Wherein, the Heroine Avoids a near full on pub brawl, Discovers a literary gem, Confronts a ghost and Recommends a book-not necessarily in that order.

Devoured since May, is a stack of books that includes Azerbaijan Diary by Thomas Goltz. A man who I had the fortune to meet at Tequila Junction late one Baku night when said author, after waiting until my male companion dipped inside to use the toilet, approached me and opened the conversation by forcefully demanding ‘Do you know who I am young lady?!’ Being witty and bit of a minx (or so I’ve been told by S. Jeeves Westminster), I looked him straight in his eyes and said with a bored shrug, ‘No, no, I don’t, am I supposed to?’ It must have been provoking, as Mr. G growled out ‘Well then you obviously haven’t read my book, Azerbaijan Diary.’

‘Obviously’ said I with mischief, ‘Let me run to the nearest Ketabhaxna (library) and pick it up.’

What followed can only be described a word brawl between an older man losing his pride and temper and dropping the F-bomb most inappropriately and a 20-something lady gleefully being shamefully rude. Thankfully, a handler was, well, on hand, to calm the waters before two Irish Tempers attacked without mercy.

(I make the assumption that Mr. G is Irish based on his unwavering self assurance of ‘I’m kinda a big deal’ that seems to be prone to those in possession of Irish roots-I could be wrong, but in any case, if Mr. G happens to read this, I hope he takes it as a complement.)

And then of course, curiosity getting the better of me, I did go the next day, not to the nearest Ketabhaxna but to a friends flat, picked up Azerbaijan Diary and burned through it in a mere 3 weeks.

So this can be seen as a solid endorsement of the book and recommendation for one to read it-it also is, in a round-about way, a very small way of sending up the white flag of truce and stating that if, Mr. G and I should happen in the future to meet in a pub, while I will never apologize, I will offer to buy a few pints and swap tales of Azerbaijan, and make a point to state that yes, I do know who he is, but, more importantly, does he know who I am?

 

I don’t almost get into pub brawls with the author of every book I read-evidence: Rereading William Goldman’s The Princess Bride has been delightful, and I have neither felt nor desired to yell at him for being pretentious. When reading, there is usually a paragraph or page that makes the book-for instance, in Les Miserable, in the section of 100 pages or so when Mr. Hugo goes into exacting detail about the Paris sewer system, I drooled, while most simply rolled their eyes and skipped to the ‘good parts’ involving romance and angst. In The Princess Bride, this gem of a paragraph was re-discovered:

 

(Buttercup and Westley are about to enter the Fire Swamp.)

‘As a child, she (Buttercup) has once spent an entire nightmared year convinced that she was going to die there. Now she could not move another step. The giant trees blackened the ground ahead of her. From every part came the sudden flames.

“You cannot ask it of me,” she said

“I must.” (Said Westley)

“I once dreamed I would die here.”

“So did I, so did we all. Were you eight that year? I was.”

“Eight. Six. I can’t remember.”

Westley took her hand.

She could not move. “Must we?”

Westley nodded.

“Why?”

“Now is not the time.” He pulled her gently.

She still could not move.

Westley took her in his arms. “Child; sweet child. I have a knife. I have my sword. I did not come across the world to lose you now.

Buttercup was searching somewhere for a sufficiency of courage. Evidently, she found it in his eyes.

At any rate, hand in hand, they moved into the shadows of the Fire Swamp.’

 

My landing is void of nosey neighbors; a fact who’s pros and cons have been thoroughly discussed by most everyone. Some contend living alone on a landing is safer since it negates the possibility of having bad men neighbors in close proximity. Some contest that no landing mates makes it dangerous (possibility of bad men neighbors be dammed) in case I need help when a flat crisis occurs-such as not knowing how to change a light bulb *shudder* or not being able to sweep. *horrors* I think living on a mostly empty landing, except for myself and a blue eyed cross-eyed white cat is a prime arrangement. (Yes, there will be snaps of qəşəng pişik. Oh. The possibilities of mad win if I could get the midget cobbler and kitty in a photo together…),The other 2 flats are empty for typical reasons: drunken husband, some scandal involving a woman, and a business deal gone bad/good in Baku.

I was on the mobile talking to a friend who was having an AZ crisis that involved all the usual suspects: homelessness, nasty food, leering men, mysterious sickness-so absorbed was I in gum flapping that as I backed out the door fumbling with my key, hunched over the impossible lock, I didn’t notice the women in the opposite doorway of the empty flat. Some movement on her part attracted my attention and I straightened. We stood 2 feet apart, eyes locked in a dead on staredown. If this was a movie, the ass kicking music (Metallica-‘Enter Sandman’ comes to mind, feel free to substitute your favorite) would have cued, the sun disappeared, my tabbi boots, and bowstaff appeared and her fangs and cape materialized. But this isn’t a movie and 3 minutes into the staredown I was getting bored for precisely that reason, no fangs, no smoke, no ass kicking music and slow motion fight sequence-just your standard everyday strange/awkward encounter with a woman who wasn’t supposed to exist. *yawn* My friend kept talking and I kept staring, realizing that this could go on forever, since I’m never one to conceded a staredown from tiredness, I pulled a ‘New York’ escape, (The ‘Oh damm, oops, I’m on the phone, its important, *shrug* can’t talk now, gotta go, I’ll call you later. Sorry *contrite look*’ dance that females have perfected to avoid annoying suitors and evidentially possible ghosts.), turned and made all sorts of haste down the stairs, not forgetting to throw a cute little wave over my shoulder.

Ah! The Signs of Spring…

• The Man in the Black SUV is back like the plague, appearing out of no where when I’m alone and following me home.  Somehow in spite of 2 house moves and a brief homeless stint last Fall, he still managed to find me now that warmer weather has hit. I see this as evidence of him possessing no life whatsoever as well as the creativity of a dish sponge.  In the words of DS. ‘You need a guard dog!’
• Which bring up the issues of dogs.  In the summer gangs of dogs roll around Izzy Town (TM Dushka) barking, humping, drooling and decorating the little grass that still exists with rubbish.  Usually these gangs consist of a token little Dashand/Welsh Corgi mix that windmills his legs to trot pathetically being the big dogs that collectively resemble a hairy grunge band (Pearl Jam??) of wonky faced boxers who always lost the fight.  Unfortunately I never fail, at the end of my run, to see at least one very large dog getting ‘fresh’ (that’s for you Silo) with the midget dog(s) outside my flat.
• Over the winter the few, the proud and the incredibly dull formed an elite group of males who were responsible for ensuring that all inanimate objects were sufficiently propped up with enough backside to last the winter.  Now that the temperature has reached the melting point, the elite group has expanded to include the incredibly stupid in uncontested membership whose only requirement is that one possesses the intelligence of a Coke bottle and the jeans tight enough to cut off circulation.  That’s just another way of saying that my walks are no longer pleasant or quiet.
• Last summer thanks to Murad and Elnor, Izzy Town was introduced (knocked over) to the joys of bicycling.  This spring has seen the birth of no less than a dozen bikes being operated in the city center (the only place with enough paved area) by dudes/kiddies.  In a highly amusing contrast the small bikes have overgrown pre-pubescent teenagers/dudes riding them while the slightly large bikes have 6^th formers who can barely reach the peddles wobbling about in circus worthy follies.  A diabolic urge to reach out and push over bike and rider takes hold of me every time a tiny bike with a big dude zooms dangeriously close to lopping off my knee caps-I have rationalized this evil by considering it just retribution for the absolute distress most of the male population causes me every time I leave the flat.
• The resurrection of affectionate nicknames generally relating to the color red that are bestowed upon me by my girls.  The following are a few of the things (blog appropriate) I have been called since landing, ungracefully and nervously 2 years ago in the AZ:

 

Pomidor (tomato-due to my skillz at burning all visible skin)

Girmazi Giz (red girl-again related to sun damage)

Kamala (smart-since Colleen was tooooo difficult to pronounce)

Englissss Giz (English girl-obviously I’m English since I speak English)

Azerbaijan vs. Spain 0-6

When Spain scored, the guards lining the field would stand up and stare at the fans with mean looks-most ingnored them, I took pictures.

This was the first football mach I’d ever attended, and it didn’t disappoint, hard core fans painted in Azeri colors(red, green, blue), a lone friend of mine proudly waving the Spanish flag, stern guards and free reign to photo whatever we wanted based solely on the fact that we were cute foreign girls! We had the police asking us to photograph them, were nearly trampled in a crowd rush at the gate, (que’ing has never been heard of), and then I caused 2 rows of mostly drunk Azeri/Turkish/Spanish men to fall silent/shamed/shocked when I turned and cussed at a deadbeat dude who thought blowing on my neck was the an appropriate way to woo me. Top night all around!

Yea, Real Madrid is not shabby looking. At. All.
(photos…eventually, as I was shooting with a LoMo likely wont have the funds to develop film for a while)

The 2008 !!!

 

Jan-June ‘08
Volunteer Youth Group from School #1 with the special needs children; at the HA Park.Peace Corps Insider did a story about the children. This was one of the first big projects I did with youth, and for a fresh n00bie it was a lot to tackle; the kids from school#1 were amazing and really committed a lot of time to help the children at the hospital. Story associated with this project: February 2008: Blue and Failure

The last night in Tbilisi, GA.
March ‘08(there are no pictures left from this trip since my computer crashed…check out FB)
Spent the afternoon on the private rooftop patio of the presidential suite of a prominent hotel watching the sun set and dangling my feet 90+ feet above traffic. Set out on a wander to find the underground brothel turned restaurant and somehow (due to me) ended up discovering an abandoned metro/tube stop that was connected to a mostly abandoned underground shopping center with a few barely alive strip joints. Unfortunately the rest of the group lacked a sense of adventure/taste for the underground, but was overwhelmingly apt at stating the obvious as evidenced by this little gem uttered at the top of a stairwell: ‘Its dark down here and it smells like pee.’
*slaps forehead with palm of hand*
Resigning myself to a small tantalizing glimpse of GA possibilities, (vowing to return sometime) we carried on and eventually found brothel turned restaurant due to shortcut taken through newly found abandoned metro/tube stop. I spent the remaining evening gawking at the stunning array of fascinating characters collected in the Kinkali House. This place makes it on the list of top places to eat, 7 levels, (6 of which are underground) faux maroon velvet everywhere, floor to ceiling mirrors, the Alco/smokes menu the same length as the food and the waitresses getting high in the restroom!

Feb. BurnOut

Silliness
Feb. ‘08
In Baku at the now demolished Absheron, a seminal moment becasue it represents that Donny was out danced by someone (!!!) and was too tired to make it into bed. Found him at 7 am while out the door for a run. Its worthwhile to know that the both of us have been talking about/planning  a biking/hiking adventure (since waaaaay back in ’07) to foreign lands with possible hostile conditions. This is also noteworthy since I rarely talk about my friends, clearly showing that I am, in spite of my protest otherwise, a typical self-centered twenty-something.

 

 

New Flat

Old houses, New Houses :Most of Spring, Summer and Fall of ‘08
Was chased out of first house by crazy yelling xanim who wanted more money.
Ran for it and deposited myself in new yard house where life seemed better until the Landlady climbed up on the roof at 7am (To dry berries. Seriously.) and peaking in my window caught me doing yoga…in a sports bra and boy shorts. (At least her spying was rewarded)
Was kicked out of yard house by yelling Landlady and son, much to the amusement and general shock of 7 small children, 5 xanims, 4 old men, 3 housewives, and 2 taxi drivers who had gathered to watch the show once Landlady and Co. started yelling and my possessions appeared in a messy heap in the middle of Side Street 4.
Finding these types of things hysterical, I couldn’t help waving and blowing kisses to the audience as I drove away in a taxi.      Was officially kicked out the night before leaving on holiday, unsure if I’d have a place to live when returning, I was a bit keen on keeping my clothing… This was not only a stupid choice but also an embarrassing choice as the result was dragging around a Awful Bloody Hell Huge pack for 2 weeks in eastern countries and then 6 weeks of meetings after…then I gave up and threw away most of my clothes. Sometimes I’m a Low Slerner. (However, due to a great climbing buddy from MN, my clothing supply will soon be replenished to a PC level of excess.) With extra space/midget beds/pillows/blankets this means the flat has become the central hotel of ISM with a revolving door of scruffy PCV’s randomly showing up. This also means I expect a few of my more adventurous friends from outside the ‘Baijan to visit in the ‘09 before I leave. Make your reservations now.

The summer photography class. L-R Back to Front: Salguk, Torgul, Farqu, Gunel, Titi, Lili, Narmine
What an introduction to inside lives of youth in ISM. It started as a photography class, but turned into something akin to The OC: ‘Summer in the ‘Baijan Edition. The essays were sharp (the youngest in the class was 15) and at times difficult to read due to subject matter. I’m not sure what’s more surprising, that the youth really threw themselves into the project (I had doubts if they would actually be interested in participating) or that they started to really talk to me about their lives. (And the lives of everyone else in ISM.) The teens in ISM have the same issues as the teens in America, they just manifest/deal in a different way. Shocking, huh? The summer ended in a bit of sadness, with half the class leaving for university in Baku and the other half reluctantly returning to secondary school classes.

 

Istanbul, Turkey
June ‘08
Sitting on the edge of the Bospherus drinking Effs Dark with Rob, talking, laughing and just being; then hookah and an in-depth discussion of old boyfriends/old girlfriends…Talking shit to the confused hostel owner at 3 am, pissing him off and then not apologizing, of course (somehow I see a trend here…)  Rob and I share a talent for finding bad fashion, being inappropriate at the worst/best times, being mistaken for movie stars, being really really good looking and having a love/hate relationship with members of the opposite sex. I had not expected to miss my family; was surprised when I cried myself to sleep after saying goodbye at 3 am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GLOW!

July ‘08

A hyper mix of Azeri/American girls for one week at camp.  It could have been a recipe for disaster, but instead was a wonderful time of teaching teen girls how to be strong/independent/adventurous/caring/passionate leaders.  This project took up an enormous chunk of time and the efforts of around 20 PCV’s (just to acquire funding) which is entirely worth while when the girls, ages 14-17, learn new life skills.  For most Azeri girls, this is the first time they have been away from home with out their families and introduced to new concepts of ‘self worth’ and ‘individual abilities.’

 

 

Aug. ’08 

L-R: Aching, Jody, Unkonown,Rikki, Sara,Kat, Jason, Colleen

In Laich, the day I rescued London Mark from the Clutches of  Wretched Sleeping Arrangements, Overpaying, and Language Innocence (by inviting him back to ISM and then spending 2 hours on the bus trying to teach him all the Azeri insults I knew.)  Unfortunately, we both left for adventures elsewhere in distant countries soon after his one night in ISM with 10 inebriated PCV’s, several sour bubbly 33’s and one smelly squat.

 

 

 

Aug. ‘08  (pictures on the way…)

Kiev/Moscow/Drains/WanderingAtNight/Hookah/Vodka-IronBru/HawtMen/Partical Colliders/VastIindustrialWastLand/Dirt/Gime/RedSquare/Happiness/JumpingFreightTrains/

DodegyUndergroundStructures/Best2Weeks/Metro/Indipendence Square/Nassssty/Dsankt/Siologen/Quantum-X    

 

 

 

Sept. ’08

 Jason and I give Toy posing our best effort on his last night in the ‘Bajian before returning to Americastan.  Jody and I keep it hard core reprezenting the 4’s and 5’s!!  ‘I kess’es you, miss for you’ 

I hate saying goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fall/Winter Photography Class

 (a few of the kid’s photos) 

These kids are from the Russian sector of School #1.  Most of the first 2 weeks of ‘class’ wasall of us figuring out how to communicate, eventually, we recruited Lili to translate, the boys stopped being scared, the girls stopped giggling and the group started snapping amazing pictures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Current Location

The view out my kitchen window makes waking up worthwhile…if I actually fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summie WasteLand

Oct. ‘08(this is for you Steve, though apologizes; the picture is pathetic, yelling fat man wouldn’t let us get closer. I’m sure you remember this chyxana?)

Met up with a guy who had the paper, stamp of approval, signature, get out of jail free, VIP, Leet Ninja, hard hitting pass, approved by no less than an Azeri Government Branch allowing him free reign to go above/under/around/through Baku taking pictures.  Fortunately we were able to swap stories/tales/tips and spend 2 days photographing before he left for somewhere outside the ‘Baijan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toy

Oct. ‘08

The nails

The n00bs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ninja the Kitten as a centerfold

Nov.’08

I like small helpless animals. I do not however like feral crazy animals.  While Ninja made a good show, he is, at the time of this post….Gone.  While he did boost my popularity with certain male volunteers (!!), he was kicked out recently (last Feb.’09) due to complications with HouseTraining. (There is a follow up story to this involving my mostly toothless landlady)

 

 

 

 

FreshMeat   Dec. ‘08    (pictures on the way…)The addition of 2 hot new site mates has boosted my ISM social calander by at least 90%.  The AZ6’s hold promise, Marina has perfected her ‘I’m Disinterested, Hot and Board as Hell’ Toy Photo Smile and I have already trained Tim in the “Maxium Obatinium of Free Food from Individuals Helpless to Rresist your Good Looks” skill. 

 

Christmas Joy

Dec.’08

In the SouthRegion of Lankeron with the lovely Katie, Nate, Jane, Tor, Whitney, G-Strap and Rache.   Mimosa and the gift from Jane of a sock animal to give me someone to talk to when she is not around .

 

New Years! (none of the pictures are blog safe. trust me.)

Madness, of course.  It started with a French Man, stumbling over train tracks, a package, hair dye, and climbing over a fence, it ended with a Belgian Pilot, counting down to New Years 7 times, a Blizzard, a coffee shop, 2 nights on the PCLounge Floor and dressing like Xanims from the clothing stash on the bathroom floor.

 

Of Zombie Flicks and Sickness…

              Due to a nasssty sickness-methinks it’s a combo of two things: the evil Azeri cousin of the common sinus headache/migraine, and some awful disease picked up from crawling through a ventilation shaft (the grossest since the Pigeon Belly Crawl) while in the UK, that has lain dormant until now and has emerged with the express purpose of rendering me under the impression that my brain/face/nose is likely to explode at any minute- I’ve been at my flat for almost 3 days.  This is remarkable, since the longest time I usually spend here is when I’m sleeping-and come to think of it, 6 hours a night is not nearly enough sleepy time. 

                The up side to all this is that yesterday, the Azeri girls (Lili, Titi, J) and I were able to watch a Zombie movie (they insisted since they’d never seen one before!) at 3pm in the afternoon.  There is nothing like the luxurious indulgence of drinking hot chocolate and watching a Zombie flick (FYI George A. Romero’s ‘Diary of the Dead’) in the middle of the workday to make you feel better-after all, it could be worse, you could be a Zombie with an appetite only for brains, nappy hair and a vocabulary reduced to ‘Uhhhhhgg’ and ‘Ahhhhhgggggh’.  At several of the gory parts, I checked to see if the girls were scared; far be it, they were transfixed, only occosinally muttering ‘Ay Allah!!!’  The movie was a hit, and most of the rest of the afternoon was spent in discussing the merits/benefits of having a Zombie Cat that could attack the boys that harass L and T.  It seems that Pandora’s Box has been opened, as I was giving strict instructions to acquire all possible Zombie movies that exist in the AZ.  While, I don’t want to encourage a taste for violent gore, it is promising that the girls have moved beyond ‘Titanic’.  Next week (if I can travel) ‘Shawn of the Dead’ will be in my grubby paws; exposing them to the dry British humor of Simon Pegg whacking postal clerk Zombies over the head with fence posts seems like a decent cultural exchange. 

           The downside?  Not begin able to run/accomplish anything has caused my brain to kick into overdrive; every failure/mistake/awkwardness/bad life choice is brought back to life and attacks with frightening precision.  Who knew that lame thoughts could turn into abstract Zombies?  Spawned by sickness, loneliness and fatigue, past mistakes feed on current discouragement, making me question my ability to do anything correctly or well in the future.  This type of Zombie is insidious; created, sustained and fed by insecurities and self –doubt it gnaws through logic, determination and strength.  Ridiculous self pity makes for messy remains that I don’t even have the motivation to clean up.  I can’t even tell if its funny when frustration/discouragement eats up half my brain leaving the mucus filled other half to make decisions and I find myself watching-sober and Irish on St. Patrick’s Day-some bloody awful kung-fu movie with Jet Lee and Morgan Freeman involved.  I hope the meds from Baku arrive soon.

XanimThrowsDown!!

It may seem from the previous posts that my neighbors and I are perhaps not on the best terms.  I would like in the interest of fairness to point out that on occasions, such as the following, they have shown remarkable kindness and asskickery that I, with all my cultural/social/language failings and sarcasm hardly deserve or expect.

 

Right before it snowed, there was a particularly infuriating group of dudes who spent most of their time (and still do) holding up the wall on the street corner of my block. Each morning as I walked out my door, the usually routine was: pull hat down low as possible (without obstructing ability to navigate,) Atmosphere on LOUD, hunch shoulders and try (for the love of God) not to flip the middle finger as they made crude gestures/kissing noises at me as I passed.  Not sure how long I made it with out flipping them off, but, suffice to say, my temper clearly needs some control.  And so it went for several weeks, they made kissing noises, and I almost face planted a tree and stepped on a small child because my hat was pulled too low.  Then one night I came home, it was dark (not late) and there the dudes where, huddled around my stairwell, laughing like prepubescent school girls at their first dance, smoking, and blocking the entrance.  They played chicken, moving aside at the last minute with sneers, and blowing smoke in my face as I passed.  To say that I was pissed would be an understatement; the run of stellar cussing in both Azeri/English that I unleashed was only thrown at my back in a mocking high pitched tone.  I could hear them yelling the whole 3 flights to my landing; opening the flat door, I had gone from pissed to infuriated and scared.  Fear is one emotion I don’t experience very often, and certainly not fear induced by faux leather skintight pant, pointy shoe, Steven Seagal for Men wearing uneducated scum with bad hair and wonky faces, who, given every other circumstance are more laughter inducing in their patheticness than intimidating.  Eventually I calmed down,(double checking my locked door) and spent a solid 15 min wondering how the dudes got their voices so unimaginably high; my conclusion was that they must kick each other in the lower frontal regions to break up the monotony of a day spent holding up a wall with their back side.

 

The next day, I returned home with my Azeri friend L. The dudes saw us approaching and ducked into the stairwell; the whole smoke blowing/kissing/giggling/rude noise act was repeated; however this time, when we reached the landing L and I went directly to my neighbor Xanim.  L explained the problem, with me giving a condensed representation of the noises made, and asked if Xanim would be so kind as to tell the dudes to stop.  The three of us marched down the stairs, and walking out into the yard, I pointed out the dudes, who had resumed their standard wall holding up position. The following was directly translated by L: (and while Xanim did ‘stretch’ the truth a bit, (ok, a lot), she does honestly understand what Peace Corps is and why I’m here.)

 

Xamin: (Yelling at the dudes) Get over here CHILDREN, NOW!! (hand gesture)

 

Group of 5 dudes shuffles over, and stands, looking at the ground.

 

Xanim: (With a look that would have made a brain hungry Zombie assume the fetal position in fear.) What are you doing? Why do you act so stupid? Who are you? She is an   American, a guest. Her government has sent her here, they watch out for her.

 

Dudes:  (collectively) Umm, uhhh, ahhh.  Hmmmm.

 

Xanim: (cutting off the mumbling) SHUTUP, you are stupid!  Do you know what happens if you mess with her?  Your life will be bad, you will shame your family. Did you hear what happened when someone else messed with an American girl? The police came, that person is gone, GONE!! (hand gesture)  It was very bad for them. (shakes head)  Do not talk not to her, do not look at her, do not think about her!!!(shaking finger at dudes for emphasis)  I will know if you talk to her. (evil glare) Do you understand!? Leave her alone, she will report if you bother her.  That will be very bad!   Do not talk to her, do not look at her!!  Now, you will HAUL WATER!!!

 

We were standing near the yard pump, and Xanim made those dudes haul water for an HOUR even though, Xanim has a water tank and had already filled (via pump) the tank that day.

 

Xanim gave L and I a knowing smile as we climbed the stairs, ‘It is good, they will not bother you anymore’ she said with a laugh.

 

 Postscript: While I cannot testify to, and would rather not know anyway, as to the dudes thoughts, it is perfectly clear that Xanim made her point, dudes have not said a word, dropped a nasty gesture nor air kissed in my general direction since hauling water.  The little saplings and small children on my street are now safe, though, occasionally, I emerge from my hat/ipod just to make sure.

7 Months….?

Cheers for living out of a backpack again!

 

Liquidating my meager possessions to make room for climbing equipment; anyone in the market for art supplies, colored paper, random assortment of office supplies or a coffee/spice grinder?

 

‘Atmosphere’ has been engaged to effectively white out the yelling/teeth sucking/rude gesture making wall/tree/car hood holding up males that have emerged with the warmer weather.  My wish is that they stay right there, holding up inanimate objects for years, dull meaningless props.

 

‘08 write up is done, dial up prevents the uploading of pictures, wont be posted ’till the next Baku visit.

look, look, pretty colors, sparkles, oooh!

siolo finally got his film developed.

ds finally posted about moscow

AS really is still s3xy!!!!!!!!!!!!

holiday cheer, or something.

Upon venturing outside to visit the library in hopes that the computer had magically self-healed, I walked past a group of men, (30’s ish)…being too spineless to actually stand out, the men huddled closer, while each one took turns yelling  “how much?!”  at me.

Tis sad that some Americans I know are just as pathetic as those men.

In contrast, L and I went in search of an internet card at the bazaar.  The guy who owned the shop gave me a free 20 hour card because:  ‘Oh, you are a teacher at school#1, thank you. I know you. Happy New Year! May Allah bless you!’

So that is what I love and hate about being here.  That everything is constantly different and in the course of a day, things can be amazingly good and then frustratingly awful.  The extremes are constant, and sometimes, I almost wish I could turn off everything and myself…but then on second thought, it seems that the vast contrasts found in experiences, people, things, times, moments, and places is what makes this whole thing worth while…and one hell of a story.

2008 was a good year.

(Last few posts have been more personal than usual, have not yet identified why I have the urge to mass vent [always a bit messy] never fear, raging sarcasm, bad photos, and international delinquency are on tap along with a ‘years best’ post)

Lying is the most fun a Girl can have…

     

I am perhaps the world’s worst liar, when I try and lie, you know it. Take an already painfully awkward girl, times by 10, add in all the classic give aways of lying and there I am. I can’t do it.  I blush, laugh, act more awkward, shift eyes, knot hands, look to the left (or is it right?) shift feet, basically I do everything possible to let the person(s) I’m talking to know that I’m attempting a lie for some god only knows reason and that I feel rather bad/embarrassed about the whole thing.  (My childhood dream of being a spy has obviously been trashed)  This dramatically changed when I landed in the AZ and spoke none of the language; lying became frighteningly easy.  At first there were twinges of guilt (ok, huge piles of guilt) accompanied by all the afore mentioned signs.  I was sure in the first 9 months of AZ life someone would call me out on my ridiculous behavior.  No such luck, what I attribute to bad lying was covered by loads of cultural awkwardness and a language barrier that assuaged my icky feelings associated with lying about various personal life details. 

 

The lie of the fiancée, that stared as a knee-jerk reaction to being accused (within a week of arriving in ISM) of being a lose women (a mild term for what they really called me) has now grown into a monster.  At first I just told people I was engaged. But then as my language improved I couldn’t just say ‘I don’t understand’ everyone knows I reached a certain lever of competence with the Azeri language; they don’t let me slide anymore.  At first I developed a strategy of calling the FauxDude by random names that were, for lack of a better term, pulled out the arse at the moment.  This worked swimmingly until, in typical form I’d be asked by the same person what the fiancée’s name was and I’d forget and stumble around looking for a guys’ name that had lots of nicknames. (FYI Bob, Tony, Mike, Matt, Chris, Dan, have been reused favorites)  Picking an occupation was easy, there are really only a few professions that I can remember and actually say something about; these are limited to the following: Doctor, Engineer, Teacher, Computer ProgrammerDesigner, Photographer, Economist.  Problem is I’m too stupid to remember which profession he currently is engaged in, producing comic conversations that start with ‘Oh I thought Bob was a teacher?’ ‘Who is Dan?’  Once it’s established that Dan is in fact an Economist, the follow up question is naturally, ‘Where does Dan the Economist live?’  Originally my plan was to pick a state I’ve visited (NY, PA, S.Dak., Mich, Ill etc) and expound on that, which proved more difficult since the next logical question was ‘Why didn’t you get married before you came to AZ?’  (Canceling the whole point of lying and putting me back in the category of ‘lose woman’ since no proper man living in the states would let his woman travel to AZ alone)  Then I hit upon a brilliant solution, if FauxDude works in another country it’s the fail safe excuse for why we haven’t married yet, don’t have a date, and don’t really see each other.  (At all.)  I’d choose a country, at least 3 time zones away that I’d visited and knew a far amount about (i.e.; South Korea, Ireland, England, France) plunk FauxDude down in say, Seoul and then describe the country; a stunningly smooth diversion taking the spotlight off FauxDude.  The most difficult country to describe proved to be Ireland, which when pronounced in my wonky America/Midwest accent sounds like the way Azeri’s pronounce Iran-this resulted in one too many heated political conversations and near arguments, so I moved FauxDude to London, where to my knowledge he is now living a very happy life as an Engineer and misses me something fierce. 

 

If this sounds beyond ridiculous, it is. 

 

Since I’ve been building up this lie for over a year in hopes of being accepted and protecting my reputation, there really is no way of backing down now. Breaking up with FauxDude is even more scandalous than me clearly being a blithering idiot to 90% of the ISM population. Thankfully, no one has seriously called me out…yet.  What is most frustrating is that, at this point, I’m comfortable enough with my work/ reputation/language/people to just say that I’m not/never will/don’t want to be engaged/married/in a relationship/life partner.  The temptation is to just level with my close friends; admit that I’ve been lying for the past year and then eat crow.  Of course nothing is ever simple, and on top of the FauxDude there are a few other lies that make a nicely tangled knot of stupidity.  I haven’t decided what to do.

 

Anyway, lets face it, if your only interaction with/knowledge of American women was the shocking chicks of MTV music videos and  previous volunteers who made Mrs. Beaver look like a skank, and then suddenly, a 25 year old single woman, clearly not tall or blond, shows up in your town with a nose piercing and a 14g stainless steel bar punched through her ear, sporting trimmed eyebrows/trousers/skull shirts, and saying she is here to help your kids become better citizens…you’d jump away in fear and run for hills while tisking, but you’d be damm glad that some upstanding man somewhere was willing to bite the bullet and do society a favor by marrying her and protecting the rest of the population from her obvious ability to corrupt all males within a 10 ft. radius.

“Personally, I dislike lies” he said.  “I find that if you act them out long enough, you begin believing them.  You’ll find that lies are natural for people here.  Having a façade is normal, because being honest is such a hassle.  You have to decide what bothers you most-lying all the time, or the consequences of openness.”

 Lipstick Jihad Azadeh Moaveni