Signing Off

Well folks, it's been grand.

Many of you have let me know how much you appreciated my web journal, and I just wanted to say "Thank You" for reading. I appreciated your appreciation.

My tone (and whole outlook) on my time in Asia will now shift to the more humorous side of things. Now that I'm home. Now that I'm safe. Now that Davaa has no more chances to get under my skin and tickle my sense of sanity.

I will not continue this blog at this time. The life of a college student just isn't worth reflecting on. All the repetition.

Yawning academia hiccups.

Tomorrow I leave on my "summer vacation" to Yosemite National Park for a week or so. Ah, fresh air burning in my lungs. Sweetened forms of camping. Coolers with ice. The Masses.

And a refrain echoing in my head:

No more mutton.

Home

After a clean day of 20 hours of travel (I scored first-class tickets from Beijing to San Francisco...soooo sweet) I'm back in Oregon. Well, I arrived on Wednesday, have been shooting the breeze in Astoria after having killed time in China. I'll come up with something important to say before closing this blog in a few days (I'm in the process of packing up my Honda and moving back to Ashland). Until then, enjoy the dog days of summer!

Killing Time

Yesterday I forgot to mention the sheer irony of a situation. I was sitting in the 3rd floor lounge of this youth hostel, waiting a half hour for them to book me into a room, staring off into space. In a side-room, a young man was teaching English to a bunch of Chinese students. He was talking about the idiom "killing time" and he explained it as: "when you can't do what you want to do, but you have to do something, you kill time. Most commonly, we fiddle with our cell phones." I thought, "This is brilliant. That's what I'm doing in Beijing. Killing time."

Last night I ventured across the street into a shopping mall (one of 5000 in Beijing) to sit down to a warm, Chinese fast food meal. Like your corner MacDonalds, Chinese fast-food reduces its menu to pictographs, the universal language. I ordered something with rice and tofu in it, along with a salad and juice, for about $2.50. (Ouch...I'm going to have to get used to "real" prices for food.) Remembering my scorching episode with my previous chinese food restaurant, I crossed my fingers that "fast and cheap" also meant "less chili powder." And for the most part, it did.

It's strange how when chopsticks become your only utensil, very quickly you get very good at using them. Especially when the Chinese are sneaking looks at you to see you fumble. I saved face last night.

So today I killed time by sleeping in until 8 AM. I didn't have a watch so I guessed it was closer to 11 AM. In either case I missed the "American" breakfast served in the youth hostel's restaurant. Instead I had some nice bean and meat puffs and steamed milk.

Then I decided to walk to the Pearl Market (a good 2 miles away) since if I got lost, I knew to say "hong chow" and the taxi would take me there. I only go places where I can say the name in Chinese. I'm a horrible traveler.

Well, so I found the market just fine. An American passed me on the way there and asked me for the time. I didn't have a watch, and made a guess ("Noon?"...when it was more likely 10 AM). This has been irritating me. Not that I give time much serious thought. It's preposterous that I will leave Beijing at Noon on Wednesday and arrive in San Francisco 4 hours before Noon on Wednesday. Time is irrelevant. But, I thought I would like a watch.

So the Pearl Market (which sells much more than just pearls) is a 5 story Super-Sunday-Market. Right away I was greeted by thousands of watches of all names and styles. I wanted a ritzy Swiss watch, but I couldn't get one for under $10 (which was my goal). They were selling for more like $50. So I bargained with a few people until I found a decent sport watch "NIKE" brand, that I bargained down to $11 (the starting price was a ridiculous $30). I still felt chumped by the deal, nonetheless. The good deal was the two Red China era posters I bought for a buck each. Ah, it feels good to be a consumer of Chinese kitsch.

Some American Dad, who wore brand new athletic shoes on his feet, remarked, "The sweatshops are raking in the dough," in response to how much loot his family had acquired. I couldn't tell if he meant this as a dark joke or he was seriously concerned. In any case, I'm sure more than 60% of the things he bought in the past year were made in China, even if he bought them in the United States. The big deal these days is eBay and Internet Shopping. How do you suppose you can get a digital camera memory card for $20 on the internet, when in the store they cost $50? Well, check and see where it's being shipped from (probably Malaysia) and see where it was made (probably China). Even "Made in Singapore" t-shirts were most likely assembled in China and merely sorted in Singapore. It's tough to get around this overseas trade bonanza. The best thing would be to make everything yourself. Or maybe there's a local technician who can jerry-rig you an Mp3 player for a thousand bucks.

Well OK. So the rest of my day was spent lounging around the Temple of Heaven park, which was indeed heavenly and peaceful. I think the hefty $2 entrance fee keeps most miscreants at bay. I "played" at the newly built "Olympic Playground," which basically amounts to a bunch of oddly shaped bars and contraptions in which to exercise on. Some grandpas and grannies were doing chin-ups an dips on the bars, then stretching their legs like chewing gum. Some kids ran around, mocking the machinery, wondering "Hey, where's a park for kids?" I left after meekly attempting some chin-ups but finding my arms and shoulders terribly sore (and just plain weak from apathy).

Well, my new watch tells me I have 10 minutes left of internet time, so I best wrap this up. Tomorrow I embark on a pilgrimage back to the Holy Gates. Wish me luck.

One last thing, don't tell anyone, but today I had a startling thought: Beijing really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Strange how your mood and experience dictates your feelings about a place...

Down and Out in China, part fifteen

Well here we go again.

The Good News: I've escaped Mongolia. A near-flawless and beautiful flight on Mongolian Airlines to Beijing, China.

The Bad News: United had to ground a flight yesterday, so there was mass chaos at the Check-In counter as people lined up for a good 100 meter stretch. I waited around in the sweaty airport for a half hour before deciding that this hassle just wasn't worth it. So I hopped the shuttle bus to downtown Beijing. Again, the bus stopped somewhere JUST out of sight of the huge Central Train Station, so I had to barter with a pedicab (actually this one had a motor) and I only talked him down to 25 yuan (about 3 bucks). The good thing was that I got a free hutong tour since he took the long way. But I eventually got to where I needed, and luckily beds were available at the hostel.

So I'm going to take a nap, try to finish what I'm thinking is my best short story yet, and probably visit the Pearl Market tomorrow (in search of a knock-off Swiss watch).

The send off from my host family was a bit sad. They've been wonderfully accomodating my entire time in Mongolia. Though Davaa DID try to pick up a couple of drunks looking for a ride on the way to the airport at 5 AM this morning. Fortunately the drunks were too drunk to stand up and get in the car, so they waved us on. But picking up drunks on the way to the airport is just the sort of thing Davaa would pull in my last few hours in Mongolia.

As a sidenote, I lot of the cynical tone you heard on this blog will probably change to more optimistic now that I'm outside of the country.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, Nicole Kidman is now endorsing some obscure watch in Ulaanbaatar. They replaced Cindy Crawford on the billboard...probably because she's old hat.

Oh, and Beijing reminded me, again, why I don't think I could ever live in a mega-city. UB is peanuts in comparison, though a bit shabbier and crumbling. Beijing is sparkling new. In fact, the smog isn't as bad in late August than it was back in late June. I hope they take this into consideration when planning the Olympics. Though the thick, oil-slick gray smogline was still visible as we descended into the airport.

Also, I was reminded why I hate airports.

The Cinema, SunBlock, and Driving Lessons

On Friday, I tried to see a Mongolian-made movie called "The Cave of the Yellow Dog." If you are media-savvy, you might've heard of a movie that was nominated for Best Foreign Film called "The Story of the Weeping Camel." Well, this is by the same director, and it was shot this year. So the premiere of the movie was at the local cineplex, unfortunately, when I got to the cineplex, apparently this is a "limited engagement" which means only one showing per day at 7 pm. The rest of the theaters are busy showing "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," "The Ring Two," and some Korean flick around the clock. But a movie made by Mongolian talent gets short-shrift because Mongolians won't pay $1.50 to see it when they can see an EXCELLENT movie named "The Ring Two." I hesitated before I bought a ticket for Mr. and Mrs. Smith, thinking it would be excellent being able to say I saw "Astoria" on film in Mongolia. However, the Ring Two is such that even sitting through it on a lazy Friday afternoon would be excruciating. Gimmick reasoning lost out to "something I haven't seen," which was a flick that actually held my attention, much to my surprise.

On Friday night my host parents finally took me to Terelj, the local National Park. I held out hopes that this would be an outing unaffiliated with the church (since church events inevitably means carloads of people, bible study, screaming babies, etc.), but I was wrong. The good news is that we stayed overnight. So in theory we "camped." The elders got to sleep in the yurt, I slept in a cheap Chinese tent. The other good news about church functions is that there aren't any shortages of good food. In this case, another khorhog was prepared for lunch. Can't beat a meal of tender mutton chewed off the bone, plus muttoned potatoes and carrots. I'm being serious, actually. It will be quite difficult in a few days, when I'm back in the USSR, and "meat" means a gardenburger or chicken, thawed and fried.

Terelj truly was worth the wait. The rocks formations that seemed to simply rise out of the rolling green hills were a welcome change of pace. I saw the famous "Turtle Rock", which looks like a Turtle from a certain angle (someone got a postcard with this image on it...). I saw an "Old Man Reading a Book" which, again, looked uncanny. Though I wouldn't call him an "old" man. Even teenagers hunch over when they are reading a book.

I especially enjoy Davaa's driving. He's one of those drivers that makes you think, as he stops in the middle of the road to sniff mushrooms for sale, the trucks and cars honking and swerving out of the way, "how did they let this guy pass his driver's test?" On the road out of Terelj, we saw a minivan turned upsidedown in the middle of the road. It was probably just trying to pass on a blind curve, something Davaa does at every chance. I don't think Mongolians know how aggressive they are behind the wheel.

Also of curiousity was the "traffic cop" who waved our car to the side of the road, simply to give Davaa a "warning" to wear his seat belt. The poor man didn't even know where his seatbelt was. Every time I get in the passengers seat (the only seat with a seatbelt), Davaa waves at me to stop putting on my seatbelt. I ignore him, of course. Wearing a seatbelt is like putting on sunscreen in Mongolia: it's simply not done, nor are any available.

The lack of sunscreen is probably less of a health threat than lack of seatbelts (or the pomposity to refuse to wear them), but dear god, how do you live someplace with zero humidity, no cloud cover, and NOT get skin cancer in the course of your life. I searched at the Sky Shopping Plaza (probably the best, well-stocked shopping center in all of Mongolia... the kind catering to foreigners, naturally) and still couldn't find a simple sunblock with SPF 15. Instead I got a bottle of "sun creme" (Made in Turkey), that had everything spelled in Turkish, so even the Mongolian shop attendant couldn't say if it was a sun "block" or "sunburn relief." She hadn't a clue when I asked her at first, "Where is the sunscreen section?"

So, first things first: when you go to Mongolia, bring sunscreen. Boatloads of it.

Something you need to know

Today I went to one of my student's summer homes about 30 km from UB. Naraa brought her niece and nephew. Their names were, literally, "Wednesday" and "Saturday". My host father's name is "Monday". Anyway, summer homes aren't what you'd imagine. Mostly they are brick and log shacks that have bars in the windows and big padlock on the door. Obviously Mongols don't want anyone except themselves entering their shacks and using them for shelter.

These shacks (ok, i'll be fair, some at least looked like nice two-story houses with a fresh coat of paint, the sort of family homestead you'd find in the Great Plains) -- these summer homes were scattered about in valleys. But when I say scattered, I really mean "cramped together in 50 foot by 50 foot square plots of fenced land."

My guidebook (which is 5 years out of date) tells me these summer homes were abandoned because nobody could afford them after the conversion to capitalism. Well, much has changed in 5 years. Most of the Mongolians I know have a "summer home" somewhere. And I didn't see hardly any shacks that looked abandoned. In fact, if you are employed at Mongolian National Radio and TV, you automatically get your own parcel of land out here, to do with as you please. Some build shacks, some sell their land, some let it sit.

I've been hearing from quite a few people who make the claim that poor Americans can "live like a king" in Mongolia (since Mongolians "supposedly" only make $100/year). I say, bullshit. Sure, things are cheaper, but that's because things are cheaply made, with cheap materials and cheap labor. If you'll put up with endless pollution, you can have very cheap electricity courtesy of the coal mines and coal power plants. Even scrupulous Kings would look elsewhere than the extreme environment of Mongolia to build their nest-egg. Somehow I still end up paying about $400/month to live in Mongolia, about the same as in the States.

Anway, my day was lovely. We hiked through a nice pine and birch forest. The Mongols chased after a chipmunk ("Look! A dog!" Bayunsun proclaimed). I saw about ten different varieties of mushrooms. As well as the largest anthill I've ever seen (about 5 feet high).

On the plus plus side, I engorged on as much fruit as I could eat. A few days ago I realized I hadn't eaten ANY fruits or vegetables or nuts in the past week. Such is the Mongolian diet. Yesterday I dined at a "vegetarian" restaurant and ate pickled vegetables and tofu. My regularity is coming back...ever so slowly.

Something you needed to know.

published...sort of

To read a recent letter I wrote to my hometown newspaper (in regards to Mongolia, drunk driving, patriotism, etc.) go to: www.dailyastorian.com and scroll down to the Opinion article entitled "Letter: A world view".

It's sort of an extension of this blog, only in response to my hometown newspaper.

Of Hikes and Khorhog

On Saturday the clouds broke over UB and it was a glorious, hot day. The norm has been thunderstorms and more thunderstorms. Even if it's sunny, you can still hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, preparing itself.

But on Saturday it was clear and safe. Safe for a hike, that is. So I hailed a taxi to the Zaisan Memorial. I nearly wavered at the cost, Two Bucks! The humanity! To go only four miles!

Anyway, cheapskatism aside, I clambered to the top of the memorial (a good 300 steps) and felt, just slightly, like I hadn't exercised in the past six months. Oh wait, I haven't... anyway, the Memorial was built by the Russians to commemorate those who have given their lives in war. It's an immense 360 degree mosaic that could only be classified as Futurist and VERY Soviet. It's a nice example of what a colonizing country will do for its colony: build monuments that have little to do with anything the colonized country has been through.

It was fun watching these three Americans enter into the monument, snap photos of the sights and then sit down to a lunch of Energy Bars. They wondered if they should "go scale that" in reference to a nearby hill. I don't talk to these people. I find an awkward satisfaction in showing off that I'm in Mongolia alone, with nobody else but my own wits to guide me. So I exited the monument in the back, bouldered down the hillside to a nearby valley and set off to go scale a real mountain. I was actually following a loose trail that was mentioned in Lonely Planet's Mongolia guidebook. On the way up, I passed a few resting Mongols sitting on their haunches. "Sain bain uu?" "Sain, sain bain uu." At the top of the ridge, I overtook a family of four Mongolians, who, after a few minutes of cross-cultural chit-chat, I found out were on a family outing to pick nuts and berries. They, however, veered off into a valley as I continued up and up along the ridge. The mom waved me "Bye Bye", which is fairly close to the Mongolian Bye Bye: "Bayartai". Up ahead, through the sweat pouring down from my cheap explorer hat, I could see two backpackers slowly making their way up. They looked like foreigners, but could've easily been a few gung-ho New Mongolians, the kind that were in shape and did things like take hikes just for the fun of it. But I stopped to eat some Dried Fruit (sent to me by the ever-wonderful Abby) and sip some water, and they vanished into the thin pine forest.

The views of UB were panoramic and startling. I hadn't a clue this city of 800,000 sprawled for so many miles. Apparently the sprawl travels in a fat line going from east to west. There is very little north-south sprawl, though that will probably change as more Yuppie Housing is built near the Tuul River and closer to the Bogd Khan Strictly Protected Area (where I was hiking). That's the one thing that is redeeming about UB right now: at least it's still a city of less than a million residents. That, of course, will change in due time.

Starting in September, they are demolishing the entire Children's Park (the one I mentioned earlier with the Carnie Rides and Ghosts of Amusements Park's Past) and rebuilding it from scratch. It will take four (4!) years and cost US$36 million dollars. But, you know, having a Theme Park near downtown is important to Mongols. Never mind what $36 million could be better spent on: Hey, you have the infrastructure for a light-rail system that would solve so much headache...or how about fixing the damn pot-holes everywhere! But, hey, a brand-new funland will certainly make the city more attractive, and the 36 million is coming from foreign aid money, so no sweat off our backs!

Yeah, so back to my story. The hike was what I've been craving for weeks now. I can see the ridge where I was hiking from my balcony window, and for many days I would stare at the mountain and just want to be up there, in them. And so I did. The pesky flies and no-see-ums and fleas were a nuisance, though. I could barely sit on a rocky outcropping for more than a minute before being swarmed. No use in sitting down to read or write, what with all the swatting going on. At least there weren't any mosquitos. Nor did I run across any poison oak (like I did in Manzir Khiid). Nor did I injure myself (though I did collapse on my bed for a few hours after returning, sick to my stomach with exhaustion and dehydration).

***

Currently I'm giving Final Exams to my students. I don't give grades, but I still don't go easy on them when I rank their fluency (from Beginner-Low to Intermediate-High). And when they still insist on speaking Mongolian during the Oral Exam, I have no choice but to dock them.

So this all means that my time here is winding down. In fact, I have exactly two weeks until I'm back in Beijing, trying to find a free seat back to the States.

the countdown begins (or...more accurately...continues...)

URGENT

This is an urgent letter to the members of Coldplay and Radiohead: YOU ARE NEEDED IN MONGOLIA.

Mongolia's teens love your music and idol you. Ulaanbaatar has not one, but TWO, Coldplay cover bands. This is how they satisfy their need for live music by their favorite bands. And some of it's pretty good. It's a far cry from the cover band playing weeknights in the Minden Casino, belting out overwrought Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. No, this is the real thing, sung with heartfelt yearning.

These children need you to play your music here, immediately if possible. They are equally disillusioned with the 21st century. They wear t-shirts that say "God Save the Queen" and are not ironic in the slightest. My host brother strums your quieter songs, the ones he can play on acoustic guitar, and slowly whispers your lyrics. So does every other kid in the 18-24 year old range.

Just last night I went to the InfoClub, UB's popular youth bar. Quite a few people were drinking Sprite, most were drinking the equivalent of your Pabst Blue Ribbon, a buck a pint, called Borgio. The scene was mellow. One of the Coldplay cover bands took the stage and belted out three Coldplay hits and two Radiohead songs. The crowd went crazy. Somewhere in the mix, a strange feeling of mimesis hit me. Mongolian life isn't life, it's imitation of life. Everywhere I look it's a cheap knockoff here, an imported car there. The TV channels merely rebroadcast what other countries are playing, with bad overdubbing. In a land with about 15 million sheep, they import their feta cheese from Albania.

Well the weeks are winding down. I have two more weeks here and then I pack up my bags and head for Beijing, that puke-town of my recent past. I hope I can stomach it again. I remember yearning for Ulaanbaatar when I was gasping for air in Beijing. Now I'll take the hustle and bustle of Chinatown if it means I'm almost home.

While reading "Steppenwolf," I came across an excellent quote that I identified with:

"Our homesickness is our only guide."

Tumen Ekh and the Long Song-Day

Yesterday I went by myself to see a performance of the national song and dance ensemble of Mongolia, "Tumen Ekh," meaning, literally: "The Very Best." So I took their word for it.

The show started out with a Buddhist Tsam dance. This involves elaborately dressed mascots pumping their fists in a "rah rah rah" fashion to a steady drum beat. No, seriously, these Buddhist dances form the basis for your basic mascot field prancing. I especially liked the huge mask that looked like a dead deer. That, and the one that looked like a smiling, cross-eyed Spongebog Squarepants.

Then they brought out the vocal stylings of a Khoomi long song singer. I will admit the backup band played a mean Morin Khuur (two-stringed cello) while this guy formed an O with his lips and uttered strange guttural peals with his vocal cords. More than a few in the audience could be heard snickering to themselves. It looked funny and sounded alien. How else to respond?

Next, a master Morin Khuurist belted out a frenetic Mozart piece (I think it was Ode to Joy) that was the highlight of the evening. She played the entire piece using only one of her two strings. Simply rocking.

A drum and bass shaman did a throbbing number onstage, looking revealingly like a dirty hippie in Lithia Park (in Ashland), fire-dancing or communal drumming.

Then the folk dancers bolted onstage and gave a rousing choreographed shuffle that brought back memories of my dancing with the Scandinavians folk dancers in high school. International folk dances have pretty much the same flavor all across the northern hemisphere, I suppose. The Mongolian version used double-joint moves, though, and for good reason because...

...next was the contortionists. All I will say is that despite what I was seeing, it was hard to suspend disbelief. I was waiting for the smoke and mirrors to clear out of my view. In either case, I couldn't help but wonder if any of these girls ever freaked themselves out when they first saw their butt in their face, their legs seemingly bending the wrong way, maybe experiencing some flatulence or belches at the wrong moment.....? Oh, it's something to be seen. The nearest place to see it in the states is at Cirque de Soleil in Las Vegas. So go. Now.

The show was over in about an hour. UB had a break in the clouds and late evening sunshine poured through. It was heavenly, if only for the walk home. I love Sunday in UB. Mongols are out of town. Cars are sparse and lazy. Children dominate the scene. I can actually feel like living a sane life in a sane city.

If only for a day...

SIDENOTE: when I went to Manzir Khiid, one of my students, Ayush, explained that before the Communist rape and pillagery, "over 400 monkeys used to live here." I corrected her ("monks") but it made my day. Later, in a souvenir shop, I bought a weird-looking monkey-doll made of sheep hair. I thought, "How can I beat three bucks for this?"

Monkeys, indeed.