It has been something else, and it has been a surprise to see our time together end so soon. But know this, Mongolia: I will never forget you. Think of me from time to time, when you hear the race of hooves pounding against packed snow, or when wood smoke curls upwards to the indigo night, unable to seperate itself from the stars. You changed me for good. I hope I made my mark. Trans-Siberian Sarah is over and out. Catch me stateside at mermaidinacoma.tumblr.com

Today: Bitterly cold. Abundant sunshine. High -16F. Winds light and variable. Tonight: Bitterly cold. Mostly clear. Low -34F. Winds light and variable. Tomorrow: Sunny early then becoming mostly cloudy later in the day. High -3F. Winds light and variable. Tomorrow night: Mostly cloudy skies early will become partly cloudy late. Cold. Low around -30F. Winds light and variable. Thursday: Times of sun and clouds. Highs -3 to -7F and lows -25 to -29F. Friday: Plenty of sun. Highs 2 to -2F and lows -24 to -28F. Saturday: Partly cloudy. Highs in the upper single digits and lows -15 to -19F.

-Let the water run, good and hot. Fill it up to where the water should reach your neck and then turn off the faucets, the hot water first because it takes longer, then the cold. Admire the way the water steams, foretelling something good. -While waiting for the water to cool, open a bottle of wine. Pick out a movie. Line up the products you brought from the countryside of the edge of the bathtub like ladies in waiting, honey almond scrub, brown sugar face polish, intensive jasmine moisturizer, a fat cake of orange spice soap milled in France that your mother sent. -Cut your nails short. Buff them, push the cuticles back, (do you even have cuticles anymore?) file them, trying not to leave any room for ash or dirt to creep back underneath, as this is an obvious sign to anyone that you live in a ger. Your “ger hands” have become an object of self-scorn, though they prove you have been working hard. Perhaps when you go home you will bring back the trend of wearing day gloves. Fantasize about buttery leather the color of toffee, scalloped edges of black net wrapped around your wrist. -Place the bottle of wine on the floor next to the bathtub. Turn on Charlie Parker in the next room. Slip into the bath, slowly, gently and then sit down, quickly. You will get used to the feeling of warmth. Your skin doesn’t really mind, all that much. The first few seconds of hot water, like the first few minutes of cold air in the morning, are fleeting. It will pass and you will be fine. -Drink the wine, listen to the jazz. Just think, if you didn’t live the way you live, in the place that you are living, this could feel like America, all the time. -Marvel at how, in the countryside, this much water is what you use for tea, brushing your teeth, drinking, and washing your face, in a week. -Have you ever truly enjoyed a bath?

Cherchez la femme: A Few Words About Mardi Love Despite her obvious grace, there is the subtle element of surprise to her dancing; a slight hip twist there, a rib cage lock on the up like a sudden hiccup or pebble dropped into water. What I love about Mz. Love is that she is pure woman, all curves and smooth contours, lacking in the rigid angles that make up the body types associated with “beauty.” She is the feminine archtype, the sacred tintype, an India-ink love letter to a bygone era where women were likened to wisps of smoke and a stray tendril of hair caught at the nape of the neck.

My friend, Joel, a.k.a L’Amour Supreme, makes killer toys to satisfy the kid inside every cutting-edge adult. His latest line is called “Mongo Lion.” Guess what that is a shout out too! (Click on the photo to go to his photo stream and see what goodies he has available)

A somewhat-modern update on traditional Mongolian costume during a Silk Road Modeling contest held in Hohot, Inner Mongolia.

I just bought these off of Ebay last night while using Carolina’s internet in her apartment, which I am currently staying in for the weekend to take care of her cat (and take many baths), as she is away in the capital Even 12,000 miles away from my costume trunk, and attempting to (sort of) save the world, I am still preoccupied with what jangly bits I can add to my costumes once I return home.

I took this picture after my short talent show performance during December training, hair still stinking with sweat underneath the shawl recently given as a present, eyes blurry from the kohl liner caked onto my lower lids. I adore the high drama of the pose, as it is obviously late at night and I am still lit with the intensity of performance, a rare treat to engage in. When I remarked that it was a cool -30 on New Year’s to a certain New York City resident over a long-distance phone call, he replied “I think +30 is too cold.” “That is because your people are from the desert, and my people have been living in caves. We are used to the cold.” And in some ways, while living in a tent icicle at the edge of Central Asia, I feel as if my half-ghani roots have truly come out to play. Whenever I wake up to everything frozen, in the dark, before the sun has even risen, I grit my teeth and whisper, “Come on, Hassan. Your ancestors went through worse.” And they had, so I believe in my abilities, to make a fire, to melt water; this winter, first of two, perhaps, in conditions thought primitive and ridiculous. Your roots. Never deny them, attempt to unravel from their grasp. They may come in handy, sooner than you think, in ways you never imaged.

oldfussandfeathers: are2: Beards SPRING BREAK 2010. (Right) How I have looked every day since Thanksgiving

Stephanie and Ryan, and their exercising examples, give me hope for true love.

Family Matters, Part 1: Legacy Uncle Ahmad Shah singing the poetry of Great-Uncle Faani

We went ice skating! Language note: Skating rink is “KOTOK” in Mongolian. Clock wise from the top: Meredith, Ryan, Me, Levi The ice wasn’t smooth, jagged, rocky and full of Grand-canyonesque crevices, and when we exhaled, it look as though our hair had turned white, the instant frost settling around our faces. But once the potholes were identified, we got the hang of gliding past them, holding onto each others arms for dear life, laughing over the possibility of breaking our faces till the fear of it subsided. This is a place where a skating rink is anywhere with enough water spilled at the right time. When things seem slippery, just think: I’m not sliding, I’m skating.

Happy New Year! Shin Jillin Mend Hurgie! All the way from New York City to Mongolia and back…

Rachel, even when she is 12,000 miles away from me, knows exactly how to make my day a bit warmer when the high is -11

There is Love and Grace, she says. And she follows each to its end, crumbling brick walls meshed in ivy. El culo del saco, se lo comió Paco. She picked living things out of her grandson’s hair as if she were digging memories out of his skull. A brown beetle to forget his father. A wingless moth to forget his homeland. There is Pearl and Water, she says. And a desolate beach that hides under the Brooklyn Bridge, which will not fall down, will not fall down. He fell from the boat, from the overcrowded boat. His long hair floated on the olive sea like a clump of Sargasso weed. He fell from the boat and her husband fell over after him. There is Montague, she says. But no Capulet. -From The Second Death of Unica Aveyano, by Ernesto Mestre-Reed

Some people who serve in Mongolia with the Peace Corps live in places like this.

ave gratia plenius dominus tecum Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, and all the rest

thatsnice: Damn straight it is. The Rack, meet The Appointment. The Long Island in me is hating my need to fulfill the curiosity and find out what life would’ve been like on the other side of the Shore.

After living in a collapsable house, I think this would make an excellant domain once I return stateside.

If I lived in London with a certain person whose name rhymes with “Moor”, and not Lower Siberia, I would drag her to the V&A every day after work and stay there until the guards had to physically remove us from basking in the works of the Raj

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. In my ger.