The Ambush of the Babushkas

Robin and I had a gorgeous day present itself with mild temperatures, light winds and clear skies. Since we weren't going to visit the orphanage today, we decided to take a nice long walk. We stopped at a nearby shop that Igor mentioned sells souvenirs and bought a couple of things. Then we set out to cover some serious territory.

Along the way we came to a park with a statue that commemorates some dignified Kazakh gentleman. We posed for a picture. Through the magic of digital compositing, we are both together under his watchful eye.

Much mileage later we happened upon an amusement park. It is probably the place that we'll stop at next week when we spring Kristina from the orphanage for a day to get her passport photos taken, buy some clothes and have some fun. Robin and I walked around and discussed which rides we thought she could go on and which ones we would avoid. The one with the overturned car falls into the latter category (see photos).

At one point as we were walking, I suddenly recognized the bar that Igor and I had gone to the night we went out for "beers" (see photo). My head throbbed just to witness the place in the cold light of day.

Robin and I stopped at the open air market on the way back and bought some bread along with an assortment of vegetables for tonight's dinner. Our approach to negotiating payment is to hold out a fistful of tenge and let them take whatever they feel is fair for the cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, onions and tomatoes that we've selected.

Our 2 hour walk concluded, we headed back to the apartment and felt the hair go up on the back of our necks as we turned the final corner. There sat 3 old babushkas by the thick steel door that admits us to the stairwell of our 5th floor apartment. They had spotted us and we sure weren't going to get past them without some sort of dialog. We're not exactly sure why.

We approached to a volley of Russian words that would have stopped an elk dead in its tracks. I reflexed and used the only phrase I've really learned from the Pimsleur tapes: "Ya dolka nee ma-nohga pahnee-my-yoo pa-roo-ski" (I only understand a little Russian). Of course, this is a complete lie since we understand virtually no Russian in the context of this encounter. We can count to 10, identify primary colors, and ask Kristina if she has to take a pee, but we sure couldn't deflect 3 determined babushkas from demanding answers to undecipherable questions.

After much body language, our invoking the name of Igor, and me finally shaking off the most determined of the babushkas in the stairwell, Robin and I made record time up the 5 flights of stairs and into the apartment.

I've had the pastuerized, pre-measured, tightly scripted American forms of entertainment, but a day like this is so genuine and real, it will be traveling along my synapses long after everything else has faded.