Our teacher friends

All over the world, teachers seem to be the same. They talk about students, share stories, and know their purpose--to take their students to a higher level of understanding. When Robin and I met these teachers at our seminar, we had no idea where and how fast these relationships would grow. You see, after the two day seminar, the teachers asked if we could talk to them every day for about two hours. So Robin worked it into the already tight schedule.

So every day for the past week we have met, discussing cultural topics, teaching practices and life. We've enjoyed their company and gotten to know them very well. Umida, an Uzbek, made me a cake for my birthday and then they invited us all out to the ballet. She said it will be a surprise evening and it was. After the ballet, which was a potpourri of dances from many ballets, they loaded us in a Korean SUV while all the other teachers got into a cab and found the restaurant, while Urmida took us down the main street, showed us the masque and call to worship, and then took us to the restaurant where we met the others. We shared a shashlik (kabob) platter--pork chops, mutton, chicken, grilled minced meat, and wild carp. This we shared with two salads, one Russian, one Greek. And of course green and black tea. It was a wonderful evening--digesting both culture and cuisine. It was a very late night but well worth it.



Today,we went to the mountains...what can you say. They were beautiful. It was about a two hour trek. We got there and Slava arranged for lunch. His friend was the cook. He seems to know everyone. We were at a summer camp for children in the foothills of the mountains between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. While we were waiting for lunch, we walked around the grounds, over a fast running river, nice and cold, and then found a yurt campground. After lunch--soup, apple salad and stuffed peppers, we went climbing. We hiked about 1000 ft up the mountain, built a fire and made smores. Slava and I washed off in the river, dousing my shirt and hat with a fresh mountain stream. There were horses roaming all around us in the brush. After a couple of hours, we hired back down to the car and left.



On the way home, the police stopped Slava's car to check the registration. He didn't have his seatbelt on since he forgot to reattach it when he stopped earlier for mare's milk. That stuff will get you every time. Diana, his daughter, was in the back of the Subaru, an illegal rider. After talking to the police for awhile, Slava came back to the car, got something and returned to the police. They smiled, he came back bad away we drove. We asked him what he came back for and he smiled--Snicker bars. The trip back was hot, dusty and uneventful, except for the horse we saw at a bus stop eating out of the garbage can.




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