High School Christmas Dinner

We had our high school Christmas dinner in our school zaal (hall). It was a formal occasion, which meant that the girls came in formal dresses and the boys came in jeans. (Some of the boys did make the effort to wear nice shirts over their jeans and scuffy shoes, but the gender divide remained clear.)

The three younger teachers were part of the event, as you can see from one of the pictures above. The other picture is of me and the wonderful student who, with her sister, mostly organised the event.

This beautiful country

Sometimes amidst the dust and grime and potholes and lately, ice, of the city, I forget how beautiful this country is. A recent trip to one of the national parks reminded me of how this land astounds me with its reflected glory!

The tale of Val's ovens - part 2

You may recall my first oven here - the exploding oven (refer to one of my earliest blog posts if you missed the story). Well, this oven does not explode. It did, however, stop working a couple of months after I moved in. The starter button needs to remain in so that the gas will flow, but it just wasn't staying in. We talked to a friend who shares our landlady and were told that there is no way she will prioritise fixing it (most locals do not see ovens as indispensable). The same thing has happened to this friend's oven and she 'just' wedges a stick against the starter button every time she needs to use the oven. So we found a stick, and presto! Our oven now works, in this configuration. TIK - at least it works!

'Hi, I'm Val and this is Val'

I've been enjoying living with 'the other Valerie'. We're very different people, but thankfully, we haven't driven each other crazy yet. Not only do we have a very mutually satisfactory household routine of me cooking and her cleaning, we have also gotten to know each other. It's great living with someone you can debrief the day with and occasionally watch movies with, when we happen to have some free time (or we're too exhausted to do the schoolwork that awaits).

The tale of the ticket jerk and Val the social justice crusader

If you ever visit Budapest, beware of this man. He cheated two of my students out of the change for their bus tickets (they didn't realise until after they'd walked away from the counter) - and he was totally unrepentant about it, arrogant in the knowledge that nobody would ever be able to prove it. How many other aliens in his land has he failed to show hospitality to and instead unashamedly cheated? How many other times has he abused his position of trust and responsibility? How many other times has he gone home smirking, with a pocket full of cash that rightfully belongs to others? How many other times has he decided that corruption is safe and that injustice will never be held to account? And HOW DARE HE CHEAT MY STUDENTS?!

I stood there, wondering how to deal with the situation. We had no means of gaining recompense and no way, it seemed, to even bring the crime home to him. There are no video cameras in that part of the station - and thus no record of his theft. He refused to give us his name or badge number, and how could we force that information from him, especially while he was safely behind plated glass? (Our Hungarian guide is the meekest, most softly spoken man imaginable. He was the translator for my passionate demand for recompense and justice, and it made me even madder to see the ticket man's complete dismissal of his gentle questions - the man didn't even bother to look at our guide when he said 'if you have a problem, write to the complaints department.' And he only responded after my poor guide repeated the question three times!)

Luckily, the door on the side leading to the ticket office was open and in a moment of blazing rage (I think righteous indignation is the word for it) and hence courage, I stepped in and took a photo of him. Well, tried to - my camera wasn't quick enough. He leapt out of his seat the moment he saw the camera, ran up to me, yelling madly (in Hungarian, of course). I stepped backwards and took another picture - which worked (hence the picture above), at which point he was so incensed that he hit my camera. (The camera, thankfully, is fine.)

My fellow chaperone stepped between him and me while he continued yelling at me and indicating that I should delete the picture. Now, it's hardly fair that the perpetrator of a crime should have sole rein to yell at a representative of the victims, so of course I started yelling back at him (in English). Not that I was thinking calmly and logically about it at that point in time. "So you think you're offended by the picture I took? Well, WE'RE the ones who are offended. You just cold-heartedly STOLE from two teenagers, foreigners in your land. You have violated every universal moral law of justice, hospitality, and care for the young! You are a thief! And you have stolen from CHILDREN!" etc. Oddly enough, the security guards at the station just stood nearby, not intervening. I guess they figured I wasn't about to start physically fighting with the ticket seller, so it was out of their jurisdiction.

After lambasting him severely, with my photo secure in my camera, I decided that it was time to walk away, so we did. While there's nothing much I can do with the photo, I hope we scared the man a bit and maybe stirred any spark of a conscience that he still has left. Hopefully he'll think twice before ripping someone else off.

Budapest by night

One of my wonderful students and me sitting overlooking the Danube River at night.

Il Treno: our favourite restaurant

In our three non-conference days in Budapest, we ate three times at this restaurant, which a local recommended. It has good food (including salmon for me for a very reasonable price - yum!) and a nice atmosphere. When I say we, I mean mostly the girls and the other adult chaperone - the boys actually ate at McDonald's two of the three times (there is no Macca's in Bishkek: a circumstance that I rejoice in!). I mean, who would choose a hamburger over grilled salmon? =p

Epsilon poses

All of the kids who came on the conference are in my Grade 11-12 English class, in which we're studying Brave New World. One student and I had a lot of fun doing Epsilon poses on the trip - Epsilon naughty, Epsilon scared, Epsilon happy, Epsilon confused, etc. [Epsilons are the lowest caste in the fictional future world of BNW - they are semi-morons.]

Letting my Samson side out

Cute kid

How cute is this kid? He turned and smiled at me when he saw me trying to inconspicuously take a picture of him. So adorable! (In case you're wondering, yes, there are cute kids in Bishkek, too, but I well nigh never walk around with a camera here, because I figure the less valuable stuff I have on me, the less I lose if I'm mugged.)

Beautiful streets of Budapest

Recently, I took some students on a leadership conference in Budapest. I enjoyed taking pictures of the lovely streets of Budapest, especially since we were blessed with perfect tourist weather on our two days exploring the city.

Valerie's Top 5 Amusements in Europe

From mid-June to mid-July, I was in Central/Eastern Europe with my parents and my sister. I thought I would share my top five amusements from that trip, in no particular order.

1) Dad dancing in Budapest



We went for a 'traditional' dinner one night in Budapest and the stage entertainment called my dad up for an audience interaction bit. Dad had to dance his weaving way through bottles on the stage, following a thigh-slapping, knee-jerking routine that he'd just been taught. Then he had to do it again - blindfolded. You can imagine the hilarity.

2) Mom sitting down next to a so-German guard



My sister Steph and I were cracked up by this image of our mom sitting next to this old school guard, totally oblivious to the incongruity of the image.

3) Taking pictures of beautiful things and places



There was no shortage of beautiful things and places to enjoy and to take pictures of. This one is inside a cathedral somewhere - after a few cathedrals, they all start to blend into one. My personal advice is that one cathedral suffices - if you've been to one, you kind of might as well have been to them all. The same goes for the old town bits of European cities - one old town is very much like another old town. Tourist-trappy but still lovely.

4) Germany's Wow Wow dustbins



Wow! I found a dustbin! Wow!

5) Being statues with Steph



Steph and I had a lot of fun being various statues. We amused not only ourselves but also all passersby. Lest you think it unfair that I got to be human while Steph was the dog, let me mention that on two separate occasions, I was a horse which Steph sat on.

Surprise holiday in China

So, I find myself unexpectedly sitting in Brett’s house (many of you will know him) in Tianjin. I thought I’d post a short update on the blog despite not being able to upload any pictures yet. How did I end up here instead of in Bishkek, you may wonder?

Well, just over two weeks ago, I left Bishkek for a few days in K.shg.r (Xin.ji.ang province of China) with two girls, one of whom I teach in Bishkek - I was their adult chaperone. Their family spent many years working in K.shg.r. We had a good time and the older girl was able to say goodbye to her home and her childhood friends, since she's going to college in the States soon.

Because of the recent unr.st, there were s.ld.rs on every street corner and we would often be passed by convoys of a.r.m.y trucks with s.ld.rs pointing g.ns with b.yonets on the ends at us as they passed (probably not intentionally - they were just staring because we were some of the few foreigners in the city at the time).

We weren’t allowed to take pictures of the s.l.drs and one time when I tried to get a picture of a famous m.sque, next to which happened to be an encampment of s.l.drs, a policeman immediately forbade it and ‘escorted’ us down to another part of the old city, making sure that we were well and truly not turning back before leaving us alone.

I do, however, have some pictures of the city which happen to have the tail end of some trucks in them. Will post these when I return to Bishkek.

On our way back to Bishkek, I was told that I couldn't enter Kyrgyzstan because my one month visa was single-entry only, and that had been used up when I got it at the airport. So I got to experience the joys of trying to get into the neighbouring country of Kyrgyzstan from China.

Unlike when you fly to Bishkek from, say, Australia, China does not allow you to board a plane without a visa, and in order to get a non-tourist visa, you have to jump through a number of bureaucratic hoops. It was near-impossible to jump through such hoops while in Xin.ji.ang province, because they currently have no internet and no ability to call anyone outside of China, so I flew to Beijing.

After a lot of effort from numerous people, two 9 hour round trips north to Beijing, and at least 10 mosquito bites from waiting in the Kyrgyz Embassy, I think I have managed to convince the Beijing Embassy of the Kyrgyz Republic to give me a one month business visa. As such, I should be able to fly back to Bishkek two and a half weeks after I originally planned to be back.

I think you could say I’ve been having an adventurous summer. Will post photos when I’m back in Bishkek.

Door codes

Most apartment blocks here have security devices on their doors that require door codes to get through. My mobile comes in handy for storing friends' door codes. This is the door code device on the blue door leading to my apartment block. While it looks better than many such devices, it doesn't actually work.

Street Babushkas

A common sight along the streets here is old ladies selling their meagre worldly possessions, to try to get by. The pension provided by the government is not sufficient for babushkas who don't have families to provide for them, so they make a living by selling assorted goods, or by selling milk or eggs.

Cultural Experiences in Karakol: The Cars

I had two notable car experiences in Karakol. First, there was the shell of a car that I couldn't believe someone was actually fixing. I just couldn't imagine this car ever running, but I was also glad that in this country they don't write cars off because it's easier (or cheaper) to do that than to fix them. It is certainly not a wasteful culture.





I also saw an old Soviet car with the funkiest pink curtains at the back of it. It looked like something out of a movie, not a bona fide car which someone actually drove to the bazaar.

Cultural Experiences in Karakol: The Bazaar

I tried a lot of local foods on my trip to Karakol. I ate a gamburger (kind of like a shish kebab but in a white burger - I probably had a very boring one as I asked for it without any of the sauces, which would either have had vinegar or tomato).



At the big bazaar, I also tried a traditional Dungan dish and a traditional Russian dish, at the same little stall. Ashliangfoo is a traditional Dungan dish which consists of cold handmade noodles in a soup-like mixture (which unfortunately contains enough vinegar to make it not as pleasurable for me as the noodles with something else would have been). Karakol has the best ashliangfoo in Kyrgyzstan, or so my local friends informed me, so I was glad to get the chance to try it there. Piroshki is a Russian dish consisting of deep-fried bread with mashed potato and onion inside. I enjoyed it, though it was a bit too oily (like most foods here). The lovely Dungan cook also allowed me to take a picture of her at work in her kitchen!


The bazaar was a cultural experience in more senses than the culinary one. We passed by a stall with what looked like plain white rocks to me, but my friend told me that the rocks are crushed into salt which is fed to cows.


I also saw samsi (samosa-like things) being made – they are made on the sides of a big round stone oven. Apparently the walls of this 'oven' are so hot that the samsi stick to the side when they are pressed there. I thought it was very cool, which probably shows you what an under-exposed city girl I am.

Cultural Experiences in Karakol: The Marshrutka Ride to Karakol

My trip to Karakol started off with a marshrutka ride. A friend of a local friend met me at the Western (new) bus terminal to help me to find, haggle with the driver of, and get safely on a marshrutka to Karakol. He found one for 150 som (about A$6) but after waiting for 20min without a sign that this marshrutka driver would get 7 other passengers before Christmas, he found me another one for 200som. I got to sit in the front, which was a bigger blessing than I'd thought, because there must have been about 15 people crammed in the back. Yes, everyone had a seat, but the seats were close together and cramped. This in combination with the darkened windows in the back of the marshrutka would have made my 6 hour trip a lot more arduous. I bet someone would have had bad b.o. too, and I would have had to put up with it for 6 hours and then get off smelling bad. This sounds so ridiculously minor, but in such close and stale quarters for a 6 hour trip along bumpy roads, it would have been awful.



Instead, I got to sit up the front and look out the front and the window. There were some nice sights but I couldn't help thinking that it would be a beautiful road later in spring or in summer or in autumn, when there was green grass and leaves on trees. The road was often lined with forlorn, leafless, haggard skeletons of trees, which would, I imagined, be delightful in any other season, perhaps even earlier in winter when they were snow-laden.





At one point, we stopped, the marshrutka driver got out, and the young boy who had been loaded into the front seat between me and the driver was entrusted with the task of keeping his foot on the brake pedal to prevent the marshrutka from rolling forward. He can't have been more than about 8 or 9 years old, but he carried out the task with equanimity.

The marshrutka driver, greedy for money, made sure that the marshrutka was absolutely full at all times by stopping frequently to pick up extra passengers, having dropped some off along the way to Karakol. This was frustrating and I discovered that one can understand grumbling in any language – the babushkas behind me were mumbling in a complaining tone, and though all I caught was the word 'express' (which is the same in Russian as in English), it couldn't have been clearer that they were voicing my internal discontent at the false advertising on the part of the driver and placard of this so-called express Bishkek-Karakol marshrutka.

The Dacha (summer house)

This morning I went to the Potter's Place Dacha (a summer house near Bishkek, which more or less belongs to my company) with a couple of other women, for a time of quietness and reflection, etc. The ladder up to the top room was incredibly steep and walking up in the big fluffy Kyrgyz-style house slippers, I felt like I was about to either lose a slipper or my life if I wasn't careful with where I placed my feet. Add to that a hot cup of herbal tea, a laptop bag, and a camera, and I made my way up the ladder-stairs very slowly. Slow is becoming a word I would use to describe my motion here much more frequently than I would have in the past (I don't think 'slow' is the word many friends would associate with me, in general). There might be a lesson in that. At any rate, I enjoyed having a restful, encouraging start to spring break.

Two unsuccessful ventures

Cash flow is a bit of a problem for me. There is enough of it in my bank account, but not many ATMs around allow me to withdraw it. The ones that do, at Beta stores, are often not working. Three times in the last three weeks I have tried to withdraw money from the Beta ATMs, but they have been either out or order or out of cash each time.

Today I tried again, to no avail. (TIK) The friend who was with me, meanwhile, ran to the nearby Sports Palace to bring some runners to her daughter, who was playing basketball with her friends (or would be once she received the shoes).

The problem is that when I returned to the car after my unsuccessful foray, I saw this innocent-looking bag sitting on the car seat. My friend had taken my runners instead of her daughter's. We ended up successfully delivering the right runners to her daughter, but my friend has now had her exercise for the week. (In case you are wondering why I wasn't wearing my own runners, I had worn them to walk to school but was wearing the sandals that I changed into at school. Runners don't exactly go with a nice skirt and jacket. It's my way of trying to be more inconspicuous on the streets. I figure if I look like a total dag I will be able to avoid getting more undesirable marriage proposals.)

Spring is in the air...or not

Three days ago, I thought spring was in the air. We had enjoyed warmer weather for days, slipping on ice was beginning to feel like one of the phantom fears of the past, a thicker layer of dust needed washing off my hands each time I got home - all signs were pointing to the advent of the drier, warmer season of spring. I was thrilled to see the first spring buds on the trees outside my apartment. Spring was in the air.

Two days ago, it snowed. Heavily. Witness the same tree outside my apartment. I hoped the buds weren't killed by the sudden snowfall but rejoiced in the beauty of the white glory around me anyway. (That is, when I wasn't looking down grimacing at the ice and slush.)

Today it is warm again. Spring is getting here - it's just taking its own sweet time to do so.

Our imitation sonnet: an insight into the minds of my Grade 9s

I tried to get my Grade 9s to write imitation sonnet-dialogues. This one we wrote as a class (I wrote it, largely, but the characters, situation, and many ideas are from my Grade 9 boys). I think it provides an insight into the minds of many of my Grade 9s. Enjoy! (Warning: There may be racist overtones in this sonnet, but I think the black guy actually comes off as a more sympathetic character, as well as an intelligent one - he gets to use the one big word in the sonnet (emancipated).)

Black: If you were black like me, you would be cool;
We blacks can rap like no one else on earth.
My lips stand ready to proclaim, “You fool!”
If you cannot see our true race's worth.

Jonny: Good black man, you do wrong my race too much
which had your race enslaved to ours so long.
For it is better even to be Dutch
than to be black and hence by nature wrong.

Black: Well, we picked cotton for your clothes, so there!

Jonny: Ay, black man, now go pick some more for me.

Black: We've been emancipated, have a care!
Don't mess with me, for blacks have been set free...

Jonny: A great mistake, I fear – it's made you proud.

Black: You've hurt my feelings; that is not allowed. [stabs Jonny]

Our William Shakespeare corner

Classes are going well and since I have all my classes in my classroom, I have decided to festoon the walls with various relevant pieces, preferably student work. Having procured Blutack (which alas, is not available here) from a generous elementary school teacher, I have started my interior decoration project. So far the only impressive corner is the William Shakespeare corner, but we'll get there with the rest of the classroom...

Who's Lent?

I'm enjoying many funny moments in class, both from the jokesters who intentionally crack jokes and from students who unwittingly say or ask something that amuses the rest of the class. I was teaching my Grade 11s about personal writing the other day and we read an extract from an article about someone who gave up reading for Lent.

At the end of it, I asked the students what they thought of the article and one guy said, "I didn't understand the point of it. Who's Lent?"
(It was a serious question but it cracked half the class up. The other half didn't know what Lent was either. We eventually enlightened them.)

walking on ice

Narnian table

The making of a snow angel

In the middle of the road there was a horse...

Ala Archa

On Sat, I went to Ala Archa with a couple of girlfriends. It's a national park that's only about half an hour south of Bishkek. We were blessed with a lovely day and beautiful scenery. It was so good to be out of the city for a bit - the air was noticeably fresher and cleaner, and it was a marvel to see snow that was deep and white. Snow in Bishkek doesn't stay white or snowy very long before it becomes slush, mud, or ice, but the snow on the slopes of Ala Archa was the kind of snow that you put up with cold winters for.

My first lone marshrutka ride

Marshrutkas are interesting things. I have not yet been on a full marshrutka; marshrutkas which I have thought were crowded were apparently relatively empty. Crowded, apparently, means you are absolutely so sardine-squashed in that not only is your nose in someone else's elbow, but you are also only able to make your way to the door to get out by dint of making a large amount of noise and doing a fair bit of shoving.

The other day, I got on a marshrutka by myself (that is, O2 saw me onto the right marshrutka to get to my destination) and managed to get off at the right spot. I didn't actually get to use my getting off phrase, though, as a helpful fellow passenger, having heard me talking about Beta Stores on my mobile (I was running late), said to me "Beta Stores" and the driver heard and therefore let me off at the street corner without my having to say anything.

But remember, it's one small step as marshrutka rides go, but one large step towards independence in taking public transport! Next time I go on a marshrutka, maybe I'll get to practise my getting off phrase. (Which is not, contrary to some public opinion, 'hasta la vista, baby!' It's actually more like 'astanavitier'. But you can hear from whence the confusion arises.)

My first ornament

[disclaimer: Due to technical difficulties, Sandy is posting on VT's behalf.]

Witness the first and so far only ornament I have bought in Bishkek. Walking along in the 99som (A$4 shop), my bag bumped into a bucket full of similar ornaments. The bucket fell over and the security guard informed me that it was broken and that I would have to pay for it (it's incredible how much you can communicate without speaking the same language, simply through pointing, gesturing and accusatory looks). So I had to buy this plum branch for 20som (luckily, it was 5 for 99som and not 99som per branch). Yes, it is hideous. It is currently living on top of my washing machine, because I don't know what else to do with it. Any suggestions?

What's the use of a manicure set?

The hand you see above is that of my landlord trying to use an implement from my deluxe manicure set (from the A$4 shop - I needed nailclippers) as a screwdriver. He was unsuccessful, but I thought the attempt was hilarious - so much so that I got my unwilling (Russian-speaking) friend M to ask my landlord if I could take a picture. (The man thinks I'm crazy; his wife just thinks I'm Japanese.)

The other side of the snow

In case you are thinking I live in an utterly romantic winter wonderland, I thought I would provide a tiny insight into what you don't see in the picture of those lovely white trees. Witness the picture above and the reflection of the trees in the water. What would you say this is? A canal? A brown ditch full of muddy water? Well, it's my front driveway. Thanks to yesterday's snowfall, it is impossible to walk anywhere without stepping through brown slosh, brown sludge, or brown puddles. That is, while you're trying assiduously to avoid brown ice! =p

My nice new local boots have also sprung a leak - the top seam is obviously shoddy and the boot bit is coming away from the sole bit already, after only less than two weeks of wear. TIK. I'm taking it to a boot repair man tomorrow - apparently such repairmen are good and quite cheap, so hopefully that fixes it. Cold, wet socks are not exactly pleasant. But I do like looking up at snowy trees when I am not too busy looking down and watching where I'm stepping (rare, but good.)

My first Bishkek snowfall

It started snowing at about noon yesterday, which made me very excited. These three photos were taken about two hours apart, from the window of my living room. I'm looking forward to walking around in the freshlly fallen snow and I am endeavouring to focus on present delight of fresh white snow and not future pain when aforementioned snow will have become a very slippery new layer of ice (this is quite the converse to an eschatological approach, I realise).

Ya ni panimayo

I had my first Russian lesson on Monday. I'm starting to pick up some of the Russian alphabet and learning a few useful words and phrases, though the concept of genders and cases freaks me out a little bit. We are taking it very slowly. I have discovered what I think might be my new favourite Russian phrase for a little while - 'ya ni panimayou', which means 'I don't understand'! =p My landlady and I could reach new heights of communication with this phrase.