There are indeed two posts in this post, the first being the "after Bali" post I'd written and subsequently forgotten to post about a month ago, the second being one I've just written. Then, as always, a bunch of pictures.
March 15, 2017
Bali was wonderful. Supernatural. Sublime. Divine. Blissful. Heavenly.
There are some pictures down below to attest to that; two weeks of sun, warmth, beauty, adventure, and life.
For my part, the trip was also a chance to clean out my head, and to let go of the non-stop state of tension and unease that I'd been feeling. I did a lot of writing, a lot of reading, and a lot of thinking. One of the things about which I thought was this pervasive unhappiness, and why it had been so quickly banished when we got to Bali. I remember the moment it happened, too: we had gotten in late on our first night and went straight from the airport to sleep, but the next morning we woke up a bit later and went to breakfast at our hotel(-ish thing). They had set out three tables in their grassy, sun-bathed garden, which was just outside the awning for their 'office', which was really just a table our host liked to sit at while he ran numbers and gave orders to his staff. We sat down at the table nearest the small office and ordered breakfast; eggs and coffee for me, pancakes and tea for Emily. They brought out the drinks first -- I took my first sip of Bali coffee, and I melted.
Mongolia is, as we've mentioned, quite a cold place. I've come to understand that, especially when you're unused to this kind of weather, the cold can freeze you in certain ways, even when you're inside next to the radiator or the fire. In my case, it was my... not sense of self, exactly, but rather my sense of engagement with the outside world. Perhaps, then, the opposite of a sense of self; I had lost my ability to empathize, to some degree. But when I took that sip of coffee, even with the sweat pouring off of me as my body adjusted to a literal shift of 100 degrees (Fahrenheit), everything came rushing back.
Trees and bamboo covered up the walls that made the courtyard, which were probably ten feet high. Two trees of similar height near our table were nonetheless lush, and played home to happily-chirping birds. There was a swarm of some small insects hovering just above the grass -- you know the ones, the white bugs that must be flies of some sort, but you usually don't see them until it's too late and one's in your nose. I must have stared at them for a good ten minutes, just watching. A breeze rolled through like a sigh. It was heaven. How could you possibly be stressed in that kind of a setting?
So, that was my moment of decompression, the moment when the ice ceased to be. This is not to say that Mongolia has nothing to offer in terms of natural beauty; the reality is quite the opposite when it's not winter.
I think I'll leave it here: it was a much-needed vacation. We'll have stories to tell when we get home: come have a coffee, tea, or beer with us.
April 14, 2017
There's a facet of living in Mongolia that I still haven't quite gotten my head around. Change is constant and noticeable, even in the depths of winter; for example, changing from -20 to -40, or the recent days-long flooding of the city caused by snow melt (see the pictures below), or the surprisingly invigorating fact that it is now above freezing at night. Yet despite Mongolia's mercurial climate, it somehow never feels like anything has changed.
I can't quite divine whether this perspective is the result of, first, some sort of subliminal comparison of the pace of change in Mongolia to the US, or if I'm stuck thinking about things due to idleness, or if I'm just chronically disappointed and therefore nothing is good enough.
I hope it's not the last option, though I admit it's a possibility. The first is somewhat likely, though in a subtler way than I think I even realize (more on that in a moment). The second is probably the most correct answer, as I have alarmingly little to do, which results in a lot of time sitting around daydreaming about the future.
To that second point, though: Mongolia actually is changing incredibly rapidly, and in ways that are often hard to miss. I've seen this in my teaching students directly, in working with my counterparts, and maybe most noticeably in my advising sessions -- yes, I know it's only been two years, but the perspectives of my students seem to be shifting. They've started believing they can do more than be drivers or herders.
To further illustrate: Emily and I met a couple who had served in the Peace Corps in our city back in 2004, and we swapped stories about living in Ulaangom. It's not quite sufficient to say that they had a decidedly different and more difficult experience: electricity for two hours a day (which was tied to running water); no central heating, which meant coal-fires in stoves inside their apartment; two fires that were not at all intentional; an airport that I can see from my apartment and had a dirt runway; a three-day mikr (microbus) ride to the capital with twenty of your closest friends; 56k dial-up internet accessible only at the post office. Add to that the lack of other modern conveniences like an e-reader or smart phones, and you can't help but be impressed not only by the grit of those previous volunteers, but the blistering pace of advancement Mongolia has experienced since then.
And yet, I am an American: if it's not instantaneous, it's slow. Just trying to follow what's going on in politics Stateside has felt like self-flagellation, not to mention trying to keep up with cultural happenings or technological advancements (have you heard about CRISPR? or augmented reality? or that Tesla is now the most valuable car company in the US?).
In the end, the point is this: perspective is important. Emily and I have talked to some of you back home recently and may have seemed (in my case just 'was') unhappy or exasperated. To a large extent, we are; there's no point denying it. But we're trying to keep things in perspective.
Part one: BALI!
On our way back across the island to catch our plane, we stopped at this road-side place and had a meal with a view. That's Batur, a volcano on the island.
Lord Ganesh. This wasn't some widely-known tourist attraction of a statue, by the way. This was just sort of near our hotel.
The walkway near our bungalow at the second hotelish thing.
Emily fixing her hair before we went to get dinner.
Emily being cute. This was a stop on our way to the second place, about halfway through.
I should mention that these are not all of the pictures we took, not by a long shot. You'll just have to wait until we get home to see the rest.
BACK TO MONGOLIA!
My totally professional challenge to Alex Rymarquis: the lakes of Ulaangom series.
For some reason I can't get the spacing right on these, so they may come out looking a little wonky. Apologies if they do.
Just outside of our apartment
Near our apartment, across the street. This one took the longest to dry up.
On my walk to school.
Walk to school. This was the deepest, I think.
This one was the largest by surface, we think.
This one is just outside my college (the white building in the background).
A smaller one, but still impressive.
I take it back: this was the deepest one, and possibly the biggest, as there's a lot more under the snow.
This one is actually the river outside of the city, and features Emily posing regally.
This last one is in the hills above the city, nearer Uvs Lake. We took a trip out here with some friends from out of town and got stuck in the mud here. It was just dry enough, however, for a few holes of golf (with a four-iron, a driver, and a shovel to dig the hole).
