When in Rome...

To get to the studio where I am taking dance lessons I pass through a tunnel that crosses under Ulaanbaatar's central road. The other day as I made my way back from class I was walking close behind an older man dapperly dressed in a gray tweed suit with a cap and spectacles. Distracted by the colorful array of umbrellas set out front of one of the shops in the tunnel, I accidentally trod on the back of his foot. He began looking around in confusion, not only to see who had stepped on his shoe, but more importantly because the custom in Mongolia if you step on someone's foot is to shake their hand. This demonstrates that you had not done it intentionally. Apparently young Mongolians sometimes take advantage of this custom as a way of meeting people at bars: "accidentally" step on someone's foot then offer your hand to him/her to apologize, and introduce yourself at the same time.

Earlier this summer when I first arrived in Mongolia I stepped backwards to allow people off a bus I was waiting to board and accidentally crunched down on a lady's toes behind me. Although I had just that day learned what was proper to do in such a situation, unfortunately I was so flustered by the commotion of boarding the bus that I did not offer my hand until it was too late. This time, though, I was ready! It took me about ten seconds to get my arms into a position where the man could see my hand (during which time he continued looking from side to side confusedly). When he finally saw my proffered hand, though, he clasped it strongly for a brief moment and then we continued on our way with no additional interaction.

That simple gesture of offering my hand resolved the situation neatly, but imagine if I had not known what was proper to do? I keep picturing the man turning his head back and forth and wonder how long he would have searched for a hand, and how unsettled he might have been had I not known to extend him mine. It made me realize once again just how important it is to know the culture and customs of the place you are visiting. The English phrase, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do," nicely sums up this idea. Mongolian also contains a similar saying: "Усыг нь уувал, ёсыг нь даг," which translates to, "If you drink the water, follow the customs." Having drunk a lot of Mongolian water this summer, then, I am glad to follow Mongolian customs.

Cultural Naadam

Sorry to have fallen off the map (ha!) the past couple of weeks. This past week was Naadam, one of Mongolia's two major annual holidays. Therefore I had the week off from work, as did most of Mongolia. Although you might think this would give me plenty of time to update the blog, in fact it turned out that I lost the internet for the entire week. It went out Monday morning and since nobody was working, did not come on again until yesterday.

Naadam (which translates literally as "game, festival, celebration") consists of three days of wrestling, archery, horse racing (Mongolia's three national sports). This year, as well, the government organized two weeks of cultural events preceding the actual Naadam festival which takes place July 11-13. One of these events was actually a four-day extravaganza called the Grand Celebration of Mongolian Folkarts in which performers from each of Mongolia's provinces (as well as the districts of Ulaanbaatar) were selected to come to Ulaanbaatar to give performances representing their region. It began with a giant opening ceremony on the city's Soviet-style central square and concluded with performances in the Wrestling Palace. On the days between these two ceremonies the performers gave two shows per day. The provinces were grouped into seven or eight clusters, and these clusters held their performances at various cultural venues throughout the city. 

Although I only attended one cluster's performance the differences between the dances, songs, and costumes of each of the provinces caused me to realize something that I have known for a while but had never stopped much to think about. Although Mongolia's cultural and ethnic segments have many unifying factors they also represent an enormous amount of variety. It will be interesting to see how Mongolia (and Mongolians) deal with these two truths in coming years, and gets at one of the larger questions of globalization: how do we maintain our sense of cultural identity while at the same time connecting in to the ever-more globally standardized norms?

Tourism, Mongol Style

This past weekend I had the opportunity to experience two different kinds of tourism in Mongolia. This first was a visit to the gigantic statue of Chinggis Khaan, which handles busloads of tourists at a time. The second type of tourist experience -- a set of camps aiming to represent 13th century Mongolia -- caters to a smaller, more select audience. Both play off of Mongolia's rich history, especially the era of Chinggis Khaan, but do so in different ways.

A tour company built the enormous statue of Chinggis a few years ago. Located only about an hour's drive from Ulaanbaatar, the developers originally envisioned the site including tourist ger camps, a golf course, spa, and hotel radiating out from the central focus of the 131 foot tall statue. The global recession interfered with these plans (I think) and development beyond the statue was put on hold.

A museum displaying artifacts from ancient Mongolia (belt buckles, metal arrowheads, jewelry, etc.) is housed in the statue's base and is included in the entrance fee (roughly $5 for Mongolians and $10 for foreigners). The statue's atrium holds a giant Mongolian boot and oversized replica of Chinggis Khaan's riding whip. Visitors can rent period costumes to pose in front of the boot and/or whip, which is fun both for them and other visitors.

My favorite part of the statue by far, though, was climbing the narrow, winding staircase to the top of the horse's head. Although a bit crowded, the views of the surrounding countryside from the overlook are beautiful. It was also fun to get a closer look at Chinggis's features.

After spending about an hour at Chinggis Khaan we packed up again into our vehicle and headed further out into the countryside to visit the "Thirteenth Century" camp. At Erdene soum center we turned off the paved road, driving up into some beautiful country of green hills dotted with boulders and ridgetop outcrops. After a while our road crossed through an opening in an odd-looking high wooden and stone wall, leading us to a small camp of odd-looking gers. We had arrived at the "Thirteenth Century"!

The camp is sort of like a Mongolian Colonial Williamsburg, in that the buildings are reconstructed versions of the past and staff members dress in period costume. Instead of being clustered together in a town, however, the six sites of the "Thirteenth Century" camp are spread out along a half-hour driving circuit. As with the statue there are different prices for Mongolians and foreigners, but it is significantly more expensive (~$70 for foreigners, including a meal). Not knowing the price beforehand (and, as our language teacher and host kept telling the workers, being students not tourists) we decided to forego seeing the inside of the camps.

Since we were there we decided we might as well still drive around to each of the camps to see how they looked from the outside and enjoy the scenic countryside. This was actually quite fun! We saw lots of beautiful views, pretty flowers and interesting bugs. At the last camp we visited on the circuit (the "Craftsmen Camp") the attendant let us climb down on the wooden walkways within the camp, as long as we didn't go inside the gers themselves. Later we circled back to the first camp site and after waiting until all the other tourists had left the guards let us in for free to look at the inside of the gers. I guess our persistence paid off?

While searching the internet for exact measurements, etc. for this blog post I learned an interesting fact: both of these tourist destinations are part of the same tourism company, the GENCO tour bureau. This actually made a lot of sense. Both are about history (specifically Chinggis Khaan's time) and are located fairly close to one another. Although they are admittedly a bit cheesy in some ways (and take liberties with historical accuracy), on the whole these seem like good sorts of tourism for Mongolia. Each allows different styles of tourists to get out of the city into the countryside (the "real" Mongolia) without having to travel too far. The statue complex was designed to accommodate giant tour buses full of tourists with perhaps more limited budgets, while the ger camp offers a more intimate experience, catering to tourists with more money and time to spend. It was also interesting that the tourists at each of the sites were a mix of about half Mongolians and half foreigners. Perhaps most importantly, both offer employment opportunities in rural areas, which is rather rare in Mongolia beyond herding, and will hopefully make rural life a more sustainable prospect in the future.

Sunday adventure

 This past weekend K and I decided to do some adventuring. We woke up early on Sunday, ate a breakfast of yeven (giant, hard-ish cookies) dunked in coffee, packed a picnic snack of sausage, cucumber and cheese (at my insistence--all proper adventures include food) and headed out. We caught a bus headed out of town, but got off only two stops later, as our chosen destination of Zaisan is not really that far. But what Zaisan lacks in distance from the city it more than makes up for in height.

A Soviet-era monument to the friendship between the Soviet Union and Mongolia, Zaisan perches upon the peak of a hill located just south of the city. You get there by hiking up a series of steep staircases circling the hill to the top. Along the way you pass the statue of the Mongolian tank that traveled all the way to Berlin during World War II, several ice-cream and fast food vendors (there is a branch of the restaurant chain "Coca Cola and Kebab" at the hill's base) and a few sellers of Mongolian landscape paintings, postcards, old Soviet metals and metal coins.

After a long, hot, tiring (but adventurous!) climb we reached the top. From the overlook pavilion there you have wonderful vistas of the city sprawling out below. Just a few steps above this patio sits the great round monument itself. The outside of the elevated ring is carved with Soviet symbols, while a colorful mosaic portraying Soviet/Mongolian harmony and achievements (including the Mongolian astronaut and victory over Japan and Germany) covers the inner face of the ring.

The peak that Zaisan sits on is actually a ridge that tapers back into a valley, so that on either side of Zaisan there rise hilly ridges framing the valley/canyon. This valley surrounding Zaisan to the east, south and west was (to my memory) almost completely undeveloped in 2002. Now the city has expanded into it, with expanses of new construction (apartments, mostly) and ger dwellings within fences filling the valley floor. K and I walked back along this ridge to continue our adventure. It was covered with wildflowers and interesting rocks, which made me very happy. We found the perfect picnic rock for sitting on while we ate our picnic, then headed back up to the monument. As we headed to the stairs for the long (but infintely less arduous) trek down we overhead a Mongolian man ask an African-American tourist if his son could pose with him for a photograph: "Like Barack Obama!"

Rain

It has been raining steadily for the past two days. In most of the places I have lived this would not be much cause for concern. The rain, for the most part, hasn't been too heavy and it has even paused at times. Yet this great sprawling desert city was not engineered for handling even a good shower, let alone two days of precipitation. If even the afternoon thunderstorm that I wrote of last time was enough to make my walk into more of an obstacle course adventure imagine what two days of rain could do!

Yesterday it began sprinkling late morning and by noon was a full-on downpour. A ten-minute walk/run/scramble to the central post-office left K and I soaked, even with an umbrella shared between us. The trickiest thing was not so much what was coming down from the sky as what had already fallen. Ulaanbaatar has no storm drains that I can tell and no culverts designed for handling runoff. Therefore, all the rain that falls in the city runs downhill until it either is absorbed or reaches the river. This means that the roads essentially turn into giant culverts. Any depression in the sidewalk or street (of which there are many) fills with water, creating ever larger and more impassable puddles.

Somehow despite the inconvenience of trying to navigate flooded and/or muddy sidewalks and roads (or maybe because of it), strangers have seemed generally more friendly these past couple days, more often making eye contact and being more forgiving of my broken Mongolian. Perhaps the shared struggle to make it home with dry feet breaks down some barriers that we (both myself and Ulaanbaatarites) have put up because of my foreignness. 

This evening I was nearly home when I reached the construction site that I have to cross every day to get from our apartment complex to the main road. As is the nature of a construction site the ground is dirt and filled with holes, making for an interesting crossing after two days of rain. Some thoughtful construction workers had placed bricks and other large stones in the middle of the largest puddles to create ways of safe passage. I had just reached the edge of one of the small lakes and was looking around to find the best navigation route. Just as I spotted the single crossing stone in the center of the water I also noticed a young woman about my age surveying the puddle from the other side. We caught each others' eye and laughed at our predicament before she motioned to me to cross.

Parades, Cows and Coffee

Over the past few weeks I have been gradually settling in to life in the city. We've established something of a routine: either riding the trolley (slower but cheaper than a bus) or walking into the city center in the morning, working for a few hours, eating lunch in the student cafeteria (can't beat the price and tasty too!), then working a couple more hours before heading home for the evening. Slight variations occur to this pattern, for example when I gave a presentation on map libraries last week to a group of thirty Mongolian librarians, but for the most part the days follow a settled rhythm. Yet despite this general sameness on paper (or screen, rather), each day little things surprise me and help distinguish one day from the others.

This past Tuesday we were walking to work along Peace Avenue--the main street in Ulaanbaatar--when I began to hear marching band music. Looking down the alley to my right, sure enough, there was a small marching band and a host of other people festively dressed in red and white, some in fuzzy red costumes. They flowed confidently out of the alley directly into Peace Avenue, stopping traffic while they marched down the center of Ulaanbaatar's busiest road during rush hour. Since we needed to cross there anyways, we tagged along in the wake of the parade's momentum, alongside other ordinary pedestrians that happened to be going to the same way as the parade.

It turns out that this was a parade with a cause, to raise awareness and public participation in blood drives. Hence the people dressed up as giant fuzzy drops of blood and the plethora of red and white. It was a completely unexpected bit of cheer on my morning commute.

Another tale (tail?) from my pedestrian commuting came from my walk home one evening. Our apartment complex stands on the opposite side of a river from downtown proper; therefore we have to cross the Peace Bridge to get back and forth. Looking down a few days ago from the bridge to the grassy riparian area below I was startled to see a herd of cows munching away. The contrast of the cows' green setting with the road, under-construction petrol station and towering buildings rising behind them made for an irresistible photo op.

Finally, the other afternoon after a long day on the computer searching book titles I decided to take an hour-long break before the weekly Thursday evening lecture. This past week has been a rainy one, with mostly sunny days punctuated by afternoon and evening thunderstorms. Therefore, although as I left the building it was just sprinkling, five minutes into my walk the sprinkles turned into a legitimate downpour. Luckily I was carrying an umbrella with me so my rainy ramble was pretty fun for a while. The puddles covering the sidewalk and street, however, were getting more enormous by the minute. When I walked by a little French cafe with covered open-air seating I grabbed the opportunity to get out of the rain and puddles for a while, rewarding myself for a hard day's work and capping off my rainy adventure with a picture-perfect latte. I finished off my break by sipping contentedly while watching the world traipse by my little table.

Countryside Reunion, Part Two

A brief re-cap: I am recounting my weekend in Dundgovi province exploring the countryside with two other American students as guests of my Mongolian language teacher and her relatives, who are visiting other family members in their homeland.

After visiting the relatives in Deren our caravan traveled to an ovoo (sacred cairn) on the top of a hill not too far away. The Mongolians left offerings of milk, candy, vodka and incense, and added rocks to the pile, circling clockwise around the ovoo three times. The views from the hill of the surrounding countryside were magnificent with the desert spreading out around us in all directions, gently rolling out to the mountains in the far distance. After a picnic we headed back into town.

The car I was riding in made a slight detour first, though, to visit another family in their ger. Although at first I thought this was just another social visit, it quickly became clear that this stop was slightly different as two of the children began trying on clothes and polishing up their shoes. In fact, we were them with us back to Ulaanbaatar. After their mother had packed their bags the two brothers climbed with us back into the car and we were off!

We made a brief stop back in Deren for more tea and company, then started back home. On our way we made two very interesting stops. The first was a beautiful spot in a small canyon where gnarled trees lined the dry riverbed at the bottom. Although the grove was greener than the surrounding landscape, none of the trees was larger than ten or fifteen feet and many were dead or dying. One of the men in our party told us, "When I was a boy this canyon was filled with tall thriving trees, but the climate has gotten drier, and, eh," he gestured at the dry riverbed landscape and dead wood, "now these trees cannot live."

 
Resuming our travels once more, we made one final stop on the way home to fill up water bottles and refresh ourselves at a well. The fresh mineral taste of the water and its bracing cold provided a welcome contrast to the bright sun and dusty road.

Almost as soon as we got back that evening to the khot ail (family camp) where we were staying a dust storm hit. Luckily it was not a very long one, and blew over before we had finished our naps. When we woke up it was time to feast on some real Mongolian barbeque (called khorkhog). To prepare khorkhog you heat a bunch of round river stones in a fire. Then you place the hot stones into a big canister with fresh meat, vegetables, some seasonings and water. When everything is in you tighten down the lid of the canister, letting the hot stones and steam do the cooking. The result is amazing, deliciously tender meat. Before enjoying the meal, though, everyone gets a hot rock to toss back and forth in your hands, which has some therapeutic benefits and feels very nice.

After dinner we Americans went on a small stroll to digest and enjoy the sunset. Others around the camp were playing volleyball, herding back the livestock for the night and slaughtering a couple sheep for the city relatives to take back with them. The twilight air was so refreshing that none of us wanted to go back inside the ger quite yet. Arranging ourselves on some old tires and small stools just outside one of the ger, a small group of us sat chatting and enjoying the evening with occasional toasts of vodka. As others finished their activities and the light grew more dim, our group slowly grew larger. Finally, someone called for a song.

And so we finished off the night with an hour or so of singing. Thanks to our language teacher's insistence on learning Mongolian songs and customs in addition to the language, the singing allowed all of us a common ground, Mongolians and Americans alike. The darkness of the cloudy night--lit up only by the crossbeams of two motorcycles--and the common language and fluency of our songs made it oddly one of the most comfortable and unifying times of the trip.