E is for Emergency Envlelopes

As I last left you, we had just landed with a very sick traveler. But we still had to make our way through the labyrinth of hallways and escalators to our train platform. In a moment of nausea-induced bad decision making, Michaela thought that perhaps she was feeling really bad due to hunger. And, on seeing the stores laden with delectable pastries piled high upon each other, she thought perhaps a chocolate covered donut might assuage her upset tummy. I figured I might as well stock up on an assortment of tasties for our trip at the same time, and I’ll bet you’re dying to know what we got…

a really good thing with all kinds of slivered almonds on top, the Johannisbeer Streuseltaler, and a cherry cheese thingy. And coffee! Sorry, there were more pressing issues going on that took my mind off taking pictures, but did get this other one.



Anyway, her donut stuck to her ribs approximately 3 ½ bites, and by now, we were reduced to literally RUNNING through the airport begging for bags. I ended up jogging over to the “lost baggage counter” to ask if they had ANYTHING to help us out- and I was handed a large trashcan liner. Thanks, that oughtta just about do it. :sad2:

She really was only able to go about 100 yards until she had to lie down and rest. Mike and the little ones had gotten all of our luggage onto a cart, and although we hated to have to move her, we really did need to press on and make our way towards the baggage storage area. It was SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW going!

With breaks like this along the way:




It was then that I saw this:



I’m really not even sure how to pronounce it in German, but I thought, if it is pronounced like “meat wagon”, then well, that’s pretty funny!

We finally made it to our platform, after some serious confusion about which way to go. The signs weren’t so clear, and we had to end up asking the police which way to go. I know, an American kind of emergency. Mike was busy taking the world’s worst picture the weary travelers while we waited for our train.



Having timed it just perfectly, after checking our bags into the luggage room, buying our pastries, stopping for barf breaks and all that, we arrived with about 10 minutes of spare time.

We did end up asking the station attendant exactly where we should stand, as Magdalene had warned us that we only had about 3 minutes to get on the train, and that not all the cars connected- so if you got on the wrong one, you could be stuck without seats.





Successfully boarded and correct seats taken, we stowed our carryons, and breathed a sigh of relief. I managed to get a few shots of the trains---- Some are pretty old I think, and some are fast, others not so much.










….until she felt bad again. Now what?? The last stash we had gotten from an airport magazine store was running low. I again started my frantic search of “supplies” and hit the mother lode!!! All those perfect-sized, plastic bags meant for “other purposes” were exactly what we needed. (It wasn’t until days later that I clued her into what they were normally for.) No more worries- and that was a good thing, because it was now time for another victim to play, “Let’s Take a Ride on the Ralphing Railroad”.

With a bit of seat re-arranging, both Zach and Mik were against windows, where they could turn and “hide” their distress. They were completely mortified that every 10 minutes, almost to the second, they would be sick, and have the lady sitting at the table next to us, look over with a glance of both sympathy and disgust. I apologized over and over, but more than that there was not much I could say. She could speak hardly any English, so I guess it didn’t matter.

There were a few moments that I could enjoy the scenery, and as we raced through the countryside this is what we saw:

12:15 AM, Tues, August 17th

Just about the only good thing about traveling late is the lack of the traffic, and for our family, the LESS time that we spend in Almaty traffic, the better. There’ve just been too many times we’ve used the last bags for car sickness emergencies. Not so tonight: we were starting out well- in health and with plenty of extra time- just the way I like it. We breezed through customs and passport control, thanks to Mr. Immigration Stampy-Pants, and settled our sleepy selves next to those already waiting to be called to such exotic destinations as Prague, Moscow, and Novosibersk.




No sooner had we plopped down, Anara declared that she was “starving” It’s a good thing, because no one else but a starving person would eat this:




a $4 hamburger bun with a piece of melted processed “cheese” on top. I’m pretty sure she managed to choke down about ½ until she gave up- having just barely cheated death by starvation.

Her alternative was something from here:






But even those so close to succumbing to the horrors of dying by malnourishment would be hard pressed to get several fish ovum into one’s waning system. Which leaves me to ponder just who it was who first experimented with eating such vile things as fish guts, bird vomit nest soup, and sheeps’ private parts. Of course, those same folks were probably wondering how others could eat moldy fermented milk curds, distilled corn mash, and forest fungi.

Boarding was rather uneventful- another long haul flight, another chance to lose a night’s sleep.







This was certainly re-assuring. Great for business, I should say!



The kids lucked out because, well, they are kids, and can sleep just about anywhere; and I lucked out, because I scored an empty row. Just loosen that seatbelt all the way, and stretch on out. After a while the armrests and other seatbelts dig themselves in far enough that you really don’t feel them gutting you anymore. I suppose the glass of Chardonay probably didn’t hurt either. We were headed to a vacation we’ve wanted to do for more than a decade, and life was good. And getting better- or so we thought. Until the all-too-familiar “I don’t feel so good” siren started wailing about an hour before DESCENDING. Oh, ok, no need to panic. Probably just from turbulence, lack of sleep, or excitement.

“No, Mom I need a barf bag!” Givitng myself permission to now panic, the full revelation of a ruined vacation came hurtling down the “This-can’t-be-happening” Express. Of all times for a virus to make its rounds, why now?!! It wasn’t the meatloaf after all!! Thinking back I realized that Anara had been sick about a week before we left, and was thankful it wasn’t during our trip; we assumed Mikes’ Night of Hell was due to little lambs who ate too much ivy. All doubt was gone. This was a NASTY bunch of beasties whose sole purpose was to wreck whatever we had planned for the next 2 days.

Slowly, we disembarked and planned our strategy. It was obvious that we would now need every minute (and possibly more) of our 2 hours we had to find, and get on, our ICE Train to Nuremberg. Would we make it with a 15 year old whose health was DESCENDING quicker than my bank account while being subjected to Disney prices?? Would we find the right track?? And most importantly, which pastry did we choose????

C is for Ciprofloxin

What an incredible relief to have finally arrived at our dear friends’ house; a place of incredible hospitality! Have you ever been to a home where you just know that from the bottom of your hosts’ hearts, you are welcome; where a perfect mix of “help yourself” is married with “we’re here to serve you”? There was a warm welcome at the door with wide smiles, tight hugs, clean sheets, laid out towels, and a working toilet. AH! A WORKING TOILET! The crowning jewel on the perfect accommodation! And speaking of crappers, take a look at this poster one of the workers in the Big City has produced!!





Is it not the BEST poster you’ve ever seen?? I MUST get me one!! Our friends had it hanging on their living room wall for a while, but their local friends just could not see the humor or beauty in it. Guess it’s a cultural thing; and a subject to us, who are in our line of business, find very interesting.

We were told ahead of time that we’d be just in time for a gathering of their home fellowship! What joy to be able to worship again in our heart language! For too long our family would have only ourselves to meet with in English- good; or with more bodies, but having to listen and sing in a language we’d never master quite well enough to have an easy time of in church- also good- but neither being ideal. This was IDEAL- more people, AND in English.

To start off our time, we did what all typical Americans do when they meet together- we ate. And it was not just any old American food. It was as traditional as you can get---- grilled burgers and dogs (even if the dogs were made of horse meat).




On real buns, with yellow mustard, real pickle relish, and holy cow! What is this?? Real iceberg lettuce??!! And certainly those couldn’t be Doritos! Ok, clearly we chose the wrong city to live and work in. I’m just sayin’. Perhaps we’d still be there today, had we had real pickle relish and a decent way to “take care of business” in the All-American way.

It was pure rapture to be able to share what the Good Lord did concerning stamps, and keeping the plane coasting at high alttitudes- remind me to tell you about the time we saw the pilot come out of the bar and onto our plane (that was back in the good old days.) – Everyone there unanimously agreed that there was NO WAY EVER that would have happened in the Big City!! Gov’t officials there instead bend over backwards to make things difficult, and foreigners out. They concurred readily that there was no other possible way to explain what happened other than direct Intervention; one even off-handedly mentioned that Mr. Stamp wasn’t even a “stamper” at all.

Feeling encouraged, and fed in more ways than one, we floated off to bed with overflowing gratitude and lighter hearts. Many burdens were already melting away; our tired souls were being renewed quickly.

Now you must know that Mike is terribly allergic to cats. So much, that about 1 hour in a house with a cat, makes him unable to breathe well. They have 3, so he elected to sleep outside on an air mattress with a sleeping bag. It was either be up all night, and not able to breathe, or be up all night from barking dogs and city lights. But unfortunately, none of those were to blame for keeping him up all night. Around 2 AM “IT” began. For hours, he cursed the lamb meatloaf and fertilized the lawn. To be fair, he has the weakest stomach of all of us. If someone is going to get sick, it’s going to be him first. But he’s also the fastest to bounce back. And we ALWAYS, from vast experience, travel with Imodium. The first dose went in around 6:00, at first light. But in 4 hours, it had done nothing to quell “ITS” onslaught. So, with only 18 hours to get “IT” under control, we had to do something more drastic- it was time to bring out the big guns- something never to have failed us yet. “Honey, would you please walk to the pharmacy?” Luckily, there is one of every corner and then some, so finding one was absolutely no problem. And the best part is that you can get most anything over the counter! Ciprofloxin to the rescue!! I know it’s an antibiotic, and I know it SHOULD, by definition take days to start working, but seriously, this stuff works within hours; by noon, he was feeling MUCH better, albeit weak.

He spent the rest of the day outside, reading the first paper we’d seen in months, and sleeping on and off. It would be a long, long night very soon, and he was banking his shut eye ahead of time. The rest of us, should have been doing the same, but we, instead, were taking great delight in having a Monk-a-thon inside. I’m pretty sure we made it through the entire 1st and 2nd seasons, and maybe even some of the 3rd, before we tried to get everyone bedded down by 8:00. We did stop long enough to heat up some leftover wienies, I mean who can resist horse meat sausages grilled on flames?!? The kids also took breaks to be super goofy, and came up with this:





At last it was 12:15 AM, and time to get everyone dressed in their traveling duds and our teeth brushed one last time. Anyone ever do an all night red-eye?? That slimy, gaggamatic feeling on your teeth totally grosses me out! Sorry. Moving on. Anara was beyond pumped to break her last paper chain link and toss it just before the driver honked in the driveway (nothing like waking up your host and hostess as a good bye gift). She was NOT pumped, however, to discover that she had mis-stepped earlier in the yard. Guess who was elected to clean off Daddy’s misfortune as the driver waited?? With one last walk through the house, I discovered that I came about 1 minute from forgetting the camera battery charger! THAT would have been probably the most colossal misfortune of them all! For a while at least…

Now, keep your shoes clean, brush your teeth, and Have a Magical Day.

Full of relief and gratitude, the plane set off. We were heading out to start life anew in a vastly, perhaps even incomprehensible, place to most of you. Let me share just a few more of those last minute pictures we took on our last day in the Middle of Nowhere. I think they highlight quite well, the totality of the changes our family has made in the last month.










The plane to the capital city, where we’d be spending the next 30 hours, was the first taste of “western-ish” culture we’d had in a long, long while. Very likely 50% or more of our passenger manifest had probably never flown, and even a few, I’d venture to guess, had never traveled outside of their home “state”. Imagine their confusion when told they could not smoke, must keep their seatbelts fastened, and that a life preserver was under their seats. Ummm…. Why? Do they work for sand? (Still pondering that, along with the other bewildered fellow passengers.)

Of course, with the panic that had just consumed our last hour, I didn’t have time to make my usual 3 trips to the bathroom. I was even prepared with my own TP this time- my last trip out, and I was finally, after 10 years of forgetting it, prepared for that all-important last trip to the Turkish squatty. And I didn’t have time. Which meant as soon as the props were spinning, I had to go. Bad. Even without 2 cups of coffee loaded up. Now, I’d have to be forced to wait until that bane of my travel experience, known as the seatbelt light, was off. Well, at least I’d have free TP, free soap, and a pristine sink to wash my hands in. And, I was going to be first in there- you can count on that! Because customer #2 gets fresh loogies, tinkled on seats, and risks the mortal danger of coming out with TP stuck to their shoe.

Ahhh, cruising altitude; business done, it was time to get our grub. And actually, it wasn’t too bad. We had the choice of lamb meatloaf in a brown gravy with mashed potatoes, or chicken breast with tomato sauce. Mike got the lamb, and the rest of us got the chicken. Remember that. It was tasty, and I ate all of mine. I never eat the Albeni Bar, though. (We’ve been on a lot of these cross-country flights, and the Albeni never changes.) Too sweet. So I threw it in my bag, knowing that in 10 hours I was probably going to throw it away. Usually happens with Lufthansa ham and cheese sandwiches too. I guess I’m an airline food leftovers optimist that is frustrated every time.




Anyone need a scented baby wipe?? How about a refreshing tower?



During lunch, we were entertained by this little “sweetie pie”. Don’t let his cute little face fool you- he’s really a thief disguised in a 2 and a half foot body. His booty of choice? Other peoples’ lunch! I love progression of these photos! See, as a mother of 5, I knew exactly what was coming and had my camera ready.









The rest of the flight was rather uninteresting, except that in the in-flight magazine, I came across an article about Rotel!!! We had just talked about this on either my, Glenn’s or Magdalene’s threads (sorry, you 2, I seriously can’t remember where it popped up), and was so excited to see a write up about it! I wish I had taken a picture, but I was planning on taking a copy of the magazine, and then forgot. DANG! Anyway, if anyone is looking for an (frankly) odd way to travel across Europe, check out Rotel- the rolling hotel.

So, we landed and made contact with the lady who was supposed to meet us at the airport to collect about $1,700 from us for our shipping bill. In Kazakh currency, that equals about 6 inches of stacked cash. I was NOT liking the fact that we had to carry that much currency, but we made our connection with our creditor, and was relieved to know that we were not robbed, beaten, or murdered in the process. The very cool thing was that she asked us where we needed to go, and how we were going to get there. Miraculously, her husband agreed to take us the 1 hour drive to our friends’ house FOR FREE! I was VERY happy to also find out later that he, being the body guard for an ultra-rich Kazakh businessman, was likely not going to get robbed, beaten or murdered taking the money home. We did need another car for our trip across town, and this is what it looks like when men get together to figure out how to get 4 people and 5 boxes into a car. Only at my dinner table on Thanksgiving have I seen more consulting, gesticulating, ranting and re-arranging.






Finally, we were ending phase I of our long, long journey home.

And for some of us, a long, long journey it would be indeed. Because it all goes downhill from here. Meantime, I’ll let you ponder just what I had to run out for during the day, just what had to be cleaned before we left, and how the kids did walking out the door at midnight for our 3AM flight.

Until then, Have a Magical Day!!

My Dear Readers:

The last couple of months have seen our family go through yet another massive life change. Actually changes. Not only have we moved from one continent to another, but we've seen 2 of our children enter college/university. My days have been filled with re-establishing a new kind of life, learning how to shop all over again, cook using different ingredients and different methods, keeping the car filled with gas, and running my kids to and from doctors and dentist appointments. I am especially enjoying meeting old friends and making new ones, and exploring the amazing amount of opportunities here in our new city.

Just the fact that there are trees and grass to look at amazes me everyday!

I deeply apologize for the lack of updates lately, but under the circumstances I'm sure you'll understand. I really want to get back on track with my writing, and will try harder to keep the stories coming. I also realize I left off mid-way in our saga of traveling to Kyrgyzstan back in the spring. I will do my best to get the rest of that story told to you soon. Meantime, I'd love to hear any feedback- don't be shy to leave your comments.

Very sincerely,

SteppeSister

We last left off with us being informed that in order to avoid “problems” when we tried to leave, we had to get the All-Powerful Oz to stamp our little white registration paper. A little dab of ink in a certain shape was that “coveted ticket to home”, bringing the same amount of magically-taking-us-home as a pair of glittery red pumps.

Panic- stricken, we went into warp-thinking mode. What could we do? A marvel of modern science is the cell phone- and as fast as Western Kentucky can become last in its football division, Mike got on it. Within 2 minutes, he was talking to our office manager, and explained the problem. She is also a quick thinker, and pretty astute at how to work the system. She is also quite aggressive when she needs to be- which means she’s not afraid to sock it to someone if warranted. Where we come from raising one’s voice is the only way to really get your point across, and she was exactly who we needed for this sort of crisis!

Are you ready for a series of miracles?? Let’s line them up, and watch them roll home, one by one. Office Manager immediately calls Immigration. Did I mention this was a SUNDAY??!! That becomes important right about now. On a random SUNDAY, EXACTLY the guy whose biff up this was answered the phone. A SUNDAY, People! The Kazakh’s ONE day off. To our knowledge this was NOT a holiday- however, there were fireworks the night before that we watched one last time, but we still have zero clue about the reason for the fireworks, or why government employees were working on a Sunday. (#1)

So, “Inept Employee” answers the phone (#2), and gets an earful, we are sure. Assured that we would pay the taxi, this guy says he’ll come out to the airport (35 minutes away) with his stamp (#3) , BUT we are slated to depart in 30 minutes!!! We went back downstairs to talk to the gate agents, and they seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. Meanwhile, as Mike is arranging with the gate agent who seemed most sympathetic to look out for the Immigration Guy, and giving him our passports so he could get the stamps while we go upstairs to wait to be called to board, the Airport Immigration guy comes over to “help us out”. Remember, this is the guy who told us originally that there was going to be a problem. GET THIS… he actually stood there and, with a poker straight face, gave us a tutorial on how to take an egg, get it slightly moist, roll it over an old stamp, and give ourselves the stamp we needed!!! “Simple as that!” he says. Too bad I hadn’t packed any eggs… we did have an old registration paper with us.

Now, with the gate agent holding our passports, and looking out for the Immigration Guy who was supposedly rushing out with the All Powerful, egg-shaped stamp, it was simply a race against the clock. We wait, biting our nails (Remember confessions of Soldier #1 way back last year?), and make an occasional call to the office manager to update her.

10 minutes.


Tick-tock.


15 minutes.


Tick-tock, Tick-tock.


Oops! Time to board. We sadly trudged downstairs with the other 50 passengers, and boarded the bus that drove us the 200 yards out to the Fokker 50 waiting for us.






At this point, we could actually SEE the parking lot,





(One more shot of the parking lot- just to the right of here about 15 yards is the iron fence mentioned in a sec.)

and could join the look-out for Mr. Immigration. 25 minutes- nope. Everyone seated, luggage stowed in the overhead bins, seatbacks in their upright and locked positions…

Mike went into hyper-panic mode, and goes back up to the front of the plane to talk to the steward, pilot and gate agent, who by now had come out to the plane to give us back our passports- sans stamp. “Sorry! Too late”, he says. Huh-uh, that won’t do! We HAD to have that stamp. “PLEASE, give us 5 minutes!”, Mike pleaded. Did I also mention that they had us boarded and ready to take off 15 minutes early!?? You can be sure that he mentioned that in his begging. Miraculously, (#4) the pilot and gate agent agreed to delay taking off for 5 minutes- NO MORE!


One minute.


Nope.


Two minutes.


Wait! A car pulled into the lot!! Nope, not him.



3 minutes. Hey! Another car! A man got out, and this time, instead of heading to the front door of the tiny little airport, he gets out and sprints toward the iron fence separating the apron from the parking lot! YES!!! (#5) He’s waving his stamp like a rodeo clown, brandishing his wares as if he was holding the fate of 6 helpless ex-pats in the palm of his hands. What’s that you say? He was??

The gate agent spied him from the cabin door, and realized that the Force was with us that day. He bounded down the aluminum stairs to meet the All-Powerful, egg-shaped, stamp-bearing buffoon to exchange imprints for cash (yep, ‘til the very last flippin’ minute, they managed to extort $$ from us). The whole exchange took less than 30 seconds, plane door to plane door. For once, I thanked God for teensy-weensy, bass-ackwards airports in the middle of nowhere on the wide open steppe.

Unable to contain my exhilaration, I unbuckled (as if a buckle is really going to help anyone going down), and dashed to the front of the plane to meet my newest Mr. Wonderful. I’m pretty sure everyone on the plane knew what was going on, so I lifted them in the air and gave a great big, “Yippee!” No one did the happy dance with me, but I so totally didn’t care, I wasn’t going to be seeing any Kazakh jail time any time soon!!!


And now you know the end of this story. But stay tuned for how the beginning of the end came to be; and until then,

Have a Magical Day!!

All Good Things Must Come to and End...

[COLOR="Navy"][SIZE="4"]Sunday, August 17- a day for endings- sweet endings, and just as much a day for sweet beginnings. It would be the last we’d see of our beloved Kazakhstan; for how long, we don’t know. Perhaps forever. How can one put into words the feelings of leaving a place that they’ve called home for almost 10 years?? Where friends who are persecuted in body and spirit must stay behind and carry on every day of every year; a country where we’ve given so much of our hearts and souls, and were leaving large chunks of both behind?

Let me just say, that to grieve on that level, and yet, also enjoy the swelling anticipation of what is in store for us next, is quite an intense dichotomy; confusing and exciting all wrapped up into one tidy package. Allow me now to being this journey of transition, as best I can, through story and pictures; hopefully, I can capture some small glimpse into our hearts, and take you along for a compelling adventure from East to West.

And so it begins. The day dawned bright and HOT! Weatherunderground told us it would be a broiling 117 on this day of our departure, so naturally, I wanted to start out with one last run before our friend came to pick us up. Well, not really. I didn’t want to. But I really felt like I needed to get my travel jitters and nervous energy out, as well as sweat out any impurities built up in my system for oh, say, the last decade. It was HOT- at 6:30 AM.

I still maintained my pathetic 15 minute mile, (I just found out today that LeeAnn’s son can do a 5:12 mile- I think I choked on my coffee right there in the church lobby.) and got back to the apt. just in time to shower and load up the last minute things into our bags. Our last soggy Cornflakes were consumed, and we rejoiced that by this time a week from then, we’d be feasting on any of our choice from a AISLE FULL of cereals. What rapture it was to realize that our normal repertoire of cheese toast, fried eggs or cornflakes was about to explode with possibilities!!

Oddly, as we were eating our soggy cornflakes, we also lamented that we were hearing one last morning call to prayer- a sound that had become as familiar to us as the trains crashing and clanking all night long. We never tired of hearing the imam’s melody in the distance, as melancholy as it often is. And then we heard another familiar sound outside, the honking horn of our ride. Time to load up, lock up, and leave.

The 40 minute drive was silent, each of us wallowing in his own thoughts of what we’d likely never see, hear or smell again; sights that we knew intimately and called home. The local mosque- beautiful in its own right...



The wide open steppe- lovely in a stark sort of way...



A Soviet-style restaurant that holds a mystique known only to the older generation...



A cheesy "ancient site" they've put up to add to the interest of the road leading to the airport.

and at last the airport itself- a lonely outpost only few Westerners know about, and even fewer ever see....


Only small planes can travel here. They are expanding the runway, but oddly the money keeps disappearing and “running out”. Hmmmm….. I wonder where millions can go and only a few feet of new runway get laid down every couple of years. Yes, I’ve become quite cynical in my days on the steppe. I cannot help it. We had far too many friends surviving barely on bread and tea 3 meals a day, and yet see many rich families building enormous mansions and going to Dubai for weekend trips. Do what you will with that.

We unloaded, said a teary goodbye, got into position to go through the passport/document check, and made our friendly greetings to the official whom we’ve gotten to know somewhat over the many trips to and from the airport. Strange how those random thoughts of “this will be my last…” pop into your head as you make this kind of transition. I distinctly remember thinking, “this is likely the last time I’ll speak Kazakh for a very long time!” So odd that it can be both a relief, and leave a hole, all at the same time. Our turn came and we stepped up. One passport after the other, until he got to Mike’s. “You know, you don’t have a stamp here on your registration paper.” “We didn’t know we needed one. This is the Immigration Dept.’s problem.” “Well, actually, it’s going to be your problem in Almaty.”, he says. “You really NEED this stamp.”

Well, there you have it. Our first MAJOR hassle. Drama. Problem. You fill in the blank. Any of them work for me. How LARGE of a problem this would be we didn’t know. Fine? Detainment? Jail? We just didn’t know! Options? We had few, but it was time to initiate emergency action plan A. It was our only one. What did we do? How would it all work out?? Could we get this confounded stamp in 30 minutes?? Find out next time, and until then,

Have a Magical Day!