My first friday at work

Blog #11 Friday "work" 8-27-07
I was informed that Friday morning, my director was going to come meet me at my apartment at 10am. I thought she was going to take a look at my door, which broke (and was temporarily fixed) Thursday, but when 1030 came around and she told me to come downstairs, I realized this was not the case. I walked outside and saw the Russian jeep that had originally brought me to Arvaikheer with the backdoor open, but no sign of my director. The driver (who also drove me from UB) instructed me to get in and that Sanchir (my director) was at the delguur (corner store). Minutes later, Sanchir showed up with snacks in her hands and we drove to the children’s center to pick up two more people and two fancy bottles of vodka. At this point the only information I had was that we were going to the khudoo (countryside) to an ‘oldman’s’ camp and that Arvaikheer’s Nadaam was the next day. I confirmed that I would be back that same day and just waited to see where the day would take me. I often find myself in these types of situations, where I don’t know exactly where I am going, what I am doing, or when I will be back. This kind of thing happens a lot in Mongolia and you have to just sit back and take things for what they are. It is really the ‘show up and see what happens’ mentality that you have to adopt in order to sit and see where the day takes you. It’s funny because you know everyone around you knows what’s going on, but the language barrier and certain cultural differences create a situation where you are the only one in the dark. I actually think it’s kind of fun. Anyway, we start driving out of Arvaikheer, through the beautiful countryside and the only information I get is which road goes to khovd (another province). Eventually we come to a place where there are a bunch of cars lined up in front of a body of water and people in Dells (traditional clothing) are standing around talking. We join the line of cars and the circles of people speaking in Mongolian. I am introduced in Mongolian to a few people and then my director instructs me to stay there and wait for her. I don’t understand much of what is going on around me, but I manage to hear one man tell a young woman to come talk to me. Shortly after, I am approached by this lady, who has excellent English and she explains to me that the people around me are all social workers, the man is their boss, and there is a mini-Nadaam going on and the horses should be coming soon. She also explains that the rest camp that’s visible in the distance is celebrating their five year anniversary today. I finally found out what was going on, which was refreshing. I still don’t know what to expect, but I do know that I am in for a day of Mongolian and awkward situations…this, I can prepare for. She also explains to me that the horses racing at the moment are two years old and it is good luck for the men to see their dust and this is the reason half the people are leaving…they’ll be back. A little while later, we can see the horses in the distance and everyone lines up to watch them finish the race. The children riding the horses are very young and the horses look exhausted. After the race, we chase down the winning horse and feel his sweat for good luck. Everyone piles into the cars and heads for the oldman’s camp, as my director puts it. We arrive and drink a little airag and vodka (I don’t drink the vodka), sit in a room and listen to a million people speak and give gifts to the owner of the camp, followed by some awesome performances. It has been relatively consistant in my time here that the people are extremely talented, but nobody has mastered the sound system. My favorite performance is always the guy playing the morenhor (sp?...mongolian instrument) and throat singing. Mongolian throat singing is absolutely mesmerizing and awesome to hear. There was also a female singer and a Korean guy with an awesome voice….mostly drowned out by the fuzzy background music. During all the speaking, all I could think about was lunch. By this time of the day, I was starving and wondering if we were going to be fed or if the snacks we brought would be the days rations. After the performances, I was informed that we were going to drink more airag. We went into one of the gers and sat around playing the Mongolian finger game to see who has to drink. We ended up drinking a lot of airag before we left the ger. Everyone was impressed that I knew the finger game and that I drank the airag. I also got a chance to look at a flyer for the camp and finally got a real idea of what kind of place this was. The pamphlet had English and Mongolian and explained that the camp was a place for physical health and rejuvenation. They offered mud and spa treatments and always had doctors on hand. There was a picture of a bunch of old people wearing traditional Dells, but looked like they were out for a jog….an interesting site. After drinking the airag was lunch time! Sweet! For the first time since I’ve been to Mongolia, the airag made my head feel a little funny. Airag is a Mongolian milk alcohol that is not very potent, but after not having much to eat and drinking a lot of it, I felt it’s effects. Many people go through their entire stay in Mongolia without feeling anything from airag other than the guaranteed stomach ramifications. We went to the room where the speaking had been, but was now filled with tables, chairs, and the delicious smell of Mongolian food. We filled up on soup, soyvan (Mongolian noodle and meat plate), and soote tze (Mongolian milk tea). After lunch everyone hung around for a while. My director and I started talking to this old couple who she explained the woman as a Mongolian hero. What she meant by that, I’m not so sure, and it wasn’t the right time to ask. We started walking around the camp, and my director had to deal with the aftermath of drinking airag, which means many trips to the outhouse. I started talking to the older man and we strolled around the camp, speaking in Mongolian. Throughout the day, I had been trying to use as much of the Mongolian, that I hadn’t used over the past few weeks, as I could remember. I started up many awkward conversations, that I always started with…what’s your name? This man took a liking to my sorry attempt at Mongolian and as we talked to the other people at the camp, he told everyone that I was American and that I was speaking Mongolian. Eventually we met up with his wife and my director. They invited me to their house and disappeared into one of the gers to rest. My director disappeared for a while; I assume to smoke a cigarette, and I was left with one lady that I knew and a few people I had just met. We spoke in my limited Mongolian and then I got up to watch the wrestling. I was excited to see the wrestling because I hadn’t been able to see Sukhbaatar’s Nadaam and was curious what it was like. After the wrestling my director found me and asked if I wanted to leave. I told her I was indifferent and she expressed that she wanted to go home. We rounded up our car load and had dinner and (they drank) vodka. Some of the people we were drinking and eating with tried to get me to take a shot of vodka, but those who know me know that I NEVER take shots. This was no exception. I was surprised that over the course of the day, I had seen 2 bottles of vodka drank and they were both the worst kind. By this time, I had realized the fancy bottles that I had seen before were going to be gifts. After dinner we went to the car and my director went to give the gifts. She had us waiting for a long time, which was annoying, but I was thankful because I was dealing with the aftershock of the airag. Finally, she showed up again. We got in the car, she looks at me and in a completely serious tone, she says "I am drunk"… I figured. We head back to Arvaikheer and my mind wanders. I stare out the window into the beautiful scenery of the Mongolian countryside. The clouds and sky are amazing shades of pink and purple, accented above the dark purple mountains. I sit there feeling the bumps of the rode, my mind piling one thought on top of another. The thoughts are like a bubble getting bigger and bigger, until it bursts and vanishes into thin air. I am snapped back to the Russian jeep when my director starts coughing and the jeep stops. At this point, I have no idea how much she had to drink and am afraid she is going to throw up. I see her reach for a beer and I quickly grab my water and hand it to her. She doesn’t accept and instead takes a sip of beer and hands it to the old man in the front. The driver is a number of feet away, relieving himself and she goes, I assume, to do the same. The driver comes back and opens a beer and hands it to me; I hand it to Puje (a lady I work with). He then opens another beer and hands it to me, I try to refuse, but he explains that it’s open and he’s driving and can not drink it. As a non-beer drinker, I have been testing out different types of beer since I got to Mongolia and am slightly curious what this one tastes like. I take a few sips, but am too full to drink much of it and try to pass it off to Puje after she downs hers. We put the cap back on, everyone piles back in the jeep and we continue on our way. At this point, I am stuck in a state of thought and I look back out the window thinking about the crazy day I have had and the, always amazing, Mongolian sky. We arrive in Arvaikheer, I spend a couple moments in my apartment, and meet up with some of my Peace Corps friends for a mellow night of English speaking. The day was exciting, fun, tiring, awkward, and full of experiences. At this point it is nice to sit down, drink tea, and my mind is calm.