Letter dated 7/14/97 Dear Mom, I am a bit behind in my letters to you, so with this one will be very long so I will write two this week. We have started our practice teaching, which has kept me more than a little bit busy. The lesson plans are hard to create--staring something almost in the middle of nowhere and then trying to ascertain where the students are at. We teach three to four days a week, one hour a day. I'm teaching the 10th form which is something like 10th grade in the States. The kids are smart, good, and I really like them. However, in some ways the system and the mindset are way off kilter. For instance, students, parents, some teachers, and administrators alike believe that the teacher gives the grade not that the student earns it. How infuriating. If you do nothing as a student, the whole world expects you to still pass. Hence now, I am presented with a boy who really struggles. There are many other factors involved I am sure, but it is frustrating. Essentially though, teaching has been good--knock on wood. I have a great deal of energy up there, plus I'm rather hard on the kids. It's hard to impose the penalties, but ccontrol is an important issue. I've also learned that part of control is keeping them busy and interested, and calling on them at random. Hopefully, this new-found talent will stay with me for two years. We had our first language test last week, Thursday. My vocabulary is strong, but my speaking skills are a little low. It was the same in German -- a good listener, but not so hot at speaking. However, Peace Corps is fine with my progress, which is enough for me. Richard, of course, is language king. He's just a natural born talker. I listen, he talks. What a team. This past weekend was a busy one. Saturday was Kazak culture day, which took our entire group out to a former collective far to sit in a mown hay field with a bunch of yurts, two camels, and a horse. There our Kazak language class put on a skit about marriage where Richard and I were the newlyweds. Wait until you see the photos. Then we ate more meat and body parts and vegetables, and listened to some of the longest and most rambling toasts I have ever heard. Sunday was the best day yet, with a trip to the dacha of Larissa's parents. The dacha is past Almaty, nestled in the foothills of the Mountains there. It was like Eden there. The dacha is small, but two stories high with a grapevine covered spiral staircase going up to the second floor. The lawn is simply one big garden with a few clear places and some paths winding through it. A pool made of assorted stones and full of rain water is close by for jumping in after the banya. There were cherry trees, pear trees, raspberry bushes for red and black [varieties], gooseberries, red and black currants, apples, squash plants, strawberries and apricots. I've never seen or experienced anything like it before. We drank apple juice from their apples, jam from last years raspberries, and ate fish and shashlik until we thought we would explode. And then we drank lots of vodka and sang songs until the sun went down. Wonderful, wonderful day. Friday we leave Kapchapai in small groups for "site visits." Really what we're doing is getting some hands-on survival experience. Our group is just R & I, plus Brendan. He's a linguistic guy like Richard, so they will schmack about language and teaching while I catch up on my reading, writing, lesson plans, and sleep. Paul Dorsey was supposed to come with us, but he was medi-vacked [home] due to intense pain up and down his one arm. We hope the tests will go well in DC and that he'll be home again soon. I think I have finally gotten all of your letters --a total of five so far. Letters are better than bread or gold here. We can't get enough already. I can't imagine what it will be for the next two years. The 4th of July was fun, but we were all almost too tired to really enjoy it. We had shashlik again and salads, fruit, and a little vodka. The Peace Corps staff came out from Almaty, including the country director, Wylie Williams. We swam and ate and relaxed, and got sunburned, of course. A group of Russians invited me and three other females to their tent, which turned into great fun and vain attempts at communication. The sand, however, was painfully hot -- literally burning our feet. But the water was cool, which made all the difference. Last Friday the ambassador, Elizabeth Jones, came to speak to use. She talked a bit about U.S. interests, but that's part of her job. She was impressive -- well-spoken, polite, and extremely knowledgeable. She didn't sound like a political hack at all, rather she seemed honest and trustworthy. Before this she was Cheney's Chief of Staff in Washington, plus ambassador to Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Germany. (At least, I think it was Germany.) And that's the news for this week. It's hot and I hate that, but what to do? I dream about snow. And I often think of roads we've traveled near home or in the bluffs. It's strange because I miss home, but am not ready to come home yet. This is where I need to be for now. Anyway, write soon and give my love to all! Love, Joan