Tuna and foreignness

The strangest part of living here is the name.  Kazakhstan.  You hear a name like that you think...  well, you don't really think much of anything because, if you are like most of the people I talked to before I came here, you haven't heard of it or have no idea where it is.  But the "stan" at the end is enough to scare off any pleasant thoughts of tranquility and a modern lifestyle.  But that is where you would be wrong because, at least in Astana where we live, modern and tranquil are actually great words to describe life here.  In winter you might prefer the word frozen to tranquil but that is beside the point.

Before we came, through a series of Google image searches and other equally unrepresentative sources of information, we had some idea that we would be living in a city with cool buildings and that was about it.  We used these pictures as evidence to our parents and other concerned parties that we were going to be safe.  Look, mom, see this mall that shaped like a tent, would unfriendly dangerous people build that?  I don't think so.  See, Dad, this is a picture of this awesome blue concert hall, think of all the friendly Kazakhs we will meet during the intermission of operas at that building.  

When we were shown into our apartment, although it lacked in some comforts we are used to in America (shower curtain, furniture to seat more than ourselves, attractive rugs, butter knives), we did have something we loved right away.  WINDOWS.  After living in a basement apartment for the last year we have loved big windows in every room.  It is such a blessing to feel comfortable in the place you call home.  Then of course there is the venturing outside, markets, groceries, etc.  Walking around Astana is really nice actually, mostly paved sidewalks, crosswalks, busses, interesting scenery, tons of construction to watch change every week.  So even when you leave the apartment it doesn't really feel foreign yet.  It really isn't until someone stops you to ask directions or you try to buy something you don't know the Russian for that you start to feel a little out of place.  There are differences of course: 24 hour flower shops, hookahs in just about every restaurant, lots of buttermilk, kindness of strangers on the bus.  But despite these things I can almost trick myself into feeling like I really fit here most of the time.

For me the time that it really hits me that I am a stranger here is when I want to order at a restaurant that doesn't have a picture menu.  I love eating out.  Having someone else prepare and serve me food that is usually delicious.  I was so pleased to find lots of restaurants in Astana but wasn't prepared for the frustration they would bring me. I have learned the alphabet and am starting to pick out Russian words I understand on the menus like тунец, tuna or сок абрикос, apricot juice, no longer 100% reliant on the picture menu.  But by the time I have found a few words I understand I start to sweat knowing that soon someone will be asking me a question in Russian and expecting an answer.  I'm nearly tearful by the time they ask me for my order. I want something delicious but I haven't had time to really select what I want.  This might take 20 minutes, an annoying amount of time for the waiter and my stomach.  Scott, unruffled as he always is, just picks something out and hopes for the best. Usually I end up ordering the only thing I had time to decipher.  Tuna twice this week, case in point.  Both stressful, one was much better than the other.  Both times with sweet pickles instead of dill, tragedy.

But really, in the scheme of uncomfortable foreign-ness, a difficult time ordering food once or twice a week is not bad.  Not bad at all