In which forbidden thresholds are crossed.
Today we broke some rules.
To start with, we went through the uber-secret door and saw where Owen spends his time when he's not with us. Truth be told, it was kind of a sad day.
We're learning the schedule and realizing that 10 in the morning isn't the best time to visit our little boy. They clearly wake him from his nap to bring him to us and, like any good Hess, if he ain't nappin' then he'd better be eatin'! From 10 until his bottle gets there, all he wants is something in his mouth. If that something shoots a little formula, all the better!
Today we went all the way until noon, no bottle. The poor guy was too hungry to fall asleep and too tired not to. It required a lot of binky and a lot of holding.
We couldn't complain when the nurse arrived, though. It was Lena #2, his favorite of the favorites. And she had a surprise: We could see where Owen sleeps. Video camera in hand, looking for all the world like the worst kind of American Dad, I followed Robin, Inna and Lena into the forbidden lands.
The room she took us to is tiny-- maybe five feet by five feet-- and it's hot, at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Three cribs line one wall, each with a mobile strapped across the rails. Owen's has a little monkey and Lena tells us he likes to chew on the monkey's feet. Owen also has a little girl roommate-- Aliya. (Lena thinks. She isn't sure of the girl's name.) You can see a picture of her at left. Lena tells us that Owen and Aliya hold hands through the bars of their crib sometimes. Fortunately, Aliya has adoptive parents on the way.
Dr. Natalia had told us that the orphanage mattresses are hard when she gave us Owen's medical review. We checked. Yes, they are hard... BECAUSE THEY DON'T EXIST. Owen pretty much lies on a sheet spread over the bottom of his metal crib. The crib has one neat feature in that it rocks when he moves. Otherwise, our little boy just lies in the box looking at his monkey and listening to-- not Beatles-- the rapper Nelly. (Possibly worse than the crib.)
We're ready to show Owen the rest of the world now.
Owen finally got his bottle and we were ushered away. I felt like a terrible intruder. Women, probably expectant or newly delivered mothers, had come to their doors to stare at us. We tried not to notice.
The maternity hospital is very institutional, but littered throughout with odd bits of art. You can see a snapshot of the hall we walk every day for our visit and, further down, there's a picture of the mural inside one of the entries. Oddly enough, the place doesn't have that hospital smell we're so accustomed to in the States. Instead, it smells weirdly of cooking food. Nothing you'd want to eat, mind you, but food none the less.
There's also a picture of the front of the hospital. Admire the classic Soviet architecture: Bomb shelter, circa 1950.
While the whole thing seems rather bleak, you can't get past the fact that the nurses and the doctors genuinely care about the babies and the women who come to their hospital. By Soviet standards, this is very good care. As Americans, it is a somber reminder of how well we have it.
Another reminder immediately followed.
Remember awhile back we told you about the bowling alley that firmly ejected Robin, Matt and me? Well, under Inna's care, we returned for our afternoon entertainment-- forbidden threshold number two!
The place is incredibly fancy. Men in suits greet you at the door. A woman checks your coat and then you can enjoy the restaurant. It' ain't no greasy spoon, neither-- top of the line joint complete with dance floor, sound system and stage decorated lavishly in Christmas tinsel.
Inna, Robin and I enjoyed bottled water and three salads. Mine was chicken, eggs, dried dates, cucumbers and mayonnaise. Robin's had chicken, mushrooms, walnuts and mayonnaise. I tried asking for mine without the eggs. Inna told me they wouldn't do it. The eggs made it pretty, the waitress told me via Inna. Without the eggs it would be ugly.
I see.
Afterwards, we bowled two games. Inna, who's only bowled one other time in her life, cleaned our clocks the first go 'round. Robin won the second. I narrowly avoided being mocked by complete strangers.
But here's where the reminder comes in. Lunch for the three of us and 45 minutes of bowling, cost us 2,840 tenge or 22 bucks. I should mention that our fee included a waitress while we bowled and our own personal bowling coach.
Now, consider that the typical Kazakh salary is 13,000 tenge a month. Our two hours of fun cost a week's wages.
It really makes you respect the people here.
After bowling, Robin and I went back to the cottage where we crossed forbidden threshold number three. We went for a walk by ourselves with no one left at the cottage to fret over us. This is BIG WICKED.
I don't think we've mentioned it, but before coming to Kokshetau our papers suggested that it is best not to walk about the city unescorted. When we got here, we asked the landlady for a key to the cottage. You won't need one, she told us. Lyuba will be here if you need to go out and she'll let you back in.
Likewise, when we told Inna and Oleg that we were meeting strange Peace Corps boys and going to their school, there was more than a little Russian commotion about the whole ordeal. Peace Corps Bryan told us it would be big bad for Oleg if anything were to happen to us under his care. Still, we figured if the Peace Corps kids could survive, surely we would be just fine.
So upon entering the cottage, Robin and I dutifully stripped off our cold weather gear, said goodbye (paka!) to Lyuba and Inna, and waited for them to go. The second we couldn't see them anymore, back came the coats and off we went to the Tsum (and, yes, you pronounce both the "T" and the "S") Store.
The day was much warmer-- comparatively speaking. Our breathing still frosted our scarves and turned our hats white. But even so, we couldn't wait to get out for a walk.
We'd been to the Tsum once before, but only briefly. It's Kokshetau's version of a mall, but it's more like a collection of little stands, each of which sell a variety of items that may or may not be related. Yes, you can buy tea kettles in the same place you pick up your wedding dress. We wanted to take a picture, but people have been a little peevish about photos. (The bowling alley openly forbade us from taking pictures inside.)
Absent pictures, you can still come along on our walk. Just close your eyes and imagine a luxurious fur coat being sold along side a picture of Jesus outlined in amber.
I'm not kidding.
