Home away from Home?

I moved into a homestay Tuesday. The jury is still out on whether or not it was a good idea.

I first went to see the homestay last week with Nargiza, the manager of the school. We saw two families. The first is a Kyrgyz family, with a mother, daughter and son. They showed me around the house, which was quite large (even a library!).

We sat down at the kitchen table to have a conversation, of which I understood almost nothing. The mother kept telling me she wanted to know “everything” about me and my life in America. Nargiza was constantly translating, but seemed to be leaving quite a bit out. The mother told the daughter a few times that she could practice her English with me. Nargiza didn’t bother to translate this. When the pleasantries expired and I was adequately stuffed with cake and hospitality, we left.

Next we stopped by another family, this one staying in a small, cramped apartment. They were an older Russian couple. I am no expert at Russian accents, but I got the feeling theirs was much closer to the one I want to be learning. Did I mention that the mother of the first family sounds the same whether she is speaking Kyrgyz or Russian? But the apartment was a lot smaller. And I guess they were bordering on the edge of being “old” instead of “older.” Seemed weird. I choose the first one.

After signing the contract and paying for my first month’s rent, Nargiza told me she wanted to tell me a little bit about “Kyrgyz culture.”

“Do not make friends with any peoples who talk to you on the street.” All I need to know in life I learned in kindergarten. I agreed to not be an idiot.

She drove me to the homestay, about a 10 minute drive from the school. I was welcomed with a gusto somewhere in between hotel manager and distant relative. I’m paying $10 a day to the school for this “authentic Kyrgyzstan experience.” For this $300 a month, you can rent your own flat in Bishkek, or two or three, depending on how far out of the city you want to go and how much you care about luxuries like heat and electricity.

This family seems quite entrepreneurial; they run a market in front of their house and the mother is frequently travelling to China on business. I hope they’ve bargained hard with the school. I’m still angry about paying the school $8 a day for a room next to a classroom with no sink or bed.

Nargiza leaves me, worried I think, and says goodbye to the family. I move into my room and settle in. First thing I noticed was the beautiful view of the mountains from my bedroom window. Next this was the lack of central heating, which wasn’t as apparent in my visit during last week’s heat wave (fleece instead of wool coat!). Next problem arose when I inquired as to the location of the shower. Another thing Nargiza forgot to translate. They are renovating their bathroom, so they shower at their aunt’s house. Or go to the public bath on Sunday.

Dinner was quite good – a cross between vegetable borek and a steamed dumpling, like a cinnamon roll with carrots and onions instead of cinnamon and butter, but steamed instead of baked. The only problem I encountered here is that I couldn’t convince my host mother that I didn’t want more mayonnaise. She kept squeezing out more from the bag onto my plate no matter what I said (I am not blaming this on her, my vocabulary is incredibly limited after all). She also kept asking me if I knew what mayonnaise and ketchup were. The American inside me cannot be too annoyed, as I am pretty sure it is my damn country that spread this crap around the world anyway.

The next morning breakfast was bread, homemade jam (delicious) and leftover borek/dumpling/roll. Yes, with more mayo. I was able to avoid eating the cake they tried to present by saying “I cannot eat sugar in the morning.” This they seemed to accept, at least after I added the phrase I recently learned in my lesson about clothing and fashion: “It does not suit me.”

I hope the food continues to be this good after they tire of my broken Russian at 7:30am.