12.27.07
Wind in my hair, sand in my teeth and caking my skin one layer at a time, I walk holding a bag of horse meet in one hand and the other hidden in my jacket to stay warm. The wind makes it hard to watch where I’m going and the exhaust of the motorcycles make me not want breathe. I hold my breath as I pass the random trash pile that has been lit on fire and will be buried eventually. I finally arrive at my apartment building, hike up the stairs, protected from the wind and enter my apartment to find my cat meowing at the top of his lungs. I ignore the screeching sound, set the meat on the balcony where it will stay cold and freeze over night. The meat inside a bag, inside another bag, inside a box, on my balcony is protected from the wind and the dust. I head out my door, cover both hands with mittens and start the trek to work. As I walk I think about a question that many people ask me, “What is your typical day like?” I never know the appropriate answer. I could describe a situation like this, where I am watching the people on the street who are rapped in scarves, coat, gloves and hats, just like me. Or, I could just describe my typical day of going to work, going home for lunch, and then going back to work until sundown, when I go home again. It’s not the exciting answer they are looking for, but it is the truth. The differences between my life in Mongolia and life in CA do not seem as big as they did in the beginning. Maybe this is because I have running water, or maybe it’s because I have now lived here for 7 months and have gotten used to things here. Not to say that everything is ‘normal’ here, but being abnormal has become normal. I walk to work, eating sand and my nose freezing, thinking about what cool things I could tell people, but I feel at a loss for ideas. I start watching a bag as it seems to be walking with me in the wind and think of the movie I watched last night (American Beauty). The character describes the bag as the most beautiful thing he has ever filmed. “Hi, how are you?” my thoughts are interrupted by somebody practicing their English on me. “Hi, I am good, how are you?” I immediately respond while passing the individual and his friends on the street. Of course I realize that this may be the only English he knows and continue walking towards my destination. Immediately following this moment, I realize maybe these are the things people want to hear about at home. About the little kids on the street who yell “hello, my name is Bumcharin, what is your name?” and don’t know what to say next when they get a response. Or the kids behind the hasha fence that yell “hello, hello, hello, hello” as you round the corner. Or the kids who we refer to as the “sniper hi’s” because they are standing on a balcony 4 flours up and yelling, ‘hello’, as an American walks by. When in Sukhbataar, where I trained during the summer, I would ask, in Mongolian, how much something is and would get a confusing response that turned out to be Russian. Sukhbataar is near the Russian border, and most white people there are Russian. Or the people who applied to be my translator, didn’t know any English but wanted to be my best friend, so they could practice English. My “typical day” is typical, just like any day in CA, but instead it is in Mongolia, it is the little things that make my “typical day” a little bit different. A saying that I heard while in Israel comes to mind, “same, same, but different”. Life in Mongolia is the same as life other places in many ways, at the same time, life in Mongolia is very different than life in other places.
A Description of the Market: (maybe one day I’ll take pictures)
Entering the market begins with walking past the piles of skin traders who are sorting out their skins, placing the intestines in between layers. What this does, I have no idea, but one day I was waiting for somebody and I just sat watching these men sorting the skins into piles and placing them in rotation bloody side up, intestines, bloody side down, and so forth. I still don’t know what these skins are used for, but I do know that some are traded outside of Mongolia. Passing the piles of skins, and dodging motorcycles, cars, and people is a simultaneous task. Next come rounding the corner filled with motorcycles and drivers waiting for riders to cross into the market. To the left are rows of large storage bins which serve as storage for the many different vendors. Everything is sold from clothes to material, to various house supplies. This would be the place to buy a dry sink or a bucket, boots or a coat, rice or flour, along with many other things. Across from the massive storage bins are various stores, restaurants, or bars. Throughout the market are many “guanzes”. These are little places to get food and tea. They are smaller than a restaurant, but often sell the same food. The choices in Mongolia don’t vary very much. I have yet to figure out where the best su te tse (milk tea) in Arvaikheer is. As you walk through the market passing vendors selling anything from sponges and washcloths, to long underwear, gloves, and socks, there are many people walking throughout the street with the occasional car going way to fast for the amount of people around. There are people of all ages, from child to adult, selling carrots, onion, potatoes, and cabbage. There are also young boys pushing heavy carts, and you can see the work that shows on their skin, clothes, and in their eyes. When I go to the market, I head straight to the vegetable market, where there are about 10 women selling various vegetables. This is the place to look when wanting other vegetables, Russian cheese, or curry powder, among other things. In the same building are the meat market and the white foods market. Walking into the meat market is like nothing you would ever see in the states. It is not uncommon to be walking in front of, behind, or almost run into a man or woman carrying an entire skinned animal over their shoulders. I walk in the meat market looking at all the animals hanging up and lying on tables. Seeing the white girl, people start yelling “adony makh, adony makh” at me. Knowing the Americans usually buy horse meat, they correctly assume this is what I’m looking for. I examine all the meat and find the one that I think looks the best and purchase one kilo “okhgui” (no fat). The minute I say “okhgui” the person standing next to me, buying meat starts to chuckle, but I don’t mind, as long as I don’t get a kilo of fat. Crazy American is who I am. I collect my meat, pay for it, and head out as quickly as possible to escape the foul smell of the meat market. The white foods market is a small room that I rarely visit. All different types of dairy products are sold; things like aruul (milk curd), this other stuff that is made of the crap that gathers on the top of milk when it sits out, among other products that I don’t know what they are. Walking out of this building are more guanzes, outdoor pool tables and other stores. The market is about the size of a block and filled with dogs of all ages searching for food. It is hard not to just pick up one of the adorable little puppies and take them home. There are maybe four or five stores that have many different types of food in the town. This would be where to get things like large bottles of juice, soda, different types of sweets, or the only oatmeal in the arvaikheer.
There is nothing worse than going to the bank in Mongolia. Ok, so that might be an exaggeration, but it’s really not fun. It is almost always packed, people push and shove, and just hold their papers out, hoping the teller will take them next. It is impossible to go to the bank without any physical contact with random people.
These are a couple descriptions of “typical life” in Mongolia. I just read back on what I wrote, and life in Mongolia is very different than life in CA, but in the simplest sense, it is the same. That is, going to work every day. It’s all the in between that is a totally different world than life in CA. Not to mention the absence of language barriers, stares, and surprise when people learn that I eat Mongolian food, drink Mongolian tea, and speak minimal Mongolian. I decided a long time ago that I would not keep kosher while I traveled and I really believe it was the correct decision. I love the ideas of keeping kosher, but at the same time, food is such a HUGE part of culture, and I am glad to be able to take part in that part of my cultural integration.
