Yuu bain (What's new?)

Farewell Tour

2006-05-15T09:37:00.000+09:00

For my last week in Mongolia, I was determined to get out to the hoodoo (countryside) and do some camping. And on that tour, what better area to explore than Khenti aimag, birthplace and historical stomping grounds of Chinggis Khan.

Now one important thing to understand about Chinggis is that MOngolians regard him as a national hero (and modern-day marketing phenomenon). From their perspective, he is the guy who created the Mongolian nation. He's also the guy whose military prowess and calvary troops were so unstoppable that in 25 years he created an empire bigger than the one it took the Romans 400 years to cobble together. His name is successfully used to market everything from beer (Chinggis beer is a very nice lager) to hotels (the Chinggis Khan hotel is a very fancy one in UB).

Somehow, I managed to recruit two friends who also thought it might be fun to freeze our butts off and experience windstorms in tents on the Mongolian steppe in April. These wild women were Amy (Alaska wilderness guide and outdoorswoman), and Matilda (intrepid archeologist--a female "Indiana Jones"). The three of us then managed to convince an otherwise perfectly reasonable Mongolian friend to be our driver on our little escapade.

So off we went. Some highlights included the archeology (Bronze Age deer stones and older tombs). We experienced all the different types of precipitation (rain, snow and hail). We ate s'mores around the campfire (this was the hardest ordeal for our British companion. When we explained what they were, she almost gagged.) We picked ticks off our clothing and (eew) off our skin. We rode horses and went for long runs. We visited a partially restored monastery (destroyed by Stalin's thugs in the 1930s).

We got stuck in the snow (without shovels) and I jogged to a nearby ger for help from the family who lived there. They pulled us out with their Russian Jeep, but before they could come to help us we had to wait for the end of the Korean soap opera that they were all watching via satellite dish. Here's M. using a sleeping bag in an unsuccessful attempt to attract the attention of the soap-opera-watching nomads.

And finally, we made it to Binder, the location at which Chinggis was proclaimed Great Khan of all the Monoglian tribes in 1206. Here's a monument honoring that historical event.

Throughout the week, it was interesting to consider the different ways that Mongolians versus Americans (and British) think about wilderness. Our driver could not understand why we wanted to camp out in tents in the snow when we could be so much more confortable in the company of a family in their ger. He worried that wild animals might bother us, when in truth any wild animals remaining in Mongolia are alive only because they have learned to poach livestock and avoid humans.

My idea of wilderness is a place with natural beauty where people only visit, and I think signs of human use or habitation detract from the value and aesthetic beauty of that place. For me, human-created impacts that degrade the natural habitat should be avoided or minimized. But I think our Mongolian friend would have disagreed with my definition. I don't think he would have seen the value, or the point, of preserving natural places for non-human use. He would have agreed that the steppe is a beautiful place, but would not have shared my feeling that it would be better without all the vehicle tracks and litter. For him, human activities that drive out wild animals would be a positive thing, because the area would then be safer and more valuable for herding and other human uses. It's a perspective that makes sense in the developing world, and I can't say I would disagree with him. But it made me value even more the wild places of my home.

Millie's Espresso

2006-04-11T11:24:00.000+09:00

Millie’s Espresso is an American-style diner in the heart of UB founded by a woman from Ethiopia and now partly owned by a man from Cuba. Although Mongolians occasionally eat here, the clientele is mostly ex pats looking for comfort food, or just looking for company.

Some people complain that it is too much of a “scene,” but the fact of the matter is that almost everyone who comes here for any length of time has at least one lunch or breakfast at Millie’s.

A tip if you ever come: Tuesday is roast pork day, and the lemon ice box pie is as good as any I ever had in Tennessee.

Spring (khavar)

2006-04-10T17:08:00.000+09:00

Although the thermometer still dips close to zero each night, I can feel that winter has lost its bite. There’s enough light to go running outside after work (finally, I am released from the prison of the treadmill!). And the Hash has started up again, which means there’s always someone to run with on Tuesday evenings.

Yet spring is Mongolians’ least favorite season. The main complaint is that the weather is unpredictable. In the winter, everyone knows that each day will be the same: sunny and very cold. But in spring, the weather can be cloudy, snowing, or clear. One minute it’s jacket-off, and the next it’s hat and scarf. Another bad thing about spring is that it’s the windy time of year. In the city, garbage flies all over and airborne grit lodges in my eyes and works its way into my hair on my walk to work. Dust devils appear suddenly and careen crazily around before vanishing. Listening to the wind moan, I find myself making excuses not to go outside, even though I walked outside every day in the winter.

But who can be unhappy about the spring hiking season? Yesterday some friends decided we should walk from UB to Manshir. It’s around 13 miles through the mountains, with some tricky route finding and a highpoint of about 2200 m. Although no one had done it this early in the season before, we thought optimism was justified by the sunny and warm weather. Such impertinence! Here we are all fresh and optimistic at the start.

Here's a view of UB from the top of the first ridge.

After three hours of breaking trail through the new snow that you can see in the above photo, two of the group turned back (smart ones, they). For some reason, M. and I continued on, only to encounter deeper snow and knarly boulder fields. We spent the next 5 hours post holing through 1-3 feet of wet snow covered by breakable crust.

When we finally reached the high point, we had about two and a half hours of daylight left to get down—plenty of time provided we could find the downtrail. At this point, M’s GPS died, there was no cell phone coverage, the wind came up, and the sun disappeared behind clouds that almost certainly held more snow. And where was that downtrail? After about an hour of thrashing around in the snow without success, we were starting to consider ridiculous options like navigating down by compass (in the dark). Having made their point, the mountain god now let us find the down trail, and we made the trail head just before dark. I awoke the next morning to see the mountains covered in fresh snow.

For my last hike in UB, it certainly was a memorable one. And it was a good reminder about the unpredictability of the weather, the conditions, and life in general. I see now why the Mongolians value the predictability of winter weather—they live in a country where almost nothing can be counted on. If you live in the city, you can’t count on the power or the water being on, you can’t count on finding what you want at the store (even though you just saw it there yesterday), you can’t count on appointments being kept or cars stopping for pedestrians. In the country, you pretty much can’t count on anything but yourself and your neighbors. If that sounds overly negative, it’s only because of where I come from. The Mongolians seem to handle it all just fine.

Wild Horses

2006-03-20T12:41:00.000+08:00

Last weekend I visited Hustai National Park, where the tahki horses live. The tahki are genetically distinct from modern horses, apparently having wandered off on a different evolutionary path in prehistoric times (sort of like the Neanderthals of the horse world). Some years ago a foreign wildlife biologist working in Mongolia recognized their uniqueness and warned that they were being hunted to extinction. Once everyone realized what they were, an effort was started to preserve them, and eventually the park was created and populated.

When we arrived, we were thrilled to see that no other tourists had thought to come in the off season. (The only other people at the ger camp were Mongolian wildlife biologists studying the parks’ animals). We immediately set out hiking in hopes of sighting some horses, although with only about 130 in the whole park I wasn’t too optimistic. These photos give an idea of the terrain. We didn’t find horses that day, although we did see a group of about 20 Manchurian red deer run up and over a saddle right in front of us.

The next morning, acting on a tip from one of the wildlife biologists, we headed out on foot to a valley about 10K from our camp. And there they were, right by the road. They didn’t spook or even seem very concerned by our proximity. Apparently, they’ve gotten used to the hordes of tourists ogling them. So despite the fact that they weren’t exactly acting like wild animals, it was fun to watch them carrying on with their normal horsy activities. We couldn’t have asked for a better show.

Steppe Inn

2006-03-19T17:48:00.000+08:00

When I first came to UB I didn't know anyone and wanted to meet people. I was advised that I should get an invitation to the Steppe Inn on Friday night. I had no idea what it was, but I asked Brigitta and she put me down as her guest. So what is the Steppe Inn anyway? Well, like many institutions in UB, it's a little hard to explain. It's a bar, but it's only open from 6:30-9 pm on Friday. It's connected to the British Embassy, but you don't have to be British to join. It doesn't have bartenders, so the people who serve the drinks actually have day jobs at the embassy (including, on occasion, the Ambassador himself). Here Chablis shows off her bartending prowess. I bet when she accepted this job she didn't imagine her duties would include serving drinks every Friday night.

Anyhow, I've found myself returning to the Steppe almost every Friday since that first time. I even got my own official membership card. The good humor and hospitality of the embassy folks, and knowing I'll run into various friends and acquaintances, create a nice reason to end the week there. If I need more justification for hanging out at a bar every Friday night, I remind myself that all proceeds go to local children's charities. If I need still more justification, I remind myself that just as I'm sure to see people I know, I'm sure to meet some eccentric or interesting new people. So for example, last Friday I met Birgit and Martin, who have been bicycling through Asia and came across Mongolia this winter. They have the frostbite to prove it, too, although luckily they didn't show me any of it.

Last week, since it was Saint Patrick's Day, the staff were serving up green beer, green vodka jello shots, and meat pies. Some of the patrons had come dressed for the occasion, too. Seeing all this green stuff, the Mongolians in attendance looked politely puzzled. I tried to explain about St. Patrick and the snakes and the green beer, but I'm afraid I muddled it. I'll admit that I secretly enjoyed seeing the Mongolians being confused about our traditions instead of me always being confused about theirs. For the first time in five months, I understood something that they didn't!

XC Mongolian Style

2006-03-13T16:51:00.000+08:00

Nordic skiing was introduced here by the Russians, and although it is not nearly as popular as the three “manly” sports of horse riding, wrestling, and archery, some Mongolians enjoy it. In UB, a group goes out almost every weekend in the winter. To be included on one of these ski outings, you don’t need skis or transportation, and you don’t even need to know how to ski. All you need to do is show up at the customary meeting place at 11 am. Or, if you’re the kind of person who needs a little more structure than that, you can call Ron. Ron, keeper of a mound of ski gear donated over the years by ex pats departing for warmer postings, will loan you what you need (no warranties as to proper fit or decent condition), and find you a seat in a car.

This past Saturday morning the usual disorganized group of foreigners and Mongolians were loading piles of worn and mismatched ski gear into several cars in the parking lot of Millie’s Espresso diner. Unlike other Saturdays, however, the hills surrounding the city were white with several inches of new snowfall. This was the best snow we’d had in an incredibly dry winter, and we were excited by the prospect of skiing without falling over exposed roots and rocks. This photo shows how skinny the snow has been (we had to take our skis off to get to this lunch spot). And the reason we're all looking kind of discouraged in the photo at right is because we had to turn around for lack of snow.

But we wouldn't run out of snow today! After caravanning out of town and assembling at the trailhead, we began the usual negotiations as to destination. This is the same process used by the hiking group, so I won’t repeat myself here. Also like the hiking group, though, people of all abilities and experience are welcome to ski. So, the faster skiers spend a lot of time waiting for the slower skiers to catch up, and the slower skiers spend a lot of time wondering whether the faster skiers took the left or the right fork. But we haven’t lost anyone yet. Or at least, we haven’t lost anyone that we later didn’t find.

Anyhow, after starting out this past Saturday, we were puzzled to see a wobbly and skinny but nevertheless recognizable diagonal track set on the trail—something we’d never seen before. The mystery was solved when we heard a strange yell from behind and turned to see a young Mongolian woman in Lycra and a racing bib pushing hard up the hill. We had wandered into a ski race! The strange yell must have been the Mongolian word for “track.” Stepping aside to let them by, I noticed that their outfits were the latest fashion, but the skis looked worn. As I watched them struggle up the hill I fought a sudden desire to ditch my pack and jump in.

Instead, we left the “groomed” trail to the racers, and trudged off with our packs and heavy gear to break trail in a different direction. A few kilometers later, still longing for the fun of racing in set tracks on lightweight skis, I spotted a small herd of cows on the trail ahead of me. Picking up the pace, I easily overtook all but one. The leader was running fast now, but I was clearly gaining on her. When I was right behind, I called “track” loudly in both Mongolian and English. After several yells, she yielded and I overtook. I left her to chew her cud in my dust.

Solid Waste Services

2006-02-20T11:16:00.000+08:00

The garbage disposal system where I live is efficient. Everyone in the building piles their garbage up against the fence in the back alley to create what I call the “garbage ovoo” (see photo). We toss everything on there-- food scraps, cans, bottles, household appliances, clothes, and anything else we don’t need or want.

As soon as a bag goes out in the alley, the first level of processing begins. This task is performed by the homeless and poor people who regularly pass by to take the bottles and cans (to sell), and the fresher foodstuffs (to eat). Some of these scavengers specialize, for example, in plastic bottles; while others take anything that can be sold, used, or eaten.

The second level of processing is performed by the dogs. They eat the more rotten foodstuffs, and carry away the meat bones. A mother and three puppies living in the hasha (yard) of a ger in our alley perform this service for us. The dogs were away when I took this photo, but you can see the hasha and the ger. They seem to be quite healthy and energetic as a result of the food they find there.

The third level of processing is performed by the birds. They come in after the dogs and clean up any small scraps or crumbs that have been overlooked.

An extra level of processing is available from the homeless people who shelter in nearby heating/sewage tunnels. I save up my unwanted but nicer items until I see that one of the manhole covers has been removed. Then I gather up these items into a little bag and leave it near the open manhole in the evening. By the next morning the bag is gone.

The beauty of this system is that by the time the garbage truck comes around (which it does at intervals that seem random to me but are well understood by my Mongolian neighbors), there is very little left that isn’t truly garbage. So I never have to remember to put my trash can out on a certain day (heck, I don’t even own a trash can). I never have to separate my garbage from my recycling. And I never feel guilty about throwing something away, because everything in the garbage ovoo is put to good use.

Tsetseegun Uul

2006-02-20T10:42:00.000+08:00

The four peaks surrounding UB are considered holy, but not in a way that requires people to keep their distance. It is perfectly okay to climb them, and in fact, each is decorated with an elaborate ovoo at its summit. Having explored one of the four peaks (Bayanzurkh) last fall, I was anxious to see the others. So I convinced a group of hikers to that we should try Tsetseegun next. A little over 2200 meters high, it is located about 50 K south of UB.

The outing began with confusion. I was late because I thought we were leaving at 10:30 instead of 9:30, Niel had to go home to get her boots, and so on. Mongolians are great believers in signs and omens for journeys, so I spent the 45 minute drive to Zuunmod trying to convince myself that there was nothing inauspicious about this start.

Passing through Zuunmod, we continued on to Manzushir Khiid, a monastery originally established in 1733 but reduced to rubble during the Stalinist purges of the 1930s. Only a small part of the original foundation remains, but the main temple has been reconstructed and can be visited. The ruins sit at the top of a gentle slope overlooking a pretty valley with a stream running through pine and birch trees. Downslope from the main temple sits a giant bronze cauldron from 1726 that could boil up 10 sheep at a time for the monks’ meals.

After donning boots and backpacks, we commenced the usual negotiations as to route. There was general consensus that the trail was off to the right, but we couldn’t agree on the exact direction. (In the middle of the negotiations, I made everyone stand together and smile for this photo.)

Consensus on route having eluded us, everyone just started off on several different tangents at once. As the group started to fan out, each person tried to convince the others that they were on the wrong track: “Niel, you’re too far to the left, as usual!” and “You’re going the wrong way; don’t you remember from the last time?” and “I’m not following you—that’s the long way around.” As people started to range out of earshot, I wondered: Is this hike doomed? I sent a silent little prayer up the hill towards the temple hoping that I would return to tour it later that day.

Finally, someone spotted a yellow blaze on a tree. And then there was a second. Soon, we were all together on the same route. And, unbelievably, the trail was well marked with yellow blazes all the way to the summit. Here we are, taking a rest along the way.

And so we hiked to the top of Tsetseegun on a warm, sunny day with no mishaps, wrong turns, or further disharmony. At the summit, we admired the ovoo that had recently been decorated in honor of Tsagaan Sar.

Richard opened a bottle of champagne that we shared over lunch.

On the return, I ran down ahead of the others and arrived with enough time to rouse the caretaker and tour the monastery. A perfect day after all.

Tsagaan Sar (White Month)

2006-02-06T14:03:00.000+08:00

The most important Mongolian hoiday is Tsagaan Sar, which marks the lunar new year. Celebration of the lunar new year in some form has been a part of Mongolian culture for thousands of years, probably since the time of the Huns. The actual season in which the holiday occurs has varied over time. In recent times, it has been celebrated in January, February or March; however, in earlier days it was celebrated in late summer or fall (hence the name, which signifies the availability of "white" or dairy foods). But whatever month is chosen, the fifteen-day event begins on the day after the first day in which the moon does not rise. This year, that day was January 30th, although in typical Mongolian fashion some scholars disputed the date, saying it actually should have started on the 29th.

Unlike Christmas and the January 1 new year, Tsagaan Sar holds symbolic and religious signficance for Mongolians. It represents a time of cleansing and making new, greeting family and friends, honoring elders, and ensuring a fat and prosperous new year. And in the Monglian way, everyone is invited.

Fellow-Alaskan Amy Crawford invited me to celebrate with her in Tsetserleg ("The Garden"), some 450 kilometers from UB. So on Saturday at 7 am, I wedged myself into a bus along with 37 other people and our luggage. Anyone who's ever taken a long-distance bust trip in a developing country will instantly know our misery. In fact, the bus riders among you are probably having traumatic flashbacks and heart palpitations right now. For those of you not fortunate enough to have experirenced this particular modeof transportation, I can report that it is not comfortable, clean, reliable, timely, or safe; but it is cheap.

We arrived in Tsetserleg a mere 12 hours later (including time for one flat tire and a busted clutch). But The Garden lives up to its name. It sits in a lovely river valley and is surrounded on three sides by mountains.

The night before Tsagaan Sar (called bituu), people in Tsetserleg climb the holy mountain nearest town and leave candles in its rock crevices. That night, the hundreds of candles resembled rivers of golden lights flowing down the sides of the mountain.

After leaving our candles, we came down and joined the crowd visiting the local temple. Inside, a continuous stream of men, women, and children slowly circlued clockwise around the altar, spinning prayer wheels and listening to the rhythmic chanting of the monks.

The next morning, the official beginning of the holiday, we joined in the tradition of visiting elders, in this case the parents of Amy's friends. On this day, everyone visits all their grandparents and elderly relatives, staring with the oldest first. Everyone wears the best and newest deel. The elders boil a fatty sheep butt and construct a tall stack of confections and bread. These items are prominently displayed in each ger to ensure a fat and prosperous year.

Upon entering the ger, visitors exchange ritual greetings with everyone present. The greetings involve placing one's arms either under, over, or parallel to the other person's arms (depending on who is older), exchanging wishes for peace, and being kissed on both cheeks (but the "kiss" is actually more like being sniffed, as Mongolians traditionally believed that a person's essence is contained not in their flesh but in their breath, blood, and odor). Luckily, Mongolians are very forgiving of foreigners' faux pas in these areas of etiquette
Once the guests are seated, the hosts spend the next several hours plying them with unreasonable quantities of buuz, sliced dried cream, dried milk curd, and candy. Guests also are pressed to drink endless cups of salty milk tea and rounds of vodka. To claim that you are full is bad form. Luckily, Mongolians are generally forgiving of foreigners' underdeveloped capacity to eat buuz..

Later, as the visit winds down, hosts and guests exchange gifts. The guests then waddle off (or in our case, pile into the Jeep) (Yes, everyone in the photo got in that Jeep) to the next set of grandparents or elderly relatives and repeat the whole thing. Amy and I did three rounds of visits that day.

But that's only Day 1! Mongolians perform this social and culinary endurance event with different family members and friends for three days in a row. They then perform slightly less intense versions of it every day for the next 12 days. Luckily for me, the need to return to work gave me a good excuse to retreat to UB the next morning. Amy, lacking an excuse, gamely prepared for Day 2.

Snow Removal

2006-01-16T13:35:00.000+08:00

Last week we got our first signficant snowfall of the season-- two inches of light, fluffy powder. The next morning, shop keepers were out with their brooms, sweeping the sidewalks in front of their stores. They swept the snow into cardboard boxes and onto sheets, which they then dragged over and emptied into tidy piles. There were no plows, graders or sand trucks; heck, only a few people even had proper shovels.

A few days later, after the remaining snow had become compacted and icy, the city deployed groups of workers in orange vests.

Using shovels and other hand tools, they began to break up and remove the compacted snow/ice from the traffic intersections and sidewalks.

The slabs they pried up were neatly piled around the roots of nearby trees and shrubs.

Doing the job by hand means precision is high (no one's driveway gets bermed in), but progress is slow. This morning around 5 am I awoke to the sounds of metal clanking and shovels scraping. Two crews were clearing the road in front of my apartment. Four hours later when I left for work, they had moved only about 30 feet. I for one am hoping they finish my block today, so all of us can get some sleep.

Winter Vacation

2006-01-10T14:07:00.000+08:00

I arranged to take a week off while Thomas was visiting so we could have a relaxing, mid-winter vacation. I was thinking of someplace warm, with white sand beaches, blue, sunny skies, a light breeze, and clean air. Consulting my trusty Mongolian guide book, the perfect destination quickly became obvious: the Gobi desert! It's at least 10 degrees warmer than UB, it has lots of great sand, it almost never gets cloudy, and there's virtually no infrastructure or development. When I described it this way to Thomas, he enthusiastically agreed.

A little more research uncovered the names of a malchin family willing to host juulchin (tourists) in their ger. The family lives in a ger in the Govi Gurvan Sayhan National Park, about 55 kilometers from the southern Gobi aimag capital of Dalanzadgad. I quickly booked our airplane tickets to Dalanzadgad and arranged for word to be sent that we'd be arriving on December 30.

My only concern was that other people wanting to get away from the cold and grit of UB would have the same idea. I feared that the dunes would be crowded with other tourists over the popular New Year's holiday weekend. I was glad I'd booked early.

As I had feared, the weekly flight from UB to Dalanzadgad was packed. I was a little surprised that we seemed to be the only tourists, but of course you can't always tell who's a tourist and who's a local. After landing, we found our jolotch (driver) and agreed (after some fairly intense negotiations) that he would take us across the roadless desert to our resort destination.

Indeed the sand was a lovely and plentiful as I'd imagined, and the sun was bright in the sky. Approaching the craggy mountains from the completely flat plain of the desert, I lost all sense of scale or distance. I couldn't tell whether an object was one mile away, or ten. This in turn made me feel pleasantly weightless. My feet, particularly, felt weightless (although later when I stepped out of the unheated Jeep I realized they were just numb).

Tara, Otgon, and their four-year-old son Mende live with their mal in the foothills of the Dund Sayhany Nuruu mountains. Their existence there is made possible by an underground water table that is fed by snowmelt from the nearby peaks. They herd sheep, goats, and horses, and they are the proud owners of a Bactrian camel (which they let us ride!).

As is the Mongolian way, Tara fed us, kept us warm (burning dung in their metal stove), and did not laugh at my pathetic attempts to converse in Mongolian. Little Mende has three times the vocabulary that I do! However, I know all my letters and he doesn't. So there.

On New Year's eve, we were invited us to accompany Tara, Otgon and Mende to Otgon's sister's ger, located about a mile up the valley. For the celebration, the hostess had thawed out airag (fermented mare's milk) made last summer, which was passed around to accompany the dozens of freshly made buuz and other traditional foods on offer. Thomas counted 21 neighbors and relatives gathered in that ger for the celebration, although strangely we were the only tourists.

On New Year's day, we saddled up three of Otgon's horses and rode the 15 kilometers to Yolyn Am, a gorge so deep that ice remains there even in summer. Imagine my surprise to see that ours were the only footprints in the snow at this popular tourist destination! I guess the other visitors must have slept in. Of course, sliding down an ice-filled gorge is probably more fun when it's 100 degrees than when it's minus 20, but we were just glad to have the place to ourselves. On the ride back, we noticed the cooling breeze described in the guidebooks. We deployed face masks and chemical foot warmers to prevent frostbite.

The rest of the week, when we weren't eating or relaxing, we hiked around the Dund Sayhany Nuruuu and the Nuun Sahany Nuruu mountains. Otgon taught us how to spot the local Ibex (yageer), and to identify the various raptors and other birds we saw. Below is a photo of me taking in the scenery with another hiker we encountered.

Flying back to civilization after a week of rest and relaxation was hard. Luckily MIAT (the Mongolian national airline) made our journey easy. They didn't waste time x-raying our bags; instead, an employee affixed a "security checked" sticker to our carry ons as we filed out of the terminal. And, the pilots didn't sit idly waiting until the scheduled departure time; they took off just as soon as they thought enough people were on board (a half hour early). Hot tea and Kit Kat bars distributed during the flight provided the calories we needed to stay warm in the 50 degree cabin.

Seriously, though, it was a great trip. The scenery was dramatic, the hiking was plentiful, and we had the privilege of spending time with a family living in the traditional way. We got some small sense of the rhythms of rural Mongolian life, the customs of the malchin, and their ingenious strategies for subsisting in a harsh environment.

New Year (Sheen Jil)

2006-01-10T13:49:00.000+08:00

The holiday decorations started appearing in UB in late December. As in the US, these were characterized by impressive quantities of gaudy sparkle and kitsch. However, since this is a country in which almost everyone is a Buddhist, I was surprised to see Christmas trees and "Merry Christmas" banners popping up all over. My subsequent inquiries revealed that few Mongolians are aware of the religious origins of Christmas. They know it's a holiday that falls on December 25, but they seem to regard it not as a stand-alone event, but more as a warm-up for the main celebration: New Year's. This understandable lack of context made for some interesting tableaux around town. For example, I saw many Christmas trees decorated with "Happy New Year" banners; Santa Claus made regular appearances at New Year's parties; and (my personal favorite) a local restaurant owner constructed a life-sized sleigh filled with wrapped boxes attached to two large, fake polar bears. (Well, they started off as polar bears, but within a few days they had morphed into black bears thanks to the filthy city air).

This somewhat confusing but festive holiday season was marked by non-stop parties. It seemed that every private company and government agency threw a fancy party to celebrate the new year. These parties typically featured special dinners, many kinds of alcohol, and entertainment. Attendees were expected to dress formally. For the women, this meant purchasing a special "night dress," piling on the jewelry, and, often, spending the afternoon at a beauty parlor having hair and make up professionally done. The government party that I attended featured all this and, in addition, a cabaret-style entertainment competition. (Mongolians love competitions). Teams of employees from each division performed skits involving jokes, costumes, music and dancing. Bottles of champagne were the prizes for the top two teams, and don't think for a minute that people weren't taking this seriously. To my horror, I was appointed to be one of the contest judges. This choice made sense to the extent that my role here as a consultant makes me seem neutral, but was problematic if they contestants wanted me to understand more than a few words of what they said. Anyhow, I did my best to rank them based on who had the best costumes, singing and dancing. Hopefully any hard feelings will fade with time....Here is a photos of me with two colleagues in our night dresses, and of the winning team doing its thing, a traditional Mongolian dance.

Christmas Mongolian Style

2005-12-27T13:14:00.000+08:00

Thomas and I spent Christmas weekend in the ger of malchin (herders) who live in a park north of UB. After driving to the village of Terelj, we hired this Russian jeep of uncertain vintage (see photo) to transport us across the roadless park to a lovely valley about 20K to the northeast. There we were welcomed by Nara and Choindon, who own about 100 mal (cows and goats, primarily) that graze in the surrounding hills. Nara is a spry and energetic 65, and Choison is 80 years old (see photo). Their eight children are all grown and gone, so they take in the occasional tourist to keep from feeling idle.

Nara is an accomplished cook—the kind who takes special pleasure in stuffing you so full you secretly vow never to eat again. She served us four meals a day and never the same thing twice. At that rate, we sampled just about every dish listed under “traditional Mongolian foods” in our guidebook. If you have ever wondered how many different dishes can be created out of meat, salt, fat, flour and water (with the occasional carrot or potato thrown in for fun), you should go see Nara. Here's Thomas relaxing after another big meal.

Soon after we arrived, Nara sent Choindon out to the food cache to retrieve some “white foods” that they had frozen in five-gallon buckets at the end of the summer. Once inside the ger, it took two days for the tarag (yogurt) and tsotski(cream) to thaw. We drank the sour yogurt with a little bit of sugar for dessert on Christmas eve, and we spread the cream (which Nara called “Mongolian butter”) on bread in the mornings. We also had milk fresh from Nara’s cows in our salted tea (suutei tsai).

When we weren’t stuffing ourselves full of fat, salt, and dough, we spent our time hiking in the nearby peaks.
The weather was fine (highs above zero each day), and the few inches of snow posed no problems for footing. We surprised four very skittish deer in a forested valley one morning. We saw numerous fox and wolf tracks, and several varieties of birds that we couldn’t identify, in addition to the familiar chickadees and crows.

One of the best things about the weekend was being forced to speak Mongolian for four days. From the moment we arrived in Terelj, not one person we encountered spoke a single word of English. I would have been up a creek without my phrasebook and dictionary; but I think I held my own all things considered. Thomas learned all the most important Mongolian phrases: "Hello, how are you?", “Thank you,” “Drink tea!” and “Eat!”

Winter (Ovol)

2005-12-16T09:10:00.000+08:00

So what is it like to spend winter in Mongolia? Well, until recently the weather was so mild I couldn’t really say. Then about three weeks ago, the thermometer sank to -20 F, and it hasn’t gotten much above zero since. So it’s definitely chilly. On the other hand, the darkest day of the year is coming and yet we still are enjoying around eight hours of bright sunshine each day. I now see why Mongolia is nicknamed “Land of Blue Skies.”

Here in UB, the locals refuse to let winter detract from their cosmopolitan style. Oh sure, almost everyone wears a hat, but it’s usually a stylish hat, not the kind that plasters your hair to your skull. And you will never catch an urban Mongolian clomping around in Sorrels or a fat parka. Most of the women still wear their pointy-toed, spike-heeled fashion boots outside. They do deign to wear winter coats, but usually it’s an elegant fur coat, or a color-coordinated hat/scarf/overcoat combo. The younger women wear tight jeans (no long underwear there!) and short jackets that show off their figures. The men make do with leather or wool coats, or occasionally a traditional sheepskin-lined deel. Needless to say, my big boots and expedition-style parka draw curious stares—“What is she wearing? She looks like a refugee from the last Antarctic expedition.”

And another thing: Mongolians refuse to be rushed by the cold. Now, when I go outside at 20 below zero, my impulse is to walk pretty fast to stay warm and finish my errand quickly. But the UB residents refuse to alter their normal, leisurely walking pace. This is especially true of the women, who must take small, mincing steps in their spike heels.

My reflection on all this is that although the Alaskan and Mongolian winter climates are similar, our approaches to winter are fundamentally different. While I regard winter as a force to be respected, acknowledged and countermanded with expedition-weight gear, the Mongolians seem to regard it as a minor annoyance that shouldn’t really be given much thought. At most, it’s an excuse to bring your fur coat out of storage. I find this attitude admirable but impossible to imitate. I have to admit I don’t feel like such a tough Alaskan here!

Guest Posting: The Young Artist

2005-11-30T14:53:00.000+08:00

Below is a special treat: A guest posting from fellow Alaskan Amy Crawford.

Tsetserleg, Arkhangai -- The brown hillsides rolling off to the west and east of town, from a distance, appear quaint and well-ordered: pastel-colored roofs on tiny white-washed houses, lines of fences, cute little gers smoking through the day. I always marvel at how things appear from afar: no outhouse smell, no random cow heads or dead puppies on the dusty streets; you don't see that the fences are slatted boards thrown together, old car hoods for fence doors. Which is not without it charm or resourcefulness, and is certainly without pretension.

Amongst these rough dwellings live some of my favorite people, quiet generous souls making somewhere between 40 and 100 US dollars a month, some shoveling coal in the electical plant or washing school floors, some teaching their second language to adorable though rowdy children. And all of them with remarkable talents: every woman can gut a cow, clean the intesines and re-stuff them with vegetables and/or blood; most ride horses and sew deels (the traditional Mongolian dress). Meanwhile most of the men don't think twice about slitting a sheep's stomach and reaching in through the gut cavity to sever the artery; they can repair a 1960's Russian truck with home-made tools, ride a horse bareback. To them it's a matter of course--like vacuuming or driving a car for us.

Then there are those in the back of a ger or house crafting silver jewelry, stitching by hand Mongolian boots, painting, writing. They are quiet artists--no coffee houses to display paintings or read poetry; no art shows or shops to display or sell their work. They work away silently, finding the odd buyer but existing almost entirely in obscurity.

Last night my friend Enkhee (talented in theatre but working at a bar) introduced me to his friend, an aspiring screen writer named Ganholog. Ganholog was born in the countryside but came to this town to attend school; here he discovered TV and movies and studied them on his own throughout his schooling. Unable to afford college, he began writing on his own and now at 25 has produced a screenplay he thinks is worthy of production. He has done this with no art community, no schooling; only the help of his friend Enkhee. He wants to enter this script in US contests; there is no outlet for such a thing in Mongolia.

Aside from a lack of schooling or art community, another major obstacle lies before him: he doesn't speak English. So he hired a Mongolian English teacher to translate; and while Jackie captured his ideas, she writes with the proficiency of a U.S. 8th grader. Which is where I come in: he wants me to "fix" the dialogue.

I sat down with milk tea and read through the 81 pages, and though it was unsurprisingly "amateur," its also clever and funny in places despite the translation problem. Most surprising though was that he chose to set it in the U.S.; the obvious problem of being a bad imitation naturally arose.

Why not write about Mongolia? I asked, and he said he thought that wouldn't be very interesting for foreign audiences. We had a long conversation about what he knows, of what he has the knowledge to write, how to create an authentic piece of work, etc. and the upshot (for me) was that, despite the uniqueness of his life, the myriad remarkable things he could write about, he is stuck trying to imitate a life he has never known or seen. It's a difficult thing to witness: Mongolians are still proud of their culture--just today the "cool" kids at my school were practicing for a performance in which they'll sing an ancient Mongolian song about marriage. What Mongolians have always known they do remarkably well. But those trying to reach into the "outside" world have incredible odds to overcome.

I hope Ganholog will write about Mongolia, but that of course is his choice. And despite the near certainty that his script will never be read, I'll spend the next few evenings going over the script with him, trying to capture the "feeling" of his work so that I may recreate it in English. I suppose the result doesn't matter so much as the process--sometimes a soul just needs to be heard.

Giving Thanks

2005-11-28T15:10:00.000+08:00

Although it's a trite observation, spending Thanksgiving here made me freshly aware of what I take for granted in the US. Of course, every year I'm thankful for all the obvious things like family, friends, the opportunity for meaningful work, groomed ski trails, and parks. However, living here for these few weeks has caused me to add other things to my list: air that is safe to breathe, water that is safe to drink, building codes, literacy, pedestrian crosswalks, cloth napkins, spices, soap and toilet paper in bathrooms, smoked salmon, and architecture.

That list of things I miss comes easily to mind; however, living here is not just about missing things. Some things I have here are hard to find in the US. The one most often in my mind is awareness of my privilege. I am reminded of it when I see the children and elderly taking the garbage I leave in the alley, or the homeless person who sneaked into the stairwell of my apartment building to sleep. I feel it because I pay next to nothing for luxury and comfort that few here can afford, because I live extravagantly on a few dollars a day, and because almost anything connected to the US is viewed with such frank admiration. Although I can't say I'll miss these daily reminders when I go back, I can say I'm thankful for the perspective.

(Photo courtesy of E. Beavers: Terelj Park)

Terelj Park

2005-11-28T10:50:00.000+08:00

This weekend we went again to Terelj Park. What a relief to escape the noise and pollution of the city. The weather continues to be mild (lows around 0 degrees F. and highs in the teens and twenties), and still there is no snow.

There are a number of inholdings in the park. It seems that most of the people who live there in the winter herd livestock. The unfortunate aspect of that land use is a proliferation of fences. On the plus side, however, is getting a glimpse of how the year-round residents live.
This man dressed in his traditional deel trotted his pony up to visit us as we ate lunch at a high point (about 1900 m.) Those ponies can go anywhere! We offered chocolate and oranges, and he seemed pleased to pose for photos.

I continue to be surprised at the sun's warmth even this late in the year. It's so much stronger than the weak rays that manage to reach Alaska in winter. Of course, when it goes down the temperature plummets, and people in the park heat their gers mainly with wood (or sometimes coal). We encountered this family on its way to gather wood Sunday morning.

I also was surprised to spot some birds wintering over. I saw the familiar chickadees, and two fairly large woodpeckers (one with black/white/red markings and the other a dull brown). The highlight, however, was being checked out at fairly close range by two huge, dark buzzards (wingspans at least 5 feet-- no lie). They circled overhead low enough for us to hear the wind in their wings, leaving me with a prickly feeling that we'd briefly been considered for lunch. Or perhaps they were merely paying their respects to the ovoo (at left) by circling three times.

(Photos courtesy of E. Beavers)

POTUS Visit

2005-11-21T15:11:00.000+08:00

The recent visit by GW Bush was viewed as an important event here in Mongolia. Invitations to hear his speech on Monday were hotly sought after. Needless to say, I was not on the list. But not to worry: The 49th state was well represented by fellow-Alaskan Amy Crawford, who was summoned to UB to represent Peace Corps workers. Hopefully I will prevail upon Amy to give a full report of the momentus event on this site before she departs again for her post in Tsetserleg.
Anyhow, while Amy was inside the Ick Hural witnessing the action and schmoozing with the muckety-mucks, I was watching from my apartment balcony across the street. If you look closely at this photo, you can see both countries' flags flying side-by-side in front of the Government House.

From my perspective on the balcony, the nicest thing about the POTUS visit was that the police blocked off all the main streets around the government house. So for four brief, joyous hours on Monday morning there was no traffic. It was eerily quiet without the constant cacophony of horns, engines and car alarms going off. Walking was safe and the air was clear. A nice respite.

But from the perspective of local officials, the visit was a gigantic logistical puzzle. Government employees here and those sent specially from the US literally spent the last three weeks preparing. In fact, I heard that the US Embassy staff were so worn out on Tuesday that they cancelled their Thanksgiving party. Such are the demands of diplomacy, I suppose.

Mongolian Language (Mongol Khel)

2005-11-17T16:06:00.000+08:00

My Mongolian tutor finally convinced me I need to learn the Cyrillic alphabet in order to improve my Mongolian language skills. So here I am, 43 years old, trying to memorize the 35 letters, how to write each one, and what each one sounds like. As I started in on it, I realized the reason I had been resisting: Sounding out words and tracing alphabet letters is just like being in preschool again (but without the luxury of an afternoon nap). In fact, as I pore over my study sheets and practice the alphabet drills, I have flashbacks to preschool. Sometimes I even think I detect the once-familiar aromas of finger paint, paste and sour milk. Don't get me wrong--preschool is great when you're 5, but it's embarrassing when you're almost 45.

What I really hate is when Mongolians tell me, “It’s easy!” It may be easy for them (many study Russian and English in grade school and high school). But my brain is old and ossified, and my lips are set in their ways. My days of memorizing a new word after one repetition are, sadly, long gone.

So today I was walking to work the way I’ve done probably 60 times since I’ve been here, and I passed by a building that I assumed to be a bank. I think it’s a bank because it’s tall and modern, and also because the Mongolian word for bank is the same as the English, and the Mongolian letters happen to be similar to the English letters ( úàíê ).

But today, for the first time, I learned that the bank located in that building is not just any bank; it is in fact the Ulaanbaatar City Bank ( Óëààíáààòàð õîòûí áàíê ). This mini-breakthrough I accomplished at some risk of physical and psychic injury, since I was looking up at the sign instead of where I was going, and I was audibly sounding out the letters like an idiot. Several of my fellow pedestrians shot me disapproving looks. That’s okay: It feels good not to be illiterate anymore.

Ger weekend

2005-11-14T12:16:00.000+08:00

Hoping to escape the nasty brown haze shrouding UB, I decided to organize an outing to Terelj park last weekend. Although it’s getting colder, it’s still reasonable to spend time outdoors, as long as you bring plenty of clothes and keep moving.

In Terelj, which is just 50 K north of UB, we stayed at one of the many “tourist gers.” A ger is a squat, round tent with a hole in the top for a stove pipe. It has wooden spoke frames and is covered with canvas. (Forgot to get a picture but you get the idea). Staying in a ger is a lot like staying in a cabin on the Resurrection trail in winter. The main differences are that the Mongolians don’t have those awesome Scandinavian stoves the Forest Service uses, gers don’t have windows, and you can drive right up instead of hiking.

This particular tourist camp had been recommended to me as being quite cushy, and it was. The lodge was newly constructed, the food was hearty, and a sauna was available for a minimal fee. The bonus: Camp staff came in every few hours all night long to add wood to the stove. What we lost in sleep we more than made up for in warmth. (Those Forest Service cabins will just never be the same for me now).

The scenery in Terelj is striking.
The rounded hills are set off by a series of dramatic granite boulder formations somewhat reminiscent of the desert southwest U.S. Some of us explored the high ridges both days, and others rode horses up and down the valleys.

I’m starting to get the hang of the Mongolian hikes now. Here’s how it works: We start out with a vague destination in mind, and stop frequently for group consultations on course corrections. After a few hours, the route gels and we’re cruising. But then we get lost. Or not lost, exactly, because we know where we are and where we want to go, but it’s not clear how to get there. More group consultations and trudging around through the woods. Finally, just when it seems we might actually have to retrace our steps and go back, we find the way. We return several hours later than planned.

Perfect.

The Hash

2005-11-07T17:21:00.000+08:00

Last Friday night it snowed for the first time since I’ve been here. Saturday dawned sunny, windy and cold (around 10 degrees F); but the inclement conditions did not prevent thirteen intrepid members of the UB Hash House Harriers from assembling at the Byangol Hotel at 2 pm for the short bus ride to our starting point north of town. A highlight of the bus ride was passing by this fine example of cross-cultural patriotism.

After a quick stop to admire Liberty, we arrived at the cabin we would start from. Three of us ran up to and along a nearby ridge, down the next valley and up again in what we thought would be a big loop back to the cabin. Here are Adam and Amanda making their way up the ridge in about 2 inches of fine, cold snow. It was a nice run (just under 2 hours) that featured some advanced route finding towards the end. We weren’t lost exactly, we just came down somewhere other than where we thought we’d be. The walkers chose a straightforward out-and-back, then waited patiently for us back at the cabin. They even left some food and beer for us. Afterwards at the “down-down” I had to drink twice, being both a virgin (first-time hasher) and the hare that day.

Random observations from a US lawyer

2005-11-03T16:23:00.000+08:00

Warning: Non-lawyers should skip this post at risk of extreme boredom. Lawyers might find it boring too. Sorry about that.

Anyhow, I'm noticing that many of the Mongolian laws and legal procedures are similar to those in the US system. However, the differences are fun to consider:

Mongolian trial judges normally hear cases in panels of three, with one judge designated as the lead judge. The panel reaches its decision when at least 2 of the 3 agree.

“Citizen representatives” play a role similar to that of jurors in the US system. They listen to the case and ask questions; however, they have no decision making authority and only can make recommendations to the judges.

The Mongolian law of the courts requires the court system to pay for each judge’s round-trip travel to a “domestic sanatorium” biannually.

Below is a shot of the public access station at the supreme court. Currently, every court in Mongolia has a clerk with a pc to assist court customers. Before these stations were established a few years ago, there were no customer service counters and no way for the public to access case information.

The law guarantees each judge a minimum of 14 days per year for continuing legal education.

The supreme court gives an award (with a prize) each year for “best court.”

Until fairly recently, appellate judges could review and alter the decisions of lower court judges even though the parties had not appealed. (That must have been quite a surprise to the parties!). Appellate court judges still review trial court decisions without an appeal, but instead of changing the result they just tell the trial court judges what mistakes they made (the law refers to this practice as giving “professional guidance” to the trial court).

Victims have the right to a lawyer, and the right to appeal the criminal case.

Until recently, supreme court decisions were not published. This was not a major problem because trial court judges are not obligated to follow the decisions or reasoning set out in appellate court decisions. Rather, they look to “official interpretations” of the laws that are set out by the supreme court. These interpretations supply a uniform understanding and correct application of the law.

A separate Constitutional Court (tsets) is responsible for interpreting the constitutionality of the laws. Questions of constitutional interpretation can be brought by citizens, government officials, or sua sponte by the court itself.

Work (Ajil)

2005-11-03T11:33:00.000+08:00

The Mongolia Judicial Reform Project (JRP) is a multi-year initiative to improve a variety of aspects of the Mongolian legal system (see link in the sidebar for more information). Partners in the project include USAID and the National Center for State Courts. I am here under the auspices of the JRP to work with the Supreme Court Research Center to better define its goals and objectives. The Supreme Court Research Center is the entity responsible, among other things, for compiling, analyzing and reporting information about cases handled by all the trial and appellate courts in the country.

So far, working in the SCRC is surprisingly familiar. Anyone who has worked in the judicial branch in the US would recognize and understand the dynamics between branches and within different units of the same branch here in Mongolia. For example, although the principle of an independent court system/judiciary seems well established, how to make that concept a practical reality is very much an ongoing project. Also familiar to anyone who’s worked in Alaska is the administrative structure of the Mongolian court system (highly unified and administered by the supreme court), the caseload distribution (about 40-50% of all cases are filed in Ulaanbaator with the rest scattered among trial and appellate courts located in rural aimags), and the lack of transportation and communication infrastructure. Unlike in Alaska, though, teleconferences do not seem to be widely used, perhaps because calling long distance is so expensive.

Two of my co-workers at the Supreme Court Research Center

The Countryside

2005-11-02T11:15:00.000+08:00

One of the first things that a resident of UB will say to a new arrival is, "You must get out of the city and visit the countryside." Alaskans will be quite familiar with this advice, since we give it to tourists all the time (as in: "You haven't seen the real Alaska until you've gotten out of Anchorage"). It seems that everyone who can afford a second house outside of town buys one and goes there on weekends or for several weeks in the summer (does this sound familiar?). People who can't afford a second house take tents and camp on the outskirts of town on the weekends. In fact, sometimes it seems that no one is left in town on the weekends--the traffic is noticeably less.

This is a photo of a barbeque recently hosted by Brigitte C. at her dachau just north of UB. While some of us went for a short hike in the nearby hills, Peter grilled pork, sheep, and beef on a "Brazilian barbeque" that he had cleverly constructed. After the hike, we lounged in the sun eating and drinking beer.

And last Sunday, I invited myself along on a hike with a group that goes regularly. We hiked up one of the four holy mountains (uuls) that surround UB: Bayanzurkhkhairkhan (Bayanzurkh for short). At the top was a large ovoo (cairn) wrapped in prayer flags. The proper way to encounter an ovoo is to walk clockwise around it three times, which we all did.

I continue to be surprised by the mildness of the weather. There is no snow yet in town or even in the nearby foothills. When the sun shines, it is downright warm. So I am hoping to get in a few more hikes before winter decides to get serious.

Halloween

2005-11-02T10:27:00.000+08:00

On the last weekend in October, some Americans living in UB organized a Halloween party at a local nightclub (see below re: Night Life). Here, Brigitte C. and I show off our hair and make up created especially for the occasion by a local salon artiste. Unbelieveably, we did not win the prize for best costumes--that went to two Americans who came as clouds. Honorable mention went to Michael Jackson.