Dear Grandchildren,
Twenty-one dollars. That’s how much US currency I had in my wallet when we started our trip to Kazakhstan. When I came to Turkey sixteen months ago, in my wallet I brought forty-two dollars in new bills — two twenties and two ones. I held them for an emergency. Or two. I had spent one of the twenties and one of the ones during the past months. I sank the remainder during this most recent trip. No symbolism here. Just a fact. The twenty went out of my wallet when we were arguing our way out of a $120 charge by a gypsy taxi driver who wanted to charge us the equivalent of $10 per kilometer for the ride from the Astana airport to our hotel. In my book, $20 is better than $120 any day. Even if the true cost in a regular taxi was closer to six or seven dollars. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the two old Middle East travelers were taken for a ride. Actually, we took a bath on that one. Hard to admit it, but we did. The other dollar? It is in the possession of a bell boy from Africa who took our bags to our room in the Almaty hotel. We had met him before and didn’t want to leave him without a small gift at our presence.
We had gone to Astana and Almaty for me to give a fireside in each branch. We left Wednesday afternoon and arrived home Saturday afternoon. We covered a lot of ground, mostly by flying above it. It is amazing what a red-eye flight can do to a person’s outlook, especially when factoring in a time difference of three hours — sleeping little on the flight and trying to catch up at the hotel after arriving at four in the morning local time. In the snow, of all things.
We have been enjoying delicious weather in our corner of Turkey for weeks (I suspect it will soon chang.) Then, as we were descending into Astana, Grandma noticed all the snow flakes whizzing by the airplane window. Yep. The season’s first snow fall in that city. It will become worse in Astana as the weeks wear on and the snow turns to ice, especially on the sidewalks that no one ever cleans. Our senior sister there broke her arm when she fell on an ice encrusted sidewalk almost a year ago. We were told that, after the first snow, the snow and ice will be on the ground until spring. As if to reinforce this observation, we learned that the river running through the city is already frozen over. And the natives of the place say that it is not yet cold. The real cold comes later (the senior couple arrived almost a year ago on a day that was 30 degrees below zero).
Almaty was a different story. The temperatures are still rather mild and snow has fallen only in the mountains. When the weather patterns get around to it, more snow will fall but will remain on the ground a shorter time. Never mind that the elevation is higher than in Astana. Milder winters are the norm.
The firesides? They went fine. As part of my presentations on the apostles Peter, John, and Paul in ancient Turkey, I drew a map on the whiteboard in each chapel. After the second fireside, I left the map unerased. Within three minutes, two boys in the Almaty branch came up to the map and, with other colored marking pens, began to "bomb" Turkey. At least they enjoyed that part of the evening.
Monday I spent the day looking for an apartment for our second pair of YVs. The threesome in our city became a simple companionship on Tuesday when the YV who has been here for a year was transferred to Istanbul to open a new area. Losing him is like losing much of our branch's institutional memory. I went apartment hunting with one of the YVs, who will remain in our city, and with a member who works for the Church as a facilities representative. On two earlier occasions this YV and I had gone together to check out some apartments that were listed on line. Both times at least one of the apartments was rented as he and I were either in the apartment or were on our way to inspect it. He and I both had the impression that the landlords and agents were reluctant to rent to young foreign fellows. But on Monday, we literally stumbled onto an agency, while walking around in a desired neighborhood, that seemed anxious to help find a place for them.
The three of us saw three apartments that had no furniture in them — they had just been refurbished. Then came the fourth that had furniture in a high rise apartment building. The look was totally different. But the price was, well, a little pricey. But only about $35 per month too pricey. So we asked if the landlords would cut the price by that much. (The woman was with us and, miracle of miracles, she was willing to call her husband, the co-owner, and discuss a discount with him. They agreed.) I don't know how long the apartment had been on the market, but it was a relief to identify a place for the YVs to settle into after two weeks of searching. After they move in on Monday, they can get back to doing what they do best — talk to people.
Thirty is the next number. That is the number who joined us for our Sacrament Meeting. Following conversations earlier in the week with our YVs, I had a sense that we might need more chairs in our hotel room. I am glad that I requested more because twenty-two were in the room for the service. The place felt packed. Eight joined us by Skype. I expect that another four or so would have been with us except for the current Metro strike. Of the twenty-two, five are serious investigators. Well, one has yet to participate in a lesson. But she shows promise and participated in our Sunday School class. She was the real estate agent who helped to find the new apartment for our YVs and accepted my invitation to join us for our meetings. She came and felt good enough to accept another invitation for a lesson later this week in our apartment. I am anxious to see how she responds.
I love you and pray for you all each day by name.
Grandpa Brown
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