I finally finished writing about Mongolia! It's practically a book. Please bear with me.
So, Mongolia was a pretty wacky experience, and I know no other way to do it justice than in excruciating detail. In fact, there is far too much to say for one post, so I am hitting it day by day. If you want to do things chronologically, please scroll down down down to the first post about Ulaanbaatar and work your way up from there. I think you'll have to go back a page, actually.
After this, I get to play catch up for the past two months. Oh boy.
Showing posts with label mongolia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mongolia. Show all posts
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Mongolia -- Day 10 and 11 (the end)
The last two days are a little blurry now, because I didn't make any notes at the time. (Whoops!)
One morning we went to Choijin Lama Temple, which was maybe my favorite place in UB. It was small, but beautiful and ornate. The art of Chinese-influence Buddhism is significantly different from the Buddhism in Japan -- namely, more violent and prone to linger on the Buddhist hells. It was really fascinating. In the makeshift gift shop (housed in a ger), I bought a bunch of little hand-painted cards as omiyage (souvenirs) for some of my coworkers and friends.
We found a statue of Lenin, and visited the Victims of Political Persecution Museum. It was contained in an old house (belonging to a previous prime minister that had been persecuted). The exhibits were mostly about the occupation by Soviet Russia, only half translated into English, and consisted of a lot of old photos and personal stories. The most suddenly stunning part was when you walked into a small room upstairs and came face to face with a plexiglass case full of human skulls, most with bullet holes. They were from a mass grave of 600 people that had just been discovered in about 2006.
We also tried to find the Modern Art Museum, but when we finally did, we discovered that it had been pretty much destroyed in a fire that caught from the bank next door.
At the guest house, we spent more time hanging out with Nasaa, as well as this guy Go from Tokyo. We watched a pretty crazy and kind of low-budget music competition show (essentially Ulaanbaatar Idol), and helped Go learn the words to "Stand By Me."
At last, it was time to depart. Nasaa and Urnuun's mother came with us to the airport. As we drove there, we passed the end of some Buddhist festival, and saw these flaming lanterns flying up into the sky. It was a nice image to end on, I think.
We had a great time in Mongolia. I wouldn't mind going back, though I'd much rather spend time in the countryside than in the city!
One morning we went to Choijin Lama Temple, which was maybe my favorite place in UB. It was small, but beautiful and ornate. The art of Chinese-influence Buddhism is significantly different from the Buddhism in Japan -- namely, more violent and prone to linger on the Buddhist hells. It was really fascinating. In the makeshift gift shop (housed in a ger), I bought a bunch of little hand-painted cards as omiyage (souvenirs) for some of my coworkers and friends.
We found a statue of Lenin, and visited the Victims of Political Persecution Museum. It was contained in an old house (belonging to a previous prime minister that had been persecuted). The exhibits were mostly about the occupation by Soviet Russia, only half translated into English, and consisted of a lot of old photos and personal stories. The most suddenly stunning part was when you walked into a small room upstairs and came face to face with a plexiglass case full of human skulls, most with bullet holes. They were from a mass grave of 600 people that had just been discovered in about 2006.
We also tried to find the Modern Art Museum, but when we finally did, we discovered that it had been pretty much destroyed in a fire that caught from the bank next door.
At the guest house, we spent more time hanging out with Nasaa, as well as this guy Go from Tokyo. We watched a pretty crazy and kind of low-budget music competition show (essentially Ulaanbaatar Idol), and helped Go learn the words to "Stand By Me."
At last, it was time to depart. Nasaa and Urnuun's mother came with us to the airport. As we drove there, we passed the end of some Buddhist festival, and saw these flaming lanterns flying up into the sky. It was a nice image to end on, I think.
We had a great time in Mongolia. I wouldn't mind going back, though I'd much rather spend time in the countryside than in the city!
Mongolia -- Day 8 and 9 (Back in the UB)
The day after we got back from our tour, Chanaa escorted me, Fig, and Pasi on the one hour walk to an absolutely giant outdoor marketplace that was literally called "The Black Market." It was divided into vague quadrants, where you could find clothes, or antiques, or furniture, or anything else that occurred to you. There were probably fifty stalls just selling shoes.
We bought various souvenirs, and I managed to get a copy of the epic kayak album by Javhlan that we'd been listening to all week. It is amazing in the absolutely silliest way. Javhlan's sound is difficult to describe, except maybe like weird nomad opera? I saw him filed in a music store under "Country," which kind of made sense thinking about the actual Mongolian countryside -- though it is definitely Mongolian country music, bearing little or no resemblance to the American counterpart.
We grabbed a late lunch at a cafe Chanaa recommended, stopped by Hi-Fi Music for a few more Mongolian CDs (I think Fig had accumulated something like six by this point), and then Fig and I went out for dinner.
The next morning we spent some time watching the music channel with Nasaa (the hostel housekeeper), and then walked to Gandan Khiid. Gandan Khiid is a pretty cool monastery in the north-west corner of Ulaanbaatar. There were a lot of students there for some kind of graduation ceremony or trip, and a huge flock of pigeons trying to terrorize the public. The main building had a giant bronze statue of a standing Buddha, and a ton of smaller Buddha figurines lining the walls top to bottom. There was also a long line of these things that I think are like prayer wheels, stretching all along the inside and spinning constantly as the line of people ran their hands over them.
After lunch we next went to the Fine Art Museum and the attached Red Ger Gallery. Both were quite interesting. The Fine Art Museum had a lot of traditional works, including some intricate and heavy-looking festival masks and an absolutely stunning mandala model. It was about as big as a car, built in the shape of a finely detailed palace with various deities and decorations abounding. The Red Ger Gallery held more modern art, several pieces of which really impressed me. I particularly liked the paintings of one E. Tsolinonbat, but I can't seem to find him (or her) online anywhere for more information. (By the way, Dad, this is where I bought your painting!)
That night, Chanaa had invited Fig and I to dinner at her house. It was our first opportunity to see an urban dwelling. Chanaa lived with her husband and her two or three year old daughter, Anojun, in this tiny one room house tucked into a crowded neighborhood. (What we in America might consider a slum or at least projects, though I think it was fairly standard for UB.) There was no bathroom (or, I think, running water) so there was a tiny outhouse shack in the yard and Chanaa had to fill the teapot from a bucket. But inside the house was clean and decently furnished, and Anojun was an absolute pistol. She and I played a sort of strange game that involved spinning a plastic radish, which for some reason tickled Anojun to no end.
After a while, we were joined by a friend of Chanaa's husband, who was a big merry guy. (He lied to us about being a Mongolian wrestler, and told us that Japanese men must be crazy if we didn't have boyfriends.) Also, a neighborhood boy of perhaps seven came over to play with Anojun. The food was plentiful and great (oh, that I could cook like Chanaa) and we had an all around lovely time.
We bought various souvenirs, and I managed to get a copy of the epic kayak album by Javhlan that we'd been listening to all week. It is amazing in the absolutely silliest way. Javhlan's sound is difficult to describe, except maybe like weird nomad opera? I saw him filed in a music store under "Country," which kind of made sense thinking about the actual Mongolian countryside -- though it is definitely Mongolian country music, bearing little or no resemblance to the American counterpart.
We grabbed a late lunch at a cafe Chanaa recommended, stopped by Hi-Fi Music for a few more Mongolian CDs (I think Fig had accumulated something like six by this point), and then Fig and I went out for dinner.
The next morning we spent some time watching the music channel with Nasaa (the hostel housekeeper), and then walked to Gandan Khiid. Gandan Khiid is a pretty cool monastery in the north-west corner of Ulaanbaatar. There were a lot of students there for some kind of graduation ceremony or trip, and a huge flock of pigeons trying to terrorize the public. The main building had a giant bronze statue of a standing Buddha, and a ton of smaller Buddha figurines lining the walls top to bottom. There was also a long line of these things that I think are like prayer wheels, stretching all along the inside and spinning constantly as the line of people ran their hands over them.
After lunch we next went to the Fine Art Museum and the attached Red Ger Gallery. Both were quite interesting. The Fine Art Museum had a lot of traditional works, including some intricate and heavy-looking festival masks and an absolutely stunning mandala model. It was about as big as a car, built in the shape of a finely detailed palace with various deities and decorations abounding. The Red Ger Gallery held more modern art, several pieces of which really impressed me. I particularly liked the paintings of one E. Tsolinonbat, but I can't seem to find him (or her) online anywhere for more information. (By the way, Dad, this is where I bought your painting!)
That night, Chanaa had invited Fig and I to dinner at her house. It was our first opportunity to see an urban dwelling. Chanaa lived with her husband and her two or three year old daughter, Anojun, in this tiny one room house tucked into a crowded neighborhood. (What we in America might consider a slum or at least projects, though I think it was fairly standard for UB.) There was no bathroom (or, I think, running water) so there was a tiny outhouse shack in the yard and Chanaa had to fill the teapot from a bucket. But inside the house was clean and decently furnished, and Anojun was an absolute pistol. She and I played a sort of strange game that involved spinning a plastic radish, which for some reason tickled Anojun to no end.
After a while, we were joined by a friend of Chanaa's husband, who was a big merry guy. (He lied to us about being a Mongolian wrestler, and told us that Japanese men must be crazy if we didn't have boyfriends.) Also, a neighborhood boy of perhaps seven came over to play with Anojun. The food was plentiful and great (oh, that I could cook like Chanaa) and we had an all around lovely time.
Mongolia -- Day 7 (the return)
The fifth day of our grand countryside excursion was mostly consumed by driving back to Ulaanbaatar, being forced to practice the "mama song" a million times in the van. None of us were totally eager to get back to the city, so instead, Ankha kept insisting that we were driving to the moon.
We stopped at the same Nowheresville town that had surprised us with the maid uniforms on the first day, and several children kept eying us through the windows. Taking the initiative, I grabbed a can of Pringles we'd brought in the van as a snack, jumped outside, and started dispersing stacks to them. ("Pringles For the Children" has a nice ring to it -- brand new charity?)
We stopped on a hill with a nice view of the rolling countryside to have lunch, Ankha getting up to his usual antics and dancing around on the roof of the van. But all too soon (boy, I cannot stress too soon enough) we were back in UB.
After fifteen minutes at a police checkpoint, we entered the city, passing a building called "The Akuma Center." (This elicited another laugh from all of us, because "Akuma" means devil in Japanese.) Back at Idre's Guesthouse, Ankha led us in our final rousing rendition of the "mama song," delighting (or at least amusing) the Mongolian staff. We bid farewell to our tour mates, and immediately ran for our first shower in five days. I don't think I've ever needed one more in my life.
Tired, we just grabbed some spicy ramen noodles from the weird little grocery store across the street. But at nine o'clock, we had agreed to go out with Pasi, our pre-tour Finnish friend. We walked across town (which I definitely wouldn't do in Ulaanbaatar without a male escort) to the so-called Club Dorgio. It was sort of underground, with tables arranged in tiers like auditorium seating. There was a live band, and we were just enjoying the atmosphere when, bam! The lights go out.
And they stay out. They stay out for fifteen or twenty minutes. But no one leaves! The bartender dispenses candles with such competence that I think this happens not irregularly, and then service continues as normal. (Though finding the bathroom in the dark was something of a challenge.)
Then we made one more stop at a mostly empty though quite swanky place called The History Club, which had the most eccentric menu I've ever seen. (The only thing approaching it is Ing Bar in Kyoto, which boasts the "world famous garlic festival.") The History Club's menu offered such amenities as:
African Salad
Vodka with traditional horn glass
Traditional throat song
Mongolian girls dance
"History"
But they were out of pretty much everything we ordered. No African salad...no History (that's right, no History at the History Club). All they had was french fries, so we ordered them twice back to back. (And no, we didn't have the guts or the money to order the Mongolian girls dance.)
We stopped at the same Nowheresville town that had surprised us with the maid uniforms on the first day, and several children kept eying us through the windows. Taking the initiative, I grabbed a can of Pringles we'd brought in the van as a snack, jumped outside, and started dispersing stacks to them. ("Pringles For the Children" has a nice ring to it -- brand new charity?)
We stopped on a hill with a nice view of the rolling countryside to have lunch, Ankha getting up to his usual antics and dancing around on the roof of the van. But all too soon (boy, I cannot stress too soon enough) we were back in UB.
After fifteen minutes at a police checkpoint, we entered the city, passing a building called "The Akuma Center." (This elicited another laugh from all of us, because "Akuma" means devil in Japanese.) Back at Idre's Guesthouse, Ankha led us in our final rousing rendition of the "mama song," delighting (or at least amusing) the Mongolian staff. We bid farewell to our tour mates, and immediately ran for our first shower in five days. I don't think I've ever needed one more in my life.
Tired, we just grabbed some spicy ramen noodles from the weird little grocery store across the street. But at nine o'clock, we had agreed to go out with Pasi, our pre-tour Finnish friend. We walked across town (which I definitely wouldn't do in Ulaanbaatar without a male escort) to the so-called Club Dorgio. It was sort of underground, with tables arranged in tiers like auditorium seating. There was a live band, and we were just enjoying the atmosphere when, bam! The lights go out.
And they stay out. They stay out for fifteen or twenty minutes. But no one leaves! The bartender dispenses candles with such competence that I think this happens not irregularly, and then service continues as normal. (Though finding the bathroom in the dark was something of a challenge.)
Then we made one more stop at a mostly empty though quite swanky place called The History Club, which had the most eccentric menu I've ever seen. (The only thing approaching it is Ing Bar in Kyoto, which boasts the "world famous garlic festival.") The History Club's menu offered such amenities as:
African Salad
Vodka with traditional horn glass
Traditional throat song
Mongolian girls dance
"History"
But they were out of pretty much everything we ordered. No African salad...no History (that's right, no History at the History Club). All they had was french fries, so we ordered them twice back to back. (And no, we didn't have the guts or the money to order the Mongolian girls dance.)
Mongolia -- Day 6 (Kharkhorhiin and Erdene Zuu)
In the morning we bid farewell to ger number three and Mogi, our horse guide. He grinned his mostly toothless smile and blushed heavily when I told him, "Mogi, bi chamd hartzee!" ("Mogi, I love you!")
In the afternoon, we arrived via our bushwhacking van at the (very) small city of Kharkhorhiin, site of Karakorum, the ancient capitol and vaunted city of Chinggis Khan. Our fourth ger was among a whole cluster of guest gers, and we were excited to finally take a shower after four days running around on smelly animals...only to discover that the shower facilities were out of water. One more night among the unclean!
While Chanaa made lunch, Ankha decided that he was going to teach us the so-called "mama song." By this point, we had been listening to Javhlan (the kayak guy) on repeat almost nonstop for the past three days, so we all knew the tune like it was our national anthem. He painstakingly wrote out the first couple verses in the English alphabet (though Mongolians actually use Cyrillic) and started drilling us mercilessly. "Study! Study! Boma, come in!" I'm pretty sure we mangled the pronunciation, because Chanaa just started laughing when she heard us.
Next we visited Erdene Zuu monastery, the oldest Buddhist monastery in Mongolia. There were several buildings with various Buddhas enshrined inside, with stunningly colorful decorations. The ceilings in particular were painted in breathtaking patterns. The monastery was also host to a tiny marketplace, simply of blankets on the ground covered with trinkets, where we did some souvenir shopping.
To our surprise, there were several more girls in French main uniforms. I looked at Chanaa askance.
Me: Wait a minute. Chanaa, are those uniforms for every school?
Chanaa: Yes!
Me: Did you wear one in high school?
Chanaa: Yes!
Me: Oh my god! I want to see a picture!!
Alas, I never did. But Chanaa did explain to us that the uniforms had been imposed when the Russians took over. (Figures, hahaha.)
After Erdene Zuu, we stopped in the actual Kharkhoriin market to by (yet more) mutton, which was basically kept just sitting in huge chunks on tables in a bare white room. Fig and I didn't linger, instead wandering around outside, watching children in raggedy three piece suits playing pool on outdoor pool tables. Yuichiro wanted to stay and look around, insisting that he could walk back when he was finished, so we left him there (despite Ankha's cutely parental protests).
In the hour or so that it took Yuichiro to make his way back to the ger, Ankha spent most of it rolling around on Yuichiro's bed moaning, "Why, Boma, whyyyy? Boma where? Boooomaaaaaa!" And according to Chanaa, he wouldn't let her start dinner, because it needed to be hot when Yuichiro came back to eat. Hahaha, what a little dad.
That evening, a man (with excellent English) came and gave a concert at our campsite. He demonstrated traditional Mongolian throat singing and a several Mongolian instruments. (One which greatly resembled the Japanese koto.) Fig bought his CD, and I'm pretty sure that between the two of us we got the entire concert on video.
Afterwards, a group of Americans from another ger came and chatted with us for awhile, apparently using their recent layoffs as an excuse to travel abroad. At least one of them had been to Japan recently, so we spent some time discussing the things he'd seen and done.
But after they left, the gobi monster finally made his move! Switching off the lights, Ankha started growling and laughing like a crazier and more threatening Vincent Price. Needless to say, there was a lot of shrieking and pouncing and me holding a chair in front of me in self-defense.
In the afternoon, we arrived via our bushwhacking van at the (very) small city of Kharkhorhiin, site of Karakorum, the ancient capitol and vaunted city of Chinggis Khan. Our fourth ger was among a whole cluster of guest gers, and we were excited to finally take a shower after four days running around on smelly animals...only to discover that the shower facilities were out of water. One more night among the unclean!
While Chanaa made lunch, Ankha decided that he was going to teach us the so-called "mama song." By this point, we had been listening to Javhlan (the kayak guy) on repeat almost nonstop for the past three days, so we all knew the tune like it was our national anthem. He painstakingly wrote out the first couple verses in the English alphabet (though Mongolians actually use Cyrillic) and started drilling us mercilessly. "Study! Study! Boma, come in!" I'm pretty sure we mangled the pronunciation, because Chanaa just started laughing when she heard us.
Next we visited Erdene Zuu monastery, the oldest Buddhist monastery in Mongolia. There were several buildings with various Buddhas enshrined inside, with stunningly colorful decorations. The ceilings in particular were painted in breathtaking patterns. The monastery was also host to a tiny marketplace, simply of blankets on the ground covered with trinkets, where we did some souvenir shopping.
To our surprise, there were several more girls in French main uniforms. I looked at Chanaa askance.
Me: Wait a minute. Chanaa, are those uniforms for every school?
Chanaa: Yes!
Me: Did you wear one in high school?
Chanaa: Yes!
Me: Oh my god! I want to see a picture!!
Alas, I never did. But Chanaa did explain to us that the uniforms had been imposed when the Russians took over. (Figures, hahaha.)
After Erdene Zuu, we stopped in the actual Kharkhoriin market to by (yet more) mutton, which was basically kept just sitting in huge chunks on tables in a bare white room. Fig and I didn't linger, instead wandering around outside, watching children in raggedy three piece suits playing pool on outdoor pool tables. Yuichiro wanted to stay and look around, insisting that he could walk back when he was finished, so we left him there (despite Ankha's cutely parental protests).
In the hour or so that it took Yuichiro to make his way back to the ger, Ankha spent most of it rolling around on Yuichiro's bed moaning, "Why, Boma, whyyyy? Boma where? Boooomaaaaaa!" And according to Chanaa, he wouldn't let her start dinner, because it needed to be hot when Yuichiro came back to eat. Hahaha, what a little dad.
That evening, a man (with excellent English) came and gave a concert at our campsite. He demonstrated traditional Mongolian throat singing and a several Mongolian instruments. (One which greatly resembled the Japanese koto.) Fig bought his CD, and I'm pretty sure that between the two of us we got the entire concert on video.
Afterwards, a group of Americans from another ger came and chatted with us for awhile, apparently using their recent layoffs as an excuse to travel abroad. At least one of them had been to Japan recently, so we spent some time discussing the things he'd seen and done.
But after they left, the gobi monster finally made his move! Switching off the lights, Ankha started growling and laughing like a crazier and more threatening Vincent Price. Needless to say, there was a lot of shrieking and pouncing and me holding a chair in front of me in self-defense.
Mongolia -- Day 5 (to the lake and back)
We started the day with bathroom adventure #3 -- no bathroom at all. We three girls (I, Fig, Miho) had snuck out the night before into the nearby woods, yelling "Hootie-hoo!" to keep track of each other in the dark. (A brief homage to Top Chef's Carla.) But in the morning light, it became evident that the woods were not as thick as one might hope for privacy, so there was some definite unease as we each tried to find a secluded enough spot and then keep our eyes peeled. This might have been all fine and forgettable, but...
As I was walking back to the ger, I suddenly heard Fig shriek in the woods behind me. "Oh my god!" Turning, I saw the source of her distress -- a guy on a motorcyle passed me with a vague grin, having evidently just motorcycled right past Fig. So much for the empty Mongolian wilderness.
We rode for two more hours on horseback, this time up into the wooded mountains that bordered the valleys. Most of the time we had to ride single-file, so it was very quiet and peaceful. Our goal was a pretty lake, which was still largely covered in ice. In some patches, the ice had melted into strange, spiky sheets stretched across the surface. We rested for awhile, took some pictures, and then rode the two hours back.
During our return trip through the valley, something spooked Miho's horse. I was riding right behind her when it started rearing like a wild thing, Miho clutching the saddle and flopping like a rag doll. My horse tried to follow suit, and I hauled back on the reins, thinking in a panic, "Oh my god, she's gonna fall! Oh crap, so am I!" Moments later, Miho was on the ground, but miraculously uninjured. I had managed to get control of my own mount, thank goodness, so it was just a matter of calming her horse. Miho was understandably wary, though, and since we were almost back to the gers, she elected to walk the rest of the way.
Chanaa made us khushuur for lunch (flat meat pastries), and I bribed the small children with candy and wet wipes. They were really into the wet wipes, for some reason...they watched the way I was cleaning off my face, and then mimicked me like little duchesses.
At last, it was onto the horses once again, to ride back across the plains to meet Ankha. By the time we were halfway back, my thighs were in pretty serious pain, so to distract ourselves Fig and I had a long conversation about Batman and other 90s cartoon shows. Then, Yuichiro had a spill of his own. It was quite odd actually. His horse wasn't going very fast, but when it stopped suddenly, Yuichiro just rolled over its shoulder in slow-motion, landing in a somersault that put him back on his feet in one smooth move, the way you only ever see on TV.
Finally we were back at the second homestead, Ankha running out to meet us and effectively stealing Chanaa's horse. We dropped off our mounts at the gers, had a cup of tea, and went off again to explore a nearby waterfall. Except, there had been no rain, so there wasn't actually any water. As Miho pointed out, it was less a waterfall, and more "just a fall."
So, we're all super tired and achy from the horseback riding - altogether, we had ridden for twelve out of the last thirty hours. But Ankha assured us that the just-a-fall was nearby, and we were willing to stretch our legs a little. What Ankha did not (and probably could not) tell us was that to get to the waterfall, we would have to scale down a practically vertical cliff. I think we must have looked pretty stunned with disbelief, because Ankha grinned and yelled, "Spiderman!" before bouncing down like a freaking mountain goat.
Eventually, we all made it down to the riverbed in one piece, but after about fifteen minutes, we just had to scale up it again.
We walked back (through a herd of yaks and a gang of herd dogs that I had to keep intercepting to protect dog-phobic Yuichiro), and had buuz for dinner (mutton dumplings). While getting ready for bed, we encountered bathroom adventure #4. As it turned out, while there was at least an actual outhouse this time, it was several hundred meters away through the yak herd. Fig went to find it in the dark, and just after she left, Chanaa came to tell us, "If you need toilet, please use near the ger. There are wild dogs." Whoops.
So, at least fifteen minutes later, Fig came back, looking frazzled, and having apparently crossed through some kind of dimensional rift in her attempt to find the outhouse. Lost amongst the yaks, she found a completely different set of buildings, and never encountered the outhouse at all, though it stood alone in the middle of a field and should have been easy to find. But at least she didn't meet the wild dogs!
As I was walking back to the ger, I suddenly heard Fig shriek in the woods behind me. "Oh my god!" Turning, I saw the source of her distress -- a guy on a motorcyle passed me with a vague grin, having evidently just motorcycled right past Fig. So much for the empty Mongolian wilderness.
We rode for two more hours on horseback, this time up into the wooded mountains that bordered the valleys. Most of the time we had to ride single-file, so it was very quiet and peaceful. Our goal was a pretty lake, which was still largely covered in ice. In some patches, the ice had melted into strange, spiky sheets stretched across the surface. We rested for awhile, took some pictures, and then rode the two hours back.
During our return trip through the valley, something spooked Miho's horse. I was riding right behind her when it started rearing like a wild thing, Miho clutching the saddle and flopping like a rag doll. My horse tried to follow suit, and I hauled back on the reins, thinking in a panic, "Oh my god, she's gonna fall! Oh crap, so am I!" Moments later, Miho was on the ground, but miraculously uninjured. I had managed to get control of my own mount, thank goodness, so it was just a matter of calming her horse. Miho was understandably wary, though, and since we were almost back to the gers, she elected to walk the rest of the way.
Chanaa made us khushuur for lunch (flat meat pastries), and I bribed the small children with candy and wet wipes. They were really into the wet wipes, for some reason...they watched the way I was cleaning off my face, and then mimicked me like little duchesses.
At last, it was onto the horses once again, to ride back across the plains to meet Ankha. By the time we were halfway back, my thighs were in pretty serious pain, so to distract ourselves Fig and I had a long conversation about Batman and other 90s cartoon shows. Then, Yuichiro had a spill of his own. It was quite odd actually. His horse wasn't going very fast, but when it stopped suddenly, Yuichiro just rolled over its shoulder in slow-motion, landing in a somersault that put him back on his feet in one smooth move, the way you only ever see on TV.
Finally we were back at the second homestead, Ankha running out to meet us and effectively stealing Chanaa's horse. We dropped off our mounts at the gers, had a cup of tea, and went off again to explore a nearby waterfall. Except, there had been no rain, so there wasn't actually any water. As Miho pointed out, it was less a waterfall, and more "just a fall."
So, we're all super tired and achy from the horseback riding - altogether, we had ridden for twelve out of the last thirty hours. But Ankha assured us that the just-a-fall was nearby, and we were willing to stretch our legs a little. What Ankha did not (and probably could not) tell us was that to get to the waterfall, we would have to scale down a practically vertical cliff. I think we must have looked pretty stunned with disbelief, because Ankha grinned and yelled, "Spiderman!" before bouncing down like a freaking mountain goat.
Eventually, we all made it down to the riverbed in one piece, but after about fifteen minutes, we just had to scale up it again.
We walked back (through a herd of yaks and a gang of herd dogs that I had to keep intercepting to protect dog-phobic Yuichiro), and had buuz for dinner (mutton dumplings). While getting ready for bed, we encountered bathroom adventure #4. As it turned out, while there was at least an actual outhouse this time, it was several hundred meters away through the yak herd. Fig went to find it in the dark, and just after she left, Chanaa came to tell us, "If you need toilet, please use near the ger. There are wild dogs." Whoops.
So, at least fifteen minutes later, Fig came back, looking frazzled, and having apparently crossed through some kind of dimensional rift in her attempt to find the outhouse. Lost amongst the yaks, she found a completely different set of buildings, and never encountered the outhouse at all, though it stood alone in the middle of a field and should have been easy to find. But at least she didn't meet the wild dogs!
Mongolia -- Day 4 (the grasslands)
We got up early to pack up our stuff, load into the van, and bid farewell to the desert. As was his wont, Ankha kept us all pretty entertained with his constant (and quite operatic) singing, pronouncing at intervals, "Mongolian pop star!" A few hours of bumpy off-roading took us out of the scrub and into some very pretty grasslands. They were these broad, open valleys surrounded by mountains, and occasionally cut by cool blue rivers still laden with ice. It looked like we had just driven into Lord of the Rings, or something.
Around lunchtime, we arrived at another homestead, where we ate some pseudo-spaghetti and outfitted ourselves for the next leg of the journey...on horseback. As it turned out, despite worrying about it when I was packing, I was the only one wearing acceptable shoes. So everyone else borrowed some pretty funny Mongolian boots (Miho's were HUGE on her), handed over one little overnight bag for the packhorse, and saddled up.
Chanaa had gone to great lengths to warn us that Mongolian horses are more dangerous than western horses (despite looking kind of smaller). Fig has a lot of riding experience, but mine basically distills to a week at a ranch in Arizona last year, Yuichiro's to one time in Peru, and it was Miho's very first time. We all found it funny that in Mongolia, instead of kicking your horse into a trot or gallop, you instead say, "Chuu, chuu!" (Mostly funny because we all knew that it was Japanese for "Kiss, kiss!")
Ankha stayed behind at the gers, temporarily replaced by our horse guide, a smiley middle-aged guy named Mogi. He was uber cheerful, and sang a lot. (A distinct trend of every tour guide we had in Mongolia, barring Chanaa.) We rode for four hours across the pretty valleys, and through the rivers (one of which Fig's horse almost fell into), passing sheep and yaks all over the place. As we approached our destination (yet another set of gers), Mogi's horse had a brief showdown with a big shaggy black yak, who (I kid you not) actually pranced back and forth like he was saying, "Hey, hey, whatchu doin'? Whatchu doin' here? Hey! Hey!" I wish I had it on tape.
Finally we got to that night's lodging, a cluster of gers populated mostly by small children and goats. The childrens' two favorite games seemed to be, grab-the-baby-goat-and-run-away-thus-freak-out-the-mama-goat, and try-to-ride-the-already-very-unhappy-mama-goat. Yuichiro, who was usually kind of weird and vaguely prissy, decided that these were the best games ever. He joined the two little girls in totally terrorizing the goats, and had this ridiculously big grin when he finally managed to catch one baby of his own. Baby goats are, by the way, called "ishik."
When it was time for dinner, we were realized there was no electricity, so the rest of the evening was mostly spent in conversation by candlelight.
Around lunchtime, we arrived at another homestead, where we ate some pseudo-spaghetti and outfitted ourselves for the next leg of the journey...on horseback. As it turned out, despite worrying about it when I was packing, I was the only one wearing acceptable shoes. So everyone else borrowed some pretty funny Mongolian boots (Miho's were HUGE on her), handed over one little overnight bag for the packhorse, and saddled up.
Chanaa had gone to great lengths to warn us that Mongolian horses are more dangerous than western horses (despite looking kind of smaller). Fig has a lot of riding experience, but mine basically distills to a week at a ranch in Arizona last year, Yuichiro's to one time in Peru, and it was Miho's very first time. We all found it funny that in Mongolia, instead of kicking your horse into a trot or gallop, you instead say, "Chuu, chuu!" (Mostly funny because we all knew that it was Japanese for "Kiss, kiss!")
Ankha stayed behind at the gers, temporarily replaced by our horse guide, a smiley middle-aged guy named Mogi. He was uber cheerful, and sang a lot. (A distinct trend of every tour guide we had in Mongolia, barring Chanaa.) We rode for four hours across the pretty valleys, and through the rivers (one of which Fig's horse almost fell into), passing sheep and yaks all over the place. As we approached our destination (yet another set of gers), Mogi's horse had a brief showdown with a big shaggy black yak, who (I kid you not) actually pranced back and forth like he was saying, "Hey, hey, whatchu doin'? Whatchu doin' here? Hey! Hey!" I wish I had it on tape.
Finally we got to that night's lodging, a cluster of gers populated mostly by small children and goats. The childrens' two favorite games seemed to be, grab-the-baby-goat-and-run-away-thus-freak-out-the-mama-goat, and try-to-ride-the-already-very-unhappy-mama-goat. Yuichiro, who was usually kind of weird and vaguely prissy, decided that these were the best games ever. He joined the two little girls in totally terrorizing the goats, and had this ridiculously big grin when he finally managed to catch one baby of his own. Baby goats are, by the way, called "ishik."
When it was time for dinner, we were realized there was no electricity, so the rest of the evening was mostly spent in conversation by candlelight.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Mongolia -- Day 3 (the Gobi desert, sort of)
The beginning of our grand countryside tour. We were up bright and early to meet our tour group and head out of the city. The tour was six people in total: besides Fig and I, there was a Japanese girl named Miho (from Chiba, near Tokyo), a Japanese guy named Yuichiro (from Saitama, coincidentally also near Tokyo), the tour guide, and the driver.
The tour guide was a really nice woman in her mid- to late-twenties (28?), named Chanaa. Her English was kind of funny, but good enough to do the trick. The driver was a 23 year old crazy man named Ankha, whose English was virtually nonexistent (apart from "Why? Why? Why? Why?") and who provided 90% of all entertainment during our trip. On our way out of UB, he stopped and bought a tape from a freestanding cassette stand (cassettes? REALLY?). It was by a really famous Mongolian singer named Javhlan, who was featured on the front, for some reason in a kayak. Little did we know that this cassette would become so integral in our lives.
Driving through the Mongolian countryside was interesting, but also very soporific to all us passengers who had gotten up early. After some general self-intro (in which we discovered that 22 year old Yuichiro had somehow already been to 57 countries) we all sort of napped. Part way through the morning we stopped for a bathroom break -- the first of a devolving set of weird countryside bathroom adventures.
The place we stopped was a community of perhaps 300 people, and we stopped to use a set of old wooden outhouses by the road. They were next to a tiled building, outside of which we were surprised to discover three girls wearing french maid uniforms, complete with stilettos. Why on earth were they dressed like that, in Nowheresville, Mongolia? And as we watched, more and more of them kept appearing, walking around the building's packed dirt courtyard. What could it mean?!
Back in the van, I asked Chanaa.
Me: Why are they dressed like that?
Chanaa: It's uniform.
Me: A uniform for what?
Chanaa: Uniform!
Me: Like a school uniform?
Chanaa: Yes, school uniform!
WHAT. We all boggled at that for awhile, then napped some more until lunch. Yuichiro slept in the weirdest and most uncomfortable looking positions, with his head wedged between the seats or, a few times, conked out on my shoulder. We of course took some clandestine photos to mark the event.
Whatever lunch was, it was awesome. We had hot tea and some kind of noodles with mutton (Mongolia's meat of choice) at this totally abandoned restaurant. There was a TV in one corner playing music videos, which Ankha settled down to watch. Pointing at the screen, he insisted, "Mama song! Mama song!" After a minute, we realized that it was the same as a song he had pointed out to us earlier in the van, off that very Javhlan cassette. (And so it begun...!)
In the late afternoon, our sleep was well and finally interrupted when we suddenly turned off the paved roads onto no road at all. The van flew along over the bumpy desert landscape, and upon seeing we were awake, Ankha cranked up some techno music and turned on a set of flashing blue lights that he'd strung around the inside of the ceiling. Laughing and dancing and half-falling out of our seats, we had a most improbable moving techno rave through the Gobi desert. (Video to follow!)
At one point we stopped for about twenty minutes to explore some sand dunes. Thanks to the wind, our clothes and skin were immediately covered in grit. Ankha started chasing us around, pretending to shoot us with a stick-cum-machine gun, wrestling Fig (and losing), and carrying me to the edge of a little lake in an effort to throw me in. The whole time, he was grinning and growling and shouting, "Gobi monster!!!" (Which immediately became one of our tour catch phrases. When in doubt, "Gobi monster!")
At last we reached our berth for the night. Tucked in the lee of a mountainous outcropping stood a herd of goats and sheep, and three canvas gers (a.k.a. yurts). One was set aside for us to use, with a wooden floor and several cots. As it turned out, there was another tour group staying in the second ger, almost entirely consisting of Japanese people! At least eight of them. We were seeing more Japanese people in Mongolia than actual Mongolians! Anyway, one of them had a Japanese <---> Mongolian phrasebook, which we used to learn our very first (and most often used) Mongolian word: liar. So when Ankha came back from rustling goats (no kidding) we gleefully declared him to be a "hotarch!"
The bathroom situation continued in its steady devolution. Instead of an outhouse, this homestead had a pit cordoned off by two blue tarps. But the tarps were only waist-high, and formed only two sides of a small triangle, leaving the back of the latrine open. Now, this wouldn't be a huge concern had they positioned the tarps against the outcropping. But for some reason, they had positioned it sideways, leaving your backside open to the plains. We had to go in groups to use it, so that at least one person could keep an eye out for any approaching goat herders about to get a surprise eyeful.
After we threw our stuff inside the ger and got a quick look around, it was time for a camel ride! We went in pairs, me and Fig first. The camel guide was a wizened little Mongolian man who had to be at least 65, and spent most of the hourish-long ride singing Mongolian folk songs. The countryside was breathtaking, all wide desert and craggy mountains and grassy plains. We found out that "batok" is evidently the word for baby camel, as we were being followed by an adorably gangly baby camel that tried to eat Fig's boot. The singing guide kept pointing at it and happily exclaiming "Batok baby!"
Chanaa made us all the Mongolian version of chicken noodle soup for dinner, taught us a complicated card game called Camel that involved giving each other piggy-back rides, and then Ankha renamed everyone. Apparently, Miho resembled a Mongolian friend of his, so he decided just to call her by the same name. Then, he gave the rest of us Mongolian names for good measure.
Miho = I forgot, actually...something like Zolha (a common girls' name)
Yuichiro = Boma (a common boys' name)
Fig = Ulanaa (meaning "red girl," because her cheeks were flushed)
me = Tsetsgee (which is a kind of flower. Pretty good deal for me!)
Then we played around outside for a while. There was a totally cute and incorrigible dog named Sara that kept chasing us around, we took photos of the moon, and Ankha was full of mock threats about the Gobi monster. That light in the distance? Gobi monster! After we go to sleep? Gobi monster! Sara? Definitely Gobi monster!
It's a wonder any of us could sleep with that dire threat hanging over our heads.
The tour guide was a really nice woman in her mid- to late-twenties (28?), named Chanaa. Her English was kind of funny, but good enough to do the trick. The driver was a 23 year old crazy man named Ankha, whose English was virtually nonexistent (apart from "Why? Why? Why? Why?") and who provided 90% of all entertainment during our trip. On our way out of UB, he stopped and bought a tape from a freestanding cassette stand (cassettes? REALLY?). It was by a really famous Mongolian singer named Javhlan, who was featured on the front, for some reason in a kayak. Little did we know that this cassette would become so integral in our lives.
Driving through the Mongolian countryside was interesting, but also very soporific to all us passengers who had gotten up early. After some general self-intro (in which we discovered that 22 year old Yuichiro had somehow already been to 57 countries) we all sort of napped. Part way through the morning we stopped for a bathroom break -- the first of a devolving set of weird countryside bathroom adventures.
The place we stopped was a community of perhaps 300 people, and we stopped to use a set of old wooden outhouses by the road. They were next to a tiled building, outside of which we were surprised to discover three girls wearing french maid uniforms, complete with stilettos. Why on earth were they dressed like that, in Nowheresville, Mongolia? And as we watched, more and more of them kept appearing, walking around the building's packed dirt courtyard. What could it mean?!
Back in the van, I asked Chanaa.
Me: Why are they dressed like that?
Chanaa: It's uniform.
Me: A uniform for what?
Chanaa: Uniform!
Me: Like a school uniform?
Chanaa: Yes, school uniform!
WHAT. We all boggled at that for awhile, then napped some more until lunch. Yuichiro slept in the weirdest and most uncomfortable looking positions, with his head wedged between the seats or, a few times, conked out on my shoulder. We of course took some clandestine photos to mark the event.
Whatever lunch was, it was awesome. We had hot tea and some kind of noodles with mutton (Mongolia's meat of choice) at this totally abandoned restaurant. There was a TV in one corner playing music videos, which Ankha settled down to watch. Pointing at the screen, he insisted, "Mama song! Mama song!" After a minute, we realized that it was the same as a song he had pointed out to us earlier in the van, off that very Javhlan cassette. (And so it begun...!)
In the late afternoon, our sleep was well and finally interrupted when we suddenly turned off the paved roads onto no road at all. The van flew along over the bumpy desert landscape, and upon seeing we were awake, Ankha cranked up some techno music and turned on a set of flashing blue lights that he'd strung around the inside of the ceiling. Laughing and dancing and half-falling out of our seats, we had a most improbable moving techno rave through the Gobi desert. (Video to follow!)
At one point we stopped for about twenty minutes to explore some sand dunes. Thanks to the wind, our clothes and skin were immediately covered in grit. Ankha started chasing us around, pretending to shoot us with a stick-cum-machine gun, wrestling Fig (and losing), and carrying me to the edge of a little lake in an effort to throw me in. The whole time, he was grinning and growling and shouting, "Gobi monster!!!" (Which immediately became one of our tour catch phrases. When in doubt, "Gobi monster!")
At last we reached our berth for the night. Tucked in the lee of a mountainous outcropping stood a herd of goats and sheep, and three canvas gers (a.k.a. yurts). One was set aside for us to use, with a wooden floor and several cots. As it turned out, there was another tour group staying in the second ger, almost entirely consisting of Japanese people! At least eight of them. We were seeing more Japanese people in Mongolia than actual Mongolians! Anyway, one of them had a Japanese <---> Mongolian phrasebook, which we used to learn our very first (and most often used) Mongolian word: liar. So when Ankha came back from rustling goats (no kidding) we gleefully declared him to be a "hotarch!"
The bathroom situation continued in its steady devolution. Instead of an outhouse, this homestead had a pit cordoned off by two blue tarps. But the tarps were only waist-high, and formed only two sides of a small triangle, leaving the back of the latrine open. Now, this wouldn't be a huge concern had they positioned the tarps against the outcropping. But for some reason, they had positioned it sideways, leaving your backside open to the plains. We had to go in groups to use it, so that at least one person could keep an eye out for any approaching goat herders about to get a surprise eyeful.
After we threw our stuff inside the ger and got a quick look around, it was time for a camel ride! We went in pairs, me and Fig first. The camel guide was a wizened little Mongolian man who had to be at least 65, and spent most of the hourish-long ride singing Mongolian folk songs. The countryside was breathtaking, all wide desert and craggy mountains and grassy plains. We found out that "batok" is evidently the word for baby camel, as we were being followed by an adorably gangly baby camel that tried to eat Fig's boot. The singing guide kept pointing at it and happily exclaiming "Batok baby!"
Chanaa made us all the Mongolian version of chicken noodle soup for dinner, taught us a complicated card game called Camel that involved giving each other piggy-back rides, and then Ankha renamed everyone. Apparently, Miho resembled a Mongolian friend of his, so he decided just to call her by the same name. Then, he gave the rest of us Mongolian names for good measure.
Miho = I forgot, actually...something like Zolha (a common girls' name)
Yuichiro = Boma (a common boys' name)
Fig = Ulanaa (meaning "red girl," because her cheeks were flushed)
me = Tsetsgee (which is a kind of flower. Pretty good deal for me!)
Then we played around outside for a while. There was a totally cute and incorrigible dog named Sara that kept chasing us around, we took photos of the moon, and Ankha was full of mock threats about the Gobi monster. That light in the distance? Gobi monster! After we go to sleep? Gobi monster! Sara? Definitely Gobi monster!
It's a wonder any of us could sleep with that dire threat hanging over our heads.
Mongolia -- Day 2 (Ulaanbaatar)
Our second day in UB began with a schedule change. Originally, we had been scheduled to go on a five-day excursion into the Mongolian countryside from May 3rd, accompanied by a French person and a British person. But one of them pulled out at the last minute, and so could we leave on the tour tomorrow instead? Of course this was fine with us, and imagine our humor when we discovered that our new travelmates were two Japanese people.
After that, we set out for the Natural History Museum. Along the way we were pseudo-accosted by a man brandishing a shovel -- mainly, he ran at us shouting just to freak us out, eliciting laughter from his friends and some colorful language from Fig. We grabbed lunch at a restaurant called Nomad Legends, which was quite good, and proceeded into the museum.
It was really weird. Apart from the oft Engrishy exhibition text (for some reason I was particularly tickled by odd phrasing of "the big science of biology"), there was an eerie plethora of taxidermied animals. Though one would of course expect some stuffed animals in a museum of natural history, the sheer number of them -- and worse, their sometimes blatantly amateur construction -- was striking. Birds' feathers were tatty and mussed, fish were affixed with dollar store googly eyes, and snow leopards wore expressions of almost comical surprise. In short, the museum often walked a narrow tightrope between morbidly comical and just plain sad. Of course, that said, my suspicion is that the funding for the museum was so lacking that they didn't have much of a choice. Apart from the dinosaur section, which was decently impressive, the exhibits (while interesting) had a distinctly unembellished and haphazard air.
Next, we took a brief spin through the Parliamentary Gardens, such as they were, but most everything was brown and dead, so we kept walking on through to Sukhbataar Square. This was perhaps the first place in Ulaanbaatar that honestly impressed me. A broad open square in the middle of the city, it boasted the huge parliament building at one end, with statues of Chinggis Khan and some of his generals. In the middle of the square was another statue of the eponymous Sukhbataar, who evidently led some revolution in Mongolia in 1921. (From what I gleaned of history while we were there, I think that's the one in which Mongolia ousted the Chinese in favor of the Soviets...but don't quote me on that.)
There were people loitering around trying to sell things like postcards to foreigners, sometimes using English. To fake them out, I would speak in Polish instead -- "I'm sorry, I don't speak English. I'm a Polish woman." It worked like a charm.
Fig and I then attempted to visit the Mongolian Artists' Exhibition Hall, only to discover that they had just finished taking down the current exhibition. However, one of the artists stopped to show us some of his work, which was for sale fairly cheaply. In the end, we both bought some. As we were taking the paintings back to Idre's Guest House, though, they sustained minor damage when a Mongolian teenager essentially body-slammed Fig. Well, body-slammed might be exaggerating, but there was a definite collision. As consolation, we decided to write off the little crinkles on the paintings as part of the "genuine Mongolian experience."
That night we ate dinner at a spot called the California Cafe, did a little preparatory shopping for our countryside excursion (i.e. toilet paper, wet wipes, tea bags, etc.), and then had a nice long conversation with another traveler at the guest house. His name was Pasi, a Finnish guy somewhere around thirty years old, who was on vacation from his job as a market analyst in Lithuania. Pasi was super friendly, if also super talkative, and we decided to meet up again when we got back from our tour.
After that, it was just a packing extravaganza as we reorganized our luggage for the tour, and I managed to squeeze five days into one backpack. Mongolia, ho!
After that, we set out for the Natural History Museum. Along the way we were pseudo-accosted by a man brandishing a shovel -- mainly, he ran at us shouting just to freak us out, eliciting laughter from his friends and some colorful language from Fig. We grabbed lunch at a restaurant called Nomad Legends, which was quite good, and proceeded into the museum.
It was really weird. Apart from the oft Engrishy exhibition text (for some reason I was particularly tickled by odd phrasing of "the big science of biology"), there was an eerie plethora of taxidermied animals. Though one would of course expect some stuffed animals in a museum of natural history, the sheer number of them -- and worse, their sometimes blatantly amateur construction -- was striking. Birds' feathers were tatty and mussed, fish were affixed with dollar store googly eyes, and snow leopards wore expressions of almost comical surprise. In short, the museum often walked a narrow tightrope between morbidly comical and just plain sad. Of course, that said, my suspicion is that the funding for the museum was so lacking that they didn't have much of a choice. Apart from the dinosaur section, which was decently impressive, the exhibits (while interesting) had a distinctly unembellished and haphazard air.
Next, we took a brief spin through the Parliamentary Gardens, such as they were, but most everything was brown and dead, so we kept walking on through to Sukhbataar Square. This was perhaps the first place in Ulaanbaatar that honestly impressed me. A broad open square in the middle of the city, it boasted the huge parliament building at one end, with statues of Chinggis Khan and some of his generals. In the middle of the square was another statue of the eponymous Sukhbataar, who evidently led some revolution in Mongolia in 1921. (From what I gleaned of history while we were there, I think that's the one in which Mongolia ousted the Chinese in favor of the Soviets...but don't quote me on that.)
There were people loitering around trying to sell things like postcards to foreigners, sometimes using English. To fake them out, I would speak in Polish instead -- "I'm sorry, I don't speak English. I'm a Polish woman." It worked like a charm.
Fig and I then attempted to visit the Mongolian Artists' Exhibition Hall, only to discover that they had just finished taking down the current exhibition. However, one of the artists stopped to show us some of his work, which was for sale fairly cheaply. In the end, we both bought some. As we were taking the paintings back to Idre's Guest House, though, they sustained minor damage when a Mongolian teenager essentially body-slammed Fig. Well, body-slammed might be exaggerating, but there was a definite collision. As consolation, we decided to write off the little crinkles on the paintings as part of the "genuine Mongolian experience."
That night we ate dinner at a spot called the California Cafe, did a little preparatory shopping for our countryside excursion (i.e. toilet paper, wet wipes, tea bags, etc.), and then had a nice long conversation with another traveler at the guest house. His name was Pasi, a Finnish guy somewhere around thirty years old, who was on vacation from his job as a market analyst in Lithuania. Pasi was super friendly, if also super talkative, and we decided to meet up again when we got back from our tour.
After that, it was just a packing extravaganza as we reorganized our luggage for the tour, and I managed to squeeze five days into one backpack. Mongolia, ho!
Mongolia -- Arrival and Day 1 (Ulaanbaatar)
The day of our departure was among the busiest days I have had in a long long time. Our flight was at about five in the evening, but I had to go into work that morning because Kristin had taken the day off, and I had classes to cover. I was scheduled for class in every period until lunch, but fortunately the first two periods were rescheduled, and I had some extra time to prepare information and such for Mongolia. (And to steel my nerves for third and fourth period, which were two new classes that I was teaching with two new teachers, one of whom I'd only even met the day before.) In the end, the classes went okay, and I was amused to see that I'm now teaching a kid who lives on my street, and has just moved up from another local junior high. His name is Ryoma, and I think he's going to prove to be a funny character.
Fourth period ended at 12:35, and I was in a hurry to go get my luggage and get on the train by 1:08. Fortunately, Hosoi-sensei had kindly offered to give me a ride. He was waiting at my desk when I got back from class, looking a little sheepish, and he said to me, "Are you ready? ...Actually, I forgot, I don't have my car today, because there is a party tonight." (Meaning: he intended to drink, and was using the train to avoid Japan's zero blood alcohol law.) There was a moment of surprise on my part, but before I could even process the problem enough to be distressed, he hurriedly told me that Kawabe-sensei, the funny PE teacher, had agreed to take us, instead. I guess Hosoi-sensei felt obligated to come along, even though he wasn't actually driving anymore, so all three of us piled into Kawabe-sensei's van.
To make a long story short, I made the train and my connection at Kyoto station for the airport express, and arrived at the airport around 3:45. Fig was already there, and after checking in, we grabbed a late lunch/early dinner and hopped on the plane! It was about two hours to Seoul, where we found out that our next flight had been delayed about two or three hours. So we mucked about in the airport, had an encounter with a really sketched out Korean Air clerk who looked incredibly nervous as if we were hydras come to devour him, and finally got on our next plane. We arrived in Ulaanbaatar after one in the morning, and were met by Idre, the guy who runs the guesthouse where we stayed.
(I'd like to take a moment to comment on an advert we saw in the UB airport. It was for one of the major banks -- maybe Khan Bank -- and the tagline was, "Your inevitable business partner in Mongolia." Um, WHAT? They sound like the mafia!)
The drive into UB was strange and vaguely post-apocalyptic. It was really dark, and there were these huge smokestacks with orange lights looming over the city. There weren't many people on the street, but there were some wild dogs, a whole group of them besieging a parked SUV.
The guest house, though, was very nice on the inside, with computer access and laundry service, a kitchen and several public sitting areas. Plus, we were the only two in our room. Not bad for four dollars a night!
The next morning we got our first daylight look at UB. Outside, we could see a battered playground slide, dirt, broken concrete, and some pretty miserable looking buildings. My first reaction was, "It looks like Soviet Russia!" Which was in some ways accurate, but probably a little harsh. The city was just much greyer than I was expecting, and maybe moreso than any other place I've been. (It was even more intimidating than my first visit to Wittenberg, in which we accidentally drove through the south side of Springfield.)
The first thing we did was exchange our yen for tugrik, the Mongolian currency, and set out to explore town. We had tasty dumpling soup for lunch, did a little souvenir shopping at the State Department Store, and each picked up a beautiful tablecloth from this tiny hole-in-the-wall quilting shop we stumbled across in the ubiquitous apartment complexes. (I hesitate to call them tenements, because like many other places in UB, they were probably nicer on the inside. ...Probably.) We looked at a lot of cool antiques, but they were unfortunately out of our price range. Our quest to find the North Korean restaurant listed in our guidebook ended in failure (though we did pass a bar that claimed to be, "probably the most stylish lounge in UB"), so we ended up at Dublin, Mongolia's first Irish pub.
At the guesthouse that night, we befriended the young housekeeper, Nasaa, and a little boy named Urnuun, who lived en suite with his mother, who also worked there. We sort of taught them gin rummy, and then they taught us a Mongolian card game, which we played for hours. Urnuun had amazing English, even though he was only about ten. I guess it came from living in the guesthouse, where English was the most universal mode of communication. As a person, Urnuun reminded me of no one more than Short Round, the mischievous wise-cracking kid from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom." He continually used his abracadabra black magic to curse us other players into being "jumpers," which is about the worst thing you can do in the game. And he changed the words to "We Are the Champions" to make a new composition -- "We Are the Jumpers."
Of course, he beat us all in the end.
Fourth period ended at 12:35, and I was in a hurry to go get my luggage and get on the train by 1:08. Fortunately, Hosoi-sensei had kindly offered to give me a ride. He was waiting at my desk when I got back from class, looking a little sheepish, and he said to me, "Are you ready? ...Actually, I forgot, I don't have my car today, because there is a party tonight." (Meaning: he intended to drink, and was using the train to avoid Japan's zero blood alcohol law.) There was a moment of surprise on my part, but before I could even process the problem enough to be distressed, he hurriedly told me that Kawabe-sensei, the funny PE teacher, had agreed to take us, instead. I guess Hosoi-sensei felt obligated to come along, even though he wasn't actually driving anymore, so all three of us piled into Kawabe-sensei's van.
To make a long story short, I made the train and my connection at Kyoto station for the airport express, and arrived at the airport around 3:45. Fig was already there, and after checking in, we grabbed a late lunch/early dinner and hopped on the plane! It was about two hours to Seoul, where we found out that our next flight had been delayed about two or three hours. So we mucked about in the airport, had an encounter with a really sketched out Korean Air clerk who looked incredibly nervous as if we were hydras come to devour him, and finally got on our next plane. We arrived in Ulaanbaatar after one in the morning, and were met by Idre, the guy who runs the guesthouse where we stayed.
(I'd like to take a moment to comment on an advert we saw in the UB airport. It was for one of the major banks -- maybe Khan Bank -- and the tagline was, "Your inevitable business partner in Mongolia." Um, WHAT? They sound like the mafia!)
The drive into UB was strange and vaguely post-apocalyptic. It was really dark, and there were these huge smokestacks with orange lights looming over the city. There weren't many people on the street, but there were some wild dogs, a whole group of them besieging a parked SUV.
The guest house, though, was very nice on the inside, with computer access and laundry service, a kitchen and several public sitting areas. Plus, we were the only two in our room. Not bad for four dollars a night!
The next morning we got our first daylight look at UB. Outside, we could see a battered playground slide, dirt, broken concrete, and some pretty miserable looking buildings. My first reaction was, "It looks like Soviet Russia!" Which was in some ways accurate, but probably a little harsh. The city was just much greyer than I was expecting, and maybe moreso than any other place I've been. (It was even more intimidating than my first visit to Wittenberg, in which we accidentally drove through the south side of Springfield.)
The first thing we did was exchange our yen for tugrik, the Mongolian currency, and set out to explore town. We had tasty dumpling soup for lunch, did a little souvenir shopping at the State Department Store, and each picked up a beautiful tablecloth from this tiny hole-in-the-wall quilting shop we stumbled across in the ubiquitous apartment complexes. (I hesitate to call them tenements, because like many other places in UB, they were probably nicer on the inside. ...Probably.) We looked at a lot of cool antiques, but they were unfortunately out of our price range. Our quest to find the North Korean restaurant listed in our guidebook ended in failure (though we did pass a bar that claimed to be, "probably the most stylish lounge in UB"), so we ended up at Dublin, Mongolia's first Irish pub.
At the guesthouse that night, we befriended the young housekeeper, Nasaa, and a little boy named Urnuun, who lived en suite with his mother, who also worked there. We sort of taught them gin rummy, and then they taught us a Mongolian card game, which we played for hours. Urnuun had amazing English, even though he was only about ten. I guess it came from living in the guesthouse, where English was the most universal mode of communication. As a person, Urnuun reminded me of no one more than Short Round, the mischievous wise-cracking kid from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom." He continually used his abracadabra black magic to curse us other players into being "jumpers," which is about the worst thing you can do in the game. And he changed the words to "We Are the Champions" to make a new composition -- "We Are the Jumpers."
Of course, he beat us all in the end.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
rolling along
Classes are finally getting into full swing! ...And I am totally confused at all times. Our schedules have finally been more or less decided, but it's a totally different dynamic in almost every class we teach. (Excepting certain junior high classes, which are thankfully still headed by the indomitable Nakatani-sensei.)
But not to worry, I'm slowly getting a handle on things. It helps that I now have the schedule in writing.
Last week we had club introductions. All the new students were gathered in our mini-gym, and then every single club at the school gave a short presentation to entice new members. It was a pretty charming experience, and I couldn't help but have a running list in my head of which clubs I would join if I could. The HS girls' soft tennis club was hilarious, for one -- their attempt to demonstrate volleys really just resulted in a lot of their own members cowering and shrieking, a near constant chorus of "FAITO!" and one stray tennis ball that got tangled in some window blinds near the ceiling. The brass band was also charming, playing a rendition of Dreamgirls with fully choreographed dance moves. Plus, the adorable Kaneshiro-sensei briefly marched around with them, playing his trumpet. (So cute, ha ha ha!)
Of course, some clubs were legitimately cool. Imagine my surprise, for example, when the JH girls' basketball team did a demonstration, and the shortest little girl on the team was suddenly dribbling between her moving legs like a pro. It was like a little Japanese Mugsy Bogues, or something! And there's some kind of dance club that involves fans and katanas, which was altogether pretty sweet. (Even when one girl hit herself in the head with a spear, bless her heart!)
Last Friday, in the midst of an already (and unexpectedly) chaotic afternoon, Kristin and I also had to go get chest x-rays in this little portable clinic that had parked itself on campus. The look on the poor young doctor's face when the two of us stepped inside was pretty humorous -- it clearly said, "Oh no, foreigners! I'm going to have to use English! Help!" But we understood enough of his Japanese to get by with the help of gestures.
My weekends have been mostly just shopping and hanging out with friends, with a little more flower viewing thrown in. But already the cherry blossoms have done and gone for the year, so I guess that's that!
The most exciting thing going on right now is probably this super adventure that Fig and I have been planning. (And by that, I mostly mean Fig.) You see, there's something called Golden Week coming up, which is three national holidays in a row, making for a five-day weekend. It is the most, the MOST popular time for traveling in Japan. No kidding. It's going to be crazy! (Especially living in Kyoto!)
So Fig and I are taking advantage of the days off to take a trip. In fact, we're taking a great big 11-day trip...to MONGOLIA!
It happened really suddenly. Apparently, Fig just up and decided she wanted to go, and I was lucky enough to be invited along. To make a long story short, it essentially went something like this:
Fig: I'm going to Mongolia.
Anna: Mongolia, huh?
Fig: Yeah. Do you want to come?
Anna: Sure. ...What's in Mongolia?
Evidently, there will be markets and museums and horses and yurts.
Especially yurts.
But not to worry, I'm slowly getting a handle on things. It helps that I now have the schedule in writing.
Last week we had club introductions. All the new students were gathered in our mini-gym, and then every single club at the school gave a short presentation to entice new members. It was a pretty charming experience, and I couldn't help but have a running list in my head of which clubs I would join if I could. The HS girls' soft tennis club was hilarious, for one -- their attempt to demonstrate volleys really just resulted in a lot of their own members cowering and shrieking, a near constant chorus of "FAITO!" and one stray tennis ball that got tangled in some window blinds near the ceiling. The brass band was also charming, playing a rendition of Dreamgirls with fully choreographed dance moves. Plus, the adorable Kaneshiro-sensei briefly marched around with them, playing his trumpet. (So cute, ha ha ha!)
Of course, some clubs were legitimately cool. Imagine my surprise, for example, when the JH girls' basketball team did a demonstration, and the shortest little girl on the team was suddenly dribbling between her moving legs like a pro. It was like a little Japanese Mugsy Bogues, or something! And there's some kind of dance club that involves fans and katanas, which was altogether pretty sweet. (Even when one girl hit herself in the head with a spear, bless her heart!)
Last Friday, in the midst of an already (and unexpectedly) chaotic afternoon, Kristin and I also had to go get chest x-rays in this little portable clinic that had parked itself on campus. The look on the poor young doctor's face when the two of us stepped inside was pretty humorous -- it clearly said, "Oh no, foreigners! I'm going to have to use English! Help!" But we understood enough of his Japanese to get by with the help of gestures.
My weekends have been mostly just shopping and hanging out with friends, with a little more flower viewing thrown in. But already the cherry blossoms have done and gone for the year, so I guess that's that!
The most exciting thing going on right now is probably this super adventure that Fig and I have been planning. (And by that, I mostly mean Fig.) You see, there's something called Golden Week coming up, which is three national holidays in a row, making for a five-day weekend. It is the most, the MOST popular time for traveling in Japan. No kidding. It's going to be crazy! (Especially living in Kyoto!)
So Fig and I are taking advantage of the days off to take a trip. In fact, we're taking a great big 11-day trip...to MONGOLIA!
It happened really suddenly. Apparently, Fig just up and decided she wanted to go, and I was lucky enough to be invited along. To make a long story short, it essentially went something like this:
Fig: I'm going to Mongolia.
Anna: Mongolia, huh?
Fig: Yeah. Do you want to come?
Anna: Sure. ...What's in Mongolia?
Evidently, there will be markets and museums and horses and yurts.
Especially yurts.
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