I don’t know! I just really don’t know what I’m doing back here in Kaz-Stan, or Central Asia for that matter. When I booked a month for home it was just so cost-effective to get a round-trip ticket that I couldn’t pass it up. Plus that meant I could store some things with friends in Almaty (my super cute red guitar included) in case I did decide to stick around in these unknown lands a bit longer.

I really thought that I would just go back to Kyrgyzstan, but alas, my beloved Bishkek just isn’t striking my fancy at the moment. I believe I need a change of scenery, but I do have a want to remain in Russian speaking countries for as long as I can stand it. Finally, at the very end of my month at home I thought I had it. I found an opening for an English teacher in Kiev, Ukraine. The money sounded decent, the hours excellent, and the time off to die for! So, on my final Friday at home I had a phone interview with a recruiter calling me from Kosovo, but sadly, the call dropped in the middle and I have yet to hear back from him! So, I am not holding my breath on that one (but would still jump at the opportunity).

I got myself kind of psyched to go back to Ukraine so, of course, that got my mind rolling on how I could make this happen without the job. Besides housing, the cost of living and studying in Ukraine is not too shabby, so I was thinking that maybe I could stick out not having a proper income for a bit longer and just take some Russian lessons there for a couple of months. This would give me the proper flexibility I would need in order to make the Amanda and Brooke trip to India in January happen as well (and then continue on to Asia from there?).

Then there’s the question of how long to stay in Kazakhstan. It’s not cheap, that’s for sure. But, my visa lasts until the end of the month. Then, there’s also the flight to Latvia to be used from here when I want (I had already purchased that before I decided to go home instead). There was also talk of meeting a former Bishkek student there for a while. So, head to Latvia and then make my way to Ukraine? This might be where I’m leaning to at the moment. However, there’s still the idea of remaining in Central Asia and continuing on with Russian and adding a Turkic language as well (Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Uzbek, etc.) I was reacquainted with this idea when catching a taxi from the Almaty airport to the guest house. Even though he wanted a few hundred tenge more than I was told I should get, I let him have it since he was just so freaking nice! He spent the entire car ride trying to teach me basic Kazakh words and phrases!

What to do, what to do!?!

Any words of wisdom are greatly appreciated! What do you all think of Brooke going from Latvia-Lithuania-Belarus-Ukraine from mid-September through December?

“Did I just say that?” I thought to myself.

The first time the words came out of my mouth in Bishkek, I couldn’t believe they were mine. That was when my pal, Erica, turned to me and said, “Why can’t you? If going home right now is what you need or want in order to be happy, then just do it.”

Erica possesses an uncanny ability to ease my mind, making the smoke clear from my perpetual thought-fed bonfire, when I need it the most. I love her way of rationalizing a little splurge now and then. She would explain that she is not a very adventurous person, but when it comes to doing something a little on the extravagant side because it will make her happy at that moment she doesn’t think twice.

I took a page from her book and booked a flight home. I was actually excited!

In Peoria, I noticed I began to see it through new eyes. And, rightfully so. In the past eight months, I had only been around for a total of one week and that was mainly the week I spent recovering/unpacking/repacking after Guatemala. Things felt different, smelled different, and looked different. I was now a tourist in my hometown.

It’s weird to think about, but when I’m gone I miss Peoria. I talk about it – I BRAG about it. I dream about Avanti’s bread and Sizzling India nan. I laugh at the fact we have a riverboat casino, one that still questions my age if I get within 100 feet of the front door. I love that our claims to fame include Richard Pryor, Caterpillar, and penicillin.

“Will it play in Peoria?” is the motto of this area because we are supposed to be a good representation of the U.S., which really seems silly to me now since it is only people here that I find say “Italian” with a long “I” as in eye-talian (thus the reason of my recent poll).

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It is safe to say that Peoria is a testosterone driven city. Navigating through town, one may notice an unbelievable number of pickup trucks or jeeps with testicles hanging off the back. This will also be happening while flipping from one radio-friendly metal station to the next that constantly commercializes frat parties and strip clubs. Ok, maybe that is all that could substantiate that claim, but it was definitely the first, no second, impression I received when returning home.

The first impression of home happened when my step-dad picked me up from the bus drop and I immediately noticed how “twangy” his speech was. That was really hard to get past, especially since I began to wonder how I sounded to other people when I talked. When I was in Kazakhstan before, a friend there actually called me a hill-billy for being from Illinois, and I was in complete denial until my aunt just recently said, “If you haven’t noticed yet, we come from a somewhat hill-billy family,” and completely brought me over to the other side.

This aside, I enjoyed going home and rediscovering Peoria. I like the old style feel of the downtown area with early 1900s street lamps, brick buildings, and cute little shops. Peoria was like an old friend I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know again. Even Wal-Mart – which completely freaked me out at first – was a pleasant companion since it was so easy to be able to get anything I needed when I needed it. It was a month full of family and cookouts, comforts and surprises, but I will be honest by saying that by the end I was more than ready to leave again. Yes, Peoria, you seem different in a good way, but I just can’t get myself to stick around yet.

I’m back in Central Asia and toying with a few ideas I’ll be sure to throw past you all in my next post or two. Do Svidaniya!

In an attempt to be caught-up and on-the-ball upon my return abroad in September, I’ve decided to combine all these little ideas for individual blog posts into one smorgasbord of interesting bits. So, here you have it! What I’ve learned, loved, lacked and l-acquired (?) while in Central Asia.

Snot Rockets in Paradise:

If said more than a few times in the past, but I am super, super, super germaphobic. I hate the idea of eating off other people, with a passion, once that may have even brought me to tears. Something about the thought of someone else’s slimy saliva sitting on my food, or the idea of getting sick from their germs… ugh… well it makes me cringe. I came a long way during my time in K-Stan, and sometimes I am able to block this fear out of my head completely and just dig in. (I only said sometimes…)

Well if this wasn’t bad enough, there are definitely other parts of the culture I find a bit on the disgusting end of the spectrum. Watch out when you’re walking behind some local guys. Let’s just say they have a tendency to spit or blow snot rockets off to the side, and if you’re in the right place, you just might get caught in the crossfire.

Plastic Bag Much?

In Bishkek, a city where the majority of people commute by public transport, or just plain walking, locals need a way to carry items to work, school, etc. The funny part about this is they choose to do so in a plastic bag. Everyone has a plastic bag. They are so popular you can even buy them at little kiosks with their own local brand names. Erica hit the jackpot when she bought a plastic bag displaying a picture of an eagle with the line, “Protect Feral Animal” on it. You have to love those great English translations.

Meet the Family:

The Kyrgyz are definitely quick to take you as a part of their own family, and one such experience stands out in my mind. Ryan and I were finishing dinner in the apartment when I heard someone shouting outside, “Do you speak English?!”

I popped my head out the balcony and looked up to see my upstairs neighbor hanging his head out of the window. After a short exchange, he invited us up to his apartment, where we were fed lagman (yum!), introduced to his entire family, and then made part of said family. How nice!

Going Local:

There’s a term the students at the London School liked to use when a foreigner comes in and then starts worrying about a price difference of 5 soms, or starts to enjoy local beverages. When this happens, they’ve “gone local”.

Remember that poll I had about drinking fermented mare’s milk? Let me refresh your memory:

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The drink is actually called Kumiz and is as disgusting as it sounds. But, when you are at a table of foreigners with a pitcher of this stuff in the middle, and a table of local Kyrgyz look at it and say, “I want what they’re having,” you know you’ve done it. You’ve gone local.

When it’s hot, it’s hot!

I had heard stories of the heat in Bishkek, but didn’t believe it would actually be that bad until one day it reached 110 degrees while I was living on the 8th floor of an apartment building without air conditioning. I wanted to die.

Maybe High Heels DO Look Good With… Everything?

Another student told me a fairly bad joke that goes a little something like this:

Q – How can you spot the Russian woman at the beach?
A – She’s the one in the high heels.

I don’t know how those girls over there do it, but they are always sporting a pair – rain or shine! And just like worrying over 5 soms, in time I began to think, “Hey, maybe those heels would go good with my bathing suit.” No, I don’t have a pair yet, but give it time people.

Bishkek - Nightlife Hotspot?

No, not really. But, there are a few places to go after nightfall for some action, take for instance, the Golden Bull where we found this Kyrgyz stripper/flame dancer.

Where Everyone Knows Your Name:

I flew out of Almaty, Kazakhstan to come home, and that involved yet another Kyrgyz-Kazakh border crossing experience. I had all of my stuff with me (I have acquired a LOT while in Bishkek), so the taxi driver let me keep my bag in the back of the taxi and explain to the border guys what was actually in it so I didn’t have to carry it. As I was standing there talking to one, I heard another from behind say my name.

Crap. I turned around to see a familiar face – one of the ten border guards that I dealt with back in June. He started asking me why I hadn’t called Rinat back, and when I would come back, etc. I got out of that one by saying I needed to go have my passport stamped, but as I was walking out I was shouted at to see my backpack.

Lies. All lies. He didn’t want to see my bag. He wanted to verify with my passport that I was in fact that American girl that Rinat was desperately phoning the previous month or so before. Wow.

Room for seconds? Keep checking back…

Let’s take it back to where we left off: May 30th – June 14th.

It had been nearly 2 months of being settled in Bishkek when I decided to head to Almaty, Kazakhstan to visit a friend and see the city for a few days. I had almost forgotten how much I missed the excitement of being in transit – watching the scenery go by, being put in odd situations, and possibly encountering countless mishaps along the way. The day after my TWENTY-FIFTH birthday (celebrated quite well in Bishkek thanks to my friends – Chris, Ryan and Rory – I miss you guys!) I decided to set out, on a marshrutka nonetheless, in the direction of an interesting adventure I will never forget.

Almaty, at first, seemed like nothing more than a larger Bishkek. When I got to the bus station on the outskirts of town, it didn’t even feel like I had left Kyrgyzstan. I played my cards right with the taxi drivers outside by saying I only had 500 tenge when they wanted 2000, and managed to get just that to my final destination (go me). It just so happened that the first person I asked was also the same person to finally accept my price about 5 taxi drivers later. Too bad the driver got stopped by the police on the way and had to pay a bribe – aka the money I was about to give him. Yes, that was a bit awkward.

Strange police incident aside, during the ride I began to notice the actual bustlingness of Almaty. A lot of travelers I meet seem to think of Almaty as being a sterile-Dubai-wanna-be city that just leaves your pockets a little lighter, but I was able to see the city from a local perspective instead of just as a tourist. Yes, with a little insight from locals, expats, and other travelers I met during my stay, I was able to experience the excitement a large city in Central Asia has to offer. Unfortunately, I must admit this has since somewhat skewed my perspective of my oh-so-easy-to-live-in and now-seemingly-boring Bishkek.

The plan was to stay for just 5 days and for two reasons: 1) I still had lessons at the London School, and 2) After 5 days you have to register your passport in Kazakhstan. So instead of shelling out extra money, I grabbed a marshrutka on the fifth day in reverse and was Bishkek-bound. At the border, however, I noticed it was taking quite some time for the Kazakh lady to flip through my passport. I began to get antsy as I noticed the other lines of people moving along quite quickly. Then she said it: “Your Kyrgyzstan visa is not valid.”

Oh, gasp! It’s hard to explain the exact feeling that pulsed through my body at that moment because it was a combination of shock that my visa was invalid, and a bit of hilarity because I should have known this was going to happen. See, previously, I caught wind from the office manager at the London School that a single entry visa in Kyrgyzstan is really a double entry, single exit visa. I know, it doesn’t make much sense, but apparently that little stamp I got in my passport when I first arrived in the airport doesn’t really count. Even though Nargiza said it was her job to know this stuff about our visas, I had to investigate to a higher level by talking to the official visa office in Bishkek. They, too, said I could leave and reenter Kyrgyzstan one more time. Ok, problem solved.

Being in Central Asia, you start to learn quickly that you just NEVER know anything as fact about the government. And, oh what a ridiculous fool I looked like when I had to sit in a room full of Kazakh and Kyrgyz border guards trying to explain in broken Russian that I had the right to reenter Kyrgyzstan, even though it clearly appeared that my single-entry visa was good and null by now.

“Back to Almaty, girly,” They said. (Ok, minus the girly part.)

I made my way back outside towards the border, and of course, was stopped by more border guards who were wondering why I was trying to reenter Kazakhstan from the wrong side. A couple of guards took my passport and disappeared inside while I was slowly surrounded by about 10 Kazakh guards, each of which I had to beat off with a stick in the end. I told them I had a boyfriend, but the fact of the matter was that I did not have a husband, so in all actuality was still fair game. I really need to invest in a cheap gold band. (I’m still diverting their phone calls a month later!) Finally, I was saved when my passport was returned. One of the friends of the guards actually drove me to the taxi stop down the road in town, which was extremely nice of him, even if it was just done in an attempt to date me.

In the taxi back, I was quickly befriended by a Turkish/Kazakh guy who spoke great English. He bought us both cake and soda, and definitely made the ride go a bit faster. He even proceeded to call me periodically throughout my stay in Almaty to see if I needed help with anything. It is absolutely refreshing when traveling to meet such nice and helpful people.

Nearly 10 o’clock when the journey ended, I was nothing more than relieved to be reunited with my friend in Almaty. Unfortunately, the relief didn’t last long when I realized it was too late to get my passport registered by the fifth day of my stay. So, finally when we did get the passport registered, I also had to pay a fine of 5000 tenge on top of the normal 5000 tenge registration fee. Oh, and of course, I didn’t get that back until the weekend meaning I had to wait until the following week to apply for my new Kyrgyz visa. A 5 day trip quickly turned into 2 weeks, and I will admit that I did begin to feel my pockets getting lighter.

In spite of all this hassle and unnecessary stress, I eventually made it back to Bishkek, and still had a ton of fun being stuck in Almaty. I got to know that the sweetest, most obedient dog in the world is actually Almaty’s dog-fighting champion. I got to ride the sketchiest Soviet-style roller coaster ever overlooking the city (I will never forget the screams of terror on every corner from fear of flying off the side of the mountain). And, how could I forget the weekend spent partying on the beach of the man-made lake at Kapchugai (Tons of fun when I needed it the most!). With all these memories I take with me it may be safe to say that when a border crossing goes wrong, it might not be such a bad thing after all.