On Happiness

January 10th - This week my literary selection has taken me around the world, from revolutionary Tehran in Iran Awakening (highly recommended) to the circus circuit of Depression Era America in Water for Elephants. Salt: A World History was particularly interestingly and geographically broad in scope, but the winner for the most introspective world tour goes to Eric Weiner’s The Geography of Bliss. Weiner decides to track down the catalysts for happiness with visits to many of the world’s most felicitous countries, among them Bhutan, where the government measures GNH (Gross National Happiness) instead of GDP (Gross National Product) and Iceland, where a culture so readily accepts failure as the expense of genius that it supports its citizens as they serially try out careers like hats at a costume shop.

Anyway, the book got me thinking about what makes me happy in Kyrgyzstan. And despite the sub-zero temperatures, I am quite happy in Kyrgyzstan; on a scale from 1-10, I’d say I’m about a 9. Yes, eating real Italian food and Salsa dancing—two things that top my general list—are impossible here, but I give you 15 things that do keep a smile on my face:

1) Daily life as the source of infinitely unpredictable and wildly improbable stories. We’ve devised all sorts of methods to keep ourselves entertained in America, from lazer tag to pranks involving cling-wrap and a friend’s car. But no one would ever think to put two donkeys in the kitchen. And here they needn’t to; here the donkeys do it themselves, and I wake up to yet another day where the “mundane” village life is anything but.

2) Reading detailed letters and emails. Any PC volunteer will tell you that a letter from home is a real treat, but for me, I am especially grateful to those who’ve taken the time to write me almost lyrical prose about the magnificent and mundane events of their lives. You have no idea how happy it makes me to know you learned to make a delicious quinoa salad or that your sons caught a 5 pound catfish. Thank you. (And please keep the emails coming!)

3) Writing. Yes, writing about the details of my own life give me almost as much joy as reading about the rest of yours’. Whether you, dear reader, appreciate the stories I post here or not, recounting such ridiculous events as go on in my daily life brings me great pleasure. It also must be said that I’ve always enjoyed the craft of writing and finally having the time to do it is a joy in and of itself.

4) Reading Dr. Seuss with 5th graders. Reading the genius of Dr. Seuss to anyone is a joyous endeavor, but helping bubbly Kyrgyz 5th graders read it themselves is a pleasure indeed. Imagine having never seen a picture book, then flipping through Dr. Suess. You’ve just imagined my 4th-5th grade English Club, the highlight of my teaching week. Taking turns passing the book around, we’ve learned colors and numbers with the help of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, rhyme with Green Eggs and Ham, ‘right’ and ‘left’ with The Foot Book (and a little Hokey Pokey afterwards), and a whole lot more. Thank you Theodore Geisel (and thank you Mom for sending the books).

5) The laughter of children. I am blessed to live in a family with adorable, giggly, twin three-year-old girls. Tangnuru has learned the colors in English and has lately taken to going around pointing to everything and identifying its color. (As I write this, her father is quizzing her in the other room.) Adorable.

6) Pickles. Delicious—nutritious--and the only vegetable I’m currently able to keep in my diet (unless you count the ubiquitous potato). My friends and I canned dill pickles back in August anticipating the winter’s lack of vegetables, but I don’t think any of us envisioned three months bereft of the entire food group. The once sparse carrots and turnips in our soups have entirely disappeared, so I’m left with my pickles, which I’ve rationed to last me through mid-February, eating one pickle every other day. I eat a mandarin orange—my sole winter “fruit group” representative—on the alternate days.

7) Eating (and cooking) good food. This doesn’t happen often. But when it does, the contrast to all that bread you ate last week make the meal doubly pleasurable. Granted, with all the ingredient substitutions and baking with an oven that unevenly heats to a scalding 500 degrees and no other temperature, some things are bound to be a bit off. Nonetheless, when volunteers congregate, the one requisite for a good night seems to be making good food—and that we do well. The fried chicken and creamed spinach at the Karakol Christmas party certainly top my list of foodgasmic experiences and well illustrate this point (this was the first time in about 3 months I’d had chicken, let alone battered and fried, and only about the 3rd time in Kyrgyzstan that I’d had spinach). But not all delicious meals are reserved for holidays. Just last weekend I was able to whip up a delicious cheese-onion-red pepper quiche that was divine and completely doable with ingredients readily found in Naryn City. So yes, in the village I’m subsisting on dinners of fried potatoes, fried pasta, fried rice, or a combination thereof (and pickles and oranges as of late), but every now and then a quiche or homemade pumpkin ravioli will pass my palate—and its almost worth the bleak contrast of every bite of potato for those few meals of taste-bud bliss.

8) Deep musical tradition. One of the first things that endeared me to my first host family—and indeed Kyrygz people in general—was the pervasiveness of music in their lives. My host mother regularly sang to my host father’s accordion accompaniment, and she was happy to teach me some of her favorite traditional tunes, an endeavor that was a highlight of my pre-service training. The results also made me a sensation in the village; I’m called on to sing at every party. Everyone here takes singing seriously, to the point that national musical talent shows are featured weekly on TV. A popular party game is the “sing off,” where two teams take turns singing songs that start with the last letter of the last word of the previous song. The game can go on for as much as an hour, such is the breadth of Kyrygz vocal literature and the depth of my hosts knowledge. In addition to singing, I’ve also picked up a new instrument. (I decided my cello wouldn’t like the cold much and left it behind). I’m learning the komyz, a tear-shaped instrument much like a mandolin, but with only 3 strings. It’s beautiful to watch true masters play; the instrument may be simple, but the strumming can be quite elaborate and, if well executed, almost dance-like.

9) Grammar faux pas. Whether its my constant mix up of the Kyrgyz words “cow” and “house” (virtually indistinguishable to the untrained ear) or a student’s mis-statement, “Sally shits in the chair,” instead of “Sally sits in the chair,” mistakes like these keep me and my host family continually bemused.

10) The tendency to toast. Our teachers’ lounge sees at least weekly toasts to new brides, new coats, new hats, birthdays and reunions. I still find vodka shots before a 1:15 class a little disconcerting, but the toasts themselves, given in turn by every person in the room, are a beautiful symbol of the genuine care the Kyrgyz share for one another.

11) Greeting everyone in the street. When was the last time you said “hello” to a complete stranger on the street? Try it and I guarantee you’ll find yourself smiling 10 times more on the way to work. Here it’s a sign of respect to acknowledge anyone older than you when you pass in the street, and I think, a tradition worth adopting.

12) Spontaneous guesting. It is culturally accepted, in fact it is actually polite, to drop by a neighbor or friends’ house unexpectedly for casual chat and chai. No prior phone call, text, or email needed. Would you do this in the States? I think not. Your neighbor is undoubtedly busy and needs to find time to work you into the schedule and the house probably needs a bit of cleaning before its presentable, right? Not so in Kyrygzstan. Your neighbor is most likely home, happy to receive you, and the carpets are certainly clean—they’re vacuumed daily.

13) “It happens when it happens” mentality. Most volunteers are annoyed by this attitude—especially coming from a culture that values pro-activity—but I appreciate aspects of the “azer” outlook. (Azer being the word that translates as “now” but means anything from in the next 5 minutes to the next 5 hours.) Yes, it can be frustrating to wait in a “taxi” for 3 hours for it to leave, but once you learn to accept your powerless in certain situations, it’s actually liberating. (Though certainly plan ahead for such predicaments by bringing a book.) While stressing over something in the States might actually have some effect over the situation, it won’t here. So why stress?

14) Mountains beyond mountains. I see them ringing the valley I live in each time I walk out my front gate. If the altitude isn’t enough to make you catch your breath, these peaks certainly are.

15) Blue skies, nothing but blue skies. When Irving Berlin penned this song, he surely couldn’t have had the Ak-Talaa Valley in mind, but he may as well have. My region of Kyrgyzstan is strikingly similar to the American Southwest when it comes to weather and rock formations. The climate is incredibly dry and we might get rain (or in winter, snow) once every two weeks, but 95% percent of the time the sun is shining. And as it turns out, 10-below is not too bad when the skies are blue.