Monday, January 31, 2011
Amusement #2: Chinese restaurant menus
A second source of amusement that I have found here springs from a more mundane experience: dining at a Chinese restaurant. I've concluded that one rule that all restaurateurs here have to abide by if they wish to open an authentic Chinese eatery is: Thou shalt have menus with ridiculous English translations of dish names. Shaolin, the particular restaurant whose menu these pictures give you a taste of, is the epitome of this rule. They probably established it. Some special favourites of mine are: Hot Rabbit Piece of Tingle, Special Safe Fish, and the Towards Type Turn Over the Sand Dasheen. None of these names has any obvious relation either to the Russian or to the Chinese dish names.
[P.S. I found out after writing this post that apparently at least one of the dishes - the Towards Type Turn Over the Sand Dasheen - does have some basis in the Chinese names, if one allows a somewhat misguided and poetic interpretation. I quote, "The name of this particular dish in Chinese literally means “Korean style stir fry dasheen”, but the word for Korean sounds similar to “towards”, and the poetic way of saying ‘stir fry’ does literally mean ‘turn over the sand’. So it’s actually logical, and hilariously so!"]
Amusement #1: Wiggling sheep butts
It occurred to me that there are some amusements associated with life in Bishkek that I have not hitherto shared with my faithful blog readers. One of these is wiggling sheep butts. On the roads in between Bishkek and the rest of the country, one is treated to bucolic sights of free-ranging cows and sheep, Kyrgyz boys and men on donkeys and horses, and, of course, vaguely grassy mountains in the background. Trouble comes when the aforementioned animals decide to venture onto the road, as they frequently do (ah, the free-ranging life). Hence this picture taken from a marshrutka; we were stuck behind the sheep indefinitely, it seemed, but to everyone's relief, the sheep soon veered off the road into greener pastures.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
When the Inspector Came to Call
This drawer represents the latest in bill organizing technology in the Aubre, Heather, and Valerie household. The system, for all its complexity, has a surprisingly user-friendly interface - we simply put the latest bills somewhere vaguely on top, in whatever jumbled order the bills come. It could not be said that we prioritize keeping records of what bills we do or do not receive. Our system is proudly inter-utility in its outlook: bills lie mingled for such sundry items as gas, electricity, hot water, cold water, trash, hot water and heating, and other miscellaneous services (we do not necessarily know exactly what every bill is for: ours not to question, but simply to pay).
This has not been a problem until last night, when an inspector came to call. He was wearing a trenchcoat and bowler hat, or would have been were we in an English murder mystery. As it was, he was wearing a windbreaker (he probably drives on his rounds - it's been balmy, but not that balmy) and holding a clipboard with (Russian) writing on it. Aubre and Heather called me for Russian assistance upon opening the door to him. Now, in order to fully appreciate this story, you have to know that a situation in which I am called upon as the most able Russian speaker is bound to end in tragi-comedy.
This, I believe, is what happened as the inspector would relate it later that night to his befuddled and much-amused wife:
"So, I rang this doorbell and these girls opened it. I worked out that they were foreigners from their gobsmacked looks as I explained that I was going to turn off their power as they had not paid their bills. They called a third girl, who asked me if I was here about the gas bill, despite the fact that I had clearly stated to the other two girls that I was here about their electricity bill. I somehow managed to get it into her thick head that I was here because they hadn't paid their bill, but she kept asking if they could pay it now. [Interjection from aforementioned girl: I still don't know why we weren't able to just pay him then. We were perfectly willing to.]
I asked her to show me their last electricity bill, at which point she disappeared into the living room, to re-emerge in a while with a fistful of bills that she thrust at me to sort through. She did look somewhat apologetic at this stage. None of the ten bills she gave me was for electricity, and I told her so. I pointed out that electricity bills have colourful backs, at which point her face lit up - finally, something she could understand - and she proudly presented me with a bill with a coloured back. This was the October bill, however, and I pointed out that the bill they hadn't paid was the November one. She stared aghast at me and stammered, "We didn't, we didn't" [Interjection: I couldn't at that moment remember the Russian word for "receive". Of course, I remembered it two minutes after the inspector left. That is generally the way of things with my Russian.]
Anyway, at this point, I asked to talk to their houseowner, whereupon their faces registered panic and they rummaged feverishly through a pile of papers underneath their phone before lighting on a small scrap of paper on which was written their landlord's number. [Interjection: We hope it was his number. There wasn't exactly a name on the piece of paper. Like I said, we're organized.] They tried calling him, but he clearly did not pick up. The third girl felt the need to convey this to me after the abortive phone call by repeating, "House owner, he's not, he's not" [Interjection: I couldn't remember the Russian words for "picking up his phone". Later, of course, the bright thought occurred to me that I could have said 'answering', a verb that I know.]. Whereupon I gave up on trying to communicate with them and left them my number, telling them to tell their house owner to call me. Foreigners!!"
At this point in the story, no doubt his five year old son would be poking around in his plov and proudly thinking, "Even I would have communicated better than those girls..."
As a result of this incident, we have decided that we need a new bill organization system in which the bills are actually, well, organized. We'll get around to it sometime.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Twin Day
We had Twin Day at school this week. My housemate Aubre and I went as eighties college students. We bought the cardigans secondhand, happened to find the silvery disco-esque headbands at a random little magazin (shop), and made up the rest from our household's combined wardrobes. To achieve the hair effect, I had to sacrifice sleep the night before on the altar of tons of little braids in my hair and endure my hair being teased and hair-sprayed to a large and in-your-face death in the morning.
The kids were flabbergasted. Jawdropped. Bamboozled.
One six year old girl whom I love dearly misunderstood my explanation of what I was, and later in the day, amused me muchly by announcing to someone else that she knew what I was: I was eighty. (I did clarify with her that eighty year olds do not generally look like that, and that I had been talking about a time period long before she first graced the earth. I didn't say 'graced the earth', of course; I said 'born'. I think she kind of got it by the end.)
Circus shenanigans
I went to a circus here recently, which was a tremendously entertaining experience. From the first moment of walking into a big top that smells of animal poo and sounds like the excitement of little kids, the circus delighted me. Well, the poo smell didn't, but at least it smelled...authentic. I loved the acrobats, obediently gawked at the strong man, was appropriately scandalized by the scantily-clad dancers, and had a fun night in all.
American Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is a really big deal for Americans, even in a country where turkey costs something to the tune of $40 per kg (okay, I might be exaggerating; suffice it to say that it's not cheap). I was privileged to partake in a sumptuous Thanksgiving feast (sumptuous is almost a redundant adjective - Thanksgiving dinners by definition are lavish, one might even say, over the top: my cup runneth over-style). Our meats were chicken and ham rather than turkey, but we all ate to our hearts' content and thanked God that we weren't pilgrims rejoicing to have survived - we rejoice to be thriving. I am richly blessed indeed.
Winter 2010 has arrived
Winter has officially arrived. Our first big snow last Friday has cloaked Bishkek until today, though most roads and pavements have now been cleared by the balmy sunshine of the past two days. Before that, though, I was surrounded by a veritable winter wonderland of white glory. (And also a treacherous terrain of ice. I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but the thought occurred to me that hell could well be paved with ice. Slippery, destructive, deceptive, etc.)
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