Home is where the mountains are

I spent the night at my cousin’s Eugene’s house. We woke up a bit early and he headed out to a few of his jobsites before our planned excursion. I tagged along, as I am always curious of foreign building practices and methods. Gene had been building a house possibly to sell or to move into depending on what the market would do near completion, I guess construction runs in our blood. Construction here differs greatly from that of the states. Nearly everything is concrete. There are monolithic concrete structural members that are filled in with insulated blocks. The blocks are then coated and smoothed out with cement inside and out. The only wood was in the roof trusses. Good grief, I am boring you with construction methods… The house was nestled on higher ground with the view of the city below from the backyard.

We hurried back home to pick up the rest of the gang to drive to Big Almaty Lake in the mountains. We split up as some of the group had already seen the lake the week before. After zig-zaging our way from about 3000 ft above sea level to 5300 until we got to the lake. The glaciers above melt way and fill up the reservoir that then feeds the entire city below. The water and cooler air make its way down from above. It was a pleasant change from the 90-degree weather that was down on the flats. I couldn’t help myself and needed to climb a few rocks just above the parking area.

Back down hill to where the remaining family was well on their way to preparing the days meal. We found a spot right next to the icy glacial stream. Its cold waters came in handy trying to fight the blistering sun and 90 some degree air temperature. We dug out a pool large enough to submerge yourself in and all took turns cooling off.

We ate our hearts out, as we did every other day so far this trip. I snuck off to just sit by the river and take in all of my surroundings. The gargle of the river served as my canvas and all the other sights and sounds layered on. There were melodic strokes from singing birds and colorful droplets from chirping ones. The weightless rustle of cottonwood leaves was only interrupted by buzzing from an occasional passing fly. A muffled mumble of the company at hand and a joyful trio of local shepherd boys bouncing their way upstream. The leaves of branches shield both trunk and stem from the mid-day sun. The smoke from the “Mangal” and “Somovar” fill in the spaces between the leaves shading things further. Ants below scramble about as if running for their lives. Hornets curiously approach every plant hoping it yields sweet nectar. Branches who dip in the waters music dance along with no end in sight. From just behind me a neighing and a herd of 10-15 horses made their way to the river for a drink and a dip.

Before leaving the waters edge I collected several souvenirs that I could have never found in the marketplace. Quarts and granite pebbles lined the shore and I collected enough to make something of them when I would get back to the states. Piece of the earth from my birthplace was far more precious to me than anything I could have purchased in the marketplace.