MongoLogs

That's it

2008-06-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

That about sums it up. Thank you all for supporting me through your prayers and words of encouragement these last months. Sorry that it took me awhile to get these pictures up here and that you had to do with only words for so long. The pictures are put in reverse chronological order. They are meant to kind of be a visual for some of the things that I wrote about. I hope you enjoy getting this glimpse of the vastness of the land and my experiences.
I will continue to keep a blog going from time to time at http://theinvisibleninja.blogspot.com

Gansukh's wedding

2008-06-24T20:31:00.000-07:00

Went to my friend Gansukh's wedding. Was very fun and I think somewhat of a blend between western and Mongolian styles exhibited in the ceremony.

Darkhan

2008-06-24T19:43:00.000-07:00

Went to Darkhan for a few days. Darkhan is the 2nd largest city in Mongolia with a population of about 100,000. Checked out the work that the C&MA is doing there, though, not pictured. This is an evening in the park with my friend Solongo who was my guide and also I think safeguard sent by WV to make sure I would make it back home eventually.

An evening at the river

2008-06-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

One evening after work we went to the Kherlen river for a stroll and to enjoy the sunset.

Snow! Isn't it summer yet?!

2008-06-24T18:25:00.000-07:00

It snowed in May! This day we saw all 4 seasons. In the morning it was warm and summer and before we new it snow was falling in huge chunks.

The first rain and bits of green

2008-06-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

The first rain was so exciting and invigorating as it brought life. It was so exciting to see the first bits of green grace the brown soil. Amazing.

Khorkhug

2008-06-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

This was my farewell party. They cooked up a goat in that big metal container usually used for collecting water from the well. Then they put veggies and hot rocks in there to cook it. Then put the whole thing over a fire. Wow that was so nice and tasty. A very special celebration. Felt very loved.

Funny pics from the office

2008-06-24T10:55:00.000-07:00

Birthday party!

2008-06-24T10:35:00.000-07:00

we had a joint b-day party for two of the WV staff. pretty fun. the b-day girls are the ones in the door frame in case you were wondering. we all sat centered around a cloth on the floor that held our food and just enjoyed each other's company. good times.

marmot

2008-06-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

So...we ate marmot one evening. it was fun...plenty pictures of us having fun while waiting for it to finish. so, this is how it happened. it was beheaded and then scalding red-hot rocks were inserted into it and it was cooked from the inside out as we shut its neck with a wire. the hair from the little creature was then torched off. and there you have it!

Ondorkhaan mountain

2008-06-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

went to the mountain one day. had lunch at the foot of the mountain with a family that was generous enough to let us eat their beef jerky+noodles soup and ride their horses. it was glorious up there. the land is so vast. the sky, so blue. wow.

Berkh again...

2008-06-14T09:00:00.000-07:00

some more pics...there are some pictures of buuz and Bayaraa fighting with a cow and people "combing" cashmere from goats...

Night sky

2008-06-11T21:57:00.001-07:00

It was marvelous and I almost missed it. My friend called me up and told me to go outside and take pictures and I almost decided against it.

Pics from around town and the museum

2008-06-11T21:37:00.000-07:00

My friend Hoyga showed me around town a bit and took me to some museums. He also wanted to take some tough-guy pictures. Pictured: the ceremonial ger with fancy woodwork inside (sort of in honor of Chinggis Khan because he was born in Khentii province); Mongolian script; my friend Hoyga being cooked alive; etc.

Berkh Chess Competition

2008-06-08T12:42:00.000-07:00

Chess competition in Berkh city. Some pictures from along the way and some from the awards ceremony which was complete with cute kids completely decked out for the occasion singing. Priceless.

Boy's conference

2008-06-08T12:37:00.001-07:00

A gathering trying to get the boys involved in the community and deal with the significant imbalance that already existed. Mostly girls were involved in the children's participatory councils. A success I believe...in progress as people set good examples.

"Development Day"/cleanup

2008-06-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

English Club

2008-06-08T12:30:00.000-07:00

This is when we went over all the rules of English club and were trying to get the ball rolling on the thing. Was a big to do with coffee served and powerpoints and speeches.

Mongolia wrestling

2008-06-08T12:24:00.000-07:00

my friend Bayaraa referred to their outfits as "sexy lingerie". what was so funny about this is that he speaks barely any English and had to constantly open up his dictionary and point to it to communicate with me as we watched. to open and after winning the wrestlers do an eagle dance. also see pictures from the hour long opening service, filled with speeches and music.

Concert

2008-06-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

went to a concert with disabled children. was wonderful, beautiful, not just the music but the children and watching them.

Umnudelger and Binder

2008-06-08T11:59:00.000-07:00

this was from a quick visit to other areas...if you followed past posts...these would have fallen under the "STEP" blog. so, take notice of the opening of the new well ceremony. and most of all what i like to affectionately call mt. turd.

2008-06-08T11:55:00.000-07:00

These pictures are from Tsaagan sar. The actual celebration and stuff. The scenic ones are me standing on the river that is completely frozen, taking a break and soaking in the scene. I wish I had more to post but I hate looking like a tourist and stuff.

pardon me

2008-06-08T11:44:00.000-07:00

well...please pardon me for the long hiatus from this site. i have since returned to thailand for awhile and have occupied myself with other things, neglecting posting pictures. these pictures are more from the new year when the kids helped out the lady by cleaning her home and giving her food and helping with cooking. i don't know what i posted before so please be patient.

Snow?

2008-05-09T03:01:00.001-07:00

What month are we in again? December? January? Oh wait, it's MAY! If I'm not mistaken, I thought we were in the middle of spring, bouncing our way to summer while other places have already started. But hey for now it's winter and big chunks of snow falling from the sky. Don't know why but it was exciting!

The first rain

2008-05-01T21:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the first rain of the year colored the pale soil, enhancing, brightening, and in some cases darkening, the vast palette set before me. It was as if the sky was grumbling through the process, reluctant to give to the earth forming a single great gray foreboding cloud. That familiar smell that is described in all too many songs, poems, and books reminded me what it is that has inspired such responses.
To be fair, to call it rain is bordering on exaggeration. It was barely a drizzle, there were no pitter patters to be heard. In a painstakingly slow process the ground was consumed by the new hue that reminded that life is on its return as the desert brown became a rich red. Being the first rain of the year, it was overwhelmingly anticlimactic and understated given the dramatic fuss that the sky put up.
Yet it fascinated me.
I tried to take pictures to capture the scene only to realize that it was a moment whose significance was subtle and dynamic.
As I was taking a walk, I saw up close for the first time grass emerging from the soil. I pointed it out to Bayaraa, I don’t think he was as excited as I was.
I forgot how refreshing and cleansing it is to breathe in that moist rainy air when drops seem to stand still and make you wonder if you are stuck in a photo.
Most people know that I am an avid fan of the sun and that an overcast sky clouds my heart. Admittedly, I was unhappy when I saw what the horizon had to offer as shadows crept up on me. It was not until I stepped outside and took in my surroundings—not as an ugly scene but as a moment filled with much that the walls and windows shielded me from—that I was overtaken by such an underwhelming view.
Until the clouds let loose what they had been hoarding, the soil was just as much in the air as it was on the ground due to the moods of the wind that change on whim. Today the air was clear after the rain returned the dust to its rightful place and made it cling to the rest. It was strange to have the winds blowing and not be getting a taste of the earth with each breath.
Mongolia really needed this rain. I began to wonder, how many moments like this do we miss? As we step to the different rhythms of life how often do we notice the verses that lead up to the chorus? We are all so busy or our minds are as clear as a neglected fish tank that all we have time to hear is the chorus—we fast forward to it—while the rest goes unnoticed and forgotten. Twice a day the sun makes wondrous announcements, at the end of the day as an oath that it will return after visiting the other side of the earth, and at the start to fill us with hope and wonder for a new day. Yet, I find myself hardly giving the time of day to the sun’s triumphal exodus and marvelous returns. With this in mind, how much of the smaller moments—hidden in the shadows of the sun—are we missing, content to be satisfied by the static nature of a scene, a photo, rather than the dynamic moments that fill our days? These fragments, are insignificant, broken pieces on their own, but paired with others they are given context and meaning as life shifts and flows as a fluid mosaic.

21

2008-04-28T00:19:00.002-07:00

She is about twenty one years old but when I asked her how old she is she wasn’t exactly sure. Because of her buzzed hair, baggy clothes, somewhat gruff voice, and dirty face, she could pass for a guy. I don’t know her name, but I see her all over town, usually at church and she tends to make a weekly appearance at World Vision. We call her “Soko’s sister” because she bears a faint resemblance to Soko, one of the WV staff.
This girl is to some degree, suffering from mental disability, and yet I see a strong element in her that is in all of us. In her simplicity she is unguarded, probably much more honest and real than most of us. She walks with a limp and her right hand is curled and stiff. She isn’t slowed by this, a simple left-handed handshake is proffered with a smile and a “Sain uu?” which is a friendly greeting. I can’t help but smile to myself at the way she makes it a mission to greet everyone, and yet I’m saddened at the responses she receives. She doesn’t take notice of or care much about what else is going on the way the rest of us do. In the middle of the church service she will go about her mission, going from bench to bench proffering her left hand while people are trying to listen to the sermon. When her greeting is reciprocated I see her face light up with such simple, real joy. Yet, all too often, because we are caught up in trying to maintain order and pay attention, I see that we tend to scold her and tell her to be quiet. This is a slap in the face to her.
Last week I saw this and how hard she took it when her kindness was rejected. She was so upset, her loud crying disrupting the service even more. Generally people are tolerant and nice to her, don’t get me wrong. My point is not to condemn people. Rather, through this I saw that her sense of value and self-worth, her sense of belonging, was centered on whether or not people notice her. The reason it is so important for her to shake everyone’s hand is because we aren’t sure how to deal with her—it’s awkward—and so we ignore her rather than pouring into her the love that she longs for deeply. It is so sad to see her base her value on whether or not people return a handshake.
I think that a lot of us really aren’t much different from this girl. Yet because we are sophisticated, educated, and going through life all organized and tidy it is manifest in different ways, often disguised and hidden. All of us want to belong, so we do things for other people to make them happy, hoping that they will accept us. We are broken people, our hands dirty from falling in the ungraces of the world. We have our disabilities, our weaknesses, that we hope to hide and yet are afraid that no one can see past them to who we are. We are so insecure in who we are that we fear our missteps become our ascribed identity, so we toil and slave to belong. So we sell ourselves short, resorting to anything, a handshake, that tells us that we are okay in spite of our faults.
We were playing volleyball one night at the local zaal. Our friend made an appearance and of course went on about her business as usual. A game of volleyball did not stop her in the search for identity in hopes that we would give her that smile that would comfort just long enough to sustain her. I remember the ball being in play and her coming over to me, even my rushed “Sain uu?” made her happy. This simplicity makes people uncomfortable, disrupting their order because it resonates with something inside of them.
There is something about being loved by others that makes it worth it, leaves you longing for more--as many times as she has been rejected, she still continues in her search.

church

2008-04-28T00:19:00.001-07:00

I have been going to two of the churches in town, alternating between them in no particular pattern. The first church I went to because the ADP manager invited me was started by a Korean missionary, Kwang. His three kids are great, the boys 15 and 13, and the daughter 9—one time I lent them a 500+ page book and apparently the fought over it the whole week but had both managed to finish it within 5 days. The majority of the people in attendance seem to be of the middle-aged and up group. The music is led by the missionary’s wife on an acoustic guitar and the songs are chosen as people call out the number of the song that they want to sing, then the guy at the projector scrambles to find the right one. Overall I think the service is rather consistent with the age group, toned down but reverent, filled with people sharing their testimonies to God’s work in their life.
Today I went to the other church, which is led by a Dutch missionary, Hanneke. She is about 6’4” with a disarming smile and speaks a myriad of languages, one time she started speaking to me in French only to realize her mistake a few minutes later because of the confused look I wore on my face. This church I feel is made up of a younger crowd. The worship is lively and there are even drums. You can see the energy and passionate hearts of people as they lose themselves in veneration. Like the other church, a great deal of time is given for people to share their praises, blessings, and struggles. A strength I believe in both of the churches, something that is often lost in the bigger churches I have been to.
Something exciting happened today and I heard a testimony that was pretty cool. In the middle of the service an elderly man and his wife came in and sat down next to me. A few minutes later they moved up to the front row, sitting next to a young guy wearing a red jacket and sporting a mullet. I figured they moved up there because his hearing wasn’t too good as soon after whoever was speaking decided to bust out the microphone. I learned at the end of the service that the elderly man was the young man’s grandfather and had decided to give his life over to Jesus. The grandson announced it to the rest of us, and you could see the real joy in his eyes.
Hanneke gave me a backdrop of history that gave insight and brought to life the testimony of this family. Apparently when the grandson was a young boy, his father who was a Lama (Buddhist monk) had done summoned and invoked everything he knew in his faith to try and cure his son who was severely ill. Finally, desperate, he prayed to “God of heaven” to heal his son and his prayer was answered. When he was on his death bed, he called to his son and pulled out from under his bed a book he had hidden for years. He handed it to his son saying, “this is the true book of the true God—the God of heaven.” This is what led his son to Christ. A Lama, secretly worships Jesus and gives his son a Bible in his last moments, ultimately leading to his own father being saved after his death. What a testimony!

Paved Roads

2008-04-22T23:22:00.000-07:00

Don’t take the paved road.

Ondorkhaan is the aimag(province) center of Khentii with a population of around seventeen thousand. I hadn’t thought of it as much until I mentioned to Ethan that I was surprised that this little town had a school for disabled children and he said it is like a state capital. Makes sense. There are a few paved roads that run through our town, including one that we call the main street because it goes through the section where the majority of the business and little shops are. I have learned that roads don’t really mean much here. They all have spots where they are a little torn up so rather than going over the bumps the cars either shift to the opposite lane or drive through the dirt that the road has divided. You see, anything that is not a bump, a building, another car, or a person IS the road. It is so hard to know how to walk around, you have to be constantly on the watch for a car because even if you are off the road you may find yourself face-to-face with an oncoming vehicle.
There are street lights, but they work only some of the time. They randomly go on and off. I have yet to see the stop lights in operation. The rules of the road are just different. I’m not sure why, but I love it that the street lights capriciously switch off while walking under their glow.
Today was cool. A motley group of us went up to Ondorkhaan mountain. There was Saina, who is the director for external relations. I have a problem with profiling people and making up their personality based on a few observations. I quickly had him down as the rich guy you shouldn’t trust or mess with because although clean cut he probably had ties with the mafia. His teeth were framed in shiny metal as if a dentist were showcasing his work, he wore a nice suit and long leather boots that I really don’t see men often wearing. He just looked like a mafia guy what can I say? So, I was really wrong on that one. He was very friendly and a brother in the faith, had traveled the world and was very interested in my experiences and helping me out.
The next guy, Dorj, I was wrong on too. He had a limp—which was somehow ominous and intimidating—and on occasion used one of those canes that has a brace and support at the elbow. He had a crew cut and looked tough, as if seasoned by many tough years, and of course wore a nice suit—looking professional and equally dangerous. I saw him as the right hand man to the aforementioned mafia man. This man was heavily involved in ministry, devoting himself to visiting prisoners and sharing the gospel with them. I was told that he really has the gift of evangelism.
Then there was the Malaysian pastor, Mr. Lor, decked out in traditional Mongolian garb called a “del”; the ADP manager, Ganaa, the only woman among us, dressed stylishly of course and always equipped with a smile that exuded joy and innocence; and myself, the odd American kid, unshaven and awkward. Yes, there you have it.
We first went to a ger that was on the vast steppe that rest at the foot of the mountain. Dried beef was boiled along with some flour noodles in what was like beef jerky soup. Watched some men comb and collect cashmere from bleating goats, it was kind of weird, the complaints of the furry fellows sounded pretty human. The family had, through the police, hired guys that had committed minor crimes to work for 300 tugriks an hour or 3000 per day. That’s less than 3 bucks, and the sad thing is that you can buy 2-3 cheap bottles of vodka with that money. Saina shared with me the sadness he felt, knowing that was probably how they were going to blow their money and that this is no anomaly—it is the norm. I learned that the solar panels I saw, basking in the sun, at this ger and at the other herder families I had visited, were supplemented by the government so they could have electricity.
I’m no outdoorsman but when I got to ride the horse around, looking off into the plains that sloped up to the mountains and the herd off in the distance, something in me stirred. I wondered what it would be like, to live such a simple life, free to roam. I could see the city in the distance, with the heat rising off the ground creating a translucent veil distorting its shape, giving it an illusory, mirage-like appearance.
The drive to the mountain was bumpy to say the least. We were a bit jostled when we arrived, but we made it, and what a wondrous site it was from up there. I began to think about how if we stick to the paved roads how much we might be missing, what mountaintops we pass by because we want to go the way so many other lives have gone, guaranteeing safety. Hard thing to think about for someone that prefers order and things planned out. I wonder how much I have missed out on for fear of being uncomfortable or getting a flat tire.
The ubiquitous shiny blue scarves were everywhere, tied to trees and posts that protruded from piles of rocks. There were a few shrubs that were so entangled with them it appeared as if they were alight with blue flame. At the top was an even greater shrine, it looked as if a mighty fortress that had fallen and people had tied the scarves in remembrance of its former glory; wooden doors with painted soldiers stood guard. People walk around it three times to receive blessing. This is why we were here. People worship the mountain and give it offerings in hope of good fortune. Mr. Lor anointed the mountain, prayed over it, the city, and the land.
Something about the frayed, tattered, scarves holding on so desperately to the poles to which they were tied, spoke to me. The wind was so strong, I envied that they could fly in the wind and still be anchored. This may sound Gnostic but with the sun shining in my face I couldn’t help but close my eyes and hope that the wind would take me away, out of the human shell that I felt so trapped in at the moment. It felt like being on the verge of something and dying, waiting for it to happen. Like someone leaning in to whisper something to you and yet they aren’t saying anything. I felt so close to God and yet so frustrated as the reality of the distance became clear, the tension was somehow invigorating, so inspired but without any words. There was something about being on top of a mountain and in a 360 sweep of the horizon I could only barely see the edge of town, the rest was open air and land.
Even a city boy needs his fair share exploring unpaved paths, for it is the mountain tops that remind the soul what it was created for.
(mad props to Robert Frost for saying this so concisely)

another sunset

2008-04-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

The air is cold outside, the sun is hiding behind a mixture of clouds and dust on whose particles its rays rest, giving me the familiar sunset that my eyes never grow weary of. The air no longer bites in that you want to take refuge from it. It is that refreshing sense that fills your lungs and chills your skin, making you feel alive and yet ever alone.
Motorcycles buzz by, kicking up the soil that has yet to be anchored with the roots of spring. An obscene piece of graffiti—the result of puberty and too much free time—disturbs my view. I am continually frustrated that as beautiful as the sight is I cannot look directly at the sun and thus not take in the scene fully, I am forced to use my peripheral vision. As it pulls itself closer to the edge of the horizon to visit the other side of the earth it becomes more and more red. Finally it bids me farewell as it peers over the hills. For a moment I can gaze at it in full. My first inclination was to be disappointed but I thought against it and continued to stare. It was so simple, round and red, that’s it. Yet I felt like I couldn’t pull my eyes from it. Really, it is a strange sensation to be able to look directly at that which is powerful enough to burn my skin and light up a whole atmosphere.
I feel alone and yet I want to be. It is this confusing dialectic of conflicting feelings that is my affliction. How can one so desire to be around loved ones and familiarity and yet turn down an offer to escape loneness? Is it that the uncomfortable company of strangers makes one feel more alone than actually being alone? Sometimes this may be true, but I wonder if it is more the fear of feeling alone when with others that drives me to this strange place. Fear is a lousy driver.
I have realized how I am so influenced by what others think. I think it is in part due to being somewhat of a people pleaser, not wanting to rock the boat too much and be generally agreeable with people. I noticed it when I began to quickly change how I felt about where I am and what I am doing. When people from the big city came and visited I felt like my living situation is somewhat simple and that I am generally satisfied. Maybe the same when I talk (email) with people in other countries or think about their lives. There was this feeling of sort of being somewhat proud of being able to adjust to this kind of life. Faster than I could say “paradigm shift” I began to feel like I wasn’t getting a real experience here. I went to a gathering of Peace Corps volunteers where a pig was roasted on a metal wire frame and I heard about how remote some of their towns were. Most live in gers, chop their own wood, and get their water from a well. Some are the only English speaker in their town.
At this point I began to feel like a filthy rich kid that came in wanting to get some attention and feel good about himself, all the while living in luxury. I then started to feel inadequate and useless and about how much more of a rich experience they are getting. They are learning the language and living a lifestyle that is so different from their life back home that they will never see things the same. My life, it isn’t really all that different. I’m somewhat isolated, but I have the internet and 2 Americans in my town that I can spend time with.
Fear really is a lousy driver. It took me down this road, the fear of being on the verge of a great experience only to have seen it from a distance. I learned you really can’t let other people determine your experiences—there is someone who always has it better or worse—it is ok to learn from them and gain perspective. I truly admire what the Peace Corps people are doing, but through hearing their frustrations I see that we are each getting our own unique experience of Mongolia. My time is short here and in a sense I am jealous for more. If I was here longer then maybe I could have a more diversified experience.

One small steppe for man...

2008-04-03T00:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we went to Berkh. This is the third time I’m writing about Berkh. I don’t exactly know why it always falls prey to being a subject of my blogs, but it does, live with it. I guess the openness of the land speaks to me, as I look out across it there really isn’t much to see. A few scattered herds of animals grazing, some of them choosing to pattern their path so that it intersects with ours, met with a few honks to clear our way. It was strange, as my mind grazed on the horizon I noticed that if I were to look directly to my left or right it all looked brown. Yet as I looked straight ahead I could see, ever so slightly, the first roots of green beginning to layer the soil. The color was foreign and soft, almost elusive, very distinct and yet the longer you looked at it the less of it you could see.
I have been thinking a bit about perspective recently, so it is interesting that this happened to be a very visual demonstration of it. Some analogies or observations that we come up are pretty lame, so I hope this doesn’t fall into that category. Anyway, it seems that when we are in the midst of something it is easy to be dragged down by the circumstances and to not see hope. Yet as I shifted my grazing gaze from the remnants of the death that the winter sweeps over the land, I saw that although very small, life lay ahead. It was a fascinating spot of transition to be in. From one side it seemed as if we were in the desert without promise of an oasis, and on the other, life springing back.

On the more work related side of things…we went to have a meeting with some of the community members there. The idea was to lay out the plans discussed at the beginning of the fiscal year and see how we were going to follow up with activities to meet our goals. The big issues discussed were the building of a deep-water well and construction of a new playground.
The well was actually a hot-topic, everyone was quite involved and it showed in the range of volume used. Let’s continue with another understatement, wells are important. The issues raised were that it is very expensive to dig a well deep enough to tap into a potable source, in fact, beyond the planned budget. However, prices and inflation have been dramatically on the rise here. I was told that land, for example, had doubled in price in only a period of three months. Since coming here, I’ve seen prices in the market increase as well. With this in mind, they were posing the question as to whether it would be more worth it to drill the well now or if they would wait to raise more funds as the cost also increases. There is also the health aspect, how long must they wait to have drinkable water? In addition to that is that unlike most other towns, a majority reside in old Russian apartments rather than gers. The apartments are equipped with centralized water-heating but are disabled because of a lack of water due to debts that the mining company had. The mining company controlled the water system but was losing money so had to cut funds, which led to a very cold winter for a lot of families. These are difficult decisions to make, I admire that WV had to take a hard spot in facilitating the discussion. Better to involve the community and let them know what is going on rather than avoiding the issue.
The playground discussion was a little easier considering that enough funding was available. The government is to provide funding for land, etc and WV the equipment for the kids to play on.
As we were looking at the playground previously installed by WV I couldn’t help but notice shards of broken vodka bottles jutting out of the sand. This is not safe for kids at all. I guess it reminded me of the relevance and need for a project like the one I will be starting. Let’s hope it happens and it is sustainable.
On the way back from Berkh we stopped at Degii’s (driver) mother’s (remember ‘Natasha’?) ger. We had some buuz and tea and I got to see another reminder of the first steps of spring in the bleating of kids (baby goats), calves, and lambs. Also got to see people gathering cashmere from the goats. Cool.

Last Week

2008-03-11T19:21:00.000-07:00

This week has been a big change from the week before. A lot slower paced with much less going on. In all likelihood it is because almost all of the staff were gone to UB doing stuff at the national office. It didn’t help that the English teacher I work with was also gone as that takes a lot of my time. I had been offered to go to UB as well but told that because everyone was going to be in meetings I wouldn’t have much to do. I thought it better to stay as I could take teach the English classes still. Well, that didn’t work out.
I’ll start with last Friday.
After work I met up with Ethan (Peace corps volunteer/PCV) at 4th school where he teaches to go to Darlene’s (PCV) ger for some dinner. It was a bit of a long walk as it shifted from twilight to dark. Their friend Matt (PCV) was visiting from another soum as he was on his way to UB. Matt is the only foreigner in his small town of less than a thousand so I guess it was nice for him to have people to speak English with. There is also only 1 phone in his town at the post office, with no cellular service. He was a Spanish major, lived in Argentina and Chile for 2 years and yet they sent him to Mongolia.
We made rolls with Vietnamese rice paper which is a thin, stiff, round, translucent sheet that you drop in water for a second and it is soft and ready to roll. Darlene is a vegetarian so we cooked up carrots, potatoes, noodles, and tofu to put in them to be dipped in some tasty peanut butter sauce. They were a little messy as the ingredients are a little heavy compared to the usual lettuce and meat that you normally put in.
Darlene also made some cookies, most of which were in some form burned. We of course gave her a lot of flak for that but all the same enjoyed them.
The rest of the night we chitchatted and played some games. We played Euchre first because I guess that’s what a lot of PCV’s do to which Darlene was highly resistant to learning. We also played Taboo where I was told that I speak too slowly which they credited to being around people that aren’t native English speakers. Scattergories also made it into the mix.
Matt and I stayed in Darlene’s ger while she and Ethan crashed in his ger. We slept in sleeping bags, sharing an almost double bed. Here I was sleeping in a ger for the first time, next to someone I had only met a few hours earlier.
The next day got Matt and I up early. We walked into town so that he could buy a phonecard. The wind was strong, sweeping along dirt and dust, fortunately it was going the same way as us. We ran out of conversation topics kind of quickly. Later we met up with Darlene and Ethan at Ider Onon for lunch.
Darlene had to tutor some students for the upcoming English Olympics so the three guys went back to her ger to watch a college basketball game that Matt had on dvd. At one point on the way back I noticed Ethan suddenly turned around and started walking backwards. I looked up from the uneven ground I had been watching and saw a big gust of dust coming our way, as if a stampede were rushing us. (when I washed my hair the next day I was surprised to see how much dust it had collected)
The basketball game allowed for a lot of sports talk and the NBA trades that have happened recently, but after that I pretty much fell out of conversation. After watching a whole disc of Arrested Development I found it hard to enter into what they were talking about. First it was the hip-hop music that they listened to growing up. Then it went to PCV stories and tales of their friends’ drunken stupidity.

Sunday I went with Jagaa and Bathuyag to Berkh again. WV was sponsoring a chess competition out there and we were going to film and give out the awards. Unfortunately I found myself on the first day of a cold which meant a runny nose without Kleenex and a million sneezes. My second time in Berkh was a lot different. Last time we went we arrived at sunset, this time we got there midmorning. Last time I went there I was in wonder at the vastness of the white blanket that covered the land. Now the blanket had been removed, revealing endless brown earth. We saw several herders along the way, guiding along their horses, sheep, goats, or camels. Unlike most other towns, a lot of the residences are old Russian apartment buildings, abandoned after they left in 1990.
The award ceremony for the chess tournament was a big deal. 3 young girls dressed up in shiny garb and poofy hair thingies opened it up with some singing. Then medal after medal was awarded to the winners, many winning a small cash prize along with a little certificate.
Monday was a day for the young men of the community. The child participation council and WV decided it needed to get the boys involved. This is a problem that spans most of the country—women are much more active in helping out the community. It was an all day conference that I attended about half of, taking pictures and filming when needed. I think this is so important and I hope that guys are inspired to take initiative. Later in the day we did trash pick up along the main road on the occasion that it was “Development Day.” There was so much garbage. No public trashcans are anywhere to be seen in the city so it gets dumped anywhere and everywhere.
Wednesday I was in the office the whole day helping out the staff that had returned from UB. They brought with them more than a hundred gifts and letters for sponsored children. They then had to translate the letters from English into Mongolian. The problem is that the letters come from either Switzerland or France so you have non-native English speakers writing in English and non-native speakers reading them. I helped them understand the general gist of things when they didn’t understand and explained things that the English to Mongolian dictionary didn’t have. Sometimes it was also a matter of not being able to read the handwriting. At one point I found myself struggling to describe a chinchilla. A nocturnal poofy rat that rolls around in some weird dust, how do you explain that?

March 8th

2008-03-11T19:19:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting outside, enjoying the beauty of the day. That’s right, gone is the cold bitter winter and now spring has finally come. I munched away at an ‘Alibi’ candy bar made in Poland and tried to figure out if it meant something else in Polish and considered all the slogan and ad possibilities with a name like that. Two white lines divided the sky as they went somewhere across the Mongolian blue. If I was savvy enough I could have figured their general place of departure and arrival but I can never remember if the sun sets in the east or the west. I don’t know why I can’t remember that but I can still recite the first 20 elements of the periodic table, thank you very much Mr. Allan.
Today has been a relatively lazy day, which is okay I guess since its Saturday. This is also what is celebrated as “Women’s Day”, which the WV staff had the day off for yesterday. Seems like a good idea to me, I wonder if they celebrate mother’s and father’s day as well. Anyway, I got up late and got myself some breakfast of bread and jam alongside instant coffee before Bathuyag came a knocking at my door. He wanted to take me to the small FM radio station so I could pick whatever songs I wanted played and also to copy them for me. A nice offer but I kind of wanted the day to myself so I told him I would just stay here. I think he was alright with it, he comes by almost everyday and we do stuff together.
I did some cleaning up around here and washed a small batch of clothes. I don’t know why but I like cleaning my clothes by hand, somehow it gets you in a thinking mood or something.
I went for a walk around town and for the first time since coming here it was too hot. As weird as that sounds, I wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the day. I went with my usual 4 or so layers and was getting sweaty by the time I got home.
Anyway, now some catching up. Let’s start with yesterday.

I got up at the usual time for work and while I was eating my breakfast my supervisor, Ganaa, called me from UB(Ulaanbaatar) to let me know that today was “vacation” because of women’s day on the 8th.
A few hours later Bathuyag stopped by my room and offered to take me around town and see some sights. First we went to the “local” museum. It cost me 1000 tugrik to get in because of my foreigner status. As much as I expect it I always hate that even though it’s a lot less money for me than for a local person. The funny thing is that they had to give me 3 tickets (300 t each)for an adult and 2 (50 each) for a child so that it would work out to 1000 total. I guess they don’t try to hide it from you like they do in Thailand.
Anyway after busting out my camera I was told I couldn’t take pictures. Since we are in the capital of the province it was history and famous people from Khentii. There were paintings, old books in the traditional Mongolian script, stuffed animals to represent the variety of wildlife, and more. Bathuyag did his best to explain to me whatever I asked him and also decided to try and snag some pictures with my camera.
After that we went to the library for a little while before we were informed that it was lunch time for the staff. So we decided to take our own lunch nearby. Soup with flour noodles, meat and lots of fat was the meal of choice. At first he wasn’t going to eat but then ran into his high-school buddy that is a cook at the place and wound up getting a free meal.
We then went to the historical museum which I had seen the outside of once before as it was closed the last time I tried to go to. It consists of about 5 old buildings that bore resemblance to Chinese architecture and a ceremonial ger. The buildings are 300 years old and each one was themed differently, one had Buddhist paraphernalia, another sports and games, another traditional household life. I should mention that part of it was a courtyard for a Buddhist temple, while another housed the governor at one time.
Again, here I paid twice as much as Bathuyag and was told that it was going to cost me 500 tugrik for every photo I wanted to take. That just seemed ridiculous to me so I initially avoided that. When we got to the ceremonial ger which was decked out with beautiful wood carvings and furniture we decided to take some pictures and we weren’t charged.
It was good to get out and learn a little history for the day. Bathuyag was nice enough to spend an entire day with me so that I can get some more insight to this country and its people. We spend a lot of time together talking, hanging out, eating meals together. Despite his limited vocabulary and grammar he has an understanding for ideas that goes beyond just words. This is rather unique as others I know that have better knowledge of the English language are not able to communicate as much as he. He isn’t shy and has a good sense of humor, making it all the easier. He says that we have the same mind, even though we are from different cultures, that’s why we are able to understand each other so well. Perhaps.

Kids concert (March 4)

2008-03-05T20:05:00.000-08:00

I hung out with a class of disabled children today. I had met them about two weeks earlier when I dropped by to be introduced to the class and see what the work is like for the teachers. Ten kids in all and two teachers to watch over them. Neither of these teachers have training in this specific area, just lots and lots of love for children. It is clear, it exudes from their hearts as they interact and talk with the kids. Many of the kids have been making a lot of progress. Last time I visited, they told me the stories of progress. A lot of them had no way of communicating other than crying or screaming and some of them would soil themselves whenever they had to go. Yet, these kids were all so composed, most of them were able to talk, to the point that I didn’t think that they were disabled. Yet it was clear in the way that they struggled with simple puzzles, which according to the teacher, could be solved by her 3 year old child. One boy can’t talk and is constantly drooling, but he is happy, he keeps handing me pictures and flash cards. He barely has control over his limbs. When asked what his father does for work he puts his hand next to his head, signaling a salute because he is a policeman.
Today we went to a concert. I sat in the front of our vehicle with a kid on my lap while the other 8 and the teacher piled in the back. What struck me was how the older kids, despite their problems, were so very caring. They were really watching out for the younger ones, helping them along, holding their hands.
We ended up in the front row which was a little uncomfortable being so close to the speakers, but convenient for taking pictures. It was an interesting sight. Kids lined up all along the 3 foot high stage, peering over the top in anticipation. Others sat on the stairs, pushing each other off and picking fights. Still others sat on the edge of the stage next to the large black speakers. There were always kids running up and down the aisle. It was like this the entire duration of the concert.
The show was national music, starting with a group of male teens playing the horse-headed fiddle. There were two sort of interpretive or traditional dances. A bunch of solos and duets in the soaring, epic, ballad type songs that are so distinctly Mongolian. Our kids seemed quite into it and I think it was a fun activity for them. One boy had a huge grin on his face as he attempted to clap and express his happiness.

From week 1, getting food

2008-03-05T20:03:00.000-08:00

On Friday my supervisor looked at me, concerned, and said, “you have been eating every meal at café, I think not good, not healthy.” I laughed and explained that I didn’t even know where the market was and all the other little details that go along with that. She promptly left the room and next thing I know one of the other staff members came in and said, “Are you free right now? Yes? Ok, let’s go.” I grabbed my duffle bag to put the goods in and off we went.
When I went into the “fresh” area of the “black market” (holds a different meaning here, I promise) all I could think about was how a great deal of people that I know would be put off by the difference in hygiene standards. There were a dozen different vendors selling meat which was cut into huge chunks and sitting out in the open. If you wanted a slab you just picked it up and they weighed it, giving you the price. My piece of meat was put into a plastic bag meant for something much smaller. I really didn’t want to put it in my duffle bag since I often carry my clothes in it. My guide didn’t understand my reticence at putting it in my bag and I tried to explain. She proceeded to take it from me and put it in her purse. Horror and guilt gripped me at the same time. I felt so bad that she did that but wouldn’t let me take it back from her. I gulped and tried to move on as we filled my bag with potatoes, apples, onions and other goods.
We went to at least 3 different stores to pick up the variety of stuff. I discovered that the stuff from Russia is considered better quality than the imports from China. We finally went to one store that I made a note of because they actually listed the price on each object. Important to remember for later so I can shop on my own without someone taking me around, holding my hand and patting me on the head.
With my duffle bag full of food I felt as if I was smuggling something illegal, its contents concealed.

STEP (Feb 12-13)

2008-03-05T20:01:00.000-08:00

(this was written a little while ago, so this is a little…outdated?)Last week Tuesday through Thursday we were traveling doing STEP (Sponsorship Tracking and Enhancement Program) surveys among families that have registered children. This is done once a year to check up on the sponsored children, updating the documented information so that they can consider how to better serve the community. A total of 25 of us went on the trip, comprised of a community based organization’s staff and World Vision staff.
Tuesday morning we were scheduled to leave at 7am but we left at quarter till 8 as everyone scurried to get last minute things ready for the trip. Since it was supposed to be colder in these other “soums” (the country is broken down into aimags [provinces], soums, then baghs) I was equipped with much thicker, warmer clothing. It turned out that it actually warmer than in Undurkhaan. Oh well.
At one point in our journey we went through a place called “Moron.”
Sometime around 11 we arrived in Umnudelger, after a quick lunch we began surveying people, going from ger to ger. I went with Saikhna and a local “volunteer mother” who guided us through the 40 something interviews. Each home we went to without fail gave us a cup of milk-tea and candy. I think by the end of the day I had gone through something like 20 cups of tea.
I felt useless and helpless because really there wasn’t a whole lot I could do as we went from house to house. I could only observe and try to learn more about the people and the culture from the interactions and hospitality. Other than that I would ask questions and they would give me insights into each family along the way. On the second day one of the staff joked that it was my job to just eat for those two days.
We were able to complete our surveys ahead of schedule, filling out around 1000 in a matter of hours. We moved on to Binder and arrived there in the evening. As it turned out the hotel wasn’t big enough to hold all the staff so the 7 guys went to another “hotel” which was actually a 1 room cabin with a lot of beds. We had dinner and watched some movie on the tiny tv and joked that the Coca Cola we had was beer and the Orange Fanta was Whiskey. Dinner was noodles, meat, and pickled veggies.
In the morning we ate what we had the night before for breakfast. I had wondered why no one was finishing off their plate or bowl. I had finished off mine, deciding not to go with the cues I had observed. The interesting thing was that we were brought green tea and that was used as soup for the noodles. Wasn’t too bad actually. The guys found a small tractor outside and were goofing around on it which made for some fun photo-taking.
This day was very similar to the previous except that I tagged along with Solongo, “Soko”, as we conducted our interviews. We also had a lot less surveys to do. The volunteer mother that guided us through the maze of gers had us over for lunch which consisted of buuz of course. She showed me her son’s artwork that had won him some awards and was put on display at school. I also had the privilege of eating some of her vegetables that she had pickled herself. She had received training on how to grow vegetables and was developing ideas of her own based on what she had learned.
Right before we left we had a ceremony for the deep water well that WV had built. Most of the people in the community had to walk long distances to get freshwater before, but this one cut the distance in half. Since there wasn’t a long piece of ribbon I guess we improvised and tied a series of them together to make the ceremony official.
I also have a confession. One of our interviewees was at school, so we had to drop by there. We stopped in during chess class and they asked me if I wanted to play. So I was pitted against a cute little 7 year old girl who was so serious and quiet the whole match. Yeah, she beat me. I could say I let her win, but no, I was destroyed by her. There, it’s out, happy now?

Priesthood

2008-03-03T21:22:00.000-08:00

Prayer isn’t meant to be on our own behalf. We are “like living stones…being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” it says in 1 Peter 2:5. This is again repeated four verses later, saying that we are a chosen people.
What is this whole priesthood thing about anyway? I had always read this in reference to what the author of Hebrews talks about. He says that Christ’s death on our behalf, his expiating blood, is the ultimate sacrifice—perfect, so that no more blood need be shed for our sin (ch.8-10). Thus, Christ is the mediator between us and God, allowing us to enter the “Most Holy Place” (10:19). What a privilege, for only the high priest was allowed to under the old covenant, and at that once a year. This means that we are able to draw near to God in ways that were off limits before. I had always thought that this emphasized the individuality of our faith, that we can truly be in close relationship to the Father because of what Christ, the Highest Priest, has done for us.
Then I read “My Utmost for His Highest” by Oswald Chambers that changed my thinking. The entry for June 21 suggests something completely opposite about being a part of the priesthood. He said it is not about looking inward and working out our salvation. That is self-centered with the wrong perspective. Instead, we are to look outward.
I was pretty surprised when I read this, but then I started thinking about the priestly duties. They were a select group, chosen to serve the people by making sacrifices and atonement for them. Said differently, their life was dedicated not to themselves but to others. Their life was no small sacrifice, it is quite a duty to be responsible for so many people.
When Peter wrote about us being a priesthood, I think it was with this mindset (he was after all, living in the time of the temple). I think it is difficult to grasp as we don’t have that context or familiarity with all that a priest does. Chambers says that our focus needs to be on praying for the saints. This is the ministry of the priesthood, that we intercede on behalf of others, not ourselves.
Are we, as royal priests, working on behalf of others? Or are we ministering to ourselves, concerned about our own issues, thus denying our priestly duties? We are to be praying for one another. Christ has got your back, so quit focusing on yourself. Pray for the saints.
Let’s face it, we all need prayer. But if we spend too much time praying for ourselves, that is one man’s gain. If we pray for others then how much greater is the covering of our prayer? If we are all praying for our brothers and sisters then that means instead of you only praying for yourself you got your whole family lifting you up.
Pray for the saints.

"If you can?!"

2008-02-20T20:00:00.000-08:00

17…“Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24

When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?

Warmer

2008-02-20T19:59:00.001-08:00

It is warmer today. Either that or I am getting used to the cold. I went with a few less layers and without a hat and was okay walking to the store.
Strange, but something that made me really happy came in the form of a small can of peas. They caught my eye as I walked down the aisle, somehow they seemed out of place. Finally I figured out what it was, they were imported from Thailand! The familiar circles and curves took me home for a second.
As I perused the items I picked up a package of tea. Apparently it was made with green tea leaves from the country of Georgia. There was a bit of English writing on it that made me want to laugh out loud. The part that I remember read “this tea will slake your fhirst [sic].” Slake. That’s a pretty intense guarantee right there.
I’ve been in there a bunch but the check-out clerk was amused by me. After I paid I said “bayarlla” which means “thank you.” She said it back and then in English with a laugh and an emphasis that pointed out my foreignness and demonstrated her knowledge of my language.
Side note: today someone mentioned that it’s only -5. I didn’t realize it had warmed up that much! That’s a 35 degree difference than when I first came. I don’t know how accurate it is but…

The rest of Tsaagan Sar – Saturday, Sunday, Monday – briefly, sort of

2008-02-18T00:37:00.000-08:00

Saturday was by far my busiest day. It began with confusion. I had gotten up to go to Shurenbolor’s home at 9am. That time came and went as I tried to find small things to do that I could easily quickly stop and be ready to leave. By 11 o’clock I decided she wasn’t coming and went to the office to send some emails. Around 1pm I came back and as I was preparing to shave all of a sudden Batgerel appeared in my room, decked out in his shiny blue del. I was so confused. He wasn’t supposed to show up until 3pm. I guess it worked out though right? The first person was a no-show so he, without knowing it, made up for it by showing up early.
Through the course of the day I ended up going to 5 different homes, all relatives of Batgerel, or “Batush.” By the end of the day I was not sure when I was supposed to do the official greeting followed by giving a gift as in some homes it was done and others it was skipped over. The constants were the tea, meat, salads, buuz, vodka and all the visitors/guests receiving a gift from the host. I came home with 2 notebooks, two different fancy chocolates from Poland, a pen, a picture of Chinggis Khan, and a miniature ger.
It was an interesting day because Batush knows very little English. It was hard watching him search through his limited catalogue of words to try and find a way of explaining things to me. We usually found a way, somehow, to communicate the gist of things to each other. A highlight of the day was when he took me to the river at runs a little outside the city. He brought me there between the 4th and 5th homes when I was beginning to feel tired from being around so many people, especially in unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable settings. It was great timing, serving as a refresher for me. The river was solid ice. We ran and slid on it as the sun set in the background, illuminating the white hills in its pink glow. It was ridiculously cold as the wind wafted over the ice, freezing my ears and my hands whenever I took them out trying to capture the serenity. On the way back I saw some kids playing “Red Rover”, I had no idea it was an international game.
Sunday I went to Ganaa, the Team Leader’s/ADP Manager’s apartment after church. I really enjoyed playing with her two children, ages 1 and 3. Her uncle came over and seemed really interested in what I thought about my experiences thus far and also in the US. I learned that his family is nomadic, they move with each season through the year, a total of 4 times. He invited me to visit him in the countryside during summer but when it came out that I would likely be gone before then he decided to have me over to his ger on Monday. We went to 2 other homes that evening.
Monday evening I went to Ganaa’s uncle’s ger with one of the staff, Solongo or “Soko”, as my interpreter since Ganaa’s plans changed last minute. I met Ganaa’s uncle’s mother (I guess that would make her Ganaa’s great aunt?) who was 94 years old. That is quite uncommon for Mongolia as the average lifespan is about 65 years. They were telling me that her memory was still good and she was strong in health. They proudly showed me letters that she had received from government leaders—the president, the province governor, and the city mayor—thanking her for her long year of living in peace and contributing the country. Later I felt dumb because I didn’t grab the opportunity to ask how Mongolia has changed in the last century.
All in all I visited 10 homes in 3 days. I’m guessing I ate probably close to 100 buuz.
I think that this holiday is really a special time because it emphasizes togetherness and giving. This is the one time of year where families spend time with each other when they are normally living in all parts of the country. The hospitality is amazing, each family has so many people over, including strange foreigners like me that they can’t figure out. In addition to providing everyone food, they give everyone gifts. That’s a lot of giving. There is plenty of receiving too. All the kids in the apartment buildings knock on all the other doors in the complex, collecting their booty, kind of like Halloween.

Friday. Feb 8. 2008. Tsaagan Sar begins.

2008-02-18T00:33:00.000-08:00

We drove about 20 kilometers to the “countryside;” unlike the drive to Berkh there wasn’t a smooth, pure blanket of snow but it was instead soiled by splotches of brown earth. I saw a tiny shape in the distance and the driver, my host Batdelgerekh, pointed to it and told me through Munkhzul, who came along as my translator, that it was our destination. We came upon two small gers, fronted by a satellite dish on the left and a solar panel on the right, facing the opposite direction like two friends refusing to talk to each other.
Everyone files out to meet their visitors but it is not until we go inside that the formal, holiday greetings begin. Munkhzul tells me to take off my coat but leave on my hat and hands me a long, blue silky scarf. She folds it into thirds, laying it across my palms which are facing up, the opening fold is facing away from me and towards the recipient. I greet the oldest of the home by saying “amorainuu,” placing my palms under her elbows, and sniff-kissing each cheek. We went down the line until I was older than some of the kids and so I put my arms on top of theirs. Thankfully Munkhzul was there to coach me through the whole thing and the host family was gracious to me as a foreigner.
After the formalities I am led to a seat by the table and am offered tea and commanded to eat. The introductions begin and really I can only remember one name—the grandmother, Natasha which they inform me is a Russian name. She tells me later that a Russian nurse picked out the name for her. I had been curious because her eyes had a greenish-gray hue to them, exotic as they peered from her Asian frame.
A slice of meat is handed to me that is very tough to chew. Munkhzul instructs me to put it in my milk tea so that it will soften. After nibbling here and there on the variety of ‘slaw salads the buuz are brought to the table, steam rises off them and fills my nostrils with their tasty aroma. Do you ever light a candle and dip your fingers into the melted wax and let it harden? In a way, that’s what eating buuz is like. A few times I took a bite and the juice—fat—spilled out on my fingers. With nowhere to wipe them off I noticed later that it had hardened and turned white on my cold hands.
Somewhere in the meal Natasha holds a small bottle and tries to hand it to me. I can tell its snuff but I don’t exactly know how to use it. She shows me by taking the lid off and sniffing with each nostril from it. I try to do the same but I heard the kids giggling as I awkwardly sniff.
When I am handed tea or anything I must put my left hand under my left elbow to respectfully receive it. I had read about this but didn’t remember until I noticed that Natasha would do that when proffering me tea.
Again vodka was busted out, fortunately this time they were content with me pretending to take a sip and setting it down on the table. Not long after that a group of relatives stopped by for a few hours and I had to formally greet them as well.
Later they took me outside to see their livestock consisting of goats and wooly calves. They joke that I shouldn’t get worried if the goats fall over when they see me. They scattered the ground in thin brush and they joked that it was buuz for the animals as they frantically ate. I look all around me on the horizon, not a single tree or bush is visible. I ask where they get that from, they say by the river there are all sorts of small plants. One of the walls of the pen is a container, stacked high with dried-out dung. Munkhzul points to it and says they use that for fire fuel because, well, there aren’t any trees around.
Later in the afternoon we played games using the small vertebrae from some kind of animal, probably cow or goat. There are four sides to the vertebrae to which are given animal names—the smooth side is the horse; the opposite side which looks like a tooth is the camel; perpendicular to that the shape is like that of half of an 8 which is the cow; opposite of that there is J shape which is the goat. Over 20 are put in a U shape, horse-side up and we pick out our piece. 4 vertebrae are used as dice as the object is to get to the end of the U first. If the dice land horse-side up then you get to move your horse that many spaces forward.
The second game took longer for me to get the hang of it. They would take a big handful of the pieces and throw them on the floor. You then had to flick matching pieces at each other without hitting any other pieces. You then removed one piece, depending on what was more strategic for your next move. Your turn was over when you either failed to make contact or hit more than one. The remainder was handed on to the next person until they were all gone. You of course got to keep what you removed. When the person won everyone had to contribute 3 to the pile and again it started until some of us ran out. Sometimes I flicked the pieces at ones that weren’t the same and they laughed so they would all coach me on what to do.
I should also mention the gift giving. Everyone gives gifts to the host and the host gives everyone a gift as well. I received an orange stuffed animal with two long ears—one pink and the other blue—along with a handful of candy and a Mitsubishi keychain. Some of it was candy from the US because one of their relatives lives there and sent it over to them. I was receiving candy from my own country as the honored guest because it was special. I felt bad that they had to waste it on me. I gave a small bag of chocolates and felt stingy.
I enjoyed observing how they celebrate New Year here with all of its customs and formalities. What better way to learn about the culture? I am so thankful that Munkhzul came along to make sure I didn’t commit any major faux pas (that I am aware of…) and was able to help me along. The hospitality and warmth is amazing.
Happy Tsaagan Sar!
P.S. I forgot a few things. I tried airag which is the fermented mare’s milk that I had heard so much about. Well, actually this one was made with yoghurt instead of mare’s milk—I’m not sure the difference. I was nervous because the sound of it just isn’t that appealing and I had been told what to do if I don’t like it. Anyway, it tasted like Calpico, which is that yoghurt soda which they sell in Thailand, with a strong aftertaste. Somewhere between that and milky, tangy beer. It actually wasn’t too bad so I had seconds.
Also had gelatin made from the hooves of livestock. Interesting, didn’t have much flavor but is kind of considered a dessert even though it’s not sweet.
I was wrong about the bones I was playing games with. I thought they were vertebrae but actually they were the ankle bones of sheep and goats. There are only two per animal, on the rear legs.
Another thing that should be noted about this holiday is that everyone is supposed to wear the traditional del which is a thick, silky robe that can come in almost any color. They then also tie a shiny, silky sash around their waist as a belt. Most people are supposed to wear a new one for the occasion so everyone looks really nice in their festive getup.
Husband and wife are not supposed to greet each other in the traditional way that I mentioned before. This is because when man and woman marry they become one, therefore it is “impossible” to greet each other.

Bitsuum

2008-02-14T19:39:00.000-08:00

Thursday. Feb 7. 2008. Bitsuum.
Everything began promptly at 5pm today. Originally the plan was to go to Buuma’s place at 4pm, but she called me at 3:30 and again at 4:25 (to remind me) to move the time back. They pull up in a new looking SUV, Buuma gets out of the passenger side to shake my hand and say “sain bainuu.” Her daughter, the one driving, is confident speaking English and translates back and forth for her mother and me. I learn that she is living in Ulaanbaatar (“UB”) and is visiting just for the holiday.
The front door leads right into the kitchen. I trade my boots for slippers and am lead into the living room to a couch adjacent to the tv. Just as in the day before, plates are placed on the table, I am offered tea, and am commanded to eat. Much of the evening until 8 I am left alone with the Mongolian wrestlers on the tv, feeling awkward being the only one eating.
I learn that Buuma’s daughter is dating an Italian guy she met in Singapore that speaks 7 languages. While we are talking about him he calls her on her iPhone. Later she tells me that she much rather be in UB because its colder in Ondorkhaan and she doesn’t like how the bathroom isn’t connected to the house.
I am told today is called Bitsuum which means the first day. It is the first day but its not. It is more like welcoming in the New Year. They tell me that the most important thing for the day is that you must be full of food, symbolic of the year to come. I am told I cannot leave until I am full.
Around 8 they all congregated in the room and began to build a decorative tower of ellipse shaped baked goods, topped with firm white dairy product and sugar cubes in the shape of hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. A smaller one is put on a mantle as some sort of offering.
A huge platter of meat lays on the table. The husband cuts it with a pocket knife and hands me a few slices. The daughter asks me if I can eat fat, my hesitation to answering that question is good enough. She then says she knows that Europeans and Americans have trouble eating it. Instead of buuz, we are fed horsher which are bigger and deep fried—very tasty.
Around 9 they bust out the Vodka. I knew that this was tradition for this time of year so I thought I was prepared. I had been told that I could pretend to take a sip and then give it back. After pouring us each a shot they wish blessings on the new year and we clank our tiny glasses. I take a microsip and I feel like someone poured a combination of gasoline and fingernail polish remover down my throat then lit it on fire. The daughter hands the shot glass back and I attempt to do the same. He shakes his head and they tell me I must drink the whole thing. Uncertain and unprepared for this I look at him in disbelief for an awkward moment. Normally they take 3 shots but I am told 1 is ok. Confused and unprepared for this I try to get rid of it with a few sips only to find there is still half a shot left. I am advised to space it out more, eating between sips, to make it more tolerable.
They keep telling me to eat more, reminding me that I can’t go home until I am absolutely full—that is their duty for the day. Horsher after horsher, bites of salad here and there and I am stuffed. Still they insist that I eat more. I try to motion to my stomach and say “bitsuum” thinking it means “full” but they laugh and tell me that it means “first day.” Oops.
By 9:45 I am home, having watched nearly 3 hours of Mongolian wrestling and eating intermittently for almost 5. I have been in good company, warmed by their hospitality.

Pre-Tsaagan Sar

2008-02-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

This week is the lunar new year which is celebrated here as “Tsaagan Sar”, literally “white moon” or “white month” depending on who you talk to. Tuesday through Friday no one was at the office because of the festivities. On Monday during our “business meeting” the ADP (area development program) manager expressed her concern that I was going to be bored out of my mind. They then decided to make sure that each day of the holiday celebration I would have something to do, divvying me out to different people’s homes.
I wish there was a better way to capture the events and atmosphere of the last few days but this all I can do for now to give you a glimpse of what I’ve seen and done. Foolishly I neglected to bring my camera, so you are stuck with the images you create in your mind based off of my words. To avoid making it so overwhelmingly long lets break it down into 3 segments, one for each day.
Wednesday. February 6, 2008.
Yesterday I was supposed to go to Batsuren’s house to learn how to make buuz but she had to go to the hospital as she is pretty far along in her pregnancy. I had been hoping to redeem myself after my failed attempts from the day before but her getting checked up is of much higher importance.
I was told that I would go to Munkhzul’s house at 2pm today so I thought they must want me to each lunch beforehand. So I walked to town and bought some instant noodles and eggs and made lunch at home. She arrived around 2:30 and we went to the pharmacy so she could pick up some medicine for her baby that had come down with a fever. On the way to her home she asked me if I had eaten lunch and without thinking I replied that I had. The stifled look of disappointment paired with the response of “oh really?” made me want to slap myself. As quickly as I could muster something up I said something about it being a very small lunch—I didn’t want to ruin her gesture of hospitality. She then said something about her husband being at home steaming up some buuz.
Up the stairs to the second floor and through the door on the right we went. I began to take off my shoes and she said, “you needn’t” twice but I still did. She took her shoes off. The wood colored plastic floor covering led me through the corridor into the living room where it ended and turned into carpet. She jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch and introduced me to her husband, a driver who, unlike Munkhzul, cannot speak English. I also met her two beautiful children, a 1 year old boy and a 3 year old girl.
They then motioned to sit on the couch next to my coat behind a small table covered with plates. As soon as I sat down I was asked if I want tea and then commanded to eat. Oh, the hospitality. I felt strange eating as they were back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, leaving me by myself some of the time. On the table there was a plate of sliced sausage topped with pickles that matched their size and thickness, a plate of macaroni salad and a plate of dairy stick thingies that looked like little noodles.
Later the wondrous, steaming buuz come out in all their glory. The chunk of meat on the inside is much hotter than the outside, shocking me as I take a bite into my first dumpling. There is also a lot of juice from the meat and fat that you have to slurp as you bite. Many buuz later I take a sip from my now cold milk tea and she tells me that you shouldn’t drink cold tea, but hot tea after eating meat. Makes sense to me, if all the oil gets cold it hardens.
Her husband gets a call and excuses himself because he has to do some work. We talk about Tsaagan Sar and she gives me new little details that I hadn’t heard before. Her daughter is not shy at all and jabbers to me and her mother in the middle of our conversation. She wants to dance. So she pulls out her laptop and plays the music video for the song “Beep” by the Pussycat Dolls. To my relief and amusement the cute little ham doesn’t replicate the dance moves from the video but busts out her own little moves that I can’t help but laugh at. (Reminds me of a time when I went to a recital for Naomi and Bethany’s music school. One of the performances was a group of 5 year olds dancing to Tata Young’s “Sexy, Naughty, B*tchy Me.” At the time I had thought “only in Thailand.” Hmm.) She provides entertainment for most of the afternoon in between her mother showing me a 45 minute Mongolian comedy where I have no idea what’s going on. At one point she wanted to decorate the place with shiny red balls that you might hang on a Christmas tree, putting them on doorhandles and everything else within her reach. We finally stacked them all on one handle, making a big shiny pyramid.
Today I was very privileged to get to eat buuz because according to my host although today is a holiday it is a day of preparation. The real festivities begin tomorrow. I appreciated them being so hospitable on a day where they could have been doing other things. I went home with a full stomach and a smile on my face.

2008-02-06T23:53:00.001-08:00

The brightness of the day surprises me everytime I go outside. When I am inside it is warm but I know a shock of cold awaits outside. Perhaps it is that I remember in Redding how in the winter it is always cloudy and dreary outside, making me feel the same on the inside. Here, I am overwhelmed by the sun everytime I leave my room. My mind is unsure what to do with this experience...cloudless blue and the sun are associated with warmth; the cold with gray skies.

Views from Onderkhaan

2008-02-05T01:35:00.000-08:00

Khuslen

2008-02-05T01:25:00.000-08:00

Khuslen II - The Work

2008-02-05T00:34:00.000-08:00

We drive past various communities off the main street where there is no distinct road in the open areas. Simply avoiding large rocks and potholes defines where we drive. We arrive at two small gers where I see a 3 year old girl wearing a soiled red jumpsuit waddling around, followed by her brother. Later the camera guy tells me that her little white shoes are “summer shoes.” After we hop out of the vehicle about 10 kids from the Khuslen House exit out of the tiny door of the ger to greet us. The leader assembles everyone and gets together a gameplan. We go inside and meet the old lady who is watching 3 young ones, the Khuslen house kids bring in our gifts. They interview the woman after a few tears we begin to work. The girls stay inside and the guys go out and chop the wood with 2 small axes. They let me have a try but never more than a few minutes at a time as they were much more proficient with their technique. Some kids are grabbing chunks of ice to melt. One of the residents carries a bucket over to a tire and lowers it through the tire with a rope. The tire marks the outline of the local well.
Bathuyag and I go inside. I realize how cold my toes are when they begin to hurt after they warm up. Dishes are being washed, the floor is being swept, clothes are being cleaned, meat is being cut up, onions chopped, dough kneaded.
Later, when everyone is inside one of the girls gets a rag and proceeds to mop the floor on her hands and knees. Dedication.
“Hey Ryan. Piss,” a guy chuckles and points to the toddler going to the bathroom in a bottle held by the grandmother. Interesting that he could tell me that but it was difficult trying to talk to him earlier. I think he wanted to see how I would react as an American.
The girls try to teach me how to make buuz, which is the traditional Mongolian dumpling that is ubiquitous this time of year. Small clumps of dough are flattened into perfect little circles very rapidly. “Ok? You try.” I do it in slow awkward motions. They show me again. I try and 5 minutes later I have one done and they laugh, “it looks like a car!” In that time the girl opposite of me had completed several dozen.
I was really impressed with these kids. They have today, the whole week, off from school to celebrate and prepare for Tsaagan Sar celebrations. The oldest one I met was 16, and here they are organizing themselves to help others on their day off. I bet most of the other kids in the city were at home watching tv, playing computer games and just relaxing. Yet these few decided that they wanted someone else to be able to enjoy this week’s festivities that they otherwise couldn’t afford to celebrate. It wasn’t halfhearted either, they were having fun doing it and were going all out—that one girl was wiping the floor with a rag.

Khuslen I - The Wait

2008-02-05T00:26:00.000-08:00

Saturday I had met up with some student leaders from the WV sponsored Children’s Participatory Council (CPC), more commonly referred to as “Khuslen House.” They had given me an orientation to their student-led organization that highlighted acts of community service. I was impressed with this group as they seemed eager to be involved and take initiative in their community. They surprised me by hooking me up with some of their garb—a Khuslen t-shirt, a scout-like scarf, and a pin. Khuslen also invited me to take part in one of their events which I went to today.
I had been told two days ago that we would go to help out an old lady as Tsaagan Sar (Mongolian New Year), literally “White Moon,” begins this week. It is a big to-do as people make hundreds, even thousands of dumplings for their guests and family that drop-in. Khuslen wanted to help her be able to celebrate and clean up her place. They told me we would go at noon. At 11:45 just when I was wondering if the WV meeting was going to end in time for me to go the Khuslen House kids poked their heads in the room. A minute later I was told we were going to go at 2pm. At 12:30 I was told we were going to go at 1pm. After a quick lunch I was ready to go. We didn’t leave until 1:45. Ahh, yes, the Asian polychronic sense of time that I had grown up with.
They told me to get in the front seat of our Isuzu SUV and soon after I was in 7 people crammed and piled on top of each other in the backseat meant for 3. Next thing I know we are stopped and they tell me not to get out. Meanwhile, everyone else files out and proceeds to fill the vehicle with firewood. By the time I get out I am only able to bring one armload of wood; I feel doubly bad for having the front seat and not really helping.
Next we go to a hotel to ask for a promised donation from the manager. The camera guy, Bathuyag, and I go to the coffee shop and wait. A cup of coffee and a cup of salty milk tea later we go and visit the FM studio attached to the building that he used to work at. It’s a tiny room with a computer, a few speakers and posters that line the wall. He lets me pick a song to add to the radio playlist. I pick “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley and he jokes that the song rings true of his mother. We then go to the front desk and watch Mongolian wrestling on TV for awhile. After waiting around for awhile a whole, frozen, shaved and mostly skinned lamb along with a massive bag of flour are brought into the lobby. Apparently this is what we had been waiting for. We carry both out, the bag of flour carried by a WV staff and myself and the lamb by two girls. The camera guy asks us to bring them back inside so he can film us carrying them out. After our little walk of fame we put the lamb and the flour to rest on top of the metal fence. Our driver is nowhere to be found. We try calling his cell phone, he doesn’t answer. We guard the goods in shifts because we rather be cold than carry the loads back inside. While we wait we talk about hobbies, sports, music. We see our driver go past us once, working our hopes up only to find that he was giving someone else a ride.
Finally he comes and we pile in. It is 4:15pm.

Photos - Berkh and on the way to Berkh

2008-01-27T18:22:00.000-08:00

Snow

2008-01-27T18:21:00.000-08:00

On the drive to Berkh I wanted to take pictures but I realized after awhile there is not much more you can capture from the car—it is just never ending white. Then I noticed that because it is so white anything that is not snow really stands out and you can see it from so far away, whether it be a small section of brush or a lonely herdsman in the distance. It is so pure and clean. The snow that is unadulterated by dirt or soot even glistens in the suns light, it is unreal! This helped me visualize the plea David makes in Psalms 51, “wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” I have heard that a million times and sung it even more, but there is something about seeing words and making that connection in your mind. Somehow it holds greater meaning.
Speaking of having sung that phrase, this may have been in the back of my mind because recently I have been listening to Jon Foreman’s(of Switchfoot) solo album called “Winter.” He sings a beautiful, plaintive version of Psalm 51. I recommend his “Winter” and “Fall” albums as they are full of simple, reflective songs that can easily be identified with because of their earnestness and honesty.

Soldier (more thoughts from Berkh)

2008-01-27T18:20:00.000-08:00

Soldier

The first apartment we walk into we are met by an old woman, her face lined with years of hard work. She brings us to her room where her husband is lying on a bed watching television. He is 92 years old and was a high-ranking officer in the army, in fact, from what I gather he was leader of the troops from the whole province (pardon my lack of knowledge of the proper military jargon). He has hurt himself and finds it very difficult to walk. Their apartment has no restroom. I can see my breath as we talk to him in his bedroom.
I go around the corner into another room that has a desk/dresser and a few other various items. One of the World Vision staff calls me over to feel the radiator heater. I pull off my gloves and put my hand on it. Cold.
The narrow hallway that runs through the apartment is filled with smoke. We enter the kitchen to discover the source, a wood stove that functions as their main source of heat.
I wander back into the bedroom, the former soldier is still sharing his story. It is hard for me to believe that this little man that can barely walk used to lead an army. I try to imagine him in his prime, full of life with his young wife by his side. I picture happy faces that would never dream of living the way they are now. How does one go from being a leader to immobile and cold?

Berkh

2008-01-27T18:19:00.001-08:00

Today we drove about 70 kilometers northeast of Onderkhan to a smaller town called Berkh. Throughout the day before we left they kept asking me if I was going to be warm enough because Berkh is even colder than here—I thought, can it get any colder than this? They called it the countryside, which made me laugh inside because to me we’re already in the countryside! Anyway, because they kept asking me if I needed thicker clothing I decided to add a few layers so I left wearing 4 layers of pants (underarmor, thermals, flannel longjohns, and jeans) and 5 layers on my upper-body. So the difference between the two is that Onderkhan is -35 and there it is -45 Celsius.
It was a little over an hour drive through the white desert. I was amazed at our driver’s sense of direction because at least half of the journey we weren’t driving on a road—to me it looked as if we were simply driving in the opposite direction of our town. Most of the time there was not a thing in sight except for the intermittent phone or power lines. There were scattered patches of livestock, it is hard for me to fathom that kind of lifestyle especially when I looked around and saw the tiny bits of dry brush, pushing not more than a few inches through the snow. What a hard life.
I spent a good deal of time talking with one of my travel buddies that knows a little more English than the rest. I am learning how to teach and correct her English as that is the only way it can get better right? I am used to just letting things slide but she keeps insisting that I correct her and ends many sentences with, “understand me?” Makes me really think about what I say and how I say it so that I don’t confuse her or any of the other staff.
There is no way I could have prepared myself for what I would see in Berkh. I knew that it is a smaller and less developed town so I had pictured more gers and small buildings. Instead we were met with a variety of 5-6 story apartment buildings which I thought at first to be in good condition. I learned later that these were built by the Russians a long time ago and were top of the line. Then they abandoned that area and the buildings have deteriorated over time and use. This was a wonderful chance to see the impact and importance of the work that World Vision does. We brought firewood and 5 heaters with us to give to some families. Practical, I thought. Understatement of the year. Imagine this. You walk into the main entrance of the apartment complex and you cannot see anything except for whatever the light that leaks through corridor chooses to expose. I could barely see the steps in front of me as we climbed the stairs. We went into 15 different homes and their main commonality was that it was so cold inside that you could see your breath. This is inside! Home is supposed to be a shelter from the cold and yet these people are still so cold in their house! Every apartment is equipped with heater radiators but not a single one that I saw today actually worked. They were all cold and corroded. The only heating for most homes was a wooden stove in the kitchen. I saw one where the bathroom and the kitchen were the same room. I remember another one where there was frost on the walls inside the apartment. They were overcrowded with as many as 10 living in a tiny apartment; some housed two families. Mold and mildew ate at the corners of the walls. So much to take in. How do people live like this? How can we live on while others barely make it through each day? I wonder how they keep motivated to survive? I kept telling myself that I could only suffer through that with the hope I have in Jesus. I couldn’t help but ask God how he can let people live like that. But then how can I ask that? He has given me plenty and given me the chance to see this. So, I feel like the question is being turned right back at me, how can you let my children suffer?
So the question is, what can we do to make a lasting difference in communities like this? True, we helped a few families today, but what about the rest of them? Tomorrow we will be discussing these things and trying to figure out how to tackle this huge problem. We can’t just give everyone a heater and firewood—that doesn’t solve the problem—it only alleviates and delays facing the real issues and also creates dependence. May the staff and leaders here at World Vision have the wisdom they need to make decisions that will make a lasting difference in communities like Berkh.

Beijing II

2008-01-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

…Beijing continued…

The room is dark and quiet, the rhythm of my roommate’s breathing is violently disrupted by a phone call. It’s for work; he jumps right into the conversation, the person on the other side would have never guessed he was asleep.
At the conclusion of his call we decide to go to the information desk to see what is happening. They shrug their shoulders and shake their heads, we ask them about food and they only seem more confused. Fortunately two guys behind us speak English and know what is going on, they tell us that dinner is at 6pm. Its 5:30.
My roommate steps outside and says that he is going for a walk. I decide to join him so that I can see what lies beyond the familiar interior of the airport. Across the street we see the massage parlor that had mysteriously slipped a card under our door sometime in the afternoon. (The card made us laugh—on one side a picture of a Caucasian girl and on the other a local—trying to appeal to multiple cultures.) We turn left and walk parallel to the small street until it ends, swallowed by a bigger road. Along the way we cross an entrance to a temple and see several small restaurants. They are ever inviting with the steam rising off the hot food, beckoning me from the cold.
We return right at 6 and go to a room on the second floor of the hotel restaurant filled with round tables. I follow my roommate to a table whose only occupant is “Lazy Susan.” Half way through our meal a guy announces something from the entrance of the restaurant in either Mongolian or Mandarin and then says something about “30 minutes” in English.
We arrive at the airport around 8pm and are on the plane around 8:20pm. The flight goes smooth and I fall into a deep sleep only to be awoken by an announcement saying that they cannot land the plane in Ulaanbaatar because it of the weather. Unbelievable.
Back in Beijing it is 1am and I have entered the country officially for the second time in the same day. We go through the familiar maze to board our buses, but discover that they aren’t there yet. We wait half an hour. Someone comments, “they knew an hour and a half ago we were coming back, you would have thought they could have got the buses here.” Around 3am we arrive at our hotel, it looks like we’ve moved up a notch. Either that or they’re thinking about how to not lose customers.
My former roommate and I decide that we can tolerate each other for a few more hours so we share again. I look at the card key for my room, apparently the name of our hotel is the “Party School Advanced Training Center Training Building.” I ask my roommate if because of who he works for if he is going to get in trouble for staying here.
7am we go to the front desk to find out when we are supposed to leave because surprise, surprise no information was provided last night. I am a little peeved because I find out that we leave at 9am and breakfast is served at 8.
The whole flight I keep waiting for something to happen, for the captain to speak through the intercom and tell us we’re turning around. Instead he says we are landing in 20 minutes. Don’t get your hopes up yet, I tell myself.
We land and everyone laughs and claps.

from Beijing - the first half of the story

2008-01-22T06:31:00.000-08:00

(obviously I got here so the story is not completed yet. I will fill you in on the other details later)

Here I am in Beijing China in Ming Gong Hotel rooming with an employee of the US Embassy in Mongolia. We are both stranded here in what used to be a 3 star hotel, unsure of when we are going to be flying out of here for Ulaanbaatar. There are stains on the carpet, there is visible dust in the corners and the paint in the bathroom is peeling. The view is dismal out of our third floor room, not more than the backside of a rundown building. My roommate thinks it is pretty nasty but honestly I could care less—it certainly beats sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the airport hour after hour. Besides, its free and is “nice” compared to some of the bungalows I’ve stayed in in Thailand.
We arrived around 6:30am and were supposed to fly out at 8:20am which got moved back to 12pm only to be moved back to 1600hours. They said bad weather and strong winds are keeping us here. Around 1300hours an Air China lady was walking around holding a small sign that showed my flight number and was saying something that I could not quite hear. I decided to follow her and see what was up, I was never able to grab her attention to ask what was going on but I overheard her mentioning something about a hotel. A mixed bag assortment of followers trailed the lady with the small sign through a maze of people to an immigration area where they took our ticket stub and made us wait. I saw some people that were speaking in English to each other and tried to discreetly listen in on their comments only to find that they knew no more than I did. After 15 minutes or so of waiting around a lady said “Ulaanbaatar, follow me” and so the flock continued, our destination now our group moniker. We continued through another maze out of the international terminal into an even larger group of people yet the Air China representative was no where to be found. Someone in the front must have been trailing her closely because we ended up outside and got into some buses that took us to this hotel. The only way I made it there was I realized that it was important to pay close attention to the others on the flight—they became like my scattered bread crumbs guiding me back (even though I’d never gone that way before…).
A very drunk man made it clear I was on the right path, a friend or relative kept having to stabilize him as he could not even walk straight or keep his balance. His wobbling, teetering-tottering stumbling is strangely what helped me know I was going the right way.
When we got to the hotel we walked in and no instructions were given. I watched and followed suit, we were to go to the desk and give them our passport and other half of our ticket to get a room. As I was in line I watched an American that lives in Beijing complain about having to stay here when he lives close by and he proceeded to rant in Mandarin to the hotel staff. This caused quite a stir, it was more of a “lets all stare at the foreigner speaking Mandarin” kind of way where everyone was quite amused. I got to the reception desk at the same time as another American and the lady asked me how many and since we were both traveling alone she put us together. He says to me, “how do I know you’re not an axe-murderer?” I smile and we do the standard funny comment about the situation followed by introduction of names.
I’m sitting here in my room on the soft bed not knowing when we are going to fly out. They haven’t told us anything. It’s 16:35, obviously we aren’t flying on the scheduled flight. Is there a flight later tonight? Are we going to sleep here tonight? Are they going to give us food coupons?
A slight crick on both sides of my neck nags me, prompting me to ask, “why couldn’t I have known that we would get a hotel room?” I had slept outside my gate, 1c, for two hours. It must have been a comical sight, although probably not too uncommon in a place like the airport. I was a tangled mess of my two bags, afraid they might be swiped while I am catching some z’s, my jacket draped over me. I looped my arms through my backpack straps then placed it on the seat to the right of me and laid my head upon it. After my neck began to hurt I put the bag on the left. It wasn’t quite the same and I couldn’t sleep as well.

So here I am. Waiting. Questions fill my mind disrupted by the intermittent snores of my roommate. I wonder, am I meant to go to Mongolia? Is God trying to tell me I should be doing something else? After several months of wondering what the details were beyond the fact that I would be going I finally get to Thailand and have a chance to learn a little more. Then we work out the details that should have been known before and it leads to a delay of departure because of the process of getting a work visa. Then my stay gets extended which was a blessing to have more family time and getting to see my brother play in a few basketball games. Then again it makes me overstay my visa for Thailand and we get a small fine. I finally got on the plane 1am this morning thinking that this was finally it. It is, but I have been avoiding thinking about this and so I was/am eager to just get there and face it and make it that much more real. It has been such a distant, nebulous concept. Now I am ready and the flight is not. I am a willing vessel. God use me. Cripple my fears and questions of the unknown. You are all I know right now, you are the hope I cling to. You opened the doors to allow this opportunity, give me the eyes to see, the ears to hear, a heart for others, the hands to serve.

First Impressions of Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia

2008-01-22T06:11:00.000-08:00

So, I'm here! I don't know really how to say what I see so I'll let these pictures speak for themselves. I will say though that it is very cold. I know this is in reverse order but getting here was a little crazy. I will post about that later. (I didn't capture the hustle and bustle of the main city area...by the time we got there my window was kind of fogged up)

New News You Never Knew

2008-01-08T20:40:00.000-08:00

I just received a little bit more information about my internship as far as location and everything. I will be staying in Khentii which is 400 kilometers (240 miles) east of the capital Ulaanbaatar in an area of steppe land. The regional center that I will be staying at is called Onderkhan which means 'High King.' A road has recently been constructed that reaches almost the entire way so it "only takes around 5-6 hours by jeep to get there." Finally, it is the birth place of Genghis Khan! Let the warrior training begin! It seems the details are coming through and it is all piecing together with each glimpse of info that we get.

More info...still in Bangkok

2008-01-03T00:26:00.000-08:00

Today I had the chance to talk to the former country director for World Vision Mongolia. He was able to give me a better feel of what I should expect and what it is like to live there. Even though a lot of the logistics still remain unknown at this point it is quite comforting to be able to begin constructing a picture of the country and area in my mind. So I found out that I am going to be staying 5 hours out of the capital--Ulaanbaatar at a rural ADP (area development project) and living in that building. I was told that because it is so dry there that you can develop quite a lot of static charge to the point that some people have destroyed their computers! Try explaining that one to your insurance company!
His description of the weather reminded me of nasty street dogs that you see all over Bangkok. He said to respect the weather and it will respect you. If you try to be a hero and be brave it will take you down, but if you understand its strength and your limitations you will be alright. Even venturing into its territory briefly without being equipped or prepared can leave you sick from its swarming attack.
This time of year is when they are eating a lot of fatty food to try and keep warm and so I was advised to be careful as that can be difficult on a digestive system unfamiliar with such a diet. I was glad to know that there would easy access to stores and supplies that I might need--comforting to know that I will not be stranded in the middle of a vast steppe by myself.
As far as transportation goes apparently any and every car is a taxi. Yes, there are the ubiquitous yellow cabs as well but it seems that everyone is willing to give a ride for a bit of extra cash. Interesting.
A challenge that I foresee is that the culture may be very a big contrast to what I am familiar with in Southeast Asia. He told me that they tend to speak their mind, they are very straightforward and if you do not tell them what you are thinking they will take you for granted. He also said they take you for your word: if they ask you if you want something and say 'no,' then that's that! None of this say 'no' three times before you really mean it thing. None of the polite refusal stuff. So it will be transitioning with a mindset that tends to favor indirect towards a very direct culture.
I cannot quite recapture everything that he told me but I just feel a bit more at ease now as the date for departure nears. All for now.

And so it begins

2008-01-01T21:18:00.000-08:00

I thought it might be good to log in thoughts, inspirations, struggles, ideas, events and whatever else while I'm in Mongolia. So, here we go and thus the adventure begins. Updates will likely be sporadic but who knows. Thank you for reading and for praying for me.