A Blog on Blogging

I get the purpose of blogs – saying something to a wider audience and all that jazz – but these days while I’m simultaneously blogging here, on my photoblog, through video diaries for work, on our company blog, and occasionally through my old blogs (I seem to go through blogs in the same manner one goes through bars of soap – regularly and without much regard to them once I’m done.) I seem to have no clue what exactly I’m meant to be communicating.

Oh god my life is so interesting!

Maybe? Probably not. I’m sure other folks have much more interesting lives. Mine just happens to occasionally change location and those occasions seem a bit more frequent than some. (Though apparently not right now as for some reason I’m still in Bishkek without a clear departure date as I wait for my Kazakh visa extension to come through)

My photos are amazing!

Not really for that one either. Joy of the internet is you can find out just how many more brilliant people there are in the world – even if they aren’t in the same café, bookshop, restaurant or other common spaces with you. I might keep taking photos as a force of habit, and I like my photos in that selfish way that most people do like things they make, but they’re really not impressive enough to merit the “OMG! Look over here!” that is present in so much of shamelessly self promoting webwhorishness. (Proof this blog post is written for my blog and not work – that word would not be acceptable for school children, some of which may in fact read our blog)

My perspective is unique or my actions are interesting!

Once again, in the world wide web of human interactions – not really. In my immediate bubbles, I tend to stick out. But in my immediate bubbles that’s easy to do. Los Altos isn’t that big of a town. Santa Barbara is also a pretty small city. And after that I seem to have ended up in a pretty small company on a pretty big globe. In the grand scheme of things, I’m really not doing much.

My work today was in vain due to an internet café accidently terminating my internet connection 80% of the way in to an upload for a video that took far too long to make given its 1 minute length. And after an hour twenty – 80% was done and then made useless. Followed by returning to the office to log footage, run out of space on a hard drive, discover the disks for our external harddrive seem to be missing, wait on some emails, and attempt to edit footage only to discover it wouldn’t save properly due to the memory problem which can’t be resolved till we find the disks for the harddrives. All in all – I achieved very little. And yet here I am. And somehow when I left home everyone was patting my back and excited for all the things I would do on the road… like data management. Data producing is a thing I’m consistently good at whether through filming and photographing random items, events, happenings etc… but managing that data… oh boy. As anyone who was in my photos shot from 2007 to 2009 can attest – a two year delay in processing can and will occur. (Dear subjects of 365 Faces of the Year – SORRY!!!) On that note, I should probably go to bed soon. I have a long day of random errands (Today’s examples: Film a ride in a rickshaw through a Central Asian city and then paint a pipe black), data management (log said footage, edit into manageable videologs in FinalCut Pro), and other miscellaneous tasks (E-mail the director’s press card scans to Turkish officials to get permission to film, make some tea, call the web designer…)

All in all life continues on what seems like a standard for life living out of an office – scheduled entirely around work. There are definitely cons to having a bedroom across the hall from the main room of the office. Not sure how much longer I’ll be puttering around Bishkek (sometimes literally in the auto-rickshaw, most of the time just doing odds and ends in the office/around town) as there are some logistics holding us back – but I’m hoping we’ll be on the road sooner rather than later as I imagine fall and winter will only slow things down more. And outside of California they seem to have these weird things called seasons. Bizarre I tell you! 

Standing in Sandals

Walking around Bishkek today nothing really came to mind. It just was. Another place in the world operating on its normal pace. Different people on the posters. Different politicians being sold to the people. Different language being spoken. Different food on the plates. Different currency in my pocket - but the daily rhythm was so evident it felt nothing but normal. The way it feels to walk through a neighborhood you know, to swing by your favorite coffee shop - that sort of nonchalance I feel when I'm going through a place I know and it seems everyone else is too. I didn't personally feel like that- the language barrier makes it a little hard for me to -but it was the vibe I was getting from everyone else. I might be the odd tourist interrupting the status quo by taking photos of the markets and being the unusual foreigner in their midst - but something about the daily routine was palpable. 

Too often when traveling it seems the foreigners don't actually see the place they're meant to be seeing. We see sights, monuments, the predictable photo ops and so forth, but we don't see the place for what it is to those who live in it. I don't think I've seen that side of Bishkek yet. I doubt I will given that at some point I'm going to have to dash out to Kazakhstan to pick up a car for work - and these things take time to see. But at least I am aware I'm not seeing it all? 

It took me a long time to find my niche in Santa Barbara. It took me a while to feel the comfortable familiarity and feel like I could give a recommendation as to where to eat or what to see. And I feel like even then whether there or at home in the Bay Area - I feel like I can't give those recommendations. I know where I like to hang out, where I like to go, but it strikes me as odd to think of traveling and finding the right places to see to make a place reveal itself when I don't even know if I know those places at home. 

I wonder if someone else was standing in my sandals they'd feel the same. Or how very different they'd see the same sights. I was reading my coworker's blog and it struck me how poetic her reflections were - and seeing the same sights I saw no poetry. There's no hint of nostalgia for me in the scents of the streets.   This place reminds me of India - without the Indians, without the crowds, without the scent of sandal wood and the noise of people. It feels quiet. It's not some place lost in the past though - there's still net cafes and children growing up, couples getting married in Victory Square, life being lived. But it still feels like life on the edge. Somewhere in the vast part of the planet without the superpower mentality, where the recycling bug hasn't hit, where the trash is still burnt, where the people are hospitable and the pace of life is less frantic. 

It's also a place where it seems saunas are expected to have prostitutes, corruption is normal within politics, the kids play with mock AK-47s in addition to their stuffed toys, and the Americans and Russians have their military bases and their power can be felt in ways big and small. The super market had boxing gloves with the stars and stripes on them in the toy section. The good quality goods are from Turkey and the poor quality is brought from China. And I'm an oddball American in the midst of it. 

Perhaps it is good that my reflections tend to be more regurgitation in visual form - photos rather than words. For regardless of the number of posts I seem to have churned out I feel like I haven't had any meaningful reflection nor have I had a genuine enough opening into the Kyrgyz lifestyle enough to be making those reflections/judgements/etc...  I've just been in the midst of them as they live their lives and wondering what I'm doing with mine.