Kazakh Kulture: More Adventures in the Neighborhood

When we’re not hangin’ with the Jemster (or napping to recover from our visits), we like to ‘trol the neighborhood for good times. So far that means, putting on our sneakers (undignified as that might be in a land where mini-mall security guards wear Dolce and Gabbana shoes), sunscreen, and a backpack, and doing some urban hiking.

On our first free Sunday in Astana, we read about a 5-D movie theatre located a few minutes walk from our apartment—and the direction of our day was set. We arrived at the joint, a family establishment whose grounds were decorated with life-sized plastic palm trees and cacti in an array of carnival colors. Inside we were greeted by the Kazakh version of It’s a Small World, complete with the statue of Liberty, a Las Vegas wedding chapel, a Grecian village, China Town, and an Islamic settlement— all of which lay in the shadow of a giant disco ball spinning in the center of an expansive domed ceiling. Kitsch heaven.

After a quick tour of the world, we made our way to the theatre.

We were seated in what looked like a kiddie-ride, given the prototypical cardboard glasses, and buckled up for the show. The film was a 10-minute animation set in prehistoric times with fire-breathing dinosaurs, underwater creatures, and, of course, careening camera work that brought the viewer to a satisfying state of disequilibrium.

What were the extra two dimensions? A jolting ride and some stinky water sprayed in our faces when the dinosaurs attempted to devour us. Jane with her wide-open smile took a hit of the dinosaur breath directly in the mouth—a bit disconcerting given the water here is too contaminated to drink. But at five bucks, American—it still seemed like a deal.

Following this, our touring could only go downhill. But we’ll tell you about it anyway.

In our ventures around the neighborhood, we’ve become regular patrons of an old, gold-toothed, Russian broad who sells her home grown veggies from a park bench, at prices the stores can’t beat. She’s also the only source of a full head of lettuce. The stores here sell lettuce in small parcels—say 4 or 5 leaves to a bunch—to be used as a finely chopped green thread weaving through a salad. The BIG AMERICAN SALAD doesn’t exist here. Pity us! (And as we mentioned earlier in our blog, there ain’t no tofu either.) Luckily, we’re adaptable creatures, and so the vegetable lady has become one of our best friends. (See photo.)

We’ve come to enjoy food shopping, because we can’t read the signs or labels—with the exception of the cereal for misfits—and that provides an opportunity for us to be creative. Steve has proven that he can work a can of beans like nobody’s bidness, just by adding some local spices, garlic, onion, and the veggie ladies’ carrots and parsley. Today, Jane made a lunch of poached eggs on brown, cheesy toast, with smoked salmon, dill, and parsley. We’re ready to open our own little lean-to kitchen for visiting health-food freaks.

Onto sounds. There are lots of them:
• The carnival across the river, which blasts music until 11 pm
• The brash, young men burning rubber in the parking lot—all day and night—just below our windows
• The phone with it’s continuing, mysterious ringing
• The upstairs neighbor who’s remodeling his apartment, one floorboard at a time
• The trash collection truck, who runs his hydraulic lift and compactor exactly at the time we lay down for our afternoon nap—no matter what time that is
• Late night socializers and the sweet chime of bottles shattering against the ground
• The downstairs neighbor enjoying his new CD, full-blast—over and over and over…
• The guys in the parking lot playing rap music with the doors to their cars wide open
• The fireworks displays, just across the river, that have gone on for five nights straight
• The loud American pop music that all our cab drivers listen to
• The sweet baby crying in a neighboring apartment—we imagine, because she can’t get a decent night’s shut-eye


We consider all this boot camp for the sleepless nights ahead of us, with a beautiful little girl doing whatever she chooses to do, in the crib at the foot of our bed.

Thank god for ear plugs!

* * *
All of this culminates into a funny kind of gratitude as we get to know a place that’s quite different from our quiet street, in the very collegiate city we call home. We’ve come to enjoy the way all this sensory excitement mixes with our regularly scheduled days here. We get to enjoy NOT understanding, for a change, rather than trying so hard to make sense of the world we’re used to. We’d be terribly disappointed if we felt perfectly at home. No one should ever travel for 24 hours and find her/his life unchanged. What would be the point of that? Of course, we’re still who we are (we’ve got the cribbage board, Steve’s mix on the Ipod, and Jane’s stapled excisions from The NYer), working out how to begin to live a new life—which is what this trip is all about.