Why hello there all you lovely people. It’s been quite an interesting spate of time. I’ve been very gastrointestinally distressed for the past few days, but fortunately our superb medical officer, Paul, has me slip-sliding down the road to recovery. Things are once again going smoothly, as it were. Language class is progressing as well as my obstinately recalcitrant memory allows. We were delighted to discover recently that the euphemism a male uses to go outside and pee is “morr harah” or “to go see a horse.” These are the sorts of phrases that stick with me.
Here’s a quick summation of what these pictures will contain: Two weeks ago, our magnificent Cross-Culture training team put together a trip to Terelj, a local nature camp on the Tol River. Between the wildlife, the stripping down to underwear and jumping off of a bridge, and climbing Turtle Rock, we had a giddily good time. Have a good look at picture 518. It is my new desktop background. The impromptu theme was “family photo” and I think it turned out to be charming and perhaps droll. We took a day trip to Ulaan Baatar, where we saw the sights, visited the Peace Corps office, and went to a Western food store called Mercury Market. I got red wine, cheese, and hot sauce. We also ate in a Korean restaurant while there. Spicy food has been sorely missed these past few months.
My family got a kitten. I was given the pleasure of naming it, and after careful deliberation I elected “Olbar shar barr” which means “Orange Tiger.” It is named after my bedspread, which depicts the same. A few days ago, Barr got stuck between the double panes of my family’s cottage’s windows. He would have been entirely unable to get out under his own power. He was not particularly perturbed, and purred whenever we approached. I was very strangely, and perhaps nostalgically, reminded of the “Bonsai Kitten” craze of a few years ago. Thusly commenced Operation Tiger Swipe. The picture at the end of me holding him/her (I can’t tell) up to the window and scolding him/her is among my favorites.
Last week, the Teacher Trainers, University Teachers, and Primary School Teachers among us TEFL volunteers all came to Nalaikh for a seminar. Whereas a moral man would have let them prepare in serene tranquility, I cruelly led them out to the White Gate where we whiled the day away with cheese, storytelling, and Mongolian Beer. Such an evening of song and dance, held in the misty haze under a full moon, has not been witnessed in many long ages.
On Sunday we had our Host Family Appreciation day. The idea was that we would make American foods and share them with our families during a field day. The ordeal of describing some of the dishes in a language that has no words for them proved to be a challenge. We cooked macaroni and cheese, (“byaslagtay goymin”, cheese-being -with noodles,) garlic mashed potatoes, (“sermustay nohach tumus”, garlic-with smashed potatoes,) and fried chicken (“sharsun tahani mach” which is literal.) The biggest hit was Rachel’s apple-cinnamon-raisin hoshuur. Hoshuur are sort of home-made empanadas or hot pockets, and are traditionally only filled with meat or potatoes. The closest we could come to explaining them was “cheekhertay uzumtay alhimtay hoshuur, or “sweet-with, raisin-with, apple-with hoshuur.” For no good reason the day ended with an impromptu hip-hop dance-off. All the Mongolians formed a large circle and in turns, shoved each of us into the middle. In a rare moment of cultural lucidity, I described it to Tim and Ryan as being like “the end of a Ninja Turtles movie.” Ah, Vanilla Ice.
Back to the present: This Thursday is the test date that determines both my language and survival capacities. I am doubtless that I will be judged mute and fetal. On Saturday, we learn of the sites to which we are assigned for the next two years. To describe me as nervous would be understatement. To describe me as bursting at the seams with anticipation juice would be hyperbole, but only just. Rather, a vivid and unromanticized narrative of the percolation that occurs at the nape of my neck, combined with some sort of vicarious experience of the exhilaration I endure (which a fifty gallon drum of Red Bull and a Led Zeppelin vs. re-animated Zombie Beethoven rock concert/battle to the death could not jointly produce) every time I consider the site-placement possibilities would pretty much nail it. But I ramble unintelligibly on…
In any case, if I appear to drop off of the face of the Earth after this weekend, it is only because I have been sent to a tiny village that is without internet. Or mauled by yaks. Be sure to read the captions on these pictures, as I worked really hard on them. By that I mean I got hopped up on Mongolian Minute Maid and stayed up labeling these photos when I should have been studying some of Mongolian’s 8 case endings…
