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.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Published on Glimpse!
It took a while, but my photo story from last fall has finally been published on Glimpse. Check it out!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
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 18th
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 19th
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 20th
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 21st
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 22nd
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 23rd
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.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
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!
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!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
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.
"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.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
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."
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."
Sunday, June 6, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
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.
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.
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