Oooo! I Gotta Tattoo!

My first. It's the Mongolian traditional script. The only script on earth that is both vertical and has connected letters in a word. It reads "illiaisan", my hip-hop alias.

When your tattoo man makes a house call you know you're in good hands!

About an hour in. Hurt a bit but no lasting pain. This surprised me.

Mom asked me to bring home an example of the traditional script. I don't think this is what she had in mind.

Bull Penis

I ate some bull penis...it was gross.

For my birthday my friends took me out to a Japanese Hot Pot restaurant. In case you didn't know...hot pot is awesome. You order a bowl of broth and various meats and veggies. They put the broth on a burner in front of you and you get to throw as much of whatever you order into the concoction. When you're satisfied with the results you pluck it out and eat it. Marvelous!

I ordered the spicy broth with seasame peanut sauce along with beef, lamb and bansch (little meat pocket dumpling things.) It was the straight scrumdiddly. Because it was my birfday I commanded Colin to order the bull penis. I don't think he liked it. Who would? It was all cartilage and sort of rubbery and crunchy at the same time...(wha?) Yeah. It was weird. Never again.

Broken Flash. Bad Photography

Birfdaze

Swine flu has come to Mongolia

Surgical masks have become ubiquitous on the streets of UB. The best part about this development is now they're becoming something of a fashion statement. We're starting to see colors other then white along with different patterns and decals. I've seen camouflage patterns, hello kitty masks and even the favorite icon of the west, the omnipresent pot leaf. Now if we could only get these commies to smoke the shit maybe we wouldn't have so much violence and public drunkeness.

I don't know if its swine flu or food poisoning or what but the last few weeks had me victim to something hellish. I had to take a weekend off of revelry simply to nurse myself. This lead to a bitter work week, compounded by a private student whose lesson begins at 9am every morning. Brutal.

Everybody knows that October is the best month of the year, and a great time to party. Having a birthday this month is a true pleasure and being able to share this fact with others is a blessing. During an outing with my new level three class I found that two of my students have October birthdays. That settled it! B-day party at my crib 10/17/09. BYO alcohol dammit!

The morning of I was not feeling well. I thought I was just tired so I simply slept in, but the later it got the worse I felt. I was cold and sweating, with an ache developing behind my eyes. Ibeprofen was not helping. Finally at about two I dragged myself out of bed. I had to prepare my spot for a party. This included house chores and furniture rearrangement. I stumbled towards the shower, feeling dizzy and hot. In the shower waves of chills raced through my body, I tilted my head back to let the water spill over my face. I don't know what happened next...I must've blacked out. I came to on the floor of the shower, I was flailing about, the thumping of my limbs against the tight enclosure sounded a far way off. I was confused and feral at this point, the lizard part of my brain in control now. I shambled out the shower, grabbed the towel off the rack and stumbled to the bed room. Out the window I caught a glimpse of the day outside. Everything was covered in a glaze of new snow. My hair is dripping all over me and my carpet. I wheeled back towards the bathroom. Inside I scrambled about for my towel, nowhere to be found. What have I done? I must've left it in the bedroom. Back to the bedroom and I look outside again. All the snow is gone. What the fuck is going on? I have never been so delirious in my life. Fear sets in. I must not fear, fear is the...yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm going back to bed. If I don't feel better in a couple of hours I will cancel the party and find a way to the hospital. Damn.

Up in two hours and I'm feeling a lot better. I figure if I can move furniture without blacking out I can last a night of vodka. As I set about doing the necessary chores nightmares of being quarantined fade. The longer I keep at it the better I feel. The worst of it must be past. Funny to think I was so delirious only a few hours ago. It feels like a week has past since then.

The party went well. All the teachers showed up so there was a good mix of Native English Speakers and Mongolians.

I don't have any speakers so what was meant to be the dance room became just another talking room. With no furniture everybody just sat on the floor, but nobody seemed to care. Some people brought cupcakes, chocolates and smoked fish which was devoured with relish. I'm grateful because I don't have enough food to go around. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling to have so many at my place. Reminds me of my crazy party days in college when we had people over every week.

The two young ones, Brent and David, drank more than they could handle. This provided some amusement as the two of them crowded the toilet, taking turns vomiting and feeling shitty. The Mongolian teachers vacated the party leaving one room available. This became the pass out room for our intrepid drunkards. They eventually left in turn to nurse their wounds outside the social sector.

I love hosting a house party. The most amusing part always comes at the end when the stragglers make to leave. Jason and Undrakh took the honors this time. Late into the night (or early into the morning which is it?) they wrestled. Undrakh was completely unintelligible at this point. His English skills had deteriorated well past comprehensibility and his emotions seemed to follow suite as he rapidly fluctuated between huge smiles and shaking fists. Eventually I had to call a halt to this tomfoolery. I handed the man a coat which turned out to be Jason's. He backed out the door, shaking his fist threateningly and was gone. Jason followed soon after and that was it. So I thought. I only got about an hour of sleep in me when a pounding came on my door. Sure enough Undrakh was back, sans coat and shoe. Did he loose them, or did someone steal them? Regardless the man was freezing so I let him pass out on my couch. Awesomeness. I was totally worthless for the rest of the weekend.

Blood of Chinngis

After the first few months of my stay in Mongolia I complained to my brother David that I was finding the social scene here difficult due to every Mongolian's complete lack of taste when it comes to music. Bless his heart, my brother told me to stick to it because something nice would turn up. And sure enough, he was right. I have found a band worthy of my attention, the one AltanUrag. It means, roughly, the bloodline of the Khaan, Chinngis.

These guys rule! They play traditional Mongolian instruments with traditional throat singing and whistling along with a western drum kit, all amplified and rendered in a hard rock style. Its dark and its ill and I love it! Check them out at their MySpace page. Notice the alien-head fiddle!

Chicken Dinner

What's it called when you have a party and the guest of honor doesn't show up?

I don't have an oven at home. This means I can never bake anything, which is a pity because I want to make my own chicken. I learned this sweet style which involves standing a whole chicken on its legs (or stubs as the case may be) by inserting a mason jar in its butt. The jar can have a bit of liquid such as beer or cooking wine along with slices of apple or lemons or garlic or spices or whatever the hell you want in it. During the baking process the concoction within the jar steams up and fumigates the beast with its essences making for a delectable feast. One more problem, I can't for the life of me find a mason jar in this bloody town.

I've been asking my teacher friend Joy if I can use her oven for a roasting. I gave her no specific time, waiting to find a proper bird and said jar. However another teacher friend, Jeff, finished his contracts and it was deemed appropriate to throw a party on his behalf. So we went forward with plans to have a roast feast. I scrambled to find an alternative recipe as the jars could not be located. We organized the food, the guest list, the time and date. I got to Joys place early to prepare. Everything was in order. No Jeff.

What a jerk. I still haven't heard from him, probably never will now. Oh well. His loss, not mine. We had a delightful dinner without him. New teachers Dave and Brent joined us at Joy and Eric's stately apartment, seriously one of the nicest homes I've ever been in here or otherwise. It was very hospitable. We sprawled on luxuriant leather couches and watched The Dark Knight on a very wide flatscreen TV. Afterwards we had our dinner at what felt like a corporate boardroom of a dinner table. I felt very powerful.

I took some chicken home and have been eating leftovers since. Tastes a bit like thanksgiving. Thanx Joy and Eric, you did it up right. Screw you Jeff.

Monastery Day!

Ladies Games

Feeds a Thousand!

Go Team!

Social Call

After a night of drinks with my new level 3 class I dragged my ass back to school on Saturday for a social call, an outing with the staff presumably to strengthen bonds. I regret showing up on time as I'm well aware by now that punctuality is not a value in Mongolian culture. An hour of rough road on the bus was made worse by my ill decision to sit in the wheel seat. Idiot!

There were only four of us whities on the bus and we were challenged by our rival teachers to a singing duel. I did my best with my usual repertoire Ramblin' Man, House Of The Rising Sun, and of course my favorite, Bankrobber but I didn't stand a chance against the chorus of Mongolian folk songs that just kept coming. Their team sounded so nice with the high female voices blending expertly with the deep male voices.

At the gates of the park we were stopped and made to pay an entrance fee, compounded by the fact that myself and others neglected to bring our work visas. I don't normally carry my work visa for the same reason that I don't normally carry my passport, I want that shit safe from pickpockets. I think the overall extra price amounted to no more then a few hundred Tuugruugks (that's meant to be a phonetic spelling as the official English spelling is horribly inadequate. And for the record: 100Tgs is roughly 7 cents) but our fellows argued on our behalf for a good ten minutes. Nice work team. I know you'll never let me down.

Inside we found the park overcrowded with other school tour groups. Mostly high school by the looks of them. We rented a geir and proceeded with the ceremonial round of vodka shots. It is very disrespectful to pass up a proffered vodka shot. Not one to defame my country (yeah right) I acquiesced (actually I just wanted to use that word. Just listen to yerself as you read it: acquiesce. Don't you feel smarter already? Courtesy of yours truly.) This was followed by a potluck of sorts as all the Mongolians busted out containers of traditional food, Huushure, Buudz, Tsueven and the like. I felt mildly embarrassed as I had failed to bring anything to share. However this didn't keep me from digging in.

By and by a group of us hiked off to the old monastery. First we entered a small museum, which featured some horribly taxidermied animals and weird art. There were landscapes made of colored sand glued to paper and images of birds and fish made with feathers pasted to paper. Very strange. We then hiked up to the remains of the monastery. A victim of the soviet purges, it consisted of a ruined stone structure and a refurbished wood structure acting as some kind of museum. Inside were a number of Buddhist shrines with some sweet statues and tapestries. All and all pretty neat but I preferred the hike to the destination.

After our return to the geir I was bowled over by a sudden case of lethargy. A large, sun-drenched rock called my name and I obediently collapsed into its stoney depths. Mmmmm. Nap time, the best part of any day.

Upon our return trip the full moon breached the horizon over the hills, all fat and white in the dying embers of the sun. Crimson rays spilled over the land creating an idyllic scene. I wish he hadn't been in a moving bus. It would have made for some killer photography. My vain attempts at poetry will have to suffice.

Cold Bogd

Winter Comes To Mongolia

Hard to believe it but last Friday (9/18/09) was a comfortable 70 degrees. This all changed over night as winter strolled into town with a vengeance. The temp dropped a brutal 40 degrees in town. However, since I had spent the last weekend doing absolutely nothing I was determined to go hiking. This time I would return to Bogd determined to see the other side.

I bundled up against the biting wind. Any exposed skin would fall victim to cold drafts so I buried my hands deep in the pockets of my vest. Luckily I'm able to grow my own scarf so my face was secure. Packing my pockets with crackers and carrying a bag full of a change of clothes I set off. I brought the extra clothes in case my wanderings caused me to sweat. In these conditions sweat can turn cold and freeze your body. It turned out I didn't need it for this venture but the added weight on my back held in a lot of heat for which I was thankful.

Winter allows for a whole different kind of beautiful. This happened to be a great time because all the undergrowth on Bogd still maintained its autumnal color only now a thin veneer of snow crystals framed everything. The snow obscured and made slippery all of the rocks and roots that lay on the trail. This would prove disastrous to my poor flat feet, as every step caused my ankles to twist ever so slightly.

Up on my usual overlook I peered across the valley, trying to make out the other side. Everything was obscured by low clouds and swirling snow. I felt as though I was looking at the nothing from The Never Ending Story (remember that movie? "Faaaaalkooooor!" Hahahaha!)

The snow hadn't yet accumulated enough to cover the undergrowth causing the trail to stand out like a blazing white beacon. My hope was that my footprints would be clear enough to stand out upon my return. No chance of hearing flappy crows today. All was immersed in the constant sound of wind whipping through trees. I passed the rock field where I had stopped last time. Into new territory now, into the cold and obscured trail. My way less obvious than before I had to keep my wits about me. I reached a flat spot where the trees thinned out and the boulders prevailed. With the cover gone the wind howled fiercely. Time to zip up again.

The boulders here proved more massive then the ones found last outing. This time they piled in strange arrangements forming interior spaces. I contemplated spending the night in a cave but realized I hadn't the necessary tools. Perhaps some other time.

Onward I journeyed. The land began to slope downwards at a low grade. The trees, sparser here, gave way to grassy meadows. I looked about me. Shit. I had lost the trail. What's more the lay of the land became too even and consistent. No obvious landmarks. Would I be able to make my way back? Nevertheless I pushed on. Curiosity nipping at my heels.

I made my way to the valley floor. I had hoped to be at the other side, maybe even find the monastery located here. No such luck. Only more mountains that trailed off into the gloom. By now it was getting late. I had hiked out for four and a half hours. Time to make my return. I picked my way back up through the ascending meadows. I figured I was all right as long as I could follow my footprints. This proved impossible in the tall grasses and I soon lost it. Occasionally, on my way back I would find my footprints again only to loose them in turn. At one point I looked about me completely confused, the landscape was absolutely unfamiliar. The light was fading, I briefly considered attempting to build a make shaft shelter and spending the night. But not in this place, too open, I risked death from exposure and surely darkness would bring only more cold. Onward soldier.

Abruptly, my concern turned to relief as I found myself back at the boulders and familiar territory. I was going to be alright. It's 6:30 by now and I figure it will take me another three hours to get off the mountain. Well passed dark, but I simply can't risk spending the night here. Not like this. Particularly not in this place, the cave floors are all wet with snow melt and the wind blows freely, unabated by tree cover.

Back down the trail again into gathering darkness. At first the path stood out as before, a blazing beacon. But now it had been nearly six hours since I had walked this way. Snowfall had filled in my prints. No way to track myself back. Perhaps because of falling night, or because the snow was just a bit deeper, I suddenly realized I was no longer on the proper path but rather a deer run that was descending into the valley in the wrong direction. The snow on the steep slope is slippery, I loose my footing often, breaking my fall with knees and ankles. Blast! Fear creeps in. I must not fear, fear is the mind killer. In this situation its best to keep your sense of direction about you.

By and by a familiar landmark creeps out of the darkness. I'm on my way home. Perhaps the darkness or anticipation is the culprit but the trail is stretching out longer than it should. Will my feet hold up to this relentless assault? Perched on my accustomed overlook I squint into the night, trying to find my path. Suddenly my feet give out beneath me, I'm falling amongst the stone, my outstretched hand doesn't hit ground where I anticipate it would, rather dipping deeper between rocks. Pins and needles lance up my arm to my shoulder! Ayah! My right arm has gone completely numb. Bad timing.

Now I must get down, but cautiously now, can't risk another fall in this light. My ankles and knees are creaking. Frost from my breath has condensed into my beard, haggard and derelict I must appear as some monster from the cold. Now I'm at the final descent, I can see the city sprawled out below and I can't wait to get back home. If only there were a hot bath awaiting my return. If only this venture were over now.

At SuperMarket I draw nervous stares from the Mongolian employees. What the hell just walked in? I pick up my bacon and alfredo sauce, but curses! No more root beer. How disappointing.

The next day (a Sunday) I spend almost the entire day in bed. My ravaged feet are virtually useless. Rest now and heal up. I'm still feelin' the hurt even on Monday and I have to walk to class. Better hold off on hiking for a bit. This last adventure almost killed me.

Regrets of Neglect

It's been a while since I posted last. Sorry team.

Okay so this one is about my solo trip to Bogd about two weeks ago. If you recall I was frustrated with people after a particular rancorous barbeque session so I stole away to Bogd, my sole motive to console my grieving soul. Or something.

The colors were perfect, everything tinged with the amber tones of autumn. The first ascent, a steep hike, was mollified by supremely blue skies and wispy clouds overhead. On my approach I noticed a cloud formation, which I wished to capture on camera but the angle was wrong. I needed to ascend to the heights of mighty Bogd in order to photograph this one proper. I figured they'd have dissipated by the time I reached high ground, capricious as clouds are, but not today. That day they were tenacious, cooperative. Thank you clouds.

Onwards and upwards, I came to a rocky outcropping that Jason and I had rested at on our prior outing. Looking across the valley to where the ridge doubled back on itself I saw another look out point and set this as my goal. Such distances are always deceiving to me, I tried to judge how long it would take to come around to but I was completely clueless. I simply hoped for less than two hours trek and pushed onwards.

There was absolutely nobody along my way. The air was still and silent, nature has an innate power to pacify. Suddenly the deep quiet was interrupted by a most peculiar sound. A kind of light ploink like that of a pebble dropping into water only it was coming from above and loud, echoing off the walls of the ranges around me. What on earth? Turned out to be a strange bird that soared overhead. I could not identify.

A murder of crows swooped around me. In the stillness I could hear the swooshing of their wings. It was so surreal. I've been on this earth nigh thirty years now and never before have I heard crows flapping. How is this possible? Perhaps this is a unique feature found only in the Mongolian flock? Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

By and by I came upon my goal. A boulder field abruptly interrupted the coniferous forest loam signaling my arrival. The closer I approached the outcropping the larger the rocks became. They were enormous, towering structures which appeared to have been deposited by giants. Geologists be damned there is no other rational explanation!

I clambered over these monstrosities, my pervasive curiosity overcoming any notions of safety. One portion proving too steep to climb required an application of my wits. I dug my hands into a cleft and shimmied my way underneath a great overhang (so cold in the shadow, fingers going numb) so as to intersect another cleft and pull myself over. Agility and wits combined to carry me to the top. And a majestic view, cobalt firmament spanning steely mountain and distant UB shimmering on the horizon.

It was right chilly upon my perch. I zippered up my vest and lay back against the sun warmed stone. Eyes closed as I slipped into oblivion. No damnable human to ruin the mood. Save the ever flapping crows I was alone. Blessed be.

Quickly I scurried back wishing to catch the sunset over my hearts despair, filthy UB with her brown clouds of carbon smoke and her traffic choked streets. The dying rays blazed long over amber mountain meadows. The golden hour. The picture of sublimity.

My refreshed soul carried me back down the slope and on to "SuperMarket" a store on this wealthy end of town where I can purchase such western items as bacon, alfredo sauce, and (LordHa'Mercy) Root Beer! Blessed Root Beer! And to think, 16oz tall boys. Satisfaction in a can. Huzzah!

Back To Bogd or I Hate Humans

Life So Far

I feel as though its time to speak again about life here in UB. The reason I've neglected doing so is that for the most part things are pretty lame which drives me to the outdoors on weekends in order to escape the misery that is that damnable city. The weather is starting to turn and public schools are back in session. This means no more children's classes, a relief. My schedule for the last week has had me start at 5pm everyday which is more welcome relief. Now I can do what I do best, namely sleep in.

One benefit to cold weather is that the hot water has been turned on again. You see, the winters in UB are so harsh that every year pipes burst and there are maintenance problems throughout the city. Because of this the summer is spent fixing pipes which means district by district hot water gets shut off for a month. The water that you are left with isn't just cold, its fuckin' icy! Truck stop showers for a month are no fun for all parties involved.

This brilliant new government decided it would be desirable to repair the main traffic artery. When Mongolians repair roads they don't do it like we do in the states. None of this weak ass work on one lane at a time bullshit, hell no! We're Mongolians dammit! We're gonna shut the whole damn street down, and you can suck it! Fortunately for me this is my walk to work so for a whole month I had the luxury of lumbering down the middle of the road completely uninhibited. My favorite was walking home from work at night. Headlights in the distance backlighting silhouetted figures shambling through the darkness. I thought I was in some sort of George Romero movie. Never once got jumped. Perhaps I'm the scariest zombie of them all. That's a comforting thought.

Last Saturday I went with a group of friends to the rivers edge to enjoy some BBQ shish kebabs. What should have been a pleasant afternoon turned into a shitstorm of bickering and animosity. What's more the meat had been marinated in too much ginger giving it a soapy taste. Afterwards I went home and sulked. I made Sunday into a consolation day by taking a nice solo hike up on Bogd. Read about it in the next post sucka!

Lunacy

For some odd reason it's called Turtle Rock