Kazakhstan 4

Johnny Jones, 21 June 2002

A week after I got my letter of invitation and began my journey to Kazakhstan, we went to ZUM, which we were told was a department store. Well, you'd never confuse it was Famous-Barr or J. C. Penney's. It was an indoor, well-organized bazaar. There were lots of individual shops, but (unlike the Baral Holka) most of them had nice merchandise. In one area was all the crystal; in another, electronics. On the way in to the store beggar boys harassed us ­ physically touching us. We held on to one another's arms.

That afternoon I went to visit with a couple of young women who had heard my talk. One of them made tea: five delicious desserts plus the traditional tea. Later we went to a Kazakh restaurant for dinner, to celebrate Bryan's M.S. and his birthday. I decided to be brave, so I ordered the noodles with horsemeat. I can't remember the name of the dish, but after a bite or two I asked Bryan if he wanted to trade. Fortunately, he did. We didn't try the camel. After the entertainment started, toasting (and even talking!) got a lot harder.

Friday we went to the Kazakh museum. We didn't have long to stay, but we saw a yurt (the round, semi-movable buildings used for homes on the steppes) and some of the clothing. They were intricately decorated. Some of the shoes for winter looked like an ancient precursor of moon boots. Warmth was obviously important.

That night Tonya, who came to the ladies' group, had us for dinner. Her 18-year-old daughter idolizes Britney Spears, and she knew a LOT more about American bubble gum pop culture than we do. She also demonstrated some breakdancing moves. In fact, she chastised us for not knowing more about Britney. She seemed as Americanized as any of the young people we met .

But it was raining on the way home, and she was really concerned that we would get sick. I finally told Bryan, "Son, you're going to have to walk under the umbrella; she's really upset with you." Their theory of colds is getting damp and cold ­ in fact, they don't believe in drinking cold drinks (bad for your throat!) or getting a draft. When I was in shorts, they were in long sleeves and pants. Melissa said there were times when the babushkas (grandmothers) yelled at her on the street because they didn't think she was dressed warmly enough.

Saturday I started my journey home. Bryan was staying for another week, so I had to navigate the airport by myself. (Non-ticket-holders are not allowed in the airport.) I was concerned, since I don't know more than a few words of Russian. There were a tense few minutes when I was without my boarding pass, passport, or ticket, due to a misunderstanding in checking my bags. But otherwise, things turned out well.

I met Sandy Millar, founder of the Alpha course, in the airport, and I didn't even know to be impressed ­ I had no idea what the Alpha course was until Doug's eyes lit up when I mentioned it. Their church has sponsored an Alpha course, a 12-week time of open searching and comparing the claims of Christianity. Sandy Millar's wife gave me their card.

The Millars, like just about every English speaker I met in Kazakhstan, was there to serve. I was so proud of America. In the restaurants, on the plane, on the shuttle ­ "Why are you here?" was always answered with some kind of service. One guy was setting up oral surgery clinics (dental care is way behind there); others were doing Christian work of one kind or another.

On the way to Baku from Almaty there were lots of empty seats, so most of us grabbed a whole row and lay down to sleep. But lots of people got on in Azerbijan, so we had to go back to our places. Two rows ahead of me there was some panic about half an hour before we got to London: A man evidently had a heart attack. They called for a doctor on board (there was one!), and got him on oxygen, then paramedics met us at Heathrow. We got in thirty minutes early, which was probably due to the medical emergency. But it also helped me, since I had only one hour between flights -- not a lot of time between over-eight-hour trips.

So I was on my way home, in an English-speaking country. What more could go wrong?

I'll let you know next week.