Restaurants Open for Lunch

We are now officially in the month of Ramadan. This is when Muslims world wide fast from sun up to sun down every day for a month. They will raise early in the morning before first light to have breakfast, and wait until after dark to eat dinner. The fast is such an important part of the year and peoples schedules, that local restaurants often close right down.

Even during the years I have chosen not to officially participate in the fast, my eating habits have had to conform to when the restaurants around me were open and serving food. During these times I have had to resort to sneaking snacks in my own home to help tie me over. Which is why I was so surprised when I realized Ramadan had already started this year. Being home in Canada means every restaurant is open at lunch.

Not Bad For a Foreigner

I once again set my hand to the task of Uyghur cooking. This is not a new experiment for me by any stretch, but unlike in the past my guests today have actually lived in Central Asia... they know what the food should taste like.


The menu consisted of one dish "da pan ji" literally translated "big plate of chicken". It is a large platter filled with; potatoes, peppers, garlic and of course chicken. When I first moved to Central Asia five years ago I hated it. I found it way to spicy. But now it is one of my favourites. I try to make sure I get some da pan ji at least once a week.


In Central Asia they use what we fondly refer to as chainsaw chicken, a whole chicken that has just been hacked up into bit size pieces, but today for my families enjoyment I used boneless skinless chicken breast. The real question is... can you tell the difference?

Thanks Mom and Dad

This weekend my family and I took a road trip up to my old college stomping grounds. I was able to reconnect with several friends, profs at the school, and even got a visit in with both of my grandparents. It was a crazy busy weekend, and I never would have been able to pull it off with out the help of my mom and dad.

Part of the weekend involved playing Princess with my friends kids

When I am home I not only don't have a car to drive around... I don't even have a licence to drive a car. I never have. When I was 16 and the age that every teen is biting at the bit to take the keys and hit the road, my legs were so bad that I couldn't really move my foot from the gas to the break without taking my hands off the wheel and using them to help move my leg over the couple of centimeters. My father deemed this an unsafe way to drive; I think we was scared that I would hit a cat or a dog or a kid or something with that slow of a reaction time. By the time I was in university I lived on campus and the grocery store was just across the street. I didn't need to drive anywhere and I didn't really have to money to afford a car anyway. So I put off taking my drivers test.

Since moving to Central Asia I have never really even considered driving; for one the traffic and driving style is insane, and two the bus system is superb. A bus comes rolling into the stop in front of my school's gate on an average of every 35 seconds. Each bus ride only costs about 15 cents. It is the most convenient thing ever.


But when I return home to Canada, I am always struck afresh by how much North American culture is about having your own car and getting yourself around to where you want to go. I still can't do that. I have tried looking into taking the test now, but with this graduated licencing program and never knowing how long it will be between my visits back... it is hard to proceed. So instead I must lean heavily on my most gracious parents, who seem willing to help me out. There were several times this weekend that I left my friends house, or came back from chatting with someone, only to find them both patiently sitting in the car reading their books.


Thanks mom and dad for all you do to help make my time here run smoothly and for helping me catch up with friends. It was a great weekend.

Over my shoulder

Where I live in Central Asia it is a known fact that there are some topics we just don't discuss out loud in public. Anything about the government and politics or religion could easily get you in trouble if over heard by the wrong person. We as foreigner to the area have learned to either avoid having in depth conversations about these topics in public places, or we speak fluent English at a rapid pace in slurred hushed tones, choosing abbreviations or words that we know most local people have not studied. This way of life has become so normal to me over the past few years that I don't really think of it as that unusual anymore.

Last night when I went out with one of my old friends for coffee (yeah Timmy's when ever I want), we had a great conversation. We not only touched on the superficial topics like the weather and whatnot, we started taking about politics (even complaining about how the garbage pick up strike was handled) In Central Asia you never criticize the governments handling of an issue out loud. From there we moved on to religion and our own personal beliefs. It was a great chance to catch up.

About an hour or so into our conversation my friend asked me what I was looking for. I was rather confused by her question and she told me that I kept looking around. Anytime we changed into what would normally be a sensitive conversation to have in such an open location, I found myself taking a quick glance over my shoulder. I was checking to see who was in ear shot, and if they seemed to notice us or be paying attention to our conversation. I must have repeated this "check out our surroundings" glance several times throughout the night. I didn't even consciously know I was doing it...but our conversation just seemed so open I wanted to make sure no one was watching us. It is just another way that living over seas has changed me. I now view what we often take for granted as 'rights' in Canada, as really a gift of freedom many others around the world do not get to enjoy.

Garbage

As I was getting ready to board the plane from Toronto to Windsor last week one of the people at the airport commented to me that I must be glad the strike was finally over. I naively asked them "what strike?" Only to find out that city workers in my hometown have been on strike for almost 16 weeks. That meant there had been no garbage collection going on. No wonder my dad was wandering around the house today so excited that it was garbage day. I guess it has been a bit of a long smelly strike.

This got me to thinking about the garbage houses where I live. When ever I am heading out I can grab my trash bag, whether it is full or not and just toss it into one of these huts on my way by. There are several of them located in every apartment complex. Once every few days a large truck will come and back up next to the hut, and all the garbage will be shoveled into the back. It is important not to walk to close the guys working because sometimes their aim is not the greatest and old banana peels will come raining out the other side of the truck. Normally a few hours before the collection guys are due to arrive you will see people picking through the piles of bags pulling out bottles and other items they can trade in for money.
I already find it pretty stinky walking by these deposit spots, and I have to work on intentionally not scrunching up my nose in disgust as I go by. I guess if they hadn't picked it up in almost 4 months, I would be like my dad, pretty excited about garbage day.

Things I miss

So I have only been home a week, but as I was watching my pictures flash by on my screen saver this afternoon I realized there were already a number of things I miss. I think what it really boils down to is that I miss a world where the most usual sights seem like they should be normal. It really is a wonderful world where the following do not seem strange:

A big load on a little bike

A donkey cart at the front gate of a major university

A bird carried on the bus

A little lamb following Mary through the department store.

Man Hug

I am always surprised by the little cultural things that freak me out when I return to what should be my home culture. This time it was the hugging.

I am use to physical contact with Uyghur woman... in fact sometimes they are a little more touchy- feely than I am use to. It is not unusual to sit on the couch holding hands with a Uyghur girlfriend... sometime she is holding one of my hands and using her other hand to stroke my knee or pat my back. This sort of interaction is normal... even expected between female friends. Every time they greet each with an embrace and a kiss on both cheeks. Women often walk down the street arm in arm, or swing their hands like school girls. I remember finding all this physical touch stuff hard when I first arrived, but now it seems normal. In fact when I am back in Canada I often wonder why my friends sit on the opposite side of the couch, or why they just give me a quick embrace as a hello greeting.

My teacher and I are close friends and often sit with our arms around each other

Men, on the other hand are a totally different story. I went to church with my parents the other day and was shocked and slightly uncomfortable with all of the men who wanted to give me a hug. I know it is totally normal here, and doesn't carry any extra connotations... but when I go for months with out any physical contact with the opposite gender ( I don't even shake hands with guys out there in public), it really threw me off.

Me keeping my distance from even some of my closets Uyghur guy friends

Safe - In Canada

If you follow the news at all you may be aware of the fact that in recent weeks the Uyghurs have been making the front page. There were riots in the the northwest area of China, as Uyghur people responded to other violence in Guang Dong province. This was more than just a retaliation from these events, but a culmination of years of frustration over not having their own country.

As a result of the recent violence among the Uyghurs the government where I live also decided to shut down Internet activity and block international calls in hopes of preventing this incident from spreading to some of the other Central Asian countries where Uyghurs live (Mongolia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Northern India).

The university I attend took further precautions this week by sending all of their foreign students home for summer vacation. They did not want to be responsible for us while school was not in session. So on Tuesday I was called into the Dean's office and told that I had 3-5 days to pack up my stuff and return to Canada. Students are invited to return for their studies at the beginning of September.

Friday morning I jumped on a plane and after more than 28 hours of travel I called my parents from our hometown airport. They had no idea I was coming home (since I had been unable to really contact them), and I think they really liked the surprise of knowing I was here.

My return plans are still uncertain at the moment, as I had already notified the school that I do not plan to continue my studies in the fall, but instead pursue a business opportunity. The paper work needed for my work visa is also currently on hold.

I did dye my fingernails with Henna the night before I headed out and told all my old Uyghur lady friends that I hoped to be back before all the colour grew out and my nails turned back to normal colour (that gives me about 2 months).

International Freedom Festival

Growing up on the Windsor/ Detroit border, the beginning of July was a double celebration of freedom and Independence. July 1st is Canada day, followed a few days later by Independence day. The two cities combine their firework budget and have the biggest display imaginable off of three barges in the middle of the Detroit River. They purposely use to have this display on the 2nd or the 3rd so that it officially fell on neither countries birthday, but celebrated both. We even had a jingle to commemorate the event; International Freedom Festival, Nation to Nation, Friend to Friend.

This week I once again tried to get as much play out of the holidays as I could. All of the Canadians in town met on Wednesday night and had a great time. We let off fire works ( left over from Lunar New Year), drank Tim Horton's coffee and sat around reading the you know you are Canadian when list.

You know you are Canadian when...

• You stand in "line-ups" at the movie, not lines.
• You're not offended by the term "Homo Milk".
• You understand the sentence, "Could you please pass me a serviette, I just spilled my poutine".
• You eat chocolate bars instead of candy bars.
• You drink pop, not soda.
• You can drink legally while still a 'teen.
• You talk about the weather with strangers and friends alike.
• You don't know or care about the fuss with Cuba, it's just a cheap place to travel with good cigars and no Americans.
• When there is a social problem, you turn to your government to fix it instead of telling them to stay out of it.
• You get milk in bags as well as cartons and plastic jugs.
• Pike is a type of fish, not some part of a highway.
• You drive on a highway, not a freeway.
• You know what a Robertson screwdriver is.
• You have Canadian Tire money in your kitchen drawers.
• You know that Thrills are something to chew and "taste like soap".
• You know that Mounties "don't always look like that".
• You dismiss all beers under 6% as "for children and the elderly".
• You know that the Friendly Giant isn't a vegetable product line.
• You know that Casey and Finnegan are not a Celtic musical group.
• You participated in "Participation".
• You design you Halloween Costume to fit over your snow suit.
  
• You have an Inuit carving by your bedside with the rationale , "What's good enough protection for the Prime Minister is good enough for me".
• You wonder why there isn't a 5 dollar coin yet.
• You brag to Americans that: Shania Twain, Jim Carrey, Celine Dion, Michael J. Fox, John Candy, William Shatner, Tom Green, Matthew Perry, Mike Myers, Neve Campbell, Pamela Anderson Lee & many more, are Canadians.
• Like any international assassin/terrorist/spy in the world, you carry a Canadian passport.
• You use a red pen on your non-Canadian textbooks and fill in the missing 'u's from labor, honor, and color.
• You know the French equivalents of "free", "prize", and "no sugar added", thanks to your extensive education in bilingual cereal packaging.
• You are excited whenever an American television show mentions Canada.
• You make a mental note to talk about it at work the next day.
• You can eat more than one maple sugar candy without feeling nauseous.
• You know what a toque is.
• You have some memento of Doug and Bob.
• You know Toronto is not a province. (...yet)
• You never miss "Coaches Corner".
• Back bacon and Kraft Dinner are two of your favourite food groups.
• You actually get these jokes and forward them to all your Canadian friends.

Then yesterday, July 4th, one of my American Friends decided to have a party with some of her local friends. Since she needed help cooking dinner for the 12 guests she had invited, and because I could sing all of 'The Star Spangled Banner', I was once again invited to join in on a US Holiday. We made Sloppy Joes and watched Independence Day, the old Will Smith movie in the National language.

So Happy Birthday to both Countries. Even living on the other side of the world I get to celebrate the International Freedom Festival, Nation to Nation Friend to Friend.

The Waiting Game

Some of you may know that I am once again in the process of trying to move south. I say once again because I tried it three years ago to no avail. Sadly we can't just live where ever we want or where ever we find work in this country, we need to get a hundred and one stamps of government approval first.

I have already been offered a job in a city that is about a 24 hour train ride from here. Not only have I been offered the job, I have signed a contract and rented an apartment. The job is with a Uyghur handicraft export business. My roommate and I went down to check it all out the beginning of May, but to agree to work for them and finding a home was just the beginning. Now the waiting game starts.

The company is in the process of getting my paperwork done. They originally anticipated that it would be ready by the end of June, which is why I had hoped to be in Canada already ( I have to go back to my country of origin to change from a student visa to a work visa). But paper work takes forever, the company keeps sending me updated spread sheets with an estimated time as to when they should be able to get me the stamped paper work I need to take home with me. At first it was moved to the first week of July, then July 17th, next July 27th and just yesterday they sent me an email saying likely not until about Aug 5th. I can't really buy air tickets home until I have all the local government approval. So I wait.

My friend and I at the office down south, standing in front of one of the carpets that I will be helping to export.

Climb Every Mountian

After last weeks run in with the the dance performance manager, my friends and I realized we had a few days free. We were scheduled to help him from Tuesday until Friday of last week. Since no one was expecting us we deiced to head to the mountains for a bit of a vacation.
The city I live in is surrounded on almost every side by mountains, which you can see on beautiful clear days from almost anywhere. It only costs about a dollar to hop on a bus and have them take you out to a point from which you can start hiking. Sadly these mountains are turning more and more into a tourist trap all the time. There are big hotels and restaurants, and even gate fees to pay to hike in certain parts.

We were able to talk with a Kazak family a little about their horses (Kazaks love horses, they are a vital part of the culture) and in the end the wife told us the round about path we could walk to avoid paying the entrance fee.
We hiked for about three hours before stopping for a picnic lunch ( huh, I might not be able to dance, but I can participate in some physical activities). As we hiked on we noticed that the rain was moving in and decided it was time that we find ourselves a place to sleep for the night. All through the mountains are Kazak yurts, where you can make a deal with the owner for dinner and a nights accommodation. But you have to be willing to bargain hard.

I don't speak Kazak ( it is linguistically close to Uyghur kind of like Spanish and Italian are fairly similar), I know a few simple rules of how the languages are different so we muddled our way through a conversation. I did pull out all the stops to try to get us a good price. I repeated the fact that I was a student over and over, I even showed off my skinny wrists to prove how little I eat. In the end I got the price down to $4CAD a night per person. I thought this included our dinner, but I was wrong, she ended up charging us an extra $5 for our food ( not to mention the $2 she charged us for coal to heat the fire and keep the yurt warm at night). I felt like we were getting riped off.

The outside of a Kazak yurt (traditional home)

The inside of the yurt (I am the one on the left with my head covered trying to get some sleep)

A cute little Kazak baby, dressed really warm against the summer chill ( except for its little bum sticking out of the split pants).

But since returning home my teacher asked how much we spent on our night in the mountains. I have learned over the years to turn the question back on them. If I answer first with how much I spent, my local friends will always tell me I paid way too much. But sometimes if I can get them to estimate the price first they will name something higher than I paid and I end up proving to them that foreigners can do alright at the bargaining game. My teacher thought a night in a yurt plus dinner for three people should run about 300-350 of the local currency. So you can imagine how surprised she was to learn that I had only paid 110 (for a grand total of $6CAD per person).

As you can see it was a beautiful and restful place to get away (and yes mom, these are all file photos from three years ago. We didn't have a camera on us to capture the beauty this time, but I have in the past.)

The Subject of Political Incorrectness

I always thought that this whole political correctness had gone a little far. I thought people should be able to say what they want without everyone taking offense. However, I guess I have grown accustom to a certain level or standard of politeness conversation. But this week I was the one who was on the down side of a tackless persons conversation.

I have told you about the famous foreigner phenomenon out here. People think if you can get a white face to participate that the whole things seems a lot cooler. So this week my friend was asked to find another foreigner to join her in a live on stage song and dance performance. Since a lot of the foreigners out here are sick of this sort of thing, it wasn't like there were that many people biting at the bit to participate.

We were running 5 minutes late on Tuesday morning when we were to meet the guy who was organizing our portion of the performance. He had been calling on and off for the last half an hour wanting to check and make sure we were coming ( we used a very local expression and told him we were coming on a horse, this can buy you up to almost an hour of waiting time in the local culture). When we arrived he didn't introduce himself, he didn't greet us, he didn't say anything, he just took one look at us, got in the car and we headed out.

We figured he was mad that we were running 5 minutes late, but considering it was 6 a.m. we weren't going to feel to bad about it. Twenty minutes into our car ride he turns to my friend and says "That was really irresponsible of you to not tell me the girl had bad legs. We can't have her in the performance".

We were shocked and surprised that he would be so blunt about it. In North America it would be the height of rudeness to so blatantly point out someones disability, or to use it as an excuse to exclude them from an activity. We have become so inclusive in our culture and so sensitive to political correctness, that this statement seemed like a slap in the face. We tried assuring him that I could Uyghur dance, and in fact that I did it all the time. But he considered the matter closed. I was not good enough for his show. He quickly called another white face that he knew, to see if she would sub in for me.

When we finally got out of the car and into the waiting area I ended up having to leave the room, I was more hurt by his senseless discrimination than I thought I would be. Once I was out of the room, he turned on my friend and yelled at her. Culturally here the whole idea of saving face is a big deal. He had been asked to find Westerners to perform and he was afraid that if he brought less than perfect white faces to the party he would lose face in front of his superiors. So he tried to pass the blame onto my friend.

Anyway she refused to take part if they were going to disqualify me without even letting me try. To top it off the replacement they found was also a friend of mine and refused to participate as well. In the end we all walked away, and last I heard they had to cancel our part of the performance because he couldn't find anyone else willing.

In North America we have really made advancements in how people with a wide variety of disabilities can participate in daily life. Unfortunately here, most of that is still hidden away in shame. The idea of celebrating a persons ability to overcome is unheard of. Instead they want to present a perfect facade and in turn sweep anyone with blemishes under the rug. I often forget how much my being here despite of my limp and other physical disabilities stands in stark contrast to cultural norms.

40 Days and 40 Nights

No this post is not about Noah, but I am sure some mothers out here must begin to feel just about as stir crazy. A few months ago I commented on the fact that a Uyghur woman is expected to stay at home for 40 days after giving birth. One of my friends commented that she wasn't sure if this sort of confinement would be relaxing and healing or simply drive her crazy.

Last week some of my friends from the states gave birth to their third child. I thought her post on the forced home stay was rather funny and I thought you might enjoy her insights (Beth this is for you).

Our boy is just over a week old now, but according to local custom, we need to keep him inside- and I should for sure be inside with him, lying in bed- for one whole month after birth. I know this and I really do want to honor the local culture as much as possible, but this is really tricky! We don't have family here to take over caring for me, the baby, the house and the big kids, and I admit, I am very Americanly productivity minded. Matt has been a Super Dad (absolutely extraordinary!) but still, he can only do so much.

So, I confess, I have ventured out already. Several times actually. Matt took me out for breakfast to a cute coffee shop nearby for my birthday. It was just me and my men (Isaiah was still a bit ill so he didn't go to school, but Marian did.) I tried to find an exit out of our building where I wouldn't have to pass by the usual line up of people-watchers or hear too many comments before hopping in the back seat of our electric bike. But the plan failed.

I ran into an unexpected crowd of very concerned neighbors. What was I doing out already!? And WHAT was I doing wearing no socks, even daring to expose virtually my whole calf (calves) so soon after giving birth? (It was about 80 F.) How old is that baby?... Basically they were all of one mind and voice: "go upstairs this instant and don't come out again for three more weeks!"

Then I met two more ladies, one about 50 and the other about 70 years old. The younger asked me "do you know that we have a custom..." and she went on to explain the "Man Yue" custom of spending the first month lying down.

"Yes, I know."

"But you don't follow it?"

"I know there is lots of value in that custom. I think it is very nice and helpful, but it's not what I'm used to and I also have two big kids I need to care for so I can't really practice Man Yue like you do."

Then the younger woman, who apparently was already familiar with foreigners ways, explained the whole thing to the older woman. "These foreigners don't rest for a month. She walks around with no socks on. She probably even drinks cold water- really cold."

The elder was flabbergasted. Certainly not cold water! (It would make my stomach upset and my milk undrinkable for our little one.)

Then the younger continued..."She probably brushed her teeth the first day after she gave birth."

The elder promptly replied: "That's impossible. If you brush your teeth that soon, all your teeth will fall out."

Lots to keep in mind!

And, it's not just a few people who have shared thoughts like this with us. These views honestly seem to be held by at least 9 out of 10 people we meet.... and people do share their opinions very (very) willingly. There's basically no holding back when it comes to people declaring what they think of you!

The gate guard at the kids school is another friend of ours. He's always careful to look out for and care for our family. He told me, scoldingly (which means he cares a great deal for us) that he doesn't care if it's not what we're used to... and then he laid on us the equivalent of "when in Rome, do as the Romans."

Yes... Somehow...

Time is Money

I took my roommate up to the airport yesterday morning for her early morning flight. After she was all checked in and through security , I looked at my watch and decided to take the bus home since it was only 6 a.m. and I still had a few hours before I was to meet someone. The two hour trip home gave me a good opportunity to consider how the values of time and money are vastly different between the east and the west.

In the west we are all about saving ourselves time. We will willingly pay a little extra money to have food delivered to our house... we like our one hour photo finishing. We are all about pre- packaged food and minimum prep time. Even the fact that every house hold has a car, a washer & dyer, microwave, and dishwasher are examples of how we spend money to save time. To us it would be totally reasonable to pay someone to do a task for us, or pay the premium if it will save us an hour of our time. We value time over money.

It is the opposite here, and I proved it with my bus ride home. It would have cost me less than $8 to take a taxi right from the airport to my front door. The whole trip would have taken no more than 30 minutes. But instead the local mindset has started to sink in. I figured why pay eight dollars, when I could walk 15 minutes, sit/stand on a crowded bus for an 1 1/2 hours, and then walk another 15 minutes back to my place for the low, low price of only 30 cents.

People here will often walk for 20-30minutes to go to the store that is selling vegetables pennies cheaper, they will stand in long lines and spend long periods of time haggling over the smallest price variations. Almost all meals are still prepared from scratch and while you can find microwaves for sale, they are not that common in homes. Here people are willing to spend as much time as it takes to save a buck.

Time is money or money is time, I guess it all depends on what you value.

A Heavy Load

Thanks to a new ruling by local officials, all foreign students need to move on campus. Officially this is said to be for our safety and protection (which is just funny).

The other day I helped friends of mine make the move. Moving here is actually one of the tasks that is surprisingly simple. I called the moving company the day before and told them about what time we wanted them to come. As long as you don't have a piano, a safe or an aquarium that need to be moved, the cost is only about $12 for the truck and another buck fifty for each floor. So for instance my friends were moving from a first floor apartment to a fourth floor one... five floors in total cost them about $7.50. Which means in theory one can move for less than $20 (Sadly my friends were deemed to have too much stuff to fit in one truck, so the guys had to make it two trips and it cost them double).

For that low price two or three guys will come with a truck and move everything you have with lightening speed. My job was to sit out with the truck and make sure everything made it in, and nothing was ripped off by passer-byers (it is a hard job sitting in the sunshine watching other people engage in heavy labour). It always amazes me that the guys they send seem to be the scrawniest, little movers you have ever met. Yet despite there size they can make a pack mule look lazy as they stack up their load for each trip and start climbing up to the fourth floor (remember no elevators).

My friend's new apartment building

The movers hard at work

Modeling, Mocking, and Moving

A few months ago I posted pictures of my friend and I in our matching local dresses. While we love the clothes, we saw the whole twin thing as a bit of a joke.

When spring came my Uyghur roommate suggested that we all get matching dresses to celebrate the season, and our friendship. She was so excited about the prospect, that my American roommate and I couldn't help but agree.

So we had our fabric made up into different pieces, but with the same matching theme. Unfortunately it wasn't enough just to own the clothing, our roommate told us we had to go around campus and take model shot photos of all of us together. The two of us from the west wanted to roll our eyes or gag a little at the cheesiness of it all. Can you imagine doing this in North America, the mocking from friends would be eternal.

We not only took photos but we also shot a short video clip of us walking around and holding hands so that she could look back with found memories of our time together as roommates. She found this whole twin and togetherness time very moving. She has already printed up pictures as well as sent them to all her friends and family.

I was originally going to mock myself in this post, and claim how silly the whole thing was. But instead I will let my roommate set the tone. Isn't it wonderful to think we will always have these pictures and these clothes to remember this time.

You Can't Get There From Here

The road by the front gate of my school is currently under construction. This means that my normally very convenient place to live has become a VERY inconvenient place.

When my family was here to visit four years ago, my brother averaged it out and said that a new bus arrived at the bus stop every 35 seconds. I have been spoiled with the ease of it all. Now the bus stop is an extra ten minute walk away. Added to the extended walk to get to the bus, is the extended length of time spent on the bus. There are so many buses being redirected that traffic jams are now prevalent on the smallest little lanes. Sometimes they are trying to go down roads that you don't even think could fit a bus, much less one going each direction.

Traffic laws here run under the assumption that the first person to get their nose into a small spot gets to have it. So three lanes of traffic will often compete to meld into the same narrow space. Here is a file photo of a relatively calm intersection, where you can see a traffic jam in the making.
All of this has resulted in a lot more walking for me. I have realized that any location within a half hour walking radius is likely easier and quicker to get to on foot than it would be by bus. So I guess that means I will be walking for a while ( they estimate finishing the construction in Oct)

A "Snow" Cone

The day we have all been waiting for with baited breath and great anticipation has finally arrived. The Ice Mountain Creamery has finally opened it doors. This is a fully foreign run and operated ice cream shop here in town. It is sooooo good.

Ice cream has never really been anything to write home about, until now that is. Here in town we really only had two options; bad local ice cream that is a lot more ice and a lot less cream, and Uzbek ice cream which is wonderfully creamy and rich and sweet, but the only problem is it only comes in one flavour. Now I grew up use to the idea of a ice cream shop offering 31 flavours... and I have to admit that after five years, this one sort of caramel, sort of vanilla, sort of like those flavours you just can't seem to put your finger on what it really is, has gotten a little monotonous.

We did have one other option, a small container of Hogindos, which cost a small fortune ( since the price was high, they weren't selling, and you just knew they were sitting in the stores collecting freezer burn) and no one ever bought.

Until today. When I went by the Ice Mountain Creamery they had five flavours for sale (strawberry, banana, Walnut crunch, Cream, and Winter Snow). I bought a waffle cone of Winter Snow. The name itself is ingenious. It is a traditional cookies and cream, with oreo's crumbled up in the ice cream. But the combination of the dark on the white, made the owners think of the coal dust that covers the snow in the winter here. It is a joke that any ex-pat would think was hilarious. I normally can't find much to laugh about in the dark, bleak winter, but give me a nice summer day and a scoop of ice cream and the whole thing seems like a big joke.

Appealing to Local Logic

I have mentioned several times how the older ladies in my neighborhood are always after me for not wearing weather appropriate clothing. I have grown accustom to just smiling and letting the comments roll off me, but for my friends with children it is even worse.

Every time they go out they are accosted by neighbours who comment on how little the child is wearing, and how they are going to get sick. The kid could be wearing a wool sweater in the middle of the summer and some caring neighbour would feel obliged to tell them the child will get a cold. It really is all said out of love, but it really does get annoying after a while.

An American couple brought their two kids to this baby party the other day. The child being honoured was dressed in thick corduroy overalls, and a flannel shirt (under which I am sure he was wearing a layer of long johns). The western family had taken advantage of the bright sunny summerish day and dressed their baby in a cute flowery summer suit (sleeveless with matching shorts). You could almost hear the mutual shocked intake of breath from around the room as they entered.

But the father was prepared. He used their own local logic to explain how he was best caring for his child. He said "You know American babies are different. If they wear too many clothes they sweat a lot. If they are then out in the breeze that sweat and wetness can lead to a cold. So if I keep her in such a way as to prevent sweating she will actually stay healthier." The poor old lady who had instigated the conversation had no idea how to answer this... you could tell she had paused to consider it. And it even seemed to make some sense to her. But in the end she retorted with the good old tried and true come back "Our babies aren't like that, and you need to put more clothes on your baby, or she will get sick".

Oh well, nice try. At least the kids I'm playing with don't seem that cold in their summer outfits.

Way Too Much Food

We went to a party for one of my friend's new born son yesterday. I guess the tradition is to have the party as a celebration after the first month (both mother and baby are required to stay inside... and something about not washing for the entire first month after birth, lest one of them get sick). So you can understand why they would want to celebrate with a party.
What always overwhelms me at these events is the amount of food that is both served and wasted. The waiters and waitress have to perform quite the balancing act. All of the food is placed in the center of the table on a lazy Susan. Starting with cold dishes and slowly adding more and more. The turn table is soon full, the dishes have to start being placed on top of/ supported by other ones. When one dish is empty etiquette demands they are to take it away, but it is often crucial in the holding up and supporting of a dish that just arrived. This dilemma throws the staff into a whirlwind and they quickly rearrange everything on the table. The most impressive part of this edible balancing act is that as they are preforming their magic of getting everything to fit we, the guest, are often still spinning the table and grabbing food the whole time.

I know that at least three more dishes arrived to our table after I had taken this picture.