The Longest Post Yet: Farewell, Mongolia.

Leaving Mongolia last December wasn’t hard for several reasons:
1) I was desperately missing fruits and vegetables.
2) It was -27C outside…everyday.
3) I had tonsillitis.
4) I was headed to Europe.
5) I was about 87% sure I would be back this summer, as I had landed the funding for a summer’s worth of research (thank you, Cornell!).

And my inkling was true. For those who are picking this up now, I returned at the dawn of June after a week in Kenya and have been working for the past two months on my senior thesis: Mongolia’s developing vegetable agriculture sector. It’s been a grand ol’ time. But it had to end sometime. Today is my last day.

In all honesty, it will probably be a long while before I return which, unsurprisingly, is making me nostalgic. Mongolia, you’ve used me and abused me, but you continue to charm me nevertheless. So to remind my followers (and myself) what it is about Mongolia that keeps me coming back for more let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we?


My Top 10 Favorite Mingle Moments:

1) It’s All About the Food:

I think food is an integral part of culture. To turn one’s nose up to trying new foods is to lose out on unique cultural experiences if not also making offense to your host in the process. So I try to be liberal in my diet when I travel, preferential to plants, but open to new ideas. In accordance, last fall I ditched my vegan/vegetarian ways and went all out omnivore.  As I briefly mentioned in my pre-arrival post, Mongolia is not known for its cuisine. I've learned that what a lot of Americans know about Mongolian food is what they've learned from Genghis Grill and other generic Mongolian Bar-B-Q, which is at best a grand embellishment on the authentic fried noodle dish (ingredients: flour, water, mutton, fat (potato if you’re lucky)). While it may not be a dietary paradise for consumers of the vegetarian/vegan variety, Mongolia does have some resourceful and interesting meals (at least to my Western tongue).

A list of the most interesting things I’ve consumed is as follows: boiled blood (finally something I can relate to Bear Grylls about), intestine sausage (stuffed with fat, strips of stomach, and more blood), the roof of a sheep’s mouth (“it brings you skills,” says my host father), cow tongue (my first meal), aaruul (or dried cheese curd), airag (or fermented mare's milk), half of a pig’s ear (see #3), horse, camel, yak, cow, goat, sheep…and so the list goes on.

Mongolia, while your tastes astound me and your stomachs impress me I happily reverted to my vegan ways when I returned State-side and in my Mongol return have attempted to make it through to summer on a plant-based diet (or close to) this summer. There were a few unavoidable and/or compulsory meat and dairy intakes, but nobody’s perfect.

2) My Khuvsgul Host Family

Khuvsgul province housed the site my first homestay in Mongolia and it was probably my favorite. For one, the Darkhad Depression was absolutely beautiful. I'd emerge from our ger to view a glowing purple mountain range each morning. My host family in Darkhad was also amazing. My mother, Davaasuren, was one of the kindest women I’ve met, even with our inability to orally communicate. My older sister, Ariuntogs, was a badass and a great teacher, showing me how to herd the goats and sheep, weave a rope out of yak wool, sew an ulzii, and scoop poop (the correct way). My two younger sisters, Hulan and Ariuntungalag, for the two days that I saw them, were adorable and happily played with me. And my father, Tsogbayar, was a laid back, friendly guy that would take me out herding.

He didn’t trust me with the horse like my sister did, so when we’d go out for an afternoon’s ride he’d hold the reigns while my horse followed behind his.  We would go to a high point in the modestly rolling valley floor and he’d give me his binoculars to spot the herd. He taught me the names of the mountains, showed me the medicinal herbs and smiled when I tried to make conversation (as pitiful as it was). Perhaps the most memorable mingling moment with him was out on a herding venture where we met up with two of his friends. We dismounted horses, laid in the grass and I watched and listened as the three weathered men rolled cigarettes from old newspaper and chatted about the rains and their horses.

3) A Pig's Head Hike

With the pollution, the craggy sidewalks and the crowds it was hard to get much exercise while I was in the city. So when my UB host family took me out to go hiking…I was more than ecstatic. Read more here.

4) Knives are for Cutting, Meat is for Eating

This is my mother’s favorite and, I have to admit, one of my more humorous faux pas. Twas Glimpse-worthy. Read about it here.

5) A Day at the Horse Branding

Also a Glimpse-worthy story.  An incredible event and tradition to see. Dusty though. My host family didn’t partake in the day’s happenings as they didn’t have any young foals that year. The previous winter’s dzud (a really, really, really harsh winter) had sadly gotten the best of all but two of their cows and several of their horses.  But I was still invited to watch.  Read about it here.

6) Thanksgiving  

Myself and the five other American students on my program were living on our own during the month of November and so we decided to host our own Thanksgiving feast. There are no turkeys in Mongolia, so Kara roasted two small chickens, we had side dishes galore including home-made applesauce and stuffed squash and I made a pear-plum pie (baked in a frying pan, as Mongolia also lacks pie pans).

Kara’s host family joined us and like most Mongolian meals I’ve had we ate while watching the wonder that is sub-titled American films. For better or worse, at the end of the night we somehow convinced them that drinking a shot of vodka was a Thanksgiving tradition…maybe that’s true in some households. In any case, I thought it was a jolly good time. And as tradition goes, I recognized a lot that I was thankful for.

7) World Cup Jollity 

I returned to Mongolia this summer and just like the rest of the world it had caught the World Cup fever. This evening’s plot happened time and time again throughout the tournament, mostly with Batmunkh and his “home-boys.” I had my hopes up for Netherlands in the end, but alas the octopus was victorious. In any case, I came out 300₮ the richer (about 21 US cents).

It's clear I will never be a gambler.

8) Naadam 

The three manly games. I missed the archery and wrestling as my grant had dwindled in no time, but the horse racing was incredible! Read about my Naadam experience here.

9) Face Club

I had experienced a little bit of Mongolian night life last fall and a little bit this summer, but I had never been to a dance club before this night. I got a text from Batmunkh asking if I was busy. I said no and he said, “ok. I have a plan.”

We met up with some of his friends around 10:00 and went to a pub for a beer. About an hour later we went to Face Club, reportedly one of the best night clubs in UB. It’s rather small, but the DJs were good and I’m a sucker for trance. The dance floor was fairly empty for the first half-hour, but when two girls decided to break the tension and be the first to dance a crowd soon emerged. We danced until 3:30 with a few intermittent pauses when the power would go out (not uncommon in UB).

That night that rates among the most fun I’ve had in UB by far.

10) Хөдөө (The Countryside)

[Warming: Corny, nostalgic conclusion to follow.]

[Disclaimer: This may or may not be contradictory to this blog’s title]

I’ve enjoyed my time here immensely and these mingling moments will stay with me for as long as my synapses will let me keep them. But perhaps the best part of Mongolia, and ironically the subject of the social and political debate that my research has boiled down to, is its land.

I’m a traveler at heart and I find great thrill in being in motion. Be it on planes, trains, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, horses or my own two feet, I love being able to absorb the environments around me. Perhaps it’s because I’m a photographer and I love to see and photograph the world around me. Perhaps it’s because I’m curious about what's "out there."  Or perhaps I’m just human. Regardless the reason, I love to travel and am privileged to be able to do so.

But while I love mingling (aforementioned instances among many) I also love being an objective observer—looking, listening, smelling, touching, and just being in new places as I watch time and space go by. I’ve done a fair amount of travel in Mongolia and in doing so have seen some of what this country has to offer. It’s no wonder land in Mongolian folk art is esteemed; it is beautiful. Here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here too.  And that’s only a sliver of it.

I will be back. There’s so much more to explore. Mongolia, you’ve grown on me…or rather a part of me.

Farewell, Mongolia. I’ll miss you.

Women's Grand Prix

I have three days left before I head back to the States Sunday morning. I'm tying up loose ends, gathering last minute details and saying goodbyes until then. Today I went to the American Center for Mongolian Studies to take advantage of my membership and exploit their library. I found 89 years of statistical records, though the 1921-1990 listings were scant. Statistics WIN! It was a far more fruitful time investment than my trip to the National Statistics Office which, ironically enough, couldn't provide me with anything except population numbers at 500₮ a page.

On my walk home I decided to pass through Sukhbaatar Square. I rather enjoy playing dodge-the-frisky-eight-year-old-on-wheels game and, being the largest pedestrian-only space in UB, there are a several dozen kids on roller-blades and bicycles speeding about. But when I rounded the corner today not only were there kids on wheels there were two red carpets laid out, a large stage and a big crowd.

Turns out today is the kick-start of the FIDE Women's Grand Prix chess tournament. It's one of six tournaments in the two year long championship. Mongolia will host twelve brilliant young women, four of which are former world champions, from China, Mongolia, Russia, India, Bulgaria, Georgia, Turkey and Qatar as they battle it out over the next two weeks.

I'm not surprised that the Grand Prix has come to Mongolia. Chess has become a beloved and esteemed game here.  Some even say that at least one person in each Mongolian household plays chess. I won't get to see any of the action, but it's supposed to be an inspiring event. As the FIDE President said himself in address for the Mongolian tournament, "The example, which famous grandmasters show to young chessplayers, gives them a powerful impulse both in life, and in sports."

Bid Neg Moroodoltoi

While my Ithacan and Cornellian chums were basking in the Grassroots goodness this weekend, I was feeling a little bummed that I wouldn’t be able to share the experience. I spent most of the weekend working on my research paper as I’ll be departing for the States on Sunday and am trying to finish as much as I can before I leave. On Saturday I came home from the French bakery, where I do most of my work (real espresso…’nuff said), around 6:30 to make myself some dinner.

As I was waiting for my buckwheat to cook I heard the World Cup “Wave Your Flag” song from the street below. Now normally I wouldn’t think twice as along with the rest of the world this summer, Mongolia had caught the World Cup fever and played the song endlessly (interruptions permitted only by Shakira). But World Cup ended several weeks ago. Granted, many Mongolians have yet to lose the spirit, the city’s mass amplification of games, recaps, and songs has, for the most part, ceased. So I thought twice, opened my window and saw a huge stage set up in front of The Beatles monument with four Mongolians proudly singing to an attentive albeit unenthusiastic crowd.

A large TV screen had been set up at the back of the stage which had the words “Бид Нэг Мөрөөдөлтөй” (Bid Neg Moroodoltoi / We Have One Dream) in big red font. When the World Cup song had ended two emcees came up onto the stage and tried to get the crowd to cheer, applaud and otherwise be involved. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but this was obviously a big ordeal (stages like this don’t get erected in UB every day) so I removed my buckwheat from the stove, grabbed my camera and went down to investigate.

I later found out from a friend that the event was held to promote music as an activity for youth to keep them out of trouble. The evening was intended to showcase Mongolia’s musically talented as an inspiration and what a showcase it was!

I may not have been in Ithaca for Grassroots, enjoying the regional talent of the greater New York area, but for all I know I got to enjoy something better: a musical world tour! I didn’t get video of all of them, but here’s the itinerary with respective links.

It all started in South Africa, of course, with the Mongolian adaptation of “Wave Your Flag.” We then visited Switzerland to spark the Mongol hills alive with the sound of yodeling by an impressive young singer.

Switzerland was followed by a taste of Latin America and the (in)famous reggaton. This was sung by a young Mongolian woman who, performing like a 13 year old in a home-made production, swung her hips and flipped her hair with a face that showed her self-consciousness, but intense effort.

Off to Italy for a taste of classical opera. Followed by a Mongolian pop boy band akin to the Backstreet Boys sans screaming pre-teen girls (though the young females in the crowd seemed to have a suppressed desire to wear the lead singer’s face on their t-shirts and cry when he looked into their eyes and sang, “Bi chamd khairtai” (I love you).

A hip-hop performance was up next. After getting an introduction to the budding Mongol hip-hop scene in the film “Mongolian Bling,” I wasn’t entirely impressed. Perhaps it was contextual though as there were only four mics available for the five rapper group which meant that one of them was left to awkwardly bounce to the beat.

My favorite group came out next. A Mongolian-Italian trio in matching sea foam blue, iridescent, satin suits with silver glitter ties that sang an operatic montage with a few supplemental disco and rock beats thrown into the mix.

An indie, acoustic group of teenage kids came up to the stage to perform an original. I've become accustomed to this music, as said indie kids hang out in circles next to The Beatles monument every night at dusk singing songs like The Cranberries' "Zombie" over and over and over again. I admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the "Zombie" performance, myself.

A young woman came out next and a cappella-ed “You Make Me Want to Pray” by Christina Aguliera which was quite impressive. She was later joined by a young pop singer to duet a Mongolian song. At the time I was about 90% sure half of it was lip-synced (the half being the other pop-singer) as he didn’t look like he was exuding any air during his solos, but I could easily have been wrong.

And the whole thing ended with a rave, no less. After the emcees came up on stage and encouraged the crowd to chant “Bid neg moroodoltoi,” even inviting a little girl up on stage to lead the chant, they introduced the DJ in the sound booth and invited everyone to stay dance the night away.

While I’m not one to turn down trance, I was starved and so returned to my apartment, opened my windows and enjoyed my buckwheat while watching a dozen Mongolians techtonik.

Naadam

Eriin Gurvan Naadam (three manly games) is a three day holiday in mid-July that commemorates the nation's 1921 revolution and their declaration as a free nation (though it's been said to have existed for centuries). The three manly games include wrestling, archery and horse racing and competitions occur all over the nation. The largest celebration is in Ulaanbaatar city, while smaller towns and regions will host their own games.

Lacking money myself (my grant has all but disappeared) I decided to stay in the city for the holiday period despite my original intentions of visiting the countryside. Tickets for the opening ceremonies at the Sports Stadium, which hosts the archery and wrestling events, were $25 for foreigners, which I unfortunately couldn't afford. So I joined a couple of my friends to wander the perimeter of the stadium. Tons of booths were set up, half of which sold khuushuur (a favorite food typically consisting of chopped mutton inside flour dough and deep-fried) and half of which sold anything and everything from Narantuul, a huge open air market which sells goods that are mostly from China.

After wandering around for about an hour we found the Luna Blanca tent and ordered some delicious vegetarian khuushuur. Not much else was happening and the clouds were looking ominous so we grabbed a taxi to a pub in town.

A friend of a friend had invited us over to his apartment that evening at nine. It was two. So we talked the bartender into opening up the karaoke bar for us and proceeded to sing The Beatles, The Cardigans, Madonna and a little Britney for the next four hours.

Essentially nothing was open that day, restaurants included, so we grabbed some produce from the only open grocery store we could find and made our own dinner. At nine we met up with the friend of a friend who's apartment was about as luxurious as you can get. He had half of the ninth floor with some huge windows framing some pretty amazing views, including an unobstructed view of Sukhbaatar Square. A huge concert was taking place on the square with Black Rose among others, which we watched from above and on TV. An impressive fireworks show was set off across the road from the apartment building and we had a great view from the balcony.

The final World Cup match was at 2:30 and I couldn't help but stay up to watch it. Twas a mistake on my behalf 1) because Netherlands lost and 2) because I had to get up early the next morning for the horse races. I got a call from my friend Tulga at 7:30am informing me of an 8am departure. We met up, grabbed a taxi out to the edge of town and transferred into a micro bus (a.k.a. cramped travel). In order to make the trip profitable, about 15 people have be on board. I was lucky enough to have a window seat, but the heavy traffic out of town meant that any breath of what should be fresh air was just a gulp of diesel fumes.

It was still worth it. About an hour later we made it to the incredible site of the horse racing finish line in the empty rolling hills about 20 kilometers out of UB. Hundreds of people were gathered around the finish watching the young jockeys gallop in.

We arrived just as the winning horse was crossing the finish line and saw the crowd of people rush to dab the sweat from the horse, a gesture to bring good luck. Others stayed in the bleachers to watch the runners up cross the line.

Depending on the age of the horse, races can stretch between 10 and 20 miles. It's a vigorous race and unfortunately too vigorous for some. As I was standing on the bleachers about 20 meters from the end, I saw a horse struggling to the finish. It picked up its front leg, but couldn't put it down before it collapsed. The jockey jumped off to the side looking helpless and afraid. Several policemen rushed over to the horse and started kicking its chest, presumably to get it's heart beating again. Unfortunately they had no luck. A few minutes later it had stopped breathing and went stiff. It was so sad to watch.

As the racing was winding down and the rains picking up we decided to call it a day and took a micro bus back into the city. I was so exhausted from the two days that I passed out as soon as I got home, awaking only for a few hours to join a friend for an Indian dinner at Hazara.

See more photos from the races on my flickr site.

Slideshow is up!

It's official now, my contract with Glimpse is up. My photo slideshow was posted on Monday. Also be sure to check out my photo story which was (finally) posted last week.

:)

One Small Step on the Litterbug

I stopped at Minii Zakh, one of the prominent chains of grocery marts in Mongolia, on my way home today. I was ecstatic to see bok choy on its produce shelves and bought a bunch, thrilled with the idea of leafy greens and some meal variety. I later turned this into a slightly creative yet delicious tofu salad, more or less.

I had forgotten my grocery bag at home and my book bag was stuffed to the brim with papers, so I opted for plastic. I don't see a lot of families bringing their own shopping bags to stores and often feel like I stick out like a green sore thumb. However, I was pleased to learn that Minii Zakh charges for bags! It's not much: 60₮ each (about 4 cents USD). But it's a start!

Litter is an unfortunate problem here and inflated grocery bags tumbling down an alley like a tuft of tumbleweed is disheartening. But in my meeting with the Chamber of Commerce's public affairs representative a few weeks ago I learned that litter is a shared concern among city officials. He told me that there's been an effort to eliminate plastic bags entirely, offering paper only. He said stores were supposed to be following suit since last June, but the stores reportedly don't mind breaking the law if it's cheaper and plastic bags are cheap. Despite the four or so Mongolian companies producing paper bags, there hasn't been much success in the program's implementation. In personal observation, I confirm that statement as I certainly haven't seen any paper bags around the city's stores.

In any case, the baby-steps of good intentions are there.

Published on Glimpse!

It took a while, but my photo story from last fall has finally been published on Glimpse. Check it out!

A Summer's Night at Zaisan

The silver lining of these 37C days is the warm summer nights. Perhaps it reminds me of wandering the empty streets of Pullman growing up, but there’s something about an evening of warm, unlit air that fills me with joy.

So, in an effort to take advantage of such an evening’s pleasure three friends and I ventured up to Zaisan, a large Soviet monument on the hills south of UB. I visited the monument before last August with SIT in mid-day when the vast view of UB and its borders were clear.

We grabbed a taxi out from the State Department Store to the base of the hill (or mountain, for the Rockies deprived). Up several hundred stairs I broke a sweat, but a satisfying breeze blew atop. Several families, teen groups, couples and even a group of guardsmen were enjoying the evening as we wandered around.

There is a large basin in the center of the monument that holds what I hear is supposed to be an eternal flame. The guardsmen had gathered around the basin, several of their ties loosened and shits unbuttoned with vodka bottles in hand. One of them pulled out a box of fireworks, set it on the basin and lit the fuse with his cigarette. Sparks suddenly flew into the air through the center of the monument ring and burst into an explosion of pinks, blues and greens.

Granted I think fireworks are awesome in the most literal sense of the word, albeit unnecessary, but I tend to find the setting off of fireworks in public, under the influence of vodka no less, a little disturbing. With personal experiences in Berlin over New Year’s and endless stories of roman candles gone wrong, I decided to watch this show from afar. And rightly so, as several rockets were faulty and blew just a few feet above everyone’s faces. The first of which led to the all nervous families’ departure. Several of the guardsmen were carrying duffel bags which I suspect either held more fireworks as the supplies for a continuous show kept appearing.

Despite these few instances of failure, the families cheered in awe of the explosions lighting up the night sky. In personal observation, it seems anything that shines with bright colors is beloved to Mongolians. Light up razor scooters, bouncy balls and helicopter toys can be seen all over the city at night. Neon signs, glowing toys and fireworks are perhaps a flashy and fun symbol of modernity.

In any case, we stayed atop the hill for about forty minutes before descending back down. We also paid a visit to the giant golden Buddha statue on the way back. And I returned home in time to catch the exciting second half of Korea versus Uruguay.

What do Jamaican and Mongolian tomatoes have in common?

In talking with vegetable farmers last November I learned that financial support (or lack thereof) was one of the biggest hindrances to small, developing farms. Farmers told me that in Mongolia there is an endless cycle of the banks supporting the farmers and the farmers supporting the banks with no net growth (at least on the agriculture side of things). Most farmers lacked basic tools and equipment, so they would take out a loan in late Autumn (if for a year's term) or early Spring (if for 6 month's term), use it to rent a tractor to plow their fields, purchase seeds or a new irrigation hose. Because of this, their work is relatively inefficient. Doing most of the work by hand, on small plots of land and growing all of their vegetables organically, their season's yields are relatively low and in order to make a profit they have to charge higher prices per kilogram (e.g. the price of a farmer's market tomato vs. an industry grown, box-store tomato).

Many of them spend months in the capital selling their produce on the streets or at expos hoping to pull in a profit. In Autumn, at the peak of harvest, sales prices are low and its hard to compete in the market. But loan terms quickly approach and farmers are forced to sell their produce all at once rather than selling in winter when prices are high. Most sell to wholesalers who buy cheap (irrespective of season) because produce imports are cheap, which are mostly from China. All of this means that the little profit they make in Autumn is barely able to pay back the loan amount with such high interest rates. With no profit made, they take out the same loan the next year.

And so the process repeats itself.

Farmers I spoke with talked about several investments they'd like to make in their farms: irrigation systems, greenhouses, storage facilities, tractors, tools, jarring and pickling equipment, barcodes. But they needed considerable amounts of money to invest in these things, amounts of money that they can't seem to find.

By the time I had identified this as a primary problem afflicting reportedly all small vegetable farmers in Mongolia, my month was over and my research report was due. So, I returned this summer (thanks to the Rawlings Cornell Presidential Research Scholars program) to look into it further.

I just returned from my revisit to Shaamar and in meeting with 37 farmers there (about 3% of the population) this problem was made more clear.

About 90% of the farmers I spoke with this trip who had received loans in the past said that loans that were available to them were lent in low amounts at high interest rates and for short terms (between 6 to 12 months). The above bank-farmer cycle was prevalent. They also explained that the low amounts were only enough to pay for yearly chores (renting a tractor for plowing, buying seeds, etc) and with high interest rates farmers were hesitant to take out more than 300,000-1,000,000₮ (about 200-700 USD). Farmers were putting down their land, their houses, their furniture, everything that they owned for collateral to get a few hundred dollars a year, every year. If a drought, a blight or a bad sales year in Autumn hit they could lose everything. They explained that every year they stressed about the fact that their entire livelihood was a risky bet.

There was a recent Planet Money podcast on NPR I heard that sounded strikingly familiar. I encourage you to listen to the podcast, as I won't use this space to repeat it, but I will mention what perked my interest most.

Tomato farmers in Jamaica are competing with industrial farms abroad with technologically advanced equipment and efficient processes on large plots of land. When the question was posed as to why Jamaican farmers don't take out a loan to buy the same equipment, the response was that most farmers didn't have the proper paperwork to put down their land as collateral and banks thus wouldn't lend to them the amounts that they needed, if at all. Sounds a little bit like Mongolia; farmers are just in need of a financial support to become competitive in the globalized market.

In contrast to Jamaica, however, Mongolian land is not a very valuable piece of collateral. After the revolution in 1990, land was more or less privatized as part of the nation's decentralization process. Mongolia's land privatization scheme is a little unique, however. Since nomadic herding is such an integral part of the nation's culture, heritage and lifestyle, only a small proportion of its land is privately owned or leased (to farmers, residents, companies, etc). Rivers, lakes, forests, pasture lands and everything else is owned by the government and is essentially open use. So there is a lot of land available. In fact, Mongolian nationals can obtain less than a hectare of land (it varies depending on where you want to claim it) for free! Farmers explained to me that, unlike Jamaica, putting down their property as collateral isn't enough--it's not worth enough to the banks. So they have to put down their house, their furniture, their tractors or cars (if they have them) just to get the $200-700 a year. Barely enough to make it through the year and hardly enough to invest in the competitive equipment that they need.

My goal now is to find out what is being done about this. If it's a matter of food security the government should be interested, no? I have two meetings with government representatives on Monday (copious thanks to Batmunkh!) to hopefully get some answers.

Shaamar Success!

I have returned to UB after a full six days in the countryside.  Twas a wonderful escape from the polluted air and city hustle, but I’m glad to have left the blood-thirsty mosquitoes that devoured every inch of exposed skin.  In any case, I have returned with some great data and a fabulous sandal tan.  Thus, I consider my trip a success!  Details are below for those interested, but they're hefty.

Friday, June 18^th

Started out early at 8am.  Voyage, Voyage was playing on our way out of UB, which I thought was fitting.  I soon learned, however, that it was part of a dreadfully 80s cassette tape that I came to despise after its continuous repetition.

We stopped in Bornuur soum (town) on our way up to Shaamar which is about an hour outside of UB.  Purevdarj, an aged, blue-eyed old man who was probably the most hospitable farmer I had met last November, lives in Bornuur and he asked me to bring some Calcium supplements from the States for his son.  Last November they had cooked a feast of horse meat for my driver, my translator and myself and this trip’s visit yielded an equivalent level of hospitality, albeit more modest.  A lunch of fried mutton, noodles and onions topped with carrot salad (a treat!) was the first of many breaches in my attempted maintenance of a vegan diet this summer (it’s possible in the city, but impossible in countryside lest you appear rude).  Purevdarj proudly led a tour of his greenhouse before our departure and offered me a place to stay if I wanted to escape UB in July, an offer I very well may take up.

We continued north to Shaamar arriving at 3pm.  We met with Gantomer, another farmer I had met last November, in addition to three other vegetable farmers before seven when our stomachs called for supper.

The majority of land in Mongolia is owned by the government and people are free to camp wherever they please, so we settled down for the night in a quiet meadow just outside of Shaamar.  My driver, Daasha, and my translator, Boloroo, sat talking into the night while I laid looking up at the sky as it evolved from a periwinkle to a navy blue.  The evening was lovely except for the swarm of mosquitoes that smothered the meadow.  Their hum was overwhelming as they bounced swiftly side to side in unison like ready Cassius Clay.

An friendly, old man with a cane approached us from the dirt road at dusk and knelt on one knee for about an hour chatting about the weather and other news with Daasha and Boloroo. 

Saturday, June 19^th

I awoke to several itching bites and the chilled morning air.  As we were packing up our things a young man approached us from the dirt road.  He was the old man’s son and their family was inviting us for boiled milk.  We all piled into our car and drove a half kilometer south.  The man’s mother was eager to meet us and she set us down on a bed in their two room home.  She served us boiled milk, orom (or clotted cream) and biscuits and proceeded to pull out all of her photo albums to show me (vegan diet attempt: FAIL number 2).  A little girl was sleeping on the bed across from us.  I learned that the girl’s mother was in Chicago when they pulled out her gift bag from the States and an English ABC’s book. They asked me to read it with the little girl on camera so they could send it to her mother and show her that she was learning English.  This was, of course, followed by a compulsory photo shoot with the foreigner. 

We stayed and chatted for about an hour and left for a 9am meeting with Burenjargal, another farmer I had met last November.  This day we visited a total of 7 more farmers, most of them new.  A small ger camp was coincidentally located about 100 meters from where we set up camp the night before, so for 15,000 togrog (about 10 USD) we opted for beds for the night.

Sunday, June 20^th

A marathon of interviews took place visiting 19 farmers in about 8 hours.  The temperature had peaked at a grueling 37C.   We went to Sukhbaatar, the provincial center about 20km North of Shaamar, for lunch.  I couldn’t bear to eat a hot meal so I opted for the potato and carrot salads instead.   Daasha laughed at my measly order, but I relished in the cold, crunchy vegetable medley (vegan diet attempt FAIL number 5, but a vegetarian WIN).

Monday, June 21^st

Another HOT day which we fortunately spent in the cool, cement buildings of Sukhbaatar.  We stopped at the government building first.  An hour and 2000 togrog later I recovered five years of fantastic statistics on Shaamar soum and Selenge province’s demographics.  We then stopped into the land department office to meet with an expert of land management.  The office was swarming with people and loud requests were going in every direction, so we were asked to return at 2pm. 

We stopped into the Ger Initiative office and spoke with a representative there (Ger Initiative is one of three NGO programs helping vegetable farmers in Shaamar).  The World Vision office (the second NGO program in Shaamar) was right across the square, but they were busy writing a report and asked us to return at 9am the following day.   Lunch was in the Selenge Hotel restaurant where I, yet again, ordered potato and carrot salads.

We returned to the government building to meet with the land department woman who gave me some great stats on land ownership in Shaamar, a map of the current land lots and, best of all, the “Citizen’s Guide” to reforming land relations in Mongolia (in English)!!  This booklet is what I’ve been searching for for the past seven months.  It explains the land law in its entirety and its implications, something the actual land law, despite its translation, fails to do (at least to my limited legal vocabulary).  She let me borrow the book for the evening.

We stayed in a hotel in Sukhbaatar for the night.  The shower was the selling point for me.  In the prior four days, every reapplication of sunscreen resulted in more and more dirt clinging to my skin as the afternoon dust storms of Shaamar blew. 

Tuesday, June 22^nd

We visited World Vision at 9am.  Then waited around for about an hour waiting for a store to open that had a working photocopier (or a Kanon as they’re called in Mongolian).  Three opened at 10:30 and an hour and 6000 togrog later I had my own copy of the citizen’s guide.  WIN!  We returned the book to the land department and went back out to Shaamar for the afternoon. 

It was once again 37C and unbearably hot under the sun, but we managed to meet seven more farmers that afternoon before retiring to the cold, cement hallways of Shaamar’s government building.  We met with a local representative of World Vision as well as a local land department representative, which was great. 

We finished the day with some sea buckthorn popsicles and retired to the ger camp for the night.

Wednesday, June 23^rd

I was happy with what I had collected in Shaamar and Sukhbaatar.  Though my sample of 37 farmers was only about 3% of the population in Shaamar, my budget for the trip was rather small and I couldn’t afford another day out.  But I think it will provide a good illustration of the current situation for small and medium vegetable farmers in Mongolia.  Satisfied, we embarked on our return to UB in the morning listening to Hands Up…again.  We stopped in Darkhan to visit the Agricultural Institute.  They unfortunately was unable to identify the two pests plaguing the watermelon crop in Shaamar, as the entomologist was on vacation, but I was able to meet with the Institute’s director.

We arrived in UB at about 3pm and stopped at Bars Market, a food market near the train station that harbors several vegetable wholesalers that vend Shaamar’s produce.  And I arrived home at 4:30.

I’m back in the city for the rest of the summer, more or less.  I’ve got a World Cup event to attend on Friday and a meeting with an official at the Ministry of Agriculture on Monday.  In the meantime, I’m taking a day off to relax.  Twas a good trip, but hard work. 

To Shaamar!

I'm setting off for Shaamar soum (town) tomorrow for a week of field research.  Shaamar is a small town in Selenge province about 20 km outside of the provincial center, Sukhbaatar.  I visited the town in November and met with five farmers there, some of whom were farmers during the socialist period, some just newcomers.  I'm hoping to meet with those farmers again and many, many more as Shaamar will be the site of my case study.  It harbored a large collective farm during the socialist period and still cultivates a large proportion of Mongolian vegetables so it's an ideal site (and fits within my mediocre budget).  I'm hoping to learn how this region has fared transition specifically focusing on land ownership and financial issues.

I'll be gone for the week without internet access, so don't fret if you don't hear from me for a while. 

This should really kick-start my work and I'm excited to hear, see, experience and perhaps taste everything that's going on up there.  Many words to come upon my return.

Here's to blue sky, fresh air and veggies! Cheers!

Viva FIFA!

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past few months you are well aware that yesterday kicked off the 2010 FIFA World Cup (no pun intended).  Futbol is not the favorite sport in Mongolia, they'd much prefer wrestling (traditional, Sumo or otherwise).  Regardless World Cup is pretty big here this year.  Various beer garden-esque tents have popped up around UB with soccer balls and World Cup logos painted on their sides.  The Prime Minister even called for a curfew extension for all UB bars in light of the upcoming matches (alcohol still limited to midnight or earlier).  I'm not usually one to follow sports, but I'm pretty keen on watching soccer and thus have been pretty excited for the next month's festivities. 

So for the first game of South Africa versus Mexico I joined my friend Batmunkh and his "home-boys," as he put it, to watch the match on the big screen.  I ate dinner with the Spring 2010 SIT students prior to and took the bus into city center to meet Batmunkh.  He said we were going to meet his friends behind the central library, but when we arrived I was a tad surprised by the venue.  A large, colorful circus tent had been erected in an empty space between apartment buildings.  Through the gaping flaps I could see a smoky haze over a gathering of people all facing the west end, their faces aglow green of the Johannesburg stadium's grassy field.  We walked in and met a group of his friends, ordered a few Jalam Khar beers and sat back for the game.

At one point Batmunkh leaned over to me to ask if I wanted to bet on the winner.  "How much?" I asked.

"How much do you have?" he replied.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out 100 togrog (about 7 US cents) leftover from my bus fare and showed it to him.  "Which team are you rooting for?" I asked.

"Ladies first."  So, for sake of home-field advantage, I placed my 100₮ on the table for South Africa hoping to double my money at the end of the night.  No shortage of excitement nor jollity were present throughout the match, but I had no such luck.  When the match ended in a draw half the crowd started to disperse and only the die hard fans (or those too inebriated to walk home) remained, planning to sit out the next two hours to wait for Uruguay and France to take the field.

While I would have loved to stay for the next match I was thoroughly exhausted and my eyes were burning from the lofting cigarette smoke.  So after saying my goodbyes I returned home for the night beginning to recognize that World Cup probably would not be conducive to my work these next couple of weeks.

Mongolian Bling

Today was the start of the American Center for Mongolian Studies' (ACMS)Second Annual Conference sponsored by the Luce Foundation. The topic this year is "Cultural Practices in Post-Soviet Mongolia" and the ACMS has invited several educated speakers to discuss their work regarding the arts, language and religion in relation to identity shifts following the 1990 revolution. Today featured a keynote address by University of Cambridge scholar Dr. Carole Pegg and a panel discussion on the arts such as khoomii, or traditional throat singing, and ballet. The evening followed up with the first public screening of the documentary film, "Mongolian Bling" at the Khaan Bank Theater.

I had actually met the Australian writer, director and producer of the film, Benj Binks, a week ago at the Ozomatli concert.  When I asked him what he was doing in-country he said he was producing a documentary film on the Mongolian hip-hop culture.  Having heard the NPR story (although in retrospect of this film, while NPR called it a feature it should really be called a brief) and having heard a lot of the music in my time spent in Mongolia I was thoroughly intrigued by his project.  He mentioned he was screening it at a conference the following week and when we connected over the upcoming ACMS event I went into a state of anticipation that was only relieved tonight.

Binks said that idea for the film started to manifest in 2007 when he came to Mongolia with a few friends and limited understanding of the Mongolian hip hop scene.  He filmed 120 hours in three months time and discovered a network of characters all worthy of attention, thus, Binks and his team continued to shoot the film over the past three years.

"Mongolian Bling" chronicles the uprising of hip hop since the early 90s and the collapse of socialism. It follows three primary hip hop artists, Quiza, Gee and Gennie, (as Binks put it, a commercial, an underground, and an upcoming rapper) to illustrate the story.  They tell how hip hop has enabled them to express their opinions about the government, its corrupt policies and neglect to the Mongolian people.  It's also served as a tool to reach youth whereby they can promote their Mongolian heritage and history to a group that may be becoming an apathetic generation.  Moreover, the film introduces a slew of aspiring and/or inspired artists, many still in secondary school, who wrote about societal issues like alcoholism in addition to the government.

The artists words and messages were passionate and powerful and I think the film has the definite potential to put modern Mongolian culture on the global radar.  But I think what really made the film great was its investigation into the unique juxtaposition of Mongolian hip hop and traditional culture, noting distinct parallels between the two.  For instance, a shaman interviewed in the film said how shamanism has made hip hop possible and inspired a lot of its characters.  He noted the similarities between shaman dances and rappers' movements, which are sharp and quick like an imitation of the animals, and an ability for both shamans and rappers to say a lot of words on just one breath. 

Despite a few technical difficulties the screening was impressive and very well received by the audience.  Binks said he expects the formal screening to occur at the end of the year.

Ozomatli

My neighbor Stephanie knocked on my door on Friday evening asking if I was busy for the night. Apparently the L.A. born band Ozomatli was playing a concert on Sukhbaatar Square (reportedly the first American band to play such a venue) and a whole group of ex-pats were going. We went to Budweiser, a pub off the square, for a nice, cold Chinggis while The Lemons were playing an opening set and set off to the square during the intermission. The square was already heavily populated with a wide age-range of Mongolians. There were about four successive ropes orbiting the stage and we managed to get under two before we settled. The last two kept about twenty meters between the stage and the crowd--a lot of empty space for a concert...

It was a pick-pocketer's dream: the start of the tourist season and a huge crowd of people packed tightly together. I left everything but my house key and about $3 at home and watched as several young boys situated themselves between a few of my friends and I slyly unzipping purse pockets and backpacks. I pushed aside the ones that I saw, but I'm sure they made out pretty well that night.

Ozomatli, who according to one of the fans in our group, was finishing a world tour and stopped into UB on their way back to L.A. Whatever brought them to Mongolia, however, was not enough incentive to get them to learn a few key phrases in Mongolian and as such their entire show was a trifle hilarious. The music was pretty good, but their requests for the crowd to jump, shout or repeat certain words yielded only the response of the small group of Peace Corps volunteers happily dancing as if they hadn't been to a concert in 26 months. As hard as Ozomatli tried and as many charades as they attempted, the crowd just couldn't translate their requests.

At one point they had a few members of the famous Moriin Khuur ensemble come out for few a jam sessions. While the language of music may lessen the impact of any cultural barriers it still took them a few failed attempts before they got into a groove. The back and forth with Ozomatli's lead singer and one of Mongolia's famous throat singers was particularly entertaining.

The band finished their set, took a bow, thanked the crowd for their welcoming, albeit confused cheers and left the stage. At this point even the hard of hearing could figure out where in the crowd the Westerners were as the traditional encore cheering was only sparsely heard. The rest of the Mongolians surrounding me began pulling out their mobile phones and leaving the square. And as the cheering started to die out I wondered if an encore would even happen. Is it too much of a blow to the ego for a band to come out with a weak encore request? But one of the evening's emcees came out onto stage and began to plead for the crowd's cheers. She explained (in Mongolian) that Ozomatli wanted to hear their hoorah. Once she rallied enough support and those who had started to leave turned back around the band re-emerged on the stage. The lead singer prefaced their song with a request which, this time, was promptly translated: everyone jump. And that's all it took--just some translation. The encore was good and the crowd finally connected with the group. A few beloved (and admittedly adorable) Mongolian kids even took the stage to jump along with them.

We went to a pub following the show for a few beers and the night turned into te recital of many (most being non-pc) jokes. One of my favorites was delivered by a Mongolian friend of the group:

There's an American, a Frenchman and Mongolian stranded on this desert island and they come across this interesting looking bottle. They rub the bottle and this genie appears and says "because you have released me I will grant you each three wishes."

The American says: 1) I wish I were back home in America. 2) I wish was rich. 3) I wish I was famous. The genie then grants his three wishes: done, done and done.

The Frenchman says the same: 1) I wish I were back home in France. 2) I wish I were rich. 3) I wish I were famous. So the genie grants his three wishes: done, done and done.

So now only the Mongolian and the genie are left. The genie says "okay, now it's your turn. What three wishes do you want?"

The Mongolian sits and thinks for a while and then says, "I wish I had some vodka." So the genie grants him his wish and the Mongolian gets a bottle of vodka.

When he finishes the bottle the genie says to him, "okay, well you still have two more wishes. What do you want?"

The Mongolian sits and thinks for a while looking out at the ocean surrounding him and then says, "I wish this ocean was vodka." So the genie grants him his wish and turns the ocean into vodka.

While he's drinking the ocean the genie starts to get anxious and says, "okay, come on, what is your third wish going to be?"

The Mongolian sits down and thinks some more. Then in a slurred reply he says, "well I can't drink this all by myself. So I wish for those other two guys would come back here to help me."

Mongolian Immigration Registration

U.S. citizens staying in Mongolia for less than 90 days don't need to obtain a visa before entering the country. But I found out last week that foreigners staying in country for less than 90 days, but more than 30 days have to register with the Mongolian Immigration Office, lest they get stopped, held and/or fined upon attempted exit. This registry must happen within seven days of arrival and I had about three days left when I found out. Phew. Said immigration office is in a shiny new building located several kilometers away from UB's city center. Convenient, absolutely. It would be at least a thirty dollar taxi ride out and back which I wasn't enthralled about. Luckily my neighbor recalled that I can take the bus, "I think it's the number eleven?"

I had two days left to register, so I thought if the first day turned out to be a failure for taking the wrong bus or some other mis-step it wouldn't be the end of the world (or result in an exit fine). So I hopped the number 11 near the flower center a few blocks from my apartment cautiously carrying any and all important documents that the immigration office might like to see (their website was down and thus their list of '"things to bring'" was unavailable) hoping to return with legal status.

I didn't exactly know where I was going so once we skirted the city limits I kept my eyes out for any building that looked official. I got off the bus near the new sports stadium that's still under construction and wandered through some empty fields (with the exception of some milkweed, which my allergy loved...) towards the only building in a three kilometer radius that could possibly house immigration. Sure enough it was a success.

I won't bore you with the details of the registration process. I will only say that it took me three hours and the wait felt somewhat like this.

Hoorah! I'm legal now.

Mother and Children's Day

Yesterday was Mother and Children's Day, a national holiday in Mongolia that occurs annually on June 1st. The day of celebration is a variant of International Children's Day which was proclaimed in 1925 at the World Conference for the Well-being of Children. I had heard that in UB the festivities would start at 11am on Sukhbaatar Square, but I didn't quite know what to expect.

I had fallen asleep after a much appreciated early morning skype date only to be awoken an hour later by horns, yelling and cheering. I looked out the window of my new apartment (which is a hop, skip and jump away from State Department Store) to see a long parade passing by along Peace Avenue. I grabbed my camera and headed down to see more.

I followed the parade down to Sukhbaatar Square which was packed with people. Multiple stages had been erected for dancing, singing and contortion performances and vendors had set up shop selling everything from sea buckthorn juice to umbrellas to games and toys. One particularly entrepreneurial pair set up game where for 500₮ you got three chances to knock over a pyramid of old paint cans with a ball of packing tape.

The music, games and celebration echoed across the city until dusk. I suspect that it would have gone longer, but the strong gusts of an evening dust storm chased most of the families home.

Kenya

May 21st:

I arrived at the Jacaranda Hotel on Friday morning at about 9am. I met up with Louise Buck in time for a nice breakfast of fresh mango, pineapple and granola and we headed out to the field at 10. We are, as the pitch goes, pioneering a ground-based photomonitoring methodology for eco-agriculture landscapes and this trip was a pilot test and a necessary first step in writing the draft for the final product: a ground-based photomonitoring user’s guide, more or less.

We visited the KENVO (Kijabe Environmental Volunteers) office to get some maps and then headed down through the Kijabe landscape to take some photos. If I had been there the day before I would have gone to several pre-established transects within the area with Louise and the rest of the group, but I wasn’t (damn you, Virgin Atlantic) so I was just able to visit some specific sites. KENVO has been initiating some “intervention” projects to promote biodiversity conservation and rural livelihood development within the area. Beekeeping, fish-farming, agroforestry, tree nurseries (the one we visited was in conjunction with a school) and forest rehabilitation sites are among these projects so we took a sample photopoint at each one of these sites.

After several hours of taking pictures along bumpy roads we made our way back into Nairobi to visit the World Agroforestry Center headquarters and met with the Director General.

The evening was topped off with a much appreciated meal and good night’s rest.

May 22nd:

Our prior plans for the weekend had been cancelled, so we decided to rent a driver and car and venture to Nakuru National Park for a safari (my first). We stayed at Mbweha Camp in the Mbweha Conservancy of the Great Rift Valley which was a slow 3 hour drive out of Nairobi. Louise, Simon (our guide) and I took an hour long evening safari on some tattered bicycles which my chain fell off several times, my seat tilted fiercely sideways and my ankles were eaten alive by mosquitoes, but we saw a lot of zebra and impala and the sunset was magnificent. It was well worth those few pains. The rest of the evening was spent by the fire enjoying some delicious Tusker.

May 23^rd:

A 6am wake-up call was in hopes of an early morning in Nakuru Park, named after Lake Nakuru within its boundaries, but we weren’t entirely successful. We didn’t get out of Mbweha until 7:30 and having to drive all the way around Nakuru’s border to reach the main gate meant we didn’t get into the park until about 9am. This unfortunately meant we didn’t see any cats (either that or the lush grasses from days of immense rain disguised them well). Regardless we saw plenty of zebra, buffalo, baboons, flamingoes, rhinos and more and the weather could not have been better.

We stopped into the Lion Hill hotel for some tea around 3pm, watched a flock of weaver birds conquer a tree and then headed back to Nairobi for the evening.

May 24-26th:

The Community Knowledge Service (CKS) Africa conference was being held at the Co-operative College of Kenya this week and we, arriving late Sunday evening, joined them a day late. Lots of people from different organizations and countries were present to discuss CKS issues, strategies and projects for the upcoming year. On the last day of the conference (Wednesday), I gave a presentation about ground-based photomonitoring as a potential CKS tool and we probed some discussion about its utility and how we could make the user’s guide as more suitable for its, well, users. We got some great feedback, heard from one leader who said communities in his working area were already successfully using this method, and from another who said communities in his working area were using the method informally and appreciated its formal capacity. All good notes for our draft which will be in the making this summer.

May 27-29th:

Peace out, Kenya. It was a short, but wonderful trip. I had a 2pm departure for Doha marking the beginning of a very long journey to Mongolia. A five hour flight to Doha and a twelve hour layover, an 8 hour flight to Beijing and a 21 hour layover and finally a 2 ½ hour flight to Ulaanbaatar.

Success! I’m exhausted and totally out of it, but I’m back! Turns out my apartment for the summer won’t be ready until Monday, so my host parents from the fall have graciously taken me back under their wing and offered me a place to stay for the weekend. I’m off doing errands tomorrow. I’ll be in UB for two months (and up in Selenge for about a week) looking into more of the vegetable agriculture sector here.

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My goal is to keep this blog up twice a week at least. I don’t have school or a priority blog to blame the neglect on, so hopefully the goal will come to fruitition. Check here for updates, stories and ventures.

Virgin Atlantic Part II

Virgin Atlantic raped my wallet.

I got kicked out of the airport and had to pay for two nights room and board in London without warning (as you can probably tell, I’m still bitter, but getting over it). I spent two days in Houndslow Middlesex: the first resting and fasting out whatever was in my system and the second getting lost in the Houndslow Heath Local Nature Reserve two hours (it’s a lot bigger than the map looks), which was actually quite pleasant. Two days later I go back to the airport plenty early to get my tickets when I find out (surprise, surprise) there’s another fee. Apparently the inconvenience I was causing Virgin Atlantic (in getting sick and forcing them to reissue my a ticket) required some compensation--$200 worth of compensation. Turns out, if I had accepted the compulsory albeit ill-advised offer to go to the hospital on Tuesday night this fee would have been waived (although, the hospital fees might very well have been more than $200). However, since I “declined the offered hospital visit” they had to have someone make sure I was “fit to fly” and that was going to cost me. No amount of arguing brought the fee down or out of the picture all together, so I handed over my credit card, grabbed my boarding pass and grumpily went to my gate.

I was set aside at the boarding gate for further inspection once everyone else had boarded. The so-called “fit to fly” inspection consisted of two questions:

(1) How long were you sick?

ANSWER: About 30 minutes on Tuesday right about when you de-boarded me.

(2) Are you feeling fine now?

ANSWER: Perfectly, thank you.

Well worth the $200, eh?

In any case, I made it to Nairobi two days later, one immigration stamp richer, but about $300 poorer. There’s a chance I can get refunded for the $200, but that requires some haggling with insurance and customer service representatives which is always a joy.

Kenya to come.