Old New Year's and a Visit to the Ice Village

Morning comes late these days to Astana. Well sunrise I mean. I woke up around 7 to pitch darkness on the street and now at 9am, the winter sun shows its light. When the sky is clear, sunrises can be very beautiful here. I like the way the morning light dances on the Ministry of Finance building–a modern glass structure built in the ess shape of a dollar sign. The moon shines bright in the morning sky, slowly fading away as its blue background turns from a deep to light blue.

Breakfast is a pot of tea and a trubochka s cremom, the fabled pastry from my short story. Esenzhol, one of my students showers me with these and other pastries every time he comes for a lesson. He’s my best student–hard working, dedicated, disciplined. He’s also very handsome and we have a friendly rapport more like friends than teacher and student. Part of me wants to throw all caution to the wind and have an affair with him but I refrain, knowing the troubled outcome. First of all, he’s 18 and secondly I’m a firm believer in the adage “Don’t shit where you eat.” So instead, each pastry I treat as a kiss, a sign of affection from this young man who charges into my house with enthusiasm and excitement three times a week. After a 3 week absence, yesterday Esenzhol came running up the stairs laden with lots of pastries. He was so excited and full of news and just glad to be studying English again. Besides the obligatory trubochki, he brought meringuey sweets in all guises–a double poof, shaped like mushrooms, one with gooey sweetness in a pastry shell topped with mysterious red sugary balls accented with frosting leaves. I didn’t tell him how much I don’t like these sickly sweet delicacies that would kill any diabetic on the spot but instead thanked him graciously. I had the gall to take him into the store and show him the kind of trubochki I like, the ones with cream not meringue (he was offering me the meringue ones which are so filled with sugar I get a headache). This upset him and he moped like a puppy that doesn’t understand what he did wrong. I felt bad but I was more concerned with him not wasting his money on things I wouldn’t eat. Yesterday I gave him a gift–a black watch cap with the NY Yankee logo stitched on it and a CD mix done by my dear friend Danny(you gave me two of the same one DR, so just decided to spread the music around). Esenzhol dreams of seeing New York and he loves music so I figured these small gifts would be perfect for him. He paced around the apartment with such amazement after I presented him with these gifts, going in and out of the bathroom, trying on his hat, positioning it this way and that, popping his head out to show me and get reassurance that it looked cool. After over-hyped American Christmas and living rooms scattered with wrapping paper and unappreciated gifts lying about, it gave me such joy to see someone get so excited over a $5 knit cap.

Last night, for youse out of the know, was Old Russian New Year. Usually I would be decked to the nines with my NYC Russophile posse down on Brighton Beach for a night of celebrating at the Natsional but that was last Saturday. This year was spent with my Astana posse at the Samovar restaurant. While there wasn’t dancing and a floor show, we had a great time catching up and toasting in the new year. Afterwards, all 5 of us piled into a small cab and drove over to the fabulous Ice Village. I had watched them cut bricks of ice from the river back in December and now I was here among the finished product. An entire village of sculptures and castles with slides all made out of ice. At night the icy structures were lit up in coloured lights which turned it into a glowing fantasy land on the freezing Steppe. Guys dressed up as Santa stood around waiting for people to pose with them for a photograph. They charge a few bucks for this (hell I would too, standing out in the freezing cold) but we haggled with one to get a free picture with my camera. Came out rather blurry, but what do you want for free? The temperature had dropped last night and I realized that I forgot to wear my long underwear, ergo my bottom half was getting rather cold. The top half was fine, layered and topped with my new rabbit fur hat I bought at the Village Hat Shop in San Diego (excuse the plug). Funny how a hat is made in China, sent to California and now winds up in Kazakhstan, next door to its birthplace. Despite the cold, I was not passing up an opportunity to slide down the monster ice slide. Irina, Chris’ wife and I have the same sense of adventure (I’d love to ride on a roller coaster with her) so up we went the spiral staircase about 3 stories high to slide down. The staircase was packed with other daredevils young and old, I love how everyone form small kids and old drunk ladies have no qualms about sliding down a high gradient of ice. As we climbed the stairs and I looked at the interior wall of the castle, I saw how some of the blocks leaned a bit and had large gaps between them. Could this thing collapse on us? Maybe but the cold seemed to hold it all together last night. With my trusty plastic bag, I sat down and with one big push, went flying down the icy slope. A bit bumpy but fun. I didn’t go as far as I expected but all in all it was great fun. By then, my hands, ass, legs and nose were frozen enough so we headed to Chris and Irina’s place for a warm up of coffee and cognac (my how that went to the toes and finger tips quickly).

I got up early this morning and laid in bed finishing a book I started on the plane the other day, West of Kabul, East of New York by Tamim Ansary. A great book about growing up in Afghanistan and America and all the conflicts and dilemmas one faces among the two cultures. Now that Afghanistan is sort of the darling of the literary scene these days and more and more books are being published, this is one that you should read to help understand what Afghan culture is like, what Afghanistan was like and it speaks a lot about Islam as well. A good read. Rates up there with The Kite Runner on my list of Afghanistan must reads. The authour discusses growing up biculturally as like straddling a crack in the earth. If the cultures are far apart, one feels the need to lean more to side or the other. I dwell on that now as I straddle two worlds, the overseas post-Soviet Union life and the artistic life of New York. Do I need to firmly place both my feet on one side or can I balance my weight evenly? That is the puzzling question I grapple with these early days of 2007. 10 years ago I lived in Ekaterinburg, the border of Europe and Asia. We would go out to the border marker and put one leg in Europe and the other in Asia no problem. Now I find myself needing to choose a side. Will it be Europe or Asia? But do I really need to choose? Comments and advise please!