Under Mongolian Blue Sky

Is It Love?

Not for me.

Maybe for you.

These goats drove me crazy during my three-week stay in Hovsgol aimag, the most beautiful of all Mongolia's provinces in my opinion. I spent the time writing, translating, studying Mongolian, hiking and observing. These darling goats loved the grass around the ger I inhabited by myself and came to visit every late afternoon.

Hovsgol is a large province, so let me narrow it down a bit for you. In Hovsgol is one of the largest freshwater lakes in Mongolia, aptly named Hovsgol Lake. This lake is shaped a bit like an upside-down teardrop, and at its base is the small town of Hatgal, populated by about 3000 people. The family from whom I rented my ger had a small house and grocery shop in Hatgal where part of the family lived and worked.

The other part moved with the herds in the hills to the west of Hatgal. While I was there, the family was at their summer camp, a one-room log cabin near a small stream in a valley surrounded by forest and wildflower-covered meadows. I resided in one of the two gers that they leave open in summer for the occasional traveler, usually French since their youngest son speaks that language, for whom the aforementioned son leads horse treks from the summer camp to the lake 30 km or so away.

Being a poor artist, I didn't go on any horse treks, but I hiked around a lot. However I didn't bring my camera on any of my hikes, so unfortunately I was unable to attempt to capture the stunning masses of colorful mountain flowers.

I filled every page of blank paper I had with words.

I felt the unceasing steppe winds.

I saw yaks for the first time and helped rassle their young at milking time.

I also lived without running water and electricity, and thus lit my own cooking and heating fires and gathering wood and water on a daily basis.

Oh, there's so much more to tell, but it's lunchtime and a girl's gotta eat! I'm going to have a gyro from the Kola and Kebab joint around the corner. It's not the Juicy Lucy and jo jos I crave, but it'll have to do.

White Blossoms

It is now summer, even if not according to the stars. There are white and pink blossoms in the thick air.  The wind blows the heat and sand into one's face. Black flies are omnipresent.

I discussed "being other" with my colleague Simon Wickham-Smith, translator of Danzanravjaa (see Perfect Qualities) and the founder of CCALT: Center for Central Asian Literatures in Translation, who is in Mongolia for about six weeks. We decided that a good way to describe Mongolians is with the word "hard". There is no "excuse me" to be heard when someone is trying to get by. They just shove you. Of course to foreigners this feels like a breach of one's personal space, but it's perfectly acceptable in Mongolia; to be honest, I've adjusted to it.

Finally, there is the question of how to order names. I am of the opinion that it is important to retain the order of Mongolian names: father's name first with the genitive, or possessive, noun-case suffix followed by the given name. For example, Ganbatiin (or G.) Delgermaa (aka, my dear friend Degi). Simon has taken to reversing the order to fit the West's habit: Delgermaa Ganbat. What do you think?

Selling Oneself

Twice last week and more since I've seen old men and women sitting one short benches on the sidewalk with a scale in front of them. One can weigh oneself for a hundred togrog (approximately $0.09), and people do pay to use the scale. Mongolians must always find a way to make money off their assets if they want to survive.

I've Got 2 P

I just want to write something briefly about bathrooms and public urination in Mongolia. My aim is that this post be merely a description without judgment. I don't want to imply that any of this is bad, just very noticeable to me. Read on...

My experience of bathrooms and public urination in Mongolia was punctuated last night when my host brother Nairaa came home with a ticket from the police. It seems he was relieving himself outside and was fined 2000Tg (equivalent to roughly $1.71) by the friendly neighborhood fuzz. He was quite embarrassed about the whole thing. However, I was really surprised he was ticketed.

As far I've ever heard, public urination is completely legal in Mongolia. On more than one occasion I've seen men taking a piss against walls in very obvious places. Just a day or so ago I saw a woman squatting in a front yard. And about two weeks ago a woman pulled down her child's pants and had her take a whiz in the dirt just next to the sidewalk. Though I'm always a bit surprised to see it, I've gotten used to public urination as a fact of life in Mongolia.

There is, of course, the second issue of toilets. When one visits a toilet here, you might understand why public urination is a good alternative. However, the plain fact is that there is a lack of public toilets. I'm always stuck without one when I've got to go. Plus, in most of the countryside there's no indoor plumbing, so people are just used to going to the bathroom outside. Many times an outhouse is available, but I myself have gone to the bathroom without the shelter of an outhouse more times than I can count on my fingers and toes.

Where there is indoor plumbing, there seems to be an issue with clogs. It is not copasetic to flush your toilet paper, but most people, from my observations, don't seem to use it anyway. Nor do they wash their hands after using the bathroom. This is perhaps a holdover from days with no running water, but that's just my theory.

My only complaint is that in the majority of bathrooms there are no toilet paper, soap or paper towels. However, I have seen many air dryers, which makes me glad! Still if you can't wash your hands with soap, what is the point of the air dryer? Perhaps if you don't use toilet paper, you don't really have a need to wash your hands, so that means you don't need soap or paper towels, right?

And then we have the squat toilet, to which I'm not completely opposed. I'm just not that used to squatting and it's a bit tricky to balance. This is the toilet of choice at the National University of Mongolia, where I meet with my Mongolian tutor on a daily basis. There is never toilet paper, soap or paper towels in the bathrooms there either, so I have to be sure to pack toilet paper in my bag each day and bring my hand sanitizer and wet wipes. I'm sure I look like a germ freak!

So, the next time you settle down on your toilet seat with an old magazine, a fresh roll of t.p. and a sink with plenty of soap and hand drying implements, think of me and be grateful.

P.S. I'm not the only one. If you don't believe me, google "public urination".

Chingün the Baby

Part One.

Door creaks. Baby cries. Dog sits just before threshold. Flies bounce. Horse neighs. Door creaks. Wind pushes door to and fro. Birds fret. I write. I drink tea. I eat bread and butter. Mint. Peanut. Swallow vitamins. Door opens more. Closes more. Imperceptibly. Door creaks and creaks and creaks. Mother sings. Baby chats. Stomach gurgles. Mother praises. Baby is silent. Tea shimmers as my writing arm moves table. I write. I sniffle. I drink tea. Cows call. Baby eats. Baby snorts. Horse neighs. Baby hums. Birds fret. Birds intimidate. Baby roars. I drink tea. I blow nose.

Part Two.

The baby laughs in his sleep and smiles a gummy smile. Oyuna holds the baby on her lap and lets him pee, and sometimes poop, on the linoleum kitchen floor. After he wakes up from a nap, after he has eaten, she takes off his little pants and booties or socks and holds him halfway on her lap and halfway between her legs until he pees a strong stream onto the floor.

Back in the Saddle

I have returned to UB. I'll be moving to a new apartment on Sunday. Shiwa's eldest sister, Oyunbileg, is going to take me in; she's already begun calling me her daughter. I'm not totally convinced that's a good thing because I'm fiercely independent and feel put out when I'm expected to communicate to others my whereabouts. However, it was only last night I realized this was selfishness on my part. Sometimes I'm a little slow.

I really love(d) the Mongolian countryside. I already miss it though I truly appreciate the comforts of the city: running water, beds, vegetarian cafes, strangers informing me of good tattoo parlors I ought to visit, etc. (Turns out tattoos are quite cheap in Mongolia. Thus, I'll be sporting some new ink the next time I pass through customs. Don't think they'll make me declare those.)

I'm feeling a bit punchy. I think I've been online too long catching up on e-mail and other business. Soon I'll post more about the countryside with excerpts from my journal and lots of photos!

Shopping List

Tomorrow's to-do list includes hunting down these items for my upcoming two-week stay in the countryside:

• Warm clothes (I've been warned that it's going to be cold.)
• Lemon tea
• Apples
• Scarf (for дээл, or del, a tradition Mongolian garment)
• Anti-constipation tea
• Pepper spray (for wild dogs and drunk people)
• Padlock (for the ger)
• Flashlight (to find my way to the "outhouse")

Turning Turning Turning

I've done my first round of hand washed laundry. It's really a pain in the ass. Or maybe it just takes longer than what I think it should. From now on, I'm going to try to appreciate the time it takes to accomplish small tasks as an exercise in slowing down my life, which often seems to be moving too quickly.

Yesterday, after my Mongolian lesson and a trip to the US Embassy to check in, I went with Ganaa to the countryside to see the family I might stay with for two weeks. We went first to the home of her father-in-law's sister. This older woman, her husband and their grandson live in a small ger about an hour south of UB. We went in to the ger and it was very warm and cozy. They served us суутай цай (suutai tsai), a salty tea with milk, and борцог (bortsog), a type of sweet, fried bread. The older woman's husband expressed his surprise to see me in the Mongolian countryside. He had a very beautiful face, but I repressed the urge to ask if I could take a picture of him, thinking it might not be appropriate at that time.

Then, they started to prepare food. The husband cut up the meat and onions. The wife put a large round pot/pan that was similar to a wok on their wood stove. When he was done preparing the raw ingredients, she put them in the pot/pan with some salt and seasonings and let it all cook for a while. Later she added water and rice. We ate and it was very tasty, except for the chunks of fat, which I decided not to eat.

I've learned that it is best to accept anything that is given to you, but you don't have to eat all of it or necessarily even try it--though I am trying mostly everything at least once. Yes, you must at least accept what has been given to you, even if you just hand it back a while later.

So we ate at this ger. Then, about 45 minutes later, we (Ganaa, one of Ganaa's high school friends, the older woman and I) piled back in to the SUV--Mongolia is one of the few places where an SUV is actually practical--to go to the home where I might be living for two weeks later this month to get a better taste of life in the countryside.

At this small house, we again had суутай цай as well as some kind of fried flat bread. We talked, or, actually, they talked and I made sense of what I could. This was the home of one of Ganaa's patients, the pateint's husband and their three children. However, the children currently live in UB during the week, so they can go to school. Soon after we arrived, the father came home with the kids--he picks them up each Friday. The kids were very shy, but sweet.

Then, we went over to visit his brother's family, where we were given арих (arikh), fermented mare's milk. This is where I learned the trick of receiving the bowl, and then handing it back. Actually, I took one sip of the арих, which tasted very sour, before I realized what it was. I'm quite used to being handed a bowl of milk, so that's what I expected. Upon my first sip, I was pretty sure it wasn't regular milk. Then, they told me it was "арих" and "horse's milk". I'd heard that арих was an alcoholic beverage, but when I asked Ganaa if there was alcohol in it she said, "Well, it's not really alcohol." It was close enough for me, so I quickly declined the rest.

Then, we had more суутай цай--this is a very common Mongolian beverage if you hadn't guessed that by now--and more хоол (khol), food. This time it was гурилтай шул (goriltai shul), a soup with flour noodles, meat, onions and potatoes. We sat, chatted and watched the baby drool.

Then, we went back to the first little house where they wanted us to eat again. I was so full I don't know how I put more food in my mouth. But I did. The patient/wife had made бууз (bohz), a steamed dumpling with meat in it. I ate three, but refused the bowl of суутай цай that came next.

Finally, after a quick look at the ger I might live in that's near the family's house (with the father and their youngest child, a girl, who is just beginning to learn English and is very cute*), we headed back to the original ger to drop off the old woman and then back to UB. We got to the city around 10:30 PM, and тэгээд (teged) ["then"] I went dancing with the other Fulbrighters. It was a very full day!

Meanwhile, I'm reading Rainer Maria Rilke's Duino Elegies. I've only just begun, so perhaps later I will have more to say about it.

*When we were walking to the ger and inside it, her father would point to objects and tell me the Mongolian word. If she knew the word in English, she'd translate it to me. She looked very pleased about this. When we were leaving, she waved to me for a long time as we drove away.