Sam and I started a club and didn’t even mean to.

To be fair, we haven’t actually started calling it a club, but I think both of us think of it as a club.

What started as a little group of folks who every so often like to escape the coal-smoke and icy sidewalks that plague Almaty all winter has grown to become a once-weekly mountain hiking adventure. It’s our “Sunday Hiking Club.”

And it’s not just for Americans. We’ve collected a lovely little bunch of expats for these Sunday hikes. Together we climb through pine forests and up steep, snowy inclines to vistas 8- or 9-thousand feet above sea level. If we’re lucky, and the day is clear, we can see wisps of snow-capped mountains more than 100 km away, looking like clouds, or almost like some other nearby planetary body.

We eat our lunches standing up, in a small circle. We share tea and dried apricots, peanut butter sandwiches (or Vegemite sandwiches). Mishka makes the rounds, pushing her cold nose into backpacks and lunch sacks, hoping for a handout.

And even though they’re only a few hours long, every hike is at once inspiring and therapeutic. And the air! My god so clean! And lacking in oxygen, ha-HA! Come! Come drink with us—sip on the sweetness that is endorphins and elevation!

{Above: The view from the “Helicopter Pad.” Photograph by Janell Wright.}

As well as being the 9th (geographically) largest country in the world, Kazakhstan is also the largest land-locked country in the world. Sam and I know several people, natives of Central Asia, who have never seen the ocean. Can you imagine? Seriously, can you?

The photo above was obviously not taken in Kazakhstan, but 70 km off the coast of Australia, bobbing above the Great Barrier Reef. It’s been exactly one year since Sam and I vacationed in Australia—the SCUBA portion being the obvious highlight.

In this photo, I have just entered the water, camera in hand. Several of our fellow divers prepare to jump off the back of our dive boat and “ocean hotel”. My and Sam’s dive master can be seen on the right edge of the photo holding an empty plastic water bottle which he used during our dives to attract sharks. Yup, you read that correctly. Squeezing on the sealed bottle while underwater creates a sound very much like what a tropical fish makes when in distress, which might mean a meal for a hungry shark. (BTW: It works.)

Speaking of sharks, a portion of our conversation at dinner last night alighted on America’s recent obsession with Katy Perry’s Left Shark. At our table of twelve (all young, educated, in-touch individuals), there were at least three who had never heard of this phenomenon, and another two who had only gotten around to watching the YouTube videos that same afternoon.

Can you imagine? Seriously, can you?

 

I like winter. I really do. But the relentlessly frigid temps, crusty sidewalks, and bulky winter garb have lately prompted deep feelings of summertime nostalgia. Sunglasses. Blue skies. Camping trips. Oh my.

The photo above is obviously not a recent one, but one that I snapped on our Memorial Day weekend camping trip last year. In it, Mishka trots blissfully at Tuz-Kul*. This photo is a glorious reminder that summer is coming. Or at least that it will come.

It’s very easy to hibernate in Almaty. I’ll certainly admit to spending the last couple of weeks hibernating; I’ve felt others doing the same. But Friday was different. No doubt the fact that it was Friday played a major role, and the fact that a brutal cold snap had just ended. But the difference was bigger than just these things. Better. Like everyone had decided, all together, to brush the ice crystals from their hunched shoulders, and emerge from their wintry dens.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a spiritual person, really. But there seemed to be some sort of positive, universal energy coursing through Almaty yesterday. Sam felt it too. Like something marvelous is on the way…

*This word means “salt lake” in Kazakh. Yup, the lake is salty. It’s super-duper smelly, too. Khan Tengri, the second-tallest peak in the Tien Shan mountain range, can be seen on the left horizon. This peak is located at approximately the place where the borders of China, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan meet.

 

This is why:
Cabbies who know exactly which hotel you’re talking about. Baked beans and bangers for breakfast. Greek yogurt. Walkability, oh, sweet walkability. Lovely, charming old architecture. Sipping a decaf latte on a chilly, sunny morning. Coffee shop baristas who don’t shoot you nasty, sideways looks for using the bathroom without purchasing a drink. Sidewalk etiquette. Exceptional manners. Parks and parks and parks with friendly squirrels who approach you to ask for a snack (yes, really, and then follow you down the sidewalk even after you’ve shown that you have no snacks to share). Getting my hair cut for the first time in a year-and-a-half. Being called any of the following, by women and men: Love, Darling, Dear. The swans in front of Buckingham Palace. Clean, effective public transportation. Take-away cafes with a marvelous selection: bento boxes, curry tofu with edamame, sesame-teriyaki chicken. FISH & CHIPS AND A CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE. Great accents (duh). Great fashion sense. Thoughtful news reporters hosting meaningful interviews with educated individuals. Pedestrian-focused neighborhoods. Microscopic urban grocery stores that carry the following items (despite their small size): rice krispie treats, chocolate milk, gourmet coconut-vanilla flavoured popcorn, Nutella, Burt’s Bees lip balm, kiwis, bananas, oranges, and Cadbury Creme Eggs. Victoria’s Secret. GAP. H&M. Banana Republic. Department stores filled with lovely, shiny things. Trying on clothes before purchasing them. Peaceful, beautifully-designed art galleries and museums with inspiring works by famous artists. Knowing that I’ll be back in March—this time with Sam.

{Above: Photo taken inside a bathroom stall at the National Gallery.}

Okay. Let’s study the above image carefully. Start in the upper left corner with the backhoe perched at the top of a long, dirt ramp—we’ll use the car parked there as a gauge of perspective.

Follow the ramp down into the hole, noticing that the bottom is quite deep—I would estimate 25 – 30 feet below street-level. (You can just barely glimpse the street running along the top of this photo, beyond the corrugated steel fencing.) Notice also the distinct lack of shoring (def. a structural system used to stabilize a building, structure, or trench to avoid collapse).

Now, what’s that in the hole, you ask? That’s a portion of the corrugated steel fencing, and a great deal of THE ROAD—all of which toppled into the hole after the freezing-and-melting ground gave out.

Let’s continue our tour of the hole by coming around to the foreground of the photo. Here, the edge of the hole disappears due to its proximity to the USAID office from which this photo was taken. DUE TO ITS PROXIMITY.

We’ve been assured that our office is in no danger of falling into the hole, but assurances were surely made that the road wouldn’t collapse into the hole, either. Is the booming (although dysfunctional) local construction industry to blame, or is it the fact that its rapid growth has outpaced government regulation and enforcement? Is it corruption? Simply one developer’s attempt to save a few bucks?

Now, discuss.

{Above: The view from Sam’s office. Photograph by Sam Kraegel.}

 

 

Winter is a great giver of gifts: lots of time off of work for the holidays (especially here in Kazakhstan), guilt-free holiday over-indulgences, SNOW! and these little oranges. Which I had completely forgotten about when winter rolled around, despite the fact that they became a mainstay and staple in our home last year.

They’re mandarin oranges, folks. Yup, exactly the mini variety that we used to eat in those overly-sweetened fruit cups as kids. Except that they’re amazing in their true, real-life form. No added sugar necessary. The trick is to buy them at the Green Bazaar, or from one of the street-side fruit vendors, with the leaves on.

LIKE CANDY. They peel like a dream, and they honestly couldn’t have come at a better time, as I’ve spent the last three days lying in bed, like death warmed over, fighting off THE COLD FROM HELL. Instant Vitamin C infusion! And because these little guys weigh only about an ounce a piece, both Sam and I will easily eat six to ten of them in a single sitting. Hey, it’s fruit, right?

Much of the produce that we eat here in Kazakhstan is imported—these oranges (obviously) included. Mandarins (a large class of citrus fruit that includes clementines and tangerines) originated in south-eastern Asia, but are now grown throughout the world. Sadly, I’m still puzzled as to exactly where these sweet little jewels come from. Certainly some garden of the gods…

This is how New Year’s resolutions make me feel:

So this year, I’m calling my resolution a project. Has a nice, artsy, achievable sound to it, right?

This is the project:
In an attempt to breathe a little life into this blog, I’ve committed myself to weekly posts during 2015.

These are the rules:
1.) Post one time each week; the title of each post will begin with “Week 1:”, “Week 2:”, etc.
2.) Each post must include one photograph; the photograph should be relevant to the content.
3.) The length of each post will vary, but should be no longer than 250 words.
4.) See! That’s not so bad, right??

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The photo above was taken on Thursday, January 1st, in the garbage-filled lot behind my and Sam’s apartment building. Usually, by January, there’s enough snow to cover up all of the trash, making this lot a strangely serene place for a dog-walk. This year, it’s been unusually warm so the melting snow revealed this little gem. When I showed this photo to Sam, he said, “Eeeugh, that makes me really uncomfortable, for some reason…“.

Merry Christmas, all! Too often I start these blog posts with (queuing Eeyore voice), “Oh boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve written…” But it’s Christmastime. I’m not going to make excuses, or set unachievable goals for future posts. Instead, I’m going to treat this post like those one-paged snowman-and-snowflake-bordered Christmas letters that are so popular this time of year. We’ll call it The Kraegel Update. Let’s start from the beginning:

Australia | Feb. 2014. Sam likes to share with people, especially fellow USAID employees, that this is the first “Developed” (i.e. not “Developing”) country that I’ve travelled to. This is true. In fact, all of the countries that I’d been to before Australia are major hubs for USAID’s international mission. Not because I have a bleeding heart, but because I’ve always had a virtually empty wallet.

Regardless of its “Developed” status, Australia was like a dream for me. Not entirely by design, the whole trip was about animals: petting animals, swimming with animals, feeding animals, hoping not to be eaten by animals. Sam captured this best when he took a picture of me, smiling idiotically, holding a plastic cup of corn meal, and surrounded by wallabies and kangaroos eager to push their faces into my cup. (You’ll see one of these greedy roos below.)

The Terror of Temerlik Gorge | May 2014. What began as a three-day, two-night camping adventure on the Kazakh steppe ended up as a frustrating week-long ordeal.

In fairness, the first stop on this trip was Tuz-Kul (which means “salt lake” in Kazakh), where I was able to take some of the most beautiful pictures that I’ve taken in Kazakhstan to-date.

The next morning, after an easy drive back in the direction of Almaty, we dipped into a branch of Charyn Canyon (the “Grand Canyon of Kazakhstan”), and set up camp at a beautiful little spot called Temerlik. This shady refuge is an absolute hidden gem; an oasis in every literal sense of the word. Typical camping activities ensued.

It wasn’t until we tried to make our ascent out of the canyon the next afternoon that we realized we had made a terrible mistake. With some trouble, two of the three cars in our caravan made it out of the canyon, but my and Sam’s front-wheel-drive RAV4, well, didn’t.

We split up our group: three headed into town to find help—though everyone they asked ended up being too suspicious or drunk to offer any assistance—while the remaining five spent four hours moving stones and pushing our stubborn car by hand a pathetic 75 feet up the canyon road (which seemed to be made of golf balls and talcum powder—how did we even get into this canyon in the first place?). We still had more than 300 feet to go. Long story short, Purdy the RAV4 spent a couple of nights deep in the Kazakh dessert, far, far from home.

A few days later, Sam and one of our duty drivers drove 300km back into the dessert. First, they picked up a few members of the Kazakh Ministry of Extraordinary Situations (yup, that’s the real translation). Then, they gathered the requisite two drunk dudes with filthy shirts from the nearest town who wanted to watch an ancient Soviet UAZ haul our sad, modern car out of the canyon in less than 15 minutes. You can see Sam celebrating below.

The silver lining to this dark cloud is that Sam got to see an extremely rare white bactrian camel and its white camel-baby on his way to the canyon.

Andrea & Will Come to Kazakhstan! | Aug. 2014. Let it be known that Andrea and Will win the friend award. Watching them walk towards us through customs at the Almaty airport was one of the happiest moments in my time here. Aside from the obvious fun of playing tour guide, their visit allowed me to see our wacky life through fresh eyes. Had life overseas changed us? Worse yet: what if it hadn’t?

The overwhelming verdict was that we (but especially I) had become more fearless. While both Sam and I knew this on some level, it was reassuring to hear it from friends who knew us so well before our overseas adventure began. Even more? It was a relief to realize that we no longer needed to fake it (confidence, self-assurance, whatever…)—Almaty? Yeah, we got that.

The Kregors Leave Almaty | Oct. 2014. This isn’t really our life event to write about, but it was certainly one of those “shit that you have to deal with in the Foreign Service” events. Matt and Megan were our first and closest friends in Almaty. They left Kazakhstan on October 1 for sunnier shores (literally—they moved to Sacramento, CA). They’ve already been added to the Skype roster (but Almaty hasn’t been quite the same for us without them).

Russia | Oct. 2014. I’m a little embarrassed to say now that Sam and I expected Russia to be the dreary, post-soviet, Kafka-esque dystopia that we all imagine it to be. We have never been more wrong. Russia is a beautiful country with solid, stoic, hard-working people who loved hearing our story. (It didn’t hurt that we knew a little Russian.) Believe it or not, Russians and Americans are super-duper similar. Turns out propaganda is a sneaky little bitch, folks—I don’t care how smart you are, you’re not smart enough to see through it. A major idea, echoed again and again throughout the trip? Politics are not the same as people.

Sarah Starts a Business | Nov. 2014. Welcome to The Art Room! Here, kids ages 3 – 14 enjoy one-on-one drawing, painting, and printmaking classes while learning the basics of visual art, visual culture, and art history. Art is for kids of all ages! Art helps young children nurture their innate creativity and develop fine motor skills; in older children, art helps build self-confidence and problem-solving skills. (Want to know a little more? Click here.)

Sam Gets Assigned | Dec. 2014. There is something about knowing that you will leave a place that makes you fall out of love with it. Like any flesh-and-blood relationship, you know when it’s over: the slow dwindling of affections, the general malaise and disinterest, the reluctance to return phone calls…

In all seriousness, Sam and I went through a falling-out-of-love phase with Almaty in late August. The first bid list had just been released, and suddenly the world (well, a handful of select locations throughout the world, anyway) opened up to us. Why would we stay in Almaty when we had Lima, Tbilisi, or Accra to set our sights on? The flirting began.

But it didn’t last long. After a series of conversations with his fellow contracting officers, and a major reality check, he (we) realized that staying in Almaty was actually our very best possible option: it’s one of the nicest posts that USAID has to offer; we love each of the four seasons—especially for the camping, hiking, and skiing; we love our apartment; I have a job with the consulate, and was just getting my art-teaching business up and running; but best of all—we wouldn’t have to pack up our lives again this spring. Sam bid Kazakhstan number one; they bid him number one. Then the waiting began.

There is something about knowing that you will stay in a place that makes you fall back in love with it, too. Today marks exactly 19 months since Sam and I left the Unites States. Even with the various daily frustrations that we experience in Kazakhstan, we’ve come to appreciate it for what it is. Kazakhstan is our comfy, long-term relationship.

After a significant amount of waiting and hoping and crossing fingers (and then anger because we might have to start the whole bidding process over again…), Sam’s name appeared next to his desired position on the assignment list. So, for those of you who haven’t visited us yet in Central Asia, you have plenty of time to plan your trip—we’ll be living here until May 2017.

Wishing you all a merry, bright, and peaceful holiday season!
Sarah & Sam, Hank & Mishka

There are lots of things that no one tells you before you join the Foreign Service. One is that it’s more difficult to be the stay-at-home, unemployed (or under-employed) spouse—more commonly referred to as the “Eligible Family Member.” (I’m not entirely certain what I’m eligible for, but I have a feeling that I haven’t gotten it yet…) Either way, this is a topic for an entirely different post.

Something else that no one tells you before you join the Foreign Service is that you’ll soon be living in a fishbowl: everyone in the community works and lives and drinks and shops and plays and hikes and dines together. Anonymity is dead. It’s like high school all over again, except with weirder cliques—whether or not you have children most often decides your friend group; gossip is rampant (but god it feels so good sometimes!), and no secret is safe as long as it’s juicy.

Don’t get me wrong: there are days that I cherish my ready-made community, where I feel like this is exactly the type of life I’ve been searching for. But there are also days where I feel infinity suffocated. Imagine having a professional disagreement with the same person that you have happy hour plans with. Can you put the argument behind you? Do you fake it in order to preserve the “happiness” of happy hour? Or, do you skip the event altogether? These are my fishbowl days.

My worst fishbowl days typically occur on Mondays—my day off. What I originally thought would be a little gift to myself each week, has instead become a source of anxiety, or even guilt—resulting from a lack of discipline when it comes to my art practice. To compensate, I lean on other interests or focus on the handful of odd roles that I (and Sam) now play—small communities demand diversity from their inhabitants in order to survive. But despite the diversity of my (our) roles, they exist in a closed community where the reach is limited. Below is a sampling:

1.) The desperate diplomat. This is neither a frequent role, nor an attractive one, but when your car is stuck in “the Grand Canyon of Kazakhstan” for two days, 250 kilometers away from home, and none of the locals is either willing or sober enough to help out, it’s okay to be a little desperate.

2.) The wife of the employee of the boss who had to get outta town. This means that you will help your husband’s boss’s wife and their two small daughters haul nine gigantic bags, two car seats, and a stroller to the airport. In the middle of the night. Because it’s your job.

3.) The decorating committee. Because there is so much turnover at post, institutional knowledge of any kind becomes your life blood. My little volunteer stint last year on the 4^th of July decorating committee propelled me, this year, to the level of Independence Day Celebration Expert.

4.) The yoga instructor. Sam plays dual roles at post. By day he wields the FAR, defending government rules and regulations, but twice a week, he puts on a different hat (erm…pair of gym shorts) to offer free yoga classes to anybody who’s interested.

5.) The art teacher. And after I’ve taught your kids drawing, painting, and print-making, I can cut your hair, then redecorate your office.

6.) The dog lady. Cardboard boxes full of puppies are real! And even though the puppies are every bit as cuddly and wonderful as you would expect, the responsibility of finding homes for them (and taking care of them until I do) is nothing short of daunting.

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Fleeing the Fishbowl

The friends that we have here are, I believe, the best thing about our life in Kazakhstan. But sometimes, it all becomes too much—there are only so many parties at the same place with the same people and the same food and the same conversations that one can take. Sometimes, the best thing about living in Almaty is being able to leave it all behind.

If thirteen months in Almaty has taught me anything, it’s to not undervalue the power of the weekend getaway. Pack your bags, your beer, and your dog—it turns out that all things are made better by a camping trip:

Today marks the one-year anniversary of our arrival in Almaty, Kazakhstan. It would be an understatement to say that it’s been a difficult year, but it would be a lie to say that it has been without reward.

In one year, Sam and I have become fitter and more fearless. We’ve significantly increased the number of red blood cells in our bodies (see “physiological adjustments to high altitude”), and spilled plenty of sweat on the rocks and ice of the surrounding mountains. We’ve become wildly defensive drivers, dog-owners, throwers of still-talked-about Halloween parties, just-enough-to-get-by Russian-speakers, and at the end of it all—diplomats.

In our opinion, there is no better way to celebrate our reluctant, hard-won affection for Kazakhstan than to share a collection of Almaty’s love-tags captured over the course of the past year.

From Almaty, with love,
Sam & Sarah