[Transcribed by Jon’s mom and posted by Jon’s sister]
Happy Health Day! Frankly, I thought this happened already. Maybe it is twice a year. I woke up this morning in the decrepit Dashoguz Hotel after a deceptively calm disco night (deceptive because the contents of my pockets in the morning were a five manat bill, a fifty manat bill, and a ten ruble bill). Anyway, shortly after my alarm woke me and I wet down my hair (D-guz Hotel bathroom: no sink faucet, no toilet handle, no hot water, no water at all till 6 a.m., would you even want a towel?) I was greeted by the merry sounds of a parade. I went out to investigate, and sure enough: parade. Well, youth march. With no spectators. A few thousand students, athletic suit-clad, were in the roped-off street. Flowers, balls, flags and banners in hand. Yes, it was to be the beginning of quite a health day. My favorite was the two kids holding an 8 x 10 foot stretched poster of the President posing on a bike. It really captured the essence.
Right when I thought they would start their formation march, the sea of baby-blue track suits parted and they ran a few races down the street.
After that was done, the horde of students moved down a few hundred meters to surround a set-up of musicians, which was to be filmed for Turkmen TV. As the musicians strummed their dutars [mom’s note: according to Wikipedia, a dutar is a traditional long-necked two-stringed lute found in Central Asia and South Asia], the students waved their flags and flowers. To discourage the slackers, some angry Sound Director shouted to them: “Wave your flags! Flowers! Flags! Move your flowers! FLOWERS!” I assume they edited that out later.
******************************************
My host sister Mahri offered to take me cotton picking yesterday, and I jumped at the chance. Now that I am writing this the next day, every muscle in my body is sore, and my fingers are scratched up. I spent a cool October Sunday picking in the cotton fields, and I earned 2.25 manat ($.88) after picking 18 kilos (40 lbs) of cotton.
Before you think I am bragging about my cotton picking prowess, understand this is nothing of the sort. I got schooled by every man, woman and child on the field. I am glad there were no toddlers present.
The average worker on the field (who happens to be a short, plump, middle-aged woman) picked literally twice as much as me. They laughed when I optimistically explained that actually I had picked 18.5 kilos. But I pocketed my manat with pride.
About the picking itself: I left the house with Mahri at about 8, and after we picked up our neighbor, Bagtygul (“Happy Flower”), we walked cross-town to the bus depot, and hopped on a hulking, rusted-out Soviet deathtrap of a bus. With its round contour and dull yellow color, it resembled an old dented loaf of bread. The bus was filled with about 15 other people headed for the field. We soon left the main road, and the bus bumped and wheezed down dirt roads and tractor trails for a few miles. When the bus could go no further, we walked the last half mile.
The bus ride was subsidized; you have to bring your own sack and lunch (though there was a large cauldron set up for boiling water for tea). We were spaced every two rows (so you could pick the plants clean on both sides of you).
The nice thing is that cotton is real soft. Unfortunately, the opened pod is hard and jagged, and since they open 4 or 5 ways, it is like a puff exploding between sharp teeth. Instead of taking each cotton ‘ball’ individually, you grab them all at once. Sometimes this is easy. At least Bagtygul, when showing me, made it look easy. It was fun, until A) everyone was meters upon football fields ahead of me, B) the sack hanging from my waist started getting real heavy (while cotton itself is light, the large seeds and any moisture in the cotton makes it heavier) and C) my legs and back started aching from being bent over.
I was quite happy when lunch was called, and we weighed our morning collections. I got 9 (and a half) but I think it would have been lower had the cotton not been damp with dew. Mahri, short of the 35 kilos she said a good picker could pick, still outdid me with a solid 28 kilos.
All in all, it was a pretty cool (or ‘intense-ass’ as Shannon phrased it) way to spend a Sunday, though despite numerous invitations by the girls there to come back next Sunday, I don’t think my body can take more of that. Though I would like to break the 20 kilo mark. I have gained a large respect for anyone who has picked cotton, whether forced or for pay.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Letter dated 9/24/2009: Flashback!
[Transcribed by Jon’s mom and posted by Jon’s sister]
With less than two months to go, I have started the process of leaving – giving or throwing away everything I have that I don’t absolutely need. I found a nice leather-bound journal that I had taken to Turkmenistan, and only written one entry within it. It is of my first moments in Turkmenistan. I don’t know if some version of this reached you, but either way, it is funny to read after two years:
Flashback - Jon’s first impressions of Turkmenistan
10/3/2007
Touchdown in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan. I have spent the last half dozen months reading as much as I could about the country and seeing as many pictures as possible. I have heard advice, anecdotes, and tales from previous volunteers. And yet after everything, I really had no idea what to expect.
After 2 days of PST (Pre-Service Training) in Washington D.C. – lots of policy overview/cultural sensitivity training (mostly very generalized) and the first time meeting the other volunteers (37 total, TOEFL and Health), we took the journey to Turkmenistan. It lasted somewhere around 36 hours, and neither my body nor mind has any idea what time or day it should be now. The flights were D.C. to Frankfurt (lots of people), Frankfurt to Baku, Azerbaijan (smaller plane, PCVs, German tourists & Azerbaijanis) and finally, Baku to Ashgabat (PCVs & German tourists. They seriously go everywhere.) I helped an old German lady sitting next to me on the plane understand and fill out the customs form for Turkmenistan. She laughed when I asked if she was carrying weapons or drugs.
T-Stan has the reputation for having tight security. During PST we were regaled with stories of airports filled with AK-47 toting security guards. On the customs form, instead of a spot to declare items, was a spot for the security inspectors to declare our items. Full search? But when we got inside, I didn’t see a single gun. The guards, realizing there were 37 of us, didn’t feel like taking the energy to search us, and rushed us through pretty fast. There were two lines, one with an x-ray machine. It was up to you to choose your line. I opted out of the x-ray choice, and the only search they did was a peek at my guitar. And as a good omen of things to come, the guard checking passports after the passport check (the joyful redundancy of bureaucracy) was very friendly, and far more curious about the pronunciation of 'Illinois' than any problems I might have with my passport.
The predominant smells while leaving the airport were diesel fuel and what I imagine camels smell like.
We were greeted by the P.C., and brought onto buses. I’m sure they both had more of their fair share of duct-tape repairs, but the engine gave a rumble that said it had been to hell and back, and wasn’t giving up any time soon.
The ride through Ashgabat presented a view often compared to Vegas – grand hotels in the middle of nowhere. It appeared as if they were teleported in, out of the blue. I got my first glimpse of the legendary Arch of Neutrality, famed for its golden statue of (former Prez) Niyazov that rotates to always face the sun.
When we got to the Grand Turkmen Hotel, I saw my first indication of T-Stan’s new age: a large framed portrait of Pres. Gurbanguly Berymuchanmedov in the lobby, staring down at us. My room is gold and teal themed, and considering the TV, (semi) hot running water, and uninterrupted power, is pretty posh. I am sharing the room with Dan Pearlmutter, who I roomed with in D.C.
We chose to take the stairs up, to avoid the elevator line. Our room is on the '4th floor', which is actually the 6th floor. But good exercise after 36 hours of sitting.
Our room was additionally furnished with bottled water (do NOT drink the water) and Ülker Kram sandwich cookies from Turkey. The flavors are chocolate and cocoa, and cheese cream (“30% cream for extra taste”).
But an additional note about the streets of Turkmenistan, at least on our ride, regarding the odd surrealness was the lack of people and cars. It was just a land of large fancy buildings. The sole person I spotted was a security guard outside a building.
But now it is time to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, and 27 months ahead of us. I want to be rested.
*************************************************
Back to the Present:
Some things are very clear after reading that. I can’t say that my handwriting is better now, but it was even worse then. There are some amazing feats of grammar that indicate your English skills didn’t necessarily get worse in the Peace Corps – you suddenly just realize all of your mistakes.
Grammar aside, there are small mistakes of ignorance that are only natural when you begin something as major as the Peace Corps, from cultural (I think 'Azerbaijanis' should be 'Azeris') to bureaucratic (what I described as PST was actually 'staging'). PST is the training you receive in the country of service during the first three months. One of the many abbreviations you learn and misuse, like RPCV, CD, AO, EPA, ECA, PCMO…you get the idea. But you learn that stuff over time, and it becomes second nature.
And two things noticed correctly as soon as I got here: a) Turkmenistan is a very strange land by American standards, and b) there is a sprawling overgrown yet not inflexible amount of control here. Sure, they want to check your stuff. But if you don’t want the x-ray machine, you can get in the other line.
With less than two months to go, I have started the process of leaving – giving or throwing away everything I have that I don’t absolutely need. I found a nice leather-bound journal that I had taken to Turkmenistan, and only written one entry within it. It is of my first moments in Turkmenistan. I don’t know if some version of this reached you, but either way, it is funny to read after two years:
Flashback - Jon’s first impressions of Turkmenistan
10/3/2007
Touchdown in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan. I have spent the last half dozen months reading as much as I could about the country and seeing as many pictures as possible. I have heard advice, anecdotes, and tales from previous volunteers. And yet after everything, I really had no idea what to expect.
After 2 days of PST (Pre-Service Training) in Washington D.C. – lots of policy overview/cultural sensitivity training (mostly very generalized) and the first time meeting the other volunteers (37 total, TOEFL and Health), we took the journey to Turkmenistan. It lasted somewhere around 36 hours, and neither my body nor mind has any idea what time or day it should be now. The flights were D.C. to Frankfurt (lots of people), Frankfurt to Baku, Azerbaijan (smaller plane, PCVs, German tourists & Azerbaijanis) and finally, Baku to Ashgabat (PCVs & German tourists. They seriously go everywhere.) I helped an old German lady sitting next to me on the plane understand and fill out the customs form for Turkmenistan. She laughed when I asked if she was carrying weapons or drugs.
T-Stan has the reputation for having tight security. During PST we were regaled with stories of airports filled with AK-47 toting security guards. On the customs form, instead of a spot to declare items, was a spot for the security inspectors to declare our items. Full search? But when we got inside, I didn’t see a single gun. The guards, realizing there were 37 of us, didn’t feel like taking the energy to search us, and rushed us through pretty fast. There were two lines, one with an x-ray machine. It was up to you to choose your line. I opted out of the x-ray choice, and the only search they did was a peek at my guitar. And as a good omen of things to come, the guard checking passports after the passport check (the joyful redundancy of bureaucracy) was very friendly, and far more curious about the pronunciation of 'Illinois' than any problems I might have with my passport.
The predominant smells while leaving the airport were diesel fuel and what I imagine camels smell like.
We were greeted by the P.C., and brought onto buses. I’m sure they both had more of their fair share of duct-tape repairs, but the engine gave a rumble that said it had been to hell and back, and wasn’t giving up any time soon.
The ride through Ashgabat presented a view often compared to Vegas – grand hotels in the middle of nowhere. It appeared as if they were teleported in, out of the blue. I got my first glimpse of the legendary Arch of Neutrality, famed for its golden statue of (former Prez) Niyazov that rotates to always face the sun.
When we got to the Grand Turkmen Hotel, I saw my first indication of T-Stan’s new age: a large framed portrait of Pres. Gurbanguly Berymuchanmedov in the lobby, staring down at us. My room is gold and teal themed, and considering the TV, (semi) hot running water, and uninterrupted power, is pretty posh. I am sharing the room with Dan Pearlmutter, who I roomed with in D.C.
We chose to take the stairs up, to avoid the elevator line. Our room is on the '4th floor', which is actually the 6th floor. But good exercise after 36 hours of sitting.
Our room was additionally furnished with bottled water (do NOT drink the water) and Ülker Kram sandwich cookies from Turkey. The flavors are chocolate and cocoa, and cheese cream (“30% cream for extra taste”).
But an additional note about the streets of Turkmenistan, at least on our ride, regarding the odd surrealness was the lack of people and cars. It was just a land of large fancy buildings. The sole person I spotted was a security guard outside a building.
But now it is time to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, and 27 months ahead of us. I want to be rested.
*************************************************
Back to the Present:
Some things are very clear after reading that. I can’t say that my handwriting is better now, but it was even worse then. There are some amazing feats of grammar that indicate your English skills didn’t necessarily get worse in the Peace Corps – you suddenly just realize all of your mistakes.
Grammar aside, there are small mistakes of ignorance that are only natural when you begin something as major as the Peace Corps, from cultural (I think 'Azerbaijanis' should be 'Azeris') to bureaucratic (what I described as PST was actually 'staging'). PST is the training you receive in the country of service during the first three months. One of the many abbreviations you learn and misuse, like RPCV, CD, AO, EPA, ECA, PCMO…you get the idea. But you learn that stuff over time, and it becomes second nature.
And two things noticed correctly as soon as I got here: a) Turkmenistan is a very strange land by American standards, and b) there is a sprawling overgrown yet not inflexible amount of control here. Sure, they want to check your stuff. But if you don’t want the x-ray machine, you can get in the other line.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Letter dated 10/6/09: An unfortunate (un)reality
[Transcribed by Jon’s mom and posted by Jon’s sister]
Some ominous news:
The Beginning of Something New – or Just the End?
The newest batch of volunteers heading to Turkmenistan (the T18’s) were all set to arrive on October 1st. Upon arriving in Philadelphia on September 30th, they were informed by Peace Corps what PC only learned the night before: Turkmenistan is not accepting any T18’s. This last-minute decision (and it could hardly have been ‘laster’) came despite already issuing the volunteers both Turkmen visas and official letters of invitation.
The good news: Most if not all of the T18’s have been successfully transferred to other countries for service. And as far as anyone knows, this does not affect the current volunteers (us T16’s and the newer T17’s) directly; we should be finishing our service as planned.
The bad news: Nobody knows what the reason for this is. I have heard three competing arguments of varying believability/absurdity (though sadly, those are not two sides of a spectrum, but rather mix freely).
Reason 1 – The Typo: Even for this country, this is too absurd. The rumor goes that on the official Turkmen diplomatic letter formally inviting the T18’s, the date was for 2010, not 2009. Instead of someone just whiting out the mistake and writing in the proper year, they decided to scrap the whole thing. Less paperwork for a year, right? Come on. This idea is ludicrous. Whichever volunteer started this rumor has been hitting the dollar-per-liter vodka a little too hard.
Reason 2 – The Contract: Strangely enough, we don’t have one. That’s right. While PC is supposed to have an official contract of service set out with each given country, we have been in T-stan since 1993 with only a ‘Memorandum of Understanding’ – a diplomatic handshake. PC is currently in the works to iron out an official agreement with T-stan, which would set up what volunteers are supposed to do, where they should work, etc. (The lack of this does explain a lot, though not all, the complications, hypocrisies, and mysteries we face here.)
This situation is confirmed by Peace Corps. Whether or not this is why T-stan put a hold on new volunteers is not yet known – as you can tell, this place is not a model of transparency.
Reason 3 – So Long, It’s been Nice Knowing You: This is the most pessimistic conspiracy theory going around, and the most widely believed. Let’s consider the evidence.
We volunteers took the news, and its implications, rough (i.e. heavy vodka drinking ensued). Despite the lack of ‘official’ change, we do create a ton of noticeable difference here. And people here, aside from telling us their appreciation for what we do, enjoy getting to meet real live Americans. The T17’s, once we T16’s leave, will have it far rougher. Once we leave, and no one else comes, their social lives/emotional support will be cut in half. Sure, most of us probably have a few Turkmen we consider friends, but very few of them can really understand what we go through. Other volunteers are our biggest support.
In an e-mail we received from Chris, our Country Director, on about October 3rd, he told us what he knows of the situation (not much) and that he would be meeting with Turkmen officials to get answers (good luck, but the American notion of “Q & A” doesn’t necessarily exist here.) In the e-mail, there were also words from Acting Regional Director David Burgess, offering comfort and encouragement (though not too convincingly). He assured us there would be no changes in the staff or program. Unless you consider our numbers cut in half to be a change. He also described the situation optimistically (or naively) as “the beginning of something new.” Nice PR spin. Really, we believe you.
Yet somehow, none of us are too sure that Mr. Burgess has any control, or even advanced warning, of the situation. So, we volunteers will deal with this the way we handle most of our stress. Just watch movies, drink and work as usual.
**********************************************************
A more light-hearted, though bizarre, news item to finish this letter: with news of the bird and swine flu running as rampant as the viruses themselves, Turkmenistan is very paranoid about the viruses coming here. The most likely way it apparently would? Through packages of food sent from abroad. Because obviously, when doting PC mothers send care packages to their loved ones here, they send infected baby-back ribs and festering Peking duck.
But the real kicker is that while the Oreos you send are in quarantine for three weeks undergoing safety inspections, T-stan does not guarantee it. That’s right – your Oreos may be double-stuffed with swine flu, but they may still be eaten by the postal employees. (This is an example of how believability and absurdity are not mutually exclusive.)
Some ominous news:
The Beginning of Something New – or Just the End?
The newest batch of volunteers heading to Turkmenistan (the T18’s) were all set to arrive on October 1st. Upon arriving in Philadelphia on September 30th, they were informed by Peace Corps what PC only learned the night before: Turkmenistan is not accepting any T18’s. This last-minute decision (and it could hardly have been ‘laster’) came despite already issuing the volunteers both Turkmen visas and official letters of invitation.
The good news: Most if not all of the T18’s have been successfully transferred to other countries for service. And as far as anyone knows, this does not affect the current volunteers (us T16’s and the newer T17’s) directly; we should be finishing our service as planned.
The bad news: Nobody knows what the reason for this is. I have heard three competing arguments of varying believability/absurdity (though sadly, those are not two sides of a spectrum, but rather mix freely).
Reason 1 – The Typo: Even for this country, this is too absurd. The rumor goes that on the official Turkmen diplomatic letter formally inviting the T18’s, the date was for 2010, not 2009. Instead of someone just whiting out the mistake and writing in the proper year, they decided to scrap the whole thing. Less paperwork for a year, right? Come on. This idea is ludicrous. Whichever volunteer started this rumor has been hitting the dollar-per-liter vodka a little too hard.
Reason 2 – The Contract: Strangely enough, we don’t have one. That’s right. While PC is supposed to have an official contract of service set out with each given country, we have been in T-stan since 1993 with only a ‘Memorandum of Understanding’ – a diplomatic handshake. PC is currently in the works to iron out an official agreement with T-stan, which would set up what volunteers are supposed to do, where they should work, etc. (The lack of this does explain a lot, though not all, the complications, hypocrisies, and mysteries we face here.)
This situation is confirmed by Peace Corps. Whether or not this is why T-stan put a hold on new volunteers is not yet known – as you can tell, this place is not a model of transparency.
Reason 3 – So Long, It’s been Nice Knowing You: This is the most pessimistic conspiracy theory going around, and the most widely believed. Let’s consider the evidence.
- There really is very little support for us at all. As for us TEFL volunteers, the teachers have to, or think they have to (there is no confirmed policy) follow the official curriculum using the state textbooks. These are essentially an obstacle to successful learning, and methodology is useless when the information is useless. So the best we can hope for is to teach clubs, while having zero effect on the actual school system. I won’t talk about the health volunteers, but can assure you it is just as bleak for them.
- T-stan just recently shut down IREX and Counterpart, two long-running US-sponsored programs for technical and computer training.
- FLEX, the program that places Turkmen students in American high schools for a year, was not re-approved this year, despite running successfully for years. It is not officially canceled, though nobody knows its fate. This is not evidence of Peace Corps getting shut down, but is a part of a wider picture.
- Turkmenistan is not allowing students to leave the country to attend AUCA, the American University of Central Asia, in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. Many of the students have switched enrollment to universities in Bulgaria, yet are still not allowed to leave.
We volunteers took the news, and its implications, rough (i.e. heavy vodka drinking ensued). Despite the lack of ‘official’ change, we do create a ton of noticeable difference here. And people here, aside from telling us their appreciation for what we do, enjoy getting to meet real live Americans. The T17’s, once we T16’s leave, will have it far rougher. Once we leave, and no one else comes, their social lives/emotional support will be cut in half. Sure, most of us probably have a few Turkmen we consider friends, but very few of them can really understand what we go through. Other volunteers are our biggest support.
In an e-mail we received from Chris, our Country Director, on about October 3rd, he told us what he knows of the situation (not much) and that he would be meeting with Turkmen officials to get answers (good luck, but the American notion of “Q & A” doesn’t necessarily exist here.) In the e-mail, there were also words from Acting Regional Director David Burgess, offering comfort and encouragement (though not too convincingly). He assured us there would be no changes in the staff or program. Unless you consider our numbers cut in half to be a change. He also described the situation optimistically (or naively) as “the beginning of something new.” Nice PR spin. Really, we believe you.
Yet somehow, none of us are too sure that Mr. Burgess has any control, or even advanced warning, of the situation. So, we volunteers will deal with this the way we handle most of our stress. Just watch movies, drink and work as usual.
**********************************************************
A more light-hearted, though bizarre, news item to finish this letter: with news of the bird and swine flu running as rampant as the viruses themselves, Turkmenistan is very paranoid about the viruses coming here. The most likely way it apparently would? Through packages of food sent from abroad. Because obviously, when doting PC mothers send care packages to their loved ones here, they send infected baby-back ribs and festering Peking duck.
But the real kicker is that while the Oreos you send are in quarantine for three weeks undergoing safety inspections, T-stan does not guarantee it. That’s right – your Oreos may be double-stuffed with swine flu, but they may still be eaten by the postal employees. (This is an example of how believability and absurdity are not mutually exclusive.)
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Email dated 10/9/09: A request for beer cans
[Posted by Jon's sister, who was forwarded this email by Jon with instructions to paste it to the blog. Rui, good luck in your search! --Sarah]
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: rui ramalhete
Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2009 at 7:53 PM
Subject: information asking
To: Jon Rosenzweig
Dear friend,
My name is Rui Ramalhete, and i live in Portugal. I found your e-mail contact in the web. My favourite hobby is collecting empty beer cans, from worldwide. Because i dont have any can from Turkmenistan, i decided to write you this message, to ask you for some help. Please, is it possible for you to give me some informations about the new beer brands that are now being locally produced in metal cans in Turkmenistan? I`ve been noticed that the famous local "zip" pivo is now available in cans, but i am not sure about that. Thank you very much for your time. I know you are not a can collector, but i´d be grateful if you could help me somehow in my collection. Will wait your message, hope to hear from you soon. Bye!
kind regards from Portugal,
yours friendly,
Rui Ramalhete
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: rui ramalhete
Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2009 at 7:53 PM
Subject: information asking
To: Jon Rosenzweig
Dear friend,
My name is Rui Ramalhete, and i live in Portugal. I found your e-mail contact in the web. My favourite hobby is collecting empty beer cans, from worldwide. Because i dont have any can from Turkmenistan, i decided to write you this message, to ask you for some help. Please, is it possible for you to give me some informations about the new beer brands that are now being locally produced in metal cans in Turkmenistan? I`ve been noticed that the famous local "zip" pivo is now available in cans, but i am not sure about that. Thank you very much for your time. I know you are not a can collector, but i´d be grateful if you could help me somehow in my collection. Will wait your message, hope to hear from you soon. Bye!
kind regards from Portugal,
yours friendly,
Rui Ramalhete
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Letter dated 9/5/09: the most thrilling moment of my life
[Transcribed by Jon’s mom and posted by Jon’s sister]
You of course know the famous rhetorical question, “If your friends told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”
The answer is yes, I would and yes, I did.
Swimming in Turkmenistan
It is hard to imagine that I would learn to swim in a country that is 80% desert. But yet, great and varied opportunities to swim exist here. Let’s start with the normal swimming pools, available at both the Ak Altyn Hotel in Ashgabat and the Turkmenbashy Hotel in, you guessed it, Turkmenbashy. If you want to spice it up a bit, in both Bereket and Magtymguly, two mountain towns in the western region of Balkan, there are concrete pools fed by natural mineral spring water. For those who prefer the beach experience, there is a small lake just off the Amu Darya River in Turkmenabat City in the east. And of course, along the entire west coast of the country is the Caspian Sea.
Up here in Daşoguz, we don’t have fancy things like “a sea”, but we do have irrigation canals. There is one we have been to a few times in the town of Yalanly (where Courtney and Jaenell live). It is about fifty feet wide, 4–8 feet deep, and has a strong current. The bridge going over it is about 20 feet up, so what better way to test my courage than jump? And no, I have never so much as gone off a diving board. But sure enough, I came back easily to the surface without dying. While the summer was at its hottest, this was great fun and relief. Noah, Chen, Chase and I all took turns jumping.
But then it gets better. For our COS (Close of Service) Conference, held in Turkmenbashy, where all of us T-16 volunteers bonded and reflected over the past two years, and learned about what to do in our last three months (my last official day is December 16), we took a ferry ship a mile out into the Caspian, where it anchored and we (T-16s and staff) got to swim. The water was warm and really salty, and only 12 feet deep. The options for getting into the water were jumping off the first floor deck or off the second. I did both (twice), and must say that despite a psychological distrust of getting into water deeper than my height, jumping down 20 feet into the middle of the Caspian was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. So it turns out I can swim.
The Mystery of Service
One of the sessions during the conference was an art project: we were each supposed to make a poster collage reflecting on our time here in the Peace Corps. One element of my collage was an old naked man, standing knee deep in the middle of a hole in an iced-over lake. He has a hatchet raised above his head, and is preparing to swing down. I labeled it the “Mystery of Service”. Sometimes we feel like we don’t know what we’re doing, and certainly don’t quite know why, but we keep tenaciously doing it. Other elements were about bazaars (“High Fashion, Low Prices”) and the weird paradox that even though we never cease to be amazed and surprised by new and odd things in this country, we are just as often bored out of our minds.
As I said, I now know my leaving date (Dec 16) and am twittering with anticipation. I am planning to go to Thailand for a few days, then head to Australia for a week, and then get home in time for New Years.
You of course know the famous rhetorical question, “If your friends told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”
The answer is yes, I would and yes, I did.
Swimming in Turkmenistan
It is hard to imagine that I would learn to swim in a country that is 80% desert. But yet, great and varied opportunities to swim exist here. Let’s start with the normal swimming pools, available at both the Ak Altyn Hotel in Ashgabat and the Turkmenbashy Hotel in, you guessed it, Turkmenbashy. If you want to spice it up a bit, in both Bereket and Magtymguly, two mountain towns in the western region of Balkan, there are concrete pools fed by natural mineral spring water. For those who prefer the beach experience, there is a small lake just off the Amu Darya River in Turkmenabat City in the east. And of course, along the entire west coast of the country is the Caspian Sea.
Up here in Daşoguz, we don’t have fancy things like “a sea”, but we do have irrigation canals. There is one we have been to a few times in the town of Yalanly (where Courtney and Jaenell live). It is about fifty feet wide, 4–8 feet deep, and has a strong current. The bridge going over it is about 20 feet up, so what better way to test my courage than jump? And no, I have never so much as gone off a diving board. But sure enough, I came back easily to the surface without dying. While the summer was at its hottest, this was great fun and relief. Noah, Chen, Chase and I all took turns jumping.
But then it gets better. For our COS (Close of Service) Conference, held in Turkmenbashy, where all of us T-16 volunteers bonded and reflected over the past two years, and learned about what to do in our last three months (my last official day is December 16), we took a ferry ship a mile out into the Caspian, where it anchored and we (T-16s and staff) got to swim. The water was warm and really salty, and only 12 feet deep. The options for getting into the water were jumping off the first floor deck or off the second. I did both (twice), and must say that despite a psychological distrust of getting into water deeper than my height, jumping down 20 feet into the middle of the Caspian was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. So it turns out I can swim.
The Mystery of Service
One of the sessions during the conference was an art project: we were each supposed to make a poster collage reflecting on our time here in the Peace Corps. One element of my collage was an old naked man, standing knee deep in the middle of a hole in an iced-over lake. He has a hatchet raised above his head, and is preparing to swing down. I labeled it the “Mystery of Service”. Sometimes we feel like we don’t know what we’re doing, and certainly don’t quite know why, but we keep tenaciously doing it. Other elements were about bazaars (“High Fashion, Low Prices”) and the weird paradox that even though we never cease to be amazed and surprised by new and odd things in this country, we are just as often bored out of our minds.
As I said, I now know my leaving date (Dec 16) and am twittering with anticipation. I am planning to go to Thailand for a few days, then head to Australia for a week, and then get home in time for New Years.
Letter dated 8/17/09: A life worth living
[Transcribed by Jon’s mom and posted by Jon’s sister]
Big News:
There are two new members of the family: my older host brother, Serdar, had his second child, a boy named Kerim Ali. A tiny, goofy little bugger, but not too loud. Also, just this Saturday, Wepa got married. His wife, Guncha, now lives with us. In Turkmen culture, the youngest son gets the house, so this home will eventually belong to Wepa and Guncha. The celebration was held under a huge tent in the street outside the house, with a few hundred guests (including 4 conspicuous Americans – me, Chase, Shannon and Alice). Musicians and plenty of vodka to fuel the vigorous dancing. In the ongoing “small world theme”, I discovered that my host family is related to both the host family of a previous Boldumsaz volunteer (Laura) and a previous volunteer in Ýalanly (Emily). Wedding gifts included a giant cabinet/dresser set, a half dozen or so carpets, dish and tea sets, and a refrigerator. I gave a set of ornate shot glasses and some Johnny Walker to break them in with.
Welcome to Paradise, or Vacationing in Turkmenistan
During the second half of July I traveled around T-stan to get a first hand glimpse of the regions I had not yet seen (Lebap and Mary in the East, Balkan in the West) and visit my far-flung American comrades.
In a two-week-long flurry of taxi travel capped by flights out of and into Daşoguz City, I went to Turkmenabat, Mary City, Ashgabat, Magtymguly, Etrek, Balkanabat (with a day trip to Mazar), Bereret and back to Ashgabat for a flight home. I brought back with me books and DVDs from other volunteers, assorted gifts for family and friends back home (December is just around the corner) and for myself: BBQ sauce, courtesy of a small but specialized Turkmenabat supermarket.
Some highlights:
* Travel: After spending a day in Brian’s town of Etrek, a small sun-baked town with views of Iran (once you trek up to the top of its 100-meter-long “health walk”). We were sitting on the bus, waiting for it to take us up to Balkanabat. The road to his town from Magtymguly had been fairly tortuous on the posterior, despite the austere beauty of the landscape. I asked Brian if this “pavement” was any better. His reply was less than reassuring.
“There is no road.”
This was not simply Peace Corps-induced hyperbole. There literally was no road. We drove for over two hours over dust and salt flats until we came upon an actual road (which proved, ironically, to be bumpier than the salt flats).
* Swimming: You might not think it from a country that is 80% desert, but T-stan has some great swimming opportunities. I went with Robin in Turkmenibat to a small lake connected to the Amo Derya River, which was green, warm and quite refreshing. In Magtymguly, I went with Brian and Kevin to a natural spring-fed pool in the mountains, though we only got to swim for a few minutes before a police officer came and said that it was closing for the night. In Beremet, I went with Joel (this time during the day) to a similar stream-fed pool in the mountains. After nearly getting into a fight with an idiot who swam into me, we reconciled with vodka and watermelon. But the finest character we met was a middle-aged man with no hands – blew them off while fishing with TNT – who not only was not embarrassed about his lack of hands, but shamelessly active with his stumps. He hugged and ran his stump over Joel’s buzzed hair (saying it was like a hedgehog). And wiped the display screen of my camera with a handless wrist. He clearly used to talk a lot with his hands, because his speech was still peppered with motions and interactions of his wrists. He was an inspirational figure – well, not for the cleverness of dynamiting off appendages, but for having too much life in him to let that get him down. The swimming experience also included the Caspian at Huzar, which despite the far-from-clean beach, had really warm water and huge waves.
* Hospitality: This never ceases to impress me. With Brian in the front seat (he joined the vacation from Ashgabat til Balkanabat), I sat in the back next to a Turkmen woman and her teenage son, traveling from Ashgabat to Magtymguly. The lady was extremely friendly and chatty, and we talked most of the way. They shared their lunch of bread, eggs, sausage, cucumbers and cheese with me. By the time the taxi brought them to their house, the woman said I was like a son to her (in front of her actual son!) and that I was always welcome to come visit.
While at the pool with Joel in Bereket, we were given vodka, sausage, and watermelon by multiple groups of guys. This is definitely a mix of hospitality and the fact that people here truly love meeting Americans.
* The fake zoo in Turkmenabat: Along the main street in town, Gary and Robin pointed out a rocky outcropping punctuated with metal bars, behind which sat a collection of dreary looking animals. PETA need not take action however, as they were not real animals. Why the fake animals needed real cages will go down as a riddle of the ages.
Big News:
There are two new members of the family: my older host brother, Serdar, had his second child, a boy named Kerim Ali. A tiny, goofy little bugger, but not too loud. Also, just this Saturday, Wepa got married. His wife, Guncha, now lives with us. In Turkmen culture, the youngest son gets the house, so this home will eventually belong to Wepa and Guncha. The celebration was held under a huge tent in the street outside the house, with a few hundred guests (including 4 conspicuous Americans – me, Chase, Shannon and Alice). Musicians and plenty of vodka to fuel the vigorous dancing. In the ongoing “small world theme”, I discovered that my host family is related to both the host family of a previous Boldumsaz volunteer (Laura) and a previous volunteer in Ýalanly (Emily). Wedding gifts included a giant cabinet/dresser set, a half dozen or so carpets, dish and tea sets, and a refrigerator. I gave a set of ornate shot glasses and some Johnny Walker to break them in with.
Welcome to Paradise, or Vacationing in Turkmenistan
During the second half of July I traveled around T-stan to get a first hand glimpse of the regions I had not yet seen (Lebap and Mary in the East, Balkan in the West) and visit my far-flung American comrades.
In a two-week-long flurry of taxi travel capped by flights out of and into Daşoguz City, I went to Turkmenabat, Mary City, Ashgabat, Magtymguly, Etrek, Balkanabat (with a day trip to Mazar), Bereret and back to Ashgabat for a flight home. I brought back with me books and DVDs from other volunteers, assorted gifts for family and friends back home (December is just around the corner) and for myself: BBQ sauce, courtesy of a small but specialized Turkmenabat supermarket.
Some highlights:
* Travel: After spending a day in Brian’s town of Etrek, a small sun-baked town with views of Iran (once you trek up to the top of its 100-meter-long “health walk”). We were sitting on the bus, waiting for it to take us up to Balkanabat. The road to his town from Magtymguly had been fairly tortuous on the posterior, despite the austere beauty of the landscape. I asked Brian if this “pavement” was any better. His reply was less than reassuring.
“There is no road.”
This was not simply Peace Corps-induced hyperbole. There literally was no road. We drove for over two hours over dust and salt flats until we came upon an actual road (which proved, ironically, to be bumpier than the salt flats).
* Swimming: You might not think it from a country that is 80% desert, but T-stan has some great swimming opportunities. I went with Robin in Turkmenibat to a small lake connected to the Amo Derya River, which was green, warm and quite refreshing. In Magtymguly, I went with Brian and Kevin to a natural spring-fed pool in the mountains, though we only got to swim for a few minutes before a police officer came and said that it was closing for the night. In Beremet, I went with Joel (this time during the day) to a similar stream-fed pool in the mountains. After nearly getting into a fight with an idiot who swam into me, we reconciled with vodka and watermelon. But the finest character we met was a middle-aged man with no hands – blew them off while fishing with TNT – who not only was not embarrassed about his lack of hands, but shamelessly active with his stumps. He hugged and ran his stump over Joel’s buzzed hair (saying it was like a hedgehog). And wiped the display screen of my camera with a handless wrist. He clearly used to talk a lot with his hands, because his speech was still peppered with motions and interactions of his wrists. He was an inspirational figure – well, not for the cleverness of dynamiting off appendages, but for having too much life in him to let that get him down. The swimming experience also included the Caspian at Huzar, which despite the far-from-clean beach, had really warm water and huge waves.
* Hospitality: This never ceases to impress me. With Brian in the front seat (he joined the vacation from Ashgabat til Balkanabat), I sat in the back next to a Turkmen woman and her teenage son, traveling from Ashgabat to Magtymguly. The lady was extremely friendly and chatty, and we talked most of the way. They shared their lunch of bread, eggs, sausage, cucumbers and cheese with me. By the time the taxi brought them to their house, the woman said I was like a son to her (in front of her actual son!) and that I was always welcome to come visit.
While at the pool with Joel in Bereket, we were given vodka, sausage, and watermelon by multiple groups of guys. This is definitely a mix of hospitality and the fact that people here truly love meeting Americans.
* The fake zoo in Turkmenabat: Along the main street in town, Gary and Robin pointed out a rocky outcropping punctuated with metal bars, behind which sat a collection of dreary looking animals. PETA need not take action however, as they were not real animals. Why the fake animals needed real cages will go down as a riddle of the ages.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Letter dated 7/11/09: British Bikers from the Future
[Transcribed by Jon’s mom, photos scanned by her coworker, entry posted by Jon's sister]
I was walking home from the copy shop today when I noticed two motorcycles outside the local Nescafé (note: although there is a giant Nescafé sign, it does not mean this is an authorized dealership, nor even that they sell any. But it is a shop with an attached café.) Motorcycles here are common enough, and can be described as a 40-year-old motor welded to two wheels, usually with a protruding sidecar. But these were different. Giant. Professionally made. Rugged. Non-Turkmen plates! What the hell was going on?
Luckily, the guys at Nescafé, who I am friends with, were equally perplexed, and waved me on inside to where I found…British people?! I introduced myself, “You speak English? Good. What the hell are you doing here?”, and met David and his wife (sorry, blanking on her name). They are part of a 15-person round-the-world motorcycling group. Currently in week 4 of four months. I ate with them at the café. They graciously paid for my meal. I felt like I was using them, until the bill came to 2 dollars total, including the bottle of coke. So I figured the rich foreigners could afford it. I told them about Peace Corps, and life here; they told me about their journey so far.
Outside, I served as translator between the awestruck crowd of Turkmen and the British pair. The woman, as they were being photographed, said she felt like a movie star. “You are,” I replied. Two British people, in leather motorcycle outfits, on a giant, road-ready motorcycle, in Boldumsaz? Might as well be movie stars. Some of the local guys posed for pictures with them, and sat on the bikes too, for more pictures. This will be the talk of the town for the next week. Of course, by the end of the week, the story will be that my British parents came to visit me, and I rode away with them to Uzbekistan to find myself a wife. Small town gossip.
I was walking home from the copy shop today when I noticed two motorcycles outside the local Nescafé (note: although there is a giant Nescafé sign, it does not mean this is an authorized dealership, nor even that they sell any. But it is a shop with an attached café.) Motorcycles here are common enough, and can be described as a 40-year-old motor welded to two wheels, usually with a protruding sidecar. But these were different. Giant. Professionally made. Rugged. Non-Turkmen plates! What the hell was going on?
Luckily, the guys at Nescafé, who I am friends with, were equally perplexed, and waved me on inside to where I found…British people?! I introduced myself, “You speak English? Good. What the hell are you doing here?”, and met David and his wife (sorry, blanking on her name). They are part of a 15-person round-the-world motorcycling group. Currently in week 4 of four months. I ate with them at the café. They graciously paid for my meal. I felt like I was using them, until the bill came to 2 dollars total, including the bottle of coke. So I figured the rich foreigners could afford it. I told them about Peace Corps, and life here; they told me about their journey so far.
Outside, I served as translator between the awestruck crowd of Turkmen and the British pair. The woman, as they were being photographed, said she felt like a movie star. “You are,” I replied. Two British people, in leather motorcycle outfits, on a giant, road-ready motorcycle, in Boldumsaz? Might as well be movie stars. Some of the local guys posed for pictures with them, and sat on the bikes too, for more pictures. This will be the talk of the town for the next week. Of course, by the end of the week, the story will be that my British parents came to visit me, and I rode away with them to Uzbekistan to find myself a wife. Small town gossip.
- - - - - - - - - -
Photo 1: The classic.
Cut-up boiled organs (here: stomach, tongue, intestine, liver, kidney, and probably some heart), mixed with ripped-up bread, poured over with broth.
Photo 2: Chicken Shashlik (kabob):
Can’t go wrong with grilled chicken topped with onions, dill & parsley.
Photo 3: Summer Camp! 
This was at the end of 3 days of games, songs, art projects and sports. The kids here are showing off their macaroni and lentils, corn & sunflower seed garden pictures. To my right [our left, behind the kids] is Maral, a teacher who helped out. (Thanks to Jaenell for taking the picture and helping out that day.)
Photo 4: Marissa’s counterpart, Marissa, Chien, me,
Bakutiyar Khojaniyazov, Jaenell, Chase, Shasa.
Bakutiyar is a master potter who works & lives in Niyozov (Marissa’s town). This is the front of his house, which he decorated himself. Sasha is a friend of ours who works in Daşoguz.
Photo 5: Fitchi, a meat (ground beef) pie with a touch of onion & chili pepper. 
At the café in Gubadag, the ‘hometown’ of Fitchi. Serving suggestion: a cup of yogurt, a glass of Coke, and a shot (or bottle) of Alemgoshar (‘rainbow’) vodka. Thanks to Chase for bringing me to this restaurant.
Photo 6: A bit of false cognate.
This is the Turkmen version of gyros (or donor kabab, to be more accurate.) Thin sliced meat, onions & dill, spicy ketchup, and topped with slices of fat.
Photo 7: Lagman.
A spicy noodle soup with ground beef, sliced cucumber, etc.
Photo 8: Yumurtka borek.
Giant egg & oil filled half-circle ravioli, with camel milk for sauce. As long as it isn’t too heavy on the oil, it’s real good.
Photo 9: Galuptsi.
Okay, so I have a picture of this already, but the first one was pepper stuffed with rice and ground beef; this time it is done with cabbage. Served with green onions, bread and pickled tomatoes.
Photo 10: Juwen Kurtuk.
This is very similar to gayysh: big square noodles cooked in a thick, salty broth, with a few carrots and potatoes, and meat. The large alien-like thing on top is the meat; I believe it's a section of spine from a brutalized animal.
Photo 11: Borsht (lower right).
Cabbage soup. A Russian classic. The meat is on the side cooling. Also served: bread, pickled vegetables, and of course, vodka.
Photo 12: Rice cooked in camel’s milk.
Not too photogenic, but pretty tasty.
Photo 13: Victory Day: May 9.
No matter where you go in the world, people hate Nazis. Here I am with war heroes from the Turkmen past. This is in Daşoguz city, with a parade about to begin.
Please enjoy the photos. A whole new bunch of food pictures and a couple of me, to remind you all what I look like.
Photo 1: The classic.
Cut-up boiled organs (here: stomach, tongue, intestine, liver, kidney, and probably some heart), mixed with ripped-up bread, poured over with broth.Photo 2: Chicken Shashlik (kabob):
Can’t go wrong with grilled chicken topped with onions, dill & parsley.
This was at the end of 3 days of games, songs, art projects and sports. The kids here are showing off their macaroni and lentils, corn & sunflower seed garden pictures. To my right [our left, behind the kids] is Maral, a teacher who helped out. (Thanks to Jaenell for taking the picture and helping out that day.)Photo 4: Marissa’s counterpart, Marissa, Chien, me,
Bakutiyar Khojaniyazov, Jaenell, Chase, Shasa.
Bakutiyar is a master potter who works & lives in Niyozov (Marissa’s town). This is the front of his house, which he decorated himself. Sasha is a friend of ours who works in Daşoguz.
At the café in Gubadag, the ‘hometown’ of Fitchi. Serving suggestion: a cup of yogurt, a glass of Coke, and a shot (or bottle) of Alemgoshar (‘rainbow’) vodka. Thanks to Chase for bringing me to this restaurant.
This is the Turkmen version of gyros (or donor kabab, to be more accurate.) Thin sliced meat, onions & dill, spicy ketchup, and topped with slices of fat.
A spicy noodle soup with ground beef, sliced cucumber, etc.
Giant egg & oil filled half-circle ravioli, with camel milk for sauce. As long as it isn’t too heavy on the oil, it’s real good.
Okay, so I have a picture of this already, but the first one was pepper stuffed with rice and ground beef; this time it is done with cabbage. Served with green onions, bread and pickled tomatoes.
This is very similar to gayysh: big square noodles cooked in a thick, salty broth, with a few carrots and potatoes, and meat. The large alien-like thing on top is the meat; I believe it's a section of spine from a brutalized animal.
Cabbage soup. A Russian classic. The meat is on the side cooling. Also served: bread, pickled vegetables, and of course, vodka.Photo 12: Rice cooked in camel’s milk.
Not too photogenic, but pretty tasty.
No matter where you go in the world, people hate Nazis. Here I am with war heroes from the Turkmen past. This is in Daşoguz city, with a parade about to begin.
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