with my sitemates, Jake and Trey, is akin to Wendy and the Lost Boys from Peter Pan), and then walked home.
Still no water.

Thank God Jake has a water tank, so mom and I were able to go and rinse off, wash our hair, while dad bucket-bathed it in my shower.

I'm so proud of them. They're like real PCVs. Showering with little to no water, brushing their teeth out the window, using the squat toilet...just wait till we hit the night train Friday night.

Mama and Papa O Come to the 'Baijan: Part 1

2011-05-02T11:37:00.003-04:00

As of Friday night, I wasn't really sure my parents were going to make it to this part of the world...but after their lucky travel through to Vienna, I had faith. Their original flight out of CLE was delayed 5 hours, and then ultimately cancelled. So they rerouted...rented a car to Detroit, from there it was three more planes and 38 hours later they hit Tbilisi.

I had spent the weekend in Qax, celebrating Lori and Turan's Birthday. A spring festival, softball game (Americans: 20+, Qaxians: 4...we didn't take it easy on them...), dinner at a restaurant, an adult easter egg hunt, a midnight hike to a deer statue, an 8km hike to an idyllic field in the mountains, then an evening in the village of too much dancing, too much homemade booze, and sleeping on a balcony with a cat on my stomach...it was everything it was supposed to be and more!

At exactly 3:00 Sunday, I get a call from my parents, "We're in the taxi, we're on our way!" I had sent my counterpart's husband to go find them at the Marriot in Tbilisi...and somehow, he got them right on time. They headed back in the pouring rain, and after a minor detour (meaning they got a little lost), and a few stops for my CP's hubby to buy groceries (they're a lot cheaper in Georgia), my parents officially arrived at my little cottage in the mountains of Balaken. In the deluge, my dad gave my CP's husband a hug to thank him, and from then on, they were bros.

I gave them a quick tour of my place, and at one point as my mom is standing at the shower, she said, "How many days are we staying here?"

She was joking - to a certain extent. The squat toilet, the shower that's out of a horror film, the only source of running water outside (and at that point in the pouring rain), I think was maybe a little much. But they're getting used to it.

I had dinner ready when they came in (baigan bhartha, tabbouleh, naan and yogurt), and then we just had an evening sitting around, chatting, and catching up. Jake came over and made us apple crisp (delightful, thanks Mama Winn for the recipe!!), and we just had a really nice time. The rain never stopped, so we never did the dishes. We passed out early because I hadnt slept a wink the night before, and then were up and out early for school. Unfortunately, we lost water, giving my parents an even better insight into what my life is really like. Shoulda done the dishes...

School. So, my parents were celebrities. Basically. Everyone was psyched, and had a ton of questions. We taught three classes, and basically all we did in each of them was have Q&A sessions with my parents. "What's your favorite car?" and "Do you like Football? Reynaldo! Messi!" dominated the 6th form, one of my 8th formers introduced himself as Al Pacino, another took a picture with my Dad because he thinks he (the kid, not my dad) looks like Obama, and then the 5th formers were jus the most adorable nuggets ever, and I think my mom wants to take a few of them home in her suitcase.

I took them around the school, introduced them to everyone, and a strange pattern emerged. Every Azeri we talked to thought that my parents had come to take me back to America. The secretaries, the other teachers, the deputy, the grounds manager, all asked, "Are you staying? Don't leave yet! Stay! Stay!" It was a riot. Now I know how they'll react when it really is time to go...

After that, we tried to get train tickets (a failed attempt, we might be taking a cab to Baku...sigh...), walked back through the Bazar, and then to my counterpart's house to guest.

Guesting Experience #1: I rate it an A
On the menu: Xenqel (which is basically awesome ravioli, stuffed with nettle, cheese, or meat), dolma (grape leave), penje (I have no clue what it is, that's the Azeri word, but it's some delicious green that looks like spinach but has more flavor to it), tomato and greens salad, homemade yogurt, homemade grape juice, and of course chai and bamyan (the churro looking thing they make a lot of and make perfectly up north). I ate too much. It's 9pm and I'm still not hungry.

No awkward toy screenings, lots of good food, they did NOT bring out ALL the family albums, (only one, which was appropriate), we played with her kids, read their english books, and just talked. Like normal people. She was able to speak with them about Azerbaijan, America, life, me (it's great to have your parents come, because then people say really awesome things about you to them...and you learn some things too, primarily about how you have affected their lives...it was really touching.) Then her husband came home from work, came bearing gifts from Georgia, including a beautiful bunch of lilacs which are spreading their fragrance through my house right now.

After that, we walked over to Jake's house, and hung out there for a bit just chatting. My parents were thrilled (and I think a little jealous) to see a western toilet, and by the time we left, the weather had opened up and blue skies were shining down on us. Fingers crossed that keeps up for tomorrow, so I can show them how pretty Balaken can be.

It's wonderful to have them here, to show them what my life is like and to introduce them to people here. I think it's really good for them too, makes them feel a little better about what's going on in my life, especially if I decide to extend. It's weird though too...suddenly these two very distant parts of my life are merging. Introducing them to the people here who are so important to me...it's weird, but satisfying. And I'm glad for it.

Things are great so far, and I'm thinking it's going to be a very good week!

All kinds of crazy.

2011-04-27T05:01:00.003-04:00

It's April 27th. And I'm not exactly sure when or how that happened.

Things have been crazy (not to mention I've been ill off and on for probably the past 6 weeks - that's what it's like getting sick here. It lingers...And it isn't like I can just run to the nearest drug store and get my favorite remedies. Everything here is in Russian. Though apparently it is easy to just waltz into the pharmacy and order up a significant does of antibiotics. I did not do that. I did call my doctor. But now I know you can.), I wrote a grant for our Arts Camp (fingers crossed it'll get approved), we're also trying to secure funding for our softball tournament this spring (fingers crossed there will be enough money for us), not to mention teaching classes and clubs, organizing a softball team, and trying not to be a hermit.

I haven't been travelling much, with the expectation that these next few weekends are going to be insane. Though last weekend I headed down to Goycay, and then took a little day trip to Qebele. I'm sure Qebele is beautiful, had we been able to see any of it. But tucked up in the mountains, it was cloudy and raining, and somewhere around 3 o'clock on Friday a horror-movie-worthy fog rolled in. It became impossible to see more than 10 feet in front of us. Matt joked that we'd probably wake up in the middle of the night and have to run through the woods for our lives. Good thing I brought my sneakers. We walked around town a bit, saw the resort area with these GORGEOUS resorts (160AZN/night and upwards...we did not stay at those places. We found the something a little more reasonable, and a little more Azeri, down the road), and Qebeland - a little Azerbaijani amusement park. The fog, and rain, coupled with the fact that it was off-season and there was no one around, really made it a very surreal experience. Maybe Qebele doesn't even exist...maybe we stumbled into some 3rd dimension somewhere alone the road...who knows?! Either way, it was a much needed rest weekend before...

My parents arrive!!

It's going to be crazy.

Crazy awesome.

They get in Sunday, and my counterpart's husband, a kind taxi driver, has offered to pick them up from Tbilisi (capital of Georgia) for me. I've given him instructions, and I told them to hold a sign that says, "Ormston Family." My dad knows his license plate number, the words, "Salam" (hello) and "Sag ol" (Thank you/Goodbye). Otherwise, we're flying bline. I hope it works.

I have a lot of plans for them, and hopefully they'll be up to it. I'm really excited to introduce them to everyone here, everyone who has been such a huge part of my life in this last year and a half (or more...). I'm close with my parents, and they've always been a huge part of my life, so having things here that they haven't experienced/don't really understand is kind of odd. I'm happy we'll have the chance to change that.

Ma, I don't WANNA go to school...

2011-04-04T23:36:00.004-04:00

Well, I do, usually.

As a TEFL PCV, I'm required to put in 15 hours at school. I teach 12 hours of the same classes each week, and then the extra three hours I kind of take at random, popping into other forms, and hanging out with different students and teachers. (Because of the way the schedule works - classes being split/held at the same time, there's really no good way to take on a whole other class, so I spread the love.)

When I go in early for those classes, I get up at 7 or 7:30.

When I don't, I get to go in at 9:30.

When I woke up this morning in the dark and the rain, I decided to sit with my coffee instead.

Yeah, it got cold again. With a wave of PCVs blogging about how it's finally spring, karma came back laughing hard.

Thanks guys. ;-)

But that's the weather, and no different from Cleveland where it always seemed to snow on Easter, we're back with the bipolar spring. (One girl wrote yesterday's date on the board "4th of February." When I asked her to correct it she said, "But the weather is February!" Poor thing.)

My students still know its April though, and they're getting antsy. All they want to do is play games, no work from the book or actual "learning" (even though I swear some of my games are more educational than what normally happens). So my CP has had to up the discipline.

Props to her, in a society where corporal punishment of children in the classroom is accepted, she has never laid a hand on a child.

She just makes them stand in the corner.

Or yesterday, she made one kid stand on one leg for a good 5 minutes.

I couldn't stop laughing, it was great.

Other things that happen in my class, I get weird questions about how to translate things. Some favorites...

What is the meaning of:
Call of Duty
Grand Theft Auto
Red Devil
Wash & Go

Are these names Mexican or American:
Diego, Luna, Dora, Lucas, Charlie

And from one of my girls, who doesn't give a crap about English, she asked me to translate and help her learn to sing "My Heart Will Go On."

That's why, for lessons, I end up teaching them pop culture (or at least, pop culture from the 90s, because that's about how long it takes to get here.) i teach it in English, hoping that some of it will stick.

there is no coherent theme to this post. Short of to say what I've been doing with my terribly exciting life.

2011-04-03T02:05:00.009-04:00

You know, March wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I mean, it wasn't good - but it wasn't that bad. I stayed busy. Very busy.

Realizations: On top of my 15 hours of lessons a week, I teach 8 clubs. 8. More or less because I can't say no. Fortunately, a few of those clubs are co-taught with my sitemate(s), so it isn't AS bad.

Clubs:
Advanced English 1
Advanced English 2
Art Club
Games Club (5th and 6th formers)
Women's Conversation Club
Club with Doctors and Nurses at the Children's Hospital
Club with women at a Salon
Girls Sports Club

Unfortunately, some of the clubs for the older women have been sufferring because the kids take up so much of my time - but I'm trying to reconcile it all. Not like my schedule is getting any less busy, mind you...

So far, my most rewarding club is Girls sports. It's on Saturday mornings (thank's Jake! grrr), but no matter how much I hate getting up early on Saturday, I'm always glad I go. When I was younger, my theater classes or dance classes were always early Saturday mornings. Sometimes Dad bribed me with breakfast beforehand. I HATED getting out of bed, but once I was there - it made it all worth it.

This past Saturday - despite a week of gorgeous, sunny, warm weather - it rained, so we were stuck inside. We did a warm up, and then went into some kickboxing. (Think p90x style Kenpo). These girls are insane. The room we use is the judo room, so there are always pads and things lying about, and we get the girls to beat the crap out of these things. Tiny, skinny girls, using all the muscle they've got in them, punching, kicking. It's really fantastic. After that, I always lead a little bit of yoga (and despite the obvious language barriers, they are getting it!).

They don't have PhysEd like we do in the states, and so most of these girls really have no awareness of their own bodies. (Or any clue how the whole idea of a sports club works - they still wear jeans to class). So a lot of what I'm trying to do is just to get them to know themselves. "If I do this, my body does this." Or if "I reach over here, I feel my muscles here." That kind of thing. I take for granted how much of that I'm aware of, because of early gymnastics and dance classes, all the way through college level movement courses. They marvel at being flexible, and doing handstands and cartwheels - so we're teaching them those things too. It's so much fun, and usually we end up rolling on the floor in some manner laughing like crazy.

And also, I suppose in some way we're indirectly teaching them to take responsibility of, and control of, their own bodies, and in turn themselves. It's no secret that women in this society tend to be marginalized, and oppressed by their fathers and husbands. Letting them punch the crap out of a punching bag, and showing them how to feel at home in their own bodies, might give them a little bit of the confidence they need to stand up to the next irrational instruction they're given. (Though I will give credit, most of the girls we work with have incredibly supportive families. So I suppose we're just protecting them from stupid boys who want to marry them. And when I say stupid, that is by no means a cultural comment, I say that about boys in any country. :-) hehe)

We also just hosted the writing olympics. Which is a world-wide competition hosted by PCVs, for the students to write essays in English. They're given a prompt, and have one hour to write a composition. We had 12 people show up, and I couldn't have been more proud of what they wrote. We prepared them with a little club (yes, another club) ahead of time, and you could tell in the essays they had used what they learned. Rock stars.

Life on the homefront has otherwise been lovely. With the nice weather, I have flowers and trees blossoming in my yard, the start of some vegetables and spices in my house, and mysteriously, I have broccoli growing in the garden from seeds planted last year...I spend most of my lunch breaks sitting by my apple tree, reading. It makes planning for COS difficult, and I am planning, because if I want to go to grad school, I need to start thinking about WHERE to go, and what I need for my applications. Anyone want to take the GMAT for me?

One month of school. Then my parents come. (Yay!) Another month of school. Then vacation. Then Summer Camp. Then back to Amerikastan for a wedding. Then a month of summer. Then a Peace Corps Conference in Baku. Then two weeks and the school year will start again. Why is it going so fast?

Open Your Heart

2011-03-10T11:43:00.002-05:00

When I was in college, one of my theater classes was a clowning class.

And no, this wasn't a paint your face silly and wear red noses kind of clown class (though we did eventually graduate to the noses - :) ), it was play. It was free play, and a chance to get in touch with that inner child kind of class.

We played playground games. We sang songs. We danced. We were children.

The point of the class was to open yourself up to anything and everything that life had to offer. The wonder, and the despair.

A lot of our exercises were solo work - a terrifying experience. You, up in front of 20 of your peers, at your absolute most vulnerable. This was when that teetering, tottering, little child came out. But this is also when all the joy, and all the fear came out too.

One of the last bits of our warm up exercise still sticks with me. We'd place our interlaced hands over our breastbone - over our heart...and slowly, slowly, open them up. Making creaking noises, and acting appropriately frightened, we'd open up that old, rusty, case around our heart. We'd open up to anything and everything life had to offer. For better, or for worse.

The thing about working at an acting school in Manhattan, is that studio was the safe space. That one room (5-1A) at 890 Broadway was the space where you could do that. Where you could open yourself up, and you knew that even if bad things happenned, it was never that bad. It was never the end. But you always had to be sure that when you crossed that threshold, out the door, down the human operated elevator, out onto busy Broadway, you had to close back up, or else you'd get eaten alive.

In Peace Corps, we're volunteers, sacrificing, yes, our time, but more importantly, we're sacrificing ourselves. We're sacrificing our talents, our energies, our skills, and our love for other people. We've opened our hearts - for better, and for worse.

One thing any PCV will tell you is that while in PC, the highs are higher, and the lows lower. I think it's because we go through this process so open to experience, so giving, and so completely exhausted of energy and emotion, that we can't help but be significantly affected by the events that happen to us. I think it is especially true for those of us who work with young people here. The lack of mentoring in Azerbaijan, of interest in child development, the fact that adults here don't really nurture youth, necessitates that when we are present with a group of kids, we are there 110%. We give and give and give, because they need it so much. This, at the end of the day, leaves you so tanked, honestly sometimes all you can do is cry.

I was doing yoga the other day, and came to this realization. I could go through my service closed off, and save myself the pain and the frustration. But then I wouldn't be giving. And what we receive isn't all bad - my 5th formers wrote on the blackboard behind my back "BEATIFUL STEPANIE [spelling errors preserved for effect]" - so I'd hate to shut myself off to that too. So I go through this world, open, giving, receiving, vulnerable. Because I have no other choice. And I'd have it no other way.

Vitamin D

2011-03-05T09:23:00.002-05:00

I think I'm solar powered.

And yes, Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real thing.

There are a lot of reasons why today was such a good day, and this weekend is shaping up to be such a fabulous weekend.

#1: The sun came out for the first time in three weeks.
I felt like James Franco in 127 Hours for a second there, I was DYING for some shred of sunshine. Then finally, it came. Of course it was interspersed with a snowfall that wasn't so much snowy as it was bubbly. Literally, the flakes were so light and puffy that they just hung in the air like bubbles.

#2: Good company, who came bearing lovely gifts. Whenever you go guesting you always bring some sort of present for the host. Our company brought good gifts.

#3: A hugely successful girls sports club. 14 girls and women came! We did some kenpo kickboxing, some yoga, a little dance, a little softball, and then we ended up watching some of the girls volleyball tournament in the gymnasium. And, three of the girls from one of my 6th form classes at school decided to come too, and are totally psyched to come back next week! They're our youngest attendees now, but they kept up!

#4: A trip to a restaurant (with delicious shor and grape soda!) followed by a day with Marie at the salon. Got our hair cut by a good Azerbaijani friend of mine. She studied at a Turkish Beauty Salon in Baku (fancy), and always likes to experiment with me. I got the 'teze stil' aka 'new style' and now I can't really see anything because my bangs are long and shaggy...but it's cute!

#5: The sprouts of daffodils can be seen in my yard. The first of the spring magic that is my garden!

If Winter months are December, January, and February, then that means that the beginning of March is the beginning of Spring. I really hope that things start to brighten up around here, and hopefully take my mood with it.

I'm 24, and Peace Corps is 50!

2011-03-01T02:33:00.003-05:00

Ad gunu mubarek, Peace Corps!

Today is the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps! Happy Birthday Peace Corps!

And, thanks for all my bomb birthday wishes and plans. I'm so lucky.

My birthday weekend started Thursday, when I headed down to a friend's village to meet his host family and take a little break. It was nice, I'd forgotten what it's like to be taken care of...wake up, pec is already lit and the room is warm, breakfast on the table, watching cartoons with the 5 year old host sister, tea is brought to me...oh the life. Again, grass is always greener - I like my house a lot - but it was nice to go back to that.

Spent a couple days there, hanging out with the family, exploring the city, and then woke up Saturday for a trip to Sheki. There are three of us PCVs with birthdays around this weekend, and we wanted to have a big party together. Unfortunately, Saturday also happenned to be the anniversary of Xocali, a major event in the NK war that ended with hundreds of Azerbaijanis killed. So having a big celebration somehow seemed culturally insensitive...only a few of us went. We talked, had some not-so-fast food for dinner, and then attempted a pudding competition (with not so clear winners and not so clear pudding either...). Nice, uneventful, laid back.

Sunday we woke up to a gorgeous snowfall, which delayed my return to Balaken, making it so that I had just enough time to run to my house, drop my backpack off, and run out again to go to Jake's counterpart's house for dinner. We've known this woman for a while, but it was the first time we had been to her home...she's fantastic. We can be honest, laid back, and talk about whatever. It was so relaxed.

After that, back to my house, and woke up the next morning at 5am to try to screen the Oscars. Though, thanks Azerbaijan, my internet wasn't working, so that didn't work out so well. We woke up anyway, made biscuits and gravy and bloody mary's, and watched a movie. I head to school, and am bombarded by shouts of "Happy Birthday Teacher!" The kids have presents. My counterpart gave me a present. So loved.

Came home after that to realize that, again, they have cut the gas, so I napped and froze a little. We had club at 3, so I woke up just in time to throw on a frumpy sweater and go. Jake had asked me earlier to come, because he said he needed help managing the students (typically 8-10th graders), but also he said not to rush because he knew the kids would be late.

So I rush to the office and at about 3:05, I walk in.

SURPRISE!!

To my complete surprise, everyone is sitting around wearing Target-dollar-bin Birthday hats, there's a cake, candy, balloons, and about 20 of our students sitting around smiling.

This was the first incidence where I almost started to cry.

We play pin the tail on the donkey, and about halfway through the door opens and I see two more of my close PCV friends walk in (friends I didn't think I was going to get to see on my bday).

This was the second incidence where I almost started to cry.

So we play, and we have an impromptu dance party, and then it's time for presents.

All of my girls made me cards, brought me gifts. One of the girls made a book, and inside wrote the lyrics to "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars.

This was the third incidence where I almost started to cry.

*A note on the crying: It's been a rough winter. Rough. I get stuck inside, I'm really antsy, I mull things over in my head, and I make myself crazy. So I've been pretty crazy lately. Also, it's easy to get lonely at this time of year. Seeing my friends come out for me like this - especially when I sort of had this idea that my bday was going to go by rather uneventfully - was amazing.

After the party, we went to a restaurant with two of our Azerbaijani friends (one of them being a guy we hung out with on my birthday last year) and again, had a great time. Sitting in a big, cozy room, listening to a Turkish Music Video channel, making fun of Britney Spears and Justin Bieber. So great.

So it was a lovely birthday. Moral of the story: nothing goes as expected. But as long as you've got good company, it doesn't matter.

Also, a cultural note: This was a year of completely ridiculous birthday presents. Shopping in an Azerbaijani bazar is like going to a dollar store in some rural middle of nowhere town, located off the highway...and yes, some of the presents are from PCVs...highly integrated PCVs. ;-)
Some treasures: a toy car that says "Meat Wagon, New Edition," three picture frames that look like they could be a matching set from three completely different people, a perfume that "smells like middle school," a ceramic duck with kitchen utensils (ridiculous and practical), a ceramic plate that shouts, "BAKU AZERBAIJAN" in gold lettering, a pen that is also a lazer pointer, flashlight, and normal pointer (like a presenter), and a fabulous asymetrical shirt, that is tight and worn off the shoulder, and comes with a matching belt.

I'm so loved.

The Idiots, or How I Almost Lost Several Toes.

2011-02-20T09:52:00.004-05:00

This is a story.

A story of five people who happen to spend a lot of time together.

These people came together, one cold morning in Azerbaijan, with a goal. A goal to reach the unreachable. Those seductively elusive hot springs, located in the region of Qax.

This is their story.

So, that was the idea, really. To go to the hot springs in February, because hey, what's cooler than jumping in the hot springs, then running outside and rolling around in the snow, and then jumping right back into the hot springs? Not a whole lot.

Woke up bright and early Saturday morning, and while sitting around a breakfast of french toast and eggs with spinach and mushrooms, watching the snowfall, we came to a realization.

We could die on this hike.

All of the host country nationals we met, that we told we were going to the hot springs, had something to say.

"You're going to die"

"You'll freeze to death."

"There will be an avalanche."

"There are wolves."

We didn't heed the warnings, of course, but something seemed imminent that morning.

"Let's leave a note." Someone said, "and leave our last wishes."

"Like how if we die, they should make a movie of our story. And not a straight to home video movie, a blockbuster, new release, never enough DVDs on the shelf kinda movie."

So we left a note, that read, as follows (spelling errors preserved to protect integrity):

"Dear, Whoever it My Concern.

If you are Reading this we are probably Dead.

Last will and testimate:

Make a movie of our lives & finnal trek in the snow to our deaths.

Cast!

Jake Winn played by a Golden Retrevier (Air Bud)

Stephany Ormston Tina Fey

Lori Dunn Queen Latifah

Trey Wadewitz - Young Val Kilmer

Matt Thornton - Jack Nicholson

You will find our balls and vidio journal hopefully soon.

Love, The Idiots"

Written in blue crayon on a paged ripped from an Azeri defter.

And then, we left. Hopped in a taxi (conveniently, a driver Lori knew (our driver is to be played by Schwarzenneger or Jean-Claude Van Dame [his casting])), Jack, Val, Tina and Airbud gettin cozy in the back. We drive towards Ilisu, which is up into the mountains from Qax city proper, and realize that we can't see the mountains we're driving into. And the snow, slush in the city, is sticking, and accumulating. We're driving slowly up the hill, sliding a bit on the turns, until we stop. Our driver, with a head shake goes, 'fisio.' Meaning: Done.

We're still a kilometer from the town. Once we get through the town, only then does the 7 km hike begin. It's 11:00am. We're in trouble.

So we walk. We walk up the hill, begin filming our movie and we keep walking. Warm enough to take off our jackets, but still the snow comes down. We get through the town, sneak past the guard station, and head to the river bed.

Problem: there is no path. No one else is dumb enough to try this hike in this much snow, so we're going it alone. The snow is up to my shins. In the shallow places.

We walk. We trudge. We fall. We roll around. We walk along the creek. We slip. We walk for about an hour, look back, and realize that we've covered basically no ground in the 60 minutes of previous struggling.

Queen Latifah and Tina call for a come to Jesus moment with the boys, and spill the news that, at the pace we're going, we'll be lucky to even get to the springs by 7pm.

So what happens instead?

Dance party, snowball fight, face impressions in the snow, snow-fight, and real-snow snowcones.

In all our jubilee, we neglected to notice that the ravine that was so clear and bordered by snowy mountains with icy trees, is now closing in on us. The mountains disappearing, the trees disappearing, and everything but the 20 feet around us is gone too.

This is where it got scary.

We trekked through this other-wordly snow wasteland, at this point exhausted and wet from our snowfight, and with the snow that has continued to fall all day, most of the hike is in snow past my knees.

For a good 15 minutes of this hike - which seemed like an hour - I couldn't see a single soul around me. The boys had gone on ahead, and I was too cold to stay back with Latifah...so I was alone, and it was freaky. I definitely had to talk myself down from a panic attack.

Fortunately, the boys had left a path for me, and they were dealing with their stress by filming Blair-Witch style videos saying good byes and sending love to family and friends.

Finally, I made it back to the road, and in a wave of relief collapsed, and with numb frigid hands put on a dry pair of socks to try and regain the feeling in my toes, that, at this point, I had kind of forgotten about. I don't think I've ever felt a chill so deep, that has made me shiver and my teeth clatter that uncontrollably. It wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't almost been buried in the snow by my cast mates...

We tredged down the hill, and were welcomed into a home by two villagers who saw us idiots and decided to lend a hand. They served us tea, let us sit by the fire, and thaw out before we got into a cab.

We may not have made it to the hot springs, but we made it back alive, and had an incredible time. It's weekends like these that always come at just the right time - when I'm getting kind of antsy, when I need to be out in the open, and I need to be with good people who I love who I know love me. A lot of PCV functions end up with all of us sitting in someone's house, bickering over who we're going to make put on real clothes and run to the store and buy bread, in front of computers hooked up to the internet. But stuff like this - this is why I'm in this country.

We had a bit of a struggle to get back to Balaken - the weather is still a mess, so our typical buses weren't running and we had to take taxis. I got to my house, it was cold, it was quiet, it was empty. And I was sad. I like my independence, but I miss that contact and connection with people - especially after a weekend that was so good and so full of it. I'm envious of volunteers who get to go home to a loving Azerbaijani host family, tv on, kids playing around, a warm pec and hot tea.

Sometimes, it would be nice to have someone to come home to.

But the grass is always greener, eh? Nothin a skype call to Mom and Dad, a little bit of chai, and some good ol American TV shows can't fix.

The only question that is left to be answered: who's gonna direct this movie?

Give a little love...

2011-02-14T11:04:00.003-05:00

Sevgili gunu mubarek!

Or something like that.

That's "Happy Valentine's Day" in Azeri...though they don't really celebrate it here. (Hallmark hasn't made it to this part of the world yet...kidding...) People have heard of it though, and when they translate it, really, it directly translates to "lovers day." My counterpart told me this today, when she was telling me about how she reminded her husband what day it was when she woke up this morning.

Their conversation as recounted to me:

Counterpart: Do you know what day it is today?
Husband: No, I have forgotten.
Counterpart: It is lover's day!
Husband: So? We are not lovers. We are husband and wife.

Womp womp. Though she did say, "he used to buy me things often" and with a little twinkle in her eye, she continued and said, "I think he will buy." They really are very truly in love and good for each other...I think that comment was more a product of marriage than of culture.

I wanted to teach today to my classes, so with my 5th and 6th forms each student made a mailbox (which was hard to explain because they don't HAVE mailboxes in Azerbaijan - mail comes to the post office and if you want it you have to go get it), and then I had them write simple English sentences ('you are a clever student' or 'you are a good friend' etc. etc.) on Valentine's. With some of the awesome art supplies I received, we made some pretty great mailboxes and valentine's. My mailbox is full of very well-intentioned, gramatically incorrect or just gramatically odd notes. My fav, "You are a teacher!" or "You nice teacher!" Love 'em.

Part of the reason I HAD to commemorate Valentine's Day was because of a comment my student, Islam, made a few weeks ago. We were talking about hobbies. Conversation below:
Me: Islam, what is your hobby?
Islam: (in Azerbaijani) My hobby is being Casanova.
Me: (to my counterpart) Did he just say Casanova?
Counterpart: Yes. I think there is no English translation for this.
Me: No, Casanova is Casanova in any language.
Counterpart: Yes. His hobby is chasing girls.

6th form. My 8th formers are buried in books and still think members of the opposite sex have cooties, and my 6th formers are all about each other. Too. Cute. So, he's a little Casanova now.

It's funny now, watching the students flirt in ways that I know we all used to when we were in school. Playing MASH at sleepovers...(I found a notebook, yes from the 6th form, that had some pairings in the making...I couldn't quite figure out how it worked). What's sad though, is that for these kids, the only contact they get with students of the opposite sex is a) their classmates, and b) their relatives.

My one PCV friend's host sister is going to marry her cousin this year. And her father actually didn't want to let her, but she insisted, and he relented. This isn't surprising here, because her cousin was the one and only boy she's ever been able to hang out with, ever been able to have a normal conversation with, and be herself around. At least she's getting married to someone she's comfortable with...

Gender norms are VERY strict, and pretty much any time you say you are hanging out with a boy, it is assumed to be romantic, or have the possibility of becoming romantic. Unmarried women and men aren't to be together alone, ever, walking, driving, at a restaurant, in the park, and especially not in the house or a bedroom. Even the word, 'dost' is hard to drop. It means friend, but is generally used for a male, and so when I say I have a 'dost,' it is entirely possible that the person I'm talking to hears that I have a boyfriend. And of course, if you have a boyfriend, the assumption is that you will marry him. So. You know. Talking about these things is odd with HCNs. Fortunately, I'm a little above this as a foreign woman. I'm not held to exactly the same standards as Azerbaijani women, but sometimes I am, so it becomes hard to tell. The exception came the other night, when I was guesting at my new male site-mates home in the village. When it got late, myself and my two male sitemates retired to his room to watch a movie, and get ready for bed. The family acted like nothing was up, and really just laughed when the two of them had to share the pull-out couch...hehe.

There are a lot of initiatives going on in country to help relax these gender traditions, or to at least open up a conversation, so that people can make their own choices. Some official initiatives, and some just PCVs having conversations. I'm starting to think that when it comes to gender development, it isn't giving money or throwing birth control at women, but its just talking. Having a conversation. And not just with the women, but getting the men involved too. It's a two way street, and it takes two to tango (and all sorts of other phrases that talk about twos...).

Some resources for your consideration:

Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristof (just finished it, READ IT! READ IT! READ IT!)

http://www.vday.org This is Eve Ensler's mega initiative. She wrote the Vagina Monologues, and now they've taken on a life of their own...being produced all over the world, raising money for a different charity each year, to stop violence against women. A violence which stems not only from war, but deeper, from cultural expectations and norms that are unfair and oppressive. (V-Day, Until the Violence Stops is a pretty good crash-course documentary about the work she's done and the movement has started...)

...and there's a whole slew of other stuff out there...

International Women's Day is March 8...and I'm starting to wonder why we don't celebrate this in America...I'm sure I'll have a whole other post on that one as the day comes up...

Who turned out the lights?

2011-02-13T10:38:00.003-05:00

One of the things I think I miss most about America - sorry Mom, sorry Dad, sorry Trader Joe's, sorry movie theaters - is reliable utilities.

Came back from a bomb party in the village Friday morning, to find that the entire city of Balaken was without gas. And actually, I later came to find out that they had cut gas from Agdas (a region very far south of me) so basically the entire part of Azerbaijan up my way was, effectively, left in the cold.

Now, it has been a rather mild February, the days are quite beautiful, sunny, and even a little warm. But the pipes still freeze at night...no gas, entire town, until 9:30pm. And of course, the gas guys kept saying it'd come back at 6. You know, close enough.

Also, the odd thing, was that from about 6 until 9, the electricity would go off every 15 minutes or so. Making the whole evening seem rather like the world was about to end.

Every time I lose a utility, I think I'm going to lose it forever. It is exhausting to live in this constant fear, with this constant anxiety.

To cope with this, I decided to hide out at my counterpart's house where she had stocked up some wood to burn in her pec. This turned out to be a wonderful idea, as I got to stay warm, play with her kids, meet her in-laws, and be fed and served tea all day.

On a positive note, Balaken's softball cherry has been popped (!) in the past few weeks thanks to my new sitemate Jake and I, and our experiments with local girls and guys and sports clubs. It's been awesome, for them (because they love the game, but I swear our girls are better at the game and generally less afraid of the ball than our boys are), and for me, because I used to play softball rather intensely (8 years), and I miss it like whoa. The girls have taken to it really well, and we're introducing it as a girls sport, that we are now teaching the guys. (In AZ, football [aka soccer - we're not in America anymore] is a boys sport, that sometimes the girls play. We're trying to turn this on its head...to get more girls comfortable playing, and to get girls comfortable playing the sport with guys on the teams too). What has made the whole thing even better, is that with the unusually mild weather, this means we can play outside...no restrictive outerwear necessary.

We're hoping that, as the next few weeks move ahead, we'll be able to construct a real team, that will represent our region of Balaken in an all-Azerbaijan softball league that has been created and sustained by PCVs in country. We'll travel to places like Mingechevir and Ganja, and play against teams there. It'll be the first ever team from Balaken, and fingers crossed we're able to get people to commit - both guys and girls.

This post is not really about Peace Corps, but about that other thing I talk about all the time...

2011-02-07T10:14:00.005-05:00

Bad idea: Watching Black Swan alone in an old Azerbaijani house, in the dark. (Even worse when the movie is over and you try to turn the lights back on, you realize there is no power).

Good idea: Watching Inception. Under any circumstances. Ever. Just watch Inception.

Last year I did a terrible job of keeping up with the Academy Award Nominees, and, as an acting professional, I like to think it's part of my job to keep up with these things. So I'm trying, but it's hard because a) I don't have a movie theater, and b) the dumb academy has 10 best pic nominees so no, I'm not going to see them all. I'll be lucky if I get 5.

Black Swan was great, definitely Darren Aronofsky (the twisted mind behind Requiem for a Dream - watching that movie once was enough thanks), fronted by some great acting by Natalie Portman. Though, as an actress, I always thought playing crazy was easy. There is something strangely logical and mathematical about crazy...as long as it all added up, and it built in the right way, you could do anything. Just stay committed. That is why Ophelia will probably forever be the best time I've had in a show. I could get away with almost anything.

Inception - ok, wow. Talk about a tightly constructed film. It's hard when you create a world where odd things are possible...if you start to bend your own rules, then your viewer loses faith. (Why I hated the last Harry Potter books, JK Rowling just started making more stuff up to justify her own whims...) Inception stuck to its guns, and even to the point where the rules in place may have lowered the stakes, there was a rule to heighten it. Like in the first Pirates of the Carribean movie...you're fighting the undead. The only way it's gonna end is if they kill you, because they aren't gonna die...((SPOILER ALERT) In Inception, the rule is such that if you die in a dream you just wake up. So in the final sequence, there isn't much at stake if you get shot and don't really die. But if you get shot in those dreams you really pretty much DO die because of a fabulous conceit introduced earlier...making me squeeze the feathers out of my pillow in that whole last bit).

But true to Christopher Nolan (if you told me I could work with him if I went back to acting, I'd go back in a second. I would say that for few directors), there's suspense, drama, romance, comedy...I loved it. One of the best movies I've seen in a long long time. (I realized the last film I saw in theaters before PC was the new Fame movie...epic fail. And when I was in Istanbul I saw SATC2. Not epic, but fail.) Inception was just so satisfying. And of course I cried (the children! the children!). All good movies do that to me.

Artistically speaking, I'm coming back to life. Which is energizing. I'm doing a lot more art with the kids in class (though they ALWAYS come up to me and ask, 'can I draw this here?' 'am I allowed to draw this?' 'does this look ok?' 'will you draw this part for me, because I can't...' I think they are getting it though, the questions are less and less each time...) and I'm doing a lot more writing on my own time.

That's one thing that I have a hard time when I watch PCVs, or talk with other PCVs about, is when they mention "personal growth." Of course so many people join because they want to 'find themselves' or 'go on a spiritual journey,' well surprise surprise, it isn't going to just smack you over the head one day. It doesn't happen without a little bit of love and gentle guidance. I write, a lot. (My journal looks like a crazy person possesses me a few times a week). I meditate. I spend time alone, and I reflect. And I think that's why (I'm proud to say) I'm really happy here, and I'm probably more emotionally healthy than I've ever been in my entire life. (If you knew me in college, you'd know this is a massive step). But it didn't just happen to me, and I didn't just wake up one day and go, "YES! I GET IT NOW!" It's a journey, it still is...

Speaking of revelations...(and this might get all weird and new-agey) but I came to quite the realization about my relationship to theater, and college, and blah blah. I realized, that I kind of put "theater" in a big metal box and threw it off a bridge when I finished my degree. But in doing that, I threw away what was essentially most of my identity since, about, the age of 12. That's a big chunk of me to just lose, and makes sense why I was feeling a little lost. I'm here, I'm rebuilding my identity, but also realizing that I don't want to completely turn my back on theater. I had a really tumultuous relationship with it, but I'm trying to make it healthy now. Our love affair was long and violent and left me desparate and needy...but I think I'm mature enough to go back.

Old revelation: I was so not ready for NYU. (by NYU I mean specifically the acting program, and specifically the emotionally demanding part of the program I was in, Meisner). I just wasn't mature enough.

But, on a happy note, I think I'm coming to the realization that I want to be professionally involved in theater by making it happen, making it possible, and making it accessable to as many individuals as possible. So, Arts Administration, which could mean an MBA somewhere with a focus on Arts organizations/non-profits.

This led me to a fabulous moment the other day, while requesing more information. As I was filling in my address, of course I put, 'Azerbaijan.' Which, to my surprise (noted by squeals of delight), opened up a new drop-down menu, titled, "region." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Yale had ALL of the major regions of Azerbaijan listed...I was proud to click the little down arrow, and select "Balaken."

Life is good here. And the future's gonna be good too.

Sukur Allaha, Yanvar getdi...

2011-02-01T23:39:00.002-05:00

Thank God, January is over.

Loosely translated.

February has arrived in full, complete with a snowstorm that has left my yard covered in a crisp blanket of white, and the streets covered in a mess of mush and mud.

I don't know why, but for some reason, January is always a crummy month. It was crummy last year, and though less crummy, still kind of crummy this year. I came back and had my electricity shut off, it's friggen cold, I got really ill...and I really just want to sit next to my petch and read books and drink hot chocolate. Also, because my kitchen is outside, it's too cold to really actually cook something for myself, and so I just end up eating bread and yogurt. Or bread and peanut butter. Or mandarins.

Don't worry, I take multivitamins. And this doesn't happen that frequently.

It hasn't been a complete waste of a month though. A lot of good has happened. With the arrival of two new sitemates, my flagging motivation has been, thankfully, resurrected. There are a lot of cool new clubs I'm starting (including one at a Children's hospital for the nurses and doctors, as well as a club for my friends who work at a hair salon!), and we're meeting a lot of great new contacts (including a woman who essentially organizes all the art teachers in town, another woman who wants to open a free internet center for youth, and some rockin new students who are just excellently fun to hang out with).

Some of the more exciting clubs lately have been our Girls Sports club, which saw our first meeting at the brand new Olympic Center (think Recreation Center) in town, playing softball. The girls KILLED it. They had no fears, they can throw, they can catch, one girl even took a softball to the face, got a bloody lip, and insisted on continuing to play, even as she was wiping blood off of her face. Rockstars I tell you, rockstars.

Then, this past week I was in Baku for our Mid-Service Conference. This means a lot of things. This means I've passed the halfway point of my service, and PC thinks I know enough now to not give me any more trainings. Crap. It was a great conference, gave us a lot of time to just process our experiences and our feelings, and staff was incredibly supportive. It was a little overwhelming to be around so many Americans (I'm a total introvert, so big groups and I don't get along so well anyway...but after spending so much time with only Azerbaijanis, and only a handful of Americans, it was weird. I was so tired I actually hid in my hotel room one night and went to bed at 10:30. Lame sauce.).

After the conference, I was invited back by PC Staff to help them review the TEFL Objectives and KSAs/Competencies for being in Azerbaijan. Essentially, it's a list of goals that specifically English Teachers (as opposed to YDs or CEDs) are set to accomplish, and a list of skills that English Teacher Volunteers need to have to be successful in country. A lot came up at the conference that English Teachers do more than just teach grammar, and so we tried to work that in. Again, staff was really open to our suggestions, and I think we got a lot of work done. I know for myself, I do teach English, but I do a lot of other things too. Besides community work, even my classroom time is more than just English.

I think of some of my favorite teachers from Elementary school, Ms. Balzerson (1st grade), Ms. Gemalas (2nd grade), Mrs. Harsh (1-3rd), Mrs. Roush (4-5th), Mrs. Dill, Mrs. McBride (both 8th grade)...Frankly, I don't remember a lot of what I learned in those classes...at least not a lot specifically. But I remember they encouraged me, they believed in me, they gave me the space to be creative and to be myself...that's what I want most that these kids get out of my time here. If they don't speak perfect English...ok. But if they feel empowered to go and pursue something they only dreamed of...then I've done my job.

I'm going to be so annoying when I get home...

2011-01-11T06:08:00.001-05:00

I'm gonna be kind of like this.

Except I won't know anything about monkeys.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwuDH5BkHvw

Welcome Back, or, The Bill That Never Came

2011-01-05T05:39:00.003-05:00

I'm back to Balaken, have been for about two days now, and it's hard. As always.

It's difficult to come back to Azerbaijan from what we sometimes refer to as, "the real world." Usually there is the cultural shock, realizing that Where You Were is not Where You Live, and that people and things just operate differently here. And that takes adjusting.

I was welcomed back to that full force when I stumble home, click on my lights, and, guess what, no lights. Oddly, the last time I came back to Az from a vacation I also did not have power. (It was also in the middle of an epic thunderstorm, this time it's horror-film-worthy fog).

So I headed over to Bailey's for dinner, hoping that when I returned home it'd be back. I came home. Still no power. So, my guess this time: they cut my power. I've been waiting for this to happen, because for 9 months of living in my house, I have not received a power bill. I ask, and ask. And the answer I always get is, "Wait, it will come next month." Yeah, ok. Or they'll just shut it off.

Now, in Azerbaijan, they actually use the verb, "to cut" when they talk about the company shutting off your power. So I start calling people I know, my landlord, my friend the electric guy, etc etc, "Ishiq yoxdur! Kesilibdir!" (There are no lights! They have been cut!)

Finally, I get sympathy, and instructions. Go to the electric dept, get a bill, pay the bill, and then someone will turn your power back on. Great. Awesome.

So I go, the guy isn't there, come back in an hour. Fine. I come back in an hour, to a very severe looking man in a black turtleneck and black coat, and explain in ruggged Azerbaijani (because every time I want to speak Azeri now French comes out...too long in Paris...), and he says, "Have a seat, we'll take care of it." He starts making calls, people come running in and out, and finally I get my bill. 47.37. For 9 months, which makes sense, really...but that's a lot out of my already sagging bank account. So I pay them, because it's the holiday and I can't pay for any of that at the post office, and wait as he makes more calls to get someone to restore my power.

As we wait, inevitably, the questions begin. Where are you from? What do you do here? Why are you here? Are you married? Will you get married in Az and stay here forever? The usual. When they figure out I teach English, they decide they want me to teach them English. They want a course. So, I might be teaching the workers at AzerEnerji how to speak English. I digress...

Finally, he gets somebody on the line who can turn my power back on. He says, "Let's go." I grab my coat, head outside, and see two rugged Azeri guys driving in a big ol' truck full of construction equipment. He gives them directions, and tells me to get in. I ride home in the back of a truck with these guys, get to my house, and they start to work on getting me my power back.

Little did I know, that when they say they 'cut your power' they LITERALLY mean they cut your power lines. Like, with a knife. They slice them.

So this one guy puts on these metal hooks over his shoes (our electrical poles have steps on them, these don't, he just gets special footwear), and begins to scale the wooden pole outside of my house. And he puts the lines back together, and BAM! power.

Try adjusting to that after 5 days in Vienna, 5 days in Paris, and another 3 in Baku. Just try...

Now I'm in recovery mode. I'm cleaning, I'm sleeping, I'm trying to get my energy and my motivation back to start working. It's harder now too, because I finished up all of my projects before I left, so now I'm kind of starting fresh all over again. It's a great opportunity, but it makes it difficult.

Also, it's colder here than I remember it EVER being last year. So cold that my laundry is frozen to the line. I'm bringing it in bits at a time to thaw...so, yes, try motivating your exhausted, culture-shocked body out into weather like this. Oh the pec is so warm...

I'll get there. I really will. Last time it took me about 3 weeks...I predict this time it'll take me a lot less than that. School starts up again tomorrow, which is a really good way to get myself in gear.

Paris, je t'aime.

2010-12-26T15:11:00.005-05:00

I've been to Paris twice before, making this my third time in this city.

I'm awed at just how much this trip, this city reminds me of New York.

I realize the feelings, the homeless people, the foreigners, the cafes, the shops, and the developing comfort of navigating this city.

I like it here.

It is the city of light and the city of love. And maybe I'm in a much less pessimistic place than I have been in past trips, I'm really starting to feel it. At the dawn of 2011, I'm full of hope for the next year, for myself, for my projects, and for life.

We arrived yesterday, but were so tired all we could do was go to the hotel, set up the origami Christmas tree my mom had bought from Barnes and Noble (too many parts), open presents, and take a nap. We did dinner out, but stayed close.

Today we walked, a lot. Walked around the Opera Garnier (an incredible building, we're trying to get tickets to see the ballet, but I worry that we're too late), past the decorated windows at Galleries Lafayettes and Printemps department stores (another weird coincidence of my life, - Broadway follows me - the theme of Galleries Lafayettes Department store windows this year? Broadway shows. What?!) down to La Place de la Concorde, up Champs-Elysees, down to Les Invalides, then to La Tour Eiffel and La Trocadero. (While at the Eiffel Tower we built a snowman - a small snowman - on the Champs de Mars. It was difficult as we werent actually allowed on the lawn, but we made do). We hit a few Christmas Markets along the way (I love the absence of open container laws...Mulled Wine, Christmas Ale...they make those markets), and just wandered.

It's cold here. The kind of cold that makes my nose look like Rudolph's, but isn't so bad if you keep moving.

It's been an odd kind of culture shock I've been feeling on this trip. Different from my trip to Istanbul and London...maybe it's because I've been in PC for a year, I have plans and projects and friends...maybe it's the holiday...maybe it's that Viennese/Parisienne culture is SO different, whereas Turkish culture was kind of similar...

But somehow, just today, finally, I felt grounded. Walking back, I calmed down. I don't know what did it. Hell, maybe it was just the wine. But I centered myself. I hope I can hang on to it for the next 3 days until I get back...

It's hard not to begin to panic about what to do when I leave PC. Watching the 6s go, and me leaving the country this year at just the time I'll be doing it next year. I can't shake the idea that this is a little taste of what next year will be like. I can't help from flashing forward and going a bit crazy.

A year is a long time. A lot can happen in a year. A lot can change.

Que sera, sera...

For now, I enjoy Paris.

And I let Paris seep into my every pore, so I can cherish it for as long as possible.

A Christmas Miracle, or The Island of Misfit Toys

2010-12-26T14:41:00.002-05:00

After some lovely Christmas Eve apertifs and appetizers, a wacky skype session with the debaucherous attendees of Sheki Christmas, a lovely dinner, and a magical midnight mass a St. Stephen's church, we turned right around and headed to the airport for an early flight to Paris.

We werent immune to the madness of Christmas Travel 2010. I was luckily untouched by it, my flights were on time and my bags actually came with me this time, but my parents did not have the same luck. Their original itinerary had them coming through Heathrow, so when that was cancelled, they were out of luck. And so were their bags apparently.

The bags thing isn't such a big deal, even though my mother had not clothes to wear, a quick trip to H&M with a strong piece of plastic can fix a lot. The problem was more of the other stuff she brought. A mini christmas tree, christmas cookies, presents, and the family stockings...

The lost bags started as an inconvenience, but then just got depressing. Dad's luggage was delivered on Tuesday to the hotel, but when Mom's never made it we assumed it had been stolen. On our way out of Vienna, we stopped at the airport baggage claim center to fill out a new claim, and let the airline know we were leaving the country.

Vienna is a big airport, though not massive. The baggage claim area has about 10 carousels or so. We walked down to the office, and see, between every carousel, rows upon rows of lost bags. Lost rolling suitcases, duffels, skis, boxes, guitars, everyting. Lost personal items, cherished possessions, and Christmas presents. It was sad. It was like the Island of Misfit Toys.

The office attendant waves across the panorama dejectedly, says, "You can look if you'd like. Yesterday, was full to here." And he points right up to the door of the office, many yards from where the carousels begin.

So, I figure, as Dad files a report, I'll go for a walk.

I walk. And wander. Bag after bag, all beginning to look the same to me. Black bags, dark blue bags, some have seen more of the world than others.

Then, I spot something.

A NATCA tag. My father's signature.

"I found one!" I shout through the empty hall.

As I roll the big suitcase to the end of the line, I see, lying on its side, a sad little piece of lonely luggage. Waiting to be taken home.

I roll them both over to my parents, and realize, my mom is crying.

In Characteristic Mom Fashion, she pulls out a tissue. But not just any tissue, a tissue bought specially for this trip, with prints of the Eiffel Tower all over it.

I start laughing hysterically. My mom continues to cry. My Dad is just relieved that he doesn't have to spend any more time or money trying to remedy this situation.

It's a Christmas Miracle.

I do believe in Santa Claus.

Vienna Art: Part 2 or Moved to Tears

2010-12-24T03:36:00.003-05:00

It seriously just keeps getting better.

But no, for the joy of my parents, the nakedness isn't going away. Even in the Prince's Palaces, the Belvedere. We found an installation piece, again from Vienna in the 70s, with nudity, violence, and torture victims.

My mom sat that one out.

But what I am referring to, is going to see a painting that I have been looking forward to seeing since I knew I was going to Vienna.

Frankly, I've always liked Klimt, but I've been more a fan of his Tree of Life painting. (Also here in Vienna, but we probably wont make it to the museum where it's hanging). At the Belvedere, there is a huge collection of Klimt's, including his most famous, The Kiss.

Something about going to see a painting that has so much hype and anticipation around it. As you weave through the other galleries, you can never fully give yourself over to the art before it, because part of you is just waiting to see this one piece. As you get closer, you can sort of feel the energy of the painting getting stronger. You turn a corner, you realize you are one room away...

And then you walk in. And you see it.

The Kiss is a large canvas, unfortunately kept behind glass (like the Mona Lisa. Which I have seen, and it didn't have even close to the same effect on me). I stood about 6 feet away, my head tilted up to see the top of the painting.

My breathing changed. My stomach tightened up. I swear I almost started to cry.

I've always liked this painting, but I've never loved it. I've never felt it. Until now. It is a painting of two lovers in an embrace, the woman's head turned to the viewer, the man's away. Their hands are entwined around each others necks, they are kneeling in a flowerbed, their clothes seem to mesh together. The colors are bright, gold foil around pinks and browns and yellows and reds.

The tenderness. The simplicity. The love. The possibility. The genuine connection between the two. The way he seems to take care of her, and her complete abandon in giving over to him.

I guess I am a romantic. Who knew?

I've put a copy of it below, which certainly doesn't do the canvas justice. Some pieces are just better in person.

Tonight is Christmas Eve, and though I'm surrounded by Christmas it still doesn't feel the same. I don't think it will feel the same again until I am home. But that's ok. Dinner reservations later, and midnight mass at St. Stephen's Church. Then we fly out early tomorrow morning to Paris.

The art in Vienna has shifted something in me, and I can't wait to go to Paris to return to my old friends, the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists...

Vienna Art, or Maybe this Post Shouldn't Be Read By Children or Parents

2010-12-23T03:22:00.004-05:00

Despite the BBC's accounts of 'Frozen Europe' (even though LHR got 10 cm of snow, pansies...), I made it here as if nothing had ever happenned. My parents on the other hand, lost luggage, and had to essentially rebuild their itinerary when they got to the airport. (One leg had them in business class, I say they lost their luggage on the basis of karma...) But we made it, and have been absolutely enchanted by this city since we set foot on the ground.

The architecture is epic. The food is amazing. (Highlights: sunchoke soup, chestnut soup, roasted vegetables (broccoli!!), square noodles with saurkraut, and countless cups of espresso). The christmas markets are magical (There are lights on every tree, every street, every empty space is filled. The markets are buzzing with people, laughing, kissing, shopping. You walk through them clutching your punsch or mulled wine in one hand, a potato pancake slathered with garlic paste in the other, and just take it all in).

But the thing that is getting me, is the art.

The art, oh the art.

I could just die. It's incredible the collection that exists in this city. And in part, because I haven't seen this stuff in over a year, my soul is just melting.

This trip has gotten off to a strange start. Much different than my trip to Istanbul, I'm actually homseick for my life and my friends in Azerbaijan. On the flights over here, my mind kept wandering to a fabulous weekend of Christmas pageant, Christmas party, and company in Balaken...my thoughts had a hard time making their way to Vienna. Even here, I suppose it is culture shock. Or just difficulty reconciling the life I've led for the past year with a world that doesn't care about or understand that life.

But when I'm standing there in front of a canvas, all that dissolves.

What has been funny, is that the museums we keep going to (Museum of Modern Art, the Leopold (focus on 19th and 20th century art), and even Freud), seem to have at least one exhibit, if not many, that have something to do with sex.

And not just this concept of love, or this ideal, but a graphic representation.

It's been fun watching my parents.

I believe my father said to me at one place, "I have no idea what is going on in this room."

Both exhibits that I am directly referring to seem to be about the Direct Art movement, something called Vienna Actionism, that took place during the 60s and 70s. Lots of free-love, lots of re-claiming the body, embracing sex and sexuality as something that should be free and open for discussion and expression. Lots of contorted bodies, in compromising positions. Some with props. Some with animals. I found it fascinating.

But I wonder, and my parents are both incredibly intelligent people, who know how to appreciate art and culture, what the purpose of this art is, if a general audience can't get anything out of it?

Maybe that's not the right question, I'm sure they got SOMETHING out of it. But where does art stand if it is only created for other artists and the art community? If you need to read the description under the title of the work, is it really visual art anymore? Visual art should transcend words, right? But once you read a description that is written by an art critic, he has dictated the way you must see the work, and therefore has stripped it of some of its power. Or, has supplemented a work that maybe doesn't work on its own.

I don't know, lots of thoughts were racing through my mind in these galleries, and I am still trying to make sense of them. I'm sure after The Belvedere today (I think I'm going to go crazy over all the Klimts...), and time in Paris (Musee D'Orsay anyone...god I could live there...) I'll probably have a lot more to say.

Or maybe not...

A quote from one of the exhibits we saw, a man who was so wrapped up with the concept of being sexually free he started a commune, and while living there was arrested and jailed for abusing minors...but I like his work and ideas. (Is there something morally compromising in that? The fact that I enjoy a child abusers work? There's a whole dissertation there...)

"the function of art is to disillusion reality.
art is only a means.
when painting thinks, you will get further than you are able to think."
-Otto Muehl

I would modify that quote only slightly, and change "think" to "feel."

Thinking implies words. Feeling goes deeper...

Adventures in Cooking: How to Make the Best Lasagna Ever

2010-12-15T11:23:00.004-05:00

Step 1: Make noodles. Dough of flour, water, and salt. Roll out on a flat surface. If you don't have a rolling pin, or have been to lazy to go to the bazar and buy the wicked-awesome Azeri ones, use a wine bottle, or, in my case, a vodka bottle. Slice into noodles.

Step 2: Cook noodles in boiling water.

Step 3: As noodles cook, prepare sauce. Onions, garlic, olive oil, tomato paste, tomatoes, italian spices (basil, rosemary, thyme, oregano), and my favorite new ingredient...bekmez...or...persimmon molasses. Just a touch...it's amazing.

Step 4: When noodles are done cooking, assemble. Noodles, cheese (in the case of Azerbaijan, we used the boxed White cheese...it's soft, spreadable, and delicious. Ten times better than the gouda we usually buy), filling (spinach and black olives), and sauce.

Step 4: Repeat and look pretty doing it.

Step 5: Top with Amerikadan Parmesean shake-shake cheese from Grandma, bake in pec until your whole house smells like yummy. Eat on top of the placemats your mother sent you because, well, when in the Peace Corps you have to have fancy placemats with wine bottles on them.

Stimulation. Overload.

2010-12-15T11:00:00.002-05:00

I like busy, really. Keeps me moving, makes me feel like I'm doing something.

But this week...it's just like everything hit at the same time. And it is all. So! Exciting!

First off, I found myself in Baku last week to see the new PC group Swear-In. That was good, and weird. My own Swearing-In Ceremony (or, Swearamony) seems not that far away. I remember I was so anxious all day, because I had to give this speech in Azerbaijani (thanks for the vote of confidence Peace Corps! I still hope you feel you made the right choice on that one!), my LCF kept yelling at me (in an encouraging, but very stern way) to get it right, and then there was this TV station that wanted to interview me...

This year, I got to be on the other side of the table. That's always something that I love...being past the stage of terrified new guy and getting to chill out and watch the madness ensue. Which is what happenned at Swearing In. Our new Charge d'Affairs (because America has still not appointed a new Ambassador to Azerbaijan) gave a fabulous speech. He talked all about representing America, and not being afraid to have those difficult conversations with host country nationals. There are a lot of differences, and sometimes it is easier for the volunteer to lie or ignore the issue than actually explain it and deal with it. It's hard blowing somebody's mind...

After that, some business in the office in Baku, and then Bailey and I got to take our new sitemates back to Baku! We've got two new guys, one lives literally right around the corner from me (and works across the street from my school), and the other lives out in the village, but commutes into the city to work. They are both great guys, and I'm excited to see what the next year brings.

So on top of coming back from Baku (to of course a dirty mess of a house), and having two new people in town to hang out with/get to know/show around, I'm organizing a Christmas Pageant at school. (I've taken to calling it a Christmas Pageant, which is definitely not what it is and totally not politically correct...but I don't know how else to explain it to Americans. My Counterpart is calling it an English Evening...but that doesn't make any sense to me.) Essentially, I've told each English teacher at my school to have their students prepare poems, songs, skits, dialogues, etc, in English, about the Holidays, about Azerbaijan, about America, and we're going to put it all together into a performance this Friday. I've tried very hard to take a back seat on this one, trying to get my counterparts and the teachers at my school to see that they don't need me to do this...but it's hard. Whenever something looks funny, or sounds wrong, or is just not a good idea...I desparately want to jump in and manhandle it until it works. But I can't do that...I need to nudge, and suggest, and imply...and hope.

Fingers crossed this goes off like it is supposed to. The other teachers today tried to change the date of the performance and move it to TOMORROW because they don't have lessons on Friday and didn't want to come into school. Yeah, that one I didn't nudge or imply. I yelled. They listened. It worked.

What I can say is that my kids are psyched. I've spent the last couple weeks making snowflakes and coloring in pictures of Santa Claus, and making foamie snowmen (courtesy of a care package from America) for them to decorate the hall with. I'll go in Friday and put the finishing touches up - garland from Target and big homemade 3-D snowflakes. It'll look sweet, and my kids will rock it. So that's all I really care about at this point!

Saturday we're having an all-American Christmas dinner. Since I'll be travelling for the holiday, I wont get to celebrate with my friends here (seriously, some of the closest friends I've ever had - so that was hugely important to me), and of course the Susie Homemaker in me is all about cooking and prepping. (On the menu, that I'm making, Spinach Polenta Casserole, Green Beans, Pumpkin Roll [which I made today and looks terribly stupid but tastes delightful], Sugar Cookies [cut outs!] and Peppermint-Chocolate chip cookies. I'm insane, right? I'm insane. Oh, and Butterscotch Eggnog. I'm going to try to not kill everyone with Salmonella.) And so there will be houseguests...right before I leave.

And finally, to top it all off, I'm leaving the country for 10 days starting on the 20th. I'll be back in Baku the 30th, spend the New Year in Baku, and head back up to site after that. So I have to clean the house, pay my rent for next month (Which means tracking down someone to give the money to.), pay my electricity (come on Bank Account...hang in there...), and figure out how to get to the airport.

Sigh.

Lori was here the past few days, which calmed my nerves. She brought some homemade wine from the Georgians, she helped me prepare for the Christmas Pageant, and we made some seriously bomb lasagna. (The problem with making lasagna here: there are no lasagna noodles. You must make them from scratch. And no Prego pasta sauce. Sauce is also, from scratch.). I swear it was the best lasagna I've ever eaten in my life. I'm still dreaming about it...

But that's the one wonderful theme that's been apparent in my life lately. With all the stuff going on, being in Azerbaijan for a year, being away for the holidays, a lot of plans, a lot of personal stuff...I have some seriously amazing friends here. We can sit around and be depressed together. We can sit around and laugh and call each other out on stuff (Lori made it pretty clear to me that I'm kind of an idiot sometimes. But I actually needed that. Haha). We can make plans together. We can make crafts together. We can cook. We can play board games. I think about the kind of relationships I had with people in the states (this is a generalization and it does NOT apply to all), and usually it was always about going somewhere, doing something, being out, being seen. Here, we can just be ourselves. It's so refreshing, and I think it is reflected in how strong our relationships are. I mean, I didn't think it when I applied, but my relationships with other Americans in this country is one of the most important parts of my service. I don't always feel like it, but I'm a lucky gal.

Can't Turn Back Now...

2010-12-07T10:41:00.003-05:00

Well, not like it was ever an option.

One year down. One to go.

I can't say I was particularly close to any of the 6s who are on their way out, but watching them go struck something in me. And for some reason, talking about new people coming to site has got some of my friends here to start talking about me leaving.

You really can't help but think about what you are going to do when you leave here. So of course, when I'm in kind of a bum mood, making plans makes me feel better. So that's how I found myself the other night. Sitting alone, trying to distract myself from the funk I was already in, researching grad schools. I suddenly had this image in my mind of starting grad school in September 2012, moving to a new city, loading boxes out of a used car into grungey graduate housing, introducing myself to new roommates and new classmates, and having to start all over. Fresh. Alone. Again.

And I lost my shit.

I seriously haven't been that emotional in a long time here, and oddly, it wasn't out of homesickness. It wasn't out of frustration or anger or hurt or disappointment. It was out of fear. The fear of leaving the familiarity of this place, where I have friends and even family, and having to begin again from scratch.

I feel like I did that at NYU. I did that in Azerbaijan. The first time didn't go so well, this time is going great. And I don't want to do it again.

But I have to. So. That sucks.

What has been hard has been listening to my Azerbaijani friends talk about what life will be like when I leave. How they will miss me, how their life will change. And in fact, not change but go back to how it was. Though slightly changed...because now they have different memories following them around.

And me, thinking the whole time, I'll never see you again. Ever.

So, one year in, and I'm already panicking about going home. I suppose that's a good thing, that means I'm happy here, right?

And of course, it doesn't help that I had one of those "I'm gonna miss this" kind of days today...

I went over to my counterpart's house, where her 5-year old daughter decided it would be fun to dress me up like one of their Yeni Il (New Years) Characters, Qar Qiz, or Snow Girl. Which means her trying to get me into her white jacket and hat...which I'm sure was a rather entertaining sight. She fries up some fish for lunch (like little 4-inch long fish...she fries the entire thing, and to eat it you literally go at it with your hands, pull off the head and tail, and navigate your way around the bones to get to the meat. Good thing I got over that repulsion fast...) And then, as I'm going for the fifth napkin to blow my nose (as i've been ill lately), my counterpart comes out and offers me some medicine.

I ask, "What is it?" (thinking if its sudaphedrine, yeah, that could work...)

"Ne Bilim. (I don't know). Baxim. (Let me look)." She reads. "Amoxicillin."

"NO!" As I am quite allergic to the stuff.

"But it helps me. I am ill, I take two, and I am better."

Um, of course you are. It's a serious antibiotic. Except the last time I took it my joints swelled up so bad I couldn't walk anywhere, let alone put my shoes on (I was a child, but that was lesson enough). I love how they just have that lying around...

But I spent the rest of the day learning how to make kesmek xengeli (cut xengel...it's a dough dish, sort of like pasta, with a creamy sauce made from greek-ish yogurt and garlic, with caramelized onions on top. It's delish, and I learned a pretty good technique that might allow me to make lasagna noodles...we'll see...). We watched a video from her brothers wedding (where as I was dancing ["Ne gozelle (how beautiful!) she says], the camera man thought it would be funny to put up a picture of the American Flag on the video screen. And then the statue of liberty. And then the Cleveland skyline. And then finally Obama.) Finally, we taught her daughters to make snowflakes, as we had in class earlier. And it was lovely.

That's the kind of thing I'm going to miss.

But I've still got a year to do all that and more. I just hope it doesn't go so fast that I don't get to enjoy it...

You Should Be on Broadway

2010-12-01T08:48:00.001-05:00

http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7776407/

Watching this made me laugh so hard I cried.

You get over the mechanized-voices...

The One With Three Thanksgivings

2010-11-29T05:26:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I had 3 Thanksgiving dinners.

Somehow, I still fit into all of my pants.

After the pilgrimage, I headed down to Baku because I had a session I had to do for training. I headed in and got to spend my first Thanksgiving with a cluster of PCTs in Sumqayit. There was a ton of food, a ton of people, good music (I actually ended up singing in front of real people for the first time in, um, 3 or 4 years? That was weird. Good. Weird.), and a host family that didn't know what to make of the mess. I ended the evening sitting with them, drinking tea in the kitchen, listening to them talk about how incredible it is that these crazy Americans have come into their lives.

I remember our Thanksgiving last year, dubbed Melissa Gunu (Melissa Day) by the family who hosted our Thanksgiving, they had named it in honor of the PCT they were hosting. They had no idea what to make of the day, but were so touched by our presence there, and their involvement in it. It was wonderful.

Friday morning I did sessions (I led training on Conversation Clubs and bringing Critical Thinking into Azerbaijani classrooms for the trainees), it went well, I think, but I did each presentation twice, meaning I was on my feet talking for about 6 hours (oy), and then I hitched a ride back to Baku with staff, and made it just in time to enjoy Thanksgiving #2.

This one was at an expat friend's house, and seriously I felt like I had walked into a Martha Stewart Spread. 3 golden-roasted turkeys, mashed potatoes, sweet potato mash, stuffing, an array of salads, deviled eggs, ratatouille, sweet rolls, corn casserole, corn bread, macaroni and cheese tarts, 3 different kinds of pies (chocolate, apple, and pumpkin), and I'm sure there are things I've missed. There were about 6 other PCVs, my friends and their co-workers and families...and it was wonderful. This one felt most like being home...mingling, kids laughing and crying in the background, buzzing in and out of the kitchen, make-shift tables set up everywhere, sitting around with a deck of silly conversation starters, asking each other ridiculous questions. It was a good night.

Next morning I woke up early so I could boil and shell chestnuts, for the chestnut stuffing I was bringing to the embassy Thanksgiving. Each year, the ambassador (or in this case acting ambassador) hosts a Thanksgiving potluck for the PCVs. We all headed over with our stuff (Lori, Marie, and Teresa brought leftovers from the second Thanksgiving because there was just so much left!), and it was crazy! Most all of the PCVs still in country came, we ate a ton of food, and even had a little talent show at the end of the night. (No, I did not perform.)

All in all, it was a good week. I was kind of in a weird mood, thanks to a perfect storm of events - some of which were my own doing, and some of which just sort of happenned - but it was a nice reminder that when I was feeling down, I was around exactly the people I needed to be with.

There's a lot that I'm thankful for this year, and if I try and list, I'm sure I'll miss something or someone. But I am blessed to be surrounded by good people who care about me, and who I care about, and I'm blessed to have a wonderful opportunity at my feet, that really, so far, is not panning out as I had planned, but is doing things for me that I am finally starting to feel.

Life is good. And I am glad.

St George's Day

2010-11-29T04:57:00.003-05:00

November 23rd is St. George's Day, one of two in the year, celebrated by Georgians acrosss the world. Because there is a significant Georgian population still living within Azerbaijan, this festival happens every year in the region of Qax.

We were lucky enough to be invited to the last celebration, on May 6, and were completely ready to be part of round 2 this year. (There are two St. George's Days in the year, May 6 and November 23. May 6 is his birthday, and November 23rd is the day he killed the dragon! That is, this is what we've been told...)

About 15 Americans came, and we had a fun-filled day of cooking, hiking, eating, drinking, and playing.

We woke up that morning, and hopped in taxis to head to the old church, perched on the side of a mountain. The pilgrimage part of the day is the hike up to this church. Not a difficult hike, it takes about a half an hour up the road, to the location of the church. Everyone does it, and for those who have special things to pray for that day, those people hike barefoot, as a sacrifice.

You make it to the church, and process around it 3 times. Georgian women with their heads covered kiss each corner of the church, each time they pass, as the men stand on the side and sacrifice chickens and sheep for the evening's meal. Once you have finished you enter the church, lit with natural light coming through the windows at the ceiling, and the thousands of candles that have been lit during the day. Georgians typically light 10 candles - each one having its own significance. I didn't know the significance of the Georgian's 10, but I lit 10 of my own - for things that I was thankful for this year.

Then we head back down, where at the base of the hill EVERYONE who came that day is out picnic-ing, making kebabs, toasting to the day and to the company. Our Georgian friend's uncle whittled us kebab sticks from a hazelnut tree in his yard, and helped us make pork kebabs. He found it particularly entertaining to use me as a pork-mule to shuttle the finished pieces back to the hungry company that was waiting.

Part of the fun of the festival is just wandering around, meeting people, being guest-napped to different families' picnics, being fed more delicious Georgian food and wine. (I think my favorite Georgian dishes invlove this garlic-walnut paste...they mix it either with eggplant or spinach, and on top of the fresh bread, is just divine!)

The weather was beautiful, and it came at a good time for me. I was ready to get out, ready to be in a church again (I wouldn't necessarily label myself as religious, but there is something comforting for me about going to church. I think because of my family, and my mother :) ) And just 2 days before thanksgiving, about a year into my service, it was a good time for reflection.

Lori and I and the kebab sticks. When I had them in the backpack I felt sort of like Robin Hood, and really wanted to pull one out and pretend to shoot it. I did have one little boy come up to me and ask for one...of course I had to say yes...

Friends on the hike up to the church.

This is a view of the church from the hike up.

The sun setting from the church.

Lori and I at our picnic!

This is inside of the other church (not the one we hiked to), but the working Georgian Orthodox Church found in Qax.

Not a good week to be an animal in Azerbaijan...

2010-11-17T13:46:00.003-05:00

So I recently posted that I'd sacrifice a sheep. I still would, for gratitude. But I absolutely wouldn't do it myself.

I was at my friend's host family's home the other day, and they were preparing for an engagement party. I step outside onto the balcony, and look down to see a headless sheep carcass, lying in a pool of it's own blood. The blood is fire engine red and as thick as paint. It's head is resting off to the side, next to another sheep, who is still alive, tied up and lying there, bleating, but not struggling, as if it knew of the fate that awaited it.

I walk down the stairs, around to the kitchen, where the women are boiling and plucking at least a dozen chickens. Claws, beaks, feathers everywhere, the women clutching the feet of the poor things cleaning them off.

Then, in my own home, I am in my kitchen, and see a clump of something stuck on the wire that leads from the lightbulb in my kitchen, outside up the side of the house. I get closer only to realize that it is not a clump of something, but a dead mouse. Apparently electrocuted, and hanging from the wire.

I held it together at my friend's. I was a guest, it wasn't my house.

But when I saw the mouse, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I just whimpered, threw down my dishes, and decided to wait until daylight to figure out how to get the thing down without actually having to touch it.

Live animals, no problem. Dead ones...really? Really? Do I have to?

And of course Thanksgiving is around the corner, which means many of my fellow PCVs will be taking on the task of killing their own Turkey for dinner. I have to say it really does bring a new appreciation to the food we eat. And I agree with Michael Pollan on this one, if you can't deal with the fact that you are eating something that was once alive, and watch it be killed, and even kill it yourself, then you just shouldn't eat it. Probably part of the reason I don't.

Living in Azerbaijan

2010-11-16T10:21:00.002-05:00

Living in Azerbaijan.

Usually in that statement, the emphasis is on the Azerbaijan. The things that are different about this culture. The wonderful, the terrible, the quirky.

This time, though, my thoughts lead to the emphasis on Living.

We live in Azerbaijan. Which means, we have to have lives here.

As volunteers, we're people too. We still have all the same needs and impulses as anybody else, we just have to figure out how to deal with them in the context of Azerbaijan. I think it's easy as volunteers to get so wrapped up in being a perfect volunteer, that we forget to have a life.

But it's really hard.

We have homes. We go to the store. We buy food. We cook. We clean. We have all the same internal problems too. We want to be liked. We want to be accepted. We want a social life. We want approval. We want a private life. We want to have hobbies (that are NOT related to work!). We hate our bodies. We fight. We get our hearts broken.

We want to have an identity that isn't just as a Peace Corps Volunteer. But this is a 24-hour a day, 7-day a week job. And that makes finding that little piece of something else a challenge. Sometimes it feels like this is all some sort of funny dream, and that when I go home and my feet hit American soil, I'll wake up. And THAT will be reality. And THEN my life will begin again.

But it's not like life has stopped. This isn't a dream, when I wake up, I'm not going to wake up to the same world I fell asleep to. In fact, it's still going, still changing, more than ever. People back home get sick, die, break up with us, confess their love for us, have babies, get married.

I'm 23, my friends are embarking on major endeavors. For me, it means that I am a young woman, searching for all sorts of things, exploring, trying, failing, succeeding...or at least, that's supposed to be the case, right?

When I signed up for this two year contract, did I sign up to put all that on hold? Did I really sign up to sacrifice my own needs - ALL of my own needs - for the needs of my community? There's got to be a middle ground.

I'm still trying to navigate it, and I've found its a constant balancing act. The second you focus on one thing, you watch the other one start to slip. Your heart tells you to go in this direction, but you feel the that direction tugging at your arm. Your conscience never shuts up, and always seems to be playing devil's advocate.

I'm living. I have a life. Or at least, I'm trying to.

Sacrifice Holiday

2010-11-11T07:56:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow is the official beginning of the Azerbaijani break for Qurban Bayram, which literally translated means, Sacrifice Holiday.

In Azerbaijan, what this means is that mass amounts of sheep are slaughtered, leaving blood and guts and bodies along the sides of the roads. A vegetarian's delight!

Truly though, it is a reflective holiday. It's inspired by Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his only son Ishmael in the name of Allah (though Abraham was able to sacrifice a ram in the end and call it even, he still would have killed his son, so it is the thought that counts...). Families here sacrifice sheep, and divide the meat up into 7 parts (though some families will tell you 3). They keep one part for themselves, and give the other parts to families in need. (These poor families are usually friends, relatives, and neighbors).

It's quite a big deal, giving us a week off of school and work, and making families very busy. Today we talked about sacrifice in our FLEX preparation club, and I tried to get the kids to reflect on making a sacrifice, helping someone in need. We brought up some interesting issues, the things that you have to give up when you give something of yourself, and when giving actually isn't beneficial to the receiver. It sort of got me to thinking...

This year, as it was last year, I think it's interesting how Qurban Bayram falls right around one of our major holidays, Thanksgiving. (When we translate Thanksgiving into Azeri, we get 'Gratitute Holiday'). When you think about the two, Sacrifice and Gratitude...I think they can't help but be related.

The act of sacrifice (in the selfless sense) implies that there is wealth and abundance to be sacrificed. Recognition of that bounty generally involves gratitude. I think of myself being here, and how a lot of people would find that leaving America for two years to teach English in a country I know nothing about is a sacrifice. But I never would have been able to make that sacrifice had I not had so much support, and been so aware of and grateful for that support that I was able to make do thousands of miles away from it. And, been grateful that I had gifts that were valuable to other people, other people who were born into circumstances different than my own.

I'm incredibly lucky. And I don't thank my stars enough.

If I had a sheep, I'd totally kill it. Or I'd have someone else kill it for me...

Istisu: Part 2, pictures

2010-11-11T07:52:00.002-05:00

Lori, crossing the river. (glad she used the bridge...)

On our way!

Lori and I received an award, "The Caucasus Rocky" for best impersonations.

Sean and I, reveling in our success!!

Istisu: The Fellowship

2010-11-08T04:27:00.004-05:00

We did it. Leagues of PCVs have tried before us, and failed. But this time, we succeeded.

We made it to the hot springs. (I even have proof...some silver jewelry tarnished by the sulfurus baths. I think it looks kind of cool now...)

Back story: Since I arrived in Balaken, I have heard of the elusive hot springs lingering in a village of Qax, a village called Ilisu. Tales of their wonder and splendor have trickled back to us, but no other PCV I have spoke to has made it, and few Azerbaijanis have been. The rumors go that the place is sacred, holy, possesses magical healing powers, and is just freaking awesome. In the past year, I have seen three unsuccessful attempts to get to them, and been part of one such attempt.

Why is it so hard, you ask?

Well, first, you leave Qax proper and take a taxi or a bus into the village of Ilisu. From the village, you must walk somewhere from between 3-5 miles up a river bed, crossing the river that flows through it at least 4, but likely 6 different times. (Azerbaijanis who go tend to go by horseback, or by one of those rugged off-road vehicles that cost way too much money for us cheap kids to rent. So we walk.) So, you're walking away from the village, up a riverbed, into the mountains, and oh yeah, towards Russia. Qax is a rayon that actually borders Daghestan, so the area is patrolled by Azerbaijani military. Foreigners, wandering the mountains, close to a border...yeah, that could look weird, and oftentimes people get stopped.

So, one PCV attempt was abandoned because it was February, and several members of the expedition were nearing frostbite (because of the river crossings). Another attempt was foiled by the military, who told the PCVs that they weren't allowed to continue because there were bears in the woods, and the bears would not know to respect foreigners as other Azerbaijanis do, and would eat them. The attempt I made was abandoned rather early, when our party (a great group, but a little big for this endeavor) was just unprepared. (You can't go hiking in mocassins. Or flip flops.)

But this time, we were ready. Despite the warnings of Azerbaijanis ("You can't go, it's November!" "You will be ill! And cold!" "The bears will eat you!" "The wolves will chase you!"), we all had a good feeling. We set out with four people. Each of us armed with layers of clothing (bathing suits underneath), big ol galoshes for river hopping, a picnic lunch and the appropriate libations...we were set. We hopped in a cab around 8:45am, with a clear blue sky and a light breeze, and started walking up the river bed a little after nine. We walked. And walked. And walked. And crossed some rivers (yeah my feet still got REALLY wet...but it was a beautiful day, so it didn't bother me).

The riverbed was wide, and reminded me of those shots in IMAX movies where the biplane is careening through a narrowing ravine. The mountains sloped up around us, with colorful foliage giving way to snowy capped peaks. The riverbed itself went from rocky, to at one point reminiscent of The Fellowships' journey through Middle Earth, with a touch of grass here and there, bits of weed, and frost dusting the leaves. (Sean was our Gandalf with his walking stick, Lori was Legolas because she was tall, I took Stryder because, well, he's awesome, and Jessica was left as Gimli, because she didn't want to be a hobbit, also because I told her that her hair fit the part.)

We walked for about an hour and 45 minutes, the mountains closing in around us, when we saw signs of life. A house and a little shack, clearly for when it is tourist season, this is where isti-su goers stop for their picnics. We knew we had to be close, but the hamams were nowhere to be found. (I feel like this is how those stories of hikers ending up wandering across international borders and getting arrested starts...) We followed the trail of cigarette buts and sunflower seed packets (the only signs of life by this point, but meaningful nonetheless), and trekked on, wondering if these springs were indeed a reality.

Finally, winding our way up the riverbed, we turn past a jutting rock, and see it. A decrepit stone structure (looking like any true old Azerbaijani hamam), with blue tarp hanging over a few entry-ways. This is it! We made it! 2 hours and 15 minutes of walking later, we're here!!

What happens next?

We strip down (sports bra and swimsuit bottoms being the apparel of choice) and hop in! The water is not just warm, but HOT, giving credit to it's name, Istisu. (Isti = hot, su = water). There are two baths, we started with the one around the corner, perched right on the mountainside. This was the sulfur bath, which you could smell from yards away, but didn't seem to bother after a while. It was a perfect nook for the four of us to fit, contantly being filled by a small waterfall cascading behind us. The water was divine. We hung out here for a little while, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and reveled in our success. We had made it to where no PCV (that I've met) had gone before, and disproved the theories of superstitious and worrisome Azerbaijanis. (We also tested one other Azerbaijani theory, that being that if you consumed a certain type of beverage while in the hamams, you would die either by flood or avalanche. Theory tested, tested again, and tested once more for luck: disproved.)

After a bit, we decided to venture into the first bath, which was a bit too dark to see into before. We throw our galoshes on, and scurry around the side (still in sports bra/swimsuit apparel), and climb into this cave...we hear the running water, and feel the heat pouring out of the doorway. At first, our eyes haven't adjusted, and it was a little frightening. You hear water, coming from somewhere, and at the far end of the cave, a single beam of light shines in from a hole in the ceiling. This one was fabulous. No sulfur here, it was like sitting in a sand-bottom hot tub. (Perfect for exfoliating!) It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I don't think they ever did, adding to the dream-like unreality of the place.

Finally, we decided we had to go. After hanging out there for about an hour and a half, we knew we had to book it back to make the last bus, and to make it home by sunset. It was a struggle to get back, leaving the place sort of felt like leaving a dream. We stopped at the shack on the way, tried to make a fire in the abandoned pec, but our kindling was too wet, and we didn't have time. So we danced a bit to the GLEE soundtrack, and kept walking. We had a few more falls on the way back than we did on the way out, Jessica was thorougly wet, and at one point Lori wanted to make a blood pact with me that if one of us ET'd the other would go too...but we made it home safe and sound.

A little more wet, with a little less dead skin, and a lot of pride.

Let be.

2010-11-05T13:28:00.002-04:00

You know it's funny, I'm not much for fate. I don't really believe that everything is predestined and predetermined, because I do like to believe that I have some control over my life and my future.

But at the same time, there are moments when you get this feeling that you are where you are supposed to be. For some people it's deja vu, or even just coincidence. For me, it's not that concrete. It comes randomly, when something clicks. Or a few things click together. In this case, it's three things:

1) My favorite Azeri phrase to bring into English and use all the time is, 'olsun.' Directly translated, it can mean "may it be" to "let it be," etc. I prefer to use it as "let it be." As in, it is out of my control, if it was meant to be, it will be, so, 'olsun.' (One of my favorite uses of this word was at FLEX testing when we were waiting for the test results in the school cafeteria. We watched as boys from one school began stealing chairs from a table of all girls, so that the boys could segregate themselves from the girls. My friend looked at the boys and scolded, "subay olsun." Translation: May you be single!)

2) I've been kind of stressed lately about a lot going on, mainly just personal things about being here, relationships with people here and at home. Nothing major, and nothing that I find that I can do anything about really. So I was reading my Yoga Journal the other day (as I am want to do...because I'm really cool...) and I came across this mantra, "omnamaha". OM, being, well, OM...the origins of all sound, the most basic vibrations of the universe, etc, etc, and "namaha" meaning essentially, surrender. So basically, that boils down to, 'surrender to the universe.'

3) I'm re-reading Hamlet (for what, the hundredth time? Still my favorite play...), and came to what has always been my favorite quote, but I've never really understood it. Act V.2, Hamlet: "We defy augury; there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come', if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man knows aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes? Let be." Hamlet just agreed to duel Laertes, and if he doesn't know for sure (which I think he might) he at least knows there's a strong possibility he's going to die. Now, he's pretty much lost everything up to this point, and really the only thing he's sticking around for is to kill Claudius (and maybe to kick it with Horatio...but Horatio doesn't ever really get any love, so...) Hamlet's got nothing to lose, and everything to gain, and until this point, his hands have been tied. He's got the knowledge he needs now, and it's just enough to inspire him to follow the course. Let be.

Olsun. Omnamaha. Let be.

For some reason, I'm sitting exactly where I'm supposed to. Doing just what I'm supposed to be doing. It's a good feeling.

Fall back...back an hour, back to PST, back to autumn...

2010-11-01T05:31:00.002-04:00

November has hit in full swing. The weather is a hazy shade of gray, cold and windy, and the persimmon trees are starting to turn their bright orange hues. The mountains are colorful, and the faintest bit of snow can be seen at the highest peaks. It's November, and it's here.

October was a blur. With PCTs in town, and a lot of work and travel to do, it's nice to be back in Balaken, with my feet on the ground, ready to take off.

School has been off to a good start, I finally got all the classes I wanted, and all the students too. (Though of course some of them are still fighting to get into my group, parents calling the director, etc etc), and I'm starting to see my counterpart take on some of the things I've introduced. She's more comfortable working independently of the textbook, she speaks English in class, and assigns homework that is moderately interesting to the students. This may seem small, but trust me, it's incredible progresss.

A grant that I'm working on with some friends in town was submitted in the middle of the month, and inshallah (god-willing) I'll hear about the results of it soon. We're trying to get an Educational Resource Center up and moving in Balaken...more details on that as the project continutes.

Toward the end of the month, I found myself in the midst of the new PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees - meaning they haven't sworn-in yet, so they aren't 'official' Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs), and they're living outside of Sumqayit learning language, doing practicum, and trying to get a feel for this crazy place in a safe environment). Two trainees came to visit me in Balaken, and two more to visit my sitemate, so the 6 of us hung out for a few days, and Bailey and I tried to show them a good time.

I remember on my site visit last year I went to Zaqatala. I boarded the train from Baku, and woke up in this dreamland of mountains and fog and greenery...the exact OPPOSITE of Sumqayit pollution and run-down factory life. I think the PCTs experienced the same feelings. We took them around town, I showed them off at school, and cooked some pretty great food. My kids absolutely LOVED meeting the other volunteers, and it was good for me to be able to show my community more of Peace Corps. Because one of the PCTs who came to see me was a guy, my boy students opened up in ways I have never seen before. One kid, who is a good student, but usually rather quiet and disinterested would not. stop. talking. In English! He was saying absolutely EVERYTHING he knew how to say. He told us about his family, his hobbies, even what he likes to eat for breakfast. I was so amused, and so proud. My counterpart even said to me, 'He carried himself like a great person' (great in this sense meaning mature, important, respected, maybe a little arrogant...!!). It was a riot.

Then, two days after the visit, I headed into Baku for some business in the office, and then to hang out with some more PCTs for a week in Sumqayit (particularly a suburb of it called Saray), and help observe their first forays into English teaching. I have to say, they didn't really need me. I think I was more of a cheerleader than anything else! I stayed with one PCT and her family, and for me, that was the best part. The family reminded me of my family in Xirdalan (girls around my age speaking some English, a 7th grade brother who was trying hard to learn, a caring, involved, mother and father), and they were incredible to me. They invited me back to stay with them next summer! They were genuine, which I have to say is, like anywhere, hard to come by. The Saray PCTs kept asking me what was in it for me (by doing practicum), and really, it was inspiring, and having to translate for the family was a huge boost to my language (which I think had plateaued for a bit...).

Being back in PST like that was shocking to me, and I think took it's toll on my nerves. They were preparing for their language test, constantly working, and you could just feel it. I remember when I was in PST, it seems like so long ago, and I feel like I'm a completely different person now. Training is nothing like your service, and though it serves to prepare you as best it can, it will never prepare you for everything. PC dictates so much of what you do in training, because they have to. They have to in order to get you all the language and training you need, and because if they didn't dictate, you'd have no clue where to start. I'm thankful now for my site, I'm thankful that I'm comfortable in my community to come and go as I please, that I have positive relationships with community members, and that I have enough facility with the language to get myself out of any situation. I was antsy to get back...

On my way back from Baku (a week of practicum was plenty for me), I stopped in Zaqatala for Halloween. We don't get to celebrate holidays here in the same way, but I think we did a pretty good job considering. Lots of people, costumes (there was a Circus theme...so Lori and I went as Fortune tellers...and then we just sort of turned into generic gypsies...which takes on a much stronger meaning when I have daily interactions with gypsies, and they are a very looked-down upon minority in Azerbaijan), even a bonfire. It was great. Better than last year, which found me sitting on the couch with my host brother watching the Azerbaijan version of America's funniest home videos. (We bonded...it worked out fine).

Yesterday I came back to site, with mountains of things to do, but re-energized and ready to take them on. I got started on some of them, made myself some hot apple cider (well, heated up apple juice and added cinnamon), and watched the GLEE Rocky Horror Episode (plot = terrible. Matthew Morrison = hot as ever. But hey, where did Puck go?!).

But, things are looking good, and I'm feeling positive. I can't believe a year is up...that means this next one is going to fly just as fast...

Bring on the Rain.

2010-10-06T04:20:00.002-04:00

Well, don't, actually. Not any more than it already is.

I love rain, really. Curling up on a couch with a book, next to the pec, with a cup of hot chocolate is definitely a favorite past time of mine. But this assumes that I don't need to leave the house.

Unfortunately, life in Azerbaijan doesn't quite allow that. Life here is kind of like an extended camping trip.

This is how my life changes when it rains:

-You know the intro to Sex and the City? Where Carrie gets sprayed when the bus drives through the puddle. That's me on my walk to school, except I'm not wearing a tutu.
-I get teased by my 5th formers for wearing boots. Apparently it's not boot season until November or so...even though there are rivers of water flowing down the streets through the mud and the rocks...
-I have to put on a rain coat to wash my dishes and go to the bathroom.
-I get rained on while in the bathroom. (But my bathroom gets washed!)
-My water is more consistent. But now it needs filtering because it's a little silty.
-I wash my clothes in the silty water, but have nowhere to hang it to dry. Jeans never dry in this weather, even if I put my clothes under the under hang.
-My hair is constantly a mess. And I can't wear glasses unless I want to know what it's like to live in an Impressionist painting.
-My clubs get cancelled, because no one wants to go anywhere in the rain.

But, the plus side to this last one, is that it leaves me right back where I wanted to be in the first place. On the couch, in my zebra snuggie, reading a book, next to the pec, with hot chocolate. :-)

One Year.

2010-09-30T15:25:00.003-04:00

One year.

It's incredible. At times, it seems like I just arrived yesterday. At others, it seems like I haven't been on American soil for years.

Somehow, I feel that the one year anniversary of my arriving in country should feel more significant. That I should somehow feel more accomplished, more excited.

Instead, it only shows me how far I have left to go.

I now understand the two-year commitment. Year one is so much about establishing yourself, getting your feet under you, getting a hold of the language. Learning the ins and outs of the community. And on top of that, as I'm the first volunteer at my site, I've spent a lot of time just trying to get my community to understand what I'm doing here in the first place. It's a slow process. Frustrating, at times. You arrive with so many hopes and aspirations and goals, and put it all on the shelf while you're trying to figure out how to pay your electric bill and heat your house.

I have made those strides, and I know that I have made progress, at least personally. I look back at pictures of PST (a year ago - which in the scheme of things is not so long), and see a completely different person. I've changed, and I think for the better. I have accomplished things too, if even just establish a presence for Peace Corps in my community, and make some significant relationships with people, that I look forward to continuing throughout my life.

I wonder if my service here is sort of going to be similar to watching a child grow up. Things happen, and you experience them, but you don't really notice just how much has changed until you see pictures of before. Until you look at videos and see just how different they used to be. You don't notice the change when you're in the thick of it, and when you're immersed in it every day. It is only when you step away can you gain a little perspective. I hope this is the case.

I didn't know what to expect of Azerbaijan, but I'm happy I'm here. I know some other PC sites may have sandy beaches and nice weather, but there is plenty here to make me content. And the challenges are why I came. I came here to scare the **** out of myself...and well, I pretty much have. I keep saying, if I can do this, I can do anything. Which is pretty good...

One Year Analysis:

Three summer camps
A LOT of clubs
A LOT of teaching
Not enough Art
Not enough Theater
Plenty of English
Plenty of awkward guesting experiences
Plenty of wonderful guesting experiences
Not enough guitar playing
Not enough books
Not enough hiking in the Caucasus
Plenty of culinary experimentation
Plenty of TV shows
Plenty of coffee
Not enough yoga (well, never enough yoga...)

Took kids to FLEX test: check
Grant writing experience: check
Homemade wine: check
Canning food: check
Backyard garden: Attempted. Bad weather, crummy soil. Next year will try again.
Rayons Visited: Neftcala, Ganja, Agstafa, Qazax, Beylegan, Mingechevir, Ujar, Sheki, Zaqatala, Qax
On the list: Lerik, Lenkeran, Massali, Quba, Qusar, Xachmaz, Qebele, Ismayilli, Tovuz, Yevlakh.

Looking forward to the next year, it's hard to not begin thinking about what I'm going to leave behind. The instinct immediately is to try and leave something concrete...something that other PCVs after me will hear about and see, and that will carry on my work in the community. But realistically, I have to know that this may not happen. I have to be content knowing that my being here was enough to start things, and that the relationships I've made will be the concrete thing that I leave behind.

I'm planting seeds. It's a shame that I will likely never see the trees they will become. But the knowing is all.

Anatomy of a FLEX Test

2010-09-28T12:27:00.002-04:00

So FLEX is a fabulous program that stands for Foreign Leaders EXchange program. It is for kids from Post-Soviet countries to study for one academic (high school) year in America - completely free. They go to high school, live with a host family, and get to experience being a normal American teenager...for better and for worse. From all of Azerbaijan, each year about 45 students go. It is open to kids in 9, 10, and 11th grades, and with three rounds, is highly competitive and very demanding. This year is one of the first years in a long time kids from my region are going (being so far from Baku, and no PCVs, there is little knowledge of this program in town). FLEX staff called the Ministry of Education to encourage participation, and much to the surprise of myself and my sitemate, the Ministry organized a bus, and organized the children to go. We were merely chaperones and cheerleaders. But it was still a looooong day.

5:00am: Alarm goes off. I curse at my phone for ringing so early, the sun hasn't even come up yet.
5:15am: Eat hard boiled egg and brew coffee in travel french press - to go.
5:40am: Leave the house, so I can catch a cab with Bailey because neither of us know where the school is where we are meeting.
6:00am: At the Lisey, where we find many other sleepy-eyed kids and parents waiting around...but no bus! But it wasn't on us to organize, we just hope it actually comes!
6:15am: Bus arrives, and we all are on the bus, but wait, two of our best students are nowhere to be seen. Call to Girl A - her phone is off. Call to Girl B - no answer. 3 calls later, "Where are you?" "I am ill, I will not go." "What about your friend?" "She will not come" End call. I don't believe them...something happenned...but we have 26 other kids to corral, so no time to think about it.
6:45am: On the road to Sheki, where the test is being held. FLEX tests are held in Baku, and about 5 other regional sites. The closest testing site to us is Sheki, a 2 hour drive. So, we're on the road, and that's why we're here so early.
8:45am: Arrive in Sheki. About 200 students have come to take the test from Balaken, Zaqatala, Qax, Oguz, Qebele, and Sheki.
9:00am: Welcoming speech, kids crammed into a small auditorium, waiting eagerly. Nervously. Reminds me of my middle school math competition days. Everyone eye-ing up the competition, trying to tell by postures and fashion who's really a threat and who's just here for a day off school.
9:30am: Send off our 26 kids to Round 1. A 15 minute English grammar test with 16 questions. Includes articles, prepositions, antonyms/synonyms, basic verb tenses, etc. We wait by the door.
10:30am: They're out, and the reviews are mixed. Apparently some kids didn't know that 'opposite' meant the same thing as 'antonym.' Nothing to be done, but now we must wait for the results. Kids wander, stare at us. Ask us a lot of questions. We begin to help the testing committee by grading some of the tests. Checked and double checked, even though we grade some of our own kids, there's nothing we can do to help. We don't even know how many you have to get right to move onto the next round...as we wait for the tabulations, I eat a sandwich.
1:00pm: Results are announced. Of our 26, 8 have moved onto Round 2. The others - well, maybe next year? The disappointment in some is palpable...for others, it is increased motivation to do well and to study better for their next chance. We keep the 8 at the school for the next part (which is usually the next day, but is specially offerred for us because of how far we had to travel), the others who did not pass will get to tour around Sheki for the rest of the day. Sheki has a lot of historical sites, and as most of these kids have never been to Sheki, have never left Balaken, it's a pretty good deal.
2:00pm: Round 2 begins. A 3-hour Pre-TOEFL (Test Of English as Foreign Language) test, with essays, listening comprehension, and reading comprehension. There is nothing we can do but wait in the Cafeteria. I drink way too much tea, and read Taming of the Shrew.
4:00pm: FLEX committee needs help proctoring. I sit in on the 2nd half of one of the groups, and get to see what this test is all about. I'm here for the Listening and Reading Comp...it's HARD. Listening Comprehension is 45 minutes, with about 75 questions. The tape plays continuously, no stopping for help or questions. None of the passages/conversations are repeated, the kids get one and only one chance. As far as the Reading Comp goes it isn't bad, but the directions are very confusing. I had to read one of the sections at least 3 times before I understood it. And no, we can't help them. We just have to shrug our shoulders and hope they get it.
6:00pm: Test is finally over, and we're all allowed to go home. We board the buses and head back to Balaken. The tests from Round 2 must be sent to Moscow to be graded, so we won't hear about these kids for another month. The only thing we can do in the mean time is continue to prepare them. Round 3 is interviews and essays. We announce a prep course, exchange phone numbers, and let the kids sleep on the way home. On the road, text arrives from our students who didn't make it, "I am sorry. I want to prepare best. Can I take test in January?" Um, no. Who told you that?? No matter, we'll resolve it later. Unfortunately, this just means that there is a lot of false information floating around. It's a shame, because we just saw these girls yesterday...more conversations to be had. Maybe they can go to another site for the test, or maybe they will have to wait another whole year.
8:30pm: Pull into Balaken just before dark. Arrive home. Eat peanut butter sandwich. Blog. Pass out.

I'm so proud of these kids, for even making the attempt. Cheers.

Life is Too Short for Bad Coffee

2010-09-22T09:14:00.004-04:00

A terrible thing happenned the other day. It was a normal monday, I was getting ready for school. I had just eaten breakfast, and I was cleaning up when suddenly, my French Press slipped off the ledge, into the sink, and shatterred.

I almost cried.

This is for my dear, lost, friend.

To my French Press,

You and my yoga mat were among my most cherished American possessions in Azerbaijan. You were there for me from the beginning, from training, and you provided sanity and stability when life was at its most stressful. We had a history, you came with me to New York, when I, as a shy freshman, moved into the dorms. You didn't get much use there, as the 12-cup electric coffee maker best served the needs of myself and my roommates, but you waited in the cabinet, patiently, for the day you would be used. And here, in Azerbaijan, you have gotten much use. We've gone through nearly 10lbs of coffee together, and they have all been memorable. In a country where tea is king, you were mine. A contraption that locals couldn't figure out what to do with, your copper detail and sleek design made my mornings smooth, as smooth as the coffee which came from your spout. Here's to you, my dear French press. I hope that you are in a better place, where the rivers run with the deep chocolate color of coffee, where the smell of roasting beans wafts with the wind, and biscotti grows on every tree. Cheers.

Back to School: Part 2

2010-09-15T12:46:00.002-04:00

And it has happenned, school started in full swing today, with children in their neatly pressed clothes, little girls with their hair up and white pom poms (part of the uniform) bobbing along their heads.

They came with their school books, their new bags, in lines, hand in hand with other students and older siblings. They came, and they played.

Yes, for today, though it was the first day of school, was not really the first day of lesson. As is common in most Azerbaijani schools, there is no schedule.

This isn't like it was when I was in grade school, where about two weeks before school began, lists would be posted on the door of who was in your class, what homeroom you were in, and who your teacher would be. You'd hold your breath hoping that your best friends and your little crush from last year would be in your class. It was like walking up to a cast list - hoping to see your name in the right spot, and crushed when it wasn't.

No, there are no lists like that here. Students stay in the same cohort the whole time they are in school, divided up by their last names. They take different courses each year, and sometimes they have the same teacher, and sometimes they don't.

For example, 6th form knows they have English three times a week, periods 3 and 4, but they don't know who their teacher will be. Same for all the subjects, a schedule is written, but teachers have yet to be assigned.

I'm not sure why this is. I have my inklings, but I don't like to ruminate on them. Either way, this means that I show up at school, and sit in the teacher's room for a half an hour, only to be sent home by my counterpart, and told not to return to school until next week when a more specific schedule would be completed.

Nonetheless, it was good to go. To see teachers I haven't seen all summer, to greet some new faces, and some old. It's a comfort, I finally feel like I belong at the school, and am welcome there. They greet me with a big grin and a firm handshake, or a shriek and a kiss on the cheek. I go through the niceties, explaining once again that I did not go to America this summer, but I was here, at this school in fact, teaching English. I answer again and again the question of when my courses will begin (sometimes, I think I shouldn't even teach real classes, I should just hold clubs after school, because that's all anyone wants anyway!), and explain that I don't privately tutor, but work for free, teaching clubs for many students. I'm complimented on my dress, my hair (everything but my shoes - they just aren't Azeri gesheng enough), and tell the other teachers how fabulous they look in their own newly purchased first-day-of-school outfits.

It's exhausting, but invigorating, and through the chaos of it all, it's good to be back.

Back to School: Part 1

2010-09-12T05:39:00.003-04:00

When I was little, one of my favorite things to do was go back to school shopping. I remember combing the circular racks at the store, filling my arms with piles of clothes, and trying them on in the dressing rooms. I would do a little fashion show for my mom, and then we'd choose a few basics, and one, special, 'first day of school' outfit. (I remember my first first day of school outfit, a pleated denim skirt with pink and white lace trim, and a cream top with lace on the sleeves. I was such a girly girl!) We'd buy some of it, and then use the trusty layaway for the rest. I remember counting down the days until we could go back to layaway and retrieve the rest of my brand new clothes!

I also loved buying school supplies, and this is still something that I have a weird obsession with. (And I know I'm not alone, I can name several friends - but one in particular - who have a strange need for and love of school supplies...;-) ) Fresh highlighters, crisp post-it notes, folders with sharp corners, and notebooks with a surplus of blank pages. It always signified a fresh start, and endless possibilities. Thinking of the things you would write with those new pencils, how many of those notebooks you'd fill with geometry equations or notes on ancient Eqypt.

School starts in Azerbaijan on September 15 (the entire country begins on the same day, and it's the same day every year. I appreciate this consistency.), and you can feel the preparations in swing. The weather has turned to signify its solidarity with the looming day, it's cloudy and cool now, as opposed to the 95 degree weather I was walking around in just last week. When I left the mountains were covered with green trees, and upon returning, they are moving through their red and orange hues. Balaken is ready, and now the people are getting ready too. Though we don't have a Staples or Office Max, or a Kohl's or JCPenny's we do have a Bazar, and that's where I found myself this morning.

I haven't written much about our Bazar, and I should take some pictures next time I'm there...but think about it as a Super KMart that's not as clean, and where all the prices are negotiable. (A more appropriate description would be the Chestertown, MD Roses and Marc's - but I think that allusion will only land with so many people). Either way, our bazar is rows and rows of merchants, selling everything from sponges and tablecloths, to cheese and spices, to skinny jeans and stiletto heels.

Sunday is always the big day for shopping (as it seems to be in America too) and since school starts on Wednesday, there was a particular urgency in the air. I walk in the back entrance to find several women on their way out, clutching their new purchases, most notably, chickens tied by the legs and dangling upside down, likely suspecting their ultimate fate.

I pass by a shop that is usually generic home supplies, to find a new table outside. There are so many women around it, I can hardly tell what's on the table, until I get close enough to peek, and see notebooks. Piles of notebooks, papers, pens, pencils, and women grabbing and shouting and negotiating to get the best prices. (Mind you, a typical notebook goes for about a quarter, but there is still bargaining to be done).

I'm only here to buy some vegetables for the week (I always get laughed at when I only buy a half kilo of tomatoes [this equates to about 4 tomatoes]. But when you are feeding one person, what do you need more for?). As I'm on my way to the vegetable section of the bazar, I roam through the clothing aisles to see if the new 'fall fashions' have come out. To my delight, they have.

It turns out the Fashion Forecast for Balaken for this fall is about the same as it was last year. Black, skinny jeans (for both the men and the women), drapey, clingy, brightly colored shirts for the women, with glitter and screen print images of pop stars and odd english translations (including: Top Girls, GLamorous, Juicey, No Girlfriend No Problem, My Pussy (complete with picture of cat), the Playboy bunny logo...you get the picture), and the men will be sporting polyester button downs, that are vague throwbacks to the 1970s. Women's shoes will continue to be irrationally high-heeled, and men's will have absurd points on the ends. This fashion is lovingly dubbed, 'gesheng.' (Meaning pretty or gorgeous in Azeri, but taking on a slightly different meaning when used by PCVs).

Girls and boys are with their mothers, picking out things they will need for the new school year. Choosing sizes, tossing things that are too big, too small, too revealing. It makes me remember when I used to do that, and how exciting it all was. Even in the Bazar today, you could sort of feel that buzz. Balaken has always been a town that really does value education, and I think that's reflected in the community now. Everyone's talking about school starting, and everyone's back, and ready to go.

Now, I just have to get myself ready.

I Know What You Did Last Summer

2010-09-08T12:31:00.006-04:00

Last summer, about this time, I was on a ridiculous camping trip/family reunion with my entire crazy family, having one of the best times of my life.

I have one picture printed out - it's in my photo album - and everyone I show it to thinks that it's a picture of a sports team or something.

Nope. Just us. ;-)

Before that, I had worked at a summer camp, having some of the most stressful, and some of the best, work times of my life. We dealt with an epidemic of swine flu, I nearly totaled a car, I made a ton of new best friends, and I plotted to commondeer a boat.

This summer, my time has been spent playing. Playing with the kids, playing with volunteers, playing in Baku, playing in Istanbul, Tbilisi, Paris and London.

I took a killer trip, I did a LOT of theater (well, a lot more than I have been doing), I spent a lot of quality time with both Americans and Azerbaijanis, I ate more watermelon than any person should, I cooked a lot of delicious food, spent a lot of time outside (with the farmer's tan to prove it), did a lot of pushups (5,000 to be exact...and more since I've tried to keep it up a little after the competition), and just tried to stay real.

I've found that after I came back from my vacation, the honeymoon phase ended. Azerbaijan isn't so quaint anymore, Peace Corps isn't such a cliche - it's a reality. I feel more grounded (for better and for worse), and though I'm counting down the months to COS, I have goals, and I have ideas. This summer was a great time to get some of the bugs out of my system - some of the residual bad thoughts were thrown away. Now, school will start on September 15, and I'm hoping that I can hit the ground running.

A few of my favorite pictures from Summer 2010:

*for safety purposes, I choose not to post any pictures of my students, so you'll just have to deal with seeing me and all my pretty PCV friends!

This is from the Great Watermelon Nush-Off (which we realized we did in plain daylight in the middle of the street during Ramadan. Oops. A lot of people walked by and said 'nush olsun' or 'bon appetit')

This is from a picnic lunch we did up in Qax, at the foot of a Georgian Church and Albanian ruins.

And this is just some of us, lookin' pretty, after a great American/Georgian feast of Xacapuri (cheesy bread) and Pizza!!

Yaxsi Yol

2010-08-23T11:45:00.003-04:00

One of the things that I hate doing the MOST in life (and this is up there with eating dead animals and going for days without a shower) is arriving at an airport, and having no one waiting there for you on the other end.

It is one of the singularly most disappointing and depressing moments to live through. It is only a moment, but it is profound. You finally make it to where you are going, relieved to be on the ground again, only to realize that maybe, if you hadn't made it, no one would immediately notice your absence.

That was one of the things that made going on vacation this summer so wonderful, and so terrible. Flying into Istanbul the first time, and seeing my mother on the other side of customs in her purple sweat-suit pacing, more impatient than I was for the line to move. Unfortunately, flying in the second time, having missed my connection, tired and lonely, and seeing no one there waiting for me was nothing short of heart breaking.

What makes travel here so interesting, is that for most Azerbaijanis, it is a rare phenomenon. Rarely do people leave their rayons, unless of course they are going to visit family in another rayon. In this case, people are always escorted to the marshrutka by a loved one, and 9 times out of 10, are received by a family member on the other end.

Sometimes, PCVs do this for me. Which is great. Again, in that moment of relief, travelling in a foreign country, when you've finally reached where you are going. You know you're there - and you only know you're there - when you see that familiar face.

In Azerbaijani there is a term that essentially means 'seeing someone on the road.' This explains the actions of a person who escorts the traveler to their bus/marshrutka/train/etc. This is something that a lot of Azerbaijanis do, and have often offerred to do for me, though I've never taken them up. This last trip to Goychay, I found I didn't have a choice.

I arrived at our bus station generally laid back - I had no clear route to get to Goychay, and I figured I'd just ask. I walk up and see the two cashiers sitting back, and the moment they see me, bright smiles break out on their faces. The one interrupts her transaction to stand up, come out of the booth, and kiss me on the cheek. The other stands and waves me back to sit in the booth with them. They have their windows, and for lack of chairs, I have mine too. We sit, we chat. They serve me tea. They get me a seat (and negotiate the price down for me because the bus driver was being a punk), and we hang out for the hour or so I have until my bus leaves. We talk about make up. Children. Families. Food. Typical things.

It's time for me to leave, and one woman leans in, grabs my arm, and escorts me to the bus. She looks at my ticket and sees that I have a bad seat on the bus (one in the back, kind of on a hump) and begs the driver to look out for me, and let me switch with someone later. She kisses me, we exchange phone numbers in the event that something happens, and says 'yaxsi yol' basically meaning 'safe travels.'

I'm on the bus, on the hump seat, enjoying my ride, until I recognize a woman sitting in front of me who I saw in the bus station earlier. She insists that the little boy sitting next to her switch with me, and brings me in to sit next to her. She hands me four pears.
Me: "I'm not hungry."
Woman: "But you didn't get off with the rest of us to eat. Eat these."
Me: "No, no, you eat them."
Woman:"Take them."
Me: "No, they are yours, you eat them."
Woman: "I do not want them."
Me: "Then why do you have them?"
Woman: "To give away."
Mind you, she was travelling alone. She also tried to give me a handful of pastries, but neither of us had a napkin, and she realized that it was entirely impractical for me to stuff them into my purse. So she made me eat one and then took the rest back.

I arrived in Goychay to a fabulous time. The ladies there are wonderful hosts and have a really great set up in their town. We got massages at the Olympic Complex (which was quite an experience: all three of us were in the room the whole time, massage music was basically whatever her friend had on her cell phone - which included Russian pop, Elton John, Christina Aguilera, and Michael Jackson. I'm still sore today, and I shouldn't be surprised because as the woman started, my friend who went first asked 'Is she using a rock?' It hurts so good.), and then did a little shopping (the more populated towns have real make up and clothing stores. Up north we're just a little border town, we have a lot of food...), did some delightful cooking (mexican fiesta one night, bruschetta and baked eggplant spread another, then mexican leftovers and fresh queso dip the last night), and played a lot of cards. I learned hearts and euchre (spelling?) which apparently is something that I should have known a long time ago being from Ohio. Better late than never...

Getting back could've been a little more pleasant - I spent too long at the bus station waiting, with a heavy backpack and a sore back, and creepy taxi drivers staring at me. But I finally got on my marsh, and who do I see but the woman who gave me the pears from the ride down!! Lucky for me, she's an atypical xanim and wasn't too much of a talker. So we exchanged our hellos, got off in Balaken, and as I helped her with her bags she asked my name, and said to me: "Men seni cox sevirem." Or "I love you very much."

Travelling can be so unpleasant sometimes, but others, you find the right people, and it all works out.

Lonely Planet

2010-08-09T12:27:00.002-04:00

One of the hardest parts of Peace Corps Service, for everyone I think, is picking up and leaving behind the life that you knew, for two whole years.

You go to this place, not knowing the language, with cultural barriers that are sometimes to high to overcome. You can make some friends, but with some people, your understandings are just too different to ever really relate.

The loneliness that we experience here is profound. And sometimes, I swear, palpable.

I've always dealt with loneliness of one kind or another throughout my life. I grew up as an only child, my parents worked a lot (to provide me with the comfortable life I know, so this isn't a criticism), and so I often found myself the last kid to be picked up from daycare, or home alone until after dark. I learned how to entertain myself, often getting lost in my own imagination - which probably contributed to my love for theater, and my quirky personality (for better or for worse).

I think these experiences drove me to have the kind of relationships that I have always had in my life - brief, passionate, fleeting, or guarded and reserved. I have only a few friends from high school that I remain in contact with, and I think that number is getting smaller every day. I went to college and couldn't relate to my theater friends, but had a hard time relating to my non-theater friends too. Fortunately, through the mess, I was truly lucky to find a few gems in the mix. Peace Corps has given me time to reflect on the kind of relationships I've had in my life, and I wonder, what made it ok for me to leave them all behind?

To be able to leave the life you know for two whole years, takes a person who already relates to people differently. I think for some PCVs, they knew that the relationships they had back home were stable enough to remain until they returned. I think for others, they had no relationships to speak of to leave behind. I wonder these things when I look not at the people who respond to my e-mails and blog posts, but at the people who don't. I get mad when I don't hear back, but how do they feel about the choice I've made? Do they feel I've walked away from them in some way?

At the end of the day for a PCV, we all find ourselves here on our own. Even with site mates, ultimately you are here as your own person, with real family and friends back in America. The loneliness is real, but it comes and goes. When I am around other PCVs or Azerbaijanis who I connect with, who get me, or when I'm in 'the flow' and really enjoying my work - I'm not lonely. I'm happy, productive, creative. But sometimes, something triggers it - and you can feel it sneaking up behind you. And then it follows you - no matter how much you try to escape from it, it's still there. Like being under that little black raincloud.

The challenge is accepting the Lonely, and not sinking under it's weight. It's easy to cry, it's easy to drink and choose other unhealthy coping mechanisms. It's not easy to sit with it, to realize it, and challenge it.

I worry what I'll be coming home to. I see relationships that I knew once and thought to be strong slipping away. But at the same time, I am lucky to see relationships that I thought frivolous turn into deep support and love.

It's all been very telling. Shocking, but not unsurprising.

Gone Gaga

2010-07-26T02:49:00.002-04:00

You know how when you are sick, and your body needs Vitamin C, you crave orange juice?

Or when you really really need a glass of milk? And it's really just your body telling you that you need calcium...

Well, I think this explains the root of my current obsession with Lady Gaga. Or at least my unwillingness to listen to anything I used to listen to...and my need for good, old fashion, pop.

I've explained before that exsisting here is psychologically difficult. It's emotionally and intellectually trying - and not just because it is Azerbaijan, but because I exist every day in a foreign language, in a country that is unfamiliar, and even the simplest act of getting a phone line fixed become a day long process.

This kind of mental drain makes it difficult to search for any sort of additional intellectual stimulation, and probably explains why I've been drawn to such sugar-coated, feel good, forms of entertainment like GLEE, Step Up 2, So You Think You Can Dance, and How I Met Your Mother.

And, of course, Lady Gaga.

Now, this brings it to the next level where to truly enjoy Lady Gaga, I think you have to take the next step of looking at her music analytically. Something that I haven't really had the capacity to do until recently. Her work is layered, and it's just plain smart. She's always one step ahead of her audience - and not just her audience but the media too.

Here's a recent article in the New York Times about her music and her influence. I take issue with some of it, I don't think the author (to be noted, a man - I'm not getting all feminazi crazy here, but I think it is worth mentioning) gives her enough credit, or really understands the kind of music she is making. But, it's still provides some interesting points.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/25/arts/music/25feminism.html?pagewanted=1

Any way you look at it, her stuff is good, and lately, for me, it's been like a drug. I crave it, I go into withdrawal, and then it's back. And life is great.

Z'Art Camp

2010-07-25T13:33:00.003-04:00

It was always a tradition, really as long as I can remember, that after a show, a baseball game, or any sort of performance, my parents and I would always go somewhere special - usually for ice cream.

Today was the final day of the art camp in Zaqatala - and of course it ended with a showcase. I was feeling a little nostalgic for my old ways, when out of nowhere, the family I was with decided to go to the park - and get ice cream.

A perfect end to a perfect week.

I spent this week commuting back and forth to Zaqatala (about a half hour each way, depending on how fast the marshrutka driver drives...), to help out at the first ever Zaqatala Arts Camp. 23 kids, aged 7 to 19, 3 different art forms (Visual, Literary, Dramatic), and 6 days. The group was split into three smaller sections by age, and so the kids would go to a different art form - staying at each one for two days, until moving to the next.

I came in to (obviously) teach theater. I started about two weeks ago, when I met with my two Azerbaijani counterparts. I was to train them in "How To Teach Theater" - in approximately 1.5 hours. Needless to day, I did not train them so much as help them set up a curriculum, and assure them I'd come in and lead a few of the games, until they got the hang of it. My counterparts were two beautiful, talented Azerbaijani girls, with quite a few lovely goals of their own, and though we had our rough spots, it was amazing to work with them.

We started the week with the middle age group (about 13-16), and did a lot of the stuff I did at my last camp. We played some games, helped them create scenes from scratch, and I even taught them a little bit of stage combat. (Super super basic...a hair pull, a slap, and a choke. The scenes they were creating sort of led me to this idea, so I felt like I needed to give them the safe way to do it!)

Next came the little kids - and boy, was that a handful. Nine of them, crazy, full of energy. Every day I was just tanked after camp, it was really difficult! But incredibly fun - they are just so fearless, they'll do anything. Of course, we already had some diva personalities forming...a few very finnicky girls. But compared to who I went to college with, I knew how to handle the little divas.

After that, the big kids. I think this proved to be the most challenging for all of us because 1) at this point, I was told I had to stop teaching - it was time to push the birdies out of the nest and hope they could fly and 2) the big kids were so close in age to my counterparts, that the lines between teacher and student sort of went away. Whether or not they learned anything - well, I don't know. I can only hope.

What I do know, is Sunday night was our big final showcase. In each group, I stressed the need to do put something together that we could present. Unfortunately, there was no rehearsal time, and our final showcase was held in, basically, a very small computer room. I thought, 'there's no way these kids are gonna do this.' Of course, as I was taking my 'hands off' approach...I didn't say a thing either way. I just gave them options.

To my surprise, all three groups performed what we had worked on. And every child who showed up to the showcase participated. I was so proud, of both the kids, and my counterparts. It really was wonderful, I mean, not only do these kids rarely have opportunities like this (most summers are spent sitting at home, maybe riding a bike around they yard, probably most days never leaving the compound of their house) but they also never get the chance to express themselves creatively.

When teaching the counterparts, one thing we stressed was that there is no wrong answer. Especially with art (it is easiest to teach this teaching style with art), you can't do anything wrong. It's all valuable, it's all important, because it is all what that child feels. So when a kid comes up to you and says, "I want to be Michael Jackson," you say, "Absolutely."

Which did happen, more than once, the first time involved an 8-year old from a village in Balaken (a family I often guest with, and feel more and more connection with each day - they just make me happy), and the second time in the form of a Flash Mob with 23 kids in a park in Zaqatala.

(Imagine, stunned Azerbaijanis, slowing their already painfully slow walking pace to watch a group of kids, wearing the same t-shirt, doing the Thriller dance in a public park. Yes, it happenned. It. Was. Amazing)

Really, it was a thoroughly successful week, and I was thrilled to be part of it.

Vegetarian's Paradise

2010-07-23T11:18:00.007-04:00

I was rudely awakened from my nap yesterday, by a toothless man smoking a cigarette inquiring about the pears in my yard.

He said he had heard from a neighbor that I had some pear trees, and wanted to buy them from me so he could sell them at the bazar.

To this, I said, I know nothing, and quickly ushered him away from my house.

Immediately, I went to the back, looked up, and saw some of the most beautiful pears ever. I jumped up, grabbed one, and took a bite - it was, in a word, delicious. At this point, I decided to grab what I could reach, and do something with them before someone came and stole my pears.

So, I made pear-applesauce...well, without the apples.

Step 1: Have random toothless man try to buy pears, proving that pears are ready for picking.

Step 2: Gather as many as you can reach.

Step 3: Wash, peel, dice.

Step 4: Boil in pot with a little bit of water, some sugar, lemon juice, and plenty of cinnamon.

Step 5: When mushy, fill clean jars.

Step 5: Try canning in a homemade boiling water canner...panic the entire time because you're afraid the jars are going to explode...or something...

Step 6: Pull the jars out of the water (after it has cooled, so as not to burn yourself [lesson learned the hard way because I'm stubborn and impatient]), and make sure lids do not pop up and down.

Step 7: If they don't (they didn't!) put away for storage for winter when the fruits and vegetables go away. Enjoy, cautiously...hopefully you don't get boccilism.

Next Step: Eat with potato pancakes! Yum!

"Adam"

2010-07-19T08:46:00.002-04:00

Today, in the stifling heat of Azerbaijan, I took some time to revisit one of my favorite movies, Adam.

It's about a young man with Asperger's Syndrome. His father has just passed away, and now it is on him to figure out how to exist in a world he doesn't feel a part of, and most of the time doesn't understand. A new girl moves into his apartment complex, and well, their relationship begins to blossom.

I adore this movie for so many reasons. It's set in NYC, which is a plus, but it is one of the best depictions of Asperger's I've ever seen in the media. (Unlike Mozart and The Whale, with Josh Hartnett, which was just awful). But not only is it a spot on take of Asperger's, I also feel a particular affinity with the girl, who is coincidentally named Bethany, but goes by Beth...and only child, living in Manhattan, single, struggling to figure out what she wants to do with herself.

I think one of my favorite lines of hers happens when she is having lunch with her father. She is lamenting past failed relationships and says, "Didn't anyone tell you and mom that only children are emotionally retards, spoiled, too trusting, and unequipped to cope?"

She's independent, creative, intellectual, but overanalytical, impulsive, and highly sensitive.

In a nutshell, me.

She tries to research Asperger's, asking around if Adam is 'relationship material.' And inevitably, she falls in over her head, but ultimately learns more than she could ever have thought.

The film opens with her discussing another one of my favorite stories, The Little Prince. A story told from the point of view of the Pilot, who meets a Little Prince who has fallen from a star, millions of miles away in the sky. The Little Prince talks about love, true love, and that is the one lesson that stays with the pilot when the Prince returns to his planet.

She says her father always told her she was the Prince. But after she met Adam, she realized she was always the Pilot.

The movie continues with the star motif, Adam's savant-like skills lie in astronomy, most of their encounters happen outside, the movie tends toward darkness, with moments of white, star like highlights.

In one of their first encounters in his living room, Adam is talking about how the universe is constantly expanding, and it is expanding faster than the speed of light. So fast, that stars are actually disappearing from the sky. (If they travel faster than the speed of light - away from us - the light they emanate will never make it back). He says that one day, the night sky will be absent of stars. Beth says, 'that's so sad.' You can see on his face, his attempts to register a word he knows signifies an emotion, with a scientific phenomenon he finds fascinating.

It's little moments like these that make the movie so amazing.

I remember when I went to see it with my mom, last summer, and we had a lovely little date.

I'm a little more homesick than usual lately. But it's ok, because I'm busy and time is moving fast. Before I know it, I'll be home again, going to movies and feeling normal.

My only qualm with the movie, is Adam and Beth's awe at the racoons in Central Park. They seem amazed by their presence there, but I can remember numerous lunches in Central Park, where I was almost robbed of my sandwich by a bandit raccoon.

I suppose it's a good theme though, one I can appreciate full well, about outsiders existing in an insider's place.

"They don't belong here, but here they are."

A Toy Story 2

2010-07-18T15:05:00.002-04:00

Well, this has been quite the weekend - two toys in one. (By 'toy' I
mean Azerbaijani wedding. Because weddings here are so different from
weddings in America, I feel compelled to use the Azerbaijani word...).

Anyway, Friday night saw Bailey and I head out with her old host
family to our first toy of the weekend. The bride was a cousin of her
host sisters, and so we went to what is known as 'the girls toy.'
Now, in Azerbaijan, it is typical to have two toys. The first, is the
girls toy. To this, the girl gets to invite all of her friends and
family, and wear a dress in any color, that she wants. The catch is,
this is not the official wedding. The official wedding happens at the
'boys toy' to which the boy gets to invite all of his friends and
family, the girl can invite only her immediate relations, and she has
to wear the white dress and the oppressive red sash (as I think I have
described before).

Now, because the 'girls toy' is unofficial, there is little
responsibility on the part of the groom and his family. So little
responsibility, in fact, that to the one I went to on Friday, the
groom didn't even come. He was 35, and 'ashamed to be so old and
getting married.' So he decided not to come. But everyone still
referred to it as a toy, a wedding. But the guy wasn't even there.
It was, honestly, awful. The bride looked so depressed the entire
time, it was hard to enjoy ourselves. The dancing was typical,
forced, pretentious, and not that enjoyable. What kills me about it
all, is that it is all traditions that no one really understands
anymore. Even when I ask people, 'why do you do this?' the response
is often, 'it's tradition. everyone does it.' Which is, clearly, not
an answer. There certainly isn't anything religious about it
(actually, the one woman who did seem to have a good time was killing
it on the dance floor - and she was decked out in full hijab - covered
from head to toe and still rockin it.)

Of course, Bailey and I still managed to have our own fun, and as
there are only two toy palaces (read: wedding halls) in Balaken, and
we are the only Americans in town, we show up and they know it's us,
and we're kind of a spectacle. This particular time, the workers at
the hall decided to have fun with us. Now, part of the toy experience
is being filmed, the entire time, by several video cameras in the
room, and the feed is then projected onto about five or so TVs hanging
from the walls. One camera is a handheld, and the other is on a
long-arm crane that is operated by some dudes in a booth. They film
for the toy DVD, that every family gets a week or so after the actual
toy. Now, naturally, we became the most interesting things in the
room. So, of course, we keep seeing ourselves on the TV screens, no
big deal, until at one point I look up, and see that they have
superimposed the video of us dancing with a picture of the American
flag.

You have got to be kidding me.

I almost lost it right then and there...I started laughing, motioned
to Bailey, and by the time I looked up again, the image was of The
Statue of Liberty. Then it was the NY Skyline circa 1993 with the
World Trade Center buildings.

It was ridiculous. I only hope the bride wasn't offended that we
stole the show in her toy video.

Tonight we went to another one, this time for the brother of my
co-worker at school. Now this toy, was fun. These people are cool,
and I think the marriage was actually a love match. (The fact that
the term 'love match' even exists to describe marriages should tell
you something about the nature of most of them). The family had fun,
the bride and groom actually spoke to one another during the event,
and the dancing was pretty good.

Because, again, there are only two toy palaces in Balaken, we found
ourselves again at the same one we were at on Friday night. This
time, one of the photo guys came up to me and asked where I was from.
Of course I said America, and when he pressed for more details I said,
Ohio, and then finally Cleveland. He scurried off to do who knows
what with this information (i should have guessed), until I find
myself again, on the floor, dancing, with my image on the TV, when
suddenly, I see a picture of good 'ol Cleveland, Ohio come up on the
TV screen.

Yup, he google image searched right then and there for pictures of
Cleveland. There was one of the daytime, one of the night time, one
of just the Key Bank building, and then he decided to go broader and
brought it back to the Statue of Liberty, and finally, I saw a picture
of cheery Obama smiling back at me.

Am I an animal in a zoo?

Mind you, there is protocol to dancing at toys. Think of a typical
american wedding reception hall, long rectangular tables surrounding a
centralized dance floor. Instead of a table for a wedding party,
there is a table for the Bride and Groom, and seats for one each of
their closest relatives. At the guests tables, instead of sitting
with your family, you're separated, men and women. Men don't sit with
their wives, girls sit separate from their fathers, etc. There's no
buffet, but plates of food out on the tables. Salads, chicken, fruit,
and mixed nuts are all waiting on the table as you get in, as is juice
and soda. (No alcohol - unless you are at a men's table, in which
case the servers will bring out copious amounts of bad vodka to each
of those tables - Muslim society? Hah. [alcohol is forbidden in
Muslim culture, though if you want to look at the loophole the Koran
actually only bans wine and beer. Likely because only wine and beer
really existed when the Koran was written]). They bring around kebab
and other meat dishes as it is released from the kitchen, ensuring it
stays hot. Instead of it being a free for all for dancing, there is
protocol. Someone goes up to give a toast - the head of a family, or
the director of, say, the groom's co-workers, and then everyone from
that group goes up to dance. You don't go up to just dance, you wait
until you are summonned. The first toy, we went up with Bailey's host
family, and at tonight's we sort of just waited until my co-worker
asked us to come. No DJ, but a live band, that tends to play the same
5 songs all night. Some are decent, some are just very bad.

Needless to say, when you're dancing, you're being watched by at least
100 other people. Because they are sitting, either waiting their
turn, or bored out of their mind, because they only came so that
members of the groom's family will come to their toy when the time
comes and give them money. Because the bride and groom don't pay that
much for a toy, the guests pay. Instead of bringing gifts (or
sometimes in addition to), guests are charged anywhere from 50 to 100
manat a head to come to a toy.

Toys are weird. And awkward. And sometimes really boring.
Unfortunately, some of the most depressing experiences for volunteers
happen to be at weddings, because they are essentially watching two
lives be ruined in one evening, by society's and family pressure to
conform to rigid, traditional expectations. But they aren't always,
like the one tonight. Which was a pretty good time!

Stuff I Wish I Had Known A Year Ago

2010-07-12T12:31:00.002-04:00

1. You're going to pack a lot. And then you're going to unpack and pack again. This is normal. And you will still get to Azerbaijan and regret half of what you brought, and wish you had brought some of the things you left. This is what the Peace Corps lounge is for (leave all the crap you don't want) and what the postal service is for (Mom and Dad, send me some stuff).
2. Physical hardships are nothing compared to psychological. You can get over weekly showers pretty fast, you can never get over being harassed or missing things.
3. It's slow going. And I mean, slow going. Yeah you know it, but really. When you get here, getting a normal class schedule takes at least a week and a half. And it will probably change again after that. Keep your priorities small, and I mean, small. A success in the first few months is going to the bazar and buying a kilo of tomatoes, and not getting ripped off.
4. The summer before Staging is all about worrying. And you don't need to worry, but you're going to worry anyway. Guess what? Your service has already started. It's part of the process. Start journaling now.
5. You're going to gain weight. And then you're going to lose weight. And it's fine, because it happens to everyone.
6. You're going to miss the little stuff. Going to a cafe with your friends, sitting outside, wearing tank tops and shorts. Drinking mojitos. But you know, it'll all still be there when you're done.
7. It is unlikely that you will change into some entirely new person, just by being here. If you joined PC to "find yourself" or "become everything you wanted to be" you can't just wait for it to happen. You can't just let this experience affect you. You need to be active about it. The time will go by, and before you know it, nothing will have changed.
8. If you're running from something, it'll find you here. And it'll rear it's big ugly head at you and be even scarier. Because you are even farther from your comfort zone, and have even less footing with which to face it. Strangely, and I'm saying this unsarcastically, this is a good way to face those demons you've been ignoring for a while. Whatever you do, deal with them.
9. Being alone is one of the most frightening, most comforting, and most wonderful experiences you'll ever have. Enjoy it, because you won't get this chance again.
10. You're going to love it with every fiber of your being, and you're going to hate it with the same amount of passion with which you love it. But you chose it. No one is making you do this, you're doing it for yourself and for the world. And that is noble, and beautiful.

Glad to see some AZ8s entering the blogosphere. If you have any questions, I'm more than happy to try and ease your fears. But trust me, being a little afraid is all part of the fun.

Summer Camp

2010-07-09T12:06:00.000-04:00

Summer is in full swing, and that means Summer Camps abound.

I've got a friendship bracelet on my ankle, a watch tan on my arm, and a heat rash. I think I'm back.

After a trip to Baku for a programming workshop, I headed down south to help some friends with a Dance & Theatre camp. I, obviously, helped facilitate the theatre part. It was great, we only had 6 kids, but it was just enough. We were in a small space, and we were doing a lot of translating back and forth between Azerbaijani and English, and because it was theater, it was good to have a smaller group.

We started with basic theater exercises, trying to emphasize exercises with low verbal demands. (Not only because of the language barrier, but for the beginning kids it keeps them from thinking too much). We did sound and movement circles, the mirror games, human machine – all the Improv 101 games you do in high school drama club (well, should have done if you were a real drama club...coughcoughWHScoughcough...so not bitter). The next day, we split into pairs, and gave each group a word. Friendship, Peace, Trust, Love, Sisterhood/Brotherhood, Hope, Family, etc, and had them create tableaus - frozen pictures – from the word, and what it meant to them. We had each group choose their favorite picture, and from them, we made little scenes. Asking them to develop characters from the poses, from the pictures. From the characters, we asked more questions – where are you, where are you going, what are you thinking, what are you doing, who is your relationship to the other person in the scene, etc.

In four days, we built three scenes from nothing. It was pretty cool. The scenes were all in Azerbaijani, and some kids were able to connect to it better than others, but they all performed them, and they all got the basic idea.

I myself had a good time going back to Improv games – I found myself wanting to jump in and do more of it. I suppose that's the hardest part of teaching theatre, is watching. Not really doing.
What I love most about doing art exercises with these kids, is bringing in the creative and critical thinking side of it. They don't get it in school – they get repitition and memorization. This gives them the chance to think for themselves, and to express that. Can you imagine life if you were never really taught to ask why? Or if you never had the chance to make up a different answer to a simple question? I'm starting to find that encouraging that is more important to me than getting my kids to speak fluent English. English they may or may not use...critical thinking on the other hand...well, they'll use that once or twice...

6 Months In - 18 months out

2010-06-26T03:35:00.002-04:00

As part of all PC Service, Reporting and Documentation is big. I just had to write my Volunteer Report form, detailing my activities for the last 6 months of service. It also serves as a time to reflect on the past 6 months of experiences, and set goals for the next 6.

Here is my own Personal VRF:

In the Past 6 Months:

Too Much:
TV shows watched
lying around doing nothing
stressing out about nonsense things
bread
oil/butter
tea

Just Enough:
Time at school
Time on Clubs
Movies Watched
Travel to other sites and PCVs
Foodstuffs baked in my pec...

Not Enough:
Books Read
Language Study
Guitar Playing
Yoga/Meditation
Vegetables
Projects done OUTSIDE of school

Vacation was a nice way to cap the first six months (1/4 of the way through) or first 9 (if you count PST, meaning I'm 1/3 of the way through...), but it was rough coming back. I'm still re-adjusting. I have my luggage now (yay!! Turkish Air, you did exactly what you were supposed to!), but I find that the novelty of the country has worn off. When I came in, I found the AZ6s to be jaded and negative - but now I sort of understand why. This country is SO HARD to exist in sometimes. No matter what we do, or how determined we are, sometimes our efforts seem to be for nothing. Or we worry that once we leave, all the supports we have put in place will crumble. For me, these are always on my mind. Though there are a few projects on the horizon that hopefully will not succumb to those threats.

In Baku now, but I'm headed down south next week for a Theatre camp. I'm So. Excited. To finally get some theater back in my life...I really do want to go home (since I haven't really been there since coming back to the country), but I'm making myself go because I know it will be good for me. Lots to think about, lots to do, but hopefully, it'll make me feel better and help me get back into things. We're staying with our friends in Baku, and it's always good to see them. So things are - though slowly - starting to look up.

How The Other Half Lives

2010-06-22T02:14:00.000-04:00

Give me the meat, without the gravy
I'll take the oyster, sans the pearl
Pinching pennies, clipping coupons
See a brand new world unfurl...
Let me brown bag all my lunches
Try my hand at canned cuisine
A burlitz class, I long to pass
How the other half, how the other half lives!
Poor, not me, honey
I don't want those money woes
I'll marry pPaul or Dave or Rob or Peter
So I can buy my clothes
at Saks 5th avenue
Bergdorf Goodman, too.
The priviledged few plus you know who...
How the other half, how the other half lives.
-Thoroughly Modern Millie

This trip was wonderful and terrible for oh so many reasons.
First off, I got to see my family and a true friend, which I really needed. 9 months and I have some great friends to show for it, but there is something about seeing people from before this time in my life, reminding me of who I am, and what I was.
But see there's the problem. The reminder of who I am, and what I was, and what I could have. Going to such fantastic places, Istanbul, London, Paris, even Tbilisi, sort of reminded me exactly what I'm giving up. Through all of these places, I'm looking at things going, 'I can't wear that' or 'I'm not going to see that for another 9 months or so until I leave again...' I'm in hotels and restaurants stealing coffee and tea packets, going to a grocery store in London spending money on Peanut Butter, Coffee and (of all things) tea because they are things that I just can't get quality in Azerbaijan.
As I was panicking on my unfortunate stay-over in Istanbul, my dad bbm'd me (thank GOD for technology), “I don't want to tell you this, but your mother and I just finished mojitos.” This was about the most I could take on the homesick front, and I started to cry a little. Though coldly, I wasn't sure what I was crying for. My parents, or the mojitos.
Now, obviously I miss my parents more than I miss the drink, but it's sort of what having a mojito on a summer day represents. Freedom, access, availability, choice, ease. Somehow, the little comforts you take for granted: a supermarket full of options, fresh vegetables available all year long, ready-made sandwiches, salmon, filter coffee, freedom to wear a tank top, fashion, sensible makeup, going to a bar to see a friend play his own music: giving this stuff up really sucks. I found myself in TOPSHOP in London (where even on the pound it's actually cheaper there than in NY) wanting to die a little inside because of all the beautiful things I saw around me that I couldn't buy. No money (in my bank account). No room (in the suitcase). No freedom (in the country).
Of course, I have to remind myself why I'm doing it, what I'm doing here. But sometimes, those reasons float away. And so I'm only left with these thoughts of, “why am I doing this to myself, when I could be so much happier in another place?”
Right now, on the plane to Tbilisi, I actually don't have a counterargument for that question. I don't qutie know what I'm doing. Projects glimmer on the horizon, but with nothing in place, and nothing going, I sort of feel like I'm going without direction. I can only hope that as I blindly hack away at the brush in front of me, taking the road less traveled will pay off.
As I left the apartment where I stayed, the guy said to me, “Have fun in the third-world.”
With a smile and resigned chuckle I said, “I'll try.”

Powerless

2010-06-22T02:12:00.002-04:00

It was all going to be so ok...
I was on the plane back to Tbilisi, my nerves were calm. I was content, ready to go.
Until I get to Tbilisi and find they have lost my baggage. Now, this wouldn't be an issue except I live in Azerbaijan – and I live significantly far away from any airports. How I will see my luggage again, IF I see my luggage again, is up in the air.
So, I file a complaint. Finally, it's 6pm, and I still have to get back into Azerbaijan before dark. I panic, do I stay in Tbilisi an extra night (breaking PC policy mind you – because I was only approved to be out of country until that night)? Or do I pray that I make it back across the border and to my house before the sun goes down? I chance it, and head for a taxi.
Paying too much for a Taxi to a bus station, I finally board a marshrutka to Laghodekhi, the Georgian town right across the border from me. I'm ok, I was on at 6:30, I'll be back. Until I realize that the sky is getting darker – much darker. Not because the sun is speeding up it's rotation, but because we are driving straight into a Thunderstorm.
Somewhere in the mountains the rain starts to fall, and hard. Lightning flashes, allowing us to see just how much rain has fallen and continues to fall into the road. It's ok, I'm close, I pray. I'm bbm'ing frantically with my father, complaining, paniking, certainly not helping his worrying tendencies about his only daughter in this foreign place. Will I make it in time before the border closes? Does the border close? Will there be a Taxi for me? I don't have any Azerbaijani money to pay the taxi driver on the other side of the border, provided I make it that far – because I left that money in the baggage that was checked and lost.
Finally, FINALLY we make it to Laghodekhi. It's darkening, but I can still see a glow of sun at the horizon. I'm ok, for now. I run into the downpour and jump into a car that appears to be the only taxi at the bus station. “Azerbaijan” I say – because I don't speak Georgian and don't know how to say “border.” I throw him some money and run to the bridge.
I stand in the rain as the border patrol (in their little coverings) flip through my passport and wonder what this wet American is doing crossing the border, alone, and on foot no less. They smile, throw the three phrases they know in English at me (Hello! Welcome! Goodbye!), and send me on my way. As I'm walking across the bridge, lightning flashes once again, and the power goes out. The whole border station lost power, I'm on a bridge literally in the middle of Georgia and Azerbaijan – thinking I'm going to die out here. Lightning is going to strike me, and they won't find my body until morning when it lightens up and someone makes it over here. But I press on.
I make it to the Azerbaijani side where I'm stopped at the gate by several men whose vehicles are not allowed to cross yet. I think, hmm, border town...drug trade? If it were to happen in this country, I probably passed it. Fortunately, a woman, and American, and being on foot were all on my side as the soldier took pity and let me pass. I find my passport has been shuffled to the back of the line after some Azerbaijanis who came later than me, and I hear, “Stefani?”
Uh oh.
“Beli” (yes)
“Hara gedirsen?” (where are you going?)
“Balakena” (to Balaken)
“Niye?” (Why?”
“Orada isleyirem” (I work there...)
The border agent proceeds to ask what I do, and when I tell him I'm an English teacher, he tells me he wants me to teach his kids. *sigh
I'm back. And nothing has changed.
After a brief exchange about my summer clubs, he very kindly lets me through. I find that all the Azerbaijani border agents recognize me from the last time I passed, ask where my friends are (when I came through I was with two other PCV friends of mine), and if I had a good time. A warm reception on a cold day. It was welcome.
Finally into the taxi, too long with him because I needed him to take me to the ATM first so I could pay him, and then to my house. The driver insisted I marry his son, (a sportsman, he pulled out a picture of the kid in full boxing regalia – medals and all), and I instead threw money at him and went on my way.
I return home only to find – I have no power.
Lovely.
I find this to work literally, and figuratively.
Literally - no electricity with which to power my phones (both of which are now dead), my computer (my lifeline, my resource, my therapy center...), or my iPod (happiness, mood enhancer).
Figuratively - I now have a greater insight into learned helplessness.

The inevitable.

2010-06-19T02:12:00.000-04:00

I am so tired.
I am a little frustrated, angry, lonely, but mainly just tired.
And of course, a fabulous (*sarcastic) way to end a fabulous (*not sarcastic) vacation.
It started in London, as I was, like a snail, carrying my world on my back and moving, like a snail, very slowly through the terminal to find my plane.
I was there on time, and, after realizing I am completely tanked out when I tried to hand the woman a two pence piece mistaking it for two pounds, I collapsed near the gate waiting to board.
The loneliness started to creep up on me.
I boarded the plane, realizing that, of course, I had a middle seat (literally a 30% chance that I'd get it, which, of course, I did), and that not only had I forgotten to charge my iPod, but the plane was not as nice as the one I flew into London on, leaving me to the mercy of the Flight Movie Gods who were particularly cruel by choosing Tooth Fairy, starring, The Rock.
The woman I sat next to was adorable, and had I more energy and a better mood I'm sure I could've had quite a lovely flight. She was Turkish, and English teacher near Bursa, and was interested in making a friend. For some reason, even though I really needed a friend right then, I was not interested. I slept.
The flight left an hour late, leaving me to panic the entire flight about missing my connection into Tbilisi.
Which, of course, I did.
So I'm running down the jetway, trying to get to my transfer, when I am stopped by the oh-so-friendly gate attendant who says, “I'm sorry, you missed your flight.” “But I have 15 minutes...” “No, it is, impossible.” (pause). “Um, ok. So now what do I do?”
I find the airline employees to be particularly good at a certain kind of “It's not my problem” emotion, and they are even less helpful by assuming you know the protocol for when you miss your connection. (Well, for when they miss your connection). I got my new flight booked (for 1:00 pm the next DAY), went to go retrieve my bag, and waited around for 15 minutes only to find out that she had checked it all the way through to my next flight – a minor detail she failed to mention. Then, I proceed to hop from one counter to another, each marked, “HOTEL RESERVATION,” only to realize that in a back corner of the airport, Turkish Air has their OWN hotel reservation desk. Finally he looks at me, says, “Come on, we go. Follow my friend.” Who then hands me off to the driver, NEVER telling me where I am going or what to do when I get there. At this point I meet up with several other irate passengers who speak enough English for me to figure out what the hell is going on.
Fighting tears the entire time, I finally make it to the hotel. Free Wi-Fi, free Buffet breakfast, a pillow and a hot shower, and plenty of things for a Peace Corps Volunteer to steal (like mini soaps, tea and coffee packets, and cheapie slippers.)
Now I'm going BACK to the airport, and hopefully, before sundown, back to Tbilisi. Unfortunately, this little detour (which may be a blessing by putting me up in a hotel, as opposed to stranding me at Tbilisi airport at 3:00 in the morning), makes getting back to Balaken a little more difficult. Instead of a taxi to a bus, it's now Taxi-bus-taxi-taxi. *sigh*
At breakfast this morning I was alone, looking around, envying the people there with their spouses and families. I'm tired. I'm tired of being so damn independent and cool about things. I'm tired of doing all this alone. This is the life I've chosen for myself, but it's frustrating and difficult. This trip was incredible and perfect in so many ways, but it only served to remind me just how much I've given up.

A May Ball in June...

2010-06-15T02:11:00.000-04:00

While in London, I had the pleasure of receiving an invitation to Trinity College's (a college of Cambridge University) May Ball.
The tradition of May Ball's goes way back, to the point where the ball was ACTUALLY held in May. It is now in June, post exams. For Americans, it's culminates the year in a way that prom does. Only because it is done by Trinity, it's like Prom on Steriods.
We queued up at 6:45, to be in a “good place” for when the doors opened at 9. The queue snaked its way around the outside of the buildings, onto the street – lines and lines of students all dressed in their finest. The invitation said, “black or white tie” (I didn't even know that white tie was a thing...), “with special exceptions for national dress.” National dress included; full African dress, liederhosen, and kilts. If it wasn't apparent that I was in Cambridge, well, the kilts did it.
As we queued in the courtyard, we were serenaded by a 3-piece band, wowed by a magician, and listened to comedic-musical stylings of old students. We received a ribbon wristband upon check-in (told that if we left before the event ended at 6am, they would cut it. For fear we'd give it off to someone else...), and a 30-page program detailing the evening's offerrings.
At 9pm the gates opened, and everyone's first stop: Champagne bar. Two different offerrings, one was a Perrier Jouet. (So this was not just 'sparkling wine' this was legit French Champagne). Next, we headed to the Main Food Tent where the wait, about 20 minutes, was eased by the Pimm's Tent in the middle, serving Pimm's cocktails. We entered the tent to the sounds of a funky/jazz/cover band, (called, appropriately Shut the Funk Up), where an entire Moroccan buffet was laid out to appease our stomachs and our eyes. They had Vegetable Tagine, Saffron Potatoes, Bean Salad, Vegetable Salad, Fresh Yogurt, Stewed Chickpeas – and that's only the vegetarian offerrings. There was, of course, beef, lamb and chicken, but I abstained. I took my plate to my seat, and headed to the drinks table where I picked up two red wines (one for me, one for Lauren – trust me, no need to double-fist, there was plenty to go around). But could've taken white wine, a pale ale, a bitter ale, or any number of mixed drinks including screwdrivers, bloody mary's, and more.
After this a trip to the Jazz tent. A black and white checkered dance floor, surrounded by tables, and an (at least) 9 piece Jazz band playing along. The roof of the tent was black, and highlighted with white christmas lights, to simulate stars. Along the far wall was a full bar, serving Caipirinhas, Mojitos, Elderflower Martinis, and a few other drinks utilizing gin, vodka, grapefruit juice, and one we all lovingly called “The Blue Thing.”
We were rushed out of the Jazz tent by the coming fireworks, where we lined up on the lawn outside of the Great Hall to wait for the show to begin. We were dazzled by a 25 minute show, and some of the best fireworks I've ever seen in my life. (And I've been to Disney world). Timed to such music as 80s pop and The Pirates of the Carribean (while listening to this I had flashbacks to the Swine Flu coverage on Xezer Xeber – AZ News Channel – where they stole the Pirates Soundtrack to increase the fear response in its viewers), there were flame torches, swizzle things, and fireworks that literally covered the entire sky.
After the epic showing, we hurried back into the great hall (grabbing a Beefeater Gin & Tonic along the way) for the Viennese Masquerade. Here we found tables lined with masquerade masks, and listened to the orchestra play a series of Waltzes. The Cambridge Ballroom dance society entertained us with a few showings, until the Cambridge-ites who also knew how to waltz (or with alcohol-encouraged confidence thought they did) joined the floor.
We then retired to the cheese tent, for fear that we would miss it when it closed at 2am. Here we were inundated with at least 8 different types of gourmet cheese (blue, brie, aged cheddar, camembert, and all sorts of french cheeses I've never heard of and don't remember), and a perfectly paired port to go with it. Our plates were piled high with the dairy and acoutrements (including marinated olives, sun dried tomatoes, bread, and salamis for the meat eaters). After the Moroccan buffet, we could hardly eat anymore, but we finished what we could, and left what we couldn't.
Encouraged by the dairy-coma that was settling in, we headed to the back of the grounds for some stimulation. We hadn't even ventured here yet, and found even more tents with more types of food. As we walked, we realized we had missed the Whiskey Tasting, but were just in time to pass a Rat Pack Band playing in the Jazz tent, and see them handing out VodkaAlkoPops at the DJ Dance Tent. (The VK Alkopop is a Cambridge Student Fad, a sugary concoction of Vodka and Caffeine in such inspired flavors as Grape and Cherry).
We wanted to book it to the coffee tent, when we saw that there was no queue for the bumper cars. So off we headed. Of course, the Brits call them 'Dodgems' reminding me of a theory held by a friend of mine that your sensibility towards violence is betrayed by your choice of name for these rubber-sided cars run by static electricity. A pacifist would prefer to say 'dodgems' – always trying to stay out of the way and avoid conflict. Whereas the more confrontational lot would call them 'bumper cars.' Always on the offensive. In England, they're “dodgems”; America, “bumper cars.” Interesting.
After a very violent ride (I'm inclined to believe that living in London for a year instilled some pent up frustration in my normally plucky but calm friend Lauren), we got in line for freshly made donuts. I was reminded of my presence amongst the priviledged and pretentious few of Cambridge when the drunken lad in front of me declared “the retard is making the donuts,” implying that the gentleman making our donuts (fresh, from the batter) was mentally handicapped. Sorry sir, but those donuts were damn good. Choice of four: warm apple sauce, maple syrup and crème, cinammon sugar, or chocolate syrup. Next to a cup of espresso (from the machine in the coffee tent), they were divine.
This was enough of a wake up to inspire us to try the swing boats (but not bold enough to do the bungee-trampoline that allows you to do as many flips as you can before throwing up – making room for more food and more alcohol I assume). This was one of those wooden carney lookin' rides, where you sit in a swing facing a friend, and you each pull one end of a rope, allowing you to go higher and higher depending on your strength. I found that my friend has a slight mistrust of such rides, discovered as I was heaving us around, and she was sitting there both whimpering and wailing because she was so terrified. Apparently to the bystanders on the ground she sounded a bit like moaning myrtle, oscillating with our approach and retreat on the swing.
After the swings, we headed to the chocolate fountains, where we could choose from Milk or Chocolate and Orange. We loaded our skewers with strawberries, pineapple, marshmallows, gummies, bananas, and just let them soak. After eating that, we walked to the courtyard of the Great Hall for a concert. The big night rave: ABBA cover band.
Yes, ladies and gents, that's right. Cambridge Students going crazy at an ABBA cover band. Two ladies and a bloke, dressed in their vintage finest, long hair flowing, belting out such favorites as Money, Money, Money; Waterloo; and Dancing Queen. Yes, I was a Dancing Queen. I saw lads in top hats and tails (complete with white gloves, white scarf, and cane) hoisted up onto each other's shoulders to rave along. What world do I live in?
The ABBA rave led me back to the cheese tent (grabbing a salmon roll along the way – ABBA is exhausting) where the cheese had been replaced by gourmet chocolate truffles. White, Dark, or Milk Chocolate Truffles, and of course port, wine, and orange juice to go along. Next, into the Great Hall for some Irish Musical Stylings. A pre-show with Irish flute, and then a classic folk band. Now, it's time to dance.
At first, we sat reserved. Lauren and I were each other's dates, but after a while, I got tired of being the boy (not because I am a man according to my landlady, but because in my heels I was about a foot and a half taller than she). Though, of course, this only lasted for so long. Somehow, we found ourselves to be the ladies for a few Asian Lads who were trying to dance along. They stuck out like you have no idea, not only because they were Asian, but also because, apparently lacking the Asian Music Genius gene, they couldn't count to save their lives. In come Stephanie and Lauren (Musical Theater aficianadoes) to the rescue. There we were, dancing the jig, with the obvious only minority group in the room, having a rather grand time. Of course, the dance was easy. A traditional jig, hold hands in a circle, walk round for 8, back for 8. Now with your partner sashay down, come on back, do it again. But it's one of those hop and jump and skip, all to the beat of an Irish fiddle.
Somehow, it seemed so appropriate. There I was, feeling myself an impostor the whole evening (I was in a formal dress, but not nearly as formal as the ones I was surrounded by; I was American, surrounded by the Brits; I'm at least15 lbs (or a stone or whatever the hell they use to measure weight – thank you AZ-y bread and butter diet) heavier than all the girls here; I currently live in a DEVELOPING COUNTRY and most of the dresses here would give a heart attack to even the more liberal xanims I spend my time with; I'm 23 and even the graduating class is barely 21; and I wasn't raised in an entitled, scotch swilling, kilt wearing, legacy household), and I'm finally welcomed into a group by the other minorities. Dance is certainly the way to get people to lay down their barriers and live and let be, but it's telling to see where you fit in, and where you'd rather spend your time. Strangely, it had been a theme my whole vacation, where I find myself relating more to service staff than I do to my fellow patrons. The woman working behind the desk at the fitness center of the hotel, as opposed to the other women in the gym. The man working at the spice market, not the tourists next to me at the restaurants. The Asians, not the White-bread Oxbridge Clan.
The dancing finished and it was nearly 5am. We had seen pop groups, heard the dicso DJ, listened to ABBA, watched the Rat Pack, ate more gourmet food than I could ever imagine in my life, drank more quality alcohol than I've had in the entire 9 months of being in Azerbaijan, and still managed to miss oysters, handmade pizza, ginger beer, a Hog Roast (complete with Veggie burgers for the few), ice cream, cotton candy, and countless musical acts and groups. Just enough time to head back to the food tent to grab breakfast (which had been turned into breakfast after the Moroccan food had finished). We passed the Pimm's Tent, to see pitchers left of the stuff, and students loading up their arms to get as much as they could before it was time to leave). I grabbed my sandwich and as I was trying to put my brown sauce on it, the top of the bun fell from the plate and landed on my shoe. And you know what I did? I picked it up, finished spreading the sauce, and ate it. And it was damn good.

From Lari to Lira and Back Again...

2010-06-13T02:10:00.000-04:00

I have six different currencies in my wallet. The USDollar, New Turkish Lira, New Azerbaijani Manat, Euros, Pounds and Georgian Lari.
I don't know how much money that is, really, but I'm inclined to assume it's not a lot. The combined buying power of all of these would be lucky to get me past a day or two in Europe.
Since when did the world become so expensive?
I'm sitting at the airport, typing on my laptop, without internet, because I refuse to pay for Wi-Fi. I'm hungry, because I refuse to pay 20Lira at Burger King for a sandwich and fries. I'm thirsty, because I refuse to pay 3 Lira for a .5Litre bottle of water.
Instead, I wandered duty free eating their free samples, and filled up my water bottle with metallicy tap water from the airport bathroom.
After 9 months in Peace Corps, I've had to radically change my relationship to money. I live at a different standard than I did in the US, and I still live at a different standard than the other members of my community. In life B.P.C. (Before Peace Corps), I would routinely head to Starbucks with my automatically re-charging gift card (yes, the account was linked to my credit card) and drop $15 for lunch – a milky latte and a regretfully tiny sandwich. Now, I find myself roaming the aisles for free samples (which I always did, but I never considered it actual lunch...), and agonizing over the price of a kilo of hazelnuts (30 Lira in Turkey – ridiculous! I can gather more than that in an hour in my yard in Balaken...).
The world is run by money, and I see that everyday in the lives of the people I work with. A Georgian woman (tranied as a lawyer in Tbilisi) from the village stays at home and remains unemployed, because her family cannot afford both the bribe to get her a job, and the tuition fees to send their other daughter to University. My old host mother fought like a madwoman at the bazar for cilantro – she insisted it wasn't worth the 30 qepik and tried to slip the lady a 20qep piece. For as long as I can remember, my family has not had to live this way. Sure we clip coupons and shop the sales racks, but we've never had to worry about when we would eat next, or had to go without.
I'm glad I'm here, learning to live on a budget and how to provide for myself. The skills of growing food and conserving goods will take us far, especially with the blossoming movements of going green and susatinability. We'll be fine, but what about those who can't? These are some of the people we are working with, who just can't afford to travel, let alone get to the airport.
Privilege. I have it. I'm one of the lucky ones.

Istanbul is Constantinople...

2010-06-12T02:09:00.000-04:00

I'm in love.
With a city, that is. And I fear that my long-time (though estranged) lover Manhattan will not take too kindly to my new interest. Though of course, Manhattan never really cared for me the way I did for him. He was cruel, cold, indifferent. Though he somehow taught me, tutored me, and helped me discover myself in ways that I didn't know I could. He showed me new things in myself and in the world, and was great encouragement to get me to where I am today.
Though today, I have found Istanbul.
Something about this city – it's perfect. It's big and busy and thriving, but old and charming and delicate. The tranquility of the water, the color of the sea as it contrasts with the bright hues of the houses, the spice of the foods and the people, and the vibrant lights of pubs and clubs and restaurants down the roads.
I didn't have this feeling when I was in Rome. In fact, I found Rome dirty and industrial. Athens was nice, but small. The same with Tbilisi. Tbilisi is incredibly beautiful, it sort of takes your breath away at first, but I needed more. I need more excitement. Stimulation. Florence is the perfect honeymoon spot, but after a few weeks, I think the charm would evaporate. But Istanbul, wow. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed. Even with the harassment by the restauranteurs (which is nothing compared to the harassment of Azerbaijani men and school children!), and the blatant recognition in everyone's eyes that we are tourists, and worse, American tourists, it didn't matter. It was delightful.
We did all of the things that you should, Aya Sophia, The Blue Mosque, The Grand Bazar, The Spice Bazar (oh my god, I swear I had died and gone to heaven...a treat for your tastebuds, your nose, your eyes...the colors of the spices as you inhale their mingling aromas...mmmmm...something a photograph just cannot replicate)...we took a boat tour up the Bosphorous all the way to the Black Sea (I had mussles and DIDN'T die...take that Anthony Bourdain), walked the Asian side...we did it all.
My favorite though, was walking...we just walked. Wandered, meandered, got lost, got found, and looped back again.

IMG00031-20100605-2103.jpg

2010-06-06T07:48:00.000-04:00

Crossing into Tbilisi from Azerbaijan is like stepping out of a dimly lit room. The sudden freedom is palpable and exhilarating, it kind of takes your breath away.

Made it into town nice and early, took a taxi to the capital with a rather adorable cab driver who, when he stopped to buy cigarettes for himself, came back with little bottles of coca cola for us all.

Spent the day walking, wandering through alleyways, discovering churches, eating delightful food (the Georgian specialty is xengel - a giant stuffed dumpling of sorts. Usually filled with meat, I had resigned myself to never trying it. Until we found a fabulous place that serves mushroom xengeli...I was a happy veggie at that moment!).

And of course, the wine. It flows here like water (I swear grape vines are as typical in the city as potted plants), and it is delicious. The big grape here is Saperavi - it makes a drier red, and it's pretty tasty. They have a few other local grapes, and we got to find out about some of them at an adorable wine shop in Old Town, where the workers were more than happy to give us a taste of their favorites!

Last night we ended up at a little place with local food, wine, and dancing. A great way to cap off a great day. I could stay in Tbilisi longer, but I'm headed to Istanbul in a few hours. From all reports I've heard...I'm going to love it there too!
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

2010-05-30T11:42:00.000-04:00

Upon my return from Qax - I found some friends. Two little kittens, hangin out in my yard, mewing at me. Mama was hiding outside my gate, but these critters were all too happy to hang with me for a bit. I call them Al (the one with more white) and Bugsy. Like two little bandits...
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

Walking the World

2010-05-29T23:45:00.003-04:00

The Azerbaijani language is kind of funny. Well, the English language is kind of funny, but as we've grown up with it we are sort of immune to its absurdities. Azerbaijani has a lot of words, but they tend to use the same, over and over and over again. Similar to our use of words like 'set' or 'get/got', they use verbs kecmek, cixmag, catmag to mean many things. One of the ones I'm embracing is, 'gezmek' which basically means, 'to walk.'

It doesn't mean so much as 'walk to school' or walking as opposed to say, running...but it implies more of a leisurely stroll. This summer, my sitemate and I are headed to different parts of Europe for a vacation (seyahet in Azerbaijani), and we are routinely asked, "What will you do there?" And of course, now we get to reply, "Gezecem" or "I will walk". And this is a perfectly acceptable answer. My favorite is when it continues to 'Dunyani gezmek yaxsidir', loosely translated, 'It is good to walk the world.'

I couldn't agree more.

My summer travels will take me first to Tbilisi, from which I will head to Istanbul. After a week in Istanbul with my parents, I will head to London to see and old friend. We'll hang out there for a week, with a brief respite in Paris. Things I'm looking forward to: 1) obviously seeing friends and family that I'm finding it hard to live without, 2) A glass of DRY red wine, 3) Turkish Coffee, 4) wearing a tank top and not feeling judged 5) Walking around beautiful places, with no agenda, freely. (There are beautiful places here to walk around, but generally, as a woman, I don't get to stroll as much as I'd like, because if I stroll the park alone, I will raise eyebrows and possibly accumulate some negative attentions).

After that I'm back to Azerbaijan, helping with other people's summer camps, and finishing up the summer with some intensive English courses of our own. As much as I'd like to host an arts camp, or a theater club, right now, the demand on my time is for English. So that's what we'll do. It's up to me now to sneak some arts into the curriculum!

2010-05-27T03:19:00.000-04:00

Tell Me A Story

2010-05-08T02:23:00.003-04:00

This is an article I wrote for the PC Azerbaijan Newsletter, the AZLander

By nature, I am not a liar. On the other hand, I have trained as an actress, so I should know a thing or two about manipulating an audience. But in this country, I surprise myself by the amount of lies I tell, and the ease with which the words leave my mouth. I think we have all been there at some point, confronted with a question to which we know the honest answer will only upset the inquisitor. With fledgling language skills, it is often easier to lie.

“Do you drink alcohol?” “No, never.”

“Will you be staying at the boys' house?” “Absolutely not.”

Honestly, how many of us are really engaged? For fear of being seen as a pig-eating heathen or a morally degenerate floozy, we tell a lie. Unfortunately, these stories add up. Every time we lie, we fragment our personality, creating a new character for ourselves to play.

Site for me began with lying to my host family. Denying the existence of friends from Armenia, pretending I have never know the taste of vodka, and that I love the sound of mugham at 8 in the morning. This yaxşı qız character is not something I have ever had to worry about showcasing until I came to Azerbaijan. Reputation is everything here, and since I have just arrived, mine is all I have. My reputation is built on my answers to such questions. One wrong answer, (as there is always a wrong answer) and I suffer the consequences.

I am lucky to have friends in the community that I can be more honest with, but I still have to be careful. A young, single, foreign woman, hanging out with 23 year-old guys at çayxanas at night only raises eyebrows in this traditional society. How do I avoid suspicions? I tell more stories.

As far as the real me, you may find something close to her at home or with the other Americans. Speaking my native language, listening to Garth Brooks, lamenting the absence of fresh espresso. It seems normal, but do not be fooled, as that persona has also been shaped by lies. I have just met most of you, so the self I have known for 22 years is merely an anecdote to you, strengths highlighted and weaknesses downplayed.

Of course, alone, I can be myself, right? But how many times have I lied to myself, said on a bad day that things are going to get better? Or tried to pretend that watching the this country's political situation unfold is not causing me distress? These stories take many shapes, and
though they are a form of self-preservation, they are still lies.

I ask myself why I do this, making up these stories to try to fit in. It does not seem to jive with my goal to find myself while in the Peace Corps. But somehow, I cannot help but think that without them, I would not be doing any better. They act as my safety net, preventing the aspects of my character that are not acceptable to traditional Azerbaijanis from derailing my integration into the community. But what kind of inner stress are they causing?
In a psych course in college we discussed a theory of personality and anxiety, and like any good college grad, I have completely forgotten the name of the guy who came up with it. But what he said was, that if you think about your true self as a circle on a paper, and you picture the self you are in society as another circle, your happiness is directly proportional to how much the circles overlap. Like a Venn diagram, if there is little overlap, then you will be anxious and stressed. But if they overlap completely, then you are living your life as you truly want to be. He did not mention having multiple circles, but I imagine the point is the same, the more
different these personalities are, the harder it is for us to be happy.

In Azerbaijan, I have a lot of different characters. As if trying to motivate individuals who value clean shoes over being on-time was not hard enough, I now have to figure out exactly which part to play, in each situation I am in. We are lucky to have some basic comforts other PC Countries are without, but I think we have a unique situation, having to navigate a minefield of questions, where one misstep really could ruin our status in the community. I think this is,
understandably, a source of a lot of stress for PCVs in Azerbaijan, trying to reconcile the selves we know, with the selves we have to be. When studying theater at university, my acting
teacher often reminded us that no matter how deep into a character we traveled, there always had to be a tiny part of us that knew that we were acting, and the character we were
portraying was just pretend. If that part disappeared, she said, we would be crazy. In Azerbaijan, if I lose touch with the reality of my experiences, past and present, then I will
indeed go crazy. Whether it is with my English-speaking friends or with the town Imam, I have to remind myself what I am doing here. I think there is a part of all of us that has always been somewhat crazy—we did join the Peace Corps—but at the end of the day, something real brought us here. We have got to hold on to that, and use it as a life saver to pull us out when we dig ourselves in too deep.

ET Phone Home

2010-05-08T01:29:00.002-04:00

In the next month, AZ7 is losing 6 people.

It's kind of hard to watch.

Watching someone ET is sort of like waiting for someone to die. The bonds that we have formed already are hard to explain to the average American reader. Just imagine, suddenly, being transported halfway across the globe, stripped of contact from friends, family, support. The other Americans here by default become your family. There are many people here who I am friends with who I am sure I would not have been friends with in America, but because of the absurdity of this life, we had to. And I would do anything for them.

Now we find some of them are leaving. There are a million reasons someone would ET (Early Termination), and all of them are valid. This experience isn't for everyone, and it really isn't expected to be. Sometimes, you don't really know what it's goign to be until you get here. And even more than that, you don't know how you are going to react until you are thrown into the middle of it. Spending time with the people who are on their way out, knowing that time is fleeting, that they are going and you are staying, is really difficult. Knowing once they go back to America it is entirely possible that you will never see them again. And it's that knowledge that's the hardest to deal with. The lead up to it.

There are different stages of this, just like any sort of loss, that you have to go through. You get the information. You react, either you cry, or you get jealous, or you get angry. And then you start to think. It makes you re-evaluate your own service...if they have valid reasons for leaving, do I? They have found something more important, do I have that? Do I wish I had something that emotionally salient to go back to? Am I just staying because I'm afraid of going back? I'm not terribly close to anyone who is leaving, but some of my dear friends are. Watching them go through that is like managing a break-up. What do you say? It'll get better...you'll move on...you'll readjust. There's nothing normal about this process, and so all of our 'normal' coping strategies just flounder.

As of May 10, we'll have been in country for 7 months, at site for 5 of them. I'm just getting adjusted, just getting projects started, and now, I'm listening to people talk about the first thing they are going to do when they go home. Even people who are just going home for a vacation, it blows my mind. I haven't been here that long I suppose, but for some reason, I can't imagine the thought of standing in a Costco right now, looking at miles of shelves, and millions of dollars of pre-packaged goods.

It blows my mind.

I know already that I'm going to have a hard time re-adjusting. Before I applied, my recruiter told me the hardest part of service for her was coming back to America. I'm already planning taking a few days, or weeks, to just try and exist. It's so different, but not different at all.