The motions

September 22, 2015

Eric wrote this

Just a quick one, today. Been getting colder around here, and will drop into the negatives (celsius, which translates to the about the 20s F). The mountains, which had initially had snow on them from about two weeks ago but which had since melted, are again snow-capped, and this time with a lot more snow. I hate cold as much as I ever have, but the upshot is that the hot water came back on. In one of those moments of synchronicity that really keep life interesting for me, I've started re-reading the Lord of the Rings series, and came across this song (altered to be about beer in the movie – the extended version of the Fellowship GETONMYLEVEL) which perfectly matches my opinion on the subject:

       Sing hey! for the bath at close of day

that washes the weary mud away!

A loon is he that will not sing:

O! Water Hot is a noble thing!

O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,

and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;

but better than rain or rippling streams

is Water Hot that smokes and steams.

O! Water cold we may pour at need

down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;

but better is Beer if drink we lack,

and Water Hot poured down the back.

O! Water is fair that leaps on high

in a fountain white beneath the sky;

but never did fountain sound so sweet

as splashing Hot Water with my feet!

Teaching is going well, I think. The students seem to like us, though the teenagers are pretty typical teenagers, for the most part (i.e., too cool for school or too hormonal to participate). I've set up two classes outside of my regular hours, one for the English teachers to prepare for an aimag-wide and national English test/competition, and another for the non-English teachers to improve their English and, perhaps, compete in the same Olympiad. The non-english teachers' class varies in attendance, but I've had at least six in all three so far. Usually it's more; as the last post (which was devastatingly under-read, sniff-sniff-whine-whine) attempted to demonstrate, time and punctuality work differently in this country. I've also just posted notice for individual and group tutoring at my school; I posted it earlier this morning, and as of 4 pm have had seven students sign up. Not a bad start at a trade school, I warrant.

Ummmm other than that? I dunno. Emily's school bought her a full-length, winter deel (pronounced dell) today, which I am jealous of. I'll need a coat for this winter, as the one I have simply can't compete with -40 (which, if you forgot, is the same in C and F). Emily bought a bottle of cognac, which is the only liquor one can get here that is not vodka (or scotch, but who can afford that?). We're both getting over a bit of a head cold, too; Grace (me mah-in-lah) (mother-in-law) bought me some hankies before I came here, and I went through no fewer than eight of them on the worst day. (I then had to wash them by hand, compounding the misery.) It was gross. (So was washing them.)

I cooked dinner last night (and the night before, if grilled cheese counts). I'm unaccountably proud of that. 

Mongolian time and liquid integration

September 13, 2015
Written by Eric

It never feels like you've done that much around here, until you've already done it. Emily and I have a fair amount of downtime right now as we settle in to our communities and respective teaching roles, and yet at times it feels like there's never enough time in the day to get everything done. I suppose that's not so different from anything else in life, really.

So, what have we been doing, then? I'll start with today and move backward: Emily's cooking skills continue to amaze me, as she's currently making an apple coffee cake to take to one of our new friend's apartment. Again, we've been asked to be vague as to names and specific traits, but suffice it to say that this person is also not Mongolian, and is doing volunteer work. She's offering us very good coffee, and Emily wanted to return the favor. [Update: the cake was delicious, and I don't even like cooked apples.]

Earlier today, we went to the market and got hold of a few necessities, mostly food. I had thought that today was supposed to get up to 28 degrees Celsius (just about 80 degrees F), but that's clearly not the case, as it's currently jacket weather, cloudy, and windy.

We've been making good with my college lately, in a few ways. First, I'm finally full-on into this job, teaching classes and designing lesson plans with my counterparts. Second, we spent Friday and Saturday at Lake Kyrgyz, a lake which is about a two-hour drive from Ulaangom. This was an object lesson in several respects, the most relevant being the reality of Mongolian time. We were originally supposed to leave at 2 to go to the lake, but one of my CPs said we'd more likely leave at 3. Em and I showed up at 230, and sat around until about 330, at which time we got on a bus. We pulled out of the parking lot at about 4 and stopped at a gas station, after which we turned around and went back to the college, and about ten or twelve more Mongolians boarded the bus. About fifteen minutes later, we pulled away again only to stop at a store across the street, where we parked (with the engine running, heightening my anticipation) for another ten to fifteen minutes. At last, around 430, we were on our way.

We experienced the beginning of our third object-lesson on the bus, which Em and I decided to describe as “liquid integration”. You can decide what that means; I will neither explicitly confirm nor deny those suspicions. Liquid integration continued on a much grander scale once we reached the lake. 

A quick aside – I was expecting that we were going to go to the much-closer, largest-in-the-country Lake Uvs (or Uvs Nuur), but it was not so. The two-hour bus ride was, therefore, also a surprise. I was also expecting that we would be sleeping outside camping style, but this was also not the case. We stayed at a 'tourist lodge' which included a main building with a kitchen and several meals, three large lodging houses -- which my group completely filled -- and a few guest gers. Emily and I stayed in the gers. 

We were awake and partying with them up until about 11ish, then pooped out and went to bed. When I woke up three hours later at about 2 am, they were still going. Okay, not too bad, I thought. People like to party; 2 or 3 am seems reasonable to me. But when I woke up at 630 am and the music was still going, I was a little more surprised. The next morning, I asked one of my CPs how late she had been up. She told me she had gone to bed at about 7 am (and woke up at about 830) after dancing all night. Some of the men had apparently neither gone to sleep nor stopped partying. I don't mean to pass judgment on Mongolians with this; I just thought it was impressive. I haven't stayed up that late in... hell, have I ever? I don't think I have. I don't think I'd even want to.

Anyway, the next day was quite nice – sunny and breezy. We hiked up a nearby mountain into a small canyon where it was so quiet you could hear dirt shifting, chit-chatted with a lot of people in Monglish (exactly what it sounds like), and tried to catch up on missed sleep. After breakfast, our understanding of Mongolian time expanded further: we asked one particularly friendly guy -- whose name we did not get, somehow -- when we would leave. He said at about 2 o'clock, after lunch, which would be at 1. When lunch hadn't started at 2, I asked one of my CPs when we would leave, to which she responded, “After dinner, probably 8 or 9.” Okay, roll with it. Of course, we ate dinner at 530, and ended up leaving at about 7, 715.

The party continued on the bus trip back; we were on the bus with mostly older folks, which we thought would be more sedate. It was not to be, prompting Emily to observe that in Mongolia, every bus is a party bus. They either sang, danced, or sang and danced the entire trip back. It would have been fine with me, had one person not taken it upon themselves to do that shrill, fingers-in-your-mouth whistle every minute or so. Oh, and they also played “Gimme Gimme Gimme” by Abba. Points in the negative column.

The whole thing was fun, though; we were the only people around for miles and miles. Once we got out of the city, in fact, it was sort of like driving out of Las Vegas, but more stark. If you've never driven into Vegas, what I mean is this: you're in the desert, you're in the desert, you're in the desert, there's nothing around and then BAM! There's Vegas. For this, it was two hours of nothing but herds of animals and the occasional ger, then BAM! Ulaangom. The lodge we stayed at was stand-alone; there was a gas station nearby, but nothing else within sight, even from the top of the hills /mountains behind it.

Other than that, things have been going pretty well. The power and water was off in the morning thre days in a row. Don't know why. The weather has been getting steadily cooler, though, which means soonish we will have hot water. I am, perhaps, unreasonably excited about that. We haven't seen our American friends much this past week, unfortunately, but we plan on making up for that in the coming week.

Coming soon: a lake trip with Emily's school and the first nights below freezing with no he

Purple Fanta and the first day of school

September 2, 2015

Purple Fanta is the best Fanta.

Yesterday marked the first day of school here in Mongoland and, consequently, Em's and my first day of work. We'll be walking to our respective schools (about 15 minutes for both of us), which I thought would be fairly common among most students. It is indeed common, to a certain degree, but there were a lot lot lot more people driving their kids to school than I expected; harried parents hunched over the wheel with a scared-looking child sitting in the front seat. It made me chuckle quietly to myself every time I saw it. 

There are probably six or seven schools in this city (maybe more, I only know of secondary schools and the college at which I work), and all of them exhibited a similar scene: kitschy children's music blaring out of loud speakers in front of the school to welcome the students in/back, parents of new students milling about looking both relieved (to have some peace and quiet) and a little angry (probably about the music), men in suits (usually directors and subdirectors; more on this in a moment) shaking people's hands, and well-dressed women of all ages who far outnumbered the men. Emily's and my respective schools held opening ceremonies featuring dancers, singers, and a couple of speeches. My school even has a theme song. Walking around the city and seeing all of the kids in their uniforms and hearing the music from virtually everywhere was a surreal experience.

After the opening ceremony Emily, who was prepared for a long day stretching into the evening hours, was told she could go home, and that she would be contacted the following day, which threw her off. I (Eric) actually experienced something similar, in that once the ceremony was over I sat in the teacher's room to make myself available for consultation, but everyone was so busy that I was little more than a bump on a log. The two CPs I had already met and gotten friendly with, and who I had followed around all morning during the ceremony as they introduced me to every hand-shaking member of the staff, were in meetings. I eventually set up a time to meet with my CPs in the afternoon following classes, and went home myself. Emily got a call from one of her CPs asking her to come back in at about 130, and I headed back to my school at about 2. Those follow-up meetings were far more productive.

A quick aside here which I hope doesn't land me in hot water: Mongolia is one of the countries in the Peace Corps which has been selected to be a flagship for the Let Girls Learn initiative spearheaded by First Lady Michelle Obama. This at first struck me as odd, considering the educational participation levels in this country demonstrate vastly more women and girls than men and boys. Indeed, it might be better named “Keep Boys in School” in Mongolia; the young men quickly get fed up with school and often drop out to tend a herd, work in a technical job -- being a drive is a particularly lucrative career here, and actually tends to pay more than being a teacher, which is... bad -- or working as some sort of agricultural laborer.

Nonetheless, the positions of power in this country are still overwhelmingly occupied by men. I suppose it's not that different from the United States in many respects, yet one would think that, with women being far more educated, there would be afforded more opportunities to be in positions of authority. This is not, however, the case. This complicates the message of Let Girls Learn a little bit; sexism is an international phenomenon, and creating a project which seeks to change that reality in this country would be overshooting, to say the least. Encouraging boys to stay in school is obviously a worthy goal, yet without some sort of consciousness-raising effort, its success might provide more of a justification to continue or even further exclude women from positions of authority. Or is it rather the case that education is anathema to the various isms, including sexism? Or is that too idealistic? I believe in the power of education, but this is an extremely difficult, precarious balancing act, rooted in so many maybes and possiblies that it's hard to even see the beam one walks on.

I dunno. Just the thoughts running through our heads, lately. If I could say nothing else for my time in the Peace Corps (which I can but, for the sake of brevity, won't), I can definitively say that it has opened my eyes to the simple fact that human beings are significantly more diverse in perspectives and cultures than I realized. Some norms that I took for granted as being universal having lived in a developed, Western, powerful, and diverse country simply aren't realities elsewhere, or even topics of conversation or debate.

Sigh. It feels kind of lame to end on that note, but it would feel lamer to go back to describing the rest of the week. I'll try anyway: we went to a birthday party for one of our fellow PCVs in her ger over the weekend, which was fun. She fed us pizza with basil leaves baked into the crust, and made crepes which we were able to slather with a French concoction called chestnut butter, which was tasty. We've established a weekly meeting with our CPs and other community members called “Monglish night”, the first instance of which happened at a nearby restaurant but will, this week, take place at our apartment (too expensive otherwise). We've been back to that sweet market I described, too. We met an emee (grandmother) working one of the vegetable stands who, when we first walked up, gave us an enthusiastic hello and offered us that traditional Mongolian vodka made from yogurt I described in an earlier post. She chatted amicably with us like you would expect any “I don't give a fuck” grandma to do (helped in her banter by what I assume was her daughter, a woman in her 40s), and gave us five or six free carrots after we bought two kilos of veggies. She was one of the first people in the whole market who did not immediately assume that we were Russian and attempt to speak to us in that same language, which I liked. We've made good friends with another of our colleagues who lives close enough that we could string a line between our two balconies in two apartment blocks, and made dinner with her a few times – burritos one night, pizza another, and cookies and cakes and whatnot. We get together every Saturday for board games and a few drinks, which is fun.

Only ten of you read my last post. Shame. 

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. 

Heading to site -- now with FOOTNOTES!

August 4, 2015

To begin, a special congratulations to Matt and Joce, and Taylor and Kelly on their respective weddings. We're extremely disappointed that we had to miss, but we will be around for many anniversaries and celebrations to come. Cheers to absent friends!

A lot has happened in the past two weeks, but I'll try to condense it as much as possible. First, Wilco came out with a new album. It's really, really good. You should give it a try if you're a fan of loud, noisy guitars and addictive hooks. I especially like “More...”.

Second, we had a big ol' picnic over the weekend. It was not without its controversy, especially in the planning stages. One of our Mongolian teachers and cultural facilitators made a lot of plans by him or herself with no consultation from virtually anyone else, and conscripted my host father into planning the whole thing. For example, this person told all of us to be ready to go at 6 a.m., but didn't show up until 6:40, claiming that that was when he or she said to be there. It wasn't. He or she also decided that it would end at 8 p.m. So, yeah.

Long story short, we went to a river, ate food, played volleyball, and drank Mongolian traditional vodka, which is apparently made from tarig, a Mongolian yogurt that is super tasty. The vodka is... well, it's... I didn't care for it. I got sunburned, and got to that special place where I was telling everyone I loved them. All things considered, it was nice.

More important, though: Emily came to visit this weekend! Granted, it was the last weekend before the final weekend (August 8 and 9), and she had to come with us to the picnic – which started at 6 and went until 8 – but we still had fun. She's a saint, that one.

This past week and this coming week (starting today, actually), I and several of my fellow PCTs traveled to Darkhan to plan a seminar for about 50 Mongolian English teachers. It gave us a chance to work directly with Mongolian teachers, which is apparently the main focus of our teaching endeavors. I neglected to mention this, but a big part of what we (the TEFL trainees) will do here is help to implement a new curriculum in Mongolia, transitioning from a Soviet style of education (lecture-based) to a more Western style with 'activities' and whatnot. Frankly, the activities bent is a bit out of my experience, and I don't necessarily agree with its effectiveness, especially on the University level. Nonetheless, Peace Corps people reading this blog, I am here to do a job, and I will do it with enthusiasm to the best of my ability. This is as censored as I can get on this one. 

It's confusing, I know. Even more so to me.

What else? Uhhhh mostly it's been studying language and teaching English classes and worrying about where we're going to live for the next two years (we still don't know). We all took what's called the “LPI” (Language Proficiency Indicator – I think I mentioned this in a previous post). The ranking system is fairly simple; novice, intermediate, advanced with each category broken into low, medium and high. Emily and I, for example, both achieved intermediate low, which is as high as anyone got (so far as we know). Most people got novice high, and the minimum to “pass” was the same. Suffice it to say that Emily and I are fairly pleased.

Everything is winding down, and it feels that way. We're excited to get to site, and that will likely be the next post we make. Until then, we send our love.

August 17, 2015

I hope you'll forgive me if this isn't the most interesting post; I want to get to everything, and my brain and body are wrecked from an illness yesterday.

At the moment of writing, I'm sitting in a college dormitory in Ulaanabator (UB) waiting for tomorrow, when Emily and I will fly out to our site, Uvs¹. A far-western aimag, Uvs is rich in natural beauty, sporting the largest lake in the country and a large portion of the Altai mountain range. It is also, apparently, one of the coldest aimags in the country, averaging -40 in late January/early February, already my favorite time of the year. It's also been one of the hardest-hit aimags where climate change is concerned, having demonstrated a 2 degrees Celsius increase since record keeping began ².

Em and I are very excited to live there – it wasn't where we were expecting to be placed, but we requested natural scenery, and knew we would be in a city. I'll be teaching at a college in the city and Emily at a secondary school, and we have both already met one of our counterparts (CP). The two of them speak very good English, and are very friendly, which is a relief. Uvs apparently also has reliable internet available, and we'll be living in a three-room apartment – with a refrigerator and a kitchen and running water and central heating! I suppose we lose a little bit of street cred for not having lived in a ger in -40 degree weather, but honestly, I'm okay with that. Emily seems to be, too.

We're in UB currently after having spent a few days going through more excruciating seminars in Darkhan, our training hub. This was after having said goodbye to our host families, but before being sworn in (which happened on the 15^th). Some of our colleagues stayed in Darkhan to travel to their sites, but most of us had to go to UB for more accessible travel arrangements. Emily and I are scheduled to fly out tomorrow, among the latest to depart, so from the 40-some Americans who were here, there are now something like 10 of us.

It's somewhat bittersweet to say goodbye to all of these people. Most of them are younger, and personally I have trouble making friends (a constant problem, as most of my friends and family already know). Nonetheless, these are mostly good people with their hearts and minds in the right place (even if one of them did use the not-at-all-a-word “irregardless” the other day). I feel privileged to have known them, and when Em and I complete our service, I'll feel honored to call myself a Returned PCV.

Yesterday was Emily's and my one-year anniversary, which is cool, except for my getting violently ill. Coming-out-of-both-ends ill. Still not feeling so hot, but it's better than it was. Regardless, my love for this woman has done nothing but grow, and the fact that we'll celebrate our first two anniversaries (possibly three, depending on our departure date) out of the country just reflects how lucky I am to have found her.

Swearing in was... nice. I don't know what else to say about that; it was a ceremony with a few speakers and some “cultural performances” including three speeches by some of my fellow PCVs – quick note, we're no longer PCTs, as in trainees, but PCVs, volunteers! – in Mongolian, a dance performed by one of the training groups, a song by a few other colleagues, and a stirring rendition of a traditional Mongolian song by one of the more vocally-gifted PCVs. The actual taking of the oath lasted, maybe, five minutes out of a total of about an hour and a half. Most of the rest of the time outside of the ceremony was taken up with photographs, some of which are already on Facebook.

A quick word about my host family: they were extraordinarily kind to me, and I'll never forget their hospitality, patience, and kindness. They were sad to see me go, and I was sad to leave them. They even gave me a mug with a picture of the five of us together³.

That said, Mongolian people are so unbelievably friendly and accommodating that it kind of became a burden, at times. I know, I know; this sounds like an interview response to that question where you're supposed to list your weaknesses but actually make them strengths, right? But seriously – constantly making sure that I'm eating, that I'm not bored or lonely, that I'm not sick, that I'm safe and sound, that I'm doing well in school, that I'm happy with the bed or the food or the country in general. It's a blessing to have someone watch out for you like that, but for my part, I've been on my own for years now, and the transition back to that sort of structured, controlled life was very jarring. 

What else? I don't know. Uh... yeah, I don't know. My brain is fried. Even Emily is passed out next to me, and it's only 3:15. We're looking forward to getting to site and getting to work, and I hope we can share some pictures with you soon. In the meantime, keep us in mind, and we'll do the same.

Oh, and Jaron and Matt and probably Alex: check out this band Haunted Windchimes if you don't already know them. A good song to start with is “Out with the Crow”.

1 You'll probably see me refer to this as “site” from here on out. I apologize for using jargon, but it becomes part of your vocabulary if you're exposed to it long enough,

2 Sorry, still no interwebs to give you a citation.

3Hilariously, Mongolian people absolutely refuse to smile in pictures. There were about ten pictures taken of the five of us, and in ONE of them, I sort of smirked instead of smiling. Sort of, as in the corners of my mouth were slightly upturned. That's the one they chose. They all look like they're angry about the whole thing.

July 23, 2015: Ulaanbaatar and the return to it all

I was tempted to write this entry like a travelogue, complete with vaguely dramatic phrases like, “We woke on the morning of such and such to begin our journey to which and what.” I think I'll forgo that, though, and try to give a more honest accounting.

So, I woke on the morning of July 18 (I think) at 6 a.m with the order to get to the school by 630 so that we could leave by 7. At 7:10, we left finally when the last of the people giving the order to show up at 630 actually showed up. In the interrim, the town was mostly occupied by dogs, as most people were not yet awake. One of my colleagues has a dog which he has nicknamed “Gooey”, and which is apparently very fond of him, as he followed said colleague to school, about a 20-minute walk. This and two other particularly brave dogs approached us for pets and whatever food they thought we had. As it turned out, a different colleague showed up with a roll of ham (something approaching pepperoni or a summer sausage, but without the spices) that he couldn't finish entirely by his onesy, and the dogs were duly rewarded for their bravery.

Anyway, we did end up leaving at about 10 after, and there began a blessedly uneventful 4-hour trip to the capital. I variously nodded off and read as the time slipped by. We rolled in to UB about 11ish.

The group of us, 14 from my city and I think 12 from Emily's, were split mostly by gender between two “guesthouses” (hostels) called Mongol steppe 1 and Mongol steppe 2. Emily and I were given our own room (with a double bed!) in Mongol steppe 1, an entirely female dorm with eight others sharing bunkbeds in the room adjacent to ours. To give an idea of what it was like: it was a third-floor walk up apartment crammed with four bunkbeds, a desk and a computer, a small kitchen which was, despite its size, well-stocked, and the double-bed room which Emily and I occupied. There was a small balcony – maybe four people could fit on it at once, if they were feeling adventurous.

The first day was loaded (as was the second, but we'll get to that). We started out with lunch at an Indian restaurant called “Namaste”. It was good, but not quite of the caliber of some of my favorite Indian restaurants back home, Guru notwithstanding. Also, it was expensive (by Mongolian standards), and the PC had given us very little in the way of walking-around money for such an expensive city.

After Namaste, a group of about seven or eight of us walked to Gandan Temple, which houses an enormous statue of Buddha which, for some reason, had four arms. My understanding of Buddhism and the Buddha has apparently been very limited, as I didn't know that the Buddha was revered as a god in the sense that his status as a man was open to interpretation among most Buddhists. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me, as religion is the most nuanced universal truth out there (little joke, that).

The visit raised an old debate in my mind concerning the nature of idols, religious community, and religion more generally. I suppose I'm an atheist, though what exactly that means in the face of my belief in what might be called the soul is somewhat difficult to reconcile (I manage it, somehow). It came down to this: bringing idols into it and allowing the worship of them pushes one toward an...

You know what? I like that you all are reading my blog. I suppose I'd rather not alienate anyone. If anyone's interested in a spirited back and forth about belief and religion, send me an e-mail.

The statue was quite large, and was surrounded on all sides by Buddhist prayer wheels – you spin the wheels and meditate on your prayer, and the wheel's motion sends your prayer to 'heaven'. Each time the wheel is spun, that prayer (and all the others attached to it) are repeated as many times as the wheel spins. At least, I think that's what the belief is.

The temple in which the statue was housed was very tall, probably four stories, though we only had access to the first. There were dozens of people filing in and out, all of whom seemed very respectful and genuinely reverent. The atmosphere was very quiet; shuffling feet and the sound of the wheels spinning while rain hammered the roof and thunder rumbled in the skies outside. Offerings of money were made to the images of hundreds of lamas covering the back and right-hand walls. The statue of Buddha sat in the center, looming large and illuminated by strategically placed lights.

The temple is located not in the heart of downtown, per se, but certainly in the heart of the city itself. I forgot to ask how old the place was, but I believe it's at least 200 years old. The entrance is set in such a way that, when you leave, you are staring into the mountains on the outskirts of UB which were, at the time I left, covered with fog. The deep saturation of colors brought on by the rain and the fog solidified the experience in a way which would not have been possible (for me) on a bright, hot, sunny day. We left with heavy minds, each thinking our own thoughts.

We headed back into the city proper. A long walk brought us to the State Department Store, which was so similar to an American shopping mall that it was almost uncomfortably uncanny. It felt like being back in the states – after weeks of people staring at me, possibly the only foreigner/American they've ever seen, it was a huge weight off of my shoulders to be casually ignored. I mean, the place even had a Cinnabon (two of them, in fact) and a cafe.

After that, my group waltzed to the Peace Corps office (ostensibly the reason for the trip in the first place). It was a nice place, complete with cold filtered water (a luxury here) and a pile of clothes and whatnot left behind by previous volunteers. I made out like a bandit with a pair of pants, a button-down shirt, two sweaters, and a comfortable winter coat. Oh, and a bunch of books which I am looking forward to reading.

On the way back to the hostel, we intersected with Emily's group, and I joined up with them for dinner at a Cuban restaurant. This was the first time I got to be with Emily (she and her group had gotten to UB before I and mine had), so the two of us were fairly elated. The food was excellent, the drinks were scintillating though expensive, and the company was pleasant (the other people in Emily's group). We spent the rest of the night together, although we were forced to split up after breakfast the next morning (waffles with gellato, donchaknow).

Having promised to meet my group at the Mongolian National Museum after breakfast, I duly walked in the wrong direction for at least 15 minutes before turning around, and was equally duly late getting to the museum. I remember walking down the street and thinking to myself, “Come on, just look for something you recognize,” at which point the words “Fuck you”, spray painted in red on the side of a building, leaped out at me. Just like home.

[This last bit was written later after having unintentionally inhaled an extreme amount of paint thinner fumes.]

I did, however, eventually turn around and head in the correct direction, and met up with the remainder of my group. We toured the museum, and headed back to the hotel to meet up with our mikr (microbus) back to site.

The journey back may have been the most interesting part: before we got even 10 minutes outside of UB, we were held up by a flooded road. A retaining wall had broken, and the water gushed onto the street. When we were eventually able to ford the breach, we had a wake behind us which threw waves up to the windows and roofs of the smaller cars around us. It was pretty wild.

During the crossing, however, the other mikr carrying the remainder of our group apparently got a lot of water in the engine, and it broke down no fewer than three times on the way back. This resulted in that mikr fusing with ours (thankfully with about ten minutes left in the drive), meaning that there were no fewer than 21 people in that mikr, driver included. There were, officially, seats for 12. There's a saying in Mongolia about transportation: how many people can fit in this car/mikr/bus/taxi? One more.

MORE TO COME LATER I AM TOO ZONKED TO CONTINUE. 

July so far

July 4, 2015

Well, this won't go up on the Fourth, but I have a long-running, personal tradition of writing a reflective essay on the state of the States every Fourth of July. Obviously, I'm not as up on the goings-on, but I still have opinions (dammit), and I'm happy to share them.

First, the things that make me sad, in brief:

The issue of money in politics continues to make elections a matter of voting against, rather than voting for. It doesn't seem to be changing any time soon, despite the best efforts of WolfPac and like-minded groups like Represent.us. This is a bi-partisan issue (perhaps the only true bi-partisan issue); nearly every one I've spoken to, even my hardcore conservative family members, believes that there is too much money in politics subverting the will of the people and democracy itself. You'd think the government would respond to it, in some way, but studies have demonstrated (sorry, no internet to link to the article) that politicians and legislators in this country respond to the interests of the wealthy far more often than those of the middle class, and only very rarely respond to those issues stressed by the poor. Is the problem awareness? Apathy? Lethargy? (On whose part?) Will 2016 be the year this becomes a major electoral issue?

Climate change continues unabated, though this year was a milestone of sorts: the last data I saw indicated that 2014 was the first year that the USA leveled off its emissions. While this is a huge step forward, keeping emissions at their current levels still poses unacceptable, society-altering warming. Though this is my pet cause, as it were, I'm growing discouraged. The dust storms in drought-ridden Mongolia have driven home that point – ten years ago, dust storms were extremely infrequent, an almost unknown occurrence. They were so infrequent, in fact, that Mongolians don't have a word for it; my host family said there's a phrase which identifies a dust storm as being “when the Earth meets the sky.” Since I've been here, I've seen at least 10, including one today. Suffice it to say, I am not optimistic. (Update: there was another dust storm today, July 6.. The high winds exacerbated a fire that was started by lightning strike in a nearby wheat field.)

That last one is just as much about America as it is about... well, everywhere else. I guess it'd be nice to focus on something good, though, which is actually pretty easy: the Peace Corps. These are intelligent, dedicated, creative people giving their time and talents to represent their country and make some small stab at bettering the state of humanity The way I see it, the Peace Corps is spreading America's inherent advantages in education and expertise around the world. I hope that doesn't sound pretentious, but these are largely circumstantial advantages – the fact that we all grew up speaking English, the language of international business, or that we grew up in a totally uncontested military hegemon – one which, by the way, has not and did not follow the path of previous military giants in conquering the known world. If one factors geography and climate into the equation, it becomes even more a product of circumstance, and luck.

I find a great deal to be proud of as an American, especially from the outside looking in. I've learned quite a lot about life from my short time in Mongolia already, and expect to be a... not a changed man, exactly, but different man, if you know what I mean. If not? Well, that makes at least two of us. By way of explanation, though, I'll say this: it is endlessly fascinating to me that I am able to maintain a more optimistic view of my country from the outside than I was when I was still in it. Granted, optimism in my case doesn't mean terribly much, but still.

July 10, 2015: Naadam

I am by no means the first to notice this, but I don't think it's a coincidence that “fried egg” and “Friday” sound similar, and that most people tend to check out mentally on the ultimate weekday.

Today, Emily and I (and the 70-some odd others who've joined up) were given an exam of sorts called a “Mock LPI”. The LPI stands for, I think, Language Proficiency Index, a means by which we are gauged at our level of language acquisition. I have no idea how I did; there are verb endings and similar-sounding words that bedevil me no matter how often I memorize them, but I suppose it all comes with time. [Update: I did okay, apparently. My pronunciation is good, but my listening comprehension is very poor if I haven't studied the phrases used in class.]

Yesterday, my site and Emily's met together (at hers) to celebrate the Mongolian national holiday Naadam. As the main event of the summer (so to speak) it's an opportunity to eat hoshur (a kind of fried meat pocket that puts Hot Pockets to shame) and to watch the three “manly” sports: wrestling, archery, and horse racing. Emily and I took it as an opportunity to cheat the system that separated us, and spent the entire day together, looking quite spiffy in our deels (pronounced dell, sort of), a traditional Mongolian outfit. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have been unable to take any photos due to the loss of my phone, but once Emily and I are reunited around mid-August, we'll hopefully be able to upload some pictures from her camera.

Aside from a bit too much sun on our faces and a layer of dust on our exposed skin (dust kicked up by thousands of feet, hooves, and tires and carried by a consistent, strong wind), Naadam was a lot of fun. When my group arrived, we strode (all 14 of us) into the celebratory area around the stadium (where the wrestling bouts take place) and were greeted by enthusiastic and extremely amused Mongolians. I suppose it was mocking, but of a gentle sort; the fact that we're taking the time to integrate, and especially the fact that we speak a little bit of Mongolian, left any Mongolians we interacted with quite pleased. Shortly after our arrival, we were invited into the Mayor's ger for a brief meet-and-greet. Throughout the day, we wandered around the various vendors, and ate hushur, ice cream, and a pork kebab which included enormous chunks of fat that were actually not bad. I should stress: these were chunks of fat, not chunks of fat and meat. Most of the rest of the time, we watched wrestling.

Mongolian wrestling is a highly ritualized thing. After slapping their thighs, backsides, then thighs again, the wrestlers trot out to a waiting officiant who inspects their outfit to ensure everything is in order. The outfit itself is essentially a Speedo-like bottom, a top that covers their arms, shoulders and upper backs, which is tied with a rope knot around their torsos, and a rounded, pointed hat with no bill. The official removes the wrestler's hat for him, and he presents himself to the crowd, then awaits his opponent. (A quick note: I'm using “he him and his” as opposed to a gender-neutral term because wrestling here is not gender neutral – all wrestlers are male.) The object is to throw your opponent to the ground; if they land on hands or feet, the match continues, but anything else ends it. Think of it like a runner or receiver in American football – a knee or forearm hits the ground, and the runner is ruled “down”. Whoever hits the ground first loses. The winner and loser then walk past each other and give a convivial slap on the ass. The loser receives his hat back and must put it on himself. The winner has hit hat replaced by the official, presents himself again to the audience, receives something as a pittance to distribute to fellow wrestlers and those watching, and the whole thing begins again with new wrestlers.

It was really fun to watch. The wrestlers were divided into young and old (old being, maybe, mid-40s), though size difference was clearly not taken into consideration. All were in good physical condition and very strong, but some were much bigger. I later asked my host father about this, as when we were watching bouts at the national Naadam there were pictures and videos from older matches in which all of the wrestlers were much thinner. He explained it as a function of diet; there's simply far more available to eat in Mongolia now with a higher caloric value than there ever has been before.

I should also mention that Naadam takes place over a few weeks, and some soums (towns) celebrate at different times. My host city, for instance, celebrated on July 3^rd and 4^th, where Emily's celebrated on the 9^th, and the national Naadam celebrations take place from the 11^th -14^th.

In other news: I have eaten giddis (innards), I have drunk airag (fermented mare's milk – very sour and hardly intoxicating), and have meditated on top of a mountain. We got a fair bit of rain two days ago, but the parched ground sucked it all up. We had another dust storm today, though blessedly short and relatively mild.

Oh, almost forgot: to corroborate my earlier point (from a different post) about the Soviet predilection for stone sculptures and central squares, I want to point out that the main park in my city is dotted with odd-looking sculptures of various animals; there's a camel, a snake, a panda, a dinosaur (brontosaurus, I think), a few lions, some eagles, etc. Many of these are are crumbling, and the paint, though it seems to have been refreshed at some point, is fading. This gives them an oddly sinister look in the right light, as if their decaying faces were reproachfully glaring at the fleshy meat-sacks (humans) who weren't supposed to outlive them.

Also: there are three clusters of apartment buildings in my city, all built in a square formation with a central “communal” area in the middle. The school itself is structured similarly; though it is one solid building and not nearly as big, it features a breezeway to the main entrance which is set on a largely empty stone courtyard. Very near to the school is a “main square” in front of a government building, another open, concrete space. I'm trying to think of something to compare it to in either Kentucky or Kansas, but nothing's coming to mind. Maybe the campus at NKU? Maybe?

It's been a while since I've seen a vegetable that wasn't a potato. The diet here consists of a bare minimum of 85% meat. Granted, I made that statistic up on the spot, but if someone took the time to conduct the study, I think my prediction would be near the mark. Occasionally carrots work their way into the mix, and I eat a fair amount of eggs and bread, but every every every meal has meat in it. I'm considering a vegetarian diet for the first few months at site – it seems likely that Emily and I will be placed in a city, which typically has good access to vegetables. I hope I hope I hope. If not, it's a definite vegetarian lifestyle when we get back to the States. For, like, a year. Just to allow my stomach some time off. Near-constant irritable bowel syndrome, over here.

I'll leave you with that thought. And the fact that I live without running water.

July 17, 2015: Pros and Cons

Well, we lost a few people to the rigors of the Peace Corps, and even a higher up in the organization whose resignation was somewhat sudden. I won't share names; for one thing, you wouldn't know who they were anyway, and for another it's just bad policy. No need to call out people who are obviously already dealing with a lot.

Peace Corps is not an easy thing to do. We're away from home, from friends, from the comforts we spent our entire lives enjoying, in a different country where a massive language barrier denies you access to your usual means of forming relationships. You're trying to learn the language while maintaining a relationship with your host family, your fellow Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs), your Language and Cultural Facilitators (LCFs) and, in Emily's and my case, with your spouse who lives in another city for ten weeks. There's constant threat of illness, especially of the GI variety, and you're not allowed to keep pets, no matter how cute they are. (If you're wondering, we are discouraged from keeping pets while we're at site – the main portion of our time here – and forbidden while we're in training. Mongolians simply don't keep pets unless they serve a purpose; a cat exists to kill mice, a dog to warn against criminals and intruders of all sorts, a horse to ride, and most everything else is to eat or milk.) I have yet to eat a meal that didn't include boiled meat, and have eaten three eggs for breakfast almost every day since I've been with my host family. This is all not to mention the lack of running water, which means outhouses for “waste disposal” and no hot showers. There is also no such thing as a garbage dump, here. Near as I can tell, trash is either left to rot wherever it falls, or burned.

On the other hand, the people here are tremendously hospitable. My host family bought me a traditional Mongolian garment called a deel (pronounced dell) shirt, and are planning on buying me another, full-length deel before I leave. This is after having known me for 6 weeks. After our trip for Naadam, I can confidently say that all other PCVs I've seen have been treated to the same. I am included in the family; my brothers call me brother, my host father calls me his “big son”, and my host mother constantly frets about whether I'm eating enough. Last weekend, my host family agreed to allow me to have a few friends over two nights in a row – the first night, they showed up with extra beer and snacks for a crowd of about 10 Americans, and the second night, they let four friends stay the night, and fed them in the morning. One particularly hung over friend even got treated to an impromptu shower. Host community members who have never even met us frequently come in to the classroom to help us practice speaking and listening in Mongolian.

I'm atrocious at both listening and speaking, by the way. I'm putting in the effort, I really am – I make flashcards of the various words I've learned and try to memorize the verb and noun cases and concurrent endings. Frankly, though, there's just so much to do at all times that the best I can usually manage is to pick up a few new words which I can read and write but absolutely cannot understand when spoken. The various forms of the vowel sound “O” are absolutely maddening, and I constantly get them wrong.

To summarize, it's not hard to believe that some people decided that the Peace Corps wasn't for them, but it's equally plausible to believe that every single one of us will make it through the full two years.

That's all for today. Thanks for reading. We miss you terribly.

July 20, 2015: Ulaanbaatar trip

I haven't written this one yet.