Duck Disappointments

When I returned from Montana, the four eggs under my duck were all rotten. I didn't crack them open to find out, but it was easy to tell from the outside. They were clearly black and soupy on the inside. The eggs under my neighbor's hen were scheduled to hatch June 2nd, but I gave them a few days to be sure. When I checked on her, those four eggs also were not looking like hatching any time this year. I took the eggs from both the chicken and the duck but both birds continue to sit, committed to empty nests.

Am I a little bit sad? Yes. On the other hand, in the midst of working four part time jobs, I'm a little bit relieved that I don't need to care for who knows how many little ducklings. The three I raised last year were a handful. Now I must decide what to do with my two ducks... They are so entertaining to me and I love having them around, but the whole purpose was to get them to reproduce and they didn't succeed this year. I do have faith that they will be better at it next year, but I'm planning on leaving town right after I graduate and right at the time the duck would be nesting...

I guess that's a decision to make later. For the time being I'll just continue to enjoy my morning watering routine with them and the frequent chase around the yard those times Jesse James makes his break for the chicken coop.

5 Months in One Blog Post

The semester is over and the beginning of summer in Arizona is absolutely beautiful! Five months of stuff is too much to really capture in one blog, so I'll make it a fairly short photo recap.

Here's what I've done so far in 2013:

January:    

I gave a duck a bath.

 

February:

My mom and my sister came to visit. I got to meet my adorable nephew Andrew for the first time and of course, I got a picture of everyone with him, except myself.

                 

 

My black duck unexpectedly died. My guess is that she choked. Unfortunately, I paid $75 dollars for that duck and was expecting great things from her. My mom and I rather unceremoniously buried her beneath a Scrub Oak in the forest. 

 
I went to Santa Monica to preview the Vidal Sassoon cosmetology school and take a picture of the Ferris Wheel on the pier, then slept in the back of a Caballero at the Cherry Park skate park in Long Beach, then went to Corona to meet my partner's parents and 14 small dogs. It was beautiful and fun and California is a crazy place.

March: 
Jett and I took Harvey to Willow Lake. We got our feet muddy, threw sticks for Harv, admired all the gorgeous aquatic birds, and spent a lot of time examining, and photographing, the finer details of the natural world, like this dried up pond scum and this drift wood:

              
 We spent a night and a day at Fossil Creek.

 I made BANANA BREAD CINNAMON ROLLS! Maybe one of the best recipes I've ever found.

 Spring finally sprung in the gravel of Jett's front yard.

April:
I got a job with Prescott College's literary journal Alligator Juniper. This year I'm on the pages as Administrative Staff, but I've already advanced to the position of Assistant Managing Editor!

Check out the Alligator Juniper blog!

Jett and I went to the Songkran Festival at Wat Promkunaram Buddhist temple in Phoenix. It was the Thai New Year. We gave rice and limes to the monks.We were invited to feast on the most delicious home-made Thai food. I didn't take any pictures.
Then we spent some time sneaking around in the bushes surrounding the outer fence of a zoo in Surprise, Arizona because we didn't want to pay $32 each to get in. Then we went to a car show at a funeral home. Then we went seeking a smoothie in Anthem. I didn't take any pictures of that either.
         
The next weekend we went back to Phoenix to watch the finals of the Desert Ice Bonspiel, the Coyote Curling Club's annual curling tournament.

My classes started wrapping up at the end of April. The final result of the Newspaper Journalism Practicum was not a newspaper, but this beautiful magazine The Raven Review. I wrote articles, took pictures, helped edit and design the entire magazine, then took responsibility for a portion of the distribution once it was printed. Great experience with tangible results!

May: 

I saw the Hoover Dam for the first time.

I went to Vegas for the first time. I stayed with a really fun little group of girls at Rumors Boutique, enjoyed the palm trees, and hung out by the pool.

The lot of us got dressed up and went out on the town to do bachelorette party things on The Strip. It was fun. Vegas is a crazy place.

Weddings usually happen after those sorts of parties and I had the pleasure of making the cake! Here is the 'topper' I made. It was more of an insert really...

My good friends Dillon and Anya got married on the rim of the Grand Canyon, so the cake design was also inspired by the Canyon. I baked each layer to resemble the main geological layers of the Canyon, then carved an actual canyon into the finished cake, complete with the muddy water of the un-dammed Colorado River and river rocks.

Jett made the trees. The trees, rocks, and tiny flowers were all made from edible fondant. The mossy, grassy looking stuff was Graham Cracker crumbs that I spray painted green with edible spray paint.

Instead of the traditional cutting-of-the-cake-by-bride-and-groom, Dillon and Anya took turns giving a Grand Canyon geology lesson as they sliced down through the layers.

 My remaining female duck started nesting.

So far she is dedicated to setting, but she's not very good at it. She often loses some of her eggs, once she lost all of them without realizing any had gone missing, and she doesn't really get the whole idea of hiding the nest in a safe, secure location. I'm hoping that her inadequate nesting methods are due to this being her first time. I gave four duck eggs to a neighbor with a broody hen. At this point I think the chicken has a better chance of hatching her four eggs than my poor duck does hatching the remaining four.

Jett and I are getting ready to finish out the month up north, rafting and camping on the Snake River, then visiting family and friends all over Montana. Hopefully some ducklings will be hatching when we return at the beginning of June!

С новым годом!

Two weeks ago I returned with a giant backpack to a ghost town, my college campus seemingly abandoned, cold and empty. The first few days back in the States were rough. Before leaving Kyrgyzstan I was given a little debrief on 'reverse culture shock'. Upon my return I pretty much went completely through the checklist of emotions and exhaustion that was predicted and is common amongst international travelers. I was tired, excited, sad and overwhelmed, feeling unable to relate to or communicate with the friends and family I live with. I missed my friends abroad and almost the entire Prescott College community had left for the holidays. Indeed I came back to an empty, lonely place. And then I got sick. A terrible hacking cough that kept me up at night and doubled me over during the day. As happy as I was to be breathing fresh air, flushing toilet paper down the hole and eating bacon, I was terribly depressed and just wanted to return to the familiarity of Bishkek.

I have since got my possessions in order, overcome the jet lag and depression, and am on the upward swing to health. As I sat in the sun on campus yesterday I witnessed fresh looking young people walking slowly taking in the sights of the empty campus with their parents, clearly eager, excited and nervous. Today I saw so many people walking the town with large overstuffed backpacks. The Prescott College veterans, with their weathered backpacks, looking tidy and confident on their walk from the shuttle station through the barrio, while the incoming freshmen looked disoriented, wide-eyed with wonder, and not nearly as stream lined. The semester starts tomorrow and the fresh buzz just serves to remind me of all the new chances I get, all the opportunities I have in my life to start anew and to continue to expand my spirit.

At the beginning of 2012 I went to Ukraine, my first experience traveling solo. During the spring and summer I explored various aspects of relationships and my own shortcomings within those. I used my time in Kyrgyzstan to learn and grow in the realm of communication. My coming home was a fresh take on grounding myself and finding my bearings in my own culture. And while it still seems that winter has not really set in here, it feels like the beginning of a new season and with that a new and different chapter of my life. I am overjoyed with the anticipation for whatever will come next and can only smile at the memories of 2012 and at what a challenge some lessons are to learn.

Happy New Year Y'all.

Bukhara, a Fairy Tale City

The narrow alleys of Bukhara seemed to be a twisting and turning maze, growing more and more difficult to navigate as the sun set and the shadows grew longer. We came around a corner and almost ran into a man coming from another direction. He sidled up next to us and said in Russian, “Good evening.” It must have been quite apparent to the man that we were foreigners, but in an attempt to look like we weren’t lost we made another turn without hesitation. The stranger turned as well. “Pleasant weather we’re having, isn’t it?” He smiled slyly and gave one good look over the young man and young woman walking next to him, bundled tightly from head to toe. Though my Russian is poor, I understood his joke and answered back, “It is excellent weather! Though just a bit cold.” The three of us laughed together for a moment and shivered deeper in our coats and scarves. The truth is it had been more than just a bit cold before the sun went down, but the fresh air was enticing and my friend had asked me to join him on a walk. Now, in the shadows of the moonlight it was downright freezing, but not really knowing where we were, we just kept walking.

    The man broke the silence and asked, “How do you like our city?” I told him that I loved it. The city was beautiful and the history fascinating. I was disappointed that my group couldn’t spend more time. The man nodded and said, “Yes, Bukhara is a gorod skazka. Enjoy your stay.” He winked at me and dipped away around a corner, lowering his head to the sudden light from the street lamps. My friend stopped and put his hand on my arm. We smiled at each other for a moment before I whispered, “Yes, Bukhara is a fairy tale city...” We had come out of the alley just next to our guest house. The friendly stranger had already disappeared down the street into one of the trading domes. As I looked after him the lights shining from within sparkled and danced with the light of the lonely moon, a welcome image of warmth to two foreigners adrift in the cold night of the desert. 

Gamburger

The man at the shawarma stand is not Kyrgyz. Nor is he Russian. I ask for a gamburger and today he doesn't say anything to me. I used to order shawarma until I discovered that gamburgers are the same thing but with some sort of extra unexplainable deliciousness. You can't order a hamburger in Bishkek. The first reason being that they don't exist except in a very small handful of ex-pat restaurants. The second reason being that the Russian and Kyrgyz languages spoken here don't really have an 'h' sound as in English. The options are the 'guh' sound or a sound represented by the letter 'x' which sounds more like the 'h' but with a clearing of the throat, and even sometimes makes a 'kuh' sound. So I walk to the corner stand and order a gamburger, "bez ketchup". The not-Kyrgyz, not-Russian man stands up and begins his performance. He is deliberate about his motions making my wait for fast food maybe two or three minutes instead of the one I know it could be. He slices the bun and smears it with smetana, a delicious thick sour cream, which at this particular shawarma stand might be cut with mayo. He lays a half slice of tomato on the bun and a slice of pickle to the right of it. Yesterday the tomato was on the right and the pickle on the left. He sharpens his knife then slowly and carefully carves thin greasy slices of meat off the rotating spit, scoops them out of the pan with the tongs and lays them atop the veggies. Next is the french fries, then the slaw. Yesterday he remembered just in time, as he was reaching for the red squeeze bottle, that I had requested no ketchup. Today he doesn't even glance at it and goes straight for another smear of smetana instead. Perhaps the second scoop of that white sauce accounts for the extra tastiness. And I suspect that it is also the source of my addiction. With all components in place he folds over the top of the bun and gives the whole thing a little squeeze between his palms, not to smash it, but just to get it all set in place. Again with slow intention in his movements, he holds the gamburger in one hand and folds a bag over it with the other then hands it to me delicately with both hands and a deep nod. I smile and hand him my money, 60 som, about a dollar twenty, and with another deep nod and a somewhat theatrical swoop of his hand, as if taking a bow, he plucks the bills from my grasp and returns my change. I smile at the man, whom I now judge to be Turkish, and offer a Russian "thank you", but what I really mean to say is "see you tomorrow". The Turk smiles and continues to say nothing, but I know that what he really means to say is, "it will be my pleasure".  

 A little late night snack from the shawarma stand.

That Time of Year...

Coming over the mountain from Talas, the rocks in the lower part of the canyon cascaded in great slides down the slopes. They were purple. A deep, dry, reddish purple. But when they were in the water of the tiny mountain stream tumbling from the heights crystal clear and cold as ice, they were the color of fresh raw liver. I picked one up from the slope, not the stream, and pocketed it, even though it is typically against my system of morality to take rocks or any sorts of nature away from their natural place. It will be a beautiful souvenir for the fish tank back home.

We were so fortunate to drive over the Tien Shan mountains at this time of year. All the herders were moving their animals down the hills for the winter, back to the villages and the low lands. They march their herds right down the highways and all the cars slow down and honk until the sheep and the cows and the horses pass. The drivers of vehicles smile and scorn as if the herds are seriously impeding the progress of traffic. The men and boys on horseback smile and scorn as if the traffic is seriously impeding the progress of herding. Clearly the roads were built for everyone here. Every once in a while a large old Soviet truck will roll slowly by, stuffed to the brim with packed up yurts and belongings and even a few extra pieces of livestock.  In the villages, the people didn't seem to mind at all the dust stirred up by the animals, though we the tourists had to cover our faces to keep from choking. 

We spent the evening and morning with an amazing elderly couple in their beautiful farm house. They held a feast for us and helped me picked three different kinds of apples from their orchard, as many as I wanted, all of them perfectly crisp and delicious. They were so honored to have us in their home, guests from half way around the world, but I could never have expressed how honored I was to be in the presence of such wisdom.

Mountains!

Part of my schedule here includes excursions out of Bishkek to various locations around Kyrgyzstan and other Central Asian countries. This past weekend 10 of us from the London School drove about 4 hours to Lake Issyk-Kul to stay in a beautiful 'lake house', build a little yurt, and experience what it's really like to be Kyrgyz in a full-on, up-the-mountain, high-altitude day hike.

 

Lake Issyk-Kyl is the second largest salt lake in the world, after the Caspian Sea, so it never freezes. Those of you who know me well should know that I'm not a big lake-swimmer. I'm just not a big water person in general. Despite my fears I went ahead and stripped down to my skivvies and went for it with a beautiful sunset highlighting the horizon. Half way around the world, I might as well, right? As expected, the water was warm and it was salty. I even plugged my nose and went under! Once. Then made for shore in haste.

 

The beautiful shore of Issyk-Kul in the morning light.

 

Our weekend residence with the lake in the background, some mountains hiding behind the clouds.

We spent all of Saturday hiking up to some gorgeous alpine lake, though none of us actually made it to the lake. It was a rigorous hike pretty much straight up the mountain, but for our guide it was just another day in the life.  And while hiding under a rock from some chilly raindrops I happened to see another guy just livin' the life, herding his sheep across the hills. The landscape was rugged and beautiful, though I thought it could have been anywhere in Montana or Idaho or Wyoming. It felt like home and my companions suggested multiple times that they thought I was made for Kyrgyzstan. But do not be fooled by the pretty little hill in this photo...It was a big hill. And behind it, obscured by those clouds, some serious snow capped peaks. I took this photo after I gave up on reaching the lake, after we'd already hiked up probably more than 6,000 feet.

The view from the top. And the little tent that was the herder's abode. We passed it on the hike up and stopped to see if anyone was home. Unfortunately, just the dog and a couple calves.

 

That may be my only mountain scaling adventure within the next four months, but it was an amazing way to get a little bit up close and personal with Kyrgyzstan and I'm looking forward to spending next weekend again on the lake!

More on the yurt later...