It was to be the trip of a lifetime: to spend a year in an exotic and
interesting part of the world, see a new capital rise, listen to the cacophony
of languages mixing in a picturesque tapestry of sound, to thrill to the sights
and sounds and experience of a new and rising and flourishing nation… and pay
for it? No, no, no; this was
employment! Hard enough to come by
in the States, but they’re practically giving it away here. Ah, I thought to myself: a professional
traveler.
I’ll experience the culture of Kazakhstan as it really is,
and of course I’ll write a blog about it.
They may be a new nation, but I have the eternal optimism and “get it
done, yesterday,” American spirit of the perpetually young United States. I would go forth and conquer; I would
make my mark.
That, of course, is the most important part of any
blog-worthy travel experience. Or
any blog-worthy experience, for that matter. Certainly, had blogs been around when he walked on the moon,
Neil Armstrong’s iconic words would’ve been blasted across RSS feeds all over
the world and there’d have been a lolcat meme about it before he even got home
to earth.
Making one’s mark, though, is harder these days than ever
before. The world is getting
smaller, not bigger; it’s been conclusively round for many hundreds of years,
in the U.S., even, non-whites and women have all the theoretical rights of
their white founding fathers. Wars
have been fought on a global scale, and Justin Bieber successfully escaped
Canadian pop-stardom. What more,
really, is there to do?
And honestly, I’ve pretty much done everything here in
Astana. Pictures of Bayterek
Tower. Pictures in front of
Bayterek Tower. Pictures of
Bayterek Tower at night. Pictures
in front of Bayterek Tower at night.
I even have pictures of President Nazarbayev’s residence. They brought me here for something, but
in all the rush of preparing for it, of moving, of arriving, of going to work,
of coming home from work, of taking the bus, of walking to various parts of the
city, of taking photos of Bayterek Tower, of learning how to be a vegan in the
most meat-based dietary culture I’ve ever encountered… I forgot quite what that
was.
How would I do it?
A pertinent question. Would
I go native, renounce the culture of my birth, adopt the language as though it
were always my own, and finally say “we,” not “they?” Would I write humorous reminiscences about the silly, simple
ways of the people and situations I encounter, with just the right amount of
amusement and condescension? Or would I find my niche by hating everything and
turning to a patriotism I’d never before known?
Make no mistake, though, I will make my mark. It’s the American Way. I’ve got the American Spirit, the
can-do attitude, the optimism. I
did it yesterday, will have done it yesterday, and I have conquered. Or will conquer. It’s manifest.
