Here I am! I survived.

Well, here I am, after several weeks, finally sitting down to write something for you. I’ve already been politely nudged by one regular reader, so I can only imagine that there are at least a few others of you that might be wondering what in the heck I’ve been doing. I was reading an article from MSN the other day about the link between madness and creative genius (there isn’t one; only a correlation). Not that I think I’m mad, or a creative genius, but I do think a quote was relevant to me. "If the writer doesn't sit at the computer every day… [t]he muse is not going to visit." So, I’ll tell you some of my doings of the last couple of weeks, and do my best to make it interesting for you.

I woke up on Saturday, February 21, and got on the meeker to UB. I’d planned on going there for the Tsagaan Sar celebration, but I was ready to get out of here and distract my mind from small town life. That day, I met with a guy whose name translates to Peace, whom I had met a few weeks before. He works at an NGO in UB and wanted some help writing a grant proposal. Since I’m putting out feelers for a new job, and his NGO works with kids, I was happy to help him. Also, he was a fairly nice guy. In fact, I had finished the majority of the proposal earlier in the week and emailed it to him already. When we met, we mostly just cleared up a few misunderstandings that I’d had, and then we polished it nicely. Again, writing part of it reminded me of writing stuff in school. Sometimes I amaze myself with how smart I think I sound. I just hope that the people reading it think the same thing. The grant proposal was asking for about $6,675, which would be spent on fixing up a kindergarten in the ger district, which is where the poorest kids of the city live.

We’d finished right around dinner time, so Peace took me to a Korean restaurant that he frequents. He says his wife knows the owner, so that’s the main reason he goes to that one. I guess that’s a Mongolian thing, because after the one visit, I wouldn’t go there again. Have I ever written to you about the level of service that you get in a Mongolian restaurant? I used to be a server in two different restaurants – a country club and Red Lobster – for a total of about six years. I like to think that I have a pretty good idea of what good service is. You can throw all that out the window when you come to Mongolia. I think the biggest thing is that servers here get paid a set wage and don’t receive tips. I don’t think their daily wages are very high when compared to what an American server could take home in one 2 ½ hour lunch rush.

One of the first things you’ll notice at many of the restaurants here is that someone might show you to a seat, or you could just walk in and find your own. It doesn’t seem to matter to them, either way you prefer. That adds a little bit of chaos right off the bat, with people walking around the different dining rooms to see which arrangement they like the best. Next, when you get menus, you’re likely to not get enough for everyone at the table; so some people want a menu book, some people are sharing and fighting about which page to look at, and some are ready to order straightaway. When everyone is finally ready, it would be totally useless to sit there and wait for your server to show up and take your order. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen here. Instead, there is a nifty little button on the table that, when pushed, sounds a small alarm somewhere, with your table number flashed on a screen. In whatever part of the building the servers are hiding in, one will eventually amble out and look at you confusedly while you make your order. And you’d better tell them absolutely everything you want the first time, cause it will be hard to get anything later. In the Korean restaurants, food doesn’t actually take too long, so that is a plus, but other places never seem to care how your stomach is trying to digest your spinal cord.

The Korean places bring out your food and a whole lot of little side dishes that come with the meal each order. A person could get full on the side dishes! There are usually things like a couple different kinds of kimchis, eggs cooked whichever way the chef felt like that day, tofu, some sardines, and random other things. I had pickled celery a few times. (Hm, I wonder: if you pickle celery, does it add calories and make celery not a negative-calorie food anymore?) I’ve been with up to four other people before and we ordered two main dishes. Those, along with the sides that can be refilled for free, are plenty of food. Oh, and if you want a side refilled, you have to push the button and wait on the server again. And if you haven’t completely finished one of the sides that you want refilled, you’d better be quick and adept with a pair of Korean chopsticks and get it before the server grabs the dish. If there is anything left in there, it will be wasted. I hate the idea of wasting food. (By the way, Korean chopsticks are flat and made of metal, whereas Chinese chopsticks are the wooden kind you can find in almost any Chinese buffet in the U.S. I’ve seen some from Thailand that are thick at the top and drastically taper off in the middle, before going down to a very skinny rod. I didn’t use them, but they looked like they would take some getting used do.) At the end of the meal, you have the option to sit there as long as you like: they aren’t going to make you feel compelled to leave by bringing your bill before the end of your meal; or any other time, until you summon them and ask for it. They are making money by the hour, so the less work they will eventually have to do for you, the longer you sit there, must seem a better allure than doing all that again for someone new as soon as you leave.

My buddies back home used to get a giggle out of my frustration at restaurants with poor service in the U.S. They’d never had the experience of having worked in one before and learning what good service is supposed to be; nor did they realise how easy a server could make it on themselves if they just kept in mind the golden rule: efficiency! If you are efficient, you make things better for everyone you affect. Well, I guess they are getting the ultimate giggle, now. I’m sure my expectations for service won’t be quite as high when I get back to the U.S.

After hanging out a few days, meeting friends, formally and informally having meetings with people in the Peace Corps office, and eating lots of Korean food, I went with a friend whose name translates to Coral. From what I’m told, this is a strange name for a Mongolian. There is no coral in Mongolia, since it is the second biggest landlocked country in the world, so why is there even a word for it? (If I had to guess, I’d say that it is due to the trade that used to pass through Mongolia, on its way to a stop further into the west.) We went to Coral’s parent’s home, to a small community right outside UB. The scenery is awesome there. The community is tightly hugged by mountains on every side that are covered with snow. It’s perfect for the touristy community that it is. There are three or four nice hotels there that are only open in the summer, I think. That’s too bad, cause to see the beauty of a mountain covered in snow is different than too see that same mountain’s beauty in the blazing heat of summer. Every time I’m close to the mountains, it makes me miss having one right at my front door step, like when I used to live in East TN. Even Huntsville had a big hill that is officially a mountain. (A mountain is usually defined as having a peak that is between 1,000 to 2,500 metres higher than the surrounding area, depending on the angle of incline.) Where I live, there are only rolling hills. While attractive to the eye, they don’t appeal to me the same way mountains do. I’m kind of disappointed, since about 40% of Mongolia is mountainous. I can see some mountains, way off in the distance, but they will take a long time to get to. I plan to visit them in the summer, but I won’t be able to that often.

Anyway, we got to Coral’s parent’s house right at 5 o’ clock. They were expecting me, and knew that it was my first White Month, so they were ready to show me all about it. I was immediately served a big bowl full of meat that was poured full with milk tea. The meat I was served was already hot, but oftimes, I’ve seen Mongolians cut cold meat into a bowl and heat it by pouring milk tea in there with it. That stuff is scalding hot, so it doesn’t take long for it to get warm. Actually, what takes a while is letting it cool to a temperature where you can stand to put it in your American mouth. I don’t know how many times I’ve looked over and seen a Mongolian slurp down the last sip of a scalding drink from their bowl, while I’m nursing the last half of mine, trying my best not to blister the inside of my mouth. I didn’t do too well that first night, the eve of White Month: I went to bed with a scalded tongue.

About 20 minutes after I’d finished the meat (the cook-time for boats), I was practically assaulted with a large platter of boats and told, “Id, id, id, id.” That’s Mongolian for “Eat! Eat! Eat! Eat!” It really sounds just like “eat,” so there is no mistaking the command for something else. In Mongolia, you don’t ask people if they want to drink anything, nor do you ask them if they want to eat anything. You just pour it and plate it up, then force it into their hands, all the while, alternately telling them to, “Eat, drink; eat, drink; eat, drink; ad nauseum.” When you finish, you will be told to eat and drink more, and that even more is on the way. And, indeed, if you did eat and drink as much as you were told to eat and drink, then you probably would have a good case of nausea. At the least, you will make yourself sick.

That’s what happened to me. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t the Mongolians’ fault. The traditional food for White Month is boats. After these many months, I don’t think I have to expound on how boats are my favourite food. Well, come to find out, there is another guy who likes them even more than I do. Last year, he ate 170 boats in one day, beating the previous record of 100 in a day. “The big boats, not the small-sized bansh-like ones,” he told me. I told him that I really liked boats, too, and I often ate more than every one else around me, and I could still eat more when I finish. I told him that I was going to make a run on his record. He smiled his big smile and said, “Good luck, brother.” Those are the words that came to mind as I reached for that platter of boats. I didn’t have the whole platter to myself, so I didn’t eat as many as I could have that first night. I still went to bed with a distended stomach. We determined that one of two time limits could apply, depending on which you prefer. A person could have a time limit that goes from the first plate served until the last plate served, in one day; or they could have a 24 hour time limit. I went to bed thinking that I might be better suited to try the 24 hour time limit. I went to bed having put down 22 boats.

After the sun went down, on the eve of White Month, a flurry of action began. You have to wait until then before you can start making and decorating the area where everyone will be welcomed with the Lunar New Year greeting. (By the way, on the night of White Month, there is no moon to be seen. Because of that, Mongolians pray for a white moon. The word for month and moon is the same.) There is a Mongolian pastry whose name sounds like “bove.” With as many of those that we had, we made a tower that kind of looked like a stuppa when you’re finished. Then, we took candies, sugar cubes, and a hardened milk curd thingy and decorated the bove tower. Oh, and we absolutely had to be sure that the tower was straight. We had to take it down and put it up again because of some crookedness to it that emay (grandmother) saw. When that was completed, we took a half of a sheep that had already been cooked and frozen and put it on the table. It would thaw overnight – most of the way. If not overnight, then during the three plus days that it will be sitting there. Many bowls of candy and various kinds of solidified milk products were placed on the table, a bottle of the best Mongolian vodka, a bottle of good Inner Mongolian vodka, a bottle each of red and white wine, and a bottle of some kind of expensive wine-like drink. The floor of the room had been lined with plastic, and we were sure to do the same to the tables. I could tell that they were expecting a mess by the time the dust cleared. I pondered that as I took care of shining the silver bowls that would be used.

The next morning, when the first batch of milk tea was finished, the first serving was taken outside and, with a spoon, thrown in the four directions. Prayers are said at the same time as this God-honouring tradition. This is done on regular days, as well as special days, as well as for each meal, for the most devout believers. We then got dressed in our White Month clothes. The name of the robe-like contraption sounds like “dale.” I’m not really sure if my description will suffice, but I’ll try to describe the man’s. They can be almost any colour. Mine was brown. It is usually what an American might think is about four sizes too big. There are buttons at the throat, the right shoulder, under the right arm, and on the right side. If you’re lucky enough to have a wife or mother that has made yours, the buttons will fasten with a traditional Mongolian knot. She would probably make sure that you’re properly wrapped, buttoned, and belted, too. Mine was left to me by the previous Volunteer, and was probably bought; and I was left on my own to get dressed. It fastened with big beads. When you’ve finally got your fat fingers to operate the vexing buttons, you take a length of cloth that is about 37 2/3 feet long and wrap it around your middle and tuck in the end. It’s not as easy as it sounds. You have to make sure that you leave plenty of bulge in the top portion of your dale. I didn’t know that and went for a more slimming look. One of the other guys in the room came over and jerked me around for a few seconds to get me looking right, then said something about having plenty of motion for your arms. It was easier to move like that, but I looked like I’d put on about 75 pounds. Another reason for the bulge is to make a pocket. It’s nowhere near as uncomfortable as I’d thought it might be. I kept my phone, camera, keys, and random other things in there, all at the same time, and I was never once bothered by it. Some men have big, almost gaudy cowboy-like belts. They made them look good, though. The women’s version of the dale is slightly different. It’s more feminine, but is basically the same thing. Many women use a regular belt more often than the cloth wrap around one. Often, they will wear a special kind of vest that is made to match. Women can regularly be heard bragging to others about a specific piece of jewelry that used to belong to some ancestor. Men usually have things like snuff-bottles or smoking pipes and accessories, and can similarly be heard telling anyone who will listen. For men and women, they usually wear a matching, traditional hat.

When we were all dressed, the family met in the meeting room right after the sun came up. Starting with the oldest person in the room, both people make sure they have their hats on. The younger person will hold out their hands, palm up, to support the elbows of their elder. They both say what translates roughly as, “Peace be with you. Have a good year.” Mostly, I was the youngest, but the kids would always come to me and support my elbows and exchange the greeting with me. Most of the times, kids would only do it after their parents had told them. I don’t think they were afraid of me. I think they are just young (between 0 and 10 years) and still trying to feel comfortable in a traditional setting while they are all the time bombarded with media portraying the modern world. Of course, for the babies, they were too little to know what to do, this having been their first or second celebration. Many times, a gift of money is given to the host, so as to help offset the cost of hosting. The gift could range from 1,000tg to 20,000+tg. It kind of depends on your relationship to the host. After everyone has exchanged this greeting, people will figure out who sits where, based on importance. The head of the household usually sits at the head of the table. If the head of the table is a couch seat, then oldest and most respected people will set with the man. Otherwise, the men will start their seating arrangement beginning on the right of the man. To the left will sit his wife, then important and older women. Of course, as with anything, there are always exceptions and the actual seating arrangement turns out nothing like traditional lessons might tell you. Add an American and that changes things even more. Sometimes I sat the furthest from the head of the table, but more than often, I sat at the head or only two seats away from it. I noticed that I got a different level of respect when I sat at the different places. People tended to ignore more the further I sat away. When I sat close to the head, people would often say something to me, or comment about me in some way. Ha, one woman said that I had pretty hair, like a baby. I just laughed and said thanks.

After the family had greeted each other, we sat down and shared another traditional greeting. Those who have a snuff bottle will offer it to others while asking if the person is having a nice new year. Men and women own and pass snuff bottles. A person that receives a snuff bottle has two options. First, you can politely refuse by sniffing the top of the bottle, with each nostril, then returning it to the owner and asking if they are having a nice new year. The second option is to actually get a snuff of the snuff. If that is the option you choose, you will hold the bottle in your left hand while pulling the cap with your right. Attached to it is a small spoon that fits down into the bottle. You spoon three spoons worth of snuff onto your left pointer finger, then put it to your nose and snuff. I saw very few people actually snuffing. After that, everyone sits and drinks a bowl of milk tea. The important people, starting with men – or everyone, if you have enough money – are served milk tea in a silver bowl. This has something to do with a chemical reaction between silver and poison. Is it true that silver reacts with poison? I don’t know. I’ve been told that Chengiss Khan’s son wore a silver ring so he could tell if his drink was poisoned. Poisoning is the means by which Chengiss was believed to have died.


One of the sociological things that goes on during White Month is that of making and renewing family and social ties. If a person doesn’t live with an elder sibling, they are expected to go and visit them in their home. If you have a younger sibling, or relative, they are expected to visit your home. People travel across the country to see their family and friends. If one is not able to see someone, for whatever reason, then a phone call with all the greetings and a bit of conversation will suffice. Sometimes, people won’t have seen each other for many years. When they finally do, that makes for a special occasion, since they will sometimes have a wife and children, or elder brother, or friend. Really, it doesn’t matter who it is. And I kind of get the feeling that it’s better to just show up, instead of calling and asking if it’s okay. You know the saying: “The more the merrier.” By the time the visitor leaves, they will have strengthened or formed a good relationship with an entire family. This, again, is one of those traditional pieces of culture that is Mongolia. It’s a big country, sparsely populated by herders. No matter where a Mongolian might find their self in the country, they probably have a friend that will host them. I’m sure you can imagine how that could lead to business and bartering, and all those other and similar things that result from two people having a strong relationship.

While everyone was sitting around drinking milk tea and hacking chunks of meat off the half-sheep, the women folk of the household began a flurry of table setting performances. A big plate of potato salad was brought out at the same time as a plate of sausage slices. Some people serve various kinds of slaws, salads, fruits, veggies, and pickles. Before I could even make a reach for the food, we were all directed to “Id, id, id, id….” I held off, only having a few pieces of candy, and waited for the boats that I knew were coming. I needed to save as much room as possible. As soon as they arrived, I ducked my head, poured some chili catsup on my plate, and then started chowing down, paying most attention to what number I was on. After a while, I saw that the boats just weren’t coming fast enough for what I was trying to do, so I couldn’t set any kind of pace. The eldest son and his family came and a couple of cousins that first day. A new batch of boats was served for each new set of visitors, but they just weren’t fast enough for me. About six hours before the end of my 24-hour time limit, I called it quits. I’d eaten 62. I waited a couple hours, just to be sure, but I couldn’t eat any more. I messaged that other guy and told him that he totally has Daddy Rights until next year. (For those of you who don’t know, Daddy Rights go as follows. If two guys want to have a light-hearted competition and put something on the line, but they are not willing to bet money, that will bet for Daddy Rights. Who ever wins the bet will have Daddy Rights for a specified set of time. During that time, any time that the person with Daddy Rights asks the loser, “Who is your daddy?” the loser must answer, “You are my daddy.” It doesn’t matter when or where the question is asked: the loser must always answer.)

Later, I got the worst case of gastro-intestinal distress that you could imagine. I mostly sat on the couch and had terrible intestinal pain. They were rebelling at all the fatty boats that I had stuffed down my gullet. I think the milk tea was the biggest factor in my soured-stomach burps. Yuck! It was all that evening, and night at 2 and 4 in the morning, that I got my lesson in what it’s like to need to run to the outhouse when it’s about -25 degrees Celsius outside. I first had to get dressed. When I got out there, it was so dark that I couldn’t see anything. Luckily, I have a flash light on my phone. I think I’ve told you that I am considering trying to move to a ger next year. That outhouse experience is, by far, the biggest con on my list.

When I talked to the guy I lost to and asked how he felt when he ate 170, he said that he felt just fine. He regularly eats a whole bag of frozen boats himself, and he’s done competitive eating before. Nice. Maybe I should’ve asked a few more questions, or did a lot more preparing, before I let myself get into that one. Emay was sure to congenially tell me that I was dumb for even trying to eat that many boats. And further more, she thinks that the other guy is a liar and didn’t really eat that many boats. She said she would make that many boats for him if he would come there and prove it to her. He got a good laugh out of that and said, “Time and place. Time and place.” I hope it happens and I’m there to share in the fun.

The second day, I was allowed to sleep fairly late. I woke up around 10, right before the first set of visitors got there. Immediately, I was steered to the table, given a silver bowl of milk tea, and asked about how my stomach was doing. After I assured them that I was okay, the story was shared amongst all visitors for the rest of the day. They first awed at how many boats I’d eaten, then laughed at me having made myself sick. Then I was told to “Id, id, id, id.” For the first half of the day, I just ate a little of a few different kinds of slaws and salads. Later, I ate a few pieces of meat, without the fat. I didn’t eat any boats until late into the night. I only had three, and even though they still tasted just as good as the first one I’d put in my mouth two nights before, I held back on eating more.

Also, the second day was one where the family I was with did nothing but host the entire day. Usually, a visitor is expected to eat at least three boats and take three shots of vodka whenever they go to a person’s home. That first day, so many people were driving that we only had two shots the entire day. The second day took a different course. Emay declared it her drinking day and kept the men’s shot glasses filled with vodka, then filled shot glasses of wine for the women. There is no special meaning as to who got which drink. I think that was just a different way to honour the men and women. Whenever someone heard about my upset stomach, they would encourage me to drink vodka. Vodka is, I’m told, very good for an upset stomach. Is that true? I can’t imagine that it truly is. I did try it out, though. I wasn’t going anywhere that day, and I had nothing better to do, so I matched emay all day. By the end of the day, all of the people that had been there had finished all the bottles of vodka and wine that were on the table, and the reserves had been broken into and had a good chunk taken out of it. Admittedly, my stomach was feeling alright by the time I got in the bed.

On the third day, I got to sleep even later, and there were still several visitors. Slightly odd to me was one set of visitors. Three or four of them used to be the students of grandfather, when he was a high school math teacher 20 years ago. They hadn’t seen him in a while and they all had wives or husbands and kids. Some of the wives teased their husbands by asking grandfather what their husband’s nickname was in high school. They all had a good ol’ time catching up on what everyone had been doing since they had last met. I told them how most Americans aren’t that kind of friends with their high school teachers. Maybe with some of their university instructors, but usually not high school teachers.

Whenever someone was ready to leave, the host would rush to another room and bring back a parting gift. These gifts could be absolutely anything, depending on who you are to the host. I saw some people get new clothes, new purses, gifts of money, dishes, lotions, perfumes, colognes, phone units, toys, candy, alcohol, and money. From all the people I visited, I got alcohol, two different colognes, spray deodourant, phone units, a small keychain that I immediately gave away, phone units that I couldn’t use that I immediately gave away, candy, and money. I have to say, the candy was the best thing. Once, when there was an agglomeration of several different kinds of candies, I got one of each and sat to try each of them in turn. I wanted to figure out which ones I liked the most. I went through six pieces of different flavoured jelly-filled chocolates. My friend said, “Trip, I didn’t realise you like candy so much.” I told them, like I’ll tell you: I love candy. I have a sweet tooth bigger than any two kids combined. But I try to not eat sweets that often. I try to have a little bit of control. That’s partly why my candy tends to last so long, usually. I got a lot of really good candy as parting gifts.

Late Friday night, I finally got back to UB proper. Another friend had told me that a bunch of people were meeting at Face club for someone’s birthday, so I went to join them. We got there just a little earlier than the crowd and we were able to find some nice couches to sit in and just doing nothing but sit and hang out and watch people, or whatever else we felt like doing. I mostly sat and hung out with some of the guys. Other than to shake someone’s hand, I only got up a couple of times. I was tired, and worn out, but glad to see my friends. We were up late that night.

That weekend, I just hung out with a few friends, walked around the city, paid some bills, and did a bit of shopping. Earlier in the week, I’d ran across a grocery store that has all kinds of different stuff for cheap prices. I found some different kinds of hot sauces that were really cheap and a whole gallon of mushrooms that cost only slightly more than the quart size I used to get at the State Dept. store. I finally found a decent market for electronics and bought some new ear buds for my mp3 player. My last pair crapped out last summer. Luckily, I’d brought another pair of headphones, but they are big and clunky, and not made for exercising with. There was one place in there that sold made in Mongolia Mongolian movies. Believe it or not, all-the-way Mongolian movies are hard to find. I think I’ve told you before about the American, Russian, and S. Korean movies that are terribly dubbed over. There is even a movie store right below my apartment that doesn’t have any Mongolian movies. What a shame. I got two movies for 5,000tg and was told by several people that they are very good movies. I got a couple more kids’ books, too. One is the story about a picture that I see absolutely everywhere. No one has been able to explain it to me, so I’ll try to read the book and figure it out for myself. The other book is about a Mongolian legend about how the camel lost its horns and tail. The deer got the horns and the horse got the tail. I’m not sure why, so I’ll try to figure that out, too.

I got back to my site on Sunday evening. I told my boss that I would visit her at her place as soon as I got back. Since we live so close to the city, most people went there for the Tsagaan Sar holiday. While there, they didn’t get to see some of their friends from here. This is where an extra week long of partying began. The Peace Corps had told me that the holiday was officially three days long, but people in the countryside tend to celebrate it until they finish, however long that may be. I wasn’t ready for what I was getting myself into. Luckily, I was only a block from my home, no matter which direction I walked in. Literally, that’s how small my town is.

When I got home, I put on my dale and went to my boss’s place. Her daughter ushered me in and told me that Densmaa was at work. On a Sunday? Yeah, well, come to find out, things got changed around at the last minute. The previous Friday was supposed to be a work day, but the government decided to keep the holiday going and moved the work day to Sunday. What? Glad I didn’t know that. So, her daughter played the perfect host and told me to sit on the couch. She immediately served me a big bowl of milk tea, and then started bringing out the usual Mongolian appetisers: potato salad, sliced sausage with pickles, and candy. As soon as she knew that I had enough to hold my attention for a few minutes, she went to put some boats to cooking. She would randomly walk back into the room to refill my bowl o’ milk tea and tell me, “Id, id, id.” She was younger than me, so she only told me three times, instead of four or more. It seems like the older a Mongolian gets, the more they tell you to eat. When the boats came, she pushed the appetisers to the side and put the whole plate right in front of me, with more commands to eat. She walked through every so often, just to make sure there was nothing I needed, then, right before I was finished, she poured me a shot of vodka and a shot of scotch. I drank the vodka straightaway, then sipped on the scotch for a while, waiting on Densmaa. She never came before I got tired of waiting.

After a several days of this Tsagaan Sar thing, I’d finally learned a trick. Eat til you’re not quite full, and then chill. If you’re the only one in the room, just take a bite when they come in so they will see you eating. If you’re in the room with several other people, watch for the times when the host is looking at you. Always have a little something on your plate, and when they look toward you, reach for something else to put on there, and then eat a bite. I’m not saying this will get you out of all of it, but it is definitely a trick to keep your stomach from exploding. Remember the previous paragraph about how things went from the time I walked in the door to the time I left, cause that is exactly the same way that things happened in every house I went to.

When I left Densmaa’s, I saw some guys in the street and walked over to talk to them. We stood there talking for a little while, just watching people, until my boss finally walked up. I’d told her that I had recently left her house. She said, “Okay, please come with me now.” We went to the home of one of the ladies that works in the gvt. building and did the whole routine of greeting, sharing snuff bottles, eating appetisers, meat, and boats, and taking shots of vodka. We were there for about 45 minutes, and then went to the home of someone who lives on the floor above me. I had no idea that the guy I met so long ago while wrestling lived there with his wife and son. His and her parents were both there, and they were really nice people. Ha, this is where the lady told me I had pretty hair, like a baby. From there, the majority of the party went back to Densmaa’s house, where everything but the greetings happened again. We were up really late.

Densmaa told me I didn’t have to work on Monday, so I didn’t even try. She woke me up and I went to her place for lunch. My co-workers were there, so we did the usual visiting thing again. They fed me til I was stuffed, gave me a few shots of vodka, then told me to go back home and rest, cause we were invited to a hair-cutting ceremony that evening. Cool. I’ve heard about those before and have wanted to see what it’s all about. Densmaa told me she would call me at 5 and we would go there together. I went home and slept for a while. She finally called at 6:30 and told me someone was going to pick me up and take me to the ceremony, in the other part of town. The celebration was over by the time I got there, with the little bald girl running around playing with a few other kids.

I’ll tell you what I have been taught about the ceremony. The ages are slightly different for boys and girls. Girls are usually 3-6 years, I think, while boys are 2-5. I think that’s right. Anyway, until the hair-cutting ceremony, the baby’s hair isn’t cut at all. That makes it hard to distinguish boys and girls in Mongolia, especially when either of them could be dressed in pink everything, and even boys wear headbands to hold back their hair. The reason for the ceremony is that all the baby hair is cut away so the child can grow into the man or woman they are supposed to be. Some words are said, maybe prayers, and then starting with the oldest/most respected person, everyone takes a turn cutting a piece of the child’s hair and gives the child a small gift of money. If there is any particular person that should’ve been there, but could not make it until a later time, then one sprig of hair will be left on the child’s head, until that person is able to see the child and cut it off. I’m not sure how long they wait for the person to come. Because of this, it’s not unusual to see a little bald kid running around with, at worst, a sprig of hair sprouting out the side of their head, right behind an ear; at best, an awesome rat tail will hang down the child’s back. I just greeted the child and gave her 1,000tg.

The child is the granddaughter of Densmaa’s best friend. Her and her husband’s family were for the holiday, so we did all of that stuff, too. At one point, they just got ridiculous with the shots of vodka, and I had to slow things down. At first, they all made me take a shot with them. Then, the host would pour a shot for me and a shot for someone else that we immediately took. A few minutes after that, I and another person were given a shot. That’s when I realised that I wasn’t going to be able to keep up that kind of pace, so I started taking only partial shots. That helped a lot. After the third person took a shot with me, we all took a shot again, and then I took a few shots with a couple of old ladies. Of course, don’t forget that there is all kinds of food being ate at the same time. I think that helped me, too. I tried to eat the fatty stuff, so it would take longer for the alcohol to soak through. After thinking about it, that’s been one of my tricks this whole time. Because of that, and just eating so much lately, I have gained some weight. I’ve got to do something about this.

I was determined to go to work on Tuesday, so I was lucky when there was nothing going on. Also, Tuesdays and Saturdays are bad luck days for visiting, or something like that. That gave me a night off of visiting, eating, and drinking. I just relaxed that evening, hoping against hope that Ambaa and Khishge wouldn’t come for tutoring at 6:30. By 6:45, I knew they weren’t coming and totally relaxed. I had a small dinner and zonked out early that night.

Wednesday evening, I went to the house of one of the jijuurs (building worker). I get on alright with all of those guys, and he’d been asking me to his place forever. In the morning, I reminded him that he’d asked me to come that evening. He asked me what time I’d be there, and when I told him 7, he shook his head no and said, “Six o’ clock.” I laughed and said okay, having no intentions of going straight there from work. I got to his place around 6:30 and his wife and several teenage kids took care of me. He finally showed up about 30 minutes later. The first thing he reached for was the bottle of vodka. Three quick shots each and we finished the half-bottle that was sitting on the table. I thought that was good until he gave his son some money and sent him to the store for more. Dang it! I can’t do this again. Luckily, it wasn’t long before two other jijuurs came with their wives. That saved me from drinking a litre bottle with only one other person. As much as they were drinking, I once again cut myself back to only partial shots. When we left there, I thought I was going to be able to go home. It wasn’t too late yet, and I could get plenty of sleep. Wrong. I was pulled to another house. Basically, we just moved the party to get away from all the kids. More food and vodka were served. At that place, I just did the touch it to your lips thing.

Friday, the governor’s office had a day set up for the women. March 8 is Women’s Day this year. After work, we were to all meet at the school at 2, and we would play a volleyball tournament between all the different departments. At a few minutes after, I was told that no one was there. I decided to walk and check out some buildings I haven’t seen yet. I don’t know what one of them used to be, but I think it must’ve been a gym or something. On the outside were the numbers 1980, along with the Olympic rings. I know it has something to do with the 1980 Olympics in Moscow, but I haven’t the faintest about why that is on that building, here in countryside Mongolia.

When I got to the gym, I was there for a good 45 minutes with a couple of high school kids. That was a good chance for me to get some extra play time in, and get warmed up. I had a good sweat going by the time everyone got there. As it turned out, my team was in the first game. With some awesome, barely over the net with heat serves, yours truly contributed to the win of that game. The only other guy on my team doesn’t play any volleyball, that I can tell, and the women were all over 40, with a couple of them over 50. I think we won that game cause the other team sucked worse than ours. The next game was about an hour later, and my muscles had cooled down. The gym is so small that spectator toes are literally on the line, so there was no place for me to get warmed up ahead of time. We lost to a team that had two guys on their team who’d played more than a little bit of volleyball. They basically took over and hit all the balls that came on their side of the net, sometimes pushing other players out of the way. That’s probably the one thing I don’t like about volleyball here. People will run and jump in front of you to hit a ball that only sometimes does what they want it too. Then, when a ball will be coming between you and the other person, but closer to them, they will stand and watch you, thinking you were going to get it. There were four teams altogether. One of the teams in the finals had two women that play volleyball a lot and a couple of other decent guys. The other team was all guys who play a lot. The guys won, but they had to fight hard for it.

That evening, there was a big celebration in our conference room. It was supposed to start at 7, but as usual, people didn’t start showing up til 7:30. Then everyone started decorating and fixing food and arranging tables. There were three tables of seven, then a head table that had about 15 people. We had all the standard appetisers and were served boats for our main meal. There were several pauses in everything, where someone would make a speech, give an award, say a poem, or sing a song, and take a shot every time. Of course, each table had their own pace set for the amount of shots they were doing. Oh, and don’t forget the beer. I tried to drink beer and stay awake from the vodka. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. It was the first time that I’ve ever seen Densmaa take a whole shot, let alone ask for more. The women, obviously, were celebrating their day. After a while, we started playing games. Each table had to have a game for people. The first game called a woman from each table, without telling them what they had to do. They were then told they had to race to eat a huge piece of cake. The bulge in their eyes was comical. We all got lots of laughs and cheered them on while they were chomping away. Toward the end, one lady was about to win and her table was cheering loudly. Densmaa saw what the commotion was all about and turned it up a gear. No one was even looking at her when she stood erect and announced that she’d finished first. Haha. Scene stealer! Awesome. She immediately came back to the table for another shot. There was a game where people had to go out, then come back in and make a fool of their selves by acting like they were a train. At least, that’s what I got out of it. Even when you think you know exactly what’s going on, if you don’t have an interpreter, it’s hard to tell. My table played the human knot game. Six people stand in a circle. Each person reaches with their right hand and takes the right hand of another person. Next, each person reaches with their left hand and takes the left hand of a different person. Not letting go, everyone then tries to untangle the knot that they are in. It’s quite fun and funny to see some people squeeze through some of the holes they do. Right at the end, with only one person to fix, someone got confused and turned the wrong way, then let go, turned right, and grabbed hands again. I wasn’t the only person who saw it. Oh well. I was surprised we’d lasted that long.

I got home about 4 o’ clock that night. There is a Mongolian word that roughly translates to “tough.” I first heard it one night we were drinking and my boss asked me if I was that. She had to explain to me that she was asking if I was tough enough to drink as much as I was and still be able to be at work in the morning. Of course, I grinned big and told her that I was, but inside…inside, I knew better. Haha. I’ve found out that even though I might be tough, I ain’t Mongolian tough. This weekend, I haven’t even left my apartment. I’ve been lazy, ate decent food, read, and watched movies.

That reminds me: I got two boxes this last Monday. I knew they were on the way, so that morning when I finished the last two spoonfuls of peanut butter, I didn’t worry too much. Little did I know that all I’d have to do was walk outside. I saw the post office worker and he motioned to let me know there was something for me. There were two boxes. The one from my mom had a cake pan that is too big for my oven (thanks for trying mom), extra-special Circus Peanuts, unforgettable bag of Bisquick that had busted in the box, magazines worth more than one read, envelopes, crunchy peanut butter with honey mixed in, almonds, hot sauce, peanut brittle, heart-shaped box of candy, Ranch, a movie, and white board markers. The other box was from my sister, Ann. In it was incense; cough drops; packets of jam, sweet relish, American catsup, mayo, and hot sauce; boxes of rice, with one busted; crunchy peanut butter; bouillon cubes; vinegar; hot sauce; spray cheese; mac and cheese; syrup; Jello; bacon; beans; candy; Ranch; and two movies. I don’t know what I’ll do when/if I ever get a package that doesn’t have something busted in it. Haha. I really appreciate everything in them, though. They make my life much easier.

The weather here has been getting warmer. Ask any Mongolian and they will tell you that spring starts after Tsagaan Sar. True or not, I can see why they say so. The nights are still cold as can be, but the days are warming up to a balmy -7 degrees Celsius. I’ve even cut back on wearing so many layers. I woke up one morning and it had snowed a white blanket on everything. I was expecting it to be colder when I went out, so I put all my usual layers on. I was hot for the rest of the day. There has been more daylight, too. Even now, on Sunday evening, there’s an implicit promise of another hour of daylight. A few weeks ago, it would’ve been starting to get dark about 45 minutes ago. I’m looking forward to the longer days. That will help me get outside so I can get some exercise and try to get rid of my holiday weight. I’ve already been scoping out places where I can play footbag and not be mobbed by too many kids. There are a few places I have in mind. One of them is just out in the middle of the road, away from the centre of town a little bit. I’ll keep you posted on what I figure out.

So, I’ve finally gotten to the end of my tale. This is Sunday, and I’ve done little more than make a good chickpea salad, wash laundry, and wash a movie. After three or four days of pecking away, I’ve finished about 13 pages of update for you. Now, you know everything about why it’s taken me so long to post this. In future, know that I’m here, thinking of you, but just remember something that I read in a recent email from one of my buddies here: It will take tsag. Mongol tsag. (Tsag means time.)

Hope you’re good. Special shout out to my fraternity brothers. March 1 was our International Founders’ Day. For my university, it was the 30th anniversary of our presence on campus. I miss that I wasn’t there to celebrate with them. Write whenever you like. Miss you.

P.S. I forgot to include one part of the Tsagaan Sar preparations. People start making boats weeks ahead of time. When they are cooked, they will cover them and put them outside, to freeze, until it’s time for them. Some people make more than a thousand. So, really, since cook and recook is the same amount of time, that’s really like cooking two thousand. Goodness, that’s a lot of boats.

Oh, and something else. I had to format my computer again. Did I put that in my last post? I don’t think so. When I got it all set up again, I downloaded the trial version of AVG and scanned both my hard drives. On the one with all my music, all my pictures, all my movies, all my important documents, everything, the virus had apparently attached itself to all those files. They were immediately deleted. Arggh!!!! Luckily, I do have the majority of those files backed up on my work computer, and the other hard drive that I have. I emailed Amazon.com and told them my tale and asked them to reset it so I can download all the music that I’d bought from them since being here. I got an email this morning saying that they had fixed it so I could. Sweet! That makes me happy. I should be able to download the pictures I've taken since being here from my own site. Glad I have it. I should have new pictures up for you in the next little while.