This is Turkmenistan?

Hello hello!

 

I posted new pictures today!  Link below!  Hooray!!!

 

Okay, brace yourselves.  This will be my last email for an indefinite period of time.  Please, please, hold back your tears.  I'll be back before you know it.  Here's the deal:  tomorrow at 5:30 am I am getting into a mini-van and 5 of us are heading east to Lebap.  The van will be packed because although we only came with 100 pounds of luggage, the amount of stuff we have has grown exponentially in the two short months we've been here.  Sigh.  Can't get away from stuff. 

 

So we've been in the city since Thursday.  I have been in awe of the fact that in my hotel room, there is a toilet not 15 feet from my bed!  Indoors!  Ah, it's heaven.  Paradise.  Pure happiness.  I will miss that.  And running water.  And hot showers.  But, enough. Small sacrifices.  I get to come home eventuall, after all. 

 

Thursday evening, we went out to dinner at a place called "City Pub."  This restaurant has soccer paraphernalia all over the walls.  They played English language music.  I had pizza -- it was so-so, but it was pizza.  Afterwards, we went to the "Zip bar."  Had a beer and smoked a hookah with several other people.  Then, we decided to go to a disco.  I didn't even know Ashgabat had discos, but it makes sense.  The Russian population here is pretty western and they have just as much desire as anyone to get their grooves on.  It was deserted when we got there around 10:30.  And, the DJ wasn't there so the music wasn't very danceable.  Around 11:00 more people came, the DJ came, and the music got better.  They played Kanye West (for those of you who know who that is) and I jumped onto the dance floor to shake my booty.  It was a lot of fun.  Then the turned on the green strobe light which was fun at first but a bit dizzying after while.  The fun thing about this disco was that, other than the Americans, the other patrons were Turkmen men and prostitutes.  They were scantily clad and danced mostly with themselves or with potential clients.  Prostitution is not uncommon in the city.  And I hear they don't make a lot of money which is unfortunate.  I mean, if you're gonna sell your stuff, at least make some bank.  IMHO. 

 

What was cool about the whole evening was how un-Turkmenistan it was.  We really could have been anywhere -- we could have been home.  It was a very "normal" night out.  It was also a lot of fun :) 

 

Yesterday, we woke up, gussied up, and headed to our swearing in ceremony.  Our host families, counter parts, Turkmen government officials and US Embassy folks were all invited and present.  Our CD spoke, a representative from the Turkmen Edu. Ministry spoke, and the Ambassador spoke.  He administered our oaths to us and presented us with our certificates stating that we are now all official Peace Corps Volunteers.  The oath said that we would do our best to protect the constitution of the US while here and things like that.  Not very Peace Corps if you ask me, but I have a feeling all government employees take this oath (or something similar).  Even though we're not "technically" gov't employees. 

 

After the ceremony we had more information sessions at Peace Corps.  We got our first month's salary and settling in allowance.  I got 4.16 million manat which is about $250 dollars.  Not too shabby.  I've never had a million of anything before, so that's pretty cool.  But it doesn't go very far, unfortunately. 

 

For dinner last night, a HUGE group of us went to a Karaoke bar (again -- Turkmenistan?).  It was a fiasco really  -- too many people for the kitchen to handle and well-intentioned people trying to make life easier by limiting our orders but ultimately being obnoxious by limiting what I could order. Grr.  The evening was saved by singing Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer."  Bon Jovi makes everything better. 

 

Today our CD had us over to his apartment for breakfast.  His apartment building is beautiful inside and out.  It was so crazy to see his house -- it was so American!  A sofa!  Hardwood floors!  A flat screen TV! Oh, and he and his wife have a gorgeous kitchen.  The plumbing is still weak -- can't flush paper-- but still, he has a very comfortable living situation.  And, because we won't be in the city for Christmas, he had a Christmas tree for us.  My training group and I took a picture in front of the tree -- I haven't uploaded them yet but I will as soon as I can.  It's great -- we look like a happy group of siblings :)  But you may not see it until January :)

 

After brunch, I went shopping!  I spent 740,00 manat.  Ugh.  I bought soap, a trash pail, cooking supplies, a bread pan, a water pitcher, a plate (for monitoring how much I eat), a plastic mug, shoe polish, shout for stain removal, fabric softener (this was a mistake: I meant to buy liquid laundry detergent but it was in foreign languages I don't know...), soap, soap dish, a cup, candles, more minutes for my cell phone...

 

It adds up quickly.  I headed back to the office by bus, dropped my stuff off, and went shopping again!  I bought olive oil :)  This makes me very happy.

 

So, it's been a busy day.  A busy few days. 

 

We have a friend who had to go to Thailand for medical reasons -- she got a rectal infection of all things and needed minor surgery.  She's back but still not 100%.  Anyhow, she had a great time in Thailand despite being in pain and in the hospital for a week.  She met PCVs from Thailand and she says that they all have internet and indoor plumbing in their homes.  Ah, well...  Indoor plumbing is for weenies.  Real PCVs squat :)

 

I've posted several more pictures today, so look at those when you get a chance :)  Here's the link again in case you need it: 

http://www.flickr.com/gp/11696456@N08/8Dt169

 

 

Also, I gave you all my address in Lebap.  I've talked to several PCVs there and it sounds like the post office in T-bat is just as reliable as Ashgabat's, so you can send your letters there, too.  Here it is again, just in case:

 

US Peace Corps Turkmenistan                  Türkmenistan

P.O. Box 46                                                    Lebap Welayaty

Central Post Office                                      Türkmenabat – 22, 746100

Turkmenabat – 22, 746100                         Merkezi poςta, abonent 46

Lebap Welayat                                            Korpus Mira

Türkmenistan                                               JESSICA HOOVER                            

JESSICA HOOVER                                      TÜRKMENISTAN        

TURKMENISTAN

 

 

This address is slightly different from the one I gave you before.  In Turkmen, write "Korpus Mira" instead of "Parahatcylyk Korpusy."  Korpus Mira is Russian and is the name the postal workers know Peace Corps as. 

 

I'm sure I had more I wanted to tell you -- I know I mentioned a cultural discussion last email, but we'll leave that for another time.  I hope you're all doing well.  Only 19 more days until Christmas!  Happy Holidays!!  Feliz Navidad!! 

 

Love and hugs,

Jess

 

P.S. My Country Director reads Junot Diaz.  If you know who that is, you won't be surprised know that I freaked out when I saw the books on the bookshelf and had to tell him that I read Junot, too :)

 

P.P.S.  There is a dusting of snow on the mountain tops now.  It's beautiful :)

Thanksgiving in turkmanistan and the Incredible Spontaneously Cumbusting Apple Pie

Loved ones,

 

These two items are, in fact, unrelated.   I appreciated all the Happy Thanksgiving wishes.  What's Thanksgiving like in T-stan?  Well, kind of a blip, really.  It's not a holiday celebrated here.  Some groups took it upon themselves to cook a "real" Thanksgiving dinner.   We just kind of let it go – there are only 4 of us and one is a vegetarian.  Not thatTurkey is a total necessity but it just seemed like a lot to take on.  We were going to mooch off of some volunteers hosting T-giving dinner for themselves at the office, but most of them are about to leave the country  and we don't know them very well, so we didn't crash their party because of anticipated feelings of awkwardness.  (We did happen to be in the office during their festivities and they brought us a plate of food:  real salad, turkey, stuffing w/gravy, sweet potatoes!  oh, it was heaven!  I ate a ton, my second lunch that day.  Worth every calorie).   On Thursday we each taught in the morning.  Went to lunch where we had our cook's version of pizza.  We'd gotten a can of cranberry sauce from PC the day before so we had that, too.  Only we didn't have a real can opener.  So we got this ghetto one from the cook and she tried to open the can from the wrong end.  In the end, we managed to get a bit pulled back but the thing looked like a case of tetanus waiting to happen.  We also had gummy bears, courtesy of my loving daddy J 

 

And…. yes, I made a pumpkin pie!  It was alright; probably could have cooked the pumpkin a bit more. But even Summer ate some, and she says she never eats pumpkin pie.  I have pictures; I'll try to post them. 

           

On Saturday we took the day off and went to the city.  We went to a shopping center called "Yimpash" (the 'y' is silent) which was incredible.  It was like a department store and a grocery store all in one.  Three floors – food court on the third floor.  We had cheeseburgers and sodas for lunch and then the 5 of us shared a banana split.  Heavenly.  After eating, we shopped and I dropped 111,000 manat on baking supplies: butter, powdered sugar, corn starch, whipped topping mix, baking powder.  It was amazing.  It was a little slice of Western decadence right in Ashgabat and it was as comforting as a mother's love.  I'm sighing a little sigh of happiness now. 

 

 Arms laden with cooking supplies, I left Impash with the ladies and we headed to a salon to have our eyebrows done. Rather than wax, threading is the common method of hair removal here.  Basically, the lady twists a piece of thread together, holds on end in her mouth and the other in her hand, and runs the twist along the hair.  Somehow it gets pulled out.  I'm not exactly sure how it works because my eyes were closed and I was trying hard not to flinch the whole time, but she did a good job.  For 30,000 manat ( a little over $2 ) I am a new woman.  Or, at least one with shaped eyebrows.

 

From the salon, it was off to Peace Corps.  Briefly checked mail, ate tons of food as I mentioned, and then with happy hearts we headed home.  On the way back, I stopped at a bazaar to buy 4 kilos of apples for my apple pies. 

 

THE APPLE PIE

Can't get much more American than that, right?  So, we're discussing pie last week at home and I am telling my host sister about the different pies I can make.  She was particularly intrigued by apple pie so I told her that rather than go to the city, I would stay home on Sunday and teach her how to make it.  I bought all the requisite ingredients.  My friend's were trembling with the thought of eating fresh baked apple pie.  Mmm… I even have cinnamon!  And nutmeg! (also thanks to my dear father)  Amazing!

 

This will awkwardly tie together eventually:

 

Sunday rolls around and I need to do some laundry.  And by some I mean probably a load and a half/two loads worth in a washing machine.  But, I can't get into the banya to do my washing because it's occupied the whole morning.  So, resigned to waiting, I sit and begin to read an American newsweekly.  My host sister comes in and says we're leaving to her aunt's house.  It's nearly 11:00 and I'm moderately upset because I want to do my laundry!  But I trudge along because that's what a good anthropologist would do.  Sit with a bunch of young girls around a plastic table cloth laid on the floor.  Admire the celing – exposed wood beams!  How log cabin quaint!  How familiar! Eat fried bread.  And more fried bread.  And tons of pickled veggies.  Every time I try to stop eating, someone sees and says, "Jess, eat! Eat!"  Damn those Turkmen and their incessant hospitality.  I'm gaining weight here!  Argh!  Anyhow:  then lunch comes out.  Steaming, hot bowls of… goat soup!  My favorite!  Luckily, my host sister explains that I don't eat goat and I'm spared the discomfort of having to sip at the goaty broth.  And really, the "soup" was goat broth and goat.  Not just meat, but tongue, cheek, gross, squishy white chunks of either fat or brain (or both).  So I gorged on pickled veggies and it was good.  Don't get enough veggies anyhow.  And I'm satisfied that this family, with whom I will be living only another 3 days, understands that I do not like goat. 

 

We head home and I do my barge load of laundry.  I can definitely forsee developing carpal tunnel because after 2 hours of washing and wringing, I was in pain.  I need a wrist brace for that kind of manual labor.  Laundry hung, it's time for pie.

 

As a baker, I am very attached to my measuring cups.  Cooking without measuring scares me.  Out of necessity, I cooked for myself all last winter, and I must say, I made great strides in "winging it".  Nonetheless, for this pie I had to measure three cups of flour with a tea cup and it made me slightly anxious.  But then I thought that the home bakers of yesteryear probably did without measuring, so maybe I could to.  My host sister and I each made a pie.  It was hard to describe to her how exactly to make pie crust – she's used to making dough for bread and at one point, started kneading her dough!  Big no-no in pie crust making!  She ended up not using enough liquid but whatever.  It worked. My crust turned out beautifully much to my surpise – no measuring and no food processer.   My dad would be proud: he cuts his butter into the dough with his hands and now I can to.  I'm quite pleased, actually. 

 

Things are going swimmingly.  The random fly is buzzing around, landing on my arm, my face, my head,  as wantonly as though I were a dead puppy [there is, by the by, a dead puppy in the no man's land outside our town, decaying in a trash heap.  Sad.]  Then one landed on the dough and Towus (my host sister) tried to brush it away.  The fly wasn't going for it.  So she PICKED IT UP and tossed it aside.  Seriously.  These flies are freakin' domesticated. Nothing scares them and I so loathe them and their audacity.

Next comes peeling and slicing 4 kilos of apples.  No sweat, except my hands turned orange.  But the apples smell and taste so wonderfully delicious that looking like an oopma loompa is totally worth it.  Roll out the dough -- little difficulty with her dough here but no biggie --  and we're in business.  Assembling the pies – rolled the dough too thin and the bottom layer's leaking all the juice and the perfectionist in me is screaming bloody murder – but then I think, "hey, I'm in Turkmenistan, who says I have to make a perfect apple pie every time?  It'll still taste the same."  Feeling good about not being overwhelmed by my temporary baking shortcomings and sit back as Towus puts the pies in their brick oven.

 

Not even 2 minutes later she calls my name and both pies are out of the oven, top crust layers scorched.  Huh. Apparently there were flames.  I didn't think to check the temperature on the brick oven.  Which is total sarcasm because there is no temperature to check!  It must have been mighty hot to burn the crust so quickly.  I entertained thoughts of Hansel and Gretel and Sweeny Todd.  So she turns the gas waaaay down and we put the pies back in.  I try to explain that they need to cook for a long time, but she stood there anyway, waiting for them to cook.  And took them out nearly every 5 minutes for me to check.   I stood with her, enjoying the heat radiating from the bricks, listening to the juice in the pies bubble.  That oven would be an amazing marshmallow roaster.    So, lah-dih-dah the pies are done and I slice one up into 9 pieces for everyone to try.  One plate for me, 8 pieces in the pan for everyone else to eat out of.

 

Now, I could have only made one pie, but silly me assumed that it would be a big hit and two would be best.  Besides, that way Towus would learn by doing!  Alas, as I devour my piece of pie, I am met with sheepish grins and giggles and spoons being lowered to the plastic tablecloth.  They don't like spice it turns out.  The cinnamon was too much. But frankly I bet the results would have been the same sans cinnamon.  My host mother said, "Turkmen don't like spices.  We use salt and pepper and that's all."  Which is true and highly unfortunate for them, IMO.   And rather remarkable, considering the close proximity of such spicy empires as, say, India.  She also said, "We only eat Turkmen food."  My heart breaks for them. 

 

So they don't like my pie which is fine.  My feelings aren't hurt.  It's a damn tasty pie.  My host mother made me eat two pieces (yes, she made me.  You seriously do not understand how important it is for you to have food in your mouth at all times here.  She wanted me to eat three pieces but I put my foot down there. )  But them not liking my pie is good because now they understand me not liking goat (I told you there was a tie-in!)  This makes it easier for me to refuse gross food for the next 3 days.  Then I'll have to make another apple pie for the next family to turn their noses up.  The only problem was that I had a pie and a half left.  My fellow Americans happily ate our homemade slices of America  yesterday and today.  And burnt though it was, my crust was flaky and delicious.

  

I learned my lesson: when cooking tasty American food for Turkmen, underestimate the amount of food needed. 

 

I wrote a rousing journal entry on (the lack of) diversity in Turkmenistan and its cultural implications but I'll leave that for another time when I'm not waxing poetic about apple pie for 2 pages.  It just occurred to me that very shortly I will be without internet for an indefinite amount of time (as of Dec. 7 – the big move!)  So, keep that in mind. I'll be in Ashgabat until Saturday so I'll try to get in another email before then. 

 

I still fit into my skinny jeans,
Jess