Karaganda Restaurants

In general, expats who decide to live in a little-known Central Asian country aren't the kind of people who compulsively google everything. They don't look for answers on western internet. Instead they head to the streets. They take bold forays into the local language and culture, and pull from the vast store of information sourced from their local friends. They are not afraid to duck inside random cafes and make the best of it. They are content with not knowing and with figuring things out as they go.

But you know, I'm not one of those people. I am a I-gotta-know-what-I'm-getting-myself-into kind of person. Whenever I'm sick you know I'm all over WebMD. If someone suggests a movie I look it up on IMDb and Rotten Tomatoes before adding it to my list. I use the internet to solve a lot of my day-to-day problems; recent Google searches include "How long should chicken thighs bake", "is mahi mahi really dolphin", and "how to manually flush a toilet." (Friends, my life, you have no idea how exciting it is.)

So when I was trying to find a new place to eat this past week, I quickly exhausted the English resources available on the interwebs and instead decided to step out in faith. And trial-and-error has been a fabulous way to find the good food in this city, but for those who, like me, prefer something a little more premeditated, I've prepared a small guide of good restaurants in Karaganda based on my own experiences. As damdi bolsyn!

So for all you Googlers out there . . .

Arzu
Uighyr food and some central Asian offerings, as well. Flakey, melt-in-your-mouth samsa! The menu has pictures, which is always appreciated, but you can't go wrong with any of the lagman. Off Bukhar Zhirou, bus stop Shestnasti. (Near to the other Uighyr restaurant, which is also tasty, but Arzu has free wifi and nicer decor.)

Kafe Kirogi
Korean food. It's not on the menu, but they have dog if you ask for it. (I don't know how to do this, but if you speak the language or go with a local, you can make this happen.) I have only had the dog (which was great!), so I can't speak for the rest of the food, but the place is immaculately clean. It's not on the bus route (maybe it's on Street Ermekova?) so you'll have to go by taxi.

Princessa
Americanized Chinese food. English menu available. Don't get the crispy chicken, it's mostly bones. Everything else is great, though. Tempora cauliflower is outta sight. On Gogol Street (Yogo-Vostock side), across from the German Orthodox church and next Infiniti night club.

Kafe Suliko
A small cafe nestled in Stepnoi 3, this was a favorite. Georgian food! You simply cannot go wrong with Georgian food. Cheesy bread. Enough said. They didn't have an English menu, so we just pointed at random things and were never disappointed. Cheaper and more delicious than the Georgian place on Nurken Abdirova. Within walking distance of the Korzina bus stop.

Palermo
Italian fare, altered slightly for a Russian palate. (Case in point, there is dill on the Margharita pizza.) English menu available. The horse meat pizza is great. The price is in the middle, not so cheap but not extra expensive. The place has a classy vibe. I always went to the one on the second floor of Korzina in Yugo-Vostock, but there is another location on Alikhanova in Centre.

Pivobaroff
German food and beer. The menu is in both English and Russian. The decor of this place is incredible. It's like eating inside the basement of a castle. Prices are on the high side (we were conservative but it cost ~3000/person) but the food is excellent. The sausage dishes are only sausage, so, get a side. On the corner of Bulvar Mira and Bukhar Zhirou.

Nori
For sushi this place is affordable, clean, and pretty chic. It reminded me a lot of my second favorite sushi place back home. We got a sampler tray and it was plenty for six of us. (They also have this berry tea that is RAD.) The cafe atmosphere makes it a good place for hanging out for an extended period of time, and there's a semi-open kitchen. On Bulvar Mira, close to Stanislovski Theater.

Coffe In
I've never had food here, but their desserts are lovely and their drinks are great! This is my favorite place to go warm up in the dead of winter, especially with their pirate punch. And the decor is adorable, it has such a cozy feel inside. Bright orange on the outside. Menu in both English and Russian. Halfway down Nurken Abdirova, bus stop 1000 Melochey.

Perfecto Coffee
If you're needing a little slice of America, this place feels like a typical western coffee shop. Lots of foreigners hang out here, and the staff usually do what they can to overcome the language barrier. And coffee is a bit cheaper and more delicious than Intercoffee, I think. On Bulvar Mira near the Galleria mall, Dietctolovaya bus stop.

These recommendations are based on my own limited experiences living in Karaganda, Kazakhstan for the 2013-2014 academic year. Corrections or other recommendations welcome!

Cows, though?

It's hard for me to remember a time when my sister Sarah was not one of my favorite people. I have fuzzy memories of coloring a picture of us two with Psalm 133:1 written underneath as a punishment. (Our parents instructed us to reword it to read, "It is good and pleasant when sisters live together in peace.") I can recall sitting next to her at the kitchen island crying because she had gotten a better score on our spelling test than me. And I think there was a time when Hannah and I would play without Sarah because she was, yes, "too little." When I was a kid I thought the 14-month difference between us was oh so important, but now that I'm "grown" I see what a gift I was given.

Sarah is simultaneously the most and least judgmental person I know. She never says anything unkind about a person, never gossips, and is quick to look at a situation from everyone's point of view. She's excellent at perspective-sharing and highly empathetic. She always manages to remind me that no one is exempt from grace, and what a gift it is to extend the same patience to others to has been extended to me. What all this means, however, is that when you start complaining or saying something you shouldn't, she gets on this pitying and tight-lipped silence that makes conviction just shoot right through you. She doesn't even need to say anything to rebuke you, you know it in a moment, you sense that you're being ungracious, because her kindness shines as a bright example.

Photo by Lillian Hathaway, Newport 2012

She reminds me of J3sus, how she managed to be so compassion and so exhorting at the same time. And in this she makes me want to be more like J3sus. I so admire the joy she has: how she can lock her keys in her car on a blustery day and find the humor in the situation. How she digs her heels in on hope, and watches and waits for victory to come through hard situations. How she manages to cope with the insanely busy schedule she keeps, rising to the challenges of being fully present and self-sacrificing in each new setting. It baffles me how she never hesitates at doing the right thing; she follows her convictions and her values unflinchingly. I love her for the kind, kind way she rebukes me.

She's also so freaking competent. She joined staff at our chrch about a year ago and having worked alongside her at youth events and other chrch functions, I have come to marvel at the genuine enjoyment she has for service. The leadership roles she's taken on astound me, probably because I know I could never do what she's doing, and it just makes me so impressed. And I guess it impresses me even more because I know she's grown into the role. She's worked hard to stretch herself and flatten her shortcomings so that she can complete the tasks she's given. She's like the good employee archetype: conscientious, communicative, and dynamic. Whenever I want to hang out with someone I usually ask her to make it happen, because her activities have almost a 100% success rate. (My activities, more like 37%.)

Моя сестра перед президентским дворцом

But she is forever my goofy sister. Nothing makes me laugh like her tweets do. She wears her dorky cow hat in public and doesn't care. She eats on a schedule and food is her love language. She posts adorable pictures of my favorite animals on my Facebook wall. She shares my esteem for puns. She helped me rank the five grossest movie kisses of all time (we're still scarred by the moment of passion from Willow). She is my partner in crime, a fellow J3sus follower, and my best friend.

"Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me"

I like the risk in theory. I like the idea of stepping out into what is unknown. It’s been a part of my ethos since I was quite young, a middle schooler sitting on the steps of the State House talking to strangers, to do what is difficult. I’m one of those dumb people who reads about stuff on the internet and thinks to themselves, “Hey, I could do that.” How do you think I wound up in Kazakhstan? The trouble is, though my brain is all too eager to sign up for the risk, the challenge, when push comes to shove my heart is a shivering, squishy mess. 

The first time I ever went to a water park (technically it was the second, the first being Water Mine Family Swimmin’ Hole, but, let’s say first real water park) was at Walt Disney World’s Blizzard Beach. My mom talked us into doing the second-scariest slide in the park, and we waited in line with her, and I was all, “Mhm, mhm, this is a great idea, woo!” The line was long, and as we waited I congratulated myself with how brave I was. That is, until I had to take off my water shoes and position myself in the mouth of the slide. In a moment my courage evaporated in the hot Florida sun, but by then there was no backing out. 

I remember going down the slide very clearly, even though it was over a decade ago. I remember a bunch of water got in my face and I couldn’t breath. I opened my mouth to yell and choked instead. The grooves in the slide where each piece connected with the next burned my shoulder blades, and the force of sliding straight down so fast gave me the most unholy wedgie. I distinctly remember feeling disoriented when I arrived at the bottom, my brain was saying so many things at once. Things like, “YOU ALMOST JUST DROWNED.” -- “Get out of the track, another person’s coming!” -- “Wait, fix your swim suit first!” -- “Cough. COUGH. There’s still water in your lungs!” -- “Where did your water shoes go? HOT PAVEMENT.” -- “Where IS your mother, your vision is so blurry from all that water!” And other panicked, exclamation-marked sentiments. 

I survived, it’s true. But it’s example of how my reach exceeds my grasp. 

Coming to Kazakhstan was a great idea. The plan was almost foolproof. A place most people have never heard of? Check. A job that automatically connects me with locals who speak my language? Check. A year learning about cross-cultural servanthood before attempting to start it stateside? Great idea all around! And it’s been a beautiful time; I cannot overstate how much of a privilege it’s been. Privilege in that, the kindness I’ve been shown has been so great, and my deservingness of this opportunity has been so little. 

The idea of working in a different country is a fantastic one, but there’s something about the pragmatics that makes my stomach flip-flop a little. Sometimes I get to the top of the metaphorical cultural water slide and I want to bail. Every time we invite someone over I have butterflies in my stomach. Every time we go to someone’s house I feel faint. I steel my nerves at so many social interactions, waiting, waiting, to break through the barrier of my own selfishness into active love for these people for whom I harbor such affection. I came to Kazakhstan to challenge myself, to find obedience and discipleship and growth through risk, but many times, with shame I admit, I have baulked in fear.

And now I wonder if I am repeating the same with law school. Stepping still into the unknown because  I like the idea of it, because I perceive a challenge and a risk, but will only come out on the other side shell-shocked, proclaiming, “I ALMOST JUST DROWNED.”

I don’t deserve anyone’s esteem. I’m a coward. I am a fearful young adult who signs her name too confidently on checks she can’t cash. My knees were gelatin at the top of that water slide. My stomach was in knots before my first meeting with a student. I’ve written pages and pages of doubt and fear in my journal about coming to Kazakhstan and going to law school. I have never done anything good without being scared out of my mind before doing it. I like the risk in theory. But in practice it freaks me out. I have nothing to be proud of, because in every risk I have face-planted in fear.  

And how many times does J3sus say to His disciples, or to the people He heals, “Take courage” and “Do not be afraid”? Oh, feeble and fearful heart. Of course you can't. But of course He can.

Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders.

Lent, Law School, and Practicing the Presence of God

I gave up watching TV for Lent. When Lent ended today, Easter, the day of victory, the day of celebration and joy, I gleefully partook of what I'd abstained from and finished the last season of HIMYM.

When it was finished (okay, I cried a little), I reflected on where the past two hours had gone, how it was 2am, and it was irresponsible to be up that late, and how deadened two hours of television had made me feel after such a wonderful day.

This, I thought, this is why I gave up TV.

I actually gave up TV in order to better practice the presence of God. I don't often observe Lent, just because self-denial for its own sake seems to me something I can only practice selfishly, for example, slipping into the trap of thinking that watching less TV would make me a better person.

But something curious happened.

On April 12th, three days before the response deadline, I sent in a seat deposit to Penn State. I made my decision. I chose a law school. And I had such peace about it. I looked for apartments as I Skyped with Maggie and we spit-balled about visiting Disney over our spring breaks.

But three days later, on April 15th, on the response deadline, I got an email from Suffolk, my first choice law school, offering me a full-tuition scholarship. (PSU had offered me this to begin with, which I why I had chosen them over Suffolk.) When I saw the email frustration seeped through me. "Why. Why. Why." I chanted to myself as I sat at my desk.

Once I got over my initial angst, I launched into advice-seeking, pro-con list-making, general rationalizing. I emailed PSU to see if I could get my deposit back. No dice.

The whole time I questioned, "Why, Father, would You have this happen this way?" All my life my path has been steered by the gentle channel of closed and open doors. I walk forward in my desires, seeking congruence with His will, and trust Him to halt the plans that aren't His. And this has really worked for me. I'm not one of these people who agonizes of the mystery that is knowing the will of God. His personage has a depth I can't fathom, but it seems His will is very simple: seek Him.

This being my paradigm, I was flummoxed by the sudden appears of two doors. The trust I had previously placed in my decision for PSU faltered as Suffolk again became a possibility. But I was also loathe to change my mind after I had already accepted PSU as my fate. I had waited for weeks for an email from Suffolk with such scholarship news; how stunting for it to come just days after I put the money down.

"What do You want me to do," I would inquire of Him sullenly, frustrated that He would have me question my future beyond the next three months, annoyed that He would tease me with something I had desired for so long. I wanted clarity. I wanted an answer. I wanted handwriting on the wall.

And I don't want to elevate myself to put words in His mouth, but in that moment what it seemed He replied was, "I want your attention."

Lent was not about watching television. The scholarship news from Suffolk was not about my law school decision. The choice has made me batty, but it's not about choosing a school. (Either is perfectly fine!) This is about something much more important.

It's about my heart. It's about increasing the proximity of my heart to His.

And it's funny how understanding this doesn't automatically attune me to Him, just like six weeks without television didn't kill my capacity to stay up late binging on episodes that have already aired. It's funny how easy it is to adopt "Seek Him" as your guiding decision-making paradigm and then you forget to actually like, seek Him.

But He won't relent until He has it all, our whole hearts, our complete attention. And how patient He is, and how creative, how He gives us these slow pitches as He teaches us to keep our eyes on the proverbial ball . . .

The baseball metaphor is dripping with cheese, I know, but I have so much joy that I am loved by a G0d who demands my attention and teaches me to give it to Him. That He says to me, "Daughter, I will not abandon the work I began in you." He lives. He leaves us not to follow Him blindly groping, but He will open our eyes and grab our attention.

Fact: music motivates learning

It sounds silly to write it here in black and white, but one of the wins I have most appreciated about the laborious task of learning Russian is being able to understand the bit from that Regina Spektor song "Apres Moi." Shockingly, I didn't discover the text for this reprise until just now. It's the first stanza from a poem by Boris Pasternak. I'm not saying I can sing along perfectly just yet, but I will hopefully have something to show for these hours of Russian practice. I'm so delighted to have something small and relevant to my home culture to contextualize what I'm learning.

Words are below in Russian Cyrillic script, Russian Latin script, and English.

Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочащая слякоть
Весною черною горит.

Fevral'. Dostat' chernil i plakat'!
Pisat' o fevrale navzryd,
Poka grokhochashchaya slyakot'
Vesnoyu chernoyu gorit.

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

(Poem and translation accessed from http://www.kulichki.com/poems/Poets/bp/Rus/bp_3.html. Discovered thanks to Hope Johnson.)

Food withdrawals

We went to the grocery store this week and what I saw had me geeking out. 

Lettuce, they had lettuce. And not just the wilted and yellowed cellophane-wrapped heads of romaine that they usually had, but also those plastic sealed boxed of baby spinach, radiccio, and arugula. What?!

We've become to accustomed to not eating lettuce that one glance at the high price was enough motivation to pass it up, but I felt a little thrill in my gut at this sign that spring was coming, and that after spring comes summer, and during summer I'd be able to eat all the lettuce I wanted.

I foresee this being a big problem. Starting to think about the summer and being home, making plans, the big thing that's in my mind is what I'm going to eat. Like honestly, I see myself stepping off the plane in Logan and walking straight to Jamba Juice. 

For example . . . garbanzo beans, sweet potatoes, Ritz crackers, Italian sausage, ravioli, tortellini, kale, brown sugar, panko, shellfish, jam (I mean, they have jam here, but, it's so, how do I explain, it's like a syrupy fruit puree), PEANUT BUTTER, peanut butter M&Ms, pita bread, bagels, fresh fish, deboned chicken thighs, cheese (they have cheese here, but it's expensive, and there's no cheddar), quinoa, squash, couscous, Trader Joe's, canned crushed tomatoes (not positive, but I think they're a thing here), canned pumpkin, blueberries, asparagus, cream cheese . . . usual food items that I have missed so much and can't wait to consume again. 

I can't wait for iced coffee and Del's lemonade and Iggy's clamcakes and chicken on the grill and s'mores and not paying $4 for a cafe americano and Pinkberry and American-Chinese takeout and being able to drink the tap water. The chain restaurants I previously disdained, like Applebee's or Olive Garden, I'm looking forward to those, too. Cooking in generally is going to be so much easier once I'm able to read the labels again. Succumbing to gluttony is one of my biggest fears about coming back to the States because I'm such a sucker for making up for lost time.

This is a double edged sword, though. Whenever I slip into a day dream about all the recipes I'm planning on trying once I'm back stateside, I also remember all the food I won't be able to eat once I'm home.

Khachapuri, manti, beshbarmak, pelmeni, Soviet cookies, meat-stuffed blini (I mean, I guess I could make my own, but, I will miss buying the premade ones in the freezer section), horse sausage, plov, baursaki, samsa, laghman, shashlik (I could also probably make this myself, but I'll miss the smoky smell of it cooking in the bazaar), lipioshka, katleti, all the pirozhki, and the extensive tea selection. Oh man, I only just realized now, sitting and reflecting on it, how much good food we've consumed. Before coming I didn't think Russian food (with all its dill, mayonnaise, and pickles) would agree with my palate, but what did I know? 

I will not miss instant coffee, Russian salads, meat jello, or okroshka.

The bread here is amazing. I feel as though each culture has excellent bread (I don't think I've ever had bread I didn't like any place I've ever gone), but it will be really depressing to grab a processed, presliced loaf of Arnold's when I've been eating fresh baked brown bread for like 20 cents. And the candy, I don't understand why a nation as industrialized and sugar-obsessed as the USA hasn't diversified their candy aisle, because the ones in Kazakhstan really put us to shame. I'm going to miss the candy. And I'm bringing a few kilos home, so start putting in your requests.

There is so much good food to be had in this world. Enjoy your meals.

KARAGANDA TO-DO LIST

Every morning when I wake up and every night when I climb into bed, I feel this strange division bubbling up in my chest. I think of driving down route 116 and eating seafood and watching movies with my sisters, and I can't wait for June to be here. And I think of walking through Central Park and eating pelmeni and walking with our friends, and I dread the coming of June and leaving this place. Living in a foreign country is such an enormous privilege and one I am determined not to squander during my remaining time here. 

These are the things I want to take advantage of before concluding this stint:

• Hit the major cities: Astana, Almaty, Shymkent
• Go to the banya
• Sing karaoke
• Make a real American cheesecake for the office
• Give purpose to the staff at the Karaganda Region Museum
• Go to a football game
• See the view from Bayterek Tower
• Eat beshbarmak
• See the museum dedicated to the Karaganda branch of Stalin's gulag, the Karlag
• Go to a hockey game
• See a dombra concert
• Drink kumis
• Have an entire conversation exclusively in Russian
• Attend mass at the Catholic church
• Spot a wild gerbil
• Ice skating /  Paintball / Rock climbing (not necessarily unique to KZ, but generally new here)
• Visit Timertau and the Nazerbayev Museum there
• Get my picture taken with every monument (there are at least 10)
• See the inside of the Orthodox church
• Hear stories from someone who lived under the former Soviet Union
• Ride a camel
• Catalogue Kazakhstan's vast variety of candy
• Learn how to make borsch

Lest you think my aspirations are too small, here are some honorable mentions of things I accidentally did without intending to make a goal of it.

1. Visit the Kyrgyz Republic.
2. Watch the Hobbit 2 in Russian, and in 3D.
3. Spill hot oil all over our kitchen.
4. Drink unfiltered water from the tap. (Our friend remarked, "You shouldn't do that.")
5. Buy train tickets all by myself. (Myself plus Google Translate.)
6. Lose my phone. And my wallet.
7. Overstay my visa by two months and get stopped trying to leave the country.
8. Watch a Russian serial. (With English subtitles, of course.)
9. Try vodka.
10. Make my student cry. 
11. Eat dog. 
12. Go to the hospital. (For chest x-rays to prove I didn't have TB.)
13. Ride a bus to an unknown location. (This has happened more times than I can count.)
14. Learn how to make crumpets.
15. Ride a Soviet-era ferris wheel.
16. Go to a wedding. (Don't worry, we were invited.)

If you ever find yourself in Karaganda (hey, you never know!) and want to soak up every little thing this area offers, these things might be a good starting point. Not that I necessarily recommend getting lost on public transportation or overstaying your visa, but these (mis)adventures are fun in their own way because they let you see the place in a new way. And nothing makes you feel like a local like falling down on the icy sidewalks does. So embrace the humiliation. It's amusing for everyone else.

It's Who You Know a.k.a. how I started watching hockey

I think before coming to Kazakhstan I'd been to three hockey games. 

One was a Providence Bruins game when we were younger, and we left in the middle.

The other two were during Word of Life's Super Bowl event, a youth rally that involves staying up all night and . . . learning more about J3sus? Not totally sure, but during the hockey portion of the night I was absorbed with watching my fellow students and pretty much didn't even realize there was anything happening on the ice. 

So when we decided to go to a hockey game here in Karaganda I was kind of unenthused. But we were going with students, and it was a cultural experience, and it was something to do on a Saturday night, so, that happened. We learned the team name (Saryarka!) and how to say goal (шайбу!) and we were good to go. And the game was fun and everything, but I didn't feel the need to ever go again. I checked that off the list. I was ready to move on to football.

Polina (second from left) translates for the team

We've now seen four games, three of which have been playoff games, and two of which have been in the best seats, right behind the players' box. We chant the players names and we say dumb things like, "Я люблю тебя, Bова!"* I'm still waking up from confetti in my bed from when they showered the crowd with it after their quarterfinals victory. 

And how did all of this come about? You Rhode Islanders will understand me: connections. It's not what you know (in this case, the hockey schedule, which we didn't know anyway) but who you know (in this case, the team's translator.) Polina has season tickets to the games and all-access pass because she translates for her aunt, who is the team's doctor. The majority of the players are from Russia or Kazakhstan, but for the English speakers on the team, Polina helps them out. Thanks to her, we got to meet Kip Brennan** and Sabahudin Kovačevič.***

Bet, Teka, and I with Kovačevič

The Karaganda team (Сарыарка, which we're told is the name of the oblast where Karaganda is located) is currently in the semifinals and is the only Kazakhstani team. One of my administrators at Daryn tells me that when the hockey stadium first opened no one attended the games and the doctors and teachers in the city were required to go with their families, I suppose to act as trendsetters. (She confided in me that she much preferred American football to hockey, particularly the Oklahoma Sooners, which I chose to ignore because, roll tide!) Last year this team was in the finals, so it makes it that much more fun to root for a team that actually has a shot at winning. 

These hockey games are a language lesson unto themselves: being sandwiched between native fans shouting at the players in their native tongue we're able to spend a few hours in language immersion, which had paid off with a handful of new words and improved listening skills. (For the Canadian players some fans occasionally shout, "Ca-NAH-da, goal!") I like to think my ability to dance in my seat has also improved from the music they play while the clock is stopped.

Second semi-final game, final score 6-3 Saryarka!

I wouldn't say I've become a hockey enthusiast in general, but having Bet explaining the ref calls to me and offering insight into the game's rules has definitely grown my appreciation for the sport. I tend to have low interest in what I don't understand, but as my understanding of hockey grows so does my attention span for it. I actually just googled what was happening currently in the NHL. Look at me caring! As an expat/foreigner/inherent outsider, what I appreciate best about becoming a Сарыарка fan is being part of something. When I ask my students whether they watched the away games on TV, it's nice to see the look of pleasant surprise at my interest. It's a small gesture, but sporting team pride is just another way to show how much I've come to care about this place. 

*Can I tell you how adorable one of the goalkeepers is? After victories he dances to Gangam Style on center ice and brings the stuffed animals people throw on the ice to the orphanage.

**Formerly an NFL player. Click the link and see an example of his hockey skill set. Polina says he seems scary on the ice (he's an enforcer) but when the team visits the orphanage he tells the kids stories about putting out cookies for Santa Claus; an interesting juxtaposition.

***Competed in the 2014 Sochi Olympics as a member of the Slovenia team. 

****Kazakhstan only has two teams in this otherwise Russian league, and Polina explained that when KZ wins they kind of get treated like we treat Canada when they win the Stanley Cup. In many ways Kazakhstan is to Russia as Canada is to the USA. Perspective.