Minii surguill

Have I really not written for that long?  It's because I am busy having new adventures to write about.  But mainly school is keeping me busy.  Here are a few school tales:

The basics

My school is pretty great.  It is conveniently located about a two minute walk from my ger, and it is painted an overwhelming sea green color.  you can see it from almost anywhere in BX, so it's a great landmark.  School time is from 8am until 7pm, but different grades come at different times.  It is an eco-school, meaning that we have plants scattered about!  Also we have a fish tank.  On my first day of school we had about 5 fish, and then within about month we just had a very very dirty fish tank.  I have 8 fellow english teachers (counterparts) that I team teach with - 5th to 11th grades. Sometimes, there is no power at school, which phases no one, and select students get to walk around and ring an actual bell to let everyone know it is time to change class.

my school from atop the neighboring mountaintop

Team Teaching

Team teaching is where both I and a Mongolian English teacher teach a class together.  The goal is to not only help students learn english, but to build the capacity in my english teacher counterparts.  So in a perfect world, I am not supposed to ever be the only teacher in the classroom.  However, this doesnt always happen.  One day, my counterpart wanted to leave class when we were playing review games.  For one of the review games, the mongolian language was needed.  I expressed my concerns, and to combat this, my counterpart appointed an 11 year old to be my co teacher for the day.  Even though you cold tell the girl really wanted to play the review games, she stuck true to her role and helped me teach and corral the other students.

Cracking up

I know when I speak Mongolian, I say things incorrectly all the time. That is just a given fact.  Like the time I told my host mom, a cow (okir) was death (okil) and who really knows what other gems have come out of my mouth.  It is all part of learning a launguage.  Similarly English words get mispronounced by Mongolians all the time in class.  Most times, I can keep a serious face, but sometimes I lose it.  Here are just a few of my favorites:

Peace Corps: Peace Corps gets said constantly as Peace Corpse.  This reminds me of all the tales I heard about the former CMDD skater with the such a name. I can only hope in her country of service, that this was also a common mispronunciation.

Bear: We were reviewing animals one day in class, and the picture was a bear.  The student I called on however, just so politely said, ‘this is a beer!’  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Sensible:  Probably my favorite so far.  While going through students one by one to check pronunciation for this word, one student so confidently blurted out ‘sexy-bull’.  The class started cracking up first, and unfortunately after that I lost it for a moment.

Names

Mongolian names are very long and just hard for me to say. When school first started I had the best intentions to learn all of the students name, but after about just a week, that quickly changed to me just trying to pronounce names correctly when told to me.  After the first entire quarter of school, I know 4 students names (one of which I am pretty sure I say quite incorrectly, but the student just entertains me).  Usually I just get by with pointing at students.  One day, however, in 5th grade, we circled up and played a name game where you introduce yourself, and then introduce all the people who have introduced themselves before you.  Naturally i went first, meaning I just had to introduce myself. When all the students finished, my counterpart teacher felt the need to embarrass me, and said, now April will introduce everyone!!!! Let's just say that took me about 10 long minutes and I completely ruined everyone's name.

Saying hello-

Some kids overwhelmingly like me, and other kids are very indifferent, nevertheless, everyone will say, shout and scream hello whenever they see me.  Not just one time, but 8 times until I start ignoring them. Back in Xorolloo soum, when there were only 20 kids total, it was endearing, and now it tests one's patience. Sometimes they just cycle through all the ways to say hello, good morning, good evening, hi, etc.  and then once I physically pass them, the goodbyes, bye byes, see yous begin.  Others will say hello, and when I answer, go the other direction giggling.   For the students who like me, there are additional steps to greeting me, which include running across fields to catch up with me just to say hello, walking me home, and the ones who when they see me, proceed to tell me every english word they know in no particular order. There is this one student, who whenever she see me runs up from behind me and grabs me to say hello.  I rarely see her, and so this is always a scary surprise hello...I am still getting used to it.

Apple for teacher

In the states, students might give teachers apples.  here in dino land, students sometimes give me delicious delicious dried cheese curd.

it's number twister!

Coming up next:
The Chicago Bulls come to my ger to make breakfast huushuur.

3 pales of water, 2 sheep, 1 knife and a Friday afternoon.

I came home from school one beautiful friday afternoon.  There was a new addition to our hasha yard...two sheep, that were tied to a fence eating a plastic bag that was also conveniently tied to the fence.  I paid no mind to their cuteness, because I knew they would be supper, and just went into my ger.  My hasha family had recently given me a big water pale, and when I got home, they came over and reclaimed one of the small ones that they had given me- leaving me with one small pale, and the big pale.  They day went on and after a little while, the girl that lives next door, came over and took the other small pale, and my pocket knife (aka my one and only knife).  After another 10ish minutes, she came back in my ger and told me to come outside for the main sheep event! 

Now, I always thought of the killing process in Mongolia to be sort of similar to the second Indiana Jones movie, where they just reach in and take out the heart, removing it still beating as the sheep would just slowly go to the big pasture in the sky, but, I guess I missed that part.  When I came outside, the sheep who were previously standing by the fence, were already being skinned...with my knife!

he was clearly upset

  My hasha neighbor guy complimented me on my knife as I approached to watch the skinning.  It was a family event - the daughter held the legs firmly as the father pushed the carcass around ridding it of its hide.  And the mother waited idlely by trying to keep the baby calm as it was getting upset at the activities.  Calming the baby involved taking his toy car, and running it over the sheep and into its lifeless head.

Soon once the first hide was shed, it was time to gut it.  The mom set the baby aside and once the stomach and intestines were removed, she started to clean them.  I eventually became the baby holder, because he was getting pretty upset, and I was just glad to be holding the baby instead of having to help with the sheep! 

During this whole process, I was expecting there to be a lot more...well...blood.  But it was a pretty bloodless event until the chest cavity was opened.  And it was opened with such precision as to not lose a drop of the blood.  Ladle by ladle my hasha neighbors put the blood into the small water container that they took from my ger. Once the heart was cut out, the teenager girl started cutting it up into little tiny pieces.  While she was doing this chopping, excess blood was just bleeding out onto the cutting board and ground.  During this whole gutting process, I started to make faces, at which my neighbors just laughed...but during the heart chopping blood ladling activity, I think they could really see my face in utter disgust.  I only think this because they all cracked up at my uncomfortableness, and then started to pick up different organs out of the bucket and pretended to eat them raw in front of me.  They told me how much they loved to eat the different parts, and I told them how much I disliked the different parts, to which, naturally, was unreasonable for them.  After the first sheep was done, they picked it up to hang it up, and drips of blood just fell upon this man's jeans.  I thought for a moment that maybe these pants were this man's animal killing pants...kind of like pants that you might get paint all over while painting, you know, your painting pants.  But somehow, I think this thought might also be unreasonable...they are probably his only pair of jeans.

The process was repeated for the second sheep, and during the ladeling of the blood the second time around, I thought I had seen enough, and retired to my ger and busied myself with a movie.  Not too long after the meat processing was finished, a truck pulled up right outside my ger to start loading some wood that was next to my ger.  About ten minutes later, this old lady came into my ger, and without even returning a pleasant, hi how are you, she grabbed my large water container, and started to carry it out of my ger!  I jumped up and asked her what she was doing.  From what I learned culturally so far, is that if you ask a Mongol a question, and they dont want to answer, they will either, depending on the situation at hand, either 1. ignore your question and keep staring at you awkwardly, or 2. ignore your question and keep struggling to carry your big water container until another Mongol comes over to also ignore your questions and help the old lady carry your water container away.  Because I am naive, I figured they would soon return in, so I just went back into my ger.  Come dinner time, I still did not have any water, since my water container had in fact not been returned.  So this left me with quite limited options to make for dinner.  I could not really make anything without water aside from that chunk of pig meat that my neighbors made me buy on my first food buying outing, so I got it out of my freezer, and I got out my frying pan...and then I remembered that my neighbors had my only knife.  So I put the meat back and had some really bad sugary korean peanut butter that I got in UB for dinner. 

it was a family affair

Later that evening, right before I went to bed, my teenager neighbor came and returned my knife, with dried butchered sheep still on it.  I just left it for the evening, because I, in fact, had no water to wash it.  The next day, I still had no water to cook, or knife wash, so I asked my neighbor about it.  Their response was to give me back the small water container they took the previous day, complete some water in it.  However,  it was the water container that previously held the sheep blood, and let's just say the container was not washed before they gave it back to me.  It's funny maybe? 

Cultural note:  When killing a sheep Mongolians really do cut open the chest of an animal, and stick their hand inside.  However, instead of removing the heart like an indiana jones movie, they just reach in, find the main artery, and cut it.  

Mongolia is kind of like a parade- there are always interesting things to see, friendly people, and NEVER a shortage of candy.

Some beginning tales of my first couple days in BX:

My ger

my first ger fire

I live in ger now.  It's awesome.  I roughly hit my head about 28 times a day...on average. (yes I keep a tally)  I maybe should have brought my derby helmet.  Anyway, after a day of not sleeping – due to awkward plane times to BX, I arrived at my ger as the sun was rising around it.  When I first entered my ger, I was with the school director, two random Mongolians that helped carry my bag, and my hasha neighbor.  There was of course a plate of offerings passed around- what I thought, in my very tired state, to be dried cheese curd.  I respectfully took a piece, and since everyone was watching me, took a small bite to be polite.  Much to my surprise, I discovered that this treat was not the dried cheese curd that I so dislike, but it was in fact, just solidified grease.  SURPRISE!

Also, my ger smells like a camel.  Given that all the bactrian camels are out in the countryside, and not actually in the city as I originally thought, I am taking this as a win. 

The hasha dog

My new hasha dog...is vicious.  I heard a rumors about the dog before I even arrived, and turns out, they were true.  terrifying.  nothing like Balto.  It is a very husky brute of a dog with blood red eyes and an inward breathing growl that just creates fear. Due to its viciousness it is kept chained to the fence.  It’s name is Bankor (for now, always subject to change).  I have been slowly feeding it bites of solidified grease every time I walk past as to get him to like me and not want to eat my face off. 

Meat soup

So I spent two weeks through this big change living out of my suitcase and buying food from stores that I wanted to eat.  like vegetables.  My awesome personally crafted diet included very little, if any meat.  The morning  i moved into my ger, my hasha family brought me over a bowl of meat noodle soup to eat before i went to sleep.  Now, normally, i would eat around the meat, but this particular morning, it was weird...I WANTED to eat the meat, and I found myself eating around the noodles...I was very highly surprised by my actions, and began wondering how much I have actually changed since coming to Mongolia...my wonder however ceased when my hasha family also decided to share dinner with me...meat rice.  My normal self was back...wishing that Balto was around to share my dinner with.  I took this opportunity to share the meat with Bankor, in hopes, again, that he will now not want to eat my face off any more. 

More tales of meat.

My hasha neighbor  took me grocery shopping the day after my arrival.  I picked up all my basics, like flour, rice, onions, a couple eggs, etc.  And when I told my hasha neighbor I was ready to check out, she gave me the craziest look! She asked me about what meat I wanted to buy, as if I forgot to put meat into my basket.  I told her it was ok, I would get it next time, but that was absurd to her.  She pulled me to the meat corner, and threw a chunk of pig in my basket.  I asked her how much it was, which of course was absurd to ask, because it was meat.  turns out it was about 7000 tugs (like 5 bucks) and the most expensive thing I would buy that day.  Once leaving the store, she  pulled me across the street to the meat warehouse, telling me that i also needed some cow.  Once inside, it was rows and rows of carcasses hanging about, and I was ushered through them to a cow table.  I expressed that I have to eat the chunk of pig before I buy cow, and my hasha neighbor accepted this statement, and was satisfied that I now knew how to at least get to the cow portion of the meat market.

Spiders.

I think that spiders are going to be my new best friends. They are everywhere in my ger.  My former policy for killing spiders was to live and let live, depending on two things:

1. their decisions to touch/crawl on me; and

2.  if they were poisonous.  (Sorry brown recluses)

However, now, there are just so many in my ger, that my policy has been quickly revised.  My average spiders killed a night is around 18.  I have a specific kill zone for them at least, and as long as the spiders stay out of the area, they are safe.  I lie in my bed at night before I go to sleep, and watch them all crawl around.  When they get in the area next to my bed, I strike.   It's quite exhausting...kind of like counting sheep, only a little more...rugged.

Sometimes in my sleep, I feel them crawling on my body, and I sleepily snatch them and throw them across the room. 

What to do when you put on an article of clothing and realize that it has a spider hiding in it:

1. Scream, loudly
2. Strip and Trip – defined as the process of taking off your clothes in such a fast, panic-ed manner, that you literally fall on your face.
3. Shake out your clothes both inside and out
4. Get dressed, again, but this time in fear.

Oatmeal

I love oatmeal.  that is a given fact.  It is a little scarce in Mongolia, so when I saw some in Suhkbaator, i naturally bought it, and packed it in my suitcase to move to Bayankhongor.  Well, the other day, some Mongolians that did not speak english came to fix the bed in my ger.  One of them spotted the oatmeal, and let out a chuckle with a confused look on her face.  She asked me why I had horse food...and I said, neigh...thats my food.  She laughed. Asking me what it was called, I looked it up in the dictionary, and showed it to her. The dictionary translated it as some type of rice, so the Mongolian understood.  She then said something to the extent of 'octo-mill' to which I thought was a Mongolian word I didnt understand before I realized she was saying oatmeal.

A dry sink. 

If you are unfamiliar, a dry sink is a sink without pipes or running water that you can use for your sink needs.  There is a bucket underneath that catches the water you use, and when it fills up, you empty it. The water in the bucket is always very nasty, and the bucket below my dry sink is pretty gross and rusted, but you know, it does its job.  My dry sink also has a quite abnormally large hole that the water and what not drains down.  Things fall into my sink a lot, which created a fun game that I hate to play called, will that fit down my dry sink hole.  So far, here are the results:

Nail polish: yes.

chapstick: of course.

entire bar or soap: naturally

vitamin bottle: no. awesome.

toothbrush holder: surprising, when dropped at the right angle, yes. 

my eyeglasses: of course. why wouldnt they.

Social Situations

It is not uncommon in Mongolia for people to drink shots of vodka...and most times, when gathered in a circle and shots are being passed, it is normal for the person receivng the shot to start singing a song, and then everyone else joins  in.  At the end of the song, the song leader takes the shot, and the process starts again.  I really only know two legit traditional Mongolian songs, one of which is the Mongolian National anthem, so really, in such drinking situations - not appropriate.  So the other day, my counter parts all got together to celebrate one of the teachers getting married.  I found myself in such a singing situation, and much to my horror, before it was my turn to take the shot, someone had already sang the only other song that I knew.  A few songs later, it was finally my turn...and I just sat there with an awkward smile on my face, with everyone egging me, saying, surely you know another song...and they were right, i did...Naraa Naraa Naashar...the mongol equivalent of ring around the rosie...so I started singing, and with a laugh, everyone joined me for a very rushed sing a long. 

Fermented Mare's Milk

Actually not that bad.  Maybe like a creamy champagne?

Picture time:

my fellow english teachers

yaks!

view from the mountain top...with yaks of course

Big life changes

So a lot has happened for me in the past month and some.  I have said goodbye to my host family, moved to Dakhan, went through my final Peace Corps training sessions, found out my placement, met my new bosses, moved to the Ulaanbaator, got official sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer, moved into my new life for the next two years, got very ill for a bit, met all of my counterparts, started teaching english, and have been slowly exploring my new home.  Its been a little exhausting to say the least.

Here are some tales from my last couple weeks in northern Mongolia:

A sisters tale

After dark is quite dark in Xorollol.  there are no street lights, and clouds mostly cover the moon.  It's pitch black.  One night, my sister asked me to accompany her to the nearest store (delgor) to get some bread for the morning.  It is about a 5 minute walk, and the day had spent its time raining, leaving puddles scattered about on the mud roads.  We embarked on our journey, and as soon as I stepped out of our hasha, the darkness shot through me.  I yelled to BL that it was the darkest I had ever seen... she grabbed my hand, and we started running to the store.  Since it was dark, we could not see the puddles, but our feet found them without difficulty.  The splashes we made covered my clothes with water, but on we ran, trying to avoid the puddles with no luck.  Once inside the delgor, we bought out items, and left in the direction of home without haste.  We slowly tried to navigate the puddle minefield, our breathe held with anticipation.  We still found the puddles of course, and we covered the sounds of the splashes with our giggles.

Eventually we made it home, to walk through the hasha gate and find balto (formerly bartok) running up to greet us.  Like always, I greeted her by saying her name, only to have my sister call out, 'that's not balto.'  With the small amount of light shining from the house, I quickly pieced together the mongolian words with the different color dog running straight at me. The terror that I felt in that moment was expressed through a loud sound - an indistinguishable word caught between Mongolian and english - that echoed through the yard.  I pretended to pick up a rock from the ground in defense, and luckily the dog ran a different way, as I went running for the door. 

Meat, Milk, and a Tree – the unabridged version

The 11 of us Americans living in Xorollol put together a host family appreciation day for our host families.  When we told our families that we were going to have tea and cake for them, they decided to instead treat us to an outing to the mother tree, and have a xorxok. A xorxok is basically meat that is put in a pressure cooker, and hot hot stones are put in to cook it.  The mother tree is a religious site, I believe having to do with buddism, but considering I have no internet access, you are on your own to look this up for an explanation.   My host parents were away for the weekend, and so my host sister, BL, went with me.

We all piled into the different cars that we would take us out to the mother tree.  My sister hopped in a meeker, and I followed.  There were no seats in the back of the van, but there was a comfy bag that I got to sit on.  So spacious and nice it was in the back of the meeker for our 30 minute drive to the tree.  However, about 5 minutes after I sat down, I was told that I was not going to ride in the meeker, and so I had to get out and ride with Rose’s family in their small car. So as soon as I got out of the meeker, it left, and I went to Roses’s car…Her parents were in the front seats, and in the back, there were 5 of us to sit.  So as we all squeezed in, and Rose sat on my lap, we took off for the mother tree and all I could think about was how there was just so much room in that meeker.

Once we made it to the mother tree, we all climbed out of the clown car, and I met back up with BL.  She gave me a bag of rice and a candy, and we began throwing it around the grounds.  People were all around doing the same, some throwing milk, others throwing rice and other grains.  All around us were stacks and walls of tea bricks, and people were all around praying. It smelled of rotten milk and the ground was disgusting. Haddocs (blue mongolian respect scarves) were hung and strung everywhere.  Closer to a tree carcass on the ground, people were lying down and praying.  I was a little baffled, but BL grabbed me soon enough and pulled me to a pillar that was wrapped in scarves and drenched in milk and motioned that this was where I was supposed to stick my head into and pray.  “Dreams” she said, “you dream.” So like BL, I stuck my head into the scarves, and overcome by the smell of sour milk, I prayed for what I wanted. Now, I don’t know if this is like a wishing well where if you tell it wont come true or not, but just to be on the safe side, I will keep my wishful wantings between me and destiny.  When we were both done, we walked on and found the actual mother tree.  I was a little confused that if we were to pray, why we didn’t pray at the actual tree, but you know.  We lit some incense, which was quite a welcome smell compared to the spoiled milk, and we then threw some milk along with some more silent wishes as we left the grounds backwards.  Overall it was a pretty overwhelmingly weird experience, but I was glad to have had it, and share it with my host sister.  Soon enough we were all getting back into the cars, and I tried to sneak back into the spacious meeker van with my sister, but alas again, I was pulled away and pushed back into the clown car. 

The Xorxok – our host parents were laying out a nice spread- full of fruit and cakes and other dishes while the men tended to getting the meat cooking.  Us PCVs who were throwing this host family appreciation busied ourselves with volleyball and kite flying.  Soon, when the meat was cooking, we gathered with two cakes and vodka  (our gift to our host families), and presented them with nice things to say in broken Mongolian.  Then as the families sat down to enjoy the cake, we gathered around to eat the food put out…with the majority of us congregating around the fruit platter, due to the lack of fruit in our diets since the states.

We all ate, and then played some Mongol field games, such as piggy back horse races, wrestling, and a water balloon toss. After games were over, we were finally treated to the Xorxok- first by the hot hot stones.  We were told to pick up these outrageously hot stones, and the throw them around in our hands because it would give us good health. The rocks were of course covered in hot meat juice, which made the ritual all the more pleasurable (sarcasm).  One Mongolian instructed me to rub the hot rock on my face, because that was also really good for my body.  I politely declined to put the meat smelling rock on my face, and was met with only a small death glare.   When the meat finally was laid out, we all grabbed a piece of flesh with our bare hands and began chomping away.  It was the best meat I have had yet in Mongolia…very similar to grilled meat, but way more juicy.  So juicy in fact that meat juices dripped down our arms and off our elbows, making the meal even more satisfying.  On a side note, Mongolians don’t really believe in napkins.

Road Trip

We said goodbyes to our host family at the school, outside of the meekers that were to take us to Darkhan.  Our host families gave us treats for the road (handfuls and handfuls of dried cheese curd), and they walked around with a bowl of milk from which we were all to drink.  After we were all in the van, and milk had been carefully poured over the wheels of the vehicle to keep our journey safe, we set out to paved road…away from Xorollol, away from our families, away from food we didn’t like to eat.  And at a safe enough distance away, we through our handfuls of dried cheese curd out the window. 

Playing dress up

My family had once last chance to dress me up before I left for my permanent site…And that they did.  They bought me a dell, or traditional Mongol wear.  It was purple, and had princess sleeves. And luckily, it did not come with a chef’s hat to wear.

My host family

Leaving my host family was sad.  They were very welcoming, not only to me, but also to the friends that I made during training.  The swearing in ceremony was a week after I left in Darkhan, and my host family actually drove down for the event, which was touching in itself.  After the ceremony closed, my host sister ran down to the floor, nearly knocking me over with a hug, right before my host mom did the same. I got plenty of hugs, kisses and Mongol smells, as did my Xorollol friends.  Visiting time was rushed however, because the bus to the capitol was leaving, and we all had to be on it.  My family escorted us to the bus, and we all got on, waving goodbye with my host moms bright red lipstick smeared across all our faces. 

these are the kids that terrorized me my last day with my host family.  I have know idea who they are.

Ulaanbaator

UB is easily not one of my favorite places in the places in the world, and I am glad I do not have to be here more than a week.  Since UB is the main transportation hub, most volunteers leave from the city to go to their permanent sites. We were put u in a dormitory, in what i was told as to not be the best part of the city, but the beds were comfortable, and there was sort of a rusty red water cold shower available...it was …quiant.  Well, everyone left to go to their sites at different times, with the last person leaving on Tuesday...leaving me in these scary dorms by myself until Friday.  Another PCV stuck in UB because of a safety and security issue in his city was nice enough to give up the choice of a hostel to stay with me so i wouldn’t be alone.  When the country director found out about our living arrangements, she had us moved into a hostel within a couple hours.  It was great. Not only was there a hot shower that I had not experienced since leaving the states, there was wifi. Luxury.

Anyway, UB is a place that has such a different culture than the rest of the country.  For example, I saw a Mongol lady walking down the street...walking a dog.  On a leash!  how absurd!  At least i thought it was absurd, until I saw another Mongolian come up, and pet the dog! Then things just became utterly crazy.

a dog on a leash?!?

the T-baator in UB

I also got to randomly meet the ambassador, and take the awkward photo.

But, now, without futher adu, let me tell you about Bayankhongor, my new home...

Bayankhongor

BX is the capitol of the Mongol Province, Bayankhonger.

BX not only has mountains (a 360 degree view of mountains, I might add), rivers (3), green land, desert, and steepe, it also has DINOSAURS!!!!!!!!

I will be living in a ger, and as if that is not awesome enough, my ger is on a mountain.

Ger logistics

My ger is a four wall ger, meaning that it has four sections of felt walls that will wrap around to insulate it. 

Yes, in fact, there is no running water in my ger.

For the winter I will be burning wood and coal.  Not that many trees grow in southen Mongolia, so I wont have a lot of wood, but they do mine coal in the south, so my ger will be getting a bit suit-y.

I have a hasha family.  This is not like a host family, but rather it is the family that owns the yard that I live in.  They live in their ger, I rent out one of the other two gers in the yard, and I share an outhouse with them.  An outhouse without a door might I add.  That's going to be chilly in the winter...

There are a lot of superstitions and traditions that come with living in a ger...for example, whistling will bring snakes and witches to my ger..  also, tripping into a ger is good luck...viewed as if you were carrying riches into your ger that you didnt see the step, and have all the riches into your house.  Tripping out if the ger is the opposite...bad luck...seen as if you are leaving in haste while running from your enemies.  So if one trips out, one must re-enter, and put another log on the fire, to prove that you weren't really leaving the first time. 

Coming up next:

Tales from Bayankhongor and my ger.  Spoiler alert:  there are spiders.

on outhouses and livestock.

cow eyes

It's berry time here in Northern Mongolia...what kind of berries, you ask?  Cow eye berries.  They grow on little bushes, and for a Mongolian berry - it's not bad.  Mongols are crazy about them.  I have declared it an unofficial celebration.  I compare it to how excited I get around strawberry time in the US.  During the week that my host family harvested our berries, I could not talk to any Mongolian who didn't reference eating cow eye berries...store clerks, taxi drivers, teachers, children.  Everyone was into the hype.  One day at the store,  I brought something up to the counter to purchase, and the clerk stood up with the hugest smile on her face, stretched out her closed hand and opened it to reveal 5 cow eye berries to share with me.  I politely ate one, secretly hoping that it had been washed.

Potty talk

The jarlon, as it is called here. is an outhouse, or squatty potty if you will..typically located on the other side of a yard- away from the main living facility.  It is a BYOTP type operation, and you better not have anything in your pockets when you enter, or else it might fall in.  It goes without saying that there is no running water, and even though I have been using the jarlon for 2 months now, I still walk out thinking I forgot something and it takes me a second to remember...you don't have to flush.

Location, Location, Location.

One rainy day, some cows were laying in front of the school jarlong.  I tried to shoo the cows away, so I could get into the outhouse, but given the fact that it was rainy, they did not necessarily want to move.  After my persistent shooing and running at them in a threatening manner with my arms outstretched, I got 1  to move...which luckily I could open the door just enough to allow me to squeeze in.  The door naturally does not close all of the way because it is broken, so at the bottom where it hangs open it gives you a wonderful view of the outside to enjoy while you are peeing.  On this day, however, as I was peeing in quite probably the closest proximity to a cow that I have ever peed, the cow that I actually got to move decided to come back and stick its head into the door gap, so that I was face to face with it while squatting. It kind of reminded me of one time in the states, in a public restroom, when a child decided to stick his head under the door while I was in a stall...I thought that was intrusive then, but the cow wins for most intrusive.  So with the cow present, I finished my business, and it was when I was fixing my belt that the cow decided he would put his head outside.  He didn't move his body of course, just his head, which left me in the predicament of being stuck inside the outhouse.  

August means Autumn!

It has been rainy/cloudy/dreary here for about a week now.  My fellow PCVs joke that winter has started...the not funny part being that it has actually gotten colder each of the days.

Moo!

I milked a cow...which here, is no funny business.  Don't get me wrong, I am sure when an American steps up to the plate to milk a cow, the Mongols think that it is the funniest thing ever...but they take the job very seriously.  They love milk here. hot milk tea, dried curd, dried curd blocks, flour milk, soured milk whey, fried soured milk weigh - with or without flour, soured milk weigh curd blocks...and even sometimes cheese.  Anyway- to milk a cow, you first tie the back two legs together so it doesn't kick you.  Then, you let the baby calf suckle for 30 seconds to get the milk going, and to get the udders all nice and naturally lubricated with cow spit, before you sit down, face in cow with a bucket firmly placed between your thighs.  You will probably start pulling and tugging slowly to your hearts content, your hands now wet with cow spit as the Mongolian who owns the cows is laughing at your empty bucket and your slow speed.  Nonetheless, you keep tugging as the cow spit dries up leaving you to tug on now what feels like dry sausage like udder cow parts while being encouraged to tug, "faster, faster!" You try different hand squeezing pulling combinations, try other hangy cow parts to see if they work, in hopes of a different result, but getting still no milk.   As your hands begin to cramp up with what you can only imagine carpel tunnel to feel like, you hear the tiniest squirt of milk to enter the bucket.  Elated, you pull again to have your hopes crushed by the fact that squirt was a fluke.  When you look at the Mongol to try to find some sense of sympathy for your failure, you are instead met with smirks.  The Mongol with then encourage you by reaching around you in an awkward body position that you cant imagine comfortable while squirting lots of milk into the bucket between your legs that, given their position, they cannot even see.  Again they let you try, and magically, you get out a couple tiny drops of dairy, that next pull turns into a small stream of cream.  At this point, you are empowered pulling tugs of joys steadily with both hands as the bucket now has about an ounce of milk!  A bug will then fly into your hard work and drown.  Ignoring this, you keep on milking, getting another ounce.  You try to sneakily look at the Mongolian to see if they are smiling at your milk success, and as you do, you successfully miss the bucket and get the fresh cream all over your pants.  After you are done thoroughly embarrassing yourself, the Mongol takes over and milks out about three liters in roughly 5 minutes.  Once finished, the cows legs get freed, and the calf can once again suckle as you carry the milk pale, complete with bug, into the house.

!!!!!!!!!!!

My time in training is almost up...there are really only two weeks left until we travel back to Darkhan to swear in as Peace Corps Mongolia Volunteers.  It seems like I just got here last week. Here are some fun tales from the fast passing time.

1. Hangover soup

Food in Mongolia is actually quite delicious.  One dish however that I do not enjoy though is this flour soup, it is basically hot milk tea with meat cooked in, and then with flour dough mixed in.  It is a horribly thick consistancy, and I just don't like it.  It is a popular Mongol dish however, and since everyone loves it, they think I am crazy for not liking it.  They try to sway my distaste by always telling me it is the immediate cure for hangovers.

2. Family

I am starting to like this host family thing more and more. Around town, I might just be 'the american,' but to my family I am 'their american.'  It's endearing.

My youngest sister and I have been getting to know each other more now that I can communicate a little, and she is fun to be around...even though she usually beats me in every game that we have ever played together.   I finally got to meet my other sister, Uuriintuya, who is 21 and lives in Ulaanbaator.  She was naturally super nice, and we bonded over my inability to fold a hosher.   We all went to a ger camp together to celebrate Bolloraa's birthday, and I got to sit around and take part in all the sibling giggling and jokes, that I have rarely experienced before.  It was a lot of fun.

The weird part of the story is that eventually Uurii had to go back to UB, and my host mom, sister and I took her to the train station.  We of course stopped to take some fun pictures first before going to the train station.  We all walked inside and Uurii bought her ticket, and we headed for the train.  Overall, it wasn't really a weird event, but for me, it was, because normally it is usually me getting dropped off at the airport or train station...not so much the other way around.  And as we all said our goodbyes, and watched her get a seat on the train, I realized that when I leave Xoroolool, I am going to miss my host family.

3. Still life with a lamb carcass

I came home or lunch one day to walk into the kitchen building to find a dead skinned lamb laying on the table.  It's head of course was in a bucket on the floor.  My mother directed me to sit in a chair between the wall and the table.  I sat, eye level with the carcass, and my mother then shoved a bowl of innards on a chair, and put it in front of me so that I was quite boxed into the situation.  The smell was a little overwhelming.  She then gave me a bowl of greyish soup, and told me to eat.  It was the water that the innards had cooked in.  Yum?

Later that evening, I watched my host mom as she blow torched the head and ass of the lamb to burn the hair off of it for dinner.

4. A hiking companion

As the token American, I am a little overly protected when my parents are actually around (to note, if they are not home, I can pretty much do whatever I want).  I used to be walked to school, and my younger siblings usualy have to escort me somewhere if my host mom knows I am going somewhere.  I get check up texts/phone calls if I am gone too long and sometimes get walked to the outhouse if it is after dark.  It's funny, because parents here literally send 2 year olds to go pick things up from the store by themselves.

Well one afternoon, we were relaxing at a ger camp in the countryside, and my siblings were wrapped up in a game, so I decided to go for a hike up a mountain, in the woods.  I told my mom, and she was cool with it, but she made a 16 year old complete stranger escort me.  The girl who came with did not want to hike, and we barely got up the hill before she wanted to turn around and go back to the camp.

5. Bartok.

It has been two months since I met Bartok, and we have formed quite a bond...She sometimes walks me to the store or a friends house, she makes sure i stay away from dog fights, I pet her all the time (Mongolians dont pet dogs) and I secretly feed her meat from my plates at mealtime.  Bartok and me are basically best friends.  Well,  I found out Bartok's name isnt actually Bartok.  It's Balto.
In my defense, when I first learned her name, they said she was named for a cartoon character (Bartok the bat from anastasia...we are on the russian boarder it sounded logical)... I wrote it down and asked, and they told me it was correct...and for two months no one corrected me.

6. Innards

One afternoon, I came home for lunch and to quite a wonderful surprise found out that there was hosher for lunch! My host ma and pa were both home and sitting at the table enjoying hosher themselves, and so I sat down at my plate and took a huge bite of hosher.  As I was chewing, I noticed that it didn't taste like the normal delicious hosher that I was accompanied to.  I finished chewing and then looked at my new open hosher to find out that it did not look like meat on the inside of my pita pocket of (usual) deliciousness...It looked like...intestines...my face dropped as I looked up from my plate.  My gaze met the eyes of my host fathers who had a huge smile on his face, as he said, 'this isn't hosher meat...it's the innards!!'  He laughed at my misfortune, and I turned my eyes to my host mom, feeling so terrified and betrayed to find her laughing as well.  Fool me once, Mongol family...fool me once.

learning how to waltz

the suhkbaator countryside

our language and culture facilitators

Naadam!

We were warned not to eat the hosher after 2pm...not to drink too much airag...to watch out for the drunk people...and the drunk horses.  Those horses were everywhere, their tramples quieted by the loudness of the crowd. Mongols roamed the stadium grounds in their fanciest dells, and the air smelled of delicious, delicious hosher.  It was Naadam.

delicious hosher

Cody and Adam got fancy dells to wear.

the hosher tents

My sister and I

Raisin tea and hosher

My host mother's hosher ger

1.  The opening Ceremonies

My family took me to the Sukhbaator Naadam, to which the stadium was not too far outside of our little soum area.  We got there for the opening ceremonies, and got to watch the parade of fancy dell wearing people, and watch the spectacle of balloon dancing, contortionists, horse head fiddling and traditional singing.  It was awesome.  One of the little girl contortionists, who was preforming her routine with three others on a neon green platform, started bleeding from her elbow near the beginning of the routine. There was blood everywhere over the neon green cloth, and I honestly cant even imagine how much it had to hurt to finish.

2. Hosher

My host mother had her own hosher cooking ger, number 42 in the rows and rows of hosher gers, to which we visited after the opening ceremonies.  A hosher is basically a dough pocket filled with meat, fat, and potatoes, and then fried in oil.  When ordering a hosher at Naadam, you simply stick your head in the door of the ger and yell out a number, and you are brought delicious, delicious hosher.  I followed my sister straight into the ger and got to hang out on the inside.  We sat on a blanket and ate some fried deliciousness, and drank some raisin tea.   As orders were shouted in, and hosher was being cook.

3. Gambling

From what I have understood, there are no casinos in Mongolia,  but at Naadam, there was a row of gambling opportunities.  People sat low near the ground with wheel of fortune and price is right type wheels and small wooden boxes with dice in them.  You could either spin a wheel and hope it lands on a face of currency, or place a bet on what number the shaken dice box would reveal.  It was quite the spectacle. My host sister took a gamble.  She lost.

4. Kites

I have been wanting a kite since I got here, since it is so windy here with wide open fields.  i have looked in the market with no luck, and at Naadam, I saw my first kite being flown in Mongolia.  I, of course, quite happily bought one. After Naadam was over, my host mom saw it hanging up in my room after a good evening of kite flying.  She said kite flying was for little kids. Oh well.

5.  Neigh.

There are countless good horse stories that came out of Naadam, but here are a couple.
I found out my sister is pretty afraid of horses.  Given my lacking sense of 'danger' and my general attribute to not pay attention, I was a prime suspect to get run into by the horses that were at Naadam.  My sister yanked my arm many a time to pull me away from a horse's path (that, in my defense, were quite a ways away from colliding with me), and would always yell, 'DANGER!'  Even if she saw a horse standing in the distance, we would take a long path around the horse, because, 'DANGER!'  This one time, we ran into some of my sisters friends, who were sitting atop their horses, and she kept her distance while talking to them.  She then told me to go pet the horse...and when I went to go pet the horse, she yanked my arm back, and yelled 'DANGER!'  I think she set me up.

This is the youngest horse racer that I saw.  I think he was 4 years old.

The long distance horse races are 24 km long.  There are riders of many ages, even kids that looked about 4 years old.  It was pretty cool to see the horses race in at the finish.  After each race a cloud of dust lingered from being kicked up by all the horses.  My host dad, sister, and I were in close proximity to a horse that just finished a race, and after exchanging a few words with the guy atop the horse, my dad petted it, and instructed my sister and I to do the same.  My sister was very hesitant, but she did, and I did also, only to realize that the horse was soaking wet.  It never really occurred to me before that horses sweat, but after racing 24 km, it is reasonable that they do.  My host dad then instructed me to rub my horse sweaty hand on my face.  I reluctantly did so, and then, since our hands were all still sweaty, I followed my dads example, and rubbed the rest of the sweat off on my calves.  I was only left to imagine that in the Mongolian culture, this probably symbolized in some way that we were gaining the strength of the horse by wearing its sweat, but I was told later that it is good luck.

6.  Tug of War

While walking around the inside fo the stadium between wrestling matches, my host sister and I got pulled in for a match of tug of war...random people vs the police. My backpack was snatched off me and drinks taken from my hand as I got pushed towards this tug of war rope.  As much as we pulled, of course, the police won.  We soon left the area, and later when leaving the stadium, a random lady who i had never seen before grabbed us and drug us to the front of the stadium, where we met another random lady.  After a brief san oh, she handed us each 5000 tugriks, and we went on our way.  My host sister relieved my confused mind as she said the money was for playing tug of war.  Major win.


7.  Archery

The archery portion of Naadam wasn't like I expected it to be.  Contestants did not shoot at targets, but rather shot at rocks lined out on the ground.  Judges stood right next to the rocks as arrows were shot at them, to see if the area landed in a certain area.  Come to find out later, the arrows had no points on the ends, but rather soft tips..for safety.

8.  the wrestling matches.

A wrestlers uniform consists of a red speedo, most likely with stars on the butt, and a half jacket thing that covers the back and forearms, and ties in the fron for stability.  They wear such skimpy outfits to ensure that women do not wrestle, but the men kind of look like they are dressed like wonder woman. For mongolian wrestling, the first one on the ground is the loser.    To start all wrestlers come out, with their arms spread and stomp around in slow motion.  After someone wins, they also do the same thing.  I think this was my favorite part of the whole spectacle.

The final wrestling match at Naadam was quite the funny happening.  The match consisted of 4 men, maybe the best two from different age groups?  One group started hard core wrestling right away, and the other two men, just stood and watched, wrestling little bits occasionally until they were the only two left out there.  The crowd laughed.  Then the weather turned a little sour and it started to rain as the wind drastically picked up.  As the match was still going on ( Mongolian wrestling matches can sometimes take quite a while) one of the judges tent on the field up and blew over, tramping all the judges inside.  The crowd laughed more as the judges eventually crawled out.  The people in the other two judging tents were quick to run and brace their tent poles after.  As if this wasnt enough distractions for the main event at Naadam, a stray dog decided to leisurely walk through the middle of the field during the match.  A policeman leisurely followed to try to catch the dog.   About three fourths of the way down the field, the police, to my surprise (Mongolians dont really touch dogs), reached down and grabbed the dog, and the dog snarled and bit him right on the field!  The policemen then carried the dog off of the field and out of the stadium as the other policemen laughed and jeered him.  About the time the dog was escorted, another gust of wind came and knocked down another judges tent. haha.  The wrestling continued and then in a fast surprising move, the underdog wrestler won the match.

9.  The End

Naadam ended with our hasha dog, Bartok, getting all the leftover hosher trash.  She was so incredibly happy.

Coming up Next Post:

A giddis (animal innards lunch)

and the stories around me meeting my second sister from Ulaanbaator!!