Our local canyon

Just 200kms from Almaty is a "mini" Grand Canyon. Called the Charyn Canyon, this fab feature apparently stretches for 80kms across the steppe and on Sunday myself, the girls and five other carloads all set off to explore the first kilometer of it inside the national park. 

As a first trip, this was a good fact finding mission and confirmed that the canyon is a pretty impressive place to visit, easy to find and will definitely be amazing to camp in during the summer. 

Come back Allia - the snow is melting!

It snowed all of the last long weekend, and Tuesday was a stunning morning of clear skies, the glorious mountains running majestically along the side of Almaty, a magnificent back drop to all our errands and movements. From the city you could even see the chair lift lines running up with hill at Chimbulak, the ski resort. 

On Tuesday I had lots to do. Bike shopping, groceries, trips to the bank (I finally have my own cash card after only 7 months of having to ask husband for cash as and when required) and so, despite numerous calls and texts from friends up the hill telling me how fabulous the snow was, I didn't go. 

On Wednesday I packed my napsack, put on my ski long johns and was ready to leave as soon as the nanny arrived. But 9 o'clock came and went and no sign. And she didn't turn up. Couldn't be contacted by phone. Did not call. Strange. 

All day long people called me from the slopes telling me how perfect the conditions were. Meanwhile, down in town, Connie and I made a chicken casserole and felt quite bored. 

And today again she is missing, so we have called Gulya, her daughter, who also doesn't know what has happened to her. A mystery. I hope she is OK, and that she comes back tomorrow so that I will not miss the rest of the ski season thru lack of nanny care. The temperatures are rising and every day missed is a day lost - agh! 

Birthday surprise

Our eldest daughter is eight today. It feels like more than eight years since she was born in Brazil, 5 countries ago - blimey!

We bought her a new bike, super snazzy with gears and everything. I visited several shops to obtain said bike. The first place, Limpopo, does not sell bikes until April. The second place is called Robinson and had been recommended as an outdoorsy type of place. It is a bizarre fishing shop stacked full of rods and nets, and bizarrely fronted with two full size sets of armour which you have to pass to get in. The armour stands just in front of a scuba diving section, so you feel as if you are walking into some kooky S&M store! They don't sell bikes, but I did discover that I could buy a smaller tent than the one I found on the internet in the UK the other day for only four times its European price - I must bear that in mind for later...

At the next shop they had a choice of one new (but scratched) bike, coming in at an extortionate 35000 tenge (I think that is a lot for a kids bike but perhaps I am not in touch with the cost of these things), and since there was no choice and it was scratched, I did not buy it. Moving on, I tried Dinamo which has the atmosphere of a failing government-run department store. It has a very patchy and rather sad selection of things to buy - lots of boxing gloves, a smattering of chinese-made ice skates, and some dance wear. They had two bikes of the kind that might be donated to an orphanage and had obviously been manufactured in about 1980. And one gleaming blue and white number which was also around the 40000 tenge mark. 

Finally I tried Extreme sports near our house which is a dark little place selling some new and some used ski and snow board gear. It smells of sweaty shoes and the two young men who run it obviously only wash when they start to really smell, but they were nice and helpful and had four bikes of the right size to choose from.  So I bought one, and this morning Beatriz was presented with her bike which is the perfect size and has a speedometer on the handlebars and she was completely delighted. Job done!

She even managed to look surprised, despite her younger sisters big mouth efforts after swimming the other day:

"Bia, you know why Mummy hasn't bought you your present yet?"

"No, why?"

"Because they didn't have any bikes for sale!"

Well done Big Mouth. I called Sasha to me, and explained that she might have just blown any surprise for the birthday girl. 

"Mmm," she said, "Perhaps she will forget?" she hopefully suggested. 

Oasis of Englishness

Our new school is so embryonic. Everything is being done for the first time and in many ways it is still finding its feet. 

Our very british headmaster (who has never worked in a foreign environment before) is still gamely making every effort to ensure that Haileybury Almaty is an Oasis of Englishness in Kazakhstan, despite the totally blank looks he receives from local parents. 

Our valentines evening was one step at bridging the cultural divide. The headmaster's weekly letter is another way of increasing communication between the school and its public. 

This week's letter was a classic, touching on lots of aspects of school life including our fledgling inter-school sporting competitions and British school uniform rules: 

Inter Schools Darts Competition

Last week witnessed the School’s first ‘home’ sporting fixture: the Swimming Gala. Next Wednesday will be the first ‘away’ sporting fixture, when the School’s Darts Coach, Aldiar Nurgaziev, takes the School Darts team to School Number: 94, on the corner of streets Satpaev and Gagarin, to take part in a competition. 

Plea to All Fathers

Several boys from Year 6 to Year 9 had to replace their ties this week because they were damaged. However, they could not put them on because they did not know how to tie a tie! Could all Fathers please check to make sure their son knows how to put on a tie! Thanks

Oh Ah Carnavaaaaalllll!

After yesterday's moaning morning I cheered myself up with a trip to sensible Dutch friend's house for  a restorative cup of tea and a strange but delicious Kazakh cake made with layers of onions and meat. 

On getting home, the kids and I decided to fully lift ourselves out of the February gloom and align ourselves spiritually with South America by watching the Live DVD of Brazilian Caranaval Diva Ivete Sangalo, Bahian carnaval queen extraordinaire. How fantastic was that? An hour and a bit of hot, pumping dance music, a huge band, latin beats, funk, samba and just long songs that make you Sai do Chao (jump up and down). 

It is amazing how vividly I remember how we felt when we lived in Brazil 10 years ago, and went to various Carnavals (sadly, never one in Salvador), and how amazing it felt, so exciting and so much fun and such a good party. 

We tried to get some more Ivete on Itunes, but despite the fact that she is a massive star with one of the best voices, widest repetoires and most awesome stage presences in the world, they only have four of her songs on the UK iTunes. I dare not download ITunes Brazil for fear of totally messing up my library. ! 

Go to ivetecarnaval2009.ig.com.br/wp/videos/ivete-sangalo-agita-circuito-barra-ondina-com-cade-dalila-assista.html to see her in action in this year's Carnaval. 

I have emailed my friend E in Brazil to get him to send me some new stuff of hers, and he mailed back to say that he and V were in Rio for Carnaval and having an amazing time. Which rather puts me back in a depression as I look out the window and it is pissing with snow again! So different from the beach in Brasiiiiilllll...agh. 

The appeal of Carnaval might not be immediately apparent if you have not been there done it, but basically, if you have loads of energy, then Carnaval is a four day fest of following a Bloco (a band on a lorry) pumping out fantastic music, and jumping up and down in a huge throng of people, drinking beer, flirting your head off with total strangers, staying up all night, and starting dancing and beering it up at about 11 o'clock the next day. It is just a really fabulous blow out. the Carnavals in various cities are different, so in Rio which is very famous, you just watch the Samba schools and dance in the viewing gallery, but in most other places, you all participate and it is just a huge street party. Not everybody's cup of tea, but we liked it! 

In case the link above doesn't work, visit Ivete's website which is at www.ivetesangalo.art.br. She rocks! Click on her blog page and the Carnaval 2009 comes up and you can listen to lots of her songs at the top of her page. 

Aussie wisdom

One of my husband's best friends, an Australian called PG, has a theory about women. "Maaate," he drawls, "All women go mad in their late thirties and early forties,". 

I am on the brink of entering my late thirties, 37 is just around the corner. I suppose I could drag it on until I am 37 and a half before finally admitting to myself that I am in my late thirties, but who heard of a grown up telling people how old she is to the quarter year? I could also tell them how many of my baby teeth have fallen out at the same time. I guess I will just have to accept it, age gracefully and try not to go completely mad.

Yesterday I definitely dallied with late-thirties-syndrome having  a serious wibble about living in Almaty and feeling decidedly miserable for the whole morning. I ended up blubbing at the doctor when she asked me if I felt stressed (I have been getting recurring tummy aches for no apparent reason). It hadn't occurred to me until that point that perhaps I did, and once she asked me, the water works were unstoppably on. Quite embarrassing. "Sorry," I snivelled, "I don't know what is the matter with me. I've been moving for 10 years, this is my 5th country. I can do this, I know how to live abroad. For god's sake, I spend heaps of my time counselling new girls on how to successfully cope with living abroad. Do you think I am getting cancer?" Even as I said this, half my brain was looking askance and muttering to itself "This is not normal behaviour, is it, Gail?"

She patiently listened, having obviously seen pathetic heaps of expat ladies crying before. Then suggested I should go back to the UK for some R&R and to have a break. Not such a simple option with a husband working 7 days a week and three children. Nice idea but not one I will be taking up at the moment I think. 

I feel so cross with myself for being so pathetic. I honestly don't have anything to complain about. OK, Hello magazine is not widely available here, you can't get marmite and there are wild dogs roaming the streets, but it is not as if I live in the heart of Africa surrounded by Tsetse-infested flies, and machete-wielding mercenaries. But then again, I firmly believe one shouldn't compare oneself or one's situation with the lowest common denominator. 

I went and wept on husband in the office for 20 minutes (for once, he didn't ask if I was about to come on, very unusual!). He can't really understand what it is that is bothering me and I can't really say that I do either. 

Doctor says that as one gets older, you start to want things to be a bit more stable and easy. Maybe it is just that the charm of living abroad is wearing off. I am not sure. I still love living abroad. But whereas in our twenties we were tasting the exotic delights of Brazil and acclimatizing to a different beat that involved music, sunshine, beautiful people and a gorgeous language, moving here has been about working your way through the initially surly, soviet attitudes in a city that at the moment is covered in muddy, icy slush; going to zelony bazaar with all its fabulous Tajik fruit sellers, piles of meats, awesome embroidered slippers etc but never knowing how much you should really pay for anything, freezing cold and with those sad old crones trying to sell you larger bags for 5p and veg sellers trying to fob you off with the old crap stuff from behind the display unless you pull them up every time. 

I hope I can make it through the next few years with my head intact, and disprove PG's theory. I spent yesterday having a really good sort out of an as-yet-unpacked bit of the house, and already feel much better. 

Desperate times...

Desperate times require desperate measures, and I am ashamed to admit that the other day when I was trying to do something on my computer (having had no internet connection for nearly three months) and a window popped up asking me "Would you like to join this open network?" I thought to myself, "Yes, I really, really would," so I clicked Yes and for a few joyous days had really quite fast internet connection in my kitchen without having to go to Cafe Delia to log in. 

I admitted my terrible crime to a few friends and reaction was mixed. Some people thought it was really naughty to steal someone's bandwidth without them knowing. Others thought it was fair game - it is easy enough to lock your network if you wish. 

My guess was that the account belongs to a technically incompetent housewife whose husband was away on business, and that as soon as he came home, it would automatically be shut off, as the direct result of a conversation that would run something along the lines of, 

"Oh, by the way, darling, the men came and installed the internet,"

"Great, where did you get them to install it?"

"In the kitchen," 

"What? Why didn't you get them to put it in the study?" 

"Because you are hardly ever here and I am always in the kitchen," 

"Oh well, never mind. Is it any good?" 

"Well, it doesn't seem to be as fast as I thought it would be. At least sometimes it is really fast and other times it seems very slow"

"Weird. I will look into it. What is the password?"

"What password?"

I reckon I could not have been far off with my guess. And, last Tuesday, the connection stopped. 

But on Wednesday our OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive 2Day Telecom account was set up, including a receiver on the roof. And as I type this, I am listening to the radio on the internet and blogging to my hearts content. 

I mentioned to Gulya who came with the technicians to install it (and sat for over an hour playing games on her mobile phone before leaving) that it was quite pricey and she just laughed and said, "Well, that is because there is no competition."