Being the Time Traveller

We went to see “The Time Traveller’s Wife” (in Russian) on the weekend. In the film Eric Bana spends all his time, against his will, appearing and disappearing in and out of the future, past and present. When he travels, his clothes don’t come with him so he arrives naked and must steal clothes and money, try to find out when and where he is and work out how to survive until he moves again. 

As we are preparing to leave Kazakhstan and re-enter Australia, we realised we feel a lot like this Time Traveller. We aren’t changing time dimensions but we have spent the last 20 years going back and forwards from what seems like two parallel universes – different people, different cultures, different activities, different worlds!  Each time we go on furlough, we have the experience of gradually “disappearing” from Kazakhstan as we finish off activities and say goodbyes. Then we gradually materialise in Australia – reconnect with people and places, unpack old stuff and put it into a new house, get the kids in schools, universities, clubs, sports, find new friends etc. Then after 6-12 mths we reverse the process  and go back to Kazakhstan.

After 19 years we are leaving Kazakhstan and this cycle we finally stop. As we gradually “disappear” - stop doing things that we always were involved in, give away and sell things that have been part of our home and lives we have a feeling of “disappearing” bit by bit from the lives of people here. The first time people watch Eric Bana disappear in the movie, they can’t believe it’s real. When he tells them about what is happening to him. they think he is crazy but when they see it , they can't argue with it. There is  a time between these worlds when the Time traveller just isn't anywhere. That is surely the most disconcerting and worrying. 


His daughter, also a time traveller, tells him that she controls the process by singing. Perhaps we can control some of this strange experience of watching our lives “disappear” and of others watching us “disappear”, by “singing” the Lord’s song. It doesn't stop us going through the process but it brings with it some peace and sense of protection.


The Traveller comes back to one place which is his home dimension but for us I think there will always be a sense that there are two! Maybe some of you from our current dimension will one day materialise in our "other world". We will leave a folded set of clothes and some shoes near the clearing for you!

Driving in Almaty is never boring. Pedestrians, drivers and the road police are constantly developing to new strategies to deal with our ever increasing number of comuters.

Crossing the road in Almaty has always been something of an adventure, both for pedestrians and drivers. Not that it's India or Bangkok or Jakarta mind you, but cars did not stop at crossings in 1990. Infact there were no crossings, except at traffic lights and even then you had to be really sure before you ventured out.

A local friend took me by the hand on my first mid road crossing. She told me that I had to step out with confidence and look the buggers in the eye. Once having established eye contact you could judge if this one was going to let you go or not.

So I practiced this and once having mastered it on smaller roads I began to take on larger challenges crossing large 4 lane roads.

It is easier to wait for a critical mass, who once gathered can in silent agreement barge their way onto the road together knowing that their combined mass rivalled that of the oncoming vehicles and were easier to see. To ensure fast crossing it is best to include in your group

• a babushka (preferably with scarf )
• a dedushka (grandpa) preferably with cane and or kazakh hat
• a mum with small child and possibly carrying a baby (babies come disguised as large pillows with ribbons tied around them in winter)
• an attractive Kazakh or Russian girl in a mini skirt

Large roads are a skill in and of themselves. Having made it half way across the road doesn't mean you are going to get all the way across. You may end up stranded for sometime while both lanes of traffic buzz back and forward past you. One of the problems in Almaty is the fluid nature of traffic lanes. One lane can be two, two can be 3 or even 4. Also the double lines in the middle of the road are at best considered "guidelines" so if you are standing on the double line a car may suddenly decide that it wants to skip around the other cars stuck in the "jam" or "probka" as it is called in Russian, and suddenly you and the car have to negotiate who gets to be on the double line.

Let's walk through an example, literally.... You cross two lanes of traffic and end up in the middle of the road on the double line. From your right you see two lanes of traffic coming but car A decides to drive down the middle of the double line so he can get to the intersection before the other slow pokes. Car A is more than likely to be

• a black jeep - Prado, Toyota or Hummer
• a black mercedes (plus or minus blacked out windows)
• a silver, or white mercedes.

Because men driving Prado (the Devil drives Prado!) are likely to have large bank accounts and believe that stopping for people shows a lack of testosterone, it's up to you to step out of the way. So you step slowly and carefully back into inner lane on the other side to Car A. Cars coming in that lane recognise that you are about to be either run over or squeezed between them and Car A so slow down till you can step back into the middle. Now coming from the other side is Car B who also is driving one of the three forementioned models. So now you repeat this process, again assuring that you don't step in front of the oncoming traffic in the other lanes until they see that you are about to be run over by Car B. Repeat this process as many times as possible until you see a break in the traffic and can run across. It is a kind of Kazakhstani two step and requires, bravery, grace, balance and timing. All Kazakhstani children are required to take dance in preschool which I believe equips them for this daunting task.

If it is winter you must also combine all the above with ice and snow on the road. Some frequently travelled sections become slick with glass like black ice so allow extra stopping time for oncoming cars. If all else fails try crossing at traffic lights.

If both sides of the road are filled with two lanes of stationary traffic or slowly moving traffic, fix your eyes on the eyes of the drivers as you pass between each car, with a "surely you wouldn't knock little old me down would you" look. If you need extra assurance that they saw you, hold out your hand in a STOP signal as you pass between them. Up til 2004-5 this was the recommened system of road crossing by all Almaty dwellers and is still valid on most roads and in other Kazakhstani citizens.

We now actually have painted zebra crossings with proper crossing signs on the side of the road. Near schools these crossings may even have a 40km zone written on the ground before you get there. Cars mostly stop at these. This revolution was brought about by your friendly neighbourhood Gai (traffic cop) who parks his car just past the crossing and waits for his victim. If you are driving and don't stop at the crossing he will jump out and wave his red stick at you. You pull over and try as best as you can to avoid being fined.

There are certain crossings where you know the Gai like to wait, so crossing the road here is reasonably safe but we still recommend caution especially if you see a black Prado or the stretch Hummer wedding limousine coming at you at 80km hr.

Some pedestrians like to cross about 10-20 metres on either side of the crossing and you are never quite sure if you or they should stop. If in doubt beep your horn very loudly and they should back off.

Others prefer to stand at the crossing looking like they about to cross but when you start to slow down they stick out their hand because they want to catch a taxi, pull out their cell phone to call someone, stare blankly at you till you drive away or wave you on like you are creating a public nuisance.

Having trained the Almaty drivers to stop at crossings on the main ring road around Almaty, especially just past Navoi on Alfarabi Rd drivers in peak hour now have to stop for all and sundry and the police have a field day picking up drivers who don't see little Kanat jump off the bus and run straight across the pedestrian crossing.

So in Summer 2009 the Gai moved from the road side to the median strip in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. Poised with their glowing red batons at the ready their victims were now the pedestrians. No more wandering willy nilly and in dribs and drabs across the crossing. The Gai insist that you wait until a reasonable "clump" of pedestrians has gathered and then he will walk out onto the crossing , stop the drivers and wave the pedestrians across.

Two days ago driving my Forester Subaru homeward at 7pm, peak of the peak hr I approached the crossing with caution and saw the policeman waiting. Just as I was about to edge across I noticed to my right a group of pedestrians, led by a youngish babushka (dressed in the obligatory "halat" or house coat) charging out onto the crossing. The policeman did not miss a beat. He was out infront of me and my fellow drivers and halted our progress. He waved his stick at the babushka and she hesitated, her followers waited anxiously, not sure whether to go back or stand there. The policeman yelled and waved his stick but granny held her ground. The policeman yielded and let the group go but followed them onto the medium strip and across the other side of the highway , yelling and waving his stick

So what is a policeman to do with an unruly pedestrian. Its easy with drivers - take our licence, threaten fines, impound our car. What can he do with a pedestrian - take their shoes, give them a ticket, fine them for speeding?

I will not miss the traffic jams, but somehow driving in Australia will probably pretty boring after this1

How hard is it to make a cup of coffee!

Well I thought I would try out the new coffee place Amy told me about before she left, "Madeleine's". Sounded cute, nice decor and ever since Amy left I was looking for some cheesecake as a source of "false comfort". So after clinic, I caught the tram, got off at Mametova and walked up Ablaihan, past the known pastures of "Gloria Jeans" where you know exactly what each beverage will taste like and it will mainly resemble what you get in the Aussie version even in the foyer of Hillsongs or at a YWAM conference.

The outside was very similar to the tented cafe's up and down the hill on either side. In fact I was almost tempted to divert to the empty striped couches of "Zig Zag" or the slightly more attractive "Bon Bons" up the hill, but I kept to my goal and turned left into the non-smoking section. The cutely dressed french maids behind the counter selling pastries had taken up the space that should have been window seats so in order to get a window I decided to brave the smoking section. Over the next hour a Russian girl hoed into an entire packet of cigarettes. Still an amazement to me, who in my "wild days" was known to manage 2 cigarettes in a night if I was going well, before collapsing in spasms of coughing. Charming habit.

What looked safe? What looked good? I was hungry and thirsty from my walk up hill and the long tram ride. I had been entertained by a very thin Kazakh man with haunted eyes and a white crocheted muslim prayer cap, who spoke Russian and told me that the Irish and Kazakhs (who were descended from Altai Saks) actually shared ancestors and kissed my hand when I got off the tram. So back to the menu.

Kapuchino or Kapuchino Fredo (cappucino with ice) or Kapuchino Fredo Panno (same with cream on top) and a cheese cake. The waitress approached and I ordered the cold cappucino without cream and then asked if i could have the NY cheese cake without the strawberry topping. I was assured that this was impossible as she shook her head emphatically. It was a package and strawberry topping was an integral part of the whole. So I gave in. Could I have summoned the manager and found out if this was true or was this a ready made strawberry topping. Oh well, I would soon find out.

The Kapucino arrived with a very apartheid appearance. That creamy frothy top was having nothing to do with that brown icy bottom half. OK - It's not Gloria Jeans but thats what makes life fun isn't it. It is the right of every coffee shop owner to define his own version of an iced cappucino. That is what democracy is all about. In the Soviet Union , all stolovaya's (cafeteria's) served up a basic variety of meals and beverages which were almost as guaranteedly uniform as MacDonald's.

The Cheesecake. It was warm, the biscuit crust was soggy having been drowned in plate swimming with runny sweet strawberry sauce. This sauce did not have its origins firmly connected to this cheesecake. It had been poured on with luxuriant excess by someone behind the counter. Perhaps the cheesecake had been frozen, then nuked and so the warm cheese and crust soaked in the abundant syrup with alacrity (my dad loved that word - as well as the word recognoitre).

I was hungry and thirsty - I ate , I read Lemony Snickets #4 in Russian and departed to by tickets for "King Lear" at the Lermontov - last play of the season. (yes in Russian)

The next day I had a coffee date with Suzy and we had planned to eat at - you guessed it- Madeleines. She had been there before and knew what to order. I had been there before and knew what not to order. So it had to work....

I steered Suzy clear of Kapucino Fredo but she pressed on, unperturbed. I branched out and asked what a "Glace" was. It turned out to be what we in Oz, NZ, Scotland and probably in other outposts of the "Empire" is usually known as a iced coffee. Not in America though. In Australia, it is milky coffee with a large dollop (can't you just hear that word!) in the bottom of a tall glass covered with lashings of whipped creme. It's usually served in one of those oldie worldie glasses from a milkbar with a long spoon so you can stir in your icecream or eat it. But in America, it's cold coffee with ice in it! So unimaginative.

So iced coffee sounded perfect and then I lashed out on an unpredictable and a predictable - a chicken croissant and a hachipurin . A ha-hachiii what? It's a baked hot bread filled with this local white cheese called Brinza and its Georgian and delightful if done right. But see, locals make it and eat it so they know what it is supposed to look like and taste like.

The problem is not that local chefs are bad or lazy or stupid - they just don't know what on earth these strange foods and drinks on the menu are supposed to look or taste like. The first pizza's in Almaty were small breads with a well in the middle containing a small dollop of dryish cheese, mushroom sauce and a some runny oil swimming over the surface. Not even a whiff of a tomato in sight. My house keeper once got quiche and pizza mixed up and put tomato paste across the bottom of the quiche shell before pouring in the egg custard mix!

The glace and croissant arrive together. Grace is said, the croissant is fine. Not exceptional but a perfectly adequate croissant. The glace looks good. I can see the icecream in the bottom .. but what are those crimson dots? Raspberry seeds. There is a fruit icecream ball in my iced coffee. Ok I should at least try it. First sips are ok but then I get the fruit ice cream thing happening and then to top it off, something vaguely resembling a piece of cake rides up the straw. Foreign bodies are in my coffee and its all too much, the "restaurant complaining Dad inside me" rises to the surface and I walk over to the bar. The barman looks at me, scowling slightly. My waitress looks at me politely.

In Russian - this is an iced coffee. Iced coffees do not have fruit icecream in them. Just vanilla icecream.

But it is has vanilla syrup ( I had managed to convince them not to add caramel syrup)?

No, no it needs vanilla icecream!

Ok Madam, we will make you a new one. It came back to my table - ok - more than passable.

How is hard is it to make a cup of coffee!

By the way, Suzy's kappucino Fredo arrived looking and tasting exactly like I had hoped my one would the day before. No separatist movements between brown and white. All nicely blended with a touch of sweetness.

Just in case you have decided that if you should ever visit Almaty you will only drink your coffee beverages at Gloria Jeans then beware. I love a mint chocolate bomb. After dinner mints, After 8 mints, cadbury's peppermint creams, peppermint aeros - all forms of chocolate with mint are my special sweet downfall. That's why I am skinnier over here. No chocolate mint temptations.

But what of the mint chocolate bomb iced beverage at Gloria Jean's. On my first visit last year Esther ordered one and choked.

"It taste's like cough mixture"

"Nonsense. Give me that" I sip and choke - cough medicine.

I politely approach the counter - this is after all a small Australian outpost in this mainly American, European and Turkish mall.

I smile. " What do you flavour the mint chocolate bombs with?"

"Mint lollies(candies) "

"Can you show me?"

Mint cough lollies - it was cough medicine but the solid form. (Halls to be precise)

" You don't use syrup?" Obviously not. " Can we have a different drink - this is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted and it doesn't taste like a mint chocolate bomb in Australia and this is an Australian chain and I won't ever bother you again about this - but just this once could we get a different drink."

They did. Actually , Gloria Jeans in Almaty is owned by a Turkish guy. He is very nice and just donated 20% of his takings the night of a charity concert several weeks ago, to support a local special needs orphanage that some of Amy's school friends visit.

It's not hard to make a coffee. It just require's a sense of pioneering and adventure to order one -knowing that it the name may shed no light on the possible taste sensation heading your way.

Let the buyer beware!

Spring

Its spring in Kazakhstan and..

• the tulips are out on Navoi and Alfa Rabi. Sara Nazarbaev likes flowers.
  
• the gai (traffic cops) have blossomed by the road sides, wearing their gay yellow raincoats, waving their luminous red batons and collecting Alfa Rabis (kazakhstan currency has pictures of the Persian poet and scientist Alfa Rabi)
  
• the rain water rushes down city streets where there are no gutters, flooding the roads and turning the pot holes and cracks in chasms - Lada killers (ladas are small , low soviet cars)
• the mountains appear with a fresh coat of white snow on a sunny moring after the rain.
• the buds are out on the trees and allergy season is with us -red runny noses and itchy red eyes.
• the traffic jam outside the Expeditsyia bazaar is bigger because people want to buy plants for their gardens - Yelkas (fir trees) add value to your house if you plant them we have been told.
• the spring banquet is on and the smell of hairspray, nail polish  fill the house and the eyeliner smeared cotton swabs line the bathroom bin.
• Spring sale is on at Tien Shan school  - come swap your trash for my trash, your treasure for my treasure but hang on to your purses this year.
• Time to plant tomatoes and lettuce, flowers and trees while the water is still turned on in our street. It should go off starting in June.
• the mud is so thick on the back road that the mud splashes hit the roof of the subaru and I can go mudding (Horsleys say its a great spring passtime in Alabama after a dinner date with your girl - preferably with a pickup truck -that's " a ute" in Australia)
• the cows, sheep and horses from Chapai come down to our orchard and start grazing.
• St Littletons in the field - Anglican/Episcopalian breakfast picnics start under the apple trees in the orchard up the hill.
• SAT exams are being sat so all the Tien Shan kids can go to college in other countries.
• Seniorititis is being felt acutely by all Tien Shan 12th graders.
• Rafts are built and are going on rafting expeditions for all leaving  Kazakhstan (R=Reconciliation A=Affirmation F=Farewells T= Thinking destination - process recommended for all third culture kids or adults who are planning on leaving and going "home" or onto a next destination -)
• The wild red poppies (like in Flanders) are blooming on the Jailau (summer pastures) between Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan.
• The ticks are waking up in the Tien Shan mountains and the vaccination clinic is giving shots against Russian spring summer encephalitis.
• The mares are being milked and their kulans (baby horses) are held back while the apais (older women) milk them every 2 hrs to make Kumyss (fermented mares milk)
• Students from local universities are slipping tengy (local currency) in their exam papers so they will get 5/5 in their exams.
• Yurts appear in the front of schools, universities and other government buildings and people dress in national dress and dance and play dombras and drink kojhe (porridge made of 7 ingredients) because its Persian New Year - spring solstice - Nayruz.

It's my last spring in Kazakhstan.....

"Resurrected" On Easter Sunday

There was time for a short worship and prayer time before I headed off to our last performance of "David and Lisa" at KIMEP in Almaty this Sunday so the Clark family were coming to join us. We hoped to start at 10 am because I had to leave at 11am but it was nearly 10.30 when the doorbell rang. 

Julie appeared in the doorway, tears in her eyes and distressed, Nate and Bill looking suitably subdued right behind her. Before she got inside she told me that they had just seen their beloved Tabby cat squashed on the road and so had picked him up in a garbage bag and taken him home to await burial. 

Only two weeks before this the equally beloved black labrador, Duke, had taken off and not been seen since. He had made about 5-6 previous escapes and was always found but this was it. Now their cat was dead and they were leaving Kazakhstan in about 3mths. 

We prayed, read scripture and sang and I headed off to the theatre. I came back in the evening and asked my daughter, Amy, how long the Clarks had stayed after I left. She started smiling and told me that when they got home they had found Jack safely napping in a corner of the property. A resurrection on Easter Sunday??? No they still had the imposter tabby in the garbage bag and now had to bury him/her.

After plummeting to the depths an hour earlier it was hard to enter straight into rejoicing. Must have felt a bit like that for the first disciples when they heard Jesus was alive again.  But now their joy is tinged with a giggle. Jack is back, "resurrected" on Easter Sunday.

Visiting the visa police

Every year I have to reapply for a visa. Dave has permanent residency  now and so I get a "spouse visa". Because we live in the Oblast (region or county) we have to renew our visas at the Oblast Ovir (Ovir are the visa issuing officals) who have their office in the centre of Almaty city. Anyone who is trying to apply for permanent residency or visas must come to the building and see the boss of Ovir at 9am.

In order to get in at 9am there are certain nuances that we have been working on. Kazakhs from Mongolia, China  and Russians, Australians all come to the building but we can't actually get in till 9am. There is an entrance area, over the side stairs covered  those chinese plastic windows. Up to 20 people squeeze onto the front top stair area. That's not so bad in summer, a little up close and personal, sweaty with cigarette smells, body odour and some garlic thrown in for extra flavour. But winter is another story - cold and not heated, although the other warm bodies help a bit. The queueing system is a piece of A4 paper and whoever arrives in the anteroom first writes their name on the top of the list with a number. From 7 am till 9 am people arrive and add their names to the list. 

At 9 am one of the police pokes his head out of the warm (0r cool) building depending on the seaason. He asks who is first and sometimes if he is in the know, he asks for the list. He takes the list and dissappears for a minute inside then comes back and starts calling out names from the list. You walk in to the bottom of the stair well and take a little piece of paper from another policeman who writes your name and time on the paper and in his log book. 

You then go up to the 4th floor and at the top of the stair well you enter a corridor through a metal door. A policeman roams the corridor directing first timers to the write door and speaking into his walkie-talkie. You sit in some chairs (soft seats now but wooden a year or so ago) outside the bosses door and wait for him to arrive. You wait till the boss, a suave looking, clean cut tall Kazakh man arrives. If the police downstairs are still sensitive to Kazakh mores regarding age, they may ignore the order on the list and allow any old people who are waiting to jump the queue. 

When the old man or woman come out, you enter the room. It is set up in the usual soviet style boss office. His/her desk (because soviet bosses can be women too) sits parallel to back wall, usually with window behind them. Perpendicular to this desk is another desk. Depending on how big of a boss you are, your desk varies in size and the length of second desk also depends on how many people need to come and see you at one time. 

This room and these desks are not big but this man holds the power to decide our future - can we live in our house, can the kids and me actually live in Kazakhstan. 

He sits at his chair and rises to shakes Dave's hand  but I just bow a little bit. Men don't shake hands with women here. We both sit on either side of the second desk and Dave tells him that we need to renew my visa. He takes the passport and checks us over and tells us when we need to come back. We walk out past the remaining 10 -15 people  and head home.

So that sounds straight forward doesn't it. As long as you don't mind waiting for 2 hrs in a stairway. Surely there must a better way?

The list ... Well it turns out that if you turn up at 7am and put your name on the list, you can actually pass the list and the pen to the next people who turnup. They write their names on the list and then  you tell them you will be back in an hour. How do we know that we can do that? We saw someone else do it. 5 minutes drive away is the American bar and grill which has breakfast! So off we go to breakfast and have bacon and eggs and pancakes and bottomless cups of coffee. We arrive back to the foyer refreshed but slightly guilty.

Everyone else is hungry, cold and has been waiting for 2 hrs, standing in the entrance way. 

So every few months we do this ... first for me and then for the girls. We the routine down now. But today there is yet another variation. We arrive at 7am but there is no one else there. It is really cold this morning. Dave takes out the paper and the pen and writes something then comes back out to the car and gets ready to drive away.

"Aren't you going to wait for someone else to arrive so you can hand them the list?'

"No". He starts the engine and we start to drive away to breakfast.

"Are you sure that the list will be there when you get back?"

" No, but its worth a shot"

We have breakfast and come back. The entrance is full, about 12 people. The list is lying there on the window sill. Our names are securely on the top. We chat in English and people in the room stop and listen. 9 am and the policeman pops his head out. Takes the list and calls our name. We hear the people talking to eachother as we go inside. They are wondering how we could be first on the list when they didn't see us till 9am. But they aren't really angry, more bemused, a little irritated. 

This is Kazakhstan. Queues have a culture. Whatever works, works. And it always changes. Its like someone keeps changing how it works  just so no one really ever really thinks they know how it works. As long as you know that about Kazakhstan, and accept it, its ok.

Left turns, roundabouts, potholes, weaving and other deterents to taking the road in Almaty.

It took us 8 years to get around to buying a car here. The lure of the mountains and a way to get home late at night rather than walking for ages to find a taxi, gradually overcame our commitment to "doing it like the locals" especially when more and more locals were driving. Kind of like my commitment not to wear singlet tops or shorts until I saw the Kazakh grandma in a skin tight version of the former, right outside our flat. That was the beginning of the demise into the life of luxury we now live in. First the singlet top and shorts, then the car, then out of the flat into the house on the ground and then coffee at Gloria Jeans. All a far cry from dried goats cheese, roasted millet in your tea, week old uygur bread and sitting on the floor in yurts. O how the mighty have fallen. 

Anyway back to the car. My biggest fear was driving on the right hand side of the road. That would be scary enough in the US or in Europe, but in Almaty where the lane markings seem to be more "guidelines" and where when you get to a parked car you kind of weave out from behind it, flowing gracely and hopefully without incident into the next lane of traffic rather than stopping and indicating, waiting for a break or someone to left you in like we would do in Australia. The other big road block was turning left. There are very few left turn arrows and the art is to get around the intersection when the yellow warning light starts flashing and be in the intersection before it changes to red. The problem is that the on coming traffic tries to get through till the last microsecond of their green light changing to yellow and the guys on the left are trying to turn across your bows before their light has actually turned green. Pretty narrow window of opportunity!

So lots of crashes at intersections is the rule , not the exception. I would watch Dave turning and try and work out for each intersection how many cars could on average get around. Of course you can always double up as you make your left turn and while you are sitting in the middle of the intersection waiting for the flashing yellow light, the guys behind you might decide you arn't far enough out in the intersection to help them get around on your their turn so they might double or triple up on your inside or outside or even better, come right around in front of you so that they go through before you.  In that situation we hope the cops are waiting around the corner to nab them. The cops conveniently waiting is also handy when you have your intersection fender bender.

By the time I did start driving here about 9 years ago, we had already long surpassed the early glory days when there were only 3 Almaty road rules: Don't hit anyone, don't hit anything and don't fall in any holes. To that was added : how do you tell a drunk is driving in Almaty? He drives in straight lines! ( the rest of us are driving around all the massive pot holes that come every spring due to snow freezing and breaking up the bitumen).

Our first car was  front wheel drive Audi that used to start hesitating when it idiled. So there I was mid intersection with the engine threatening to stall - put it in park and rev the accelerator so it won't die and then quickly back into drive when the yellow starts flashing and I am waiting for the guys in front of me to turn so I can slip past before the policeman nabs me or I stall in the middle again. Overall , not a confidence booster. I would drive blocks out of my way to avoid certain left turns but you can't really drive around a city all day without making the occasional left turn. I would also have to avoid the roundabout on Saina and Djandosova street. 

Round abouts are a whole new challenge of their own in Almaty. In Australia anyone IN the roundabout has right of way over anyone outside the round about so you give way as you come in. Not so here. For example there is a concept of "the main road" . If the main road runs through a round about then all the traffic on the main road has right of way on through the roundabout. The other subtle nuance is that the main road may not go straight ahead - it might curve to the left and up the hill. Just to keep us on our toes the road planners will suddenly change the right of way rule for a particular intersection to see which works best. Police (GAI) are usually conventiently  placed just past the round about so they can pick of any one who happens to be unaware of the change.

In 2001 we finally bought a reliable Mitsubishi space wagon and I found I could get through intersections without incident and began to venture further and further from home. First on Sundays , then late at night and eventually all day any where. 

Things do get worse before they get better and the better has come. After being home in Australia for a year I returned to find that our fellow drivers are now thanking eachother for allowing them to cut in  by flashing their accident lights. Women drivers didn't exist 15 yrs ago and now they fill the streets. They let eachother cut in and occasionally don't queue across the intersections. I guess everyone is sick of fender benders and in this time of "cris" who has money to fix or buy new cars. 

So take the plunge, be ready to "weave", never lose concentration for a second, be ready for the guy on your left to run across infront of you , slam on the brakes to pick up a taxi fare and be ready to have the horn blown at you constantly for all sorts of reasons. Don't lose your cool and always keep a car length ahead (although the other drivers might jump in infront of you). 

Be ready to skate up to the traffic lights on the black ice in winter. So many things to do, so little time.

First blog

Not a very original name but have to start somewhere. I was watching my daughter play basketball at a local school tonight and one of the mums asked me about what i would do when i went back to Australia. We have only just started making this public and so I started the conversation that i dreaded having. I wonder how many times i will have this conversation before we leave. 

I am still in denial so I am basically not ready to have that conversation because it makes me have to think about going and I don't want to think or talk about it. So I will be pushing a button in my brain and putting out the the automatic answer. I will have a variety ready for different occasions so that i don't have to think too deeply at the time. 

I have started to have crying episodes out of the blue. I cried at the ADEM store before christmas when i realised it was the last time I would shop there for Christmas. I cry when I see Gemma's lost dog signs because if she is found after we are gone, no one can bring her back to us.

The victorian bushfires are awful. People lost homes, lives and communities. Some of them can choose to rebuild and start again but they will never get that community back again, because some of them died, some of them won't come back even if they survived. Our Kazakhstan community is like a slow motion bush fire. I have seen the "transition" coming, I will pack up and take what I can , I will have to start again somewhere new and i will never have this community again.  I didn't get physically burnt and my loved ones weren't killed. I have had warning. So I am better off than the fire survivors but I still feel traumatised.

I know about transitions. I still hate them.