Kazakhstan - Mountains = Texas

Today was Nauryz. We started with a brief visit to the town square to see all the preparations. It is kind of like our State Fair in that many local businesses come out and exhibit their wares, there are lots of amusements for the kids and there is plenty of food. In fact, except for the mountains, Kazakhstan is very much like Texas: lots of wide open spaces, cows, horses. Here is more proof:



The first time we went to the square he had horns (the bull, not Jim). I guess someone got gored so they took the horns off. Later in the afternoon there were about 20 kids using the bull and its air cushions as a bouncehouse. Thankfully the bull wasn't in motion at the time.

We then went to see Alex who gets more and more excited each time Vera appears in his room because he knows that she is going to bring him to those strange people who talk funny (us). The nannies in Alex's room have told Vera that the whole orphanage is abuzz and in awe of Jim since he gave such a heartfelt and eloquent toast at the Nauryz party held at the baby house Saturday. They say that I am a little shy. They think Alex is a very fortunate baby to have such a loving and kind father--and I think so, too.

After our visit, we made another trip to the Russian Orthodox church for more photos, then back to the hotel. Slava's family came over and we walked around the Nauryz festival and sat down for lunch in a cafe. The weather was perfect so we sat outside and at manty (delicious! just like chines potstickers) and shashlik. We were having a good time talking when Jim slipped away to pull the classic 'Pop' maneuver of settling the tab with the waitress before the bill even gets to the table. He also asked the waitress to add an ice cream to the tab before paying since Zhenya (the youngest daugther) had been wanting one. It was really cute to see her eyes light up when the waitress brought her the dish of ice cream. She was looking all around trying to figure out who had sent it over to our table for her. When we were ready to go, Jim told Slava (via Ulia) that he had already paid. They must have thought that he was joking so Slava went to pay the waitress only to find out that you don't mess with Texas.

This was our last time to see Slava's family before leaving Taraz so we had a sad goodbye. Ulia gave us an envelope that contained their contact information as well as a very sweet letter expressing how much it had meant to her and her family to spend time with us. The feelings are mutual and we told them that we will come back to Taraz with Sam and Alex (and Natalia and Kevin) in the future.

We came back to the hotel to relax and then headed over to the Petersons for dinner. There is a Kazakh family on the 4th floor of their apartment building who works for Interlink and she had offered to cook for the Petersons so they had her make the traditional Kazakh dish bishbarmak. It was very tasty. Sholpan even made the horse sausage from scratch over the weekend and made the noodles from scratch as well, rolling them out of the Peterson's kitchen table. It was very delicious and we ate it Kazakh-style: with our fingers. Very good, even though I skipped over the sheep fat. I'm sure it is delicious, I'm just not quite to that point yet.

Tomorrow at 3:00 is our final court hearing and the judge will decide if we will indeed be Alex's parents. We will visit Alex in the morning and then prepare for that. Jim has almost perfected the parts of his speech that he wants to give
in Russian. So pray that it all turns out OK!

Flex Gym (Flex, Jim!)

Jim says...

To keep from getting too fat from the copious good food and fairly sedentary life here in Taraz, I've been working out at the local soccer stadium's "Flex Gym." They run a tight ship at the Flex.

The fourteen year old girl running the front desk has come down on me for wearing my street shoes into the gym. I, of course, thought she was asking me if I wanted another bottle of water and replied, in Russian, "Not right now." Now I understand how wars can start from a simple miscommunication. I assume they want to keep the street grime on the street and off their rubber mats. Additionally, though I've told her I can only speak a very small amount of Russian, she has explained at length that one does not jump off the moving treadmill to get their water bottle, complete with a full introduction on how to use the emergency chord. Perhaps even better was her standing about two feet from me, arms crossed, as I started the machine back up for my run. There's nothing like an audience for inspiring a good run. I really had to fight my urge to glare and shout "DA?? CHEHVO??" I was later told this would have been exceptionally rude. I've also had a female staff person whom I'd wrongly assumed was a member try to correct my form on one machine. What was funny was her correction was one that I wanted to give another fellow in the U.S. just before having a trainer use the fellow as an example of correct form. Needless to say, there's some amount of well-intentioned but unwanted attention I'm getting at the gym.

The gym is actually really nice. It's clean, has a great variety of weight equipment (if lacking on cardio equipment) and offers showers, locking lockers for free, and a variety of refreshments. The posters on the wall are a riot. Muscle-bound freaks looking seconds away from a steriodal rage and medically-enhanced softcore female shots remind you that even in Taraz, Kazakhstan (population 400,000), it's all about image. The workout music has given me a chance to catch what passes for Top 40 in KZ. It's flimsy catchy stuff just like ours but just add in an occasional accordion. They also crank up the metal, in particular German industrial metal hit "Du Hast (Mich Gefragt)." I halfway wondered what kind of looks I'd get if I let out the loudest grunt my vocal chords could muster in response.

Socially, the people in the gym are usually nice. A few guys whom I would guess were either Georgian, Turkish, or something west of here definitely stared at me. But, I should note that I wear shorts and t-shirts which in this season the locals think are a death-wish -- or more accurately asking for the flu. Men in KZ only wear dark clothes. So, my green shorts and concert shirt may look bizarre, leaning towards fruity. What can I say? I packed light. What's more, I don't much care if they think I'm Bozo the Clown. I'm there to sweat and get my workout done. The tradition I like is when a newcomer shakes hands with each person at the gym. It's not to meet people or network or anything of the sort. It's a Kazakh custom, probably from their laid-back nomadic days. However, everyone does it. Pretty cool. Bear in mind, this is not Bally's with hundreds of people. Six is the most I've seen at Flex. Working out in KZ is a fairly new thing.