I heart MSP

MSP has always been one of my favorite airports. It’s clean, there are some interesting shops, you can find something decent to eat, the employees are friendly and don’t shout at you, there is a fantastic rest/nursery area for mothers and children, and today, I get to listen to live piano music by Aldo while I wait. Free concert of soothing music in airport = awesome.

Saving money on airport parking

After I saw the last charge from our stay at the economy airport parking lot ($15 a day adds up quickly) I decided to spend more time looking into the options for our next trip.

We considered public transport – but with a baby, bags, a late return flight and snowy, sleety weather, it’s possible, but not easy.

Then I looked into the shuttle buses. They are fairly convenient, but the price for two adults makes them less of a good deal than when a single person is traveling.

A taxi is easy, but the priciest of the options.

Finally, I googled “cheapest long term parking” and the airport. I found this cool site where several options near my airport were listed, as well as coupons with the best deals. These cost about 1/3 less than the airport economy parking.

I then googled the cheapeast options. The cheapest choice near Newark was EZ Way parking, but I found some pretty horrible reports from customers. On to the next ones: ABC Parking (which will cost $10.50/day including taxes) and AirPark (costs a bit more than ABC). Both came up pretty good after a Google search.

So we’ll try ABC Parking this time, which offers a free shuttle to the airport. The total cost of driving and parking in this lot will be cheaper than taking a taxi or the shuttle. While it’s less environmentally friendly than using public transport, it’s more convenient and we’re not at risk of being left out in the snow if our flight is delayed and public transport is slowed down.

This is one of those times when I want to say yay for internet research!

Morelia, Mexico

Last night we took a direct flight from San Francisco to Morelia, Mexico. Morelia is the most expensive city to fly into Mexico to and our flight on Mexicana Air was only about 1/3 full. The 3.5 hour flight was pleasant though. The flight attendants were courteous, we each had our own row of seats, and we were provided with pillows, blankets, a meal and legroom. Nonetheless, because the flight was in the middle of the night, we arrived at 5 a.m. local time pretty exhausted.

I was impressed at the airport with the modern, clean bathrooms and the presence of a changing table. We made it through immigration and customs with no real hassles, then took a taxi to the homestay where we’d be spending the next two nights. It was a 30-45 minute ride to the city, so I chatted with our driver, Jesus. He was very friendly and polite, framing all of his questions with, “If it’s not an indiscretion,” “If I may ask,” etc. He told us the city is safe and one doesn’t need to fear assaults here. He offered us information on what to see, welcomed us to his city, and told us he’d be happy for us to stay here. I was surprised and pleased to see that he drove carefully and slowly, a sharp contrast from the taxis I’ve taken recently in Central and South America.

We arrived at our host, Renata’s, house, just as the dark sky was lightening. She undid the chains on the three doors leading into her house and welcomed us in. We were given a small but comfortable room with two twin beds and access to a modern bathroom. We slept for several hours, went down for a tasty breakfast, then slept some more.

Renata works at an adult school, which covers post high school material. She doesn’t receive tourists so often, but when she does they come from the U.S. and Canada. She said she usually receives older tourists and young people. She’d never hosted a baby until River showed up though and she really fell for him, even offering to babysit when we went out later in the day.

When we finally got going, around 1 p.m., we walked out to the local bus stop and hopped onto the orange combi (minibus) that would take us into town. We both got seats and it was a pretty easy and comfortable ride. Again, our driver was surprisingly patient and cautious.

As we neared the city center, the streets narrowed and the sounds became more vibrant. Being Sunday, many of the local businesses were shuttered, but many families had still come out for the afternoon.

We arrived at the central square, marked by the city landmark, a cathedral built in 1744. Both the cathedral and the surrounding buildings were built of rose-colored stone, giving it a colonial and Spanish appearance. We walked a few blocks looking for a place to change money. We noted the popularity of ice cream and fruit drinks, with many people either licking a cone or sucking on a straw.

A series of cars drove by with a racket. The occupants waved and shouted out the windows. They held signs that said things like “Live to love,” “treasure the family,” and “Be happy.” We thought it was something political, or maybe a wedding. But when I asked a bystander what was going on, she said they were celebrating The Day of the Family, which is today. I was impressed that among all the activities they could have chosen to do on a Sunday afternoon, they went out to promote love, happiness and family unity.

We took a one hour tour by trolley car of the city, which gave us a nice introduction to the city layout and the truly vast nature of the colonial architecture. After seeing the long stone aqueduct with cupolas that we drove alongside, the numerous fountains, and the stone buildings and churches, many built in the 1500s to 1700s, I understood why Morelia was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1991.

After the tour, we spent the remainder of our afternoon in the Garden of the Roses, a small park with a fountain and stone benches, as well as three cafes with outdoor tables. Enjoying grilled trout and apple crepes, we spent a few hours there, warmed by the nice breeze, enjoying the sound of the tinkling fountain, the low chatter, and the passing guitarists.

The cost of living here seems to be less than in the U.S., but substantially more than in the other countries I’ve worked in recently. Our lunch cost $30 for the two of us and since we barely saw any gringos, the prices seem to be set for locals rather than tourists. We also saw a large selection of consumer goods available, everything from Xboxes to Californian children’s clothing to Allbran cereal bars.

I liked seeing how the families gathered in the parks and squares, especially in the early evening. There, a large crowd surrounded a pair of performing clowns, concerts were underway, and children nudged their parents to buy brightly colored balloons and cotton candy. I had the impression that, in general, people seemed to be content. I certainly enjoyed my first day in central Mexico.

A holiday gathering with friends

I’ve just arrived at the Istanbul airport and I’m blown away by the cleanness, brightness, warmth and modernity. I’m seated next to a pair of escalators, ascending and descending, lined with smooth, white, fluorescent beams along their contours, reflections repeated endlessly in the glass barriers. The grey steps are empty and move with an eery slowness, that makes me wonder what the purpose of their movement is. But when a stray passenger steps on at this early hour, the steps suddenly speed up, propelling her to her destination.

I’m also amazed by the shops. Everything is vibrantly open at 6:30 in the morning and the products are so beautiful – the packages of expensive chocolate or Turkish delight, the gleaming bottles of liquor, the shiny leather coats and purses, the seductively advertised perfumes and banking services, the frothed milk on the coffee people sip in the bustling café. I’m seduced by the consumerism, wanting to buy things just for the sake of buying them, just because they are beautiful. But since I don’t actually need anything I’ve seen, so far I’ve resisted.

I spent yesterday in Bishkek, at the apartment I lived in when I first came to Kyrgyzstan. When I arrived on Wednesday evening, my former landlady and current friend Zhenya organized a welcoming party, inviting Svetlana and Elena to join us.

We sat around the kitchen table, joined by Elena’s new Spanish boyfriend, a middle-aged military doctor named Juan, eating chicken, mashed potatoes, salads covered in mayonnaise, chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, sausage slices and olives, bread, and slices of cake.

All three women are in their 30s, all are pure or mostly Russian, all are smart and attractive, and none of them have been able to find a local man for a long-term relationship. Zhenya is still technically married, but has been separated from her husband for years due to his gambling addiction. Her eight-year-old son Algubek watched TV in the other room.

Svetlana has been dating an overweight, retired American for several months. She told me at this dinner that she was engaged. I asked her to see her ring and she hid her hands under the table, saying that he would bring it when he returns from the Mexican retirement community where he is relaxing. I asked how it happened, expecting to hear about a formal proposal.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and kept telling him that I didn’t know – maybe yes and maybe no. But I finally decided that it’s something I want to do.”

Robert has been depressed lately in Kyrgyzstan, not speaking Russian and not having an occupation to busy himself with. He dreams of retiring in Mexico and has found the particular place he wants to live, speaking of it often. My guess is that he finally said that he would leave, with or without her. For her, it was a choice between an aging man who cares about her, but is addicted to junk food, and is far less active, both physically and intellectually than she is, or to hope she could find someone else who could fund her hobbies, give her a comfortable standard of living, and an opportunity to travel. He’s looking for company, she’s looking for escape.

Svetlana seemed subdued. She usually chatters non-stop in English, but that evening she was quiet, asking me to translate what Juan said from Spanish into Russian, her blond hair often sinking into her wool, round-necked beige sweater.

Elena also has a middle-aged boyfriend, but I think their relationship is more promising. Elena has three university diplomas, works in a bank, and has never had a serious relationship. She’s a mild-mannered but bright and very kind person. At her age, she’s already considered pretty much past hope for marriage. Her mother lives in Kazakhstan and she tries to stay away from home, making her home in Kyrgyzstan, because her mother bothers her incessantly about why she isn’t married.

Some time ago she registered with a local marriage agency and never received any responses. Within the past few months, she suddenly got a call from the agency, saying that there was a Spanish doctor who was in Bishkek and was interested in meeting her. She was very surprised that he hadn’t written or anything beforehand. They arranged a meeting and things have gone well from that point.

According to Zhenya, “He didn’t have stereotypes that Russian women were easy, but was very gentlemanly and took things very slowly. He considers her very young and says that in Spain a woman her age would consider him an old man.”

He is 14 years older than her and that made her uncomfortable at first. But on the positive side, she feels that he considers her young and beautiful, while most local men already consider her old and past her prime.

“The people at the agency told Juan that Elena was old and asked why he didn’t want to meet some women in their early 20s. He said that he didn’t want a child.” I found that a promising sign.

He’s leaving soon for Spain, but seems committed to Elena. “I can chose which country I want to go to and I’ll be coming back here for one simple reason,” he told me in Spanish, pointing to Elena. He has just hired a teacher for her to learn Spanish.

It’s great to think that if things go well, Elena’s life will change from fearing to lose her $50/month job to vacationing in Majorca.

Zhenya is the only one not dating a foreigner, but her mother lives in America. They are all searching for and reaching out for lifelines to the West, means of escape, ways to realize their potential.

Yesterday I took a risk and decided to get my first haircut in Kyrgyzstan. I was hoping to hold out until I returned home, but it was really looking bad. So I called the Hyatt Hotel and asked who they recommended. They send me to a man named Shamil, a thickset man in his late 30s with curly black hair that reached his shoulders. He was quiet and very calm.

“Are you alive?” one of his colleagues asked him, as he prepared to wash my hair.

“I just want to sleep,” he answered. I hoped he didn’t fall asleep while chopping.

He took over an hour to cut and style my hair. During the last 20 minutes or so he woke up and began talking. He told me how he recently spent three months as a barber on a U.S. military base in Afghanistan. He was paid $200 a month, but said that including tips, he made $1,000 a month. That’s amazing money in Kyrgyzstan and I asked why he returned.

“The desert light was too bright and it hurt my eyes. I couldn’t see properly. Also, it seems Americans like main dishes, and lots of them, while I’m more used to first courses, soups and salads. It didn’t do good things for my stomach.”

“They didn’t have any soup?” I asked.

“No. Only a Mexican soup that was really thick. But I like thin soups.”

He told me about all the wonderful facilities there – the 24 hour cafeteria, the free internet and phone calls, all of the amenities, the kind soldiers who left generous tips. “It is really clear that the President loves his soldiers,” he said. “They had everything – everything except alcohol. They only had non-alcoholic beer.” I found that hard to believe and he said that alcohol did get in through people who traveled to the capital. “There is also lots of marijuana, it’s really cheap and easily available,” he said.

“On the base?” I asked.

“Yes. Almost everyone smokes. They can’t do without it. People don’t smile there. They walk around like this,” he imitated a stunned, zombie-like person. “During the three months I was there, five soldiers were killed.”

“Out of how many?”

“10-14,000.”

Last night, Zhenya and her son came and spent the night at the apartment. I was leaving in the middle of the night and needed to pass off the key. Shortly after she arrived, she received a phone call.

“I already paid her $50!” I heard her say. When she hung up the phone she looked upset. “Oh, this is bad news,” she said. “I feel sick.”

She is in her last year of studying at the economics faculty. In order to graduate, each student has to write a dissertation. “You turn in the dissertation and they say no, they won’t accept it, there is this and this problem. So you do it again, and they no, there is this and this problem. Then they say if you pay them they will accept it.”

“So last year,” she continued, “my friend paid $100 to have her dissertation accepted. Since I’m finishing one year later, we decided to share the dissertation. I paid her $50 and she gave me the dissertation, which I submitted this year. There are lots of teachers and we figured that since we are in different years, no one would notice that we submitted the same paper. But by chance,” she frowned, “my dissertation ended up being read by the same woman who read my friend’s and she remembered that they were the same. So now I have to pay again!”

“How much?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” She paced around the room.

“I know this must seem strange to you. At Harvard I’m sure it’s much different. But here students usually just pay for our degrees. Half the students in my class never even show up – I don’t even know who studies with me. They just pay enough and eventually get their diplomas – they are like ghosts.”

She wasn’t worried about being disciplined or about being prevented from graduated for cheating. She was just upset that she’d probably have to do a bit more work and to spend more money.

Time to board my flight to London, where I’ll spend Christmas with my boyfriend. Happy holidays to all!