I leave Karaganda tomorrow afternoon on my last train ride in Kazakhstan [had a brief scare last week when all of the train tickets were sold out and I almost had to 1) walk to Almaty 2) hitch a ride with the melon sellers 3) bribe my way onto the train or 4) ride a 22 hour bus...glad my director solved that quandary for me by calling in some favors and finding me ticket on the sold-out train].
In honor of my (and my sitemate's) impending departure, I have attended a number of goodbye parties and farewell events. As hard as it was to say goodbye to friends and family in America before coming to Kazakhstan for 2 years, it is even harder to say goodbye to the people I have interacted with here in my daily routine, knowing that I may never see them again. In the past week, I have said goodbye to people in Abai, Aktas, Timertau, Credo, the American Corner, and Fitnes Star, and it just isn't getting any easier despite practice. Sigh.
Tangentially, I am reminded of how much moving sucks. Especially international moves. I have been confronted with the dilemma of fitting my life over the last 2 years into a finite amount of space and I can't even tell you how many 'Leave the gun. Take the cannoli' moments I've had while trying to make it all fit and still leave room for bringing a melon on the plane with me (Oh you better believe I'm ridin' dirty on my flight out, Kazakh style). TSA is going to scan my bag upon entering the US and fail to comprehend why a person would need to travel with: a horse whip, collection of teacups, currency from 14 different countries, a camel, a rug, a ridiculous fur coat, beer food, and a very obvious lack of personal hygiene products (gotta make weight limit! Take the yurt, leave the shampoo, you feel me?).
Oh how I hope they ask me about the horse whip so I can explain that it is used to spur the horses on in a rough and tumble Kazakh take on Polo, where a severed goat head is beaten up and down a piece of steppe by today's nomadic warriors. The fact that the whip is called a "Cumshot" makes this exchange all the better in my head. You can imagine why. (insert immature snicker teehee).
In honor of my (and my sitemate's) impending departure, I have attended a number of goodbye parties and farewell events. As hard as it was to say goodbye to friends and family in America before coming to Kazakhstan for 2 years, it is even harder to say goodbye to the people I have interacted with here in my daily routine, knowing that I may never see them again. In the past week, I have said goodbye to people in Abai, Aktas, Timertau, Credo, the American Corner, and Fitnes Star, and it just isn't getting any easier despite practice. Sigh.
Tangentially, I am reminded of how much moving sucks. Especially international moves. I have been confronted with the dilemma of fitting my life over the last 2 years into a finite amount of space and I can't even tell you how many 'Leave the gun. Take the cannoli' moments I've had while trying to make it all fit and still leave room for bringing a melon on the plane with me (Oh you better believe I'm ridin' dirty on my flight out, Kazakh style). TSA is going to scan my bag upon entering the US and fail to comprehend why a person would need to travel with: a horse whip, collection of teacups, currency from 14 different countries, a camel, a rug, a ridiculous fur coat, beer food, and a very obvious lack of personal hygiene products (gotta make weight limit! Take the yurt, leave the shampoo, you feel me?).
Oh how I hope they ask me about the horse whip so I can explain that it is used to spur the horses on in a rough and tumble Kazakh take on Polo, where a severed goat head is beaten up and down a piece of steppe by today's nomadic warriors. The fact that the whip is called a "Cumshot" makes this exchange all the better in my head. You can imagine why. (insert immature snicker teehee).
0 comments:
Post a Comment