Last week I went on my first trip to the countryside for work. We planned to travel to several soums and visit some of our clients who have outstanding loans and monitor their business plans. We left on Tuesday morning and drove to Hotont soum. On our way we had a bit of trouble with the jeep. At one point we stopped, and then it wouldn’t turn back on. The driver opened the hood and thought that something was wrong with the battery because it was kind of smoking. So he took it out and messed around with it for a few minutes. He tried to open it, but couldn’t, so he ended up just putting it back, and then the jeep turned on. On the way to Hotont we stopped at a ger belonging to a herder family who are our clients. We drank some aireg and ate some aaruul and chatted for a few minutes and then were on our way again. Once in Hotont we visited a vegetable farmer client who showed us her gardens and her root cellar. She also fed us lunch and some of her homemade pickles. I talked to her a little bit about growing uncommon vegetables, such as broccoli and corn, and she seemed interested. I was excited about that.
After we left her we stopped in at a bunch of other places to talk to more people, and then headed out to the countryside to visit an aireg producer. She was milking the mares when we got there, so we got to watch that, and then were invited in for some aireg. We stayed there for quite awhile, because I guess Mercy Corps wants her to go to a trade fair in UB, and will pay her traveling expenses. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go; because she doesn’t have a whole lot of aireg left after our trade fair, but could maybe buy some from other producers. So we had to wait around while she thought about it and decided. Communication in Mongolia is difficult. Most of it, especially out in the soums, has to be done face-to-face, so you end up doing a lot of waiting. As it was evening, while we were waiting she started preparing dinner. I watched her pull a leg of some animal, presumably a sheep, off of a shelf and start hacking it up. Of course there was no trimming; she pulled off a few hairs and other pieces of dirt though. Watching her cut it up all I could think was that I would be expected to eat it, and I was terrified. Who knows when the animal was killed, or how long that piece of meat had been sitting on her shelf being eaten by flies. She finished chopping up the leg, and cut up some potatoes and put them in a big pot over the fire to cook. She must have said that she had decided to go to UB, because finally Uunee said “OK, let’s go.” I was so happy, but then the woman invited us to stay and eat, because the food was almost ready. Uunee asked me what I thought about that. I told her that I was worried about eating the meat, because if I did I would be sick. She didn’t understand, and first thought I had a stomach ache from drinking aireg. I told her my stomach was fine now, but that if I ate the meat it would be bad. She still didn’t understand and we went round and round, and finally I explained that Mongolians can eat meat that hasn’t been refrigerated because they are used to it, but Americans can’t, because we aren’t. She finally got it, and told the woman that I couldn’t eat meat, which was answered by an exasperated “yanna.” Uunee then told me that it’s OK in Mongolia to refuse a meal that you don’t want, that “it’s free.” I’m not sure that I believe that, because it is really hard to refuse anything in Mongolia. But we left without eating. I felt bad, but I knew that having food poisoning in a bumpy jeep would have been excruciatingly miserable, so I didn’t feel that bad.
After we left the aireg producers we drove on the Kharkhorin. There are some other PCVs who live there, so I was able to spend the night in Dwan’s ger. At first I was just going to go over for dinner and to hang out, but I guess Uunee thought I meant I would spend the night there when I told her I was going over to my friend’s ger. When we got to Kharkhorin we found a hotel, and Uunee was expecting me to stay at Dwan’s, but I hadn’t really planned on it. Fortunately, when I called Dwan to ask her she said no problem, because there was only one room available in the hotel. Getting to Dwan’s was quite an adventure. I got directions from her, and then had to translate them to my driver. Directions in Mongolia are a bit different than directions in America. More like “turn left at the big rock and when you see the drunk man in a blue del standing in the field go right” We were able to get in the vicinity of Dwan’s ger, which is by the school, but trying to find the right “road” in the dark was next to impossible. I was on the phone with Dwan and trying to tell the driver which way to go from what Dwan told me. It didn’t work out so well, and we took a wrong turn and ended up going in a big circle. Once we were back at the school the driver just stopped and turned off the car. I guess he had lost all confidence in my ability to know where I was going. So Dwan ended up having to walk to the school and get in the jeep with us and guide us to her hashaa. It was good to see people that I haven’t seen in a while. On Wednesday morning I was planning to sit in on one of Dwan’s classes to see what it’s like. She teaches all of her classes by herself, TEFL PCVs are supposed to teach their classes with a Mongolian counterpart, but none of her counterparts stay for the class. She has some trouble with classroom management, as soon as the Mongolian teacher leaves all hell breaks loose.
I had no idea what time Uunee and Hongoroo were going to come to get me, the driver was fixing some things on the jeep in the morning. At about noon, right as Dwan and I had arrived at her school I got a call from Uunee that they were outside Dwan’s hashaa. Of course they couldn’t call me to say they were on the way… So Dwan and I walked back and I got my stuff and left. Before we left Kharkhorin we visited the monastery there, which was really cool. Uunee even talked them into giving me the Mongolian rate to go in the museum. Foreigners pay about three times as much as Mongolians do, but since I live here they were willing to consider me a Mongolian person. After we saw the museum we walked to where a bunch of women had cloths set out on the ground with Mongolian and Buddhist trinkets. Kharkhorin is a big tourist destination, because it is the ancient capital of Mongolia. I walked along and looked at everything; all of them had pretty much the same stuff. Every vendor kept showing me this little turtle thing that is sort of like a Russian doll set, there is a big one with a bunch of little ones in it that pull out. Of all the stuff they had, I’m not sure why they thought I would be so interested in the turtle, but nearly every single one of them tried to get me to buy it. I ended up buying a bracelet with the 8 Mongolian symbols carved into yak bone, and then for the next couple vendors they kept pointing out all the things they had with the 8 Mongolian symbols as well as the turtle.
Uunee, Hongoroo and Me at the Monastary
Our plan for Wednesday was to drive back through Hotont soum, and then on to Tuvshruuleh and then to Tsinker soum to spend the night. On our way back to Hotont I had the most unpleasant discovery that, though the roof of Russian jeeps is padded, there is a metal bar on top of the padding that runs pretty much exactly where your head will hit should you be thrown against the roof. My head did in fact connect with this metal bar as we careened over a rather large bump in the “road,” and it hurt bad enough to bring tears to my eyes. When we arrived in Hotont, Uunee told me that we had to meet up with some driver who had switched batteries with us the day before. Our driver thought our battery was bad, so had switched it out with another driver. But it turned out that the problem wasn’t the battery. So we drove to this guy’s house, but he wasn’t there. We drove to someone else’s house, and he wasn’t there either. So we drove to the government building, only to find out that the driver had waited for us in the morning, but then had to go to some distant bagh with the soum governor. So the plan was to wait until they got back, having no idea when that might be. Uunee told me that if they got back soon then we would go on to Tuvshruuleh and Tsinker, but if it was later we would spend the night in Hotont. The only “hotel” in Hotont is a room off of a guanz with a big bed that every one sleeps on together… Needless to say I wasn’t too terribly excited about that.
So we sat in the jeep on the side of the road where we could see the road where the driver would come back from for about an hour or so. Then we drove to a delguur and sat there for awhile. Finally we were driving some other random place, and happened upon the head of the citizens’ kuural in Hotont. Togoo (our driver) talked to him for a bit, and it was decided that we would go on, and a few days later send the battery back in a different car headed for Hotont, and they would do the same with our battery. Why we couldn’t have come to that conclusion before sitting in the jeep for two hours is beyond my understanding, but I’m sure there is a good reason.
So that decided, we headed to Tuvshruuleh. We were to visit one client who is a wheat farmer, and then another man who is a vegetable farmer who is not a client but I guess Mercy Corps wants him to be. We drove out to the wheat farmer’s ger, only to discover that he wasn’t there, he had gone to UB several days before. But we were invited in for some aireg, of course. I have developed quite a taste for aireg and suutae tse (milk tea) from my trip, as that was pretty much all I drank. After a quick bowl of aireg we were back on our way to Tuvshruuleh. Another PCV, Greg, lives there so I asked if we could stop at his ger so I could say hi to him. I didn’t know where he lived, but as Tuvshruuleh is a small soum, we asked the first person we saw where the “American English teacher” lives, and they told us. So we stopped by his hashaa, but he wasn’t there. So we went on to the vegetable grower’s, but he wasn’t there either. He had also gone to UB, apparently last week was a popular time to go. So we went back to Greg’s to see if we could find him, and we ran into him walking along the road. Greg doesn’t have cell phone access at his site, and has to climb a hill to get it. I don’t think he climbs the hill very often, and I haven’t heard from him in over a month, to it was good to see that he is still alive.
After a pretty much pointless trip into Tuvshruuleh, we headed on toward Tsinker. It had started to snow, so the mountains were all covered and it was a really beautiful drive. By the time we got to Tsinker it was dark, and we stopped at a hotel only to find no one was there. So we drove around and tried to find another hotel, but all of them were “not working.” But then someone told us that the person who runs the first hotel we stopped at had gone home for awhile, but would be back. So we stopped in a guanz and ate some buuz and drank some suutae tse. Then we headed back for the first hotel, and though someone was there, that hotel was also “not working.” So they made the decision to continue on to Battsengel soum, where we were going to go on Thursday, because there are lots of hotels there. So off we went, in the dark in the middle of a snow storm. Sounds like a great idea to me…
After we had been driving for about half an hour of the two hour trip we passed the ger of someone that Togoo knows, so we stopped and he went in to visit for a few minutes. Then we continued on our way, but apparently Togoo lost the road and we were driving over a field of really big bumps. There are a lot of fields like that in Arkhangai, I’m not sure how they are formed but it’s kind of like driving over a slalom field, only about 10 times worse. We were driving over these giant bumps, hanging on to the “oh shit” bars of the jeep for dear life, trying not to be bashed against the roof or the windows for about 10 minutes when we got stuck. At first Togoo tried the whole drive forward and backward to see if he could get out of the mud, but that didn’t work. In my opinion, he did that for far too long, and only served to get us thoroughly stuck. Finally we all got out and were going to try to push the jeep. We saw another car off in the distance, and by blinking a flashlight (flashlights in Mongolia are usually lighters that have a small light attached, very useful little things) we managed to flag them down and they came over to help. It was another jeep packed FULL of guys. That was lucky for us. So Togoo and all the guys tried everything they could think of to get our jeep unstuck. They pushed it, pulled it, tied a rope to it and had the other jeep pull it, even lifted up the back end to try to move the tires out of the foot-deep ruts they were in. Nothing was working. All the while I was standing outside in the middle of the field watching this happen, and Uunee kept trying to get me to sit in the jeep because it was so cold. I kept telling her I was cold, but OK, and that me sitting in the jeep definitely would not help them get it unstuck. Finally they decided to go back to the herder’s ger and get some wood to try to give the wheels some traction. So Uunee, Hongoroo, three of the guys from the other jeep and I sat in our jeep to wait. The guys were smoking in our car, without the windows open which was pretty miserable for us. We couldn’t say anything to them since they were helping us, to we just endured the cloud of smoke circling our heads. About 45 minutes later the other jeep came back with some wood, and they tried the whole thing over again. They lifted up the jeep to put wood under the tires, and then tried to pull it while Togoo gunned the engine. That went on for probably another hour or so, and by this time we had been standing outside in the cold and snow for about 4 hours. I was regretting my decision to wear only one pair of long underwear that day, and pretty much cursing the whole country of Mongolia. Finally I went and just sat in the jeep, because it was pretty clear to me that they were not going to make any progress. They had been doing the same thing over and over, to no avail, and I was tired and grumpy and turning into a popsicle. After about 15 minutes Uunee and Hongoroo got in the jeep and I asked what was going on. Uunee said that they couldn’t get the jeep out. So I asked if we would be sleeping in the jeep, but she said we would go back and stay with the herder family. I said I thought the Mercy Corps rule about not driving at night was probably a good idea, and maybe in the future we should follow it. She felt really bad, and apologized. It really was quite a predicament, because there were no hotels open in Tsinker soum, so we may have had to sleep in the jeep. But in my opinion, that would have been better than getting it hopelessly stuck in the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm.
So we got our stuff and piled into the other jeep, I think there were 9 or 10 of us in there. I had to sit on Hongoroo’s lap, and of course, bashed my head on that damn metal bar for the second time that day. That did nothing to improve my already very bad mood. When we arrived at the ger we drank some suutae tse, and they let me sleep on the second bed. The herder family; husband, wife and two small children slept on the other bed and Uunee, Hongoroo and Togoo slept on the floor. Luckily I had my amazing Peace Corps issued sleeping bag with me, so I bundled up in that and covered my head with my coat and was actually quite warm. The ger was really cold though. It hadn’t been winterized yet, so there was only one layer of felt that didn’t quite reach the ground, and the hole in the roof didn’t have glass in it yet. It was cold!
The next morning I awoke in a much better mood, realizing that the experience I was having was truly Mongolian and you can’t pay for that kind of authenticity. Uunee and Hongoroo cooked a meal over the fire while Tuya and Dashka (the herder couple) were out tending to their livestock. Then they came back inside and we ate. Tuya was so friendly, she talked to me in Mongolian and I could actually understand most of what she was saying, and practiced my Mongolian on her. Then she had me help her separate horse mane that she would later make rope with. I have wondered why Mongolians cut the mane off their horses, and now I’ve figured it out. I wish we could have stayed to see the rope being made, because that would be a pretty cool thing to know how to do.
Me and Tuya
Around noon Togoo came back and said that he still couldn’t get the jeep out. So we came back to Tsetserleg in a borrowed car, and Togoo would go back later with some “materials” to get the jeep out. It was kind of sad that our trip had to end so abruptly. But, despite being cold and miserable for 4 hours in the middle of a snowstorm, it was a pretty cool experience. I might even go so far as to say I’m glad it happened, but that might be pushing it a little.
The rest of last week was finished off by the annual Peace Corps consolidation drill. Every year they make us practice consolidating so that they know how quickly they could make it happen should they need to evacuate us. It was nice, because it meant that I had the day off work. I am the subwarden of my Aimag because I'm the only PCV in the Aimag center, so I had to call the other PCVs in Arkhangai and tell them to come in as soon as possible, and I wasn't allowed to go to work, I had to stay at my "consolidation point" aka my apartment until everyone got there.
Consolidation is basically a good excuse for a party (it doesn't take much of one for PCVs). We went out to one of the night clubs in Tsetserleg on Friday night with a couple Mongolian friends and danced. You can't beat really old American pop and bad Mongolian pop for dancing.
On Sunday Rob, Jeff and I decided to climb to the top of Bulgan mountain. Bulgan is the mountain that is right behind my apartment building, it's pretty high (maybe 500 feet?). Definitely the scariest thing I've done in a long time. From the bottom it looks like it is pretty much impossible to climb without ropes, but in actuality it's mostly a pretty easy climb. There was one spot where we misjudged the difficulty a little bit, but once we got up to it we couldn't really turn around, so on we went. It was scary, but we made it with only one murdered water bottle. Rob was carrying the backpack, but he was trying to throw it up to me so he didn't have to climb that spot with it. It was heavy, so he took the water bottles out and threw them up separately. I caught the first one, but the second was not so lucky and bounced a couple times off the rocks before falling about 30 feet and exploding. Whoops.
The Hard Part
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
First Snow
It seems a bit early for the first snow of the year, but not in Mongolia I guess. Friday night it began to snow, and didn't stop until Saturday morning. Winter is indeed here, hitting literally overnight. Last week was relatively sunny and warm, but now suddenly it is winter. It really is amazing how quickly the temperature drops here. Saturday morning I woke up to a snow storm that obscured my view of the mountain I can normally see out my windows, and it was bitterly cold. The snow made me a little homesick, thoughts of snowy winter mornings at home and Christmas were running through my head.
I had plans to go horseback riding with some new friends, which we decided to postpone about an hour in hopes the weather would clear up. It did stop snowing, though it was still really cold. So I bundled up in my long underwear and winter coat and went to meet up with everyone. Tuul, who is a translator for GTZ (a German company doing conservation work here) had invited me to go riding with them. I met her earlier in the week when Hongoroo took me to GTZ and Floam to meet other development workers in Tsetserleg.
We all piled into a questionable taxi, which did not yet have its winter tires. Supposedly drivers switch out their tires for the winter, although I doubt it does a whole lot of good as they are probably nearly bald. To get to the herder family whose horses we would ride, we had to drive over on of the mountains that surround Tsetserleg. Our first attempt was less than successful. We made it halfway up the hill and then the taxi couldn’t go any further and started to slide back down… But, as Mongolian drivers are ever resourceful and determined, we found a different road up the hill that worked out. We then drove down the mountain on the other side, through several half-way frozen creeks and over muddy hills and ditches. During the drive we discussed whether or not it would be possible to get BACK to Tsetserleg, and decided that we would see if we could ride the horses back. The family whose horses we would ride are well known to Tuul, Andrea and Conrad, who go riding there frequently.
When we arrived at the gers, the horses weren’t there. The family had figured no one would come because it was so cold, but they happily rounded them up from the mountains while we sat in the ger and drank milk tea and ate bread with orum. Orum is a sort of clotted cream that Mongolians love, and this was particularly good orum.
Finally the horses were ready and we mounted up. For the first hour or so of our ride it was really windy and cold, the sun was also very bright on the snow, which made it hard to open my eyes beyond a squint. We rode out across the valley, with no protection from the wind. Eventually we circled around and were at the base of the mountains, and the wind stopped. The scenery was gorgeous. The valley is scattered with gers and herds of baby yak and sheep and goats. The mountains were all snow covered, and the trees that haven't yet lost their leaves are still a vibrant yellow. Riding across the snow-covered Steppe was pretty incredible.
At one point we rode past some sheer rock faces that have a river running right next to them. Rivers in Mongolia are usually rather shallow but with very fast currents, and this one was shallow. It isn't frozen yet, so we splashed across it and then rode up the next valley toward Tsetserleg. We came over the mountain and looked down on the city. The horses were a little less than enthusiastic about the whole trip to the city, as they are clearly country horses. As we walked through the ger distract trying to avoid the possibly rabid barking dogs that assaulted us from every open hashaa gate, the horses took slower and slower steps. Eventually we arrived at my apartment building. It was pretty awesome to ride a horse directly up to the door of my building. I'm not sure where else in the world that is perfectly acceptable. It's actually pretty common for me to see horses tied up outside an apartment building on the weekends, people ride in from the countryside to visit friends or family, and just tie their horse up outside. Or they tie them to a tree outside the bank or next to the market. I'm kind of surprised I don't see more hitching posts, but I guess you don't really need one of those when you can use a tree or a rock or whatever else is handy.
After I got home I tried to thaw out, an endeavor that took several hours. My fingers and toes were frozen and my face hurt from the cold wind. That was actually the first and only day that I wore the gloves I brought with me, as Sophie shredded one of them while I slept the next morning... Oh the joys of having a puppy. :)
On Sunday I met up with Uunee to play ping pong. There is a place downstairs from our office that has one ping pong table and two pool tables, so we went there. Unfortunately the ping pong table was already in use, and they were going to be a long time. So we decided to play a game of pool. Both of us are abysmal players, and after about 45 minutes with several balls left on the table we gave up and went next door to have a beer. It's funny how pool halls are the same the world over. This one was full of teenage boys drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. The legal age in Mongolia for both is 16, though I have never seen anyone carded to buy either.
Tomorrow I will venture out on my first trip to the countryside with my coworkers. We will visit several of our clients and monitor the implementation of their business plans. It sounds like we will be doing a lot of driving, we will go to 4 soums in Arkhangai and also to Kharkhorin to meet some people from another Mercy Corps office and deliver some papers or something to them. It should be fun though! Uunee said we will have a chance to ride some horses and visit a monastery. I think we are going to the soum with the hot springs as well.... And I'm sure that there will be lots of Mongolian food and aireg consumed, as that seems to be a trend in other PCVs' ventures to the countryside with coworkers.
Note: Blogspot rarely works for uploading pictures, so I've put up a link for pictures
I had plans to go horseback riding with some new friends, which we decided to postpone about an hour in hopes the weather would clear up. It did stop snowing, though it was still really cold. So I bundled up in my long underwear and winter coat and went to meet up with everyone. Tuul, who is a translator for GTZ (a German company doing conservation work here) had invited me to go riding with them. I met her earlier in the week when Hongoroo took me to GTZ and Floam to meet other development workers in Tsetserleg.
We all piled into a questionable taxi, which did not yet have its winter tires. Supposedly drivers switch out their tires for the winter, although I doubt it does a whole lot of good as they are probably nearly bald. To get to the herder family whose horses we would ride, we had to drive over on of the mountains that surround Tsetserleg. Our first attempt was less than successful. We made it halfway up the hill and then the taxi couldn’t go any further and started to slide back down… But, as Mongolian drivers are ever resourceful and determined, we found a different road up the hill that worked out. We then drove down the mountain on the other side, through several half-way frozen creeks and over muddy hills and ditches. During the drive we discussed whether or not it would be possible to get BACK to Tsetserleg, and decided that we would see if we could ride the horses back. The family whose horses we would ride are well known to Tuul, Andrea and Conrad, who go riding there frequently.
When we arrived at the gers, the horses weren’t there. The family had figured no one would come because it was so cold, but they happily rounded them up from the mountains while we sat in the ger and drank milk tea and ate bread with orum. Orum is a sort of clotted cream that Mongolians love, and this was particularly good orum.
Finally the horses were ready and we mounted up. For the first hour or so of our ride it was really windy and cold, the sun was also very bright on the snow, which made it hard to open my eyes beyond a squint. We rode out across the valley, with no protection from the wind. Eventually we circled around and were at the base of the mountains, and the wind stopped. The scenery was gorgeous. The valley is scattered with gers and herds of baby yak and sheep and goats. The mountains were all snow covered, and the trees that haven't yet lost their leaves are still a vibrant yellow. Riding across the snow-covered Steppe was pretty incredible.
At one point we rode past some sheer rock faces that have a river running right next to them. Rivers in Mongolia are usually rather shallow but with very fast currents, and this one was shallow. It isn't frozen yet, so we splashed across it and then rode up the next valley toward Tsetserleg. We came over the mountain and looked down on the city. The horses were a little less than enthusiastic about the whole trip to the city, as they are clearly country horses. As we walked through the ger distract trying to avoid the possibly rabid barking dogs that assaulted us from every open hashaa gate, the horses took slower and slower steps. Eventually we arrived at my apartment building. It was pretty awesome to ride a horse directly up to the door of my building. I'm not sure where else in the world that is perfectly acceptable. It's actually pretty common for me to see horses tied up outside an apartment building on the weekends, people ride in from the countryside to visit friends or family, and just tie their horse up outside. Or they tie them to a tree outside the bank or next to the market. I'm kind of surprised I don't see more hitching posts, but I guess you don't really need one of those when you can use a tree or a rock or whatever else is handy.
After I got home I tried to thaw out, an endeavor that took several hours. My fingers and toes were frozen and my face hurt from the cold wind. That was actually the first and only day that I wore the gloves I brought with me, as Sophie shredded one of them while I slept the next morning... Oh the joys of having a puppy. :)
On Sunday I met up with Uunee to play ping pong. There is a place downstairs from our office that has one ping pong table and two pool tables, so we went there. Unfortunately the ping pong table was already in use, and they were going to be a long time. So we decided to play a game of pool. Both of us are abysmal players, and after about 45 minutes with several balls left on the table we gave up and went next door to have a beer. It's funny how pool halls are the same the world over. This one was full of teenage boys drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. The legal age in Mongolia for both is 16, though I have never seen anyone carded to buy either.
Tomorrow I will venture out on my first trip to the countryside with my coworkers. We will visit several of our clients and monitor the implementation of their business plans. It sounds like we will be doing a lot of driving, we will go to 4 soums in Arkhangai and also to Kharkhorin to meet some people from another Mercy Corps office and deliver some papers or something to them. It should be fun though! Uunee said we will have a chance to ride some horses and visit a monastery. I think we are going to the soum with the hot springs as well.... And I'm sure that there will be lots of Mongolian food and aireg consumed, as that seems to be a trend in other PCVs' ventures to the countryside with coworkers.
Note: Blogspot rarely works for uploading pictures, so I've put up a link for pictures
Friday, September 28, 2007
Obsession
I'm sure that some of you wonder why food is such a hot topic on Peace Corps Volunteer's blogs. Why do we always talk about what we eat when there are so many other interesting things we are experiencing in Mongolia?
I will tell you.
If you have read any other PCV in Mongolia's blog, you will find that they are nearly all centered around food. What we eat, what we can't eat, how we cook, whether or not we have a refrigerator.
We are living in a totally foreign world, trying to learn a really hard language and doing our best to avoid any major cultural faux paus, and all we can talk about is food? My friend Cady and I were discussing this very topic in detail one day over google chat (yes, we both work 40 hours a week with not a whole lot to do yet, so when our internet connections are both working we inevitably have strange and varied conversations). We came to the conclusion that the heart of our obsession lies in the fact that food is one of the few things we have any sort of control over in our lives. We have reverted back to infancy; our basic needs have become very important. Finding food, trying to stay warm and seeking human companionship have taken center stage in our lives. We don't control the heating in our apartments. Unless you live in a ger, you don't get to decide when to turn it on or how hot or cold it gets. Even in a ger you only have marginal control. It's pretty much either HOT or COLD. We struggle to find meaningful relationships with people other than our fellow PCV's (who are a lot like summer camp friends. Solid friendships form at the speed of light, but just talking to each other is not really what Peace Corps considers integrating into our community). We also spend A LOT of time thinking about, shopping for and preparing food. Part of this is just the way of life in Mongolia, but another part has to do with our situations over the summer.
During training we were at the mercy of our host families. We didn't decide what we ate or when we ate it. We were introduced to some truly wonderful Mongolian food which we have come to love, but we were also forced into eating things we would really rather not. There is no polite way to refuse food in Mongolia. No one ASKS you to eat, they order you to. A plate is set in front of you, accompanied by the words "eed, eed," which is the command form of the verb "to eat." So you eat, and hope that bad things don't happen later.
Toward the end of training we all fantasized about the day we would be able to cook our own food, when we would be able to ensure that knifes and cutting boards are actually washed, and leftovers are refrigerated (maybe). Now that day has come, and we are all in a bit of a state of shock as to how much time and effort is necessary. First you have to decide what you want to eat. And then you have to think about whether or not you can actually find the ingredients for your desired meal (or what creative substitutions you can make, such as using camel hump in the place of bacon, as called for in one recipe in our PCV cookbook). After deciding what you need to buy you have to go in search of it. Shopping in Mongolia is nothing like shopping in America. You can't go to the super Wal-Mart and buy everything you need plus a bunch of stuff you don't. You have to go to the market, one or both of the two "supermarkets" and random delguurs to find what you need. And, frequently, you simply can't find what you want. Mongolians also don't normally do the whole weekly mass-acquisition of food that we do in America. They usually buy in small quantities several times a week. The reason for this is not to ensure fresher veggies, as one would think. The vegetables available are root veggies, and it doesn't matter a whole lot when you buy them. They have probably been sitting in a burlap bag for at least a week, if not more, anyway. It has to do with one's ability to carry things. Most Mongolian's don't own cars, and taxis are expensive. So it's pretty much a "take what you can carry" kind of system.
Once you haul your food home, and are now REALLY hungry, you must prepare it. There is no such thing as the instant frozen meal in Mongolia. Everything you eat you slave over. It is also necessary to be either very creative or plan ahead well. The market where vegetables are sold closes around 5 or 6 pm and may or may not be open during the weekend. You can't really find vegetables anywhere else in town. I find this to be especially frustrating. I work until 6 pm, and sometimes the market isn't open on the weekend. Or maybe it is open at varying hours, but it's a good 15 minute walk from my apartment, and it's not like hours are posted. I ran into an interesting dilemma last weekend. Several other PCVs were in town visiting, and we were trying to decide what to make for dinner. I had cabbage, potatoes, a couple carrots and garlic. I also had some dried tofu. (The tofu is an interesting story, I can't get fresh tofu, but I recently learned that there is dried tofu at the supermarket by my apartment. It looks exactly like pork rinds, and the package even says meat on it in giant letters. But it also says soy meat. Luckily Natalie was here to assure me it wasn't pork rinds) We tossed around ideas of what to make, anything from a cabbage stir-fry to soup. The night before I had made tortillas and we made vegetable fajitas with some seasoning my Mom sent me (Thanks Mom!!!!). The tortillas were really good, and we decided we wanted to make them again. So then it became a matter of figuring out how to include them in something we made with what we had. Eventually we decided we would attempt a sort of cabbage-based fajita. I was out of fajita seasoning, so we used taco seasoning instead. It really is amazing the things you can come up with out of necessity. We fried the potatoes like french fries, and then stir-fried everything else with the taco seasoning and mixed it all together. We even had some hot peppers that Fahd had brought from his site, one of his clients grows them and Fahd is pretty much the only consumer of them. We all decided it was a success, and though we never would have thought that cabbage would be a good base for a fajita, I might actually make that recipe again.
Not only are we obsessed with food in general, we are also all completely obsessed with American food. We dream about it, we salivate over it, and we spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out how to make something that sort of resembles it with what we have. We only just got here, and already a good portion of our conversations with each other go along the lines of:
"I would kill for some Taco Bell nachos right now."
"STOP! Don't make me think about what I can't have!"
"Yeah, but wouldn't a Jimmy John's sandwich just be soooo good right now?"
"Any kind of sandwich would be good right now. *sigh* We have two more years before we will see such things."
"True, but only a couple of months before we are in UB, and we can have a CHEESEBURGER!"
You would think that in this part of the world we would have really interesting spices and flavors from China. Unfortunately, that is not the case. This is partially due to the lack of infrastructure in Mongolia. In UB you can actually find just about anything you are looking for. A jar of peanut butter may cost $14, but it's there. But if you are anywhere off the paved road (yes, that is singular) or rail line, your variety drops significantly in relation to the distance you are from UB. Another factor in the lack of variety is that Mongolians just aren't that interested in eating different things. A wide variety of vegetables can be grown here. In Darkhan some vegetable farmers are growing broccoli, corn, Brussels sprouts, okra and squash (thanks to a previous CED PCV). But they have a really hard time selling it. Mongolians don't know what to do with such things. Cady is the new CED PCV there, and it is now her job to figure out how to market these "exotic vegetables."
I know that reading about what food we eat may not strike you as the most interesting or informative thing we could post in our blogs. But to truly understand what life as a PCV in Mongolia is like, you have to appreciate our obsession with food. It is true that probably a ridiculous portion of our blogs and emails contain stories of what we can and cannot buy, what we cook and what we eat. But some of us are learning to cook for ourselves for the first time in our lives, and most of us are being hit with the realization of how much work it actually takes to feed yourself when you aren't in America where you can go to any number of fast food restaurants, buy pre-packaged meals, or go visit your parents when you want a good home-cooked meal.
I will tell you.
If you have read any other PCV in Mongolia's blog, you will find that they are nearly all centered around food. What we eat, what we can't eat, how we cook, whether or not we have a refrigerator.
We are living in a totally foreign world, trying to learn a really hard language and doing our best to avoid any major cultural faux paus, and all we can talk about is food? My friend Cady and I were discussing this very topic in detail one day over google chat (yes, we both work 40 hours a week with not a whole lot to do yet, so when our internet connections are both working we inevitably have strange and varied conversations). We came to the conclusion that the heart of our obsession lies in the fact that food is one of the few things we have any sort of control over in our lives. We have reverted back to infancy; our basic needs have become very important. Finding food, trying to stay warm and seeking human companionship have taken center stage in our lives. We don't control the heating in our apartments. Unless you live in a ger, you don't get to decide when to turn it on or how hot or cold it gets. Even in a ger you only have marginal control. It's pretty much either HOT or COLD. We struggle to find meaningful relationships with people other than our fellow PCV's (who are a lot like summer camp friends. Solid friendships form at the speed of light, but just talking to each other is not really what Peace Corps considers integrating into our community). We also spend A LOT of time thinking about, shopping for and preparing food. Part of this is just the way of life in Mongolia, but another part has to do with our situations over the summer.
During training we were at the mercy of our host families. We didn't decide what we ate or when we ate it. We were introduced to some truly wonderful Mongolian food which we have come to love, but we were also forced into eating things we would really rather not. There is no polite way to refuse food in Mongolia. No one ASKS you to eat, they order you to. A plate is set in front of you, accompanied by the words "eed, eed," which is the command form of the verb "to eat." So you eat, and hope that bad things don't happen later.
Toward the end of training we all fantasized about the day we would be able to cook our own food, when we would be able to ensure that knifes and cutting boards are actually washed, and leftovers are refrigerated (maybe). Now that day has come, and we are all in a bit of a state of shock as to how much time and effort is necessary. First you have to decide what you want to eat. And then you have to think about whether or not you can actually find the ingredients for your desired meal (or what creative substitutions you can make, such as using camel hump in the place of bacon, as called for in one recipe in our PCV cookbook). After deciding what you need to buy you have to go in search of it. Shopping in Mongolia is nothing like shopping in America. You can't go to the super Wal-Mart and buy everything you need plus a bunch of stuff you don't. You have to go to the market, one or both of the two "supermarkets" and random delguurs to find what you need. And, frequently, you simply can't find what you want. Mongolians also don't normally do the whole weekly mass-acquisition of food that we do in America. They usually buy in small quantities several times a week. The reason for this is not to ensure fresher veggies, as one would think. The vegetables available are root veggies, and it doesn't matter a whole lot when you buy them. They have probably been sitting in a burlap bag for at least a week, if not more, anyway. It has to do with one's ability to carry things. Most Mongolian's don't own cars, and taxis are expensive. So it's pretty much a "take what you can carry" kind of system.
Once you haul your food home, and are now REALLY hungry, you must prepare it. There is no such thing as the instant frozen meal in Mongolia. Everything you eat you slave over. It is also necessary to be either very creative or plan ahead well. The market where vegetables are sold closes around 5 or 6 pm and may or may not be open during the weekend. You can't really find vegetables anywhere else in town. I find this to be especially frustrating. I work until 6 pm, and sometimes the market isn't open on the weekend. Or maybe it is open at varying hours, but it's a good 15 minute walk from my apartment, and it's not like hours are posted. I ran into an interesting dilemma last weekend. Several other PCVs were in town visiting, and we were trying to decide what to make for dinner. I had cabbage, potatoes, a couple carrots and garlic. I also had some dried tofu. (The tofu is an interesting story, I can't get fresh tofu, but I recently learned that there is dried tofu at the supermarket by my apartment. It looks exactly like pork rinds, and the package even says meat on it in giant letters. But it also says soy meat. Luckily Natalie was here to assure me it wasn't pork rinds) We tossed around ideas of what to make, anything from a cabbage stir-fry to soup. The night before I had made tortillas and we made vegetable fajitas with some seasoning my Mom sent me (Thanks Mom!!!!). The tortillas were really good, and we decided we wanted to make them again. So then it became a matter of figuring out how to include them in something we made with what we had. Eventually we decided we would attempt a sort of cabbage-based fajita. I was out of fajita seasoning, so we used taco seasoning instead. It really is amazing the things you can come up with out of necessity. We fried the potatoes like french fries, and then stir-fried everything else with the taco seasoning and mixed it all together. We even had some hot peppers that Fahd had brought from his site, one of his clients grows them and Fahd is pretty much the only consumer of them. We all decided it was a success, and though we never would have thought that cabbage would be a good base for a fajita, I might actually make that recipe again.
Not only are we obsessed with food in general, we are also all completely obsessed with American food. We dream about it, we salivate over it, and we spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out how to make something that sort of resembles it with what we have. We only just got here, and already a good portion of our conversations with each other go along the lines of:
"I would kill for some Taco Bell nachos right now."
"STOP! Don't make me think about what I can't have!"
"Yeah, but wouldn't a Jimmy John's sandwich just be soooo good right now?"
"Any kind of sandwich would be good right now. *sigh* We have two more years before we will see such things."
"True, but only a couple of months before we are in UB, and we can have a CHEESEBURGER!"
You would think that in this part of the world we would have really interesting spices and flavors from China. Unfortunately, that is not the case. This is partially due to the lack of infrastructure in Mongolia. In UB you can actually find just about anything you are looking for. A jar of peanut butter may cost $14, but it's there. But if you are anywhere off the paved road (yes, that is singular) or rail line, your variety drops significantly in relation to the distance you are from UB. Another factor in the lack of variety is that Mongolians just aren't that interested in eating different things. A wide variety of vegetables can be grown here. In Darkhan some vegetable farmers are growing broccoli, corn, Brussels sprouts, okra and squash (thanks to a previous CED PCV). But they have a really hard time selling it. Mongolians don't know what to do with such things. Cady is the new CED PCV there, and it is now her job to figure out how to market these "exotic vegetables."
I know that reading about what food we eat may not strike you as the most interesting or informative thing we could post in our blogs. But to truly understand what life as a PCV in Mongolia is like, you have to appreciate our obsession with food. It is true that probably a ridiculous portion of our blogs and emails contain stories of what we can and cannot buy, what we cook and what we eat. But some of us are learning to cook for ourselves for the first time in our lives, and most of us are being hit with the realization of how much work it actually takes to feed yourself when you aren't in America where you can go to any number of fast food restaurants, buy pre-packaged meals, or go visit your parents when you want a good home-cooked meal.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Trade Fair
This week was our annual Trade Fair. It's a pretty major event in the year for producers, they sell a lot of their products at Trade Fairs, and pretty much all Aimegs have them. Mercy Corps organizes Trade Fairs in every Aimeg it is in, and CHF International (the other NGO where CED PCVs are placed) organizes them as well. The participants in our Trade Fair had total sales of 75 million tugriks, which is pretty incredible. Last year's sales were 38 million.
Two of the other CED volunteers who work with Mercy Corps came with their offices to help out. Natalie works at a RASP office, and Fahd works with Gobi Initiative. It was fun to have some visitors for a few days. They both arrived on Saturday, and Rob was here as well on his way back to site from Japan. It was like a party! The Trade Fair preparation was a little strange for us, my counterparts were really busy, but didn't utilize me, Natalie or Fahd at all. On Saturday morning I spent about two hours blowing up balloons to hang in the sport hall where we held the Trade Fair, but after that I didn't really do anything. The three of us were asked to come on Sunday morning, so we did. There was a flurry of activity in the office with all of my coworkers and the visiting Mercy Corps employees. But we weren't asked to help at all or given anything to do. I asked Hongoroo what we should do, if we should stay at the office or go to the sport hall and help there. She told us to go to the sport hall, but when we got there no one was there. So we went and ate lunch at Fairfield's, and then went back to my apartment and took naps.
Monday was the first day of the Trade Fair, we went in the morning and it was a mad house! Just walking in or out of the door to the sports hall was a challenge, vendors were going through with all their stuff, shoving everyone else out of the way. Having a lot of Mongolians in a small crowded place is always a little stressful. When the customers started showing up it got really bad. The aisles between the rows of stands were pretty narrow, and walking down them we were constantly shoved from behind. Not even the sort of gentle pushing by peoples' shoulders that is inevitable in a crowd, but actual hands on our backs pushing us forward. It was a little frustrating. And it wasn't like shoving could really help, because there were hoards of people in front of us as well, so we couldn't go any faster. At this point I have begun to adjust to the pushing culture, and can shove my way through a crowd, or protect my space in line with my elbows with the best of them, but being actively pushed by a grown person is still beyond what I consider reasonable. At one point I started a passive-aggressive sort of slowing down as much as I could when someone put their hand on my back and shoved me. It certainly didn't help any, but I have to admit it made me feel better. I figure maybe I can classically condition some Mongolians that pushing an American will not help them, and maybe they will stop. Yeah Right.
The products at the Trade Fair were really cool. I would say the majority was felt and aaruul. There was an entire aisle and even part of another full of aaruul producers. A lot of them had Mongolian cheese and other strange milk products too, but they are really proud of their aaruul. They make it in fancy shapes and even different colors. There was even some chocolate aaruul. I tasted a piece of that, and while it didn't exactly taste like chocolate, it was pretty good. It's kind of one of those things where you have to get past the first bite and then it starts tasting better. The elaborate stacks of aaruul were really cool, and each vendor seemed to be trying to outdo all the others with how pretty they could make their pile of aaruul.
The felt products were really nice. There were a lot of felt slippers, wall hangings, purses and other random little ornaments and trinkets made from felt. I bought a pair of felt slippers, which might be my new favorite thing. Felt is amazingly warm. I wanted to buy a pair of sort of bootie-like slippers, but the only ones that I could find to fit me were slip on. It is frustrating trying to buy shoes and clothes in Mongolia. Mongolians are all quite short and have very small feet. I'm not that tall, and my feet aren't that big, but standing next to my five foot counterpart, I feel like a giant. Fahd got really into the whole felt thing; he bought a menagerie of felt animals, several wall hangings and some other random stuff. The felt producers loved him. Their eyes lit up when we walked by because they knew they would make a sale.
There was a lot of other stuff being sold as well. There were some really beautiful and ornate carved wood products, hand-made furniture, pre-made dels, Mongolian boots and jewelry. There were also bigger companies that came from UB, Darkhan and Erdenet with carpets, leather coats, electronics and cashmere. I ended up buying a cashmere hat. It was 10,000 tugriks, and though that is really cheap for a cashmere hat, it took awhile for me to talk myself into it. I didn't end up buying it until the second day, and I'm pretty sure the significant drop in temperature the past few days was a big part of the reason I ended up buying it. That and it matches my winter coat.
There were also several vegetable farmers selling vegetables. I was disappointed with the lack of variety, as my hopes were set very high from Cady's stories about her trade fair. In Darkhan they grow "exotic" vegetables like broccoli. I plan to bring that practice to Arkhangai for the next growing season. There is enough of an expat community in Tsetserleg that I think strange things like broccoli would be marketable here. The vegetable farmers at our trade fair did make up with their lack of variety with size. There were some of the biggest cabbage, potatoes and turnips I have ever seen. There was one person selling corn, but they had harvested it way too early and the kernels hadn't really formed. It makes me sad, because I know that adventurous Mongolians who buy it will think it's gross and not be interested in corn anymore. When to harvest corn is another thing I can hopefully help with here.
On Wednesday, after the trade fair was over, we had a client's day. Basically it was just a morning of presentations. It was pretty boring for me and Natalie, as it was all in Mongolian and we didn't have a translator. But I did get to give my presentation on Farmer's Markets. Uunee asked me awhile ago to prepare some notes on farmer's markets, because I guess the UB Mercy Corps office wants us to stir up some interest or help get one started in Arkhangai. So after I told my coworkers what a farmer's market is and how they are run etc. We had the idea for me to give a presentation to our clients. It seemed to go over pretty well; I'm really excited about the idea because it would be so much better for our clients. One of our clients told us that he sells his cucumbers to the market for 400 tugriks per kilo, and then they turn around and sell them for 1,200. I'm hoping that there will be enough interest and some people who are willing to take charge and we can get a farmer's market started by next spring.
Natalie's counterpart had told her that they were going to leave at 2 pm on Wednesday, so after the Client's day we rushed back to my apartment to finish getting all the pictures she took onto my computer, and went to Fairfield's for lunch again. Then we came back to the office, and stood around for awhile. I left because there was nothing for me to do. Natalie texted me at around 4 and said she was still here, but waiting in the jeep. Then at like 6:30 she texted me again to see if she could come over for dinner... she was still here. So she came over, and we waited around for awhile. She texted her counterpart to see when they were actually leaving and her counterpart said she didn't know. Then a little while later she texted again and said they were leaving at 10:30. That didn't make any sense at all. It's a 15 hour drive to Zavhan, and the only place where they could really stop for the night is like 10 hours into the drive. So Natalie and I figured that she would not be leaving that night, and she would just stay with me. Then a little while later Uunee and Saraa, Natalie's counterpart, showed up at my door and said that there was a party because the trade fair was so successful. So we got in the jeep, and after driving around doing random things for awhile we went out to a ger camp a little ways outside town. All of the Mercy Corps workers from my office and from UB and Zavhan were there. They were making a horhog. Horhog is a very uniquely Mongolian food. Basically you slaughter a sheep or goat, cut it up and throw it in a sort of pressure cooker-like thing with some vegetables and salt and other seasonings, add some hot stones and let it cook for awhile. When we first got there they were in the slaughtering stage. After we had been there awhile they brought the goat hide into the ger with all the chopped up meat in it, and started the horhog. I've been told that if you separate "horhog" into two words, it means toxic trash. But it's one word, so means something completely different. And horhog is actually really good! It was hilarious when they were adding everything into the big pot thing. They would open the lid and someone would throw some meat in, someone else would throw some potatoes or onions or turnips in, and then everyone else standing around would pour in beer or vodka. They got a kick out of it when I told them that in America we pour beer over meat when we cook it too. This process went on for some time, and they added some hot stones from the fire. The thing that amazed me the most was when a couple guys grabbed the handles of the pot barehanded and shook it around. It was all metal, so it must have been really hot, but you could never tell by the way they were holding it.
After about half and hour or so the horhog was ready. First they took the stones out and handed them out. Mongolians say it is really good for you to play hot potato with a scalding hot rocks, and I can sort of see why. It scalds at least one layer of skin off your hands, and surely kills any germs. And I never did see the people who were handling the raw meat wash their hands, so I guess it's the next best thing. After the rocks they passed around bowls of broth, which was possibly the most delicious soup I have ever had. Then they pulled all the meat out, put it in a cardboard box and started passing that around. The potatoes and onions and turnips were put in a different pot and passed around as well. Eating horhog is quite an experience. You have a big hunk of meat/fat/bone in one hand and a potato or onion or turnip (maybe all three) in the other hand. No plates or silverware. It makes you feel very barbaric, gnawing bites off the hunk of meat and eating whole potatoes and onions with your hands. It's pretty fun.
While we were waiting for the horhog and after we had eaten, there was drinking. There was a never-ending supply of Chinggis vodka (I think they actually bought a whole case). Everyone had a beer, and then one person would pour "shots" and pass them around. A "shot" in Mongolia is nothing like the little one-ounce shot glasses we have in America. They use a tumbler, and depending on how much the person pouring likes you or thinks you can handle, it can be up to half full. And they were having none of the whole touch it to your lips and pass it back, which is the polite way to refuse vodka here. One of Natalie's coworkers started it by challenging Natalie to finish her shot, which she did. Then I finished mine. When it was his turn, Natalie's coworker tried to only drink some of his, but Natalie and I were having none of that. So then we learned the words "khunter" and "gedee" which are basically the equivalent to "DRINK DRINK DRINK" in America. I have never seen such peer pressure to drink before, and it's totally acceptable. Every time anyone tried to not finish their shot there was a loud and insistent chorus of "khunter khunter." They especially loved it when Natalie and I acted as vodka police and made people finish their shots. And really, if Americans can drink giant shots of vodka, the Mongolians can too! The nice thing about the way Mongolians drink is that the glass has to go all the way around the room before you have to take another shot. And as the evening wore on and everyone got drunker, everyone would sing a song when it was their turn to drink, which prolonged the rotation even more.
Natalie was eventually told that she wasn't actually leaving that night, that they would leave at 6am the next morning. We had both figured as much, and I think they didn't tell her because they were afraid she would be upset. I don't see how continuing to delay the departure time made her any less frustrated... but then we are in Mongolia and they do things a little differently here.
The party was really fun, probably the most fun I've had at a Mongolian party yet. And Natalie did end up leaving on time the next morning, actually a little early. Saraa showed up at my apartment at 5:30. It was kind of amazing.
Two of the other CED volunteers who work with Mercy Corps came with their offices to help out. Natalie works at a RASP office, and Fahd works with Gobi Initiative. It was fun to have some visitors for a few days. They both arrived on Saturday, and Rob was here as well on his way back to site from Japan. It was like a party! The Trade Fair preparation was a little strange for us, my counterparts were really busy, but didn't utilize me, Natalie or Fahd at all. On Saturday morning I spent about two hours blowing up balloons to hang in the sport hall where we held the Trade Fair, but after that I didn't really do anything. The three of us were asked to come on Sunday morning, so we did. There was a flurry of activity in the office with all of my coworkers and the visiting Mercy Corps employees. But we weren't asked to help at all or given anything to do. I asked Hongoroo what we should do, if we should stay at the office or go to the sport hall and help there. She told us to go to the sport hall, but when we got there no one was there. So we went and ate lunch at Fairfield's, and then went back to my apartment and took naps.
Monday was the first day of the Trade Fair, we went in the morning and it was a mad house! Just walking in or out of the door to the sports hall was a challenge, vendors were going through with all their stuff, shoving everyone else out of the way. Having a lot of Mongolians in a small crowded place is always a little stressful. When the customers started showing up it got really bad. The aisles between the rows of stands were pretty narrow, and walking down them we were constantly shoved from behind. Not even the sort of gentle pushing by peoples' shoulders that is inevitable in a crowd, but actual hands on our backs pushing us forward. It was a little frustrating. And it wasn't like shoving could really help, because there were hoards of people in front of us as well, so we couldn't go any faster. At this point I have begun to adjust to the pushing culture, and can shove my way through a crowd, or protect my space in line with my elbows with the best of them, but being actively pushed by a grown person is still beyond what I consider reasonable. At one point I started a passive-aggressive sort of slowing down as much as I could when someone put their hand on my back and shoved me. It certainly didn't help any, but I have to admit it made me feel better. I figure maybe I can classically condition some Mongolians that pushing an American will not help them, and maybe they will stop. Yeah Right.
The products at the Trade Fair were really cool. I would say the majority was felt and aaruul. There was an entire aisle and even part of another full of aaruul producers. A lot of them had Mongolian cheese and other strange milk products too, but they are really proud of their aaruul. They make it in fancy shapes and even different colors. There was even some chocolate aaruul. I tasted a piece of that, and while it didn't exactly taste like chocolate, it was pretty good. It's kind of one of those things where you have to get past the first bite and then it starts tasting better. The elaborate stacks of aaruul were really cool, and each vendor seemed to be trying to outdo all the others with how pretty they could make their pile of aaruul.
The felt products were really nice. There were a lot of felt slippers, wall hangings, purses and other random little ornaments and trinkets made from felt. I bought a pair of felt slippers, which might be my new favorite thing. Felt is amazingly warm. I wanted to buy a pair of sort of bootie-like slippers, but the only ones that I could find to fit me were slip on. It is frustrating trying to buy shoes and clothes in Mongolia. Mongolians are all quite short and have very small feet. I'm not that tall, and my feet aren't that big, but standing next to my five foot counterpart, I feel like a giant. Fahd got really into the whole felt thing; he bought a menagerie of felt animals, several wall hangings and some other random stuff. The felt producers loved him. Their eyes lit up when we walked by because they knew they would make a sale.
There was a lot of other stuff being sold as well. There were some really beautiful and ornate carved wood products, hand-made furniture, pre-made dels, Mongolian boots and jewelry. There were also bigger companies that came from UB, Darkhan and Erdenet with carpets, leather coats, electronics and cashmere. I ended up buying a cashmere hat. It was 10,000 tugriks, and though that is really cheap for a cashmere hat, it took awhile for me to talk myself into it. I didn't end up buying it until the second day, and I'm pretty sure the significant drop in temperature the past few days was a big part of the reason I ended up buying it. That and it matches my winter coat.
There were also several vegetable farmers selling vegetables. I was disappointed with the lack of variety, as my hopes were set very high from Cady's stories about her trade fair. In Darkhan they grow "exotic" vegetables like broccoli. I plan to bring that practice to Arkhangai for the next growing season. There is enough of an expat community in Tsetserleg that I think strange things like broccoli would be marketable here. The vegetable farmers at our trade fair did make up with their lack of variety with size. There were some of the biggest cabbage, potatoes and turnips I have ever seen. There was one person selling corn, but they had harvested it way too early and the kernels hadn't really formed. It makes me sad, because I know that adventurous Mongolians who buy it will think it's gross and not be interested in corn anymore. When to harvest corn is another thing I can hopefully help with here.
On Wednesday, after the trade fair was over, we had a client's day. Basically it was just a morning of presentations. It was pretty boring for me and Natalie, as it was all in Mongolian and we didn't have a translator. But I did get to give my presentation on Farmer's Markets. Uunee asked me awhile ago to prepare some notes on farmer's markets, because I guess the UB Mercy Corps office wants us to stir up some interest or help get one started in Arkhangai. So after I told my coworkers what a farmer's market is and how they are run etc. We had the idea for me to give a presentation to our clients. It seemed to go over pretty well; I'm really excited about the idea because it would be so much better for our clients. One of our clients told us that he sells his cucumbers to the market for 400 tugriks per kilo, and then they turn around and sell them for 1,200. I'm hoping that there will be enough interest and some people who are willing to take charge and we can get a farmer's market started by next spring.
Natalie's counterpart had told her that they were going to leave at 2 pm on Wednesday, so after the Client's day we rushed back to my apartment to finish getting all the pictures she took onto my computer, and went to Fairfield's for lunch again. Then we came back to the office, and stood around for awhile. I left because there was nothing for me to do. Natalie texted me at around 4 and said she was still here, but waiting in the jeep. Then at like 6:30 she texted me again to see if she could come over for dinner... she was still here. So she came over, and we waited around for awhile. She texted her counterpart to see when they were actually leaving and her counterpart said she didn't know. Then a little while later she texted again and said they were leaving at 10:30. That didn't make any sense at all. It's a 15 hour drive to Zavhan, and the only place where they could really stop for the night is like 10 hours into the drive. So Natalie and I figured that she would not be leaving that night, and she would just stay with me. Then a little while later Uunee and Saraa, Natalie's counterpart, showed up at my door and said that there was a party because the trade fair was so successful. So we got in the jeep, and after driving around doing random things for awhile we went out to a ger camp a little ways outside town. All of the Mercy Corps workers from my office and from UB and Zavhan were there. They were making a horhog. Horhog is a very uniquely Mongolian food. Basically you slaughter a sheep or goat, cut it up and throw it in a sort of pressure cooker-like thing with some vegetables and salt and other seasonings, add some hot stones and let it cook for awhile. When we first got there they were in the slaughtering stage. After we had been there awhile they brought the goat hide into the ger with all the chopped up meat in it, and started the horhog. I've been told that if you separate "horhog" into two words, it means toxic trash. But it's one word, so means something completely different. And horhog is actually really good! It was hilarious when they were adding everything into the big pot thing. They would open the lid and someone would throw some meat in, someone else would throw some potatoes or onions or turnips in, and then everyone else standing around would pour in beer or vodka. They got a kick out of it when I told them that in America we pour beer over meat when we cook it too. This process went on for some time, and they added some hot stones from the fire. The thing that amazed me the most was when a couple guys grabbed the handles of the pot barehanded and shook it around. It was all metal, so it must have been really hot, but you could never tell by the way they were holding it.
After about half and hour or so the horhog was ready. First they took the stones out and handed them out. Mongolians say it is really good for you to play hot potato with a scalding hot rocks, and I can sort of see why. It scalds at least one layer of skin off your hands, and surely kills any germs. And I never did see the people who were handling the raw meat wash their hands, so I guess it's the next best thing. After the rocks they passed around bowls of broth, which was possibly the most delicious soup I have ever had. Then they pulled all the meat out, put it in a cardboard box and started passing that around. The potatoes and onions and turnips were put in a different pot and passed around as well. Eating horhog is quite an experience. You have a big hunk of meat/fat/bone in one hand and a potato or onion or turnip (maybe all three) in the other hand. No plates or silverware. It makes you feel very barbaric, gnawing bites off the hunk of meat and eating whole potatoes and onions with your hands. It's pretty fun.
While we were waiting for the horhog and after we had eaten, there was drinking. There was a never-ending supply of Chinggis vodka (I think they actually bought a whole case). Everyone had a beer, and then one person would pour "shots" and pass them around. A "shot" in Mongolia is nothing like the little one-ounce shot glasses we have in America. They use a tumbler, and depending on how much the person pouring likes you or thinks you can handle, it can be up to half full. And they were having none of the whole touch it to your lips and pass it back, which is the polite way to refuse vodka here. One of Natalie's coworkers started it by challenging Natalie to finish her shot, which she did. Then I finished mine. When it was his turn, Natalie's coworker tried to only drink some of his, but Natalie and I were having none of that. So then we learned the words "khunter" and "gedee" which are basically the equivalent to "DRINK DRINK DRINK" in America. I have never seen such peer pressure to drink before, and it's totally acceptable. Every time anyone tried to not finish their shot there was a loud and insistent chorus of "khunter khunter." They especially loved it when Natalie and I acted as vodka police and made people finish their shots. And really, if Americans can drink giant shots of vodka, the Mongolians can too! The nice thing about the way Mongolians drink is that the glass has to go all the way around the room before you have to take another shot. And as the evening wore on and everyone got drunker, everyone would sing a song when it was their turn to drink, which prolonged the rotation even more.
Natalie was eventually told that she wasn't actually leaving that night, that they would leave at 6am the next morning. We had both figured as much, and I think they didn't tell her because they were afraid she would be upset. I don't see how continuing to delay the departure time made her any less frustrated... but then we are in Mongolia and they do things a little differently here.
The party was really fun, probably the most fun I've had at a Mongolian party yet. And Natalie did end up leaving on time the next morning, actually a little early. Saraa showed up at my apartment at 5:30. It was kind of amazing.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Trash
Trash in Mongolia is an interesting phenomenon, as in there is a lot of trash and not many people. For a country with one of the lowest population densities in the world, there sure is a lot of trash. Walking out of a Delguur you see Mongolians unwrap their candy or ice cream and nonchalantly toss the wrapper on the ground. They have no concept of littering. In America you can be fined and put in jail for it, but here it is the status quo.
Recently this problem has come closer to home for me. The kid who lives in the apartment next door has started a new game of throwing trash on my balcony. I thought we were sort of friends. A few times I’ve been out on my balcony hanging up my laundry to dry, and he pops his head out his window and says “Hello” to me. I even asked him what his name was one day, and he blurted it out and quickly retracted his head. But lately, his new favorite game is throwing things on my balcony. Maybe it’s just the wind, because a lot of people in my apartment building just throw their trash off their balcony. I even do the same, with food scraps. There are several stray dogs that hang out behind the building just waiting for such events, and I figure they are going to get it one way or another, so why let it rot in my trash can and stink up my apartment? It’s better than beating them off when they smell meat scraps in my “trash bag” (aka plastic shopping bag that I PAY for at the grocery store when I buy food).
In Mongolia the most common way to get rid of trash is by burning it. In fact, that is the best way here. They don’t have landfills. The hills around cities, such as UB and Darkhan, literally sparkle with glass shards. When I first came to Mongolia and we were driving from UB to Darkhan I was quite confused as to why the hills were sparkling, but quickly figured it out. If you live in a house or a ger, you burn your trash in a metal barrel in your hashaa. Or maybe you just take it over the nearest hill. If you live in an apartment, you put your trash in a “dumpster,” where the dogs have their way with it, and then it is periodically burned. The smell of burning trash permeates the air. Sometimes I have to take a different way home from work to avoid walking through the smoke cloud of a burning dumpster.
Surprisingly, UB is one of the cleanest place I have been in Mongolia. Cleanest as far as trash. In UB they hire people to clean up the trash and with nearly half the population living there, if they didn’t they would be in big trouble pretty quickly.
I think the whole trash issue stems from the fact that it wasn’t too long ago when nearly all household waste was biodegradable. Nomads didn’t need to worry too much about just leaving trash wherever it lay, something would eat it. The prevalence of plastic packaging is a relatively new thing here, and children aren’t educated about the effects of littering. They don’t know it’s bad, and they don’t seem to mind plastic wrappers marring their otherwise beautiful surroundings. Another problem is that there just aren’t public trash cans. They are extremely rare. The only ones I’ve seen in Tsetserleg are two Penguin-shaped receptacles in front of the post office. The only time I have seen them used in any way is when kids push them to make them swing back and forth.
Part of the reason for the rampant littering may have to do with the fact that, in Mongolia, you don’t clean up after yourself. Unless you are in your own house, in which case it must be kept pristine. It is considered extremely rude to host guests when you house is dirty, a dirty floor is the utmost of disrespectful behavior. And, in Mongolia, guests are frequently unannounced. But if you are in someone else’s house, you never clean up after yourself. You leave your tea cup, your candy wrappers, and dirty plates where they lie. Even at work we have a woman whose job is to clean up after us and clean the office, who comes around to our desks and picks up our coffee mugs to wash them, and any candy wrappers. The first day I worked, we had a coffee break and after I had finished my coffee I asked where I should put my cup. I was told to leave it, that the cleaning lady would take care of it. As an American who is taught to, at least, strongly offer to help clean up, it’s strange to just leave things. And I guess, with so few people and such a big country, the ground is “someone else’s problem.”
Recently this problem has come closer to home for me. The kid who lives in the apartment next door has started a new game of throwing trash on my balcony. I thought we were sort of friends. A few times I’ve been out on my balcony hanging up my laundry to dry, and he pops his head out his window and says “Hello” to me. I even asked him what his name was one day, and he blurted it out and quickly retracted his head. But lately, his new favorite game is throwing things on my balcony. Maybe it’s just the wind, because a lot of people in my apartment building just throw their trash off their balcony. I even do the same, with food scraps. There are several stray dogs that hang out behind the building just waiting for such events, and I figure they are going to get it one way or another, so why let it rot in my trash can and stink up my apartment? It’s better than beating them off when they smell meat scraps in my “trash bag” (aka plastic shopping bag that I PAY for at the grocery store when I buy food).
In Mongolia the most common way to get rid of trash is by burning it. In fact, that is the best way here. They don’t have landfills. The hills around cities, such as UB and Darkhan, literally sparkle with glass shards. When I first came to Mongolia and we were driving from UB to Darkhan I was quite confused as to why the hills were sparkling, but quickly figured it out. If you live in a house or a ger, you burn your trash in a metal barrel in your hashaa. Or maybe you just take it over the nearest hill. If you live in an apartment, you put your trash in a “dumpster,” where the dogs have their way with it, and then it is periodically burned. The smell of burning trash permeates the air. Sometimes I have to take a different way home from work to avoid walking through the smoke cloud of a burning dumpster.
Surprisingly, UB is one of the cleanest place I have been in Mongolia. Cleanest as far as trash. In UB they hire people to clean up the trash and with nearly half the population living there, if they didn’t they would be in big trouble pretty quickly.
I think the whole trash issue stems from the fact that it wasn’t too long ago when nearly all household waste was biodegradable. Nomads didn’t need to worry too much about just leaving trash wherever it lay, something would eat it. The prevalence of plastic packaging is a relatively new thing here, and children aren’t educated about the effects of littering. They don’t know it’s bad, and they don’t seem to mind plastic wrappers marring their otherwise beautiful surroundings. Another problem is that there just aren’t public trash cans. They are extremely rare. The only ones I’ve seen in Tsetserleg are two Penguin-shaped receptacles in front of the post office. The only time I have seen them used in any way is when kids push them to make them swing back and forth.
Part of the reason for the rampant littering may have to do with the fact that, in Mongolia, you don’t clean up after yourself. Unless you are in your own house, in which case it must be kept pristine. It is considered extremely rude to host guests when you house is dirty, a dirty floor is the utmost of disrespectful behavior. And, in Mongolia, guests are frequently unannounced. But if you are in someone else’s house, you never clean up after yourself. You leave your tea cup, your candy wrappers, and dirty plates where they lie. Even at work we have a woman whose job is to clean up after us and clean the office, who comes around to our desks and picks up our coffee mugs to wash them, and any candy wrappers. The first day I worked, we had a coffee break and after I had finished my coffee I asked where I should put my cup. I was told to leave it, that the cleaning lady would take care of it. As an American who is taught to, at least, strongly offer to help clean up, it’s strange to just leave things. And I guess, with so few people and such a big country, the ground is “someone else’s problem.”
Monday, September 17, 2007
Happy Birthday Amily
Last Friday was my first Birthday outside of the US. What could have been a lonely day turned out to be quite fun! I have the disadvantage of being the only PCV in Tsetserleg, which leaves me with a bit of a shortage of friends to celebrate with. My coworkers were really nice and had a small party for me; they took me out to dinner and drinks and even got me a cake from Fairfield's (the amazing cafe in Tsetserleg owned by a British expat couple). Fairfield's spelled my name wrong on the cake; they spelled it Amily, which served to provide a good laugh for everyone. A lot of Mongolians have a hard time with my name, and many call me Amelia, so that was probably part of the confusion. My coworkers also bought me a teddy bear, which they said I can cuddle with at night, and I have come to enjoy cuddling with it in the short time I've had it!
On Saturday I was lucky enough to be able to visit another PCV in a close-by soum and ride horses! It was quite possibly the most fun I have had since coming to Mongolia. Jeff's hashaa family owns a tourist ger camp, and has a lot of horses. They are really nice people, and Jeff's brother, Ganaa, allowed us to accompany him on a trek out to the winter grazing camp. We didn't really know what to expect when we got on the horses, other than that we were going for a ride. Jeff's dad said something about mountains and camping, but we didn't really fully understand what was going on (an extremely common state of affairs for me).
After drinking a glass of very delicious aireg with Jeff's dad, we went out to help Ganaa saddle up the horses. Before we started saddling up, we got to watch them milk the mares. It was an interesting process. They had what looked like yearlings tethered in a line, and one by one they untied them and lead them up to a mare (presumably its mother) and let it nurse for a couple seconds, then pulled it aside and a woman with a bucket then milked the mare. I was amazed how well the horses behaved. They didn't put a halter on the mares or even hold them in any way, but they just stood there. And none of them tried to kick the woman doing the milking. After they had milked all the mares Ganaa started to saddle our horses for us. The horse that he at first identified as the horse I would ride was a small chestnut mare, and when he went to put the saddle on her she actively showed her displeasure at the whole idea by trying to bite him and kicking. Then he got on her really quick, I guess to make sure she wasn't going to kill me, and she started bucking. I guess he then decided the chances were good that she might just kill me, so he quickly changed saddles and put me on a buckskin gelding who was an absolute pleasure.
Once we were all on our horses we set off across the field. We were joined by another guy and four yaks pulling wagons, and Ganaa said we were going "hamt" (together). Once we got out in the field a little ways I started to experiment on my horse. He was really fast, and very excited about the prospect of a good gallop. With just a tiny bit of encouragement he would take off, but he was also really good (for a Mongolian horse) about stopping, basically meaning if I turned him in a circle he would eventually stop. After a bit of gallivanting around the field Ganaa told me to just walk, that we could gallop on the way back. So we continued across the field at a more peaceful pace, following the chain of yak carts. The yaks were slightly less than willing participants in the whole affair, and required quite a bit of yelling, rock throwing and other creative forms of encouragement from Ganaa. Mongolians say "choa" to make horses or yaks move forward, and it is amazing how effective that word is. If my horse even heard someone else say "choa" he immediately reacted by quickening his pace significantly. The yaks weren't quite as responsive, but then they were pulling carts and being dragged forward by the one in front of them by a nose ring. I can't imagine I would be very responsive or eager about that job either. After about two and a half hours we came to the beginning of winter herding camps. We continued back into the mountains, and went through a valley scattered with little wood pole barns and yak and horse herds. That yaks that we were following were beginning to show the strain of the long trip with their increasing unwillingness to more forward at anything more than a snail's pace, so Jeff and I had time to wander up into the mountains and explore a bit. Our horses were also starting to show some weariness though, and my horse was definitely less than enthusiastic about climbing any unnecessary hills, so I eventually fell in line behind the yak train. The mountains we were in were gorgeous. One side of the valley was covered in forest, mostly pines and some birch, and there were wildflowers scattered throughout the grass covering the valley and the mountains on the other side of us. I didn't really know Mongolia could look like that; I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting it to look like when I came here, but I was definitely surprised. It looked like it could have been some of the prettier places in rural America. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera with my on the ride. An unwise decision I am kicking myself for now.
We continued through the valley until we had surpassed all other signs of human existence. The road (wheel tracks through the grass) we were following started to disappear to just a faint hint that anyone had gone that way before. By that time we had been in the saddle for close to four hours, and I was really starting to feel it. Finally we reached the very end of the valley, where there was a small white tent (not a ger, just a regular tent) in a little clearing. We took a little break and had some water (most definitely unpurified, not sure where it came from and am a little scared about possible later repercussions in the form of giarrdia for drinking it, but I was thirsty) and some bortz (fried dough). The inhabitant of the camp wasn't there at the time, and failed to appear after several shouts from Ganaa, but Jeff, Ganaa and I left the yaks and the other guy out there to wait. The trip that took us four and a half hours out only took about an hour back, because we trotted or galloped the whole way. Mongolian horses do not have the smoothest gaits, in fact I might even go so far as to say they have a downright uncomfortable trot. My horse didn't have nearly as fast of a trot as Jeff or Ganaa's horses, and was definitely not going to be left behind so he usually kept to a gentle canter. This was fine with me, much more comfortable! It was amazing how quickly our horses perked up as soon as we were headed in the direction of home. From the way they were dragging their feet toward the end of the trek out, you would think they didn't have enough energy to even get back, much less canter the whole way. But the lure of home gave them the extra spunk they needed. Once we were out of the smaller valley where the winter camps were, Ganaa decided it was time for a race. So we all lined up and then with a chorus of "choa" took off at a dead gallop. It was amazing. Those horses were some of the most agile creatures I have ever seen. My horse was at a dead gallop going through a minefield of gopher holes, and he didn't once put a foot wrong. I am sure that any American horse would have broken a leg, but my trusty Mongolian steed didn't even trip. He wouldn't even slow down the first time I tried, so I let him gallop for awhile longer. Eventually he was willing to take a breather so we walked for a bit, but as soon as we reached the last field to cross he wanted to canter again.
Once we arrived back to the ger camp we got to help round up the rest of the herd of horses, who were out grazing freely nearby. So we cantered around a bit more and gathered all the horses near the corral. Once we were finished I practically fell of my horse, and my legs and knees were so stiff from the 5+ hours in the saddle I had a bit of trouble walking at first. But I managed to make it to the main building of the camp, where Jeff's hashaa family was hanging out and getting ready to have dinner. We drank some more aireg with his dad, and, though we tried to politely refuse, were fed some of the best hoshor I have ever tasted.
A Very Tired Mongolian Pony
My trip back to Tsetserleg was also quite an adventure. It looked unlikely that I would be able to find a car, because apparently they only go once a day and some days not at all. But I had some good luck and saw a bus stopped at one of the gas stations. I went over and asked if they were going to Tsetserleg, and they said they were so I jumped on. It was a bus full of Mongolians, which I learned were on their way to Kharkorin. They were really nice and friendly, the old man sitting next to me even took a picture with me. He was excited to find that I could speak a little Mongolian, and we had a limited conversation about what I do and how pretty the trees and mountains are in Arkhangai.
The drive between Ikh Tamir and Tsetserleg is beautiful. About half of it is through a valley, where it's mostly an off-road drive. They are working on paving the road, which means that right now it is unusable. So there is about a quarter mile on either side of tire tracks, where people created their own road in an attempt to not get stuck in the mud of previous "roads" and avoid as many bone-jarring bumps as possible. Mongolian drivers are adept at going as fast as possible on the (relatively) flat areas, and then slamming on the brakes to avoid being air born over bumps. At least they manage that the vast majority of the time. In the Russian jeep I took on the way out there were a few times when I was really thankful for the padded roof...
Once you get through the valley there is a very well constructed gravel road that goes up through the mountains. The bus was having a bit of a time of it, but we saw a biking tour at the top of the mountain, and I am quite sure they had a much rougher time of it. It was even snowing on top of the mountain.
Once we came into Tsetserleg the bus stopped by the side of the road for some random reason, and I told the driver that I would get out there and walk the rest of the way home. I asked him how much I should pay, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said "no money." Not only did I have the good luck to find a ride at all, it turned out to be a free one! Mongolia is so amazing that way. Much, if not most, of what happens seems to be determined purely by luck (either good or bad), and you never know when you are going to get completely screwed over or have someone do something incredibly nice for you.
To round out my incredible weekend, an M16 who now works for a tour company texted me on Sunday that he was in Tsetserleg and would I like to meet up for a beer. It turned out that his tour was the group of cyclists I had seen on top of the mountain. They are from the UK, and on an adventure holiday. They have biked here from Erdenet and are going to continue to Kharkorin before returning to UB by car. They turned out to be a really fun group of people to spend the evening with, and it was nice to spend some time with a group of people who speak my language. I could actually understand everything that was being said, and that is not a common thing for me here.
The one thing that put a bit of a damper on my weekend is the fact that I have been without running water for almost two days, so there went my plans for doing laundry on Sunday. Luckily I had stockpiled purified water, a decision brought on by frequent random power outages, so was able to wash my hair. Such is life in Mongolia I guess.
On Saturday I was lucky enough to be able to visit another PCV in a close-by soum and ride horses! It was quite possibly the most fun I have had since coming to Mongolia. Jeff's hashaa family owns a tourist ger camp, and has a lot of horses. They are really nice people, and Jeff's brother, Ganaa, allowed us to accompany him on a trek out to the winter grazing camp. We didn't really know what to expect when we got on the horses, other than that we were going for a ride. Jeff's dad said something about mountains and camping, but we didn't really fully understand what was going on (an extremely common state of affairs for me).
After drinking a glass of very delicious aireg with Jeff's dad, we went out to help Ganaa saddle up the horses. Before we started saddling up, we got to watch them milk the mares. It was an interesting process. They had what looked like yearlings tethered in a line, and one by one they untied them and lead them up to a mare (presumably its mother) and let it nurse for a couple seconds, then pulled it aside and a woman with a bucket then milked the mare. I was amazed how well the horses behaved. They didn't put a halter on the mares or even hold them in any way, but they just stood there. And none of them tried to kick the woman doing the milking. After they had milked all the mares Ganaa started to saddle our horses for us. The horse that he at first identified as the horse I would ride was a small chestnut mare, and when he went to put the saddle on her she actively showed her displeasure at the whole idea by trying to bite him and kicking. Then he got on her really quick, I guess to make sure she wasn't going to kill me, and she started bucking. I guess he then decided the chances were good that she might just kill me, so he quickly changed saddles and put me on a buckskin gelding who was an absolute pleasure.
Once we were all on our horses we set off across the field. We were joined by another guy and four yaks pulling wagons, and Ganaa said we were going "hamt" (together). Once we got out in the field a little ways I started to experiment on my horse. He was really fast, and very excited about the prospect of a good gallop. With just a tiny bit of encouragement he would take off, but he was also really good (for a Mongolian horse) about stopping, basically meaning if I turned him in a circle he would eventually stop. After a bit of gallivanting around the field Ganaa told me to just walk, that we could gallop on the way back. So we continued across the field at a more peaceful pace, following the chain of yak carts. The yaks were slightly less than willing participants in the whole affair, and required quite a bit of yelling, rock throwing and other creative forms of encouragement from Ganaa. Mongolians say "choa" to make horses or yaks move forward, and it is amazing how effective that word is. If my horse even heard someone else say "choa" he immediately reacted by quickening his pace significantly. The yaks weren't quite as responsive, but then they were pulling carts and being dragged forward by the one in front of them by a nose ring. I can't imagine I would be very responsive or eager about that job either. After about two and a half hours we came to the beginning of winter herding camps. We continued back into the mountains, and went through a valley scattered with little wood pole barns and yak and horse herds. That yaks that we were following were beginning to show the strain of the long trip with their increasing unwillingness to more forward at anything more than a snail's pace, so Jeff and I had time to wander up into the mountains and explore a bit. Our horses were also starting to show some weariness though, and my horse was definitely less than enthusiastic about climbing any unnecessary hills, so I eventually fell in line behind the yak train. The mountains we were in were gorgeous. One side of the valley was covered in forest, mostly pines and some birch, and there were wildflowers scattered throughout the grass covering the valley and the mountains on the other side of us. I didn't really know Mongolia could look like that; I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting it to look like when I came here, but I was definitely surprised. It looked like it could have been some of the prettier places in rural America. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera with my on the ride. An unwise decision I am kicking myself for now.
We continued through the valley until we had surpassed all other signs of human existence. The road (wheel tracks through the grass) we were following started to disappear to just a faint hint that anyone had gone that way before. By that time we had been in the saddle for close to four hours, and I was really starting to feel it. Finally we reached the very end of the valley, where there was a small white tent (not a ger, just a regular tent) in a little clearing. We took a little break and had some water (most definitely unpurified, not sure where it came from and am a little scared about possible later repercussions in the form of giarrdia for drinking it, but I was thirsty) and some bortz (fried dough). The inhabitant of the camp wasn't there at the time, and failed to appear after several shouts from Ganaa, but Jeff, Ganaa and I left the yaks and the other guy out there to wait. The trip that took us four and a half hours out only took about an hour back, because we trotted or galloped the whole way. Mongolian horses do not have the smoothest gaits, in fact I might even go so far as to say they have a downright uncomfortable trot. My horse didn't have nearly as fast of a trot as Jeff or Ganaa's horses, and was definitely not going to be left behind so he usually kept to a gentle canter. This was fine with me, much more comfortable! It was amazing how quickly our horses perked up as soon as we were headed in the direction of home. From the way they were dragging their feet toward the end of the trek out, you would think they didn't have enough energy to even get back, much less canter the whole way. But the lure of home gave them the extra spunk they needed. Once we were out of the smaller valley where the winter camps were, Ganaa decided it was time for a race. So we all lined up and then with a chorus of "choa" took off at a dead gallop. It was amazing. Those horses were some of the most agile creatures I have ever seen. My horse was at a dead gallop going through a minefield of gopher holes, and he didn't once put a foot wrong. I am sure that any American horse would have broken a leg, but my trusty Mongolian steed didn't even trip. He wouldn't even slow down the first time I tried, so I let him gallop for awhile longer. Eventually he was willing to take a breather so we walked for a bit, but as soon as we reached the last field to cross he wanted to canter again.
Once we arrived back to the ger camp we got to help round up the rest of the herd of horses, who were out grazing freely nearby. So we cantered around a bit more and gathered all the horses near the corral. Once we were finished I practically fell of my horse, and my legs and knees were so stiff from the 5+ hours in the saddle I had a bit of trouble walking at first. But I managed to make it to the main building of the camp, where Jeff's hashaa family was hanging out and getting ready to have dinner. We drank some more aireg with his dad, and, though we tried to politely refuse, were fed some of the best hoshor I have ever tasted.
A Very Tired Mongolian Pony
My trip back to Tsetserleg was also quite an adventure. It looked unlikely that I would be able to find a car, because apparently they only go once a day and some days not at all. But I had some good luck and saw a bus stopped at one of the gas stations. I went over and asked if they were going to Tsetserleg, and they said they were so I jumped on. It was a bus full of Mongolians, which I learned were on their way to Kharkorin. They were really nice and friendly, the old man sitting next to me even took a picture with me. He was excited to find that I could speak a little Mongolian, and we had a limited conversation about what I do and how pretty the trees and mountains are in Arkhangai.
The drive between Ikh Tamir and Tsetserleg is beautiful. About half of it is through a valley, where it's mostly an off-road drive. They are working on paving the road, which means that right now it is unusable. So there is about a quarter mile on either side of tire tracks, where people created their own road in an attempt to not get stuck in the mud of previous "roads" and avoid as many bone-jarring bumps as possible. Mongolian drivers are adept at going as fast as possible on the (relatively) flat areas, and then slamming on the brakes to avoid being air born over bumps. At least they manage that the vast majority of the time. In the Russian jeep I took on the way out there were a few times when I was really thankful for the padded roof...
Once you get through the valley there is a very well constructed gravel road that goes up through the mountains. The bus was having a bit of a time of it, but we saw a biking tour at the top of the mountain, and I am quite sure they had a much rougher time of it. It was even snowing on top of the mountain.
Once we came into Tsetserleg the bus stopped by the side of the road for some random reason, and I told the driver that I would get out there and walk the rest of the way home. I asked him how much I should pay, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said "no money." Not only did I have the good luck to find a ride at all, it turned out to be a free one! Mongolia is so amazing that way. Much, if not most, of what happens seems to be determined purely by luck (either good or bad), and you never know when you are going to get completely screwed over or have someone do something incredibly nice for you.
To round out my incredible weekend, an M16 who now works for a tour company texted me on Sunday that he was in Tsetserleg and would I like to meet up for a beer. It turned out that his tour was the group of cyclists I had seen on top of the mountain. They are from the UK, and on an adventure holiday. They have biked here from Erdenet and are going to continue to Kharkorin before returning to UB by car. They turned out to be a really fun group of people to spend the evening with, and it was nice to spend some time with a group of people who speak my language. I could actually understand everything that was being said, and that is not a common thing for me here.
The one thing that put a bit of a damper on my weekend is the fact that I have been without running water for almost two days, so there went my plans for doing laundry on Sunday. Luckily I had stockpiled purified water, a decision brought on by frequent random power outages, so was able to wash my hair. Such is life in Mongolia I guess.
Monday, September 10, 2007
The Virtue of Patience
Patience in Mongolia is a very strange thing. Mongolians are at once incredibly, stoically patient, and at the same time pushy and completely impatient. Last Friday while I was at the post office trying to buy more units for my phone I experienced just how impatient Mongolians can be. When a line isn't enforced (such as at the bank) there isn't even a semblance of order, just a swarm of people. So there I was, waiting patiently a respectful distance behind the person in front of me (really I should know better by now), while other people continued to just shove their up to the front. Rob, another PCV who lives in Arkhangai was with me, and he explained that the best, and really only, way to get service is to get your money out and basically shove your way to the front and hold out your money. Trying to buy food in the supermarket is a similar situation. A sort of line forms, but unless you are pushy and stand touching the person in front of you, you will find yourself continually at the end of a moving line.
On the other hand, Mongolians have the ability to wait for hours and hours in complete patience. When taking a taxi or mikr somewhere, the driver may give a departure time, but inevitably you can expect at least an hour wait sitting in the car. Probably more than that. And it is pretty much a given that something will break during the course of your journey. And maybe that is why Mongolians are so patient when it comes to cars and trips, Mongolian drivers all possess the amazing ability to fix ANYTHING! Broken axle? No problem, as long as you have some scotch (what we would call packing tape, pretty much the only type available in Mongolia) you can fix a broken axle, along with pretty much anything else that goes awry. Scotch is to Mongolians what Duct Tape is to people from the Midwest. There is, apparently, even a word in Mongolian for "fixing things the Mongol way." I think the best way I have heard it described was by Rob, who introduced me to the term "Monguiver."
On the other hand, Mongolians have the ability to wait for hours and hours in complete patience. When taking a taxi or mikr somewhere, the driver may give a departure time, but inevitably you can expect at least an hour wait sitting in the car. Probably more than that. And it is pretty much a given that something will break during the course of your journey. And maybe that is why Mongolians are so patient when it comes to cars and trips, Mongolian drivers all possess the amazing ability to fix ANYTHING! Broken axle? No problem, as long as you have some scotch (what we would call packing tape, pretty much the only type available in Mongolia) you can fix a broken axle, along with pretty much anything else that goes awry. Scotch is to Mongolians what Duct Tape is to people from the Midwest. There is, apparently, even a word in Mongolian for "fixing things the Mongol way." I think the best way I have heard it described was by Rob, who introduced me to the term "Monguiver."
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