‘…n I’m gonna run for as long as I’m allowed…’

It seems (due to the high volume of questions from various people) that the general opinion is that I’m staying here longer (a year or so) due to the presence of a significant other person. It’s probably a good time to point out that besides ‘lack of prospects in the AZ’ (and this I could care less about), living with roaches on steroids (who see all my major and minor appendages as tasty treats), no water (at. All.) and the general populous thinking I’m a lose woman (because I like to run in the AM), are not exactly circumstances I’d like to stay in simply because I was keen on a dude. Rumor has it though, that a lady in Peace Corps (near my own age) is staying in the AZ for precisely that reason, (engagement)- married bliss awaits around the corner for them, and I wish them many years of joy lacking any sort of gold grills or tight faux leather pants.

Rather, staying here was an idea that’d been running circles in my brain for a while(since last August actually) therefore, when given the opportunity to not only expand the Photography for Social Change project but also a chance to work on a few personal photography/documentary projects (generally associated with leftover Soviet Sanatoriums on the Caspian, Secular Islamic Rap Groups, and Bus Stops) it seemed like the right life choice-living for 3 years in a post Soviet, contemporary Islamic country discovering democracy is a photographic gold mine of adventures that doesn’t present itself often.

Of course, a month ago, while hauling boxes, and various personal items out to the street (to the sound of xanims cackling at my odd and so very ‘English Qiz’ possessions) due to once again being kicked out of a flat, I would have given anything to be back in Minneapolis at 3AM talking with Mark about the various ways we could defend our house against the battalion of drunk frat boys relieving themselves on our front door.

So, I’ve jumped in the work fray-frantically (I forgot to pack the Christmas Tree) throwing my possessions together (and the above mentioned high profile exit), leaving the most permanent ‘home’ I’ve had thus far in my 24 months, and depositing kitchen tools with another volunteer, I’ve been living out my pack since the end of June with my collection of film and cameras and a few horridly unfashionable clothing articles. But everything has sorted, as things do-given my summer work-holding photography day camps in various regions, I’d be traveling anyway-best not to have rent payment, and a mostly crazy, toothless landlady hounding you. In between imparting massive amounts of photographic knowledge to hordes of bright youth, (This is worthy of at least 3 posts.) Azra and I have been navigating new territory in the photo realm of ’Foreign Ladies in ‘Baijan Possessed of Charm, Wit, Mad Language Skills and Cameras’-which means, we made a list of places to see over 3 months, checked it twice and celebrated the warmer weather of June/Start of Summer Adventures by conquering ‘The Factory’, ‘Artyom Island’ and ‘Chicken Factory’ (all abandoned and guarded) in top form.

Since then Azra and I have managed to engage in all sorts of photo shenanigans (halved Lenin statues, traveling circuses, giant Soviet telescopes…) as well a few more sobering wanders-one in particular, which, found us in Mardekend (village north of Baku) was a shocking reminder of the mess left over when cultures, ideals, politics and a host of other human meddling converges and explodes. Several attempts have been made on my part to accurately convey (via writing) what we saw and its significance-however, it seems when I try to write, a bit of self doubt creeps in, that, if unable to thoroughly describe Mardekend, I would fail at making anyone see its importance-because somehow, I think Mardekend is important.

Also of importance are the half a dozen or so stories that are collecting dust/taking up hard drive space-eventually or when I find a home, they will make their way here…

Motivation, Goals, and General Ass-Kickery

In answer to the general question of what the heck I’m doing, find something on this list…I never listed my dream to be doing exactly what I’m doing now, teaching youth photography and living abroad in a crazy country-I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever see that dream realized, everything else seemed easy to accomplish in comparison to what I’m doing now.

The list started in ‘06 and carries on to present.

Learn 2 other languages (French, Azeri, Spanish….)

Stay proficient in ASL

Own a DSLR and all related gear

4 gallery shows (at a minimum) of my art (painting, photography, mixed media)

Have my own studio space

BASE jump into Sotano de las Golondrinas

Climb Mt. Fuji

Run the Altitude marathon at Pikes Peak

Make it through the Peace Corps

Own sufficient rock climbing gear

Proficient in swing, salsa, tango and waltz. (Learn to belly dance)

Live in Paris and photograph the hell out of the place

Spend at least 6 months photographing the wild horses in SouthDakota

Burren, Ireland, hiking.

Broadway show of Beauty and the Beast and Phantom.

Hot air balloon ride

Get a tattoo

Be a mentor to a child(s)

Masters/PHD in foreign relations/advocate /photography/communication

Campaign against human trafficking

Deep sea dive (explore an ocean wreck)

Well read in theology of Christianity and other religions

Well read in classical literature.

Flat stomach.

Lead a detoxified, organic, clean lifestyle.

Travel to every continent

Pay Off Student loans

Travel/Boat the Amazon

Travel/Boat the Nile

Rappel out a helicopter

Published photography and writing in National Geographic

Create film/photography documentary on AZBoyz HipHop Group

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.

 

When your tired of dancing at Notre Dame,

pop music at Mcdonalds,
tight faux leather pants,
gold grillz,
and cold water at the Canub…
…perhaps a cruise?

As long as its Zombie proof…

Thanks to Mr. N. Taylor for giving me the heads up on this project.

Due to my slow as a obese cow interwebs, I haven’t been able to find much information.   However, when I first arrived in the AZ, the talk was that this island would be turned into a rubbish dump, a rich resort, be left to gradually erode away, had too much pollution to be anything other than a hulk or used for military purposes.  No one was sure then, and no one seems sure now, the only difference is that now there are fancy computer renderings and color coded maps.

Arch Daily
Inhabitat
BIG Architects

…while the grey matter between the ears is on hold…

tinker toys and lincoln logs and slinkies (Farewell to the Absheron,(p19) spent my frist night in Baku on your rooftop watching the caspian sea, your walls witnessed silliness, may your wretched beds and nasssty towels not be given to lowlife hostle owners. Wade a bit and Baku Metro is somewhere in the mess of awful renderings)

Endless things to do when tired of sipping 33’s

Back in the day (use those fingers, if it wasnt obvious, scroll to sections labled ‘Water Supply” and ‘Underground Tunnels)

look, look, pretty colors, sparkles, oooh!

siolo finally got his film developed.

ds finally posted about moscow

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

Baku…

…the way it should be because of a day spent wandering and climbing with Sabastian.

http://www.urban-changes.org/

http://www.freelens.com/sebastian-burger

there is much to climb/see/explore in Baku, provided you know the right people, having just met those people, there was much rejoicing, when my weekend of rather dull grant writing work turned into a day long wandering/climbing/adventure in which Sabastian the German and I took a lift to a high-rise under construction,  (with a kind gentleman who was worried about my shoes getting dirty) photographed a Russian family (the grandma was baking fresh bread!) and found ourselves in the studio of the most alternative/progressive painter in Azerbaijan (and one of the best artist I have meet in a long time) who spent an hour showing us various pieces of work.

return to ISM tomorrow having accomplished non of the work I intended to do…but having instead experienced the best day thus far in Baku. (which makes me hopeful for the spring:)

snaps! photos! fresh!

blue n red (moscow)

better at night (moscow)

chillin (moscow)

Jet Li – the early years (moscow)

classy (moscow)

oh what fun it is to ride..

that face looks innocent...

Ne qeshank!

wiplash

Hardcore Eleet!!

Tasty decay

still life

all dressed up, nowhere to go

GREEN GRASS!!! (Moscow)

all eyes

future models, FLEX YOUR RIGHT BICEP! (moscow)

Soviet Era Heavy Khemikles:2

For your first time:

     Over a breakfast of Siolo munching Snickers, me spazing out over bananas, Qx/Ds eating a strange meat combo, and the nuclear physicists laughing at us all, we collectively decided several things:  Ds/Qx would die cuddling in the Gobi, (Siolo wants the pictures, I want the cams), our hostel beds were stolen from an orphanage, tight red shorts must only be worn by attractive females, and the drinking of tap water straight from the faucet was not a good life choice that would most likely result in the Big D.  With these stunning revelations taken care of and thoroughly discussed we chose, as a nice warm up for the day, the abandoned structure across the street.  Meeting up with the Kiev Crew we gave it an hour in the abandoned hotel/apartment/office building, which was mostly unremarkable, except that it had a small bit of everything: pealing paint (for the noobs), graffiti  (for the artistically angst), fully furnished studio (for the 5 finger discount) and overflowing toilets (for those who need to feel hard core).  Concluding that this place was just too good to keep for ourselves, Qx/Ds were kind enough to share the goodness with the sexually/fashion confused proprietor of out hostel convincing him that chicks really dig hobo squats and dead pigeons.  Whatever they said worked and within 24 hours the confused youngster was clambering around in piles/puddles of stale crap/urine with a girl he’d only just recently met; laughing gleefully at the corrupting of yet another innocent, Ds/Qx, felt their evil deed for the week had been done and retreated, for the moment, into arguing with Siolo about the finer points of things NSFW.

 

Soviet Era Heavy Khemikle Plants

    With the promise of all sorts of drainage/outfall wetness/RCP/Diggers shenanigans once night fell, Siolo agreed to decaying topside fun and after several dodgy street crossings, a trip though the lovely Kiev metro and walking though a sadly decrepit bazaar of faucet products, faux Armani jeans and mysterious belt buckles, we arrived at a vast expanse of awfully gray, awfully ugly structures.  This was acres of industrial at its apocalyptic best, served raw, and bleak with a side of scruffy, crusty scrappers, and roaming dogs the size of small horses. Dodging cussing men, thugs in tinted window cars, and downtrodden workers  (who lounged outside gypsies wagons in Speedo style boxers) we made it through five or six factories, breathing in the leftovers of abandoned labs, khemikle mixers and experiments gone bad.  We saw it all, labs for producing a mutant form of humans, hulking machines for ripping, turbines to brew all sorts of nasssty soviet substances; it was the debris of a clash between humans, khemikles, money and ideals; debris that was beautiful in its mostly washed out hues of blue, grey, yellow and red. (If you ignored the smell, there was nothing beautiful about the smell)  Mid way through our posh VIP tour, we stumbled into a warehouse containing an entire armies worth of gas masks bursting out of stacked crates sitting in the middle of a powdery blue/green mess.  Tossing out any concern of death by powdery blue/green mystery substance, we did our best to stir up clouds of colorful dust while posing for pictures in equally dusty gas masks.  When the dust settled, everyone was 10 points more elite, and could now brag they’d run with the big dawgs and infiltrated the gas mask breading ground; somehow one of these masks jumped into my possession.  (Soviet Era Gas Masks: a bold way to yell IM F@*KING HARDCORE UBERELITE! Pick yours up now before the posers swipe em out from under your blue stained khemikle fingers.)

 

Learn the meaning of ‘Collector’ grasshopper; it’ll get you far in life:

         Tired from rotting our lungs the best we could on khimkiles, we took a few hours rest in the fire hazard hostel, carefully trying to not fall through rickety wooden bed slats that apparently were made to only hold130lbs and were approximately 5 inches too short for Siolo who had to assume the fetal position every night as he climbed…into the top bunk. (This is an elite maneuver that really only Siolo can execute with precision)

Fueled up on a few nasty energy drinks, and maybe a hit (or several) of vodka, we found ourselves in the outfall of one of the most popular drains in Kiev (at least according to the Diggers) with a dozen or so of drain/RCP/outfall/drop shaft/overflow/rickety ladder  loving individuals, AKA ‘Diggers’.  Siolo took one look at the crowd of slightly damp, slightly scruffy and mostly stylish Diggers and knew he was home; with mad abandon he talked ‘drains/cars/b00bies ‘in rapid succession, drawing, along with more vodka hits, a crowd of cheering/laughing friends who taught him that the proper word for Drain is ‘Collector!’ and Sewer is ‘Fecal Collector!”  At some point in the night, sitting on the outfall, Ds/Qx and I gave up, Siolo, bourn on the wings of fire water, outtalked, out BS’ed and out sang us by a good 2 hours and made more friends than any Aussie ever has (or ever will) in one night in the Ukraine.  Eventually we left, to cries of ‘COLLECTOR!’ (which had become, due to libations, the unifying cry for drain lovers across the world…or something like that), and wearily made our way back to the fire hazard hostel, where we appropriately pissed off the owner by our late 12 am arrival.