PendlehomeKZ

I find myself at a curious juncture in my life; aware of my age. I have never acted or been aware of my age but for some reason I feel like it is looking over my shoulder. I have been enriched and blessed by a wife who has had infinite patience and who in response to an unanticipated professional obligation will always reply with, “I’ll expect you when I see you.” I have a family that continues to love me when I am at a distance, even though, while here in Kazakhstan. I have not yet met one new grandchild and have been absent for the emergence from infancy into toddler hood of two others. And I am a member of a profession that I still find immensely stimulating.

In that context I have been reflecting on the places I have been, those where few others from my country have seen. I have been the only non-African for thousands of square kilometers, where I am the only “person of color”, where kids run to their mothers as they have never seen someone like me; rather tall, with a stethoscope draped around a sweaty neck, sunburned to a crisp red hue. Valuable context has been added to my life at so many different levels. Some have been very humbling and moving. Some have added valuable insight, not the least of which was consistently being pulled over for “driving while white” and the accompanying assumption that I would willingly pay a “fee”.

The US is rich in natural beauty, and I have been fortunate to see much of it over 63 years. I have seen the steppe as it transitions from desert to grass land, the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan that extend to the Tien Shan that overlook Almaty, the lakes above this city, and more. And I have seen similar vistas and topography that are present in the US as well. Perhaps this portrays an arrogance on my part, perhaps just the clichéd acknowledgement that I am fortunate to have been able to make the comparison.

Lynne has been here for the last two weeks. We went on short tour of a region I had been anxious to visit in the East-Central part of the country. I had hoped that we timed it right so as to see fields of wild tulips and did we ever. We headed out of Karaganda on a day long drive into the back country. We went to an area with villages that while remote seemed quite familiar in that they represent an area of a country that is at a much slower pace, perhaps more genuine in culture and relationship. Picture Southeastern Kentucky, Eastern Oregon, or the central plains a couple of generations ago.

We stayed at a guest home where one sleeps on the floor segregated by gender to several different rooms. We (mostly I) ate traditional cuisine punctuated by lots of fresh horse meat, and became acquainted with the local culture at a more intimate level. This is culture that is still rather innocent, one that hasn’t been absorbed by the uniformity and loss of identity that comes with fast food, mini markets, chain eateries and box stores.

The scenic beauty was something we could have enjoyed in the States but not in the context of where we found ourselves. As one might expect the comparison ends there and quickly words fail to do the experience justice so, once again, please enjoy the photos that follow.

Mosaic in Karaganda

Bas relief of cosmonauts

See this a lot.

A broken shanyrak, the symbol of family, This marks he site of a gulag.

There were many memorials from many nations and cultures

Wild horses

Milk containers for capturing and making fermented mare's milk

Well and churn

Place mate in the guest house made from felt and candy wrappers

Wild tulips

A Ural motorcycle and side car. It runs!

shower stall

Muslim cemetery

The only Russian Orthodox grave

Yo Vlad! This is a rather ignominious end, no?

The inscription is glass set in concrete.

Bukashe: Where there are teams of horse riders and a dead, headless, limbless sheep. A little like polo and soccer and, well, there really isn't anything like it. It was the only game this year and was in the middle of nowhere. Incredible!