October Happenings

As October has left, so have the leaves on the few trees lining the streets of Baganuur. Now, ice covers the sidewalks where children slide to school. I have been busy this month. For a week, I went to daily acupuncture sessions at the hospital in hopes of quelling the migraines that plague me. After following the smell of tea, I arrived in the alternative medicine wing where my doctor manipulated ten small needles in various pressure points. Then, small cups were suctioned to my back with a hand pump and moved around to increase circulation in a practice fittingly called cupping. I was also told to not touch cold things. Good to know. No word on the effectiveness yet, but the sessions let me get some relaxation, at least.

A poster my 9th grader drew: Alcohol as a Magnet

October was also the proud parent of Alcohol Awareness Week—a nation-wide outreach project to educate the population on the risks that can accompany the country’s dangerous affair with overconsumption. The theme of this year’s campaign was “peer pressure,” aptly chosen, considering the cultural customs that surround drinking here make it very difficult to turn down alcohol when it’s offered, as doing so can be viewed as offensive. I’m also highly suspicious that there is an old wives’ tale that Mongolian vodka has a one-hour shelf life—that it will go bad if you do not finish the bottle once you open it. Or so people seem to believe. For this year’s activities, my sitemates and I involved our police department, our children’s center, and even our governor’s office. We held a competition between the two main school complexes in my town.

The Man Who
Wanted to be
as Strong as a Wolf

Fetal Alcohol
Syndrome

Each school selected winning posters from 9^th grade that fit the theme, a winning AXA (ah ha) team from 10^th grade, and two winning ACK (ask) teams from 11^th grade to compete against the winners from the other school complex. Enter note on Mongolian competitive nature: Mongolians are competitive. A few weeks ago, my teachers drafted me to play in a volleyball tournament that started at 7 pm on a Tuesday night. Our team took first place and the 100,000,000 Tugrik prize around 12:30 in the morning. However, the tournament victory was not enough, because it was at this point when we started playing side games for funsies. On a school night. After over 5 hours. C’mon. Anyway, we knew the kids would be all for the competition. We held the event at our town’s culture center, and it started only an hour after it was supposed to. Not too bad. AXA is a game show-type activity where students have to answer questions on stage and if they get one wrong, they have to remove one of three sticky stars they have placed on their chests (humiliating for a Mongolian who prides awards and recognition of success, trust me, but they adore AXA). 

All of the ACK teams

An ACK skit

ACK is a performance competition. Students create skits on the theme, and have to make a team name and introduction, and also have to answer questions from a panel. It is quite the production, and it was really neat to watch. Though I couldn’t understand all of the skits, they were quite dramatic and really portrayed how much alcohol has affected the lives of some of these kids. After all was said and done, winners were picked and prizes were awarded. More importantly, certificates were bestowed that will be filed away in students’ book o’ certificates that they undoubtedly have at home and that documents every success they have ever achieved. Certificates are no joke here.

pizza!

okonomiyaki!

After we wrapped up Alcohol Awareness Week, we threw a Halloween party for our friends here who are other volunteers from Japan and Korea, as well as a few co-workers. Our party was their first interaction with Halloween, so we did our best to make it authentic. We told them to come in costume, and they did a great job. I fashioned a robot get-up from old care packages that was stellar at masking my lack of creativity when it came to dance moves. We made pizza and our Japanese friends brought an assortment of their own delicacies. We had candy and drinks and even a pie. We made good use of the spigot half of one of our water filters to make a punch bowl for “pink drink” (too reminiscent of Pepto-Bismol for comfort) and kept everything else cold in our bathing tumpins using snow we gathered outside (genius). We had a very successful night indeed.

Now as October has wrapped up, I realize that I have been in Mongolia for 5 months. Moreover, I have almost been at my permanent site longer than I was at my training site, a new milestone in itself. Each day, the time I spent in Orkhon learning Mongolian, growing to love my host family, herding cows, making friends, climbing mountains, swimming in the river, and soaking up the sun feel more distant, especially as a permanent cloud of grey swallows the impending winter sky. Still, I have fond memories of the days in the heat, and after each phone call with my host mom, I daydream of returning to visit.

Counting My Blessings

It has been over 4 months since I moved to Mongolia, and life feels normal. Still, every now and then, like yesterday when walking home from the shady, underground market after finding celery (celery!) as the sun was setting and the cool night air was claiming the ground, I become consumed by a feeling of overwhelming fortune. How fortunate am I to have the experience to share myself with people across the world, and in return be taught so much about different ways of life? I am calling the most sparsely populated country in the world my home and the people I meet here my friends. It is baffling, a word that I recently taught my teachers to describe the pronunciation rules in the English language, but that completely applies to my incapability to fully explain how it feels to be here each day.

As if that wasn't enough, my friends and family have found ways to shower me with love and thoughts though I'm an ocean away. I have received care packages from my mom, my best friend, and my uncle, aunt, and grandmother. I feel so special when I receive them, knowing they put so much thought into sending it. I like imagining picking up things at the store, thinking, surely Sara needs this, then laying out the contents on their kitchen table, on their apartment floor, and trying to maneuver a way for it all to fit. And though these are just things, the reception of them is no less significant. Not to mention, I have discovered a list of things it only takes 4 months to start missing. Included: peanut butter m&ms, popcorn, hot sauce, cinnamon, trail mix, velveeta, and of course, the unfortunately unshippable avocado. I can now actually cook more than plain rice for every meal. I can make things spicy! I can have a snack between meals that doesn't consist of боов (pastry-type bread). I can fashion a movie night complete with candy from home. I can color pictures in preparation for the holidays. I hope that these things don't sound too mundane, because they really have meant so much to me, and I cannot thank my gracious senders enough for the time, effort, thought, and money that went in to sending these treasures my way.

In end, I guess you could say that getting amazing care packages has made my Mongolian life cushier. Still, I am still incredibly thankful to be able to emerge from the shady, underground vegetable and meat market with newly purchased celery feeling inspired and comforted by the breeze that greets me.

For your reading enjoyment

Found this article on Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia's capital, published by National Geographic.

"The Urban Clan of Genghis Khan: An influx of nomads has turned the Mongolian capital upside down."

Манзушир Хийд

At Chinggis Khaan's
Memorial

A couple weekends ago, I went on a trip to Manzushir Khiid with the teachers from my school. We planned to leave from the school at 7 a.m., so of course we left around 8:30. It was a very cold day, and I dressed appropriately in three pairs of pants and three tops and a jacket. I even brought along my hat and gloves. My teachers also dressed warmly, but had a better idea of how to beat the cold. About thirty minutes into our meeker (microbus) ride there, the first bottle of vodka was opened and passed around in shot form, along with watermelon halves that had just been sliced in the car with a pocket knife. I’d like to inform you that at this point in the trip, we were off the main road and barreling down dusty, mountainous trails. What better time for a watermelon and shot fiesta?

Preparing the khorkhug

Pouring airag
(fermented mare's milk)

Outside of our ger

When we arrived at Khiid, we secured a ger for the day. Once inside, my male teachers, Batsukh, Altansukh, and Battogtokh began to make a fire while the female teachers organized a vast array of food on the only table. Once the fire was going, the men balanced a khorkhug container atop the wood-burning stove. Khorkhug is probably one of my favorite Mongolian delicacies, and it consists of a goat or sheep whose parts have been pressure-cooked in a giant metal milk jug-like container with water, potatoes, and carrots. I find the flavor and texture of the meat cooked in this style to be reminiscent of a nice roast. The khorkhug cooked as we munched down on ham, pickles, pickled salad, boov (small pastry-like bread nuggets), and homemade jam from mountain berries (which phenomenally tastes like blackberry jam and which I hope to bake with at some point, should I ever find an available oven).

After our khorkhug feast, we explored the grounds of Manzushir, a monestary that remains today in rubble after it was torn down in the 1930’s by the Soviets. We went to a museum full of taxidermied animals and then began our hike up one of the mountains surrounding the remains. The scenery at Manzushir is indescribable, and I’ve been assured that it is even more beautiful in the summertime. We climbed to the first of three protected overlooks that was built to protect very old carvings in the mountain. When standing on the small ledge in front of the carvings, one became aware of just how steep the trek was up the mountain, for the overlook rested on a bald-faced edge

among scattered rocks that had surely fallen from up above. In the second over-hang, we stopped to all simultaneously shout across the vastness which lay before us. Our combined voices carried over the rubble and through the valley on the other side. When we finished our unison yelling, one of my counterparts looked over at me and asked, “Could you feel the energy?” Her simple question summed up what that moment of yelling was: all of us throwing our voices across the scenery to see how far we could make it together, and ultimately, to be reminded of how small we stood amongst the mountains when the voices stopped and were engulfed by the sound of the wind.

The third overlook rested beside a tree covered in khadug, a traditional scarf (typically blue) which plays an important role in Mongolian culture. Adapted from Tibet, the bright blue of the scarf symbolizes the expansive Mongolian sky, and the giving of a khadug symbolizes compassion and purity of intentions. For example, when a man proposed to a woman, he will give a khadug to her father. Likewise, when I arrived in Mongolia, I was presented one for well wishes and the start of a good relationship. I was told that the tree dressed in these colorful scarves was a “wish tree,” and observed one by one as each of my counterparts and friends whispered their hopes among the branches.

Our climb down was only slightly less than terrifying. The steep face and numerous pebbles made finding secure footing difficult, but we all made it down just fine. Once back on the ground, we returned to our ger to rest for a bit and sing some songs. At around 6 p.m., I was invited over to the school management’s ger with the rest of our faculty for an “opening ceremony.” Confused at why the “opening ceremony” was happening so late in the day when I was already exhausted was beyond me, but I went anyway. Once there, the teachers from my school formed a huge circle and sang the Mongolian version of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” Friends were laughing and dancing and vodka was being toasted. From the ceremony, we headed back to the ger to warm up before heading home. As predicted, this warming-up consisted of more drinking and singing.

All the teachers at "Opening Ceremony"

The Foreign Language Dept.

As the night ended, we headed back to our meeker. An impromptu dance party broke out after I had taken a seat inside, and my teachers came to drag me from the car to join in the middle-of-the-path get down. Finally, it was time to leave. I cannot quantify how long we were on the road on the way home. The trip was dark and disorienting, and the “road” was as bumpy as I remember it on our trip in. The only number I can measure this trip in is the three bottles of vodka we stopped separately to buy on our return home. Yes, three. In the meeker. On the dark, dark road. My counterparts spent the entire ride (I mean the entire ride) singing songs. At one point, a competition was held between the front half of the meeker and the back to see who could sing the most songs without repeating any. About 4 hours later when we arrived home, no song had been repeated, and the teachers began a tune about Baganuur (my town) which I could not have been more happy to hear. I was dropped off at nearly 1 a.m. right beside my apartment. The short walk home was bitter cold, but I couldn’t have been happier to see my warm bed.

Mongolia: The Texas of Asia

I ran across this NPR article while "working." I thought some of you might find it interesting.

NPR: Welcome to Mongolia, the Texas of Asia

Classes Begin

I had my first class for my intermediate level English teachers. We learned modals (may, might, can, can't, couldn't). I learned that I'll be going somewhere out of town this weekend with the teachers from my school for a sort of back-to-school retreat. Immediately after being told this, my primary counterpart, Altansarnai added, "I think after tomorrow will be snow." Wonderful.

Yesterday, however, was a beautiful day. I know there are few of those left, so I went vegetable shopping in athletic pants and a t-shirt while the sun was still out. Yesterday was also the 10th anniversary of September 11th. I talked with some friends about where we were that day. It was strange to reminisce now as a teacher the way my teachers at the time remained so calm at school that day. I'm not sure that I would know what to do in their position. The day has come and gone and not much else was mentioned. I'm sure there are all sorts of memorials being aired on tv in the States, but here, it was a Sunday as usual. Sunday - Бүтэн сайн өдөр : Whole good day. I washed clothes in my bathtub (far superior to түмпүн washing, I might add) and made stir fry with the brown rice I found. Sometimes, my days are very normal.


Tonight, I'll teach a lesson on lesson planning. Until then, I have a free day. Each of my teachers was just given a gift bag with a carton of milk, matches, and something else that I can't see. I was told that it is tradition to collect money for a teacher when a member of her family dies, and in turn, that teacher later gives symbolic gifts to the contributors. Milk is very important and symbolic here, while the matches are more spiritually symbolic of the departed soul. Day by day, I am learning more about the culture that now engulfs me. I'll try to explain more customs as I remember them or as they come up.

The past month has been very busy. I moved from my summer home in Orkhon to Baganuur, a district of the capital city, Ulaanbaatar. Baganuur has a population of around 25,000 and is located about 2 hours east of UB.

Ээж, Одко, Ме, Одмаа, Аав 

On August 19^th (my birthday), I was sworn in by the US Ambassador as an official Peace Corps Volunteer. Accompanying the ceremony were many performances of our attempts at Mongolian dance, music, and song from my fellow trainees and I. I sang a popular song as a friend played along on guitar. After the ceremony, we had a reception and many of our host families came. Immediately after that, we went back to the dorm where we were staying in Darkhan and packed our things to move to our respective sites.

My family saw me off with flowers, chocolates, a birthday cake, and plenty of hugs and kisses. I was even given watermelon by another family that I was close with in the community who hosted a friend of mine. So with all of my baggage, the water filter, wash bucket, medical kit, and sleeping bag that PC had given me, and my newly acquired watermelon, cake, and candies, I loaded the bus for UB. Since there are only two main roads in the entire country, most travel has to occur by first going to the capital, and then continuing on to your destination. So most of us spent a few nights in UB before moving to our permanent sites. Once loaded, our buses left the dorm. My language teacher and friend, Tumee, brought me a bottle of water and handed it to me through the window as we rolled away, along with letters from home and birthday cards from my brother, Mom, and Mammaw. We waved goodbye and headed off. No one chased our bus, flinging milk towards the sky as they had done when we left Orkhon to wish us safe and prosperous travels, but we were moving nonetheless.

Орхон Trainees

Tvmээ and I

I stayed one night in UB. I went to dinner with friends from my training site and with some volunteers who were in the city to show us around. We went to an Irish pub where I had a stew with a pastry on top and a salad. It was incredible. Later, we went to a party that one of the current PCV’s was having for all the newly sworn in volunteers at a dance club. Concluding possibly the busiest birthday I’ve ever had, I headed back to the dorm where I would stay for the night before moving to my new home the next morning.

Today marks 3 weeks since my arrival in Baganuur. I live in a 4^th floor one-room apartment very near to my school. I have running hot water and electricity. Since my city is large, I can find many products and produce that I haven’t seen all summer. Last week, I bought bananas. Today, I found a Dr. Pepper. Still, I am adjusting to things vastly new and foreign to me even though it’s my 4^th month in country.

Take for example, the weather. On September 6^th, we had our first snowfall. I awoke to snow still clinging to the mountains in the distance, though it had already melted from the ground. The temperature since then has often dipped below freezing, and today is the first day it has been out of the fifties. The sun is shining brightly and the sky is cloudless. I actually have my windows open as I sit at my kitchen table typing this post. Last night, however, I woke up at 3 freezing to put on another layer of clothes and turn on my space heater. Unpredictable. The heat in my apartment will be turned on next Thursday.

I spend my free time here reading and watching movies and tv shows. I just got internet in my apartment via a USB modem, and have already been able to Skype home. I work at a school complex, but I work primarily with teachers. After administering an assessment last week, I divided my 25 counterparts into 3 levels. I’ll teach intermediate English on Mondays and advanced English on Wednesdays. I hold office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays to help my teachers lesson plan effectively. On Fridays, I have a special class of 9^th graders. They are selected students who excel in English, and the class will focus on listening and speaking activities. I’ll also start a beginning class for the teachers I work with who know no English, and I’ll leave it open for other teachers in the school to join as well.

I’ve met great people here. I work with great, motivated teachers who treat me as a friend. I have two other sitemates who I get together with occasionally to make tacos, pasta, chili, or whatever else we are craving. I was even invited to vacation with the family of one of my teachers in the summer. She said that I need to go sightseeing, and that I should come with her family and be shown around.

I am getting used to my new life in Baganuur. Days pass easier now that I have made my schedule. I am a really lucky girl with a great life that, at the moment, just happens to be stationed in a foreign country. I’m excited for the adventure ahead.

(cows crossing the playground in front of my building in the rain)