Getting my year fixed

Javsung, my housekeeper is very worried about me and has been since I went to her home for Tsaggan Sar.  Why is she so worried?  Well, I was born in the year of the Rooster and Tsaggan Sar marks the beginning of the year of the Bull.  According to her this is bad bad bad and needs to be fixed.  Fixing my year (that is how she put it- although she isn’t very fluent in English so I could probably use my own phrase) involved going to one of the many Buddhist temples in Ulaanbaatar in order to have a lama give me advice.

About 70 to 80% of the people in Mongolia say that they are Buddhist.  Buddhism in Mongolia is basically Tibetan Buddhism of the Gelugpa school.  In the 1500’s a Mongol military invited the head of the “Yellow Sect” of Tibetan Buddhism to Mongolia. He gave the Tibetan leader the title of the Dali Lama which the head of Tibetan Buddhism  still hold.  My schools driver even now has a picture of the Dalai Lama glued to the wind shied of the school van.  In the twenties, about one third of the men in Mongolia were Buddhist monks although many of these lived outside the monasteries and did not observe their vows..  Not of them lives inside monasteries though.  Before communism there were about 750 monasteries throughout the country.  After Communism was established the government repressed the religious practices of Mongolians.  The leader of Mongolia at the time Khorloogin Choibaisan obeyed order from Stalin and destroyed most of the Monasteries and killed thousands of monks.    In the 1990’s after the fall of communism here there was a Buddhist revival and many of them were rebuilt and reestablished.

The big temple is at the edge of town but there are a bunch of smaller temples around it and one of these is where Javsung goes with her family and where she took me.  She likes the lama there.  A Lama is a title for a Tibetan teacher of theDharma. Lama can be used as an honorific title conferred on a monk, or may be part of a title such as Dali Lama.  It seems here that all the monks are called lamas but again Javsung’s English isn’t that fluent and my Mongolian is just embarrassing so I might have misunderstood.

I had never been to a Buddhist temple before so I found all the little things fascinating.  The buildings inside and out are painted with bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues.  I am used to a much more subdued place of worship and so the lights and colors were a bit jarring.  The Eight auspicious symbols of Buddhism were painted all around the temple.  In case you were wondering the symbols are I will tell you.  There is a Lotus flower which represents purity and enlightenment. An Endless knot, or, the Mandala that shows harmony. A Golden Fish pair is next and that represents married happiness and freedom.  Is it me or is that just an oxymoron?  There is also a Victory Banner which sort of speaks for itself and a Wheel of Dharma which represents knowledge.  Inexhaustible treasure and wealth is shown by the treasure vase which is again strange as much of the point of Buddhism seems to be avoiding attachment to worldly goods.. Then there is the Parasol and this represents the crown, and protection from the elements.  Which crown I am not sure of though… Last there is a Conch shell and inside the conch shell is where all the thoughts of Buddha are supposed to be.

Outside there were several prayer wheels. A prayer wheel is a cylindrical 'wheel'  in this case made from metals. Traditionally, the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum is written in Sanskrit externally on the wheel.   I wouldn't have recognized the Sanskrit or what was written but there were people’s names on the wheels.  They were put there by their families after the person dies so that others can pray for them.  According to the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, spinning the wheels will have much the same meritorious effect as saying the prayers out loud.  It was also sort of fun to walk around the whole building with Javsung spinning wheels.

The temple was crowded.  You had to wait in line but because the concept of line in Mongolia is a bit fluid the waiting was a bit less placid than I had expected.    The benches were tiny, only about two or three inches wide.  We sat there while Javsung told the lama about me (or at least that is what I think she did) and then the Lama gave me his advice for fixing the year. He told me that it is a good thing to be open to Buddhism and that I would never forget Mongolia.  He also told me not to forget my own roots and religion.  I am supposed to carry a white handkerchief with me at all times.  I should not swim in very cold water and avoid all Mongolian food.  That last piece of advice is something I plan to shamelessly exploit in the next year.  I am also not to make major purchases which I suppose will help me save money.  The whole think was interesting and felt almost as if I was having my fortune told.

After that we went to the incense man in the corner to buy incense and a bottle of oil that you are supposed to wash your face  in.  He was very interested in me and I am pretty sure that he would have talked my ear off if we could have found a common language.  He very nicely let me take his picture.  I then sat down with another monk who had the list of “books” that needed to be read for me to change my year and sat there while he chanted them for me and this other woman who was sitting next to me who Javsung came to some sort of agreement about.  I am still not sure what language the books were in.  Javsung didn't know but I suppose that it is either Tibetan or Sanskrit.  While he chanted he used a rope of beads to keep track of where he was in the prayer.  Very similar I suppose to a rosary.  These beads are called malas and there are are 108 beads in the string one mala counts as 100 mantras, and the 8 extra are meant to be dedicated to all people.  He Chanted for about half an hour which Javsung told me is fairly short.  She told me that is because the first lama that I saw thought that I was basically a good and harmless person so recommended a short book.  After the chanting a pile of incense was lighted and the monk smiled and basically indicated that I should go home and be good.

And that is why I can tell you with great authority that my year is now fixed.  The lama told me so and Javsung is much more at ease.

Seeing the Man of the Forest

Today I learned that orangutans are ticklish.

One of the major attractions of Borneo is the fact the fact that  you can see Orangutans.  I am sure that you can see them in the wild here in Malaysia but they are endangered and I at least wouldn’t know where to look.  That seemed like too much effort though so my group and I went to the a wildlife “interpretation center”.  The Nature Interpretation Centre was based at Shangri-La's Rasa Ria Resort, which was about an hour away from  the hotel that we were staying at. The nature reserve, encompassed 64 acres, was established in 1996 in collaboration with the Sabah Wildlife Department, aimed chiefly at nature conservation and orang-utan rehabilitation, with emphasis on investigation, study and education.   

            The total number of Bornean orangutans is estimated to be less than 14% of what it was in the recent past (from around 10,000 years ago until the middle of the twentieth century) and this sharp decline has occurred mostly over the past few decades due to human activities and development.

When the rescued Orang-Utans first arrive at the centre, they are often in a hurt or sick. First they are put into cages while they're treated for their ailments and nursed back to health. The rangers then teach them how to forage for fruit, climb trees and generally fend for themselves. When they are mid-way through the rehabilitation process they are released into the surrounding forest reserve. The animals then spend most of their time in the forest but often return to one of the centers five feeding platforms for a “free” meal. Eventually the hope is that the Orang-Utan will become fully rehabilitated, after this it is caught and returned to the wild - usually deep in the forest or to one of the National Parks or Wildlife Sanctuaries.

The feeding platform is where after being forced to watch about an hour of documentaries about orangutans and the rehabilitation process of the center.  That would be why you were just inundated with all of the facts that I remembered.  Hey, I remember, you suffer!  

Anyhow,, getting to the feeding platform wasn't as easy as you might think. It was about a fifteen minute walk on a steep dirt path through a small section of jungle. I was wearing flip flops and, I have to say, I wasn't all that pleased with my choice. Mostly because there were bugs and a whole lot of mud to slog through. We finally got to the feeding platforms which were basically like big wooden decks with no house attached. There were about thirty of us in the group and we crowded in to wait for the orangutans to come. We only had to wait a few moments. There were four babies that showed up. All of them were two and three years old. Orangutans take a very long time to grow up so these were still babies. We weren't allowed to talk at all or to touch them. They were (as I said) being rehabilitated to the wild. We were also told to watch out for them coming into the crowd as they like to steal cameras and sunglasses and once that happens you never see those items again. Oragnutans live in the trees. I knew this before I saw them but it is different to know this in theory and quite another to see a baby orangutans climb from the floor of the forest into a tree a hundred feet above your head then reach out casually and swing himself into the next tree. One orangutan climbed a thin young tree and used it as a swing for about ten minutes forcing it to sway back and forth. They, like little children, are very active and seemed to want to play. 

I was very surprised at how attached they seemed to be to the ranger who was feeding them and who, I assume, helps to take care of them. They wanted him to hold them and play with them. They stole his hat and let him tickle them. Why do I find the fact that orangutans are ticklish so astonishing? Perhaps it has to do with a residual part of my thought process which always expects animals to have completely different thoughts, emotions and behavior than humans. 

There was something oddly powerful in the whole experience. We stayed for an about an hour until the orangutans got bored and moved back into the jungle and my camera’s batteries died. I would have been more annoyed with that but I think perhaps that was the best thing that could have happened because it really made me focus on the experience and not just the documentation of the experience. As much as I like to pretend otherwise they are not the same thing. As I watched it occurred to me that I was truly part of something special. These are very endangered animals and seeing them in at least a semi wild setting made me sad that in the future the only place to find these animals might be in zoos and hopeful that perhaps we can change paths and make enough of a difference to ensure that for at least the foreseeable future there will always be a “man of the forest” in Borneo…

Kota Kinabalu

So there have been commercials’ on Star world (my English channel) for Malaysia all year.  It is a good thing that I was going here because those commercials’ would have driven me crazy otherwise.  The tourism company promoting Malaysia really did its job well!

None of this of course tells you anything about Kota Kinabalu.   Borneo.  Just saying the name makes me happy.  I have all of these images in my head of what Borneo should be like: thick jungle teeming with wildlife; orang-utans swinging through forest canopy; mountains, warm weather and enough flowers to overwhelm.  A bit idealistic yes  and yet somehow it is living up to my internal hype.  Kota Kinabalu is the state capital of the Malaysian state Sabah, one of the two states of East Malaysia. The location of the city is absolutely amazing.  We got in at midnight and because we are here for a conference the hotel sent people to come and pick us up at the airport.  They had those little signs with our names on them.  I have never been met like that before and I have to admit that it made me feel very important which immediately went to my head.  Thankfully for all of you my ego was deflated when I was banished to the back of the van with the luggage. 

 The next morning I watched the sun rise over a waterfall flowing out of a rock and into a pool.  In front of the swimming pool were tall green palm trees and red umbrellas where and old man in blue swim trunks was sleeping.  And the flowers!  It was my first glimpse of a plant since sometime in August and I couldn’t believe how fascinating I found them.  Fifty feel from the pool was the calm sea that became more and more blue as the sun rose.   Eventually the color was so intense that it felt almost unreal.  As if a child with a box of crayons had decided the colors around me.  There were cruise ships and speed boats as well a couple on a jet ski trying to (and eventually succeeding) getting a huge inflatable kite to fly behind them.  The airs feels wet when you breathe it in and smells of flowers and all manner of green things.  I can almost feel the plants growing  as I am watching them.  While eating breakfast (18 kinds of fresh fruit!) tiny brown birds hopped from table to table picking at the crumbs.  They were pretty brazen too and I think that if I had stayed still enough and they would have tried to steal the food right off of my plate!

Needless to say this place needs no embellishment.  It is beautiful and because Malaysia was a British colony for so long it seemed as if almost everyone we met spoke English.  That is a big plus for someone who still has to have the girls at the food shop punch out my total on a calculator before I can pay them!  If you really want to hate me check out the commercial for the resort that I am staying at here.   http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2143093365874081982

There are cultural performances in the lobby every night.  Sort of hokey and touristy but entertaining none the less.  There is something about watching people with rhythm and talent dance that just reinforces all my personal goals having to do with never dancing in public.  Then there is the fact that is 90% and these guys are putting effort into dancing while I am having a drink.  Why is watching other people exercise so satisfying.

By the way I thought I would stop and explain quickly to everyone exactly how I find myself to be in Malaysia.  My school is part of the East Asian Council of Overseas Schools (EARCOS for short).  Basically a huge organization that fosters collaboration and professional development for tons of the schools in Asia.  They give several huge conferences around Asia throughout  the year.  What does this have to do with me?  Not knowing what a big deal this was I made a proposal and auditioned a presentation to the administrators in my school.  I thought that it would be good practice for me.  They decided to let me recommend to EARCOS that I be a presenter at this conference.    EARCOS agreed and so here I am in Malaysia surrounded by beauty but with a rather sinking feeling in my stomach that I have bitten off way more that I can chew.  People here know things, have lived abroad for twenty years and taught for thirty.  Yes, I am feeling intimidated!

I probably should try not to worry about that too much…  Perhaps I should change the subject to distract myself… 

The best thing about attending these conferences is the fact that you get to meet so many interesting people from all over teaching at schools all over Asia.  It is amazing how close such a community is an how everyone knows everyone else even though we work in many many different countries.  And yet with all that there are still reminders of where you have been.  One of the sponsors of this conference was Buff State.  Yes, that Buff State.  I find it fascinating that today I was in Malaysia talking to a man from Amherst and discussing the fact that he and I went to rival high schools.  The schoolteacher in my wants to find some sort of lesson in that but the realist in me just chalks it up to the fact that I have a very odd life.

Cut that hair!

  I was invited to a hair cutting ceremony today.  You may ask how did that come about?  I honestly couldn’t tell you.    There was an invitation that was sent to Trudi ,  that included me ,  from a woman who might work in our building with Trudi ' s housekeeper.  I think I was referred to as the  " little one " .   It was one of those things that you just can ' t miss.

The ceremony was held in a ger that is right behind my building.  I hadn’t actually been in a ger that people live in all the time before and so found everything about it really interesting.  They had electricity but no running water.  I saw one of the aunts doing dishes on top of the coal stove and vowed never again to complain about having to do dishes.

Eshliin

Let me explain the haircutting ceremony.  Or try to.  As usual I don’t entirely understand what I am talking about. The ceremony symbolizes the end of "babyhood"  and the transition to "childhood".    It usually happens when the child is  between the ages of 2 and 6.   This is the child ' s first haircut.  I think that Eshliin was 2 or 3.  The transition from babyhood was and is so important in Mongolian traditional culture because babyhood, especially for children in the countryside who live far from modern medical facilities, is a risky time. Many herding families have little to no access to medical facilities. The hair-cutting ceremony is a ritual held, in part, for that purpose. Traditionally, a lama would tell the parents which year is best for their child, and many families still consult lamas for this purpose.  The family that I was with did this.  Ljibileg (the child aunt) told me that there are only a few days a year when it is best to make big changes such as the haircutting ceremony or getting married and this happened to be one of them.

Cutting the hair of the involves all the guests. Eshliin (who was seriously cute) was moved from guest to guest carrying a scissors and small bag. Well, It was really a long blue piece of cloth  tied  to the scissors and made into a crude pouch.  Each guest took Eshliin into his or her lap and cut a small lock of hair with the scissors, stuffing the hair in the bag. I thought that she would be scared of me because she didn’t know me and I look so different but she was totally calm during the whole thing .  In fact ,  she was extraordinarily well behaved about all the fuss. After you cut Eshliin hair you give her the gift you brought.  Fortunately, for me I was told about this beforehand so I had cookies to bring her.  She wasnt all that impressed with them. Trudi brought her a book that she had from Canada that went over much better.  In fact I don’t think that she let go of it for a second after Trudi gave it to her.

Arosh and Boov: Dried sour milk curd and traditional molded bread

"Haircutting" is a major event for a household, and as with all gatherings Mongolian involved a massive overabundance of food.   All the same things as Tsagaan Sar including the requisite arosh (dried milk curd), potato salad, carrot salad, botz, fruits, and suutai tai (milk tea) as well as the whole boiled sheep.  In addition this time I was offered and tried Airag which is fermented mares milk.  I was warned about this making almost everyone vilely ill so I only had a few sips.  A few sips was too much  I cant say that this is going to be something that I will be having all the time.  Because it was Mongolia there were again the mandatory vodka shots coupled this time with mandatory whiskey and another drink with floating plums and berry like things floating in it that tasted like mulled cider.  That was my favorite it was served warm and Eshliins father had made it himself and was very pleased that I liked it so much.

Mutton: the tail is the best part.

We were the only non Mongolians there so we were a curiosity.  Everyone was very welcoming and the parents seemed really happy that we came.  It is an interesting experience to be with a group of people who find you that fascinating.  Somehow, I became the unofficial official photographer.  I took pictures of Eshliin with her parents, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles and other people that I am not sure what their  relationship   to her was.  I was taught how to take things from others in Mongolia (holding out right hand and holding right elbow with left hand) and how to greet people during Tsagaar Sar.  This was from a very old man (his niece translated) who was very disappointed that young Mongolians don’t always know how to do it in this in the right way.

He is telling me how to greet people during Tsagaan Sar

Eshliins father thanked us for coming at least three times and toasted us just as many times.  This was one of the most interesting experiences that I have had yet in Mongolia.  You read about the hospitality here all the time but I really hadnt been exposed to it before.  Having people you dont know open their home  to you and allowing you to take part in a very important ceremony in their child’s life is an oddly humbling experience.  There are times in Mongolia when I feel completely disconnected with the country and the people , as if I am living here but not really living here at the same time.  Today I got to be a part of the real Mongolia which just serves to remind me that there is more to the country  than my ride to work

Tsagaan Sar!

Hey! It Tsagaan Sar and I am so excited! And not just because I get a five day weekend! My housekeeper invited me to her house for Tsagaan Sar. I am pretty sure that it is the equivalent of me inviting this newly immigrated Vietnamese family to Thanksgiving when I was in high school. 

Cooks and heats the house all in one neat package.  Be careful not to actually touch it.

Tsagaan Sar, meaning white moon or white month, is the Mongolian lunar New Year festival. There is a ton of debate about when to actually celebrate it. Some people celebrate it at the same time as Chinese New Year, but apparently it is culturally more related to the Tibetan New Year or Losar than to the Chinese New Year. Mongolians like to deny any Chinese origin or influence of their new year so it is often at a different time. My friend Trudi pointed out that the timing of Tsagaan Sar and Losar sort of indicate cultures that want to stick it to China. There might just be some truth in that theory. Traditionally it is celebrated two months after the first new moon following the winter solstice. In the 1960s, the communist government tried to transform it into Cattle Breeders' Day and official celebration was stopped. On the day of Tsagaan Sar the government made huge efforts to make sure that everyone showed up to work. Nevertheless, like with other traditions and religious activities that the communist government tried to suppress, some families celebrated in secret, especially in countryside. Really, when there is no one else within a hundred miles, what would stop you from doing what you wanted? It became a traditional holiday again in the late eighties . It is still celebrated very much the same way that is always has been with the main emphasis being on renewing ties with family. It is is one the main two big public annual events, next to the Nadaam. 

Khushuur

“Amend uu” or “Amar bain uu” are the greeting that I was taught but was too shy to really use effectively. I keep forgetting who to say which greeting to and I am always paranoid that I am saying it wrong. There is also lots of etiquette around Tsagaan Sar such as giving a gift of blue cloth or some money but this money must be given to the oldest person that you are visiting. When you greet the person you’re visiting you (if you’re younger) you have to lay your arms out before you and allow the older person to lay their arms above them. If you are older you do it the opposite way. If the person is very old they will give you a kiss. If you are the same age as the other person you have one hand on top and one on bottom. It is all very confusing but they are very forgiving of the idiot American girl. I also learned "Listen to him" which is what you say after a toast. Unfortunately it sounded so much like gorilla bollocks that I immediately forgot the real words and thus will never be able to respond correctly to a toast! 

Bituuleg: What is better than cold mutton?

Mongolians also visit friends and family on this day and exchange gifts. A typical Mongolian family will meet in the home dwelling of the eldest in the family. When greeting their elders during the White Moon festival, Mongolians grasp them by their elbows to show support for them. The eldest receives greetings from each member of the family except for his spouse. During the greeting ceremony, family members hold long pieces of colored cloth called khadag. After the ceremony, the family eats botz and drinks arkhi, and exchanges gifts. 

The day before Tsagaan Sar is called Bituun. On this day, families gather together--immediate family usually, in contrast to the large feast gatherings of White Moon day--and see out the old year. Mongolians are supposed to settle all issues and repay all debts from the old year by this day. I wonder if this is something that still goes on. The Mongolian economy is sort of scary right now and I can't imagine that everyone was able to get out of debt. You are also supped to eat yourself sick at this meal because if you are hungry after Bituun you will be hungry for the whole coming year. 

The Lama's book

Speaking of years is everyone aware that this is the year of the ox? I wasn't. This is bad news for me as I was born in the year of the Rooster. Apparently this year is going to suck for me unless I go to a lama and get it fixed. My housekeeper who figured all this out is very concerned and made an appointment to take me to the lama to fix my year. 

Tsagaan Sar is much like Thanksgiving in that half the point is seeing your family and the other half is eating yourself sick. There is a ton of visiting for Mongolians around Tsagaan Sar. That is unless of course you’re a 90 years old and there isn’t anyone older than you. Mongolians are supposed to visit all of their friends and family that are older than they are. They visit you if they are younger. Odd number and the color white are very important at this time of year. Why? I couldn’t tell you. No one has explained this to me in a way that I understand. 

Javsung (my housekeeper) lives in the ger district. She doesn’t live in a ger but she doesn't have running water and the bathroom is an outhouse. Both interesting and intimidating. Her husband had gone to dogsled out in the country but her children, sister and brother-in-law were there. None of them aside from Javsung spoke English and Jennifer and I don't speak Mongolian well at all so conversation was limited to mime and smiling and nodding like an idiot. She started feeding us the minute we stepped in the door. We walked in to see her sister hand making the khuushuur. Javsung handed Jennifer and I Su tay tse which is Mongolian traditional tea. It is basically hot, salty milk. Calling it tea really is a misnomer. Tea implies dangerously steeped. When I say tea I mean that the milk and salt are allowed to look at the teabag in terror and then brought out to you. I drank this (it quickly grew on me) while I watched the fascinating process of hand making all of the food. This didn’t last long as we were escorted into the main room to see the table laden with all sorts of interesting Mongolian delicacies. 

There was a whole skinned, boiled sheep but minus its head and legs. It is called bituuleg. I have to say that I am pretty relived about the lack of head. There is just something wrong with your food looking back at you. I was told a couple of times how this was prepared but all I really retained was the seven or so hours of boiling. It is served cold. The tail (being the fattiest part), is the best part of the whole animal. There’s a knife on the carcass and Javsung

would carve a hunk of meat for me whenever she caught me not eating something. 

Arosh, which is dried, sour milk curd that can either come as solid as rock or slightly soft like fudge. Sour and sort of solidified sour cream only MUCH more so. Hard to explain and not really something that I learned to love. There are some things that you just have to have grown up with to really appreciate. There was also another dish that is presented called Ul Boov which is the traditional long molded flat biscuit. .I managed to avoid (mostly because Javsung didn't make a point of offering it). The biscuits and the arosh are stacked up in a sour milk curd sort of tower thing which is always stacked in an odd number of rows symbolizing good fortune and abundance. 

Next came the khuushuur, a fried mutton or beef dumpling. I have not liked them before but Javsung makes hers with green and red peppers as well as paprika and they were wonderful. I think I ate something like 9 or 10. Thank goodness that they are small. I think that it just goes to show that you have to have traditional food made by someone that you know in order for it to taste right. Think Home cooked taste that is often advertised in restaurants. Just not the same. I vow here and now never to make judgments about a cultures cuisine until I have been to someone's grandmother's house and had the real stuff. 

The camera is scary

I heard (but didn’t see that I am aware of) that some Mongolians hold the fresh khuushuur between their palms and also with the tips of all fingers so the blood will circulate better in the hands. This is believed to be healthful according to Javsung. 

Botts is minced mutton mixed with a bit of onion and occasionally some cabbage inside a moist kind of pastry dumpling. They sort of look like pot stickers. Basically hoshuur that has been steamed. Actually, scratch the basically. They are the hoshuur that has been steamed. Not bad. When you bite into them lots of mutton juice leaks out of them. I've been told that the more of this liquid that there is the better it is. I might have eaten more but I was slowing down at this point. Niestler salat was another offering on the table. As far as I can tell this was just potato salad mixed with mayo and some other vegetables. There was a also a vegetable platter that Jennifer informs me is new as last year two of the teachers that Javsung invited happened to be vegetarians Oh, let’s not forget Vodka. Shot after shot after shot for as long as you can stand. So for me: one. 

As if that wasn't enough after all this Javsung brought out cake and ice cream. She bought the cake so I don’t feel bad about ????? maintain that dessert in Asia is universally disappointing. It looks beautiful and right but never tastes right. Think about the desserts at Chinese restaurants in North America. It wasn’t optional though and Javsung gave me about three helpings of Ice Cream because "Ice cream with cake is nice I think." 

Did I mention that half the point is to eat yourself sick? 

Javsungs children (especially her son) were sort of scared of us and hid in the bedroom most of the time. I can't decide what exactly they were scared of. We weren't that loud and overbearing. Or were we? Javsung was talking with her sister for quite awhile leaving us with Mongolian television to entertain us. Not understanding what was happening we started making up our own dialogue. The Mongolian equivalent of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I maintain that our version was much better that the original. Javsung had us try on her del and take pictures. Why are things that that so much more of a process that you think that it will be? She also showed us her family photos. She grew up in the countryside and was raised by her grandmother. Her grandmother has also given her a lama book for her children. It was very old, wrapped in silk and written in Sanskrit. I made a faux pas yet again with the book. When given something of a spiritual nature you should take it with both hands and then bring it up to your forehead. I, of course, didn't do this so Javsung had to take it away from me and have me start over again this time doing it the right way so that the spiritual energy of the book would not be damaged. Seeing as how this was from her grandmother (who is no longer alive) and also an antique I was pretty horrified that I almost managed to ruin it. 

I was saved by Oprah coming on television. Yes, Oprah. Badly pirated and dubbed into Mongolian but there she was in all her glory giving clothing advice to all the world. The world is indeed a very small place

My Own Personal Financial Crisis!

I have no money. Well, I have money, I just can ' t get any of the money that I have. This has been the week of banking difficulties. It didnt start out that way. I just got paid (into a Mongolian account) and I needed to transfer money to my U S account. Why? Because I NEEDED to! Anyhow, the whole internet banking thing has worked great for me since I got here (after of course the initial learning curve wherein I discovered you had to bank online during business hours). This time however, smooth has nothing to do with it. I start getting messages that my password is incorrect. Now my password is a six digit number supplied by a little electronic gizmo that changes every fifteen seconds. The first couple of times I think nothing of it. It is easy to type numbers wrong. After the fortieth time or so I start to twig to the fact that the problem might not be me 

I emailed the bank contact that I was given at the beginning of the year and get a message saying that the email address I used was undeliverable. I started to suspect that this problem might be more of a problem to fix tha n I anticipated. I decided to bring my vasco to Tugsuu, the accountant at my school and the person who has to deal with the bank. This was a good idea as it started to rapidly decline. First, only the top half of the numbers would appear in the screen, then only a quarter and pretty soon there were no numbers at all. Several phone calls to the bank later (not by me thank goodness!) I was informed that the bank has no idea what I am talking about and that I need to get my but t down to the bank pronto. Ominous music starts playing in the background and I start to feel like the girl in horror movies who decided to go into the basement. I can almost hear the audience shout at me, Noooo, dont do it! It’s a trap! Not having a choice I ignored them. What does the audience know anyway? 

It turns out, plenty It is pretty apparent from the moment that I get to the bank that they have no idea what to do with me. My first clue? Being directed to six different people in nine different offices. I told myself to be patient even as I was internally panicking as every minute brought us closer to the bank closing for the weekend. I finally got handed off to a woman who had at least known of my situation. She had me handwrite a formal request to the bank asking for another vasco. On blank computer paper. I can ' t help feeling that there should have been a form. Banks love forms! Still, this is Mongolia and anyway she promised that she would call me on Monday to tell me what is going on. I am not sure if that means they are going to review my request, give another vasco, or if she is just going to let me know how she is I handed my vasco over and out it in the hands of fate. 

Of course I still had to transfer money to my account in the US. The bank downstairs was closed but the women had me fill out the paperwork anyway and promised that they would do the transitions themselves. This was also more complicated than anticipated. It took three tries before the right forms were signed and then there was an endless search for my account information. I could have avoided this if I had brought it with me but I had gone to work that morning not knowing that I was on the verge of a banking fiasco. Finally, finished! 

750 tugrik

But no, my banking woes of this weekend were not over. On Sunday I decided to go to the ATM to get cash out for the month. I started out at Sky Shopping center. ATM- Out of order. Darn. I walk around the corner to the Chingis Khan Hotel. One ATM is out of or oder and after trying the second ATM I discover that it is out of cash. Argh! I flag down a taxi to take my to the bank. It is closed but there are two ATMs attached to it. Neither of them have money in them. I am starting to wonder if I am being punk’d and trying to stave off the panic attack as I head for the last place in the city that I know has an ATM, the State Department Store. No money. I start to hyperventilate (which just made me light headed and didn’t solve the problem) and used the last 2,000 tugrik I have to get back to my apartment in defeat. 

You would think that would be the end of my amazing banking adventures, but wait there’s more! (I feel like an infomercial “ With the purchase of our complete banking woes package you also get this free set of knives!). I went to school and got permission to leave right after school and miss the staff meeting. Bless Jan! At the children’s recess times I decided to go online and check my account to see if the transfer I made had come through yet. It hadn’t but there was a charge there for 284.70 from an ATM in the Chingis Khan Hotel. Yep, you guessed it. The machine charged my account without actually giving me the money! I believe thatit is safe to say that my reaction was split pretty evenly between rage and self-pity. But seeing as how neither emotion helps me to speak Mongolian I had to go to the schools accountant for help. On the day that the schools budget was due… I am pretty sure that she wanted to kill me. Leaving that in faith’s hands (well, that an an email to my bank in the states) I took a taxi to the bank, again! This time I got a new vasco, cash, and a very nice ride home with a man and his girlfriend who were eating arag (dried mild product) the whole way and who didn’t overcharge me. Thus restoring my faith in truth justice and the Mongolian way! 

Of course it also helped that I had cupcakes for dinner…

The Winter of Tara's Discontent

I just want to start this by assuring you that this is not a whiny blog. At least it shouldn’t be. Sometimes these things get away from me. That’s the risk you take with stream of consciousness writing, I guess. 

It is cold here. Really, really cold. I checked the temp a few days ago in the morning and it was -42F. All I can say is, thank goodness I am not walking because I didn’t pack my boots. I tried to. Of course I tried to pack most of the state of New York if I am honest with you. I don’t know what it is about the winter break that causes me to completely lose my mind when it comes to packing. Let’s do the math here. Two suitcases, at 400 pounds apiece both going to Mongolia should cost in the area of my first three unborn children. Of course when this was gently pointed out to me I panicked (eight hours until we leave for the airport…) and started wailing that of course nothing that I packed was expendable. Two calls to the airlines and one very rude customer representative later I have the exact details of expensive not repacking would be and grudgingly repack. Has anyone else noticed that getting the exact information about luggage allowance from the airlines almost impossible. Well, not getting the information so much as having it be right. This was the second time that I have called the airline ahead to insure that I didn’t over pack only to get to the airport to find out that that information was wrong. Fortunately for me both times the ticket agent saw the crazy coming out of my eyes and didn’t charge me. I am starting to think that the whole thing is some sort of conspiracy… Still, I got (some/most) of the crap that I bought back to Mongolia. 

The first couple of weeks back in Ulaanbaatar have been dominated by three things. First: I have a cold. So does everyone else and I am thinking that the combination of air travel (ew, recycled air!) and the pollution are just taking their toll. I am learning all sorts of tactful ways to point out to a seven year old that they have a slight green slime problem. Second: My power keeps going out. The bright side of this is that my heat is not affected by the lack of power and so I am not a human popsicle. The downside is that it keeps happening at about 7 at night when there is no light to speak of and yet it is still too early to go to bed. I keep telling myself that this is all part of living in a developing nation. Sometimes it works and sometimes I spend the whole time without power muttering to myself. Note to self: When in US invest in better flashlight (I am using a borrowed one at the moment!) And Third: As previously discussed it is cold beyond all reason at the moment. It is a dry cold which like dry heat is not as miserable as damp cold would be. The boots that I tried to pack but which were triaged as unnecessary would be really nice right about now…. 

It was pointed out to me that there are playing cards lying on the ground everywhere in the city. I didn’t think much of it but now whenever I am outside I see them everywhere. I have come to the realization that it is not possible to walk more than 50 feet in Mongolia without seeing a playing card. Which leads me to wonder: Where do they all come from? Are there midnight gambling clubs that meet in the middle of all the streets? Was a train carrying packs of cards derailed scattering the contents to the wind? No doubt the real story is more mundane but I can’t help thinking that there should be some sort of back-story to something that idiosyncratic to Ulaanbaatar. 

My school is thinking of moving the teachers to different (read better) apartments. It was all that I could do not to break into a happy dance when I heard this. The apartment that I am in is… problematic. I could go into details but really, who cares? The director of my school took me to see one of the apartments that the school is considering. This may have been a mistake. It was a beautiful brand new Japanese style apartment and I want it now! I think that I would have moved my crap last night if someone would have let me. The apartments aren’t even finished yet! Of course when I came back to the apartment that I actually live in I felt the need to pout. “Not good enough.” The rest of the year is going to last a really long time if I don’t get over it. On that note I am changing the subject as I am pouting as I am typing this and that is just not acceptable. 

I am having trouble figuring out the going rate of taxi’s. I am pretty sure that the rates went up recently. Inflation here is something like 34% so they almost have to. I had to take a taxi home from the school three times last week and was charged a different amount each time. The basic rates should be about the same so I am wondering if some of the taxi drivers are just trying to cheat me. I think that the solution to this is to ask about the rate per km. before I get into the can and to write down the mileage (is it mileage if it is in km?) and do the math myself. This of course would take both effort and the willingness to argue with cabbies every once in awhile. Being the non-confrontational sort that I am I wonder if I have the guts… 

So, that is all from Tara who is writing from her apartment, which she all of a sudden finds substandard.