One year down

June 1, 2016

I'm considering today our official one-year anniversary of arriving in Mongolia. June 1 2015 was the day we ended up in Darkhan (I think), which is really the first day of actually being part of Mongolia. Prior to that, I was an enthusiastic tourist with long-term plans. We arrived and were immediately shuttered to a hotel on the outskirts of UB which was nestled in the embrace of gentle hills covered in trees; currently, I live within view of an honest-to-god mountain that still has snow on it (from about two weeks ago), and there isn't a single tree visible from my apartment windows. (We recently learned that some enlightened individual went around the city and cut down all of the trees within the city proper in 1991.) As I've joked with some people I've talked to on Skype, there are about three or four trees in this city, and I know where all of them are. I should say: it's a joke because it's funny, but also because it's not a joke at all.

Anyway, it being our one-year anniversary, I thought it appropriate to reflect in a larger sense. This blog has been filled with reflections, I admit, but usually they are short-term, based on something that happened to me or to Emily or to both of us. I've found this a useful way to both fill you in on what we're doing, and how we're doing. It'd be dishonest and a disservice to only report on the things that we're doing and leave out the emotional responses; that's not what it's like being here, and it's not what it's like being a human being. Besides, those of you who know me best know that I react to everything and consequently have something to say about the aforementioned everything.

First, the things I've learned about myself (don't worry, Emily will do her own bit). I should set you up: these next paragraphs are all new points, so the transition will be a little jarring. This is a blog, not a novella.

I am every bit as cynical as I used to be. I won't go on at length about my worldview, but maybe it will suffice to say this: the insulation that PST (our initial training period) provided from the real world was, in a lot of ways, unhelpfully unrealistic, and set us up to fail for our first year of service. Expectations were set that we'd be working with the same kind of people and in the same sort of system in PST when we got to site. That was not the case. You'd think I'd be able to remember what the real world is like, but somehow the shine on the Peace Corps and the work that they/we do blinded me enough that I somehow forgot. That and my time in graduate school immediately prior probably set me up for a bigger shock than I was prepared for.

I also learned/remembered (unironically) that I am extremely forgetful at times, and prone to misplacing things. My poor mother and my long-suffering wife are all-too familiar with this (especially when I was growing up), but to the uninitiated, consider this: since we've been here, I've lost three phones (including two smart phones), one pair of sunglasses, several socks, at least one book, a few decks of cards, and, unless I've gone insane and am remembering having brought something I totally didn't, most of my summer clothes. I also somehow forgot to bring half of the cards we needed to play Catan with me from the States (the makers kindly mailed us replacements for free!). It's a daily struggle to find either my keys, my wallet, my phone, and/or my ring. I often forget one or the other and only realize when I'm halfway to wherever I'm going. I've also tried to leave the apartment in slippers on several occasions.

I rely heavily on the spoken and written word to communicate and connect with people. Actions speak louder than words? That may be so, but words speak pretty loudly in their own right, and often are the catalyst for the oh-so-loud action. No matter how good I get with grammar and vocabulary in Mongolian, I still have a lot of trouble understanding people when they speak. That's infuriating and limiting.

I like to teach. Frustrations with the systems in place aside (systems, like standardized testing, which are not at all unique to Mongolia), engaging with students and getting them interested (often against their will) is a genuinely rewarding experience. I hope I can do more of it in the future.

There were also assumptions I had made about the way the world works that I continually learn were incredibly short-sighted. Instead of going in to detail, I'll just say this: the vast majority of everyone on the planet is just trying to survive without screwing up too badly. That said, the exceptions, who believe that they are exceptional because of their boldness, are really just the people most willing to screw over other people. So, yes. Cynicism level 9, over here. That's not likely to change.

As difficult as the winter was for its many physical challenges, the summer has been, in its own way, more difficult. A recent discussion with a friend from another aimag (that's a state or province, if you forgot) got me thinking about it from a different perspective. In the winter, I had very little choice but to remain inside with the windows shut, shivering next to the radiator. Now that it's legitimately summer, I desperately want to go outside and do stuff. The summers we spent in Lawrence were legitimately the most fun I've had since I was about 12 – even on slow days I'd still probably get together with a friend and go frisbee golfing, or I could grab my bike and ride a trail, or go grab a drink or a bite to eat and sit outside in the shade of a tree (I miss trees), or go on a hike and listen to the sound of the wind in the trees (I MISS TREES), or drive out to the lake and spend a night or two with friends, or invite people over to play DnD or Catan or even just Super Monkeyball... I can do, quite literally, none of those things here, even though I have the same amount of free time. I could probably go for a hike, if I could find somewhere to do it and someone to get me there; it's not as if there are trails all over the place, or even large parks (a la Clinton Lake or Big Bone) we could go to. A friend of mine from back in Kansas just went on a bike trip called Peddler's Jamboree – though it poured rain for a good part of our trip when Emily and I went, I'd have given a lot to go with him this time.

Granted, we have a lot of things planned for the summer, including meeting up with that aforementioned friend for a camp in his soum (village), a trip to a lake with some Mongolian friends, and meeting with Emily's family a little later on, not to mention a surprise visit from a friend from back home. I'm excited for all of those things; irrationally excited, maybe. But right now? Stir craziness is even worse than it was in February.

I've also learned that the phrase “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” means more than just “act like they do”. In some ways, it means “think like they do”. My point above about short-sighted assumptions plays into this; just because America does it a certain way doesn't mean Mongolians do it that way, and expecting everyone to change to meet my way of doing things is only going to make me frustrated and alienated. And it's not enough just to “tolerate” the way Mongolians do things, at least not for a two-year stretch.

There are perils in that, of course, and that leads to another realization I've had: we Americans are every bit as hardworking as we think we are. Maybe even too hardworking, to the point of putting work ahead of our happiness, both collectively and individually. I think this is a very interesting discussion to be had, but as it's also a very long one, I don't want to get into it here (WSP, Matt?).

That's probably enough, yeah? I'll leave off here. Long story short: I learned a lot of things about myself.

Emily says: 

One whole year in Mongolia down. I'm very glad we didn't give up, but, as Eric has mentioned before, at times it has been very rough. I don't want to talk about how tough.

So, instead I'll talk about my main bright spot: our cat Tomato. Tomato is hands-down the best living cat. He is smart, adventurous, and cuddly. He likes to go hunt outside at night and every morning he is waiting outside our 3^rd floor door for breakfast and a safe place to sleep the day away. When he does stay inside at night he likes to sleep between our heads and purr incessantly. Recently, I started putting him around my shoulders. He likes it because he can see more things from up higher, no matter what Eric tells you. He loves to be loved, and is a source of comfort not only to us but also to our various site mates. But the most amazing thing about Tomato is that he answers to a whistle, even from the third floor balcony. I'm not great at whistling, but, luckily, Tomato also answers to his name. He makes me happy every day and I'll always be glad that we came here because of him.

I've been feeling a bit down lately, mostly for the reasons Eric details above. I'm looking forward to relaxing this summer and, hopefully, revamping for next school year. I know I haven't written a lot, but that's all I've got for you right now. I really miss all of our family and friends, trees, and the amount of comfort I took for granted in my surroundings at home. See you all in about a year.

Thanks for reading.