Regularity

August 22, 2015 [Eric wrote this one.]

I will attempt to compose entries on a more regular basis (i.e., weekly) now that we have consistent interwebs access. This one I wrote the other day, but not much has changed since then. Emily may also write a few entries from her perspective, which we'll post here. 

Also: Alex Rymarquis sucks eggs. He teaches other people how to suck eggs. His favorite thing to do is to suck eggs. 

Okay. So. We're in Uvs, now. We've been instructed to be as vague as possible as to our actual location (i.e., the city) in very public forums, so we won't mention that on the blog posts, but we're in a city in Uvs. It turns out we were informed correctly about the natural beauty. The mountains are my favorite part, so far; the light falls on the different faces and leaves others in shadow, putting the immensity of the things in a perspective that only the Sun can. It seems like this place hasn't seen much rain lately, though, as the ground is more yellow and brown than green, and the vegetation consists largely of random tufts of grass growing here and there amid low-lying shrubs and bushes. Trees are a rarity, which crushes my soul a little bit, but it's not unexpected.

Thus far, Emily and I have spent most of the time settling in. Our apartment is enormous, maybe even larger than the one we had in Lawrence. Size is not everything however, as we all know; water is heated by gas in this aimag, and the gas doesn't come on until Winter, which begins in October. So, while we do have running water, its temperatures are cold and you-might-lose-your-hand-to-frostbite cold. Also, and I don't know if this is a coincidence or predictable, but half of the apartment doesn't have lights. Not electricity, mind you, but lights, and lamps don't seem to exist here. As I write, for example, I'm sitting in darkness staring at the light bulb that is my computer screen. I've actually changed the background on the document I'm writing in to black so that my retinas don't get completely destroyed. Oh, and the toilet is in its own room which can only be described as broom-closet sized. The other day we woke up with no electricity or running water. Small inconveniences even when compared to the service of others in the Peace Corps, or even in Mongolia. I have to admit that, when the water goes out, I miss the hole-in-the-ground jorlon (outhouse) that I had become used to during training.

But hey, we have internet. Perhaps predictably, the first day we had internet access was spent almost entirely dicking around online. Today, though, we made lunch with two of our site mates after heading to a large market area to buy some necessities. This also included a rousing game of Catan which I was, as ever, one turn from winning.

The market has been one of my favorite things about this city (and Mongolia in general) so far. It's difficult to describe, but here goes: you walk in on a road that leads to a small parking area that would be equivalent to about ten parking spaces wide and maybe fifty spaces long. I don't mean to give the idea that there is any order here at all, though; there are cars parked all over the place, but it's highly random -- one horizontal, one jagged like a hastily ripped piece of cardboard. The outer limits on this parking lot are one-story shop buildings, most of which are crammed to the roof with whatever kinds of things that particular vendor is selling; clothes, appliances, cutlery, plates/cups/bowls, car parts, tools, flooring, fabrics, shoes, and other this-and-thats.

At the end of the parking lot, one dives into the heart of this place, row upon row of these one-story buildings, all similarly crammed with different things. There is a certain kind of order to the place, though; there's a section dedicated entirely to selling food, which evokes the stereotypical image of a tall white guy wandering among stalls selling fruits and vegetables – right now, it's potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions and, if you're lucky, tomatoes, apples, and garlic – while tarps and fabrics hang over head to keep out the rain and, more importantly, the sun. The variety of foods is very limited (which makes one wonder how there could be so many stalls) and, at least to me, the most impressive features of these food stalls are the candy displays.

It's a cultural tradition here to bring a gift to someone's house the first time you visit (at least). Very often this is some sort of sweet (or vodka, but that's another story). Similarly, it's traditional to offer a guest some food, usually candy or candies, and some tea. Not to do so is considered very rude. It is then perhaps unsurprising that most stores carry at least five different kinds of candy, selling them by the kilo. The displays themselves often take up half of the display space, as the owners tend to rip off the top of the boxes the candy was shipped in, then set them up next to each other. The result is a 4x4 foot square of nothing but shiny, colorful wrappers. 

Anyway... the layout of this place confuses the holy hell out of me, especially considering that I have the sense of direction of a drunk mouse in a maze with no cheese to shoot for, but if you wander far enough into the section that is bordered by household goods on the right and clothes on the left [the clothes section has been, every time we've gone to the market, completely empty of customers, and is downright eerie in broad daylight], there's a large building (imagine half of a Wal-Mart) which is similarly packed with stores selling much the same kind of things.

You might be wondering how these various stores manage to stay in business, given that they're all selling the same stuff. The answer? I have no idea. My theory is that each store has one or two things that can only be gotten at their stores to attract the requisite number of customers to stay in business. Otherwise? I have no idea. The clothing stores, for instance: there are at least twenty of them in the abandoned, creepy alleyway, and they're all somehow still in business. It beggars belief.

In all, this is a nice place, though. The roaming packs of wild dogs don't seem to exist here, which I like, and the potholes which are characteristic of Mongolian roadways are conspicuously absent. The aimag just celebrated its 90^th anniversary this summer, and apparently did some serious upgrading to its infrastructure. 

So. Yes.