Getting used to the United States

For the most part, my culture shock upon returning to the US has been minimal. But a few things surprised me.

1) When random people talk to me, I can UNDERSTAND THEM. So I can do more than just smile and nod and hope that they didn't say anything that required a response. (The other option, in Kazakhstan, is to try to explain that I don't speak the language, but when it's a random comment it's usually MUCH easier to just smile and nod. But sometimes the person will keep talking or expect a response. And sometimes, when I answer in English, "I don't speak Russian," they don't get it. So then I say it in Russian. And they can't understand me because of my accent. And still they try to talk to me!!!)


2) The other day I was at a pizza buffet. I was looking at the pizzas. I said, "What's this?" --to myself because who else would I be talking to? Sophia wasn't next to me. But the guy behind the counter ANSWERED ME. And I could UNDERSTAND him! Pretty unexpected!!!

How the hospital system works

Disclaimer: I really have no clue how the hospital system works, this is my best guess pieced together through experience & conversations.

There are a lot of hospitals in Astana, and every hospital belongs to a microdistrict or neighborhood. If you live in neighborhood A, then you go to the hospital in neighborhood A. Kind of like public schools in America.

When you go to your hospital, your care is FREE. Kind of like public schools in America. Kazakhs don't quite understand me when I ask about how much it costs.

Children are also free in Turkey. My Turkish vice principal could not understand my question--how much money would it cost when my brother took her to the hospital? Why on earth would anyone charge you to take a child to a doctor?

Of course, I can talk about how wonderful it is for children's health care to be free, but I would never allow Sophia to have any kind of major care in this country. I would fly her back to the US and pay for it. So, yeah, it's free, but right now it's not high quality.

Doctors work from hospitals, so if you need to see a doctor, you go to a hospital--once again, free.

I don't know about medicines. I think if they give it to you in the hospital, then it is free, but I know I've paid for all medications I've bought at pharmacies.

Pharmacies are everywhere and called аптека. I've yet to meet a pharmacist who speaks good English; most don't speak it at all. The first time I went, I had the medicines & dosages written on a sheet of paper, which the school nurse had written for me. I don't know if this was an official prescription or if what I was getting was over the counter.

I've gotten different medicines from pharmacies--allergy medicine, versions of Benadryl, Tylenol, Ibuprofren--and usually I don't have much of a problem if I can communicate what I want (usually I have to write it down). But my brother recently encountered a pharmacist who explained, through a translator, that he needs a prescription for Benadryl (but allowed him 10 pills). So maybe I've been getting these medicines because the pharmacist doesn't know how to tell me that I can't get them?

I met an American who is pregnant and is flying to Turkey to deliver her baby. I've encountered 2 different blogs by Brits who returned to England to have their babies. So my guess is Westerners don't have too much faith in the obstretics part of the hosptitals.

Next year I'll have health insurance that works outside of Kazakhstan, so I'll be able to continue using the free/cheap Kazakh system just for minor things (colds and medications) and the expensive American system for major things plus routine check-ups.

How many grown-ups does it take to take a 7-year old to the doctor?

The answer is: 3! One to drive, one to translate, and one to act in place of the mother. All because of a little cold....

Let's go back. This was the first week after my brother had arrived in Astana, so sometime in late February or early March. He still didn't have a phone that worked in Kazakstan.

Sophia had been complaining that she couldn't hear out of her right ear, but being the lovely mother that I am, I had been ignoring it. Finally I decided that I ought to at least see the school nurse about it. That should be easy and simple enough, right?

So I grabbed my assistant and we went to the nurse, who looked at her and said she should see a doctor. As far as I can tell, the doctors in Kazakstan work out of hospitals, so really, she was telling me to take her to the hospital. She recommended a hospital that is rather far away (if you go by bus), and she said she'd call and get me an appointment time. It was Friday, and the hospital would be closed the next day, so she seemed to think that it was important that we go that day. But I had 6 lessons on Fridays and didn't want to miss them!

I found the vice principal and told him that I might have to leave early to take Sophia to the hospital, and then I remembered my brother. Why had I brought him to Kazakhstan if not for moments like this one?

So I called the house phone. No answer. I emailed him. Then I facebooked him. A quick message on his wall, "If you get this, check your email and call the school." I figured it was the quickest way to get in touch wih him. However, it alarmed several people on several continents, wanting to know what was wrong, and when my brother wrote that it was because he had to take Sophia to the hospital, another brother panicked. What was wrong with Sophia?!

(That weekend, we went to Artyom and I bought myself a nicer phone and gave my other phone to my brother. So we would no longer need facebook to find each other.)

My brother came to the school, we learned from the nurse that we could go to the hospital at any time, the vice principal said he could get the school driver to drive them, and then there was confusion--who would go as the translator? The v.p. had volunteered Sophia's teacher assistant; however she really did not want to go. The two assistants talked to each other, arguing over who would go. In the end, my assistant went.

So, the school driver, my assistant, and my brother all went with Sophia to the doctor, where the diagnosis was--congestion! Three medicines were prescribed, which my brother used the Internet to research. One was Tylenol, one was a pain reliever for the ear (she had no pain in her ear, but I think that was lost in translation), and the other was a nasal spray. I never gave her any of them, however, I learned that the nasal spray--називин, or Nasivin, (brand name Afrin in America)--worked wonders on my nose. (Back in the US, I've tried Afrin with far less impressive results.)

Sophia's fine, of course, and soon, without medication, she could hear in her ear again. And I found one more medicine...

After Karaganda - The Tick

Around midnight that night--after Rebeca had dropped us off after that l-o-n-g day spent coming home from Karaganda--Rebeca called me. Alison had a tick, she said. Yes, there are ticks in Kazakhstan and they carry deadly diseases just like the ticks in America. She was calling the doctor and suggested I check Sophia for ticks.

Luckily, Sophia, my brother & I seemed to be tick-free. Later that week, I learned from Rebeca how the rest of her night went.

She called the doctor, who came and decided that Alison needed to go to the hospital to have it removed. The doctor was with the ambulance, and so left with Alison in the ambulance. The mother followed in her car, so they could be able to go home after the hospital.

Well, ambulances don't have to follow traffic rules, and especially after today's long events, Rebeca was definitely going to follow traffic rules! And so she soon lost sight of the ambulance. Astana has many hospitals, and she did not know which one her daughter was being taken to. (Rebeca has only lived in Astana for a little longer than I have.) So she drove around from hospital to hospital until she finally found her daughter.

They successfully removed the tick and then gave it to Rebeca so she could bring it to a lab to be tested for lyme disease (or whatever disease it is that Kazakh ticks have).

The next day, Monday, was a holiday--school was in session but most labs were closed. Rebeca finally found a lab that was open and could test the tick.

By Wednesday she learned that the tick was disease-free.

So all's well that end's well, but what a weekend! And now Alison and Sophia are both scared of ticks.

Shopping Trip to Karaganda, Part 2

Sunday morning we woke up early so we could be out of our hotel by 8:30 am (thus paying the cheaper rate). We went downstairs and drank some tea in the hotel's 24-hour cafe and then went outside. The bazaar was closed and the sign on it said it opened at 10 am some days and 11 am other days but nowhere on the sign did it say which days.

So we wandered in the direction of the huge park. We walked to the lake and then from there to the park, where the fair rides weren't open yet, of course, but Sophia really enjoyed watching two people set up their stand for selling toys. Finally, she bought a toy.

We wandered back towards the bazaar and crossed what looked like part of an abandoned amusement park.

The bazaar was open and I wandered through the stores a while. Winter boots were on sale, of course, but I couldn't find my size.

My brother and Sophia headed back to the park while I shopped. Then I met up with Rebeca and her daughter; we bought pizza to-go and picked up our luggage and went to the park so the kids could play and we could eat. We sat by the lake to eat, and a man with a kid started talking to Rebeca. He seemed friendly enough, but it soon came out that he's been to America (New York) and doesn't like America. He left with the final question, why are so many Americans fat?

Then we got back in the car to return home. We still had enough time to make Mass at 6 pm in Astana.

The car ride was uneventful enough. The kids played and fought some, and we listened to Rebeca's French lessons tape.

We finally passed a sign that said we had 35 kilometers until Astana. Good, the steppe is getting boring!

Then, as Rebeca was passing a large truck, I heard a car honk. I looked, and a small car was attempting to pass us! This is a small, two-lane highway. So we were to the left of the large truck and to our left was this other car, halfway in the lane and halfway on the shoulder. What was the driver thinking?

The car lost control, veered in front of us and hit the truck's headlights. Then it spun around, off the road, and into the ditch.

Rebeca drove for a bit more, dazed, and finally stopped and pulled over. We sat in the boiling-hot car for a good 15 minutes, not sure what to do now. My brother said he had seen the driver, still in the car, in the ditch, and right-side up. The driver should be OK. We were not involved. We could go on.

But neither Rebeca nor I could bring ourselves to think that's a good idea. So we got out of the car and walked back.

The truck had stopped and the drivers were examining the headlights. The car and its driver were still down the hill, in the wild grass on the steppe.

Rebeca went to talk to the driver while we watched the kids. I learned from Rebeca that, yes, the driver was okay, but she thought that Rebeca was at fault. She thought that Rebeca had pulled out after her, was the reason she had lost control and crashed. So now we had to wait for the police and hope that they weren't corrupt.

We wait for maybe 2 hours on the steppe. This was good for Sophia and Alison, they got to run wild and play. It was good for me, the steppe is far more interesting when you're not just driving through it. But in general it wasn't good. The police appeared to believe that Rebeca was not to blame, but couldn't let her go either.

There was a group of horses a ways off, wandering around slowly, and we eventually noticed that a man was riding one of them. After a while, the horses ambled closer to us, and we decided to get closer. The man noticed us and started riding towards us. I warned the kids not to get too close, and wondered whether the man would be friendly towards random strangers, or not want strangers near his horses or on his land.

At least, I thought, we have Alison, who can explain who we are or what we're doing here.

As he got closer, the friendly Alison, who had been all-too-eager to get near the horses, changed her demeanor. She became a bit frightened, put up her fists, and jumped up and down, punching the air, looking quite ready to get into a fist-fight with this guy. So much for her explaining about us.

Luckily, the man was really friendly, and realized that a tiny 9-year old girl is not a threat. He encouraged her to not be afraid of his horse, and soon he put her on the horse. She was scared, and so he took her off, and Sophia and Alison spent some time petting the horse.

He rode off and we wandered back to the scene of the wreck, where Rebeca was still talking to policemen and waiting for more to show up. The other driver still thought Rebeca was at fault. We still had a long wait in the steppe.

The man on horseback was most likely following his horses as they grazed and after a while they were near us again. The flat steppe is down rather steep hill from the highway. The man and horse walked right up that hill and the horse walked up. I couldn't walk up that hill but the horse had no problem.

The man talked to the police and then returned to "chat" with us. By chat, I mean exchange a few words and then sit idly on the grass, since we couldn't quite communicate. I contemplated how vastly different his life must be from mine. Spending all day idly following horses around.

Finally, we learned that we could go. Well, not go home, but at least leave this middle-of-nowhere location. We would follow the policeman back to the main town. Although we were close to Astana, we were not in Astana's district and had about a half hour drive--away from Astana--to the town where the police station was. Rebeca would then take a drug and alcohol test. Though I hope they believed that she wasn't drunk or high since they were letting her drive to the town!

The town was dirty and decrepit. Rebeca parked in front of the police station while we waited outside. The station was surrounded by a fence. Some children across the street were playing. My brother wandered off to take pictures while I fed cereal to Sophia and Alison.

A few cars drove by, and again I contemplated how my life differs from those of the town inhabitants. But maybe not by too much, I thought as a modest 4-door car drove into the station. A young man drove, his wife and child were in the car with him. The child was maybe 2 and wore a pink coat. They looked like they could belong anywhere, not just some random town in the middle of the Kazakh steppe.

After driving through the gate, he turned his car to park but HE DID NOT STOP. The car rolled right over the parking-curb and through the fence, crashing into a tree.

At this point, I thought maybe I was dreaming.

Soon after, Rebeca came out of the station. She heard that the guy's brakes hadn't been working. But still, even with no breaks, wouldn't the parking curb or even the fence have been enough to stop the car? It hadn't been moving very fast, and it had crashed pretty hard into the tree.

We had to go somewhere else in the town for her to give a statement. By now it was starting to get dark, so maybe it was around 8:00. We were tired, dirty, hungry, and starting to get cold.

Rebeca followed the man into a building and my brother went off to take pictures of a tiny, run-down mosque. We wandered to the road and then to a small playground.

Some teenagers soon came to the play ground and overheard us speaking English. "Do you speak English?" one teenager asked me. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I do," she said, correcting me.

We had a short conversation. Her English was very limited so we couldn't say much. She wanted to know what I was doing in this town, how long was I staying? Oh well, I didn't want to tell her the real reason and she wouldn't be able to understand me even if I did.

We then wandered back to the car and then had to use the bathroom. There was a bathroom or outhouse of sorts nearby, but as we approached, the stench was so bad that I felt like I was going to vomit. I've never smelled anything so bad. So I took Sophia elsewhere and we just went behind a tree. That's not too uncommon around here, and better than throwing up!

Finally, they let Rebeca go. She said the police officer had written a statement for her, but it didn't contain much of what she had actually said, and so she had insisted on writing her own statement. They told her that for now, she was OK, but if the other driver decided to press charges, she might have to come back.

We got into the car, exhausted, and drove home. We made it home close to midnight, tired and dirty.

Luckily, the woman never pressed charges and all is well. Perhaps we learned a lesson--never try to do the right thing when the police are involved?

At least we got to see the steppe! And I'm pretty convinced that I do not want to drive a car in Kazakhstan.

Shopping Trip to Karaganda, Part 1

This past weekend (1st - 2nd May) we went back to Karaganda, this time to go shopping, though in the end I bought very little. My Kazakh friend "Rebeca" is from Karaganda and had mentioned that it was good shopping, and so we decided it would be worth a day trip. She planned on killing several birds with one stone-shopping, seeing her parents, seeing an old friend who lives in Temirtau, seeing her sister, and picking up some documents for some paperwork in Astana. A lot for a short trip!

We left at 12:30 and didn't arrive until 4:30. There were a lot of police on the road, and Rebeca is a very cautious driver (eg, slow!) I don't blame her, after the incidents with taxi drivers in Almaty, plus once in Astana she was pulled over because her car was dirty! This was right after the snow melted and left rivers of mud in the roads! Of course her car was dirty! You couldn't drive a car out of a driveway without it getting dirty!

So, needless to say, she is concerned about the police and does everything she can to avoid being stopped. She explained to us that the police have "quotas" of how much money they must collect in a day to turn in to their supervisors--unofficial money, bribes! And how paying a bribe is a lot less time consuming and less expensive than dealing with a ticket. So most people pay bribes. But Rebeca would rather be honest. So not getting pulled over, not getting in a situation where a bribe is needed, is the best option.

Sophia and Rebeca's daughter played very well in the car. We made one stop at the same blue hotel at which we'd stopped during our church pilgrimage.

I stared out the window at the steppe, clear now of snow, vast, mostly flat, although with bits of slope, not as flat as New Orleans. The grass grows tall and yellow. The sky is immense.

The steppe is beautiful, I thought, but its beauty grows old. We went on and on and on and on and all we could see was the same yellow grass, the same mostly flat land, the same random animals and every now and then some small, decrepit buildings.

The animals did break up the monotony, though. We saw sheep, cows, and horses, and some were grazing on the highway's shoulder even! Many animals had babies with them.

We picked up Rebeca's friend in Temirtau and then headed into Karaganda. She parked by a mall and took me shopping at a cheaper shopping center next to the modern mall. We looked at winter coats. Leather and fur coats on 50% off sale cost 50,000 Tenge at cheapest. ($340) I decided I wasn't ready for that kind of purchase yet.

We crossed the street and then ate at a Turkish restaurant. Then Rebeca led us to a hotel. We had earlier decided to make this a two day trip; that way, Rebeca could see her parents. Karaganda's downtown is wonderful--it is compact. Within a stone's throw of each other are: (1) the modern, expensive, American-style mall; (2) the cheaper, Artyom-like shopping center/mall; (3) the bazaar; (3) the circus; and (4) the hotel.

The hotel was perfect for our needs and I highly recommend it for anyone looking for an inexpensive yet decent hotel in Karaganda. It has rooms without showers (that's fine, my room in a more-expensive Paris hotel had no shower or toilet!), but it also has a 12-hour deal--you pay less if you only stay for 12 hours. In our case, they let us stay for 13 hours. Plus, they will keep your luggage for free after you check out. For 5000 Tenge ($34) I got a suite--a bedroom, a living room with a pull-out couch bed, a large bathroom with a bathtub, a small foyer, and even a refrigerator in the living room. Plus a balcony that we never used.

Rebeca left us so she could visit her parents, and we wandered down the main road. We bought some delicious soft-serve ice cream. As usual, vanilla was not an option, but this time the white kind was not the very-common "creamy" but rather something called "plombir" which has a vanilla taste to it. It was delicious and even Sophia liked it.

We found an enormous statue of Lenin and had our picture taken. Then we followed streams of people and thus stumbled upon Karaganda's park.

Thus began my litany: "What is wrong with Astana?" How can Karaganda have such an amazing park and Astana not? There was a fair inside a park! On Sunday we explored it further, it is large, clean, it has play areas, it's next to a lake (with a walking trail around it), it has a ferris wheel, many other rides, many cafes. And plenty of small pink statues of animals. Seriously, what is Astana's problem? Is there another large city that is as boring and as difficult to maneuver as Astana? (Getting from one place to another in Astana can take an hour, as the buses are slow; but Astana is so spread out that you can't really stay in one place and get much done.)

We ended the night by buying some groceries from the Ramstore grocery store, and then idling watching a little TV. Sophia wanted to watch a movie that looked like the action-movie version of "Scary Movie." So we flipped through the channels. And saw porn. Real porn, not soft porn, but full-on sex. So we flipped back to the action-movie. And told Sophia that it was bedtime. (It was.)

Thus ended Day 1 in Karaganda. A far less eventful day than Day 2.

Pilgrimage to Karaganda, Part 2: Convents

The first convent we stopped at was a convent for Carmelite nuns, whom I hadn't realized are cloistered. The convent was nice-looking, small, clean, with a nice chapel. But the nuns were behind bars. They came out to the "visiting area" so we could see them (us on one side, them on the other). Usually, they don't see visitors at all (so I guess you could say they were behind walls, not bars). I was a bit shaken by it, wondering how anyone could chose to live like that.

But, as we were leaving, Natasha, who has a boyfriend, said that if she did become a nun, she would chose to be a Carmelite. So, it's not for me, but it has an appeal for some people.

It was getting dark but we still headed to Temirtau, a small city about a half hour outside of Karaganda. Temir is the Kazakh word for iron and tau is Kazakh for mountain. Termirtau doesn't have mountains, but it is where iron from other mountains is brought and processed in factories that emit quite a bit of pollution. The city suffers from intense pollution as well as depression and alcoholism--what better place for a Missionaries of Charity convent (Mother Teresa's order)? The four nuns at our church who speak English are of that order, and they were quite happy to return to the convent where they once lived.

This convent was immensely different from the previous one, more like a large and simple house than a convent or church. The nuns house previously-homeless men and care for the really sick ones. Many of the men are extremely sick, having been dirt-poor and alcoholics most of their lives. Some have been at the convent for over 10 years.

The tour of the convent included visiting these men. About a dozen of them live in one large room, and many were still in bed when we walked in. The nuns had given them some basic art supplies to help pass their time, and one man had created an amazing replica of an Orthodox church out of matchsticks. It was amazing. We took plenty of pictures of it and two of the Filipinos had their picture taken with the man.

At first, I felt odd and uncomfortable--did these men like us showing up here as part of a "tour"? Do you like others gaping at you and taking your picture when you're living in a homeless shelter?

But the others did not feel uncomfortable. They laughed and joked with the men and treated them just as they would treat anybody. Sure, the Filipinos took tons of pictures, but they are always taking tons of pictures. Why change just because you're around homeless people?

The men seemed happy to have company, happy that somebody wanted to know their name. A man who spent a lot of time making drawings saw Sophia and instantly offered her his drawing of a tiger. She was extremely impressed.

In another room were the sicker men. Men whose livers were shot due to alcoholism. One very sickly man was thrilled to see Sister Joanna again, he held her hand and smiled as she talked to him.

We left the men to have some tea and snacks and then it was time to return home. We did not get home until close to midnight, but luckily Father Pavel drove us right to our apartment. We were exhausted and hungry, but it had been quite the experience!

... And, to make a long story short, I have pictures but can't get to them currently, hopefully I can post some soon!