USAID Democracy work in Photos

I recently finished a story for Transitions Abroad titled, "Working for USAID Overseas." I talk a little about my experience with USAID and how others can find interesting jobs abroad with the agency.

Recently, USAID's Democracy and Governance office held a photography contest. USAID employees from around the world sent in shots that portrayed the kind of work they do: conflict mitigation, judicial reform, voting and election reform, etc. The slideshow is amazing, and one of our very own from Central Asia won second place with this shot from Tajikistan.

National Geographic Photo Contest

Where's your Nature Valley?

Okay, so National Geographic and Nature Valley have teamed up and come up with a pretty corny tag line for their photo contest. But the prize might just be worth playing along: an all expenses paid trip to the Grand Canyon for you and your three best friends. National Geographic is looking for shots of you or your friends, "experiencing the beauty or wonder of nature." See the official rules for more details.

Contest ends September 30, 2005.

Top Ten Changes

Lately a bunch of friends have asked what the hardest parts of moving back to the States will be. Some of it will be things that I'll miss from here. Others are stresses specific to living in Washington. Here are my most recent thoughts on the good, bad and ugly of moving half way around the world again:

1. Rent, rent, rent. After two years of living on the Government's dime in Kazakhstan, the idea of paying for housing and utilities (you mean water actually costs something!?) is going to be hard to adjust to.

2. Traffic. Here's one I can complain about on both ends. I won't miss Almaty traffic one bit, but of course I'm not going to traffic heaven. From what I've heard, D.C. traffic has only gotten worse in the past two years. 2 hour commutes are not my idea of a day well spent.

3. Travel. Man, I am going to miss the opportunities to travel like we've had here: Dubai, Thailand, London, China, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Turkey etc... Even just the little trips around Almaty to places like the Sand Dunes. It truly has been an adventurous and eye opening two years.

4. Russian. When I first started learning Russian I cursed every second of my lessons. Cyrillic was hard to read, the grammar was impossible and I was pretty sure whoever invented the language was a masochist. Now, two years later, while I'm nowhere near fluent, I am really going to miss hearing and speaking Russian on a daily basis. There is a certain sense of satisfaction in going to the Green Market and chatting with the old babuskas selling fruit and understanding everything they say. Knowing at least a little bit of the local language so richens your experience and I'm so glad I took the torturous time to learn what I have.

5. Friends. Liam always jokes that places like Kazakhstan attract the very best of the foreign community and the very worst. And in a sense, it is true (although that would mean that we classify ourselves as the very best, which might be a little egotistical...) I once heard that the Red Cross asks applicants in their first interview, "What are you running away from?" Alot of people out here don't necessarily fit in back in the States. I'd have to say overall, I've found the westerners who live in Almaty to be among the very best -- and that they are the type of people who run to adventure, not away from something at home. I'll so miss my great friends here in Almaty.

6. Friends (deux). But, on the other hand, what better treat is there to reunite with friends back home? My high school reunion is coming up in August and I can't wait to see folks I haven't seen in years. And of course I can't wait for two whole years of Sarah time.

7. Family. My baby sister is now going to be a senior and this will be her last year of varsity field hockey -- excited to be able to see a bunch of her games (and maybe even a few with the US team). And my brother is doing stand-up in New York which I'm really looking forward to see people, other than immediate family members, laugh at him. My folks will only be 4 hours by car, compared to 24 by air and I can't wait to see them and their huge new soccer project. Aunt and uncles, cousins, grandparents. And then my in-laws: all I can say is Sunday football at Joe and Marg's place. Can't wait!

8. Work to School. Definitely going to be a transition to being a student again. Although I've always loved student life, so this one shouldn't be too hard to get used to.

9. 2000 square feet to 600. Although we don't yet have an apartment in DC, I'm not optimistic that we'll be able to afford a ton of space. This presents one major problem: we had more rugs than we could use in our four bedroom house here. I see a storage unit in our future.

10. Shopping. I haven't set foot in a mall in nearly a year. I think the sheer volume of options is going to be overwhelming. Although, I'm not going to complain!

Independence Day in Uyghurstan

Usually I am the queen of travel planning. I like to read all the books, surf the websites, compare hotels...

This time, we're flying by the seat of our pants. With less than two weeks left in Kazakhstan, I really wanted to get to western China before we left. I'm cutting it close, I know! And distracted with things like packing out, tying up loose ends at work, getting ready to start law school again, I haven't much thought about things like hotel reservations. But today our visas came through and we booked the tickets, so China here we come.

The timing for our visit falls at an interesting time. For starters, we'll be personally celebrating the most American of American holidays in a communist country. But even more ironic, we'll be in the autonomous republic of Uyghurstan (or officially, the "Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region")during the Chinese Communist Party's birthday (July 1). Will definitely be interesting to see how this day is celebrated in a part of the country that wants itself to be independent.

Urumchi is the capital of Uyghurstan and for years was populated by mostly Uyghur people. But the Han Chinese, worried about secession, moved millions of their own to the west to populate Urumchi. According to my old Lonely Planet, in 1949 there were 200,000 Han Chinese in Xinjiang. By 1993 that figure had swelled to over six million, with 300,000 immigrants a year moving in. Today, Urumchi is much more Chinese than Central Asian. (And interestingly, I needed to use my old Lonely Planet for info on western China because the new version left it out -- pressure from the Chinese government, perhaps, to not consider Xinjiang part of Central Asia?)

My friend in Almaty, Sean Roberts, produced a documentary 10 years ago titled, "Waiting for Uyghurstan" in which he interviewed Uyghurs involved in trade between China and Kazakhstan. The general consensus, shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union, was that if the Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, etc. had their own nation, why didn't the Uyghurs? At the time, many seemed hopeful that someday soon they too would have their own state. Today, they are still waiting.

Moving Day

In August of 2003, less than a month after getting married, Liam and I packed up all of our things and moved to Kazakhstan. Our first major challenge as a married couple would be surviving "Victory Vans." Our movers, who we can now joke about, were a disaster. They showed up late. They showed up drunk. They took 20 minute smoke breaks every hour. One couldn't read or write (it was really sad). They almost plowed through into the back of my mother-in-law's car at an intersection with their moving van.

So with this move, we knew it couldn't get much worse. Now that our house is empty and our stuff locked in crates, I can say we've had a pretty flawless move. It took two days, but these guys worked hard. And carefully. Our stemware was bulbble wrapped not once but twice, They kept a detailed inventory (in English!) While most of them didn't speak much English, they had their household inventory vocab down pat.

At the end of the day as they went through the boxes to weight them, they would read the label and then the boss would mark it down. In Russian, the letter "H" is pronounced "N" -- when I first started studying Russian it was always hard for my brain to convert what that symbol meant. So too for the movers. On the boxes that said "CLOTHES" they would read out "KLOTNEYS." At first, I had no idea what they were talking about -- maybe this is some kind of movers' slang? When finally figured out what they were saying, I couldn't stop giggling.

But, now sitting in an empty house, it is nice to have the move over with. Or at least the packing out part of it. 2 more weeks in Kazakhstan, lots of saying good-bye to do. I am hoping to make it to Western China for the 4th of July weekend with my friends Maureen and Whitney. Our visas finally came through so as long as we can get flights we're off to Urumchi and Kashgar. One last trip before heading back to the States!

Operation Whitewater

This summer's rafting trip, "Operation Whitewater" is underway. To date, we have at least 13 people signed up for a weekend trip to the Poconos to take on the rapids of the Lehigh River. I only know about 1/2 the people, given Karin's excellent recruiting efforts, so it will be a weekend of old and new friends.

I've been doing these weekend rafting trips for years. In high school we camped at Whitewater Challengers (one year in the rain) after a day of waterfights and taking swims. The past two times we've gone upscale, renting cabins at a nearby ski resort. I can already smell the BBQ. Nothing like a good meal after a day on the river!

Extreme (kind of) Hiking

You know those stupid tourists who see a tornado or hurricane coming and head toward it instead of taking shelter somewhere safe? Well, that was us yesterday.

It was a hot day in Almaty and a group of us decided to head up to the mountains for some cooler air and a good hike. Maureen picked one of my favorite trails, although it is continuously uphill (my legs are feeling it today). The sun was still bright and although it was cooler, it was still pretty hot. It took us over 2 hours to reach the top of the train and we were all sweating buckets.

As we reached the summit, we turned around and saw this huge, black cloud that looked like something out of Ghostbusters: I was half expecting the Marshmallow Man to walk out of it. Because we were at such a high altitude, as the cloud approached, it actually enveloped us. It was beautiful to watch this fast moving storm approach and then dip down over us. And a little scary.

As the clouds approached, the wind picked up and dust went flying everywhere. For the first 5 seconds, the wind felt great, but almost immediately the temperature dropped from the 80's to the 60's. It was like going from a sauna to an ice pool, accept we didn't have the option to get back in the sauna (and as my friend Whitney pointed out, none of us had even decided to hop into the ice pool -- it pulled us in).

Soon after the wind picked up, the rain/hail started. Wearing tee shirts and shorts, we all started to shiver. Our options were to take shelter under a tree (pro: avoid flying objects through the air, con: continue to lose body temperature) or start back down again (pro: keep moving and get out of the storm, con: endure a steady stream of hail on our naked skin).

I'm not sure I've ever been in the middle of such a drastic change in weather. It seemed as if it had come from nowhere. Apparently, other hikers know these mountains better b/c they all seemed prepared. Everyone we met on the way down was wearing a poncho. One nice gentleman even gave us his extra, I'm sure thinking to himself, "who do these people think they are!?"

When we got back to the car about an hour later, we were soaked through. The storm did quite a bit of damage to trees lower on the mountain and driving back to the city we had to avoid a few branches that had taken a beating and were scattered across the road.

Sitting at my desk today I feel pretty accomplished in the muscle fatigue kind of way. And of course happy that none of us came down with hypothermia!

Following Father's Footsteps

In honor of Father's Day, here's a great story about a son traveling (literally and figuratively) in his Dad's footsteps. Andrew Steves, the son of the travel guru and PBS star Rick Steves is taking off for Europe this summer on a solo backpacking trip. World Hum interviewed Andrew on his upcoming trip. Andrew is looking forward to "meeting young ladies" and eating when he wants -- something he never had the chance to do when he was traveling along with Dad.

It's a girl!

For anyone who chooses an expat life, one of the hardest adjustments can be the physical distance from friends and family.

While e-mail can really bridge the communications gap, living 8,000 miles from Washington, D.C. has meant that I've missed weddings, communions, births, and deaths. You feel the distance most during these huge life events, when you can't be there to share in the joy or pain.

When my friend Alyssa got married in October of 2003, I had just moved to Kazakhstan and couldn't get back for the wedding. It was the first big event of many that I'd miss over the next two years. Well, on Tuesday, Alyssa provide another: she gave birth to a healthy, happy baby girl: Isabelle Nicole. Except this time, I'll be home in a few weeks to see the newest member of her family myself. And I can't wait!

Almaty Nostalgia

The view from my office

Last night I went to a farewell dinner for some friends who leave Almaty this weekend. The hosts have a tradition of asking their departing friends to name what they will miss most and what they will miss least about living in Almaty.

As we went around the table, items that fell into the miss least category were things like dealing with the increasingly awful traffic and driving, commutes to school to pick up kids, aggressive locals. There are few people I know who won't be happy to say good bye to Almaty traffic.

But then there is all that we'll miss -- and for me, it is these mountains. There have been few weekends when we haven't made it up there to hike, ski, snowshoe, picnic, etc. On clear days, I find that I walk a little slower when the mountains are in view, just so I can spend more time taking them in. A few weeks ago I was leaving work and the evening was perfect -- I went out on the sixth floor balcony and took this shot.

My guess is that next year the view from the law library won't be quite as majestic.

Getting my hair cut in Russian

Yesterday I spent most of the day running errands. I was feeling really good about my ability to navigate the streets and stores of Almaty. After two years of Russian, I'm certainly not able to give a graduate class lecture, but I can get around.

My friend Maureen and I decided to pamper ourselves a little bit and go get pedicures. I understood everything the woman asked, got the right color nail polish (lak) and even was able to eavesdrop on the two women gossiping next to me.

Then, I pushed my luck.

The salon where I get my hair cut was able to fit me in at 5:00. I ran over and sat down in the chair. The hairdresser played around with my hair for a few minutes and then asked, "how short?"

Being an American girl, I work in inches, although I've done a good job transitioning to the metric system (with a few grossly bad estimates when asked how much oregeno I needed. I will be donating my 3/4 pound bag to someone before I leave). But on the spot, I couldn't calculate so I just kind of showed her about an inch. She seemed to understand and then took me to the basin to wash my hair.

For the next hour I watched as she snipped and snipped (hair cuts are notoriously long here. My husband who prefers the 5 minute military buzz cut can't goes crazy when he tries to get his hair cut here. "They cut every strand individually!") She seemed to be going pretty short, but it was kind of hard to tell.

When she was done, I could tell it was more than an inch. Much more than an inch. She blew it dry and I realized my hair was gone.

Looking back on it now, I am pretty sure when she asked, "how long?" and I showed her that inch, she thought I meant that was how long I wanted it. Because right now, my hair can't be much longer than a few inches!

So much for feeling so confident about my Russian. Maybe by the time this hair cut grows out I can learn how to say, "just a trim, please."

A Visual: The Observatory

Observatory

These are just 2 of the several telescopes up in the mountains. I took this shot when Liam and I went for an early morning walk. Our housing was just downhill from here.

Big Almaty Lake Observatory

Last weekend a group of us drove to Big Almaty Lake, about an hour outside of Almaty for a night at the Observatory.

While the Observatory may sound like some cool and hip new club in New York, it is actually a real, true, Soviet observatory. There are about 5 or 6 massive telescopes, along with dorm-like facilities where you can rest your head for $10/night. Throughout the evening, the local astronomer will call you to the telescope to check out the rising or falling stars/planets/galaxies. Around midnight we all ran up to make sure we saw Saturn before it was gone. Pretty cool to see the rings -- although as my friend Heidi put it, "the image kind of looks like one of those slides you stick into a microscope."

In addition to witnessing natural beauty, we also had the honor (although some might claim horror) of spending half the night listening to renditions of 1980's top-10 hits thanks to the Observatory's kareoke machine. My friend Karin managed to belt out The Star Spangled Banner at least twice, as well as Forever Young. When Brian graced us with his version of Black Sabbath, the dog who had been silently enduring our vocal chords all night decided to join in, barking along.

We woke up in the morning (some more perky than others) and did a little hike up through the mountains. The views of the observatory and Big Almaty Lake were nothing short of fantastic. And after living in a polluted city like Almaty, you really come to value that fresh mountain air.

As so many people who are living here prepare to head on to new destinations and different stages of their lives, our trip to the Observatory was one last great chance to spend some time doing something uniquely "Kazakhstan." With about three weeks left here, I'm really becoming nostalgic and realize how much I really am going to miss living here - especially all of the amazing people who've been along for the ride with me.

Readuponit

Check out Max Hartshorne's blog, Readuponit, for dispatches from his recent trip to Hungary -- and a blog on my most recent article on GoNomad.

Talking Street

What a cool way to explore a city.

Talking Street allows you to access city tours through your cell phone (currently available in Washington DC, New York and Boston). The audio tours are narrated by the likes of Larry King, Steven Tyler and Jerry Stiller. The writing is fantastic (much better than the audio tour we bought at the Topkapi Palace in Turkey). And if you want a good cry, check out the audio script for the Vietnam Memorial in Washington.

Talking Street is expanding. They are currently looking for writers to create scripts for tours in Los Angeles, Seattle, Miami and Las Vegas. For info on how to send in an application, click here. Compensation is $1/word.

Slate Honored

My favorite online mag, Slate, won two EPpy awards this year, for best online internet news service and best internet entertainment service with more than 1 million monthly visitors.

Slate was bought by Washington Post earlier this year and I worried that the quality of the site would deteriorate. Previously, what made Slate so great was that it wasn't the New York Times or the WP -- it was independent, thoughtful, and provided a great mix of serious analysis and fun, irreverent writing.

Over the past few months I haven't noticed any major changes, like all of the WP columnists suddenly writing for Slate. Although I have missed Dahlia Lithwick's presence (she's been on maternity leave) and I'm looking forward to her return. In the meantime, I'm working on a profile of Lithwick. I've been reading through a bunch of her older articles on Slate as I write this piece and I've found myself laughing outloud from time to time. I mean, it's not every day that you get journalists comparing a Supreme Court justice to the Simpsons' Montgomery Burns. About Justice Breyer, she wrote,

The best analogue for what goes on with Breyer's constantly moving hands would
need to be 'vogueing.' A la Madonna. Circa 1985. Breyer alternately covers his
forehead with his hand, cups his chin with his hand, or clutches his head with
his hand. Sometimes he does this all at once.

It's funny. And I definitely miss getting my scoop of legal news with a twist of lithwickisms.

GoNomad $500 Travel Writing Grant

GoNomad awarded its first travel writing grant this month to David Atkinson, who will use the money to follow in the footsteps of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid. For more on David's travel and writing plans, click here.

GoNomad plans to award one $500 travel grant quarterly. Applications for the next award are due on August 15. It is a great opportunity for writers & travelers, so get your applications in on time!

The pack out stalls

This morning we had our pre-pack out survey scheduled. This basically involves movers coming into the house, taking stock of what we have and figuring out much time they'll need to get everything packed up.

Liam and I both stayed home from work, as the movers were supposed to arrive at 10:00. We spent the morning going through old clothes and starting an inventory of our household goods (we have accumulated 24 rugs since we got here -- I think we may have a problem. While I keep telling myself half of these are gifts, I have a feeling they are with us to stay.)

I like to think of myself as someone who doesn't own alot of junk -- but over the last two years we have accumulated stuff. I'm not sure where it all came from, but we've got it.

Around 10:45 there was still no sign of the movers and after a few phone calls I was informed that there was a "miscommunication" and that the movers would arrive tomorrow. Nothing like starting this whole process out on the right foot!

But overall, we got a ton done this morning and I am feeling much more relaxed about the whole process. In the end, our stuff will get packed up and to the States, in one piece, or two....

Esmeralda Santiago in Kazakhstan

Last night I went to a book reading by Esmeralda Santiago, a Puerto Rican born American author. The event was funded by a State Department program, which brings American writers, musicians and artists abroad for cultural exchanges.

Sitting in the British Council library, located just off the Sqaure of the Republic in Almaty, about 20 local students and expats spent 2 hours completely transfixed by this amazing woman. Ms. Santiago talked about her life, growing up in rural Puerto Rico in a village with no running water, no electricity. She then moved to New York at the age of 13 where she struggled not only in her new environment, but with an entirely new social order. She asked herself, "Why does the outside world here only attach the adjective "Puerto Rican" to negative nouns?" Criminal. Drug dealer. Prostitute. She was none of these, but couldn't find anyone talking about the Puerto Rican scholars, teachers, athletes.

For me, one of the most interesting parts of the evening was when she discussed the process of writing and how she approaches her craft. She has written three memoirs, and she described the process of writing as painful - a struggle. She secludes herself while she writes, because she spends alot of time crying and doesn't want others to try to cheer her up. Reliving those forgotten moments gives more truth to her writing. (I thought of the scene on Something's Gotta Give where Diane Keaton's character is madly typing away while she sobs and sobs). I think about how I would approach such a project, and perhaps it is a reflection of a life with few immense challenges (I was never uprooted at a young age to a foreign land where I had to face racism daily), but I have very few painful memories. I imagine myself crying sweet tears rather those of rage.

This thought then led me to ponder whether great writing requires that the author has been to the edge and back. Must you overcome poverty, live through a war, or lose a baby to have a story worth telling? I admit, memoirs of triumph through adverse circumstances are important because they tell other people, "hey, I lived through this and so can you." Every plot needs a conflict, and when the conflict seems so insurmountable you find inspiration from those who have survived.

We all have our inner demons, our road blocks in life that we find our way around. Some are less glamorous than others, but my guess is that you need not spend 20 years in prison to have a story worth telling, and tell it well.

Fascinating evening and now I'm going to try to get my hands on a copy of her first memoir, When I Was Puerto Rican.

Kyrgyzstan through the eyes of a 7 year old

My nephew, Kevin, turned 7 this weekend, and for the occasion his family drove up from Bishkek to celebrate with us.

We spent the day at the amusement park (where rides go to die ... the tilt-a-whirl was made in Ohio, most likely in the 1950's, which leads me to believe that its safety features may not be up to date. Adds an extra fear element that the creators probably never intended) followed by a nice dinner at our local Irish pub. While sitting outside, enjoying the early summer evening, I asked Kevin about his upcoming move back to the States.

"So Kevin, are you excited to go back to America this fall?"

Looking up from his chicken nuggets, fries and milkshake, I see a big grin. "Yes!" he exudes.

"What about America do you like that you don't have in Kyrgyzstan?" I ask.

"Well, there is trash everywhere in Bishkek. People don't clean up! And the roads are sooo bumpy. In America, the roads are smooth."

This kid hates litter.

His father, trying to prove that the last two years haven't been just trash and potholes, starts asking Kevin about the time they were at the swimming pool and could order fruity drinks while they were in the pool. "Where was that?" he asks Kevin.

"In America!"

"No Kevin, that was Dubai."

"What about that time we went to the beach and stayed in a bungalow right by the water and ate all that good Thai food. Where was that?"

"In America!"

"No Kevin, that was Thailand."

So, to my nephew, all things good happen in America. Gotta give it to the boy, he is patriotic.

Trekking v. Walking

I happened upon Peter Friedman's website today. He is the author of Ideal Marriage, a coming of age novel about a young boy who finds his parents' sex and marriage manual hidden in the back of a bookshelf (behind a series on Agriculture).

In addition to the novel, Mr. Friedman writes what he calls, "Light Verse." As I scrolled through a few, I read this one and had to smile:

Trail Talk

"We have just returned from trekking,"

People say, with a self satisfied mien

But whenever I hear the word "trekking"

I wonder if the speaker might actually

be talking

About what others would simply call

walking

I've always wondered how you define trekking. Because it does sound so much cooler than simply walking. Trekking in the Himalayas. Trekking in Thailand among the hill tribes. Trekking along the singing sand dunes of Kazakhstan. Okay, so maybe we just walked.

So you want to be a travel writer?

Susan Spano wrote a great article for her LA Time Sunday column "Her World" entitled So you want to be a travel writer?

Her general tips on what makes a great travel writer:

* Service - providing readers with practical information
* Teaching - educating yourself while you travel and then sharing that knowledge with others
* Reading - "aspiring travel writers are only as good as what they read, which is why they need to do so widely and well. Foraging through literature and history provides themes and details beyond those rehearsed by every guidebook on the shelf."

While she acknowledges that parts of the job aren't as glamorous as they might seem (fact checking, researching 15 hotels in one day) she does admit that it is a "job in a million."

A Visual: The Dunes

Trekking on the Ridge of the Singing Sand Dune

I uploaded my pictures last night and thought I'd post this one. It took us about an hour to hike from the bottom to the very top of that ridge. Part of that time was spent convincing the little ones to trek forward, although the youngest of the group sprinted the entire way (I'm thinking her parents should put her in cross country in a few years...)

Still finding sand in the oddest of places...

Kazakhstani Logic: Getting to the Singing Sand Dunes

It's Memorial Day weekend and we decided to spend it camping at the Singing Sand Dunes.

"How can sand dunes sing?" you may ask. It was a question I decided to investigate myself.

Our group of about 20 left Almaty around 2:00 on Saturday afternoon to drive out past Lake Kapchugai to the dunes. Like every trip we've taken in Central Asia, our directions were less than complete. No one had been there before and we were armed with a Lonely Planet that was utterly useless (public buses run on x and y dates...) and a map with a few arrows. One of the funniest moments of planning this trip was when Kris, the Peace Corps Director here, came over to our offices and layed out three maps of the area, each with different roads drawn. Hmmmm.

We figured with the map(s) and asking directions along the way, we'd eventually get there.

To make a long story short (b/c if the story was as long as the drive, you'd quickly lose interest) a road on the map that was as straight as an arrow, which was to lead us to the park ranger station, actually included two lefts and a right. For a complete run-down of the adventure of just getting there, my friend Brian has written a great account.

In the end, it took us over six hours to make it to the dunes, with at least an hour of that time chewed up by Kazakhstani bureaucracy (you can't go into the park without paying the ranger, but there are no signs to the ranger station ... we got chewed out for "violating the especially protected zone" of course, whenever we asked locals for directions they kept pointing us forward!). We were then escorted back to the station to pay, and then back again in the same direction from which had come to set up our tents. Grrrr.

Once we paid the exorbitant fee ($45/person!) we were escorted to our camp site. The park rangers were very strict about this escort policy and became extremely upset when one car in our four-car caravan left the dunes before him.

As we drove over the barren steppe, the sun began to set and we saw camels in the distance just kind of mulling around. Then, we watched as what looked like an elegant white and tan donkey run off into the distance. Turns out, this national park is home to over 1000 wild donkeys. "Wild Donkey" doesn't sound particularly sleek or beautiful, but these animals were both.

We set up camp in the dark and then ate hot dogs and smoores (we can still have an American Memorial Day in the middle of Kazakhstan) and sang camp fire tunes, accompanied by a father/son guitar duo.

The dunes themselves were fantastic. We visited the first time when we arrived and because it was dusk, we were viscously attacked by mosquitoes. The next day, we returned and climbed to the top. The singing comes from some sort of vibration, so when you slide down it sounds somewhat like a super sonic jet engine. When this is done in chorus (with ten or so people sliding at the same time) the effect is amazing. As for the science, that I'm less sure about. But I did find this explanation of why the sand sings.

On Sunday, we returned home and managed to make it the entire way without getting lost. We even stopped off at a shashliek place by the lake, enjoyed a leisurely lunch, and still made better time than the day before.

Now that we know how to get there, we're leaving the country. But I'm leaving a fourth map behind with much better directions.