Bienvenido A Muxax

The ride to Zaqatala was long, but not so grueling (especially comparing our marshutka to the group going  hours farther than us, with an extra person and about 3 feet less of vehicle length). We dropped off each new Volunteer one by one as we headed North up what we call the middle finger, which is the lump of land that extends upward from the middle of Azerbaijan (Baku is the thumb). My village is the farthest north, so thusly I was the last dropped off. I paid the driver the lump sum for all of us, and he waited with me under the deer statue that signifies the road to Muxax, my village, until someone came to pick up the very solitary foreign girl.

My welcome brigade pulled up in a taxi; all four women were smushed side-by-side in the backseat, as is proper for women who are not related to the (usually male) driver. They consisted of my fellow teachers, one being Assistant Director, and one being the Director's wife. One was Aynur, my counterpart who was at the conference in Baku. They are a friendly lot and were downright giddy to finally see me.

The first impressions of my new home were a little worrying. I was greeted by Nefset, who I knew to be a homemaker, and who didn't seem too thrilled to have me parading into her house with my deluge of bags and my army of school teachers. She is quite honestly the only thin middle-aged Azerbaijani woman I have seen in my time here. I knew she was single (a widow), and I assumed her to be somewhat cold and heart broken, almost down-trodden. We all sat a bit awkwardly at the dining room/ living room/ family room table and tried to talk as much as we could over tea. Eventually the Director himself arrived to pick up his wife, and I got to say hello and again facilitate awkward moments of not having anything to say (in Azeri or English).

Later, I asked Aynur where the bathroom was. She proceded to lead me at least a quarter of a mile out into the yard, over a tiny stream, through a gate, to the outhouse which is next to the chicken coop. My heart fell as low as the poop does when I laid eyes on the gaping hole that will serve as my "throne" for the next two years.

Dinner was fried chicken (my least favorite meat), and of course since Azeris are the most hospitible beings on the planet, I was forked over the "best" pieces (which is the white meat, which I detest). I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself at this point, when Rubabe came home, followed closely by Mahir, my 18-year-old brother. Rubabe is my other host mother, she is big-boned and full-figured, has a deep, warm voice like toffee, and is a winker. She instantly took away the awkwardness and summoned smiles from everybody. After the entourage of teachers left, I saw the true form of Nefset and her home come to life.

Rubabe is Nefset's sister-in-law, her late husband's sister. Mahir is Nefset's son. Rubabe has grown children, even two granddaughters, but her husband has passed as well. So my home situation is a little unique, and I'm still not sure how Rubabe decided to move in to Nefset's home. But its a really comfortable and warm place where they like to rag on Mahir for being lazy and a poor student, yet cook him tasty meals and cakes, serve him tea, clean up after him. (But he does offer me tea when he gets a cup for himself, so don't get the wrong impression.)

 We were sitting just the three of us on the first night, watching tv, when the door opens, and a young man weilding a kebob enters. he suspends it towards me and says, "Buyurun (here you go)". I am introduced to one of the three 20-something year old neighbor boys. Soon afterwards his young wife comes over too, 8-month-old baby in tow. They've got quite a beautiful brood next door, and just as beautiful of a house. It is the home of Rubabe's brother and his family; two of the sons are married, and as it goes in Azerbaijan, the young wives have left their own families and moved into their husbands' home.  

That evening I also got to take an extremly lovely bath in our hamam, which is attached to the house, but only accessible from the front porch. It has a bath tub, a huge water heater, and nowhere for the heat to fly out of, which is all I need.

I had kept convincing myself the whole night that Aynur had showed me the only bathroom (tualet) she knew about, that actually she was unaware of the real tualet that the family members use, that when I would be shown by Rubabe or Nefset where to relieve myself, she would lead me to a room in the back of the house which would be quaint, yet indoors, and a big relief for my heart. I somehow managed to not pee the rest of the night until morning, and I timidly asked my new host mother, "yalniz tualet ordadir?" only tualet is over there?, she smiled and said, "ha, ordadir. bashga tualet yoxdur", there is no other tualet.

Fortunatley my first impressions of Nefset (Neppe baji [sister], as we call her) as being unfriendly were wrong. She is a lovely and lively woman who reminds me a bit of my own mother: beautiful and works too much. I had heard her mention that she wasn't expecting me at the time I arrived, which explains her flustered attitude as I stumbled through her front gate. Also, the four teachers who I was with she barely knows, which would make anybody uncomfortable in their own home; not to mention, teachers apparently can be very clique-y.

I am very comfortable in my new home. I have (almost) gotten used to the outhouse, and Mahir has proven himself just as annoying as a real younger brother. I'd say Rubabe is the man of the house; she is very protective over me and is willing to yell at anybody who tries to give me trouble. I think we make a pretty swell household, if not sitcom-worthy. Let's see if I can make it here for the next two years. It's what we're all gunning for.

My First Time... in Baku

Yesterday was a fun and exciting day. We finally got to go on our Baku trip, our first foray into the shimmering capital of our host country.

The only other big city I've been to abroad is Osaka, and we didn't do much there. So I was duely dazzled by Baku. Yet it also brought me back home via comforts not available outside the city: brewed coffee, chips and salsa, a shot of tequila, and a 5-floored shopping mall complete with a bangin' Food Court.

I went with my cluster, with Rashad as our tour guide. Our first stop was the Peace Corps office, wherein the staff works of course, but also where the PCV lounge is: a cozy oversized living room complete with two sofas, a tv, coffee table, dining room table, personalized cubbies, and, most importantly, shkafs and shkafs (shelves) of books (which are donated and  free to check out). There is also a resource room that has computers, printers, Peace Corps reference books and journals, and, most importantly, internet. One last thing: the oversized bathroom is filled with used stuff that has been donated by former PCVs and is free for our taking (but only once we are official PCVs, which will happen at Swearing-In Ceremony, Dec 9th). I really want to sift through the piles for winter gear.

We got a tour of the entire office, then headed back on a bus towards the center of the city. We stopped at Baku Roasting Company, one of the few places in the whole country where one can get coffee that is brewed. It was a little strange walking in there because it looked exactly like America, plus most of the clientele were white Americans, having brunch with their families, speaking English. I wanted to reach out and cling to them, to ask them everything about why they are here, and what they think about Azerbaijan. But I left the poor souls alone, cause although we share a language and a culture, those upper class families having coffee in the capital are so different from us Peace Corps folk. We see the country, and especially its people, for what it really is; they live in a priveleged bubble. There's nothing wrong with it; they're leading their lives in the way that suits them, and that's exactly what I'm doing too. But the situation rekindled in me the zeal I have for what I am doing. I want to meet people, not, for example, as waiters or waitresses working at the restaurant I eat at, but as brothers and sisters, mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, in their own homes, eating the food we prepared together. What am I saying? It's perfectly ok to get to know the person working at the restaurant, but it's just not the same as the alternative. If you don't understand, don't worry. I'm not sure I do, either.

Long tangent is over, back on track to Baku. The coffee was euphoric, especially paired with the homemade alma (apple) muffin that was sweet crumbly delicate sponginess perfection in a muffin cup. From BRC, we trekked seawards, and passed the still-in-construction Flame Towers, which are a pretty neat sight to behold. There is a clip on YouTube from Modern Marvels, or some show that is on Discovery Science that talks about them. You should check it out (cause I'm not going to spend my time explaining them for you). Our next sight was Martyr's Lane, an aesthetically pleasing monument to those who got killed on Iyirmi Yanvar (Jan 20th), when the Russian Army unexpectedly attacked Baku in 1990 and murdered every Azerbaijani in sight. We bought red carnations, which are symbols of mourning, to put on the graves. Martyr's Alley extends to an overlook to the Caspian, where there is an eternally burning flame in a high-rise dome that is most delightful to the eye. Check Facebook for the pictures.

From there, we did some serious walking towards the urban center of the city, where all the fun shops and restaurants are. We had lunch at an Irish Pub called Finnegan's, and again I felt like I was in the States again. Everything was in English and I got chips and salsa because they had a mini Mexican section on the back of the menu. Most other people got burgers (two other clusters had joined us by now as well). Fiona and I decided to get shots of Tequila, just because we could. Oh, nostalgia.

Then we finally got to what's called Old City, which, gee whiz, is the oldest part of the city. There were a bunch of touristy shops and stands, plus Maiden's Tower, which I don't have the scoop on yet, but when I do, I'll let you know about it.  We continued walking and reached the Boulevard, which runs parallel to the sea and is a fun place to meet, hosting juice stands, a carousel, a huge tv screen, a cactus garden, and even porta potties. At the end of the long stretch of Boulevard, our mistress awaited. The giant mall whose name I have forgotten.

We headed straight upstairs to the Food Court, which is a glorious sight for any person who likes to eat. Most worldwide cuisines are represented, plus it has innovative desert slash fruit juice and smoothie stands. One of these is the waffle stand. It's not just any waffle stand; pffft, they probably don't even have maple syrup. It's a mega deluxe 24-different -toppings, plus ice cream waffle stand. I got the 7 manat masterpiece, which is a freshly pressed waffle with nutella, bananas, apples, pomegrante, cherries, raspberries, grapes, orange slices, xurma slices, peaches (you get to choose the fruit & toppings), aaannnnddd two scoops of ice cream, from out of many interesting flavors I chose lemon and caramel, to top it off. Needless to say, it was fucking delicious and I broke two plastic forks as I greedily stuffed my face with its wafflely goodness.

We had to move hastily from the Food Court because evening was coming upon us (Peace Corps policy is that we cannot travel on roads at night), and went downstairs to Citimart, which is a grocery store that has many things that are not sold in the rest of the country. Thinking we were going to get on a bus home right away, Rashad still had more to show us before the Baku orientation was complete. He had to show us the Metro, which is Baku's subway system. I don't know if we were in rush hour, or it it's always like that, but I'm just gonna say that a lot of people needed to get in that compartment, and it was like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed and bursting open when the doors finally opened after our first ride. It was hilarious though and we got a good laugh from it.

The subway took us eventually to the bus station where we again jammed ourselves onto a vehicle and sweat under our thick winter coats. I got off a ways farther from my house just so I could walk in the cold air a while. I was absolutely exhausted by the end of the day, and can't wait til my next trip to Baku! 

My new home announcement

I'm feeling quite braindead as usual. It inevitably crashes about 30 minutes after I get home from class, have a cup of cay, and try to focus on my homework. PST is quite draining; I'm looking forward to lots of free time at my site. I want to study Azerbaijani, read books, watch documentaries, and, of course, lesson plan and create visual aids.

Remember my post about the site placement interview? Well I weighed all things considered, and ranked an indoor toilet as the most valuable thing to ask for. All the regions get cold in the winter, so I figured any home with an indoor toilet would be better than one that may be in a milder climate zone, but with a forlorn loo. So I made sure to tell Flora at my interview that it was my number one priority. After that, I asked for a warmer region, and somewhere with shops and civilization easily reached. I also emphasized that I get along with the people in my cluster very well, so if we could be near each other that'd be great.

After an antsy week and a half of waiting, we Az9s converged for the grand Site Announcement session. They had a huge map of Azerbaijan front and center, upon which we got to search for our sites and thumbtack our mugshots. The atmosphere was so charged with anticipation and excitement that I let out a loud gasp when my clustermates, Sam and Fiona, were assigned to be site mates.

My name was called third in the group of amazing women who are going to Zaqatala: Annette, Mary Ellen, and moi. I was elated to be with my beloved clustermate (Mary Ellen), and then when they showed us where on the map it was, I was just a flustered mess cause it's the secondmost Northern rayon, nestled amongst mountains. My village is Muxax, I'm the only Az9 going there, and my school has a piddly-squat 360 students.

I was really suprised because the mountains are the longed-for sites in Azerbaijan. A good amount of Az9s had asked to be placed there, whereas a quote from my interview reads, "the cold immobolizes me." I figured I was one of the only ones to ask to be placed in the "Dirty South," and yet ended up winning the lottery, if you will, of site placements. Zaqatala is called the "Little Europe" of Azerbaijan, and is the least polluted of all the rayons. Mountains and forests abound, and I have even heard a comment that it is the most liberal region, next to Baku, of course, in terms of openmindedness. Flora keeps telling me, "Kaylee, it is like a paradise. It is so beautiful..." and such.

So after the big announcement, Sam and I noticed that each of us got what the other had asked for. She wanted a small villiage up north, and I wanted a town in the south. It was such a coincidence, for we'd still be with a clustermate if we switched, that we decided to ask Flora why she decided to put us where she did (we also decided that we wouldn't switch if we were able to... we like to go with the flow of destiny). Flora smiled when she told us, and admitted that she was about to put me where Sam is, until she inquired about the toilet. Yep, I was initially going to be put down south in Jelelibad until Fora asked about the toilet for me. Bless her heart. I didn't know it, but I knew how to prioritize! And although I will be in one of the coldest areas, it is also the most beautiful and coveted (and I will have my indoor potty!). 

Not-So-Hidden Treasures

My Pre-service training has effectively been split into two parts: the first half was with what I now call my "Lezgin Family," and my second half with my "new" family. Peace Corps tries very hard to ensure our host families can house us for the full 10 weeks, but I guess it was about time a bit of bad luck fell my way. My first home was a little too perfect (was it the English speakers, close proximity to school, or the vegetarian meals that pushed me over the line?), so a curveball was thrown my way when I was told by our housing coodinator that I had to move. Because my Lezgin mother's mother had fallen ill, she is moving into their home to be with her family. There is no room for the American anymore. (I had actually been told about the grandmother by Rasmiyya, but had failed to put two and two together. In my head I was like, "Hmm, wonder which room she's going to stay in...")

I moved into my new home on Thursday. It is chox geshang (very nice/pretty). My father is a public servant, and my mother is a homemaker. I have two sisters, 14 and 15, named Gunel and Aysel, and a little brother, 11, named Babek. They are/ speak Azeri (which is an ethnicity and the name for their language; Azerbaijan is a multi-ethnic country), and the kids know little English (actually they know more English than I do Azeri so it is very helpful). I really need to practice my Azeri, and never got much of a chance at my former home, so this situation is better for me as a trainee.

Here's the new rundown: Babek is a super sweet boy who is continually doing cute and silly things for me. My first night here, he showed me his WWF Smackdown trading cards and gave me the ones I liked. Aysel is the oldest, she is also super sweet, but quite shy (reminds me of me at that age). She's so pretty and comprhends my English blabbering quite well. Gunel is the standout of the household. She's enthusiactic, confident, and ambitious. She's not shy at all; my first night here included squeals of glee, hugs, and kisses when she found out I was staying for 5 weeks. She told me all about her dream: to go study law in America, work as an ambassador, get rich, and have a big house with lots of animals, including an elephant and giraffe. I believe she can do it too, she comes from a good family who will support her along the way.

Yes, the familiy is definitely capable of providing all their children with good educations. Did I mention my house is chox geshang? It's two stories with all wood floors, heating/ac wall units, TOILET PAPER, a gorgeous kitchen, etc. etc. Any woman in the world's dream home. We have these heated towels racks that are like, the shit. They keep your towels/ whatever you hang there warm and crispy. I will be investing in these when I get my dream home.

After our site visits, we had another fun Peace Corps field trip to Qobustan and the mud volcanoes. Qobustan is a site where there are big rocks that have been carved upon by prehistoric cave people. They have pictures of men, women, hunters, the hunted-- antelope-ish creatures-- and a couple boats. In theory this all sounds a bit bland, but it is different being there and seeing them with your own eyes. It's almost surreal to think that 3274298347 years ago there was a person who felt the need to express facets of his or her life, and might have even wanted it to last as long as it has. So Qobustan was very special, I liked the experience very much and ill take whoever comes to visit me in Azerbaijan!

Next up were the mud volcanoes! Mud volcanoes are exactly what their name describes: a mound of mud that urbles and blurbles with natural gas coming from underground. They are freakin' sweet. The mud is ridiculously sticky (as is all the dirt/ mud in Az), but the liquid mud in the center of the volcano is very fine and the kind that is put on your face for $100 at a spa, cause it has sulphur in it. Now a site like this in the US would probably be a part of a national park, surrounded by fences and paths and walkways, with informational, education signs posted about, not to mention park rangers and other workers to protect the natural wonders; but, here in Azerbaijan they just sit un-fussed over on some hills beyond a rural neighborhood. We all got to run amuck, sling mud, slip about, and have a good time. I will go back again, with a swimsuit and an old pair of clothes and just have a wild time in ze mud. As an extra bonus, it will make my skin radiant!

I had another day of fun just the other day. On Sunday our cluster gathered for a pizza party at Sam's host familiy's house. How did a pizza party at Sam's host familly's place come about? Well, her host parents had asked her if she knew how to make pizza, and she was like, "Yeah, I guess..." and they took it to mean she's a lean mean pizza-making machine, and urged her to make some for them, which then evolved into having friends over and making pizza for them. As it turned out, we ended up gathering to celebrate her birthday, which was on Monday. An elaborate plan by her host family? Sure, its so damn heartwarming to deny. So we met at the bazaar to buy the ingredients, then totally crafted pizza from scratch in her little kitchen. It turned out delicious, and we had way too much fun all evening. Good times, good times. The next day was Halloween, and we talked Rashad into giving us a language class off so we could celebrate, er I mean, have an American cultural exchange. We watched Hocus Pocus and ate ourselves into sugar comas. It was brilliant.

Today I finally bought myself an umbrella, plus a kilo of plums, just cause I wanted to treat myself (not that I don't get enough treats on a day to day basis). Also Mary Ellen and I stopped at a bakery and tried some pastry goodies. I go home, get served supper and other treasures, and take a moment look at my place setting. I feel like a king! My life is awesome!

Would You Rather/ Potty Talk

This past week, we went on site visits. All the Az9s were matched with an Az8 in order to see what life is like for a PCV in Azerbaijan. Also we got to see different parts of the country other than the capital area.

I was sent south, to Beylagan, with my clustermate, Sam, to visit the intrepid Stephanie. The bus ride was about 5 hours, and we got off in the town center, so to speak, and were greeted by Stephanie plus her site mates Jenna and Myriam. Since it was Stef's birthday, we went to a small Turkish restorant that had an American diner theme going on. Walking the streets, we got due stares for being 5 foreign girls in a town where Peace Corps had never been before the Az8s. (Myriam is actually an Az7, but she lives in a village outside the town.) I haven't informed you blog-readers yet, but foreign-looking women, especially of the white variety, are assummed to be Russian prostitutes here in Azerbaijan. They just don't get tourists at all. We just need to know the right lines to deal with any harrassment that may arise: "I'm not Russian. We are American. Be on your way," etc.

But I digress. (More on the issue of harassment later, when I learn more about it.) Stef actually lives in a small villiage accessable by a 10-15 minute taxi ride. When I say a small villiage, I mean small. Like farms with houses, a couple small stores, and a school.  She lucked out and landed herself a whole house- complete with a yard, outhouse, and showering stall (outside as well)- at a very PCV-friendly rate. She also had bedding to spare: enough for 40, if needed, in the form of doshaks, which are futon-like sleeping pads, traditionally given as a dowry from the bride's family. In Stef's large room looms a small mountain of them; hauled over by the neighbors who observed that she had room to spare for storage. Only God knows how many weddings and eons are contained amongst those old dusty things (which are usually used only on the first night of marriage . . .). All I know is that their ancient crust (ie- probable billions of dustmites) attacked my poor respiratory system , and I chose not to sleep in that horrid room for the remainder of my stay, opting instead for the drafty living room with minimal padding, not in the form of a vengeful doshak.

But again I digress. It's just pretty funny how the neighborhood brought over their crap without asking and dumped it on Stef. And that the crap contained creepy virginity-losing connotations. And that we used them (minus me after the first night).

Anyways, the five days at Stef's site were very eye-opening for me. Thinking about "roughing it," and being "under conditions of hardship, if necessary," in Peace Corps is woefully different from living it. I'll use the toilet situation as an illustration. Yes, I had read that the toilet is outside for most homes, and I packed a head lamp accordingly. I thought about how it would suck at night to have to leave the house and go out into the cold to pee. But I had also devised clever schemes, such as forcing myself to use the toilet every evening before I get into bed, or even stashing an emergency bottle or houseplant for when, you know, laziness and comfort prevail over individual pride or sanitary standards (woah! Sorry if this might be tmi, but I don't censor myself. Besides, it's a widely used practice amongst PCVs.). So when now, in real life, I trudge to the outhouse, the full situation unfurls in front of me: the distinct stench of human waste; the cockraoches and crickets and spiders; the burn in my quads and the chilly draft on my bare ass.

How did I fare? Well, although the toilet situation is unpleasant, it's not unbearble. And during the three days, I got accustomed to it quite quickly. People say that one of the amazing things about Peace Corps service is experiencing how easily humans can adapt to new situations. So by my third day in the village, I was down with the squatty potty. Then it got cold and rainy. I see now where my line of misery is drawn, and that is between a certain degrees celsius and another. For now, the cold disables me, depresses me, and literally makes me sick. When I imagined my Peace Corps service, I assumed I'd be in a warm climate, in which, in all honesty, I could do anything in. But this autumn and winter is going to be the biggest challenge of, dum dum dum, my whole life (literally). I hope to overcome my weakness to the cold (along with my phobia of roaches) during my Azerbaijan stay. These are definitely on my list of "Things Peace Corps is Going to Do for/to Me." Still, I am going to pray for a host family at site that has an indoor toilet. Cold weather can be dealt with outside the home, and roaches on the inside.
Back to Beylagan! Overall, our site visit was a lot of fun. The best parts were the laughing and sharing of tales, along with the food: scrumptious organic produce, farm-fresh eggs and milk (drunk warm, omg it was so delicous and wholesome), and even popcorn, which is always a delight. On the last night, we consolidated to Stef's bedroom for sleeping, because she had acquired a brand-new space heater, just in time for the rainy and chilly weather. We played "Would You Rather," which is a silly card game that has two situations written down that you must choose one of, and have the other players guess which one you chose. Most of the situations are embarassing and/or painful, such as, "Would you rather have eyelashes that extend ten inches straight in front of you, that cannot be cut (they always include specific conditions like that for all the smart-asses who play and try to get around the situation); or, have eyebrows that extend all the way down, forming a circle around your face?" Ha ha. Another was, "Would you rather have to wear the same pair of underwear for a year without washing them, or the same pair of socks?" So that was a lot of fun, and we realized that Sam and I, as trainees, are subjected to an actual game of "Would You Rather."

 This upcoming week, we have Site Placement Interviews, during which Peace Corps Azerbaijan staff sit us down and ask us what we prefer for our permanent site. Essentially, the main choice before us is between a rural or an urban site. There are advantages and disadvantages to both: in a rural setting, you may have less shopping selections, but do have neighbors with fresh eggs and milk to spare; the school may be behind city schools in terms of student learning, but expectations of you as a teacher are lower; finally, everybody in a villiage knows you, so you are only the strange foreigner for a short time before they become familiar with you. In an urban setting, you will probably be a strange foreigner every day for the next two years, simply because the volume of people is larger; you must be stronger and more dynamic in work and in the classroom; however, your bazaar will have a better selection, and maybe even you will have sidewalks to walk on instead of muddy roads.

"Would You Rather" is a noggin-buster for sure, and I have weighed my options considerably. For me, I believe a better fit will be an urban or suburban setting. Not only do they offer better protection from the elements (specifically the cold ones!), I feel that social and institutional change is more desired from residents of cities. As a Peace Corps volunteer, it is my job to transfer the tools for change to the locals in my community who want to enact it. I think that trying to make a change in a rural village where not much ever changes would be too tedious and disheartening for me. This is what I'm going to say at my Site Placement Interview, so please wish me luck in landing an awesome site! (Oh yes, and of course I am going to ask for as warm a region as possible!)

These were the thoughts coursing through my mind as Sam and I rode back to Xirdalan. Please read her blog post about our trip to The Bey, as she retells the placenta story, as well as a rundown on animal-transporting, with perfection: http://samlandofaz.wordpress.com/2011/10/21/feats-of-animal-transportation/#comment-11  .

After the marshutka driver dropped us off in an intersection that he guessed would lead us home, we got to use our dazzling language skills (which are approximetly Azeri toddler-level) to actually find our way home. It was so good to be back in Xirdalan, specifically indoors with chay and our cluster (including Rashad). It felt suspiciouslly like home, but I guess I'll allow that feeling since it was so damn good and I am in need of somewhere to call home. Until I uproot myself again, consider me content here.

Man Talimchiyam!

For some unknown reason, I was under the false impression that PST (Pre-Service Training) was going to be easy. Sure, our days are planned for us, and three meals a day are prepared for us, but, hello, we are learning a new language, a new culture, and  new profession. Also we have homework. Ugh.
My weeks run as follows: language classes in the morning, 9 to 1, lunch break 1 to 2:30, and technical training (TEFL) 2:30 to 6. I am a very tired girl when I come home, but I need to socialize with the host fam, do my homework, and study. Mostly I do the former.

So my host family is awesome. I'd say my living situation is a ten out of ten; their house is comfortable and contains all the amenities I desire (although the internet has been being leeched from the neighbors, and I think they are on to me). Both of my sisters, Rasmiya, 25, and Zulfiya, 22, speak English at an advanced level. Rasmiya is a teacher at School No. 1, which is where we have our language classes, and also where we observed local lessons and will be practicing teaching our own lessons. She is a very proper girl who has studied English grammar and vocabulary to a T. She has the "golden hands" when it comes to making tea, cakes, or anything in the kitchen. She spends her free time at home with her mother, or if her mother is at work, reading and preparing her lessons. She likes to call her pupil's parents and report when they have performed unsatisfactorily in class. She also loves English proverbs and idioms, and has proven that she knows more than I do. We converse a lot about language, literature, and day-to-day culture.
Zulfiya, the younger sister, is a university student, and also tutors on the side. She is a social, loud, modern girl who won't tolerate a man that confines her. She has a Facebook, whereas Rasmiya does not trust nor like the internet.
Azade is my third sister, although technically she is a cousin. She is 19 and also goes to college. She is quiet and extremely sweet. She knows little English, and helps me study my Azerbaijani.
Our mother is everything you'd want in a mother. She's an amazing cook (including baking), and spends time with her girls, watching television, and talking on the phone. Our father is a hard worker, 7 days a week, and I am slowly getting closer to him as I learn more Azerbaijani. Oh yes, we also have a Nana, who is really friendly and lively. She always greets me enthusiastically and I can practice my simple Azerbaijani phrases.

There are six of us in our cluster. We go to language class together and share the same LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator), Rashad. Rashad is the most awesome thing in Azerbaijan. He is energetic and hilarious. We have way too much fun in our language classes, as all of us are 21, 22, or 25 (Rashad). My cluster mates are Josh, Sam, Mary Ellen, Fiona, and Erik. I will get a picture of them and post it shortly.
So far we have learned about different methods of teaching, the education system in Azerbaijan (hierarchical like ours, however, the money flows from the bottom up, rather than the top down; students pay their teachers, etc. Also it is common for teachers to pay to get their jobs, about 3-4,000, but if you an especially talented teacher they will hire you for free), and planning lessons. Today and yesterday, instead of techinical training we observed English lessons to witness firsthand the Azerbaijani classroom. Only one out of the six teachers was close to what we are used to in the US. The others used solely the methods of rote memorization or telling the answers to the students. Here in Azerbaijan, if you really want to learn English, your family sends you to tutoring (which is done on the side by most teachers and some college students), usually at a price (Zulfiya says she charges more for parents who make a good salary, and less for those who don't).  Now you are beginning to see how in demand my fellow volunteers and I are here. On my first day in the main school building, one of the teachers pinned me down and asked me to live with her because her daughter is at a university and wants to improve her speaking.  I ended up giving her my phone number since I am already situated in a home. I will be talking with her daughter, Saida, shortly. I don't mind because, well, that is what I am here to do, essentially.
On a simpler note, the food here is very num-nummy.  I have bread with every meal, which to me feels quite indulgent, but probably doesn't have the same health impact as it would in the States, as the bread here is fresh, handmade, and doesn't contain 873566 ingredients with 25 letters each, and also some high frutose corn syrup just for the hell of it. The meals I eat feel so homey: the vegetables are soft, the butter is plentiful, and of course it is all made from scratch. My family understands that I am a vegetarian, and my mother knows plenty of veggie-only meals. I did, however tell them that I would eat a little meat if they served it to me, so thus far I have had a soup with a bit of ground beef, and a specialty chicken, lavengi, which is stuffed with a blend of walnuts, dried plums, and herbs, and roasted. The filling was fantastic, but I still have no appetite for chicken, and was only able to eat some dark meat (mixed with a piece of bread and stuffing). My stomach is handling everything swimmingly. I think I have the probiotics I took for a month before departure to thank.

A month before departure, I had no idea my days would be like this. I didn't know exactly what to expect. But my cozy situation is definitely the best transition to Peace Corps Azerbaijan I could ask for!

Written a month and a half before departure

Defying the 6,658 miles between us, Azerbaijan draws closer.

I slowly say goodbye to the things I love: long, hot showers, riding my bike, air conditioning, scanty clothing.

Now, what will I soon be saying "Salam" to?

The journey has begun

Itinerary: depart Daytona Beach @ 7:30, layover in Atlanta, arrive in Philly at 1. Head to Peace Corps staging: a 5-hour-long orientation that introduces us to our fellow Az9's, looks at the main goals of the PC, outlines their core expectations of us, and includes annoying yet effective group activities such as "read the scenario, discuss what the person should do, then make up a skit to act it out". Meeting my fellow PC trainees (PCTs) was a pleasure that I had overlooked amongst my anticipations. They are people like me in basic aspects, such as culture, educaion, and values, but also unlike me (and each other) in other aspects, such as where they're from, race, and tastes. But we all clicked immediately, and I am seeing yet another very valuable part of Peace Corps service: that the PC community is extremely strong, and we make friends for life.

After staging, a number of us took the complimentary shuttle from the hotel to the nearby (huge) mall, to get some supper. I got Chinese from the Food Court, cause that is what I was fantasizing about all day. Then I hit the hay as soon as I could to wake up for the day of travel tomorrow.

Itinerary: load ourselves (all 44 of us), and our 1oolbs of luggage--each--onto 2 commercial buses. Drive about 2 1/2 hours to JFK airport, through the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, cause apparently the driver is a local. (That was pretty cool.) Wait in a deathly long and tedious Delta Boarding Pass line. Hastily remove a thing from large suitcase which is 5 lbs over, and proceed to the equally deathly and tedious security line. Wait around and get on the flight to Istanbul at 5:00. Arrive in Istanbul, have a 3-hour layover. (The Istanbul airport was really cool. They get a lot of international flights coming through, so there is a vast Duty-free shopping center, selling mainly perfume and liquor, and other tourist-y shops. I stopped in one and tried some samples of Turkish Delights and Pomegranate iced tea [tasted like Crystal Lite]. I then went to the Food Court and got a Turkish yogurt soup; it was very minty and very yummy.) Hop on the final flight to Baku. (Got fed more yummy airline food and passed out inadvertantly.) Arrive around 8-ish in Baku, wait in a deathly customs line, collect baggage and pass it through more security. Get an enthusiastic welcome from a few Az8's. Force the welcome entourage to Tetris our copious amounts of luggage onto 2 small buses. Ride through Baku to our hotel. Grab our luggage, find our rooms, and crash.

First funny thing that happened in Azerbaijan: Upon descending the steps off the airplane, we were directed towards a bus which seemed full, but proved to have a greater capacity when we Tetris'd ourselves and our bags inside. So the bus waited for every single passanger from the plane to cram inside,then made its way about a hundred yards, slowly backed up about 20 yards, opened its doors, and let us out. Everybody laughed.


Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday are our Orientation days. They are chock-filled with language lessons; sessions on various topics such as safety & security, safe food & water preparation & diarrhea, cross-cultural perspectives, etc.; and of course breaks for chay and sweets.

Kristina, our director of programming and training (who is American), served in the Slovac Republic in 97-99, and married an Azerbaijani man. She is so cute cause you can tell she's so in love. she says "It goes to show that you can meet some really great people while you're here," and as an aside, "(but I found the best one".

I sleep well and eat well here at the hotel. The hotel provides us with breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea & cookies, and dinner. It is a nice mix of Azerbaijani and American foods; for lunch today there french fries among the spread. I enjoy the Azerbaijani food, and there is always bread on the table. For some unknown reason, the hotel, called The Bavarius Hotel, is German-themed. The lobby has dark wood in those zig-zag patterns, and paintings of back-in-the-day German scenes of people drinking beer, tending the wheat fields, and more drinking beer accompanied my merriment. Then when you step into the eatery, it looks kinda Turkish/Russian (this mix describes Azerbaijan in general) in decor. It's a pretty cute place, and since it has hot running water and toilets, it's paradise in my book. The only negetive is not having reliable internet.

I read my Beatles book on my second night here. For those of you who don't know what exactly my Beatles book is, my bff Meggie (who started her PC service in Zambia in July) gave me a blank journal (with the Beatles on it) in which I had everyone at my going-away party sign and write me a message. Also, pretty much everybody was drunk when they did so, so their words were extra special. It made me laugh, and of course, made me tear up a bit. I love my friends so much. I will miss them, but am positive that when I get back, we will be as close as we were when I left in no time at all. Besides, Lynnsey, Joyce, and I will have to start the consolidation and editing process of the novel we're writing together. Writing my portion is one of my goals while in Azerbaijan.

With that lofty ambition in mind, I'm done with my mediocre diary  journal  blog entry.