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.

:)