wind blows

One of the most pleasant feelings I can think of is a cool breeze on a hot day. It has to be right up there with back rubs and the smell of new tennis balls. If you don't believe me, just close your eyes (well, keep one eye open to keep reading) and breathe deep. Hear the wind rustling the lush green leaves of the tree providing you with shade and a backrest. Feel the stress melt away as your muscles rest and relax. Notice the sweet mixed fragrance of grass and a cluster of wildflowers growing nearby. Nice, eh?

That refreshing sensation is all the more revered in a hot and stuffy train car in a Kazakhstani summer. I'm better adjusted this year than last, having lived and worked without air-conditioning for almost two years. However, as the sweat pools behind my knees and lines my brow, the greenish brown steppe rolls by outside and I start weighing the benefits and consequences of breaking the window with my stainless steel mug.

Train cars in KZ are a unique experience to say the least. I'm guessing the train in which I'm currently riding was made in the early 1980s, the white paint on the star proudly affixed to the engine car not quite covering the red coat beneath. When traveling by train, potential passengers have a choice of environments in which they can travel. For the middle-class passenger there are "kupe" compartments which are fairly comfortable and offer some privacy for the four people behind each sliding door. For the affluent traveler, there are deluxe cars with personal bathrooms, nice sheets and only two people per compartment. There is even a mythical Spanish train with AC and friendly conductors. But for Peace Corps Volunteers and bazaar merchants there is nothing but "platzcart." Hailed by PCVs and their unfortunate family members as "the sweatiest way to travel," platzcart cost 1/2 the price of kupe and consists of ten open compartments, each housing six temporary tenants in bunk beds. The cumulative effect of body heat and odor of sixty people in an enclosed space is more akin to a cattle car than anything else I can bring to mind. Four passengers share a medium-sized table and the other two, separated by a three-foot wide aisle, can fold up the center segment of the bottom bunk to form another small table. The whole six-person compartment is less than half the size of my freshman year college dorm room. The main window is located above the larger table and faces east. Although it is locked closed nine months out of the year, today it is thankfully unlocked and opened to its fullest extent. Unfortunately that extent is about three inches. Despite its unimpressive effectiveness to actually circulate the air in the compartment, that three-inch gap was a lifesaver last night as the empty steppe cooled down in the sun's absence.

I should back up a step and explain what people in Kazakhstan think about wind. Citing the dangerous, illness-causing properties of cold air, locals are wary of an open window or air-conditioning. Sneezing and coughing, colds and flus are often attributed to cold air. “Are you not cold?” and “Is the wind blowing on you?” are common questions asked of anyone sitting near an open window regardless of the temperature in or outside. This widely held belief is the cause of many stuffy taxi and bus rides, especially with older fellow passengers.

So, when the window in our platzcart compartment stayed open all night I was surprised. Furthermore, with the shade slightly drawn, the cool air was directed almost entirely onto my lower bunk. I was so pleased to wrap up in the thick wool blanket at the foot of my bed, and even more pleased to lounge around all morning basking in my good luck and cool breeze. Around 11am, with the thin white curtain flapping in my face, I woke up to notice the older woman across the aisle looking at me with an expression somewhere between concern and confusion. Now, I’m used to the stares and even the common, “Hello, America!” or the not-so-common “What do you think about my breakfast?” catcalls from strangers, so I went back to snoozing. A few minutes later I snuck a glance at my curious neighbor, still staring. Just then, the sun caught my eyes and I sneezed. The woman couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She stood and leaned over my bunk and said in Russian, “Are you not cold? Is the wind blowing on you? You should be careful lying there. I recommend covering your head with a towel.” You could read her thoughts: “Why is this crazy guy risking his health so recklessly?! Didn’t his mother teach him better? I should educate him…” It really is endearing, how a woman would tell a 23-year-old stranger to put a towel on his head to protect himself against the wind. I thanked her for her concern and smiled. To her obvious bewilderment, I didn’t reach for the towel but instead turned toward the open window to feel the breeze on my face. And I think, mingled in the enchanting odors of 59 other sweaty people, I smelled some grass and wildflowers growing on the steppe.