Kreschenskiy Moroz. That’s what it’s called in Russian. Kreschenskiy Moroz. A literal translation would be "Baptismal Frost", but I like the sound of it better in Russian. Plus it has more meaning in the original. So what does nose tingling, feet freezing cold have to do with a baptism? Well, let me tell you. 19 January, this Friday, on the Russian Orthodox calendar is Krescheniye–baptism, which refers to when apparently when Jesus was baptized (although was he 
baptized??). Anyway, nowadays devout believers reaffirm their faith by being rebaptized on that day. So the local Russian Orthodox church goes down to the frozen river, cuts a big cross-shaped hole in the ice and starting Thursday at midnight, the truly faithful (and crazy) go down and dunk themselves in the icy cold waters of the Ishim. My colleague Irina is planning on doing this and I decided to join her. Hell if I can start the New Year off by swimming in the Atlantic on Coney Island, I can give the Ishim a try. Mind you this just doesn’t happen in Astana but all over Russia as well. Back in the old days, the Tsar used to drink a glass of icy cold water from the Neva to symbolize his rebaptizing. So look for pics on me swimming about on Friday dear readers.
Now why did I bring all that up? Oh yeah, because it’s been really cold here. Luckily the wind hasn’t been blowing otherwise the -18/20 degrees Celsius would be a nut numbing -40 or so. The sky has been clear, the sun shining bright and the little snowflakes fly around like silver glitter in the air. At night they rest in piles on the sidewalks all glittery and sparkling in different colours. I love this time of year, the deep of winter in this part of the world. So magical and beautiful. Some people complain
and groan but I love it. The lighting is spectacular and I’ve been snapping away on my digital camera. Besides pursuing artistic interests, I’ve put together a busy schedule of teacher trainings and classes to fill up my time until the end of February. Already I started work with some students in a local high school–my every Tuesday gig. I’m being bombarded by private students as well and soon I may be giving lessons round the clock. Seems everyone is free in the evenings when I don’t have any more room left. Mornings are free but 
there are just no morning people here in Astana!
there are just no morning people here in Astana! Started "In Cold Blood" the other day and am loving it. Why is it that it has taken me years to get around to reading this great novel? Everything in its own time. Hey I still haven’t plowed through "Anna Karenina" or "War and Peace" ( can’t believe I let that secret out!). Anyway, with my jet-lagged, erratic sleep patterns, I’m up at all hours of the early morning reading away about the murder of the Clutters and the ensuing man hunt to find the killers. I’ve become as of recently a big Capote fan and am trying to get some of these stodgy English teachers to use some of his short stories in class. We’ll see how that goes.
One of my students, Erik, invited me over for a lunch of Beshparmak on Sunday. Beshparmak is 
a traditional Kazakh dish of potatoes, wide noodles and horse meat. People say it varies depending on the cook but to me it seems all the same and tastes all the same. This was the first time I’ve actually been invited to someone’s house for the dish. When I divulged that, Erik piled more horsemeat on my plate. I tried to stop him but that’s next to impossible when you are the main guest. I don’t mind the horse meat but the horse sausage is a little too much for me. It tastes fine but just the look and texture of it puts me off a bit. I found it manageable when I took the rubber ring of intestine off. Seemed it needed a sauce or something but I was a bit hesitant to ask, not wanting to step on cultural or hostesses’ feet. Erik’s cousin dutifully made the dish and served us, she was ever so gracious and in full on hostess mode. I wonder if they were trying to indirectly set me up with her. Who knows. We watched "Madagascar" and downed more and more Beshparmak until it was pretty much gone. A very pleasant time had by all and I was thankful to be invited into a Kazakh’s home. Not many people have invited me to their homes so it was nice to finally be invited.
a traditional Kazakh dish of potatoes, wide noodles and horse meat. People say it varies depending on the cook but to me it seems all the same and tastes all the same. This was the first time I’ve actually been invited to someone’s house for the dish. When I divulged that, Erik piled more horsemeat on my plate. I tried to stop him but that’s next to impossible when you are the main guest. I don’t mind the horse meat but the horse sausage is a little too much for me. It tastes fine but just the look and texture of it puts me off a bit. I found it manageable when I took the rubber ring of intestine off. Seemed it needed a sauce or something but I was a bit hesitant to ask, not wanting to step on cultural or hostesses’ feet. Erik’s cousin dutifully made the dish and served us, she was ever so gracious and in full on hostess mode. I wonder if they were trying to indirectly set me up with her. Who knows. We watched "Madagascar" and downed more and more Beshparmak until it was pretty much gone. A very pleasant time had by all and I was thankful to be invited into a Kazakh’s home. Not many people have invited me to their homes so it was nice to finally be invited. OK, I have to go and get new toner for our copy machine and get some work done before the parade of students begins this afternoon. Keep warm wherever you are darlings!
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