Arrival and Acclimation…

After 24 hours of flying and layovers, we arrived in Astana’s modern new airport. We were met by the same torrential rain storm we left behind in Boston, but this time it came with the gentle smile of a robust, platinum blonde Kazak woman named Dina: our interpreter and guide. We left the airport driving dead center down a divided four-lane highway, swerving away from the dotted line only when another driver tried to pass us. Steve’s zippy maneuvers back home quickly seemed tame by comparison.

Few of our first experiences have been mild or easy. For starters, we had to negotiate our own rental agreement. Sleepless, we went directly onto the Ram Store—which is spelled “PamCtop”—and whose logo is a kangaroo rather than a curly horned mountain dweller; figure that one out! There we found 764 different yogurt drinks, an aisle full of chocolate bars, Coca-Cola—of course—some yummy brown bread, a $36 bag of frozen shrimp, and a few carrot runts befriended by a sprig of cherry tomatoes on the vine that might as well have been a string of diamonds, given their cost. When Steve told Dina that we like to eat organic, she boasted, “We don’t have that here—everything’s natural.” Undeterred, Steve tried to describe tofu and kale to Dina. Her eyes glazed over before she directed us to the cheese display. We’re pretty sure she hoped to ditch us there.

In fairness to Dina, she knows eons more about our culture than we know about hers. Her bilingualism is complete and we’re grateful to be largely understood by someone in a land where we can’t read the signs, and where we’re not sure about appropriate behavior or customs. We’ve smiled at strangers, without a return of the gesture. Our Americanism is treacle dripping off of us.

After a deep, long nap, Steve started referring to the earlier part of the day as “yesterday.” No amount of teasing could usher him into our new and stable time zone.

Next stop: the kitchen. Our sharpest utensil is a bent and handle-less butter knife. We were so hungry that we delighted in scrambled eggs with frozen broccoli and oven toasted bread, which Jane patiently sawed from the loaf with our blunted sword. A little Ciao Bella’s dark chocolate sorbet would have made the meal perfection. Alas.

We did have more than a couple of prunes. And again today, if you know what we mean.

Onto sleep: we moved the bed into the living room, the only space in the apartment with a window screen. After collapsing for the night—or so we thought—the phone started ringing every two hours. By 2 am, Jane was wide-awake, even if she was doing a fine job of pretending she was asleep. After an hour and half, she gave up her thesbianism and went to read in the kitchen, where her hot legs unknowingly became glued to the vinyl chair. A free waxing job when she stood up.

After rising to a beautiful morning, we launched our travel exercise regimen. Sweaty, stinky, and revitalized, Jane stepped into the shower—only to discover that the water had been turned off for the day. This became the crystallizing event that confirmed we’re far from home in every sense of the word. Steve—the tidier of the two of us—said the serenity prayer. The prayer was especially effective after the water was turned back on late in the afternoon.

This evening we met our neighbors, Jeff and Jocelyn, Bostonians with an adorable 2-year old they adopted from Astana 18 months ago. They’re adopting a little girl this time. They admitted to having been nervous wrecks during their first trip here, but are completely relaxed now—a deep comfort to this couple of Kazak adoption newbies. They directed us to a family style eaterie—ShimKent—where we had Greek salads, bialys, and garlic-fried chicken with big pieces of dill draped upon it: our first and very happy sampling of local cuisine. Yum, yum.

Now we’re in for the night, writing and readying ourselves for sleep with the phone unplugged for an improved succession of REM.

P.S.—The prunes did the trick.