In which we think assorted deep thoughts...
There comes a point, say on the 26th day in exile (but who's counting?), when your mind begins to wander. That's what's been happening to us lately.
Here are some of the thoughts our minds have tripped over in their meanderings:
It is an international truth that people everywhere believe foreigners could spontaneously speak the local language if they would just try harder. We do it in America all the time. Now people are doing it to us.
Some group calls us about once a week and starts talking in Russian. We politely-- by American standards-- say "Ya ni penny-my-yoo pa-Russki." I don't understand Russian. The person on the other end invariably speaks faster and louder. We say, "Dosvedanya," Good-bye, and hang up.
The person calls back, speaking louder and more angrily. We repeat and hang up. The person calls back, even MORE angry. We repeat, hang up and unplug the phone. At times, this takes place in the middle of the night.
Surprisingly, we still don't understand Russian. We will try harder.
Speaking of politeness, we have a new hypothesis that manners are more and more driven by temperature. No one holds the door here. Male, female, young or old, everyone has an equal chance of being shut out. If you do decide to hold a door, bring a chair. You'll be there awhile.
And, if you're following someone, you'd best step lively. People move at a remarkable clip here. This is amazing when you consider that every surface out of doors is covered in ice. Why we don't see everyone in casts, I don't understand.
Perhaps it is because the natives are wiser than we. Everyone here walks arm-in-arm. Men with women, women with women, and, sometimes, even men with men.
We suspect it has to do with the weather. You don't stand around with doors open letting the heat out. You don't lolly-gag in the cold. And you'd best be hanging onto someone or you'll both end up on your keisters.
And speaking of the people and the weather, these are a remarkably adaptable folk. At first glance, Americans must think they're crazy. The men wear slick Italian looking leather shoes and many of the women sport stilleto heels on their boots.
At second glance, however, they're brilliant. Everywhere you look, the boys skate masterfully down sidewalks on the soles of their feet. And the ice itself is gouged with little dents where the women have used their heels as ice picks, securing their step.
The other thing that's interesting about the people is their sense of nationality. They don't really have one. The caucasians call themselves Russians-who-live-in-Kazakhstan. The asians (again, by American definition) call themselves Kazakhs. The only places the term Kazakhstani appears in reference to the population are in academic or governmental texts.
Post Soviet control, Kazakh supposedly became the official language here. That said, everyone in a governmental capacity speaks Russian. According to the Peace Corps boys, you're not supposed to be able to get a government job without knowing Kazakh. Most, however, bribe their way past that requirement. In fact, there are no Kazakh/English dictionaries and only a few, sparsely written Kazakh/Russian dictionaries.
In general, the place is a burgeoning nationality-- a country only newly born. You can't help but wonder what it will look like in 50 years.
