Steppe-in’ it Up in the North

I'm happy to present the second guest writer here. Mike Mesquita is a fellow PCV in Petropavlovsk and works at the local university.

I miss a few things from the US. Philly cheese steaks, happy hour, customer service, breast implants, Ventis and my rubber ducky are only a few. But what I miss the most is a night out under the stars. Perhaps the village volunteers cannot relate to us city folk because all they need to do is simply open the door from inside their outhouses to enjoy all the splendor of a starry night. I, however, only have the opportunity to enjoy the stars a few hours a night when the power goes out on my block every other Thursday around midnight right in the middle of an episode of House. Even then, the lucky bastards down the street still have power (see Phil) ruining my view. So when one of my ambitious students at the university told me a few months ago that she wanted to organize an English hiking trip across the steppe I jumped at the opportunity to participate. Five nights camping under the stars, braving the elements like mosquitoes, bears, nomadic tribesmen and bushes with big, pointy thorns; who wouldn’t want to join?

She hoped for 25 students and 5 PCVs. Her plan was for us to hike half the day with a few hours of English activities in between. The other chosen travelers were third and fourth course students, Sagar Gondalia, Phil Montgomery, Niall O’Donnahue and one slacker who will remain nameless because he decided to get Hives and go home instead. Wuss.

Emails were sent, tents were purchased, trail mix was prepared-into the wild we go.

Our numbers were not as strong as we hoped but our spirits were high. We headed out from Petro on Sunday afternoon for a small village we had never heard of to begin our journey. And as it turned out, neither had the bus driver. After getting directions from the babs in the front seat and almost missing the bus stop, the driver dropped us off at a remote little village in the Akmola Oblast about 90 kilometers from Barevoe. We had a map in our hand, a temperamental compass and the mountains of Switzerland…I mean, Barevoe on the horizon south of us. And so we walked. We planned to cover 20 km the first day. However after a few delays with the bus station, wild Kazakh nomads, mosquitoes, and a few fields thicker and more frightening than The Secret of Nimh; we were forced to make camp 10 km in. We trudged trough a wheat field to find a small, yet dense patch of forest for the night. There we set up camp and enjoyed a satisfying meal of rice and beans topped off with a bottle of wine and vodka that hasn’t tasted as good since well, Saturday. That night we stood in a field of wheat under a moonless night enjoying every moment. It was a night to remember.

The next morning, we started out early for our first big day of hiking. We were behind so we had to make 30 km-half by lunch. This of course, is simply just a short walk. It would not have been a problem had there been landmarks to figure out where we were on the map…or on the steppe. Our only landmark was a mountain south of us and a road somewhere, uh, that way. And so we kept walking.

By 1:00 PM we arrived to our destination for lunch, or so we thought. As it turned out, we had much further to go. The village we reached did not even exist on the Soviet map a student brought. The one shop that existed in the village only sold vodka. And so we walked some more. 5:00 PM rolls around for our lunch destination. After resupplying, we reevaluated our situation. He had water and food but were terribly behind schedule and starting to fall apart. After failing shoes, blistering feet, a bag case of chafing on a certain region of an anonymous volunteer’s body and multiple attacks from the children of the corn, we decided that the hiking trip was a valiant effort but must come to an end. We met a local gentleman who was eager to take us 50 km to the bus stop on the way to Kokshetou. There we stayed the night with kick boxin’ Jean Claude Vandrewska to head out to Barevoe the next morning.

And so comes the happy ending. We entered Baravoe and camped two nights on a peninsula with favorable weather and peace. No other travelers ventured as far as we did to camp (however, I think that was because we were not supposed to be there). We spent our last night singing around the camp fire, smoking cigars, celebrating our one and two-year anniversaries in Kazakhstan and welcoming distant guests bearing gifts of smoked fish and cognac. Despite our failures, I think all of us who went would agree that it was an enjoyable trip. As well, I think we all learned a few things. First, if you are going to take a map on a hiking trip, be certain you are actually hiking somewhere on the map you brought. Two, sandals are a stupid thing to bring. And three, vodka does not do well in a plastic bottle for two days. We will also carry with us a few memories of this trip for some time. For instance, the field of sunflowers that seemed to go on forever; the Milky Way; Niall’s stories of the Penopolesian War; and silicone boobs. Anyone care to join next year?