Early Morning Penguin

I don't know if you've already seen this and I'm just late to the party. But this video of a little penguin, apparently who lives at the Cincinatti Zoo and is named Cookie, is so adorable. I'm up super early today to head off to training and wish there was a giant hand to reach down from somewhere above and tickle me!

Consider the Sugar Daddy

Somehow between birthdays, Easter dinners, hot showers and reading a wonderful book, I have been trying to find time to reflect on what has happened in UB. It's only been two days but each hour is so packed with floods of emotions and overwhelming sensations that it feels like I've absorbed so much in a very little amount of time. One thing that has occupied my mind within the last few days is the dynamic between expats and the rest of Mongolia. Within a mere two days I have been hit on by older expat men not once, but twice. It happens in a strange manner. Both times I was sitting with girlfriends chatting, completely absorbed in our own conversation and nursing some sort of drink. For some reason these men, who tend to flock in twos to fours, think it is perfectly acceptable to come join our table though they have received absolutely no invitation whatsoever. Please tell me, what part of sitting at a coffee shop and chitchatting with friends screams 'please hit on me creepily, rich third-generation sausage maker from Austria!'? The audacity of assuming we are both available and interested in talking to them is mildly entertaining. Neither is true for me. These bizarre rituals proceed like Animal Planet suggests they should, with an offering of goods: the older men without fail buy drinks for us. What does one do? Tell the poor local server, who is already boggled by the idea of one group of people ordering drinks for another, that you won't accept them? We tried that once, only to reap playful heckles from our suitors. Also, it is really appropriate to assume that these gifts are somehow maliciously motivated? There's nothing wrong with a friendly conversation, after all. I know there are implicitly strings attached to the icy beverages, but there haven't been any remotely acted upon. We manage to keep the conversations platonic and the men end up leaving before we do, realizing that their shot in the dark has been to no avail and bidding us farewell with good nature and no ill will. So are these little presents merely to win the chance to banter with a table full of blonds? Seems like a silly exercise to me.

Honestly, if you can't tell, this whole thing makes me rather uncomfortable and bewildered. I know with full certainty that there is no such thing as a free anything, much less a free cocktail. However, there are some women here who face these transactions with ease and many who welcome it. A Peace Corps Volunteer recently went on an all expenses paid vacation to Southeast Asia, courtesy of her much older, wealthy English...boyfriend? And many of the Mongolian ladies at the clubs are just as on the prowl as the foreign men, willing to reach into a lonely gent's pockets for drinks and more. (Ironically, the club at which we this regularly takes place is called Strings; a venue that builds relationships based on the attachment of its namesake.) But then again, what is so wrong with this sort of interaction? If both parties are frank, and no one is feeling used beyond what is normal in a goods-for-services exchange, then it's perfectly okay. Right? Moreover, these relationships are ubiquitous and by virtue of their frequency they are somewhat legitimized. They are just not for me. On the other side of the table, the men who approach us seem very well aware of what they are proposing and the absurdity therein. At one awkward juncture, my friend commented on her father's upcoming 60th birthday. Our senior suitor fell silent and then sheepishly confessed that he was even older than that. Taking the hint, he didn't hang around long after.

Part of the reason I think there are so many of these kinds of guys here is because of the mines. Mongolia is currently the new Wild West, bursting at the seams with workers, hangers-on and prospectors seeking desperately to capitalize on the wealth buried beneath the Gobi's sands. This yields a large population of Western men who come and go frequently and are unsupervised by their wives. Coupled with the great amount of money these miners are amassing hourly and the titillation that many of them find in Asian women, this city has now become a minefield of a different sort. But thus far no explosions today and I hope to keep it that way. No amount of free alcohol can ever justify and older man's hand on your thigh and that's the way it will say- at least for me.

FYI...and Apologies

Just a brief notification: blog posts will be scarce in the next week and a half as I will once again be in UB. It should be a good time with friends and an educational conference, though frankly I prefer being in Hovd away from the money drain and torturous social drama that tends to accompany life in the big city. So apologies in advance. I have also noticed some typos in recent posts and have not been able to be as prolific this month, due to squeezed time between city trips. For that I am deeply sorry.

However, one thing to look forward to this coming week is observing the juxtaposition between country life and city life that marks UB. Last time I was in UB I stood in line behind a woman who was surely wrestling with her very first encounter with an ATM. My friend had to buckle and unbuckle an eme's seat belt en route to the city, as she'd clearly never been on a plane before. When the plane landed, she had no idea how to get up. This is the same city in which vodka moguls rub elbows with Russian bank owners and as foreigners, we have the ability to move though almost all social circles as we explore the city. It is fascinating. So beware of the writing sabbatical and here's hoping that I absorb lots of interesting scenes for future posts.

Foul and Friendly Jolts

Somehow I always thought that culture shock would never affect me. I remember sitting in a session about it's dangers before I studied abroad in college and thinking that I was so much tougher than anyone who came down with the culture shock. It seemed like a disease and I was far too cosmopolitan to be susceptible. But I suppose I was wrong. Though it affectedly me heavily at first, I am over the big shocks of Mongolia now for sure. The sight of severed animal heads with tongues bulging don't freak me out and I am used to holding down my spot in an ATM line akin to a mosh pit. However, some things still manage to get under my skin as either really nice or wretched. I suppose these things are part of the ongoing learning process that is living in a foreign country. Perhaps they are still remnants of culture shock? They smack of both bewilderment and humble learning. And though I am getting ready to pack my bags and fly off to UB tomorrow morning for my Close of Service conference I can still  be affected by parts of life here that remain new and strange.

The thing that has stuck me as really wonderful of late is rampant sharing. Definitely a dessert vulcher myself, my friends would laugh and yell at me to get my own cheesecake as they watched me sneak rather unstealthy bites of theirs in our college cafeteria. This was also the attitude I had when I caught someone else sucking down my cocktail or eating my cheesecake. Go get your own! But here, it's completely different. If someone has something, it is implied and expected that they will share. Even when there are 20 people and four cookies, you can bet that everyone will get a bite. It's a really sweet attitude of being more attached to people than to things- sharing the joy of an ice cream is much better than having one all to yourself. Sometimes this gets taken a little too far. I dread transporting baked goods from my house to my class. Last time I walked across town with homemade cookies in an open container, I was constantly heaving sighs as random people walked up to me and snagged a cookie off my plate. I have now learned to make extra cookies. This has cascaded into my interactions with foreigners. I now make enough of anything I bring to share at campfires, as we have grown to take and give with ease amongst each other for the most part. It's a nice feeling, not being grasped by an urge to protect whatever you're enjoying but to relax because it actually belongs to the community and not to you. Frustrating at times, it is. But most often it leaves everyone with the sticky sweet taste of ubiquitous vanilla ice cream and a bright smile.

On the other hand, one thing I have noticed that still gives me a jolt of anger that often accompanies culture sock is yelling. Unfortunately, Mongolia is a yelling culture. I'm not quite sure of it's origins. Perhaps it was bred from the top-down way that Soviet life was run. Looking farther back, I'm pretty sure that Chinggus Khan didn't sit down for a round table chat before he barked orders at his subordinates. Wherever it's roots are, it is rather unpleasant. Evidence of this yelling is seen everywhere in a foreigner's life here. Whenever I have a package at the post office, the postmistress calls me and yells at me for not coming sooner. Whenever I go to collect said package, she yells at me once again for...something. Normally I just wait for the storm of spittle to subside and get on with my life. However, I was beyond infuriated when one of my students showed up at my home last week with tears in her eyes. The janitors had mercilessly ripped her a new one for being in the American Center after hours, even though I had given her permission to do so. My little film critic, the one from previous posts, was watching The Pianist. How could I deny her a chance to finish it? Even if it was after hours, she is more friend than student and I trust her completely. But apparently the janitors did not. After comforting her with some chamomile tea, I stormed to work. I tried to think of the most diplomatic way to broach the topic but as soon as I saw the janitor in question I summoned all the venom I had within me and flung it at her loudly in Mongolian so good that it surprised both of us. This is exactly what I didn't want to do: fall victim to the vicious cycle that is yelling. She nodded her head demurely and walked away; I instantly felt horrible. I'm not quite sure how to combat this. I know the first step is not to yell, but my inner tigress came out to defend my student and I couldn't help it. Perhaps next time I'll be better. Hopefully there won't be a next time.

These things still boggle my mind. I suppose that's a good thing. Maybe I'll never feel completely at ease here, which is okay. The thrills and pitfalls of being impressed on anew by a culture I have lived in for so long is a fascinating thing. On thing I know is that I'll try to continue to share my ice cream and speak softly for many years to come.

Monthly Montage: Kazakh Life

Inspired by both the Kazakh New Year, 'Nowriz' which just passed in March and my recent infatuation with BBC's Human Planet series, this month's montage will be focused on the Kazakh population in Mongolia. Concentrated in my corner of the country, the westernmost province of Bayan Olgii is comprised almost exclusively of Kazakhs. Here in Hovd we have a Kazakh minority that is quite vibrant, though sadly Kazakhs here face frequent discrimination. Over the past year I have put forth my best efforts in tandem with a development worker from another organization in creating a Kazakh Cultural Center here in town. While I don't think I'll be here to see our efforts into fruition due to my rapidly approaching Close of Service date, it has roused in me a very deep awareness of this marginalized population and the unique culture that it possesses. So take a look at the smattering of Kazakh-related pics below; some are of Kazakh events, some are Kazakhs themselves and others are just life in the neighboring province. I hope you'll be as intrigued as I am by this group. But first BBC's Human Planet highlights the hunters among us.
(PS apologies in advance for some wack formatting. I have yet to figure out how to publish pictures properly according to caption size...Eek! Sorry!)

 

My student, Tiku. Of four classes, he is one of the only two boys who has stuck with Access.

I couldn't resist. Such a sweet baby!

At a special Kazakh concert in Hovd. He is playing the dombra, a traditional instrument with three strings.

A concert singer sporting pretty sweet traditional dress.

Kaz, Kazakh horse sausage, is super popular and surprisingly tasty.

Beshbarmak, meaning 5 fingers, a special meal to celebrate a friend's new apartment.

Bayan Olgii Aimag Center from afar.

Life in Bayan Olgii can be tough since the Kazakhs are so marginalized. Here boys fetch water from the frozen river.

In the Olgii Square. Many are still very fond of the Soviet era.

The local school in Bayan Olgii. In front of the school is a stature of a Russian soldier running away and shooting backwards at the school. No idea why.

A very large and fancy байшин, or house. Kazakhs tend to live in these in the winter and bigger gers in the summer.

Chopping coal to heat my friend's modest байшин. Dogs are to be expected in both Kazakh and Mongolian yards, they're excellent guards. Thankfully Ruthie was a friendly sentinel.

And sometimes when you live in a байшин it gets a little too hot and you light your roof on fire. Subsequently, it seems like a good idea to empty the contents of an entire fire extinguisher into the tiny space.

My friend's student. He invited us for Nowriz last year.

The traditional Nowriz fair is a 7-ingredient soup.

In the Kazakh tradition, meat is served in big hunks on a large platter. It is the oldest man's job to cut and serve.

The landscape between Hovd and Olgii during a vodka/pee break en route.

Umm sheep head.

Standing on a hill over a yak farm after a breakdown between Olgii and Hovd hoping to capture the expansive isolation.

Grandma and baby!

In their finest array, the community turns out for a parade.

Older women walking proudly in their wimples.

A fancy float. Though religion has more cultural significance than anything, Kazakhs are still very attached to their Muslim roots. For reference, Mongolians are similarly only quasi-devout Buddhists.

The real mosque in Olgii.

Perhaps one of the best known parts of Kazakh culture, an eagle hunter with his feathered friend.

More of the landscape between Hovd and Olgii. This time featuring fertile camels.

Another relatively well known part of Kazakh culture, handicrafts- especially wall hangings. They are all beautiful handmade, including the date it was finished and the name of the maker. Sadly though they are vanishing quickly.

The head hancho at the Eagle Fest. Quite an ensemble.

Hunters in the sun. I very much hope they'll be able to keep this incredible tradition alive.

A hunter on his horse with a owner-less eagle in the foreground.

I took my students to experience Nowriz at a Kazakh student's home. Remarkably, though they have been living among Kazkahs their whole lives, they had never celebrated the most important Kazkah holiday or even been inside a Kazakh house.

Cross culture bonding between teachers at a Peace Corps training. One of the Kazakh counterparts brought kaz to UB all the way from Olgii and shared it with her new Mongolian friends.

The Perks of Adulthood

Though I've been living on my own for quite a few years now, it's still nice to savor moments in which you keenly feel the freedom of adulthood. Nothing like sitting on your sunny stoop with a friend and relishing an ice cream in for breakfast. Wonderful moments indeed.

Riding Hard on a Wednesday

I have discovered the best website ever. Well if you're Southern and have a quirky sense of humor like I do, it's the best website. May I introduce Paula Deen Riding Things. It's basically what it sounds like: Paula Deen Riding Things. Behold:

Hope those made you giggle as much as they did me! Have a great Wednesday!