All Bark? I Think Not!

January 7, 2011

 

Today I pulled out my running shoes and hit the streets. Running in Kazakhstan is always an experience.   You see, in the land of sheep and horses, dogs are just one more thing that wanders freely across the terrain. They appear out of nowhere, bark like grizzly bears, and if you're running, they are quick to become your shadow.

 

Generally, the pups are harmless.  I just turn into the Pied Piper of Kulan by the time I complete my circuit. Super!  Like I'm not already attracting enough attention as the "Running American."  Let's add a pack of canines. 

 

I guess I picked the wrong street today.  As my shoes carried me past a seemingly quiet cluster of houses a mid-sized mutt and a petite Pomeranian-looking thing came lunging at me from under a fence.  The mutt was all bark, but that darn Pomeranian had a set of chompers on him.  I tried to ignore him, but he got my sweatpants. Twice!  Why is it always the little ones that cause problems? 

 

Next time, I'm running with a rock.  Pomeranian, stand guard… this is war.

Silky Smooth New Year!

December 31, 2010

 

I gave in.  After four months of roughing it, I bought a hair straightener. It was a tough decision.  I'm in the Peace Corps, so I'm supposed to be living in huts and walking eight miles to school, up-hill both ways, in one thousand degree heat. Therefore, it only makes sense that I would wear hemp sandals and let my hair flow wavy in the breeze. But since I live in a heated concrete house, and since I take a taxi two miles through snow and ice across the edge of the steppe to get to work, I figure I'm violating every other rule of Peace Corps.  Thus, my Christmas gift to myself was spending fourteen dollars on a flatiron. 

 

It made its inaugural appearance on the night of the office's New Year's party.  For one night, it was almost like I was home.  I washed my hair, put on an almost-American (though maybe too short for Kazakhstan) dress.  Royal blue, not black.  I did my makeup how I wanted- skip the lipstick. And put on heals rather than knee-high boots.  Then, just like ice turns these pot-hole-ridden roads into smooth glass, that lovely cosmetic corrector turned my frizz into silky locks.

 

There are no words to describe my delight… pure heaven! I felt like a new me.  Or maybe I just felt like the old me, but in Kazakhstan.