Oh What A Difference 1 Hour Can Make

This week my Assistant School Director informed me that winter was over.  I told him it didn't look like that; snow was still falling and it was freezing outside (and inside).  However, he assured me winter was most certainly over, and now we had entered into böz ay, or grey month. The land and sky may still be grey, but no longer are we in the dark nights of winter.  Later on in the week, it was sunny and I would go for walks simply to soak in some much needed vitamin D.  The heaps of snow are almost completely melted, rushing water through the sidewalk gutters.  Even the pipes and water tanks for peoples' hamams, outside bathrooms, are finally starting to defrost, allowing plumbers to repair the burst pipes and get these showers working again.

Well, not everyone's shower-Glendene and Lannea's shower is still completely frozen and broken, their landlords don't want to repair anything until it is guaranteed not to snow again.  Which means that the last time I took a shower was in late January, during our mid-service training.  In that space I've taken 3 bucket baths, so rather than feeling completely disgusting and miserable, I only feel mostly disgusting and miserable.  Its not too nice.

But all this changed today.  After yoga with Glendene and Kelsey (a first year Khachmaz sitemate), we talked about how gross we were and that we finally might need to brave the public hamam.  We knew Khachmaz had a bathhouse but we had no clue what the experience would be like-pictures of massive gym showers featuring mashrutka-loads of naked Azeri grandpas, who all had a kid at my school, raced through my head.  But to heck with these Azeri grandpas and their desire to gossip about a naked American, I needed to clean myself in a way that a single bucket of water couldn't do.

So, I called my friend Elvin to serve as our cultural translator and walk us to the baths.  It turns out that we each got our own room and the water supply was constant and hot.  Concerns about a rushed shower were dashed upon learning that it was 1 manat for 1 hour, which gave a luxury of time for the finest shower I've ever taken in Azerbaijan, and possibly my life.  I washed my hair 3 times, bathed twice, washed my face three times, and used an entire razor.  It was gooood.

But what was better was the way I felt leaving the shower.  The sky was that much bluer and I found myself thinking of school tomorrow positively instead of begrudgingly.  For the first time in a month, I felt confidence that these next nine months of service would be good, or maybe even great.  I didn't even realize how much my winter griminess was bringing me down until it was all wiped away.  The idea of 9 long months, or 3 long months, or 3 long weeks of waiting for something to happen didn't seem so bad, because I now know that there is a hot shower that will always have my name on it.

Hǝmişǝ Tǝmizlikdǝ!*

*Hǝmişǝ Tǝmizlikdǝ: said to anyone who has just bathed, it translates as 'may you always be as clean'