Peace Corps Journals

Dandelions & Fireflies

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-02-10 04:44:00

A picture of Glacial Park, Illinois, in the wintertime.

Day Six Hundred & Fifteen
Friday, February 10th 2012

Whereas January seemed to trudge on in an exhausted state of lethargy, February seems to be trotting along at a comfortable & more enlivened canter. As it turns out, life is made all the more sweeter by having events to look forward to, particularly those in the near future. After next week's classes (& 30 minute sessions on Friday the 17th, instead of our normal 40 minute lessons), we are given a full week (plus two weekends) of vacation time for Цагаан Сар, or Tsaagan Sar, translating into “White Moon” from Mongolian. Afterward, several weeks of classes will result in another week-long break near the end of March or beginning of April (I don't know yet) to mark the end of another quarter. Shortly thereafter, I will be traveling to UB for the Peace Corps COS (Closure of Service) conference, which falls during the week of Monday, April 16th lasting through that Friday (but I will probably leave on the 13th & return something like the 23rd if I can manage it).

By my shaky calculations (counting being by no means my forte), I believe we are currently in the sixth of the Nine Nines, a Mongolian system of cultural lore used to pass the agonizing sub-zero deluge of freezing temperatures for seemingly insurmountable periods of time. The Nine Nines are nine sets of nine days which begin on the winter solstice (which this year was the 22nd of December, 2011) & commence with the end of winter. If I am not mistaken, we entered into the sixth of the Nine Nines this past Saturday, & we should be moving right along into the seventh Nine on Monday. Suffice to say, the worst is over, & that is nothing short of divine.

The Nine Nines
1st Nine: Shimijn arkhi (mild alcoholic beverage made of mare's milk) congeals
2nd Nine: Arkhi (vodka) congeals
3rd Nine: The tail of three-year-old ox freezes
4th Nine: The horns of four-year-old ox freeze
5th Nine: Boiled rice does not congeal anymore
6th Nine: The roads blacken
7th Nine: The hilltops blacken
8th Nine: The ground becomes damp
9th Nine: Warmer days set in
To read an article on the topic, please visit:
http://www.mongoliatoday.com/issue/2/winter.html

Speaking of the Nine Nines, I can safely say that from my particular vantage point smack dab in the center of the Gobi desert during the 6th Nine, the roads have not blackened. Why? Because there are no roads. However, according to this folklore, some time in the next week & a half, the hilltops are supposed to black, & being situated near the breathtaking backdrop of the Gurvan Saikhan mountain range (which translates to “The Three Beauties” from Mongolian), I will be on the lookout for darker peaks, though the current snow-capped appearance is quite picturesque. With a little help from an online day counter calculator, it appears as though winter's grand & welcomed conclusion is set for March 12th, 2012.

I am thinking about America in a more or less balanced manner lately, attempting to reconcile my sense of anticipation for my return with the reality that life is not quite the idyllic fairytale I imagine it to be, & my return might not be as romantic as I hope. I spoke with a close volunteer friend of mine, Sarah, on the phone last night a little bit about this. She mentioned a very good point in saying that it won't really “hit us” until after we've been home for a while. This makes sense. I imagine the first few days, weeks, or perhaps months will be exciting & new. However, after the novelty wears off & life sets in once again, it might be the case that we (myself & other returning volunteers) will find ourselves disliking those very same things we gladly left behind when we came to Mongolia nearly two years ago. Consumerism. Advertisements. Fast-paced life. Reading news headlines about who was murdered & how, what new super-virus will certainly destroy us all, why you & I & everyone should be afraid, be very afraid.

To quote from Jack Kornfield's “A Path with Heart” once again: “The impoverished myths & songs of our culture are sold everywhere: they myth of materialism & possessiveness that says worldly goods lead to happiness; the myth of competition & individualism which produces so much isolation; the myth of achievement & success, which leads to what Joseph Campbell called 'climbing the ladder only to discover it was against the wrong wall'; & the myth of youth, which produces a culture of eternal adolescence & advertising images as our model of reality.”

I mentioned to Sarah that I felt old here, as though I came to Mongolia looking younger than my age, & now I look easily four years older. It helped to hear her say that she felt the same (using colorful adjectives like “haggard” in her description), but it helped even more to hear her say that the effects of this dry & barren climate, this dull & unimaginative diet, this difficult & at times nearlly impossible lifestyle – the effects are not permanent. She recently took a wonderful vacation to Malaysia, & she told me quite clearly that the positive effects were immediate. A little humidity in the air, a couple dozens of degrees warmer, a diet rich in vitamins, minerals, & nutrients, hydration, & the ability to relax, really does the body good.

Today the temperature hovers somewhere around 9°F, though I have some mild doubts about how accurate this reading is (I check a website, & I cannot be sure it is updated with any veracity). When I happen to see that Chicago is enjoying temperatures in the mid-30s on some days, I must admit, I find myself twinging with mild envy. Temperatures even slightly above or below that point would feel warm to me these days, particularly after experiencing nights where the temperature outside is easily -25°F. Fifty degrees warmer back home at 25°F? I'd take that any day.

I have been experiencing sudden bursts of thought lately, completely unrelated to what I am currently doing or thinking. I'd liken them to flashbacks, but they are overwhelmingly positive & hope-filled in nature. I had forgotten about the scent of the spring rain, the way the air feels heavy & electric just before a thunderstorm, the earthworms escaping from the soil. I can picture a street in Woodstock, one of my favorite places in the world, from the perspective underneath a canopy of tree branches, a gentle rain softly falling onto the road. It must be spring, because the pavement is covered in the pollen from a certain type of tree whose name I do not know.

I had forgotten the coming of summer marked irrevocably in the emergence of dandelions by day & fireflies by night, bright & radiant. They remind me of childhood, & I can remember the day my mother informed me, much to my dismay, that dandelions were considered weeds. I recall the feeling of being barefoot, the grass soft & new & alive beneath my footfalls. I can almost experience the taste of a vine-ripened tomato, still warm from the sun, picked only moments before from the crescent moon-shaped garden in the front yard of my home.

Excerpt from Slaughterhouse-Five

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-10 04:35:00

Day Six Hundred & Fifteen
Friday, February 10th 2012

In his work, “A Path with Heart,” Jack Kornfield writes “In Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slaugtherhouse-Five, there is a description of what happens when one night a World War II movie is accidentally shown backward.”

“American planes, full of holes & wounded men & corpses, took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets & shell fragments from some of the planes & crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, & those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, & lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. . . . There were still a few wounded Americans, though, & some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything & everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to the base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks & shipped back to the United States, where factories were operating day & night, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did the work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody again.”

I was looking through some other blogs of volunteers in Mongolia...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Ramblin' in Mongolia

2012-02-10 04:11:10

The site-mates

Even some basic veggies go a long way

Aimag life

I was looking through some other blogs of volunteers in Mongolia and I found a blog post that I found interesting. It was about the differences between the Peace Corps Volunteers’ lives and what some volunteers refer to as the “Posh Corps” life. In a globilizing and developing world, there are less an less Peace Corps assignments that fit the “lives in a mud hut, bathes in the river, get assaulted by bugs all day, and wears a loin cloth” picture that so many Americans associate with Peace Corps service. Now obviously Mongolia is a whole different can of worms when it comes to Peace Corps service. Many volunteers live in tents made from sheep wool, the few rivers are frozen most of the year, bugs can’t survive most of the year, and you certainly wouldn’t last very long in just a loin cloth. However, I don’t want to talk about the differences in Peace Corps service among different countries as I only can speak confidently on life in Mongolia. I am trying to talk about some of the differences that many volunteers have with other volunteers even though they live in the same country. In our PC issued cookbook we call it the Hodoo (countryside) Corps verses the Posh Corps.

Now there are grey areas as to whether you live the hodoo life or a posh life. However, stereotypically, posh corps pcvs live in aimag centers. We live in apartments, have central heating, running water, have a toilet, have more choices when it comes to groceries, have restaurants we can go to if we are feeling lazy in the kitchen, we have a kitchen, normally have other volunteers in their city so they aren’t completely alone, etc. However, the “posh corps” life is not without its challenges or differences. For instance, I have two site-mates who live in gers and don’t have my household luxuries. In apartments, heating doesn’t turn on until the the end of October and it is well past cold at that point. Apartment dwellers have no way to heat up their home like a ger dweller does. The PC supplies us with small space heaters but in my experience they are better at blowing out the old wiring than heating a room. I am lucky in that there is a wood stove in my kitchen so this last fall wasn’t painful for me. Water in apartments is almost always hooked up to the heating. This means that when the heating is off, you must heat your water in a boiler. Although this isn’t a problem in Dundgovi, many parts of Mongolia suffer from frequent power outages. When the power goes out so does the water and heat. When the heat is on the water is too hot to touch. When I shower, I fill up a large Mongolian bucket called a tuumpen and then wait 15 minutes for it to cool. Then I take a tuumpen shower in my bathroom. In my personal situation, I benifit from running water in my kitchen. However, there are no pipes that lead out of my kitchen. Forgeting to empty the large bucket under the sink is easier than you would imagine. I have found it hard to limit my water usage when it flows so freely. As for my toilet, organic solids won’t even go down without some assistance most of the time. Not pretty. Here in Mongolia, we call all these issues I have “Posh Corps problems.”

Life living in a soum is undoubtedly a different experience. One aspect that I would have underestimated before coming here would be the isolation. Transportation within Mongolia is always difficult and I never knew how refreshing it would be to see an American face every day or two. My heart goes out to the soumers who are feeling the craving for Western stimulation. In a developing Mongolia, all but around a dozen soumers having the option of purchasing internet in their homes. These dozen are truly roughing it in the PC Mongolia. I’m sure these soums don’t have a post office either and no internet definitely means no supplies. All PCVs living in Mongolia can be reached on their cell phone at any time. Soumers almost always live in gers and must rely on the language skills more than a volunteer living in a aimag center. I really wouldn’t have to speak Mongolian if I didn’t want to. As some what of a self proclaimed health nut, the food choices would be one of the hardest things for me if I lived in a soum. Now I don’t exactly have a huge selection, I can consistently get carrots, peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and if I want to spend all my money really quickly, grapes. Another expensive luxury I can occasionally indulge in are bananas and watermelon. Some soumers are limited to onions, potatoes, cabbage, apples, and garlic. Green vegetables were definitely something I was craving at the end of my summer living in Javkhlant soum.

All this being said, there is a mindset to hodoo vs posh corps life. Also, apt life is always easier than ger life. Your Peace Corps service is what you make of it. Both volunteers living in soums and aimag centers can go to UB and purchase appliances from China that remind them of their life in America. Want a blender? Go buy it in UB. Want a 82 inch flat screen TV? You can get that in UB too. You can buy frozen or canned vegetables in UB and most other foods you are currently craving. Everyone has different challenges here depending on their habits, personality, expectations, etc. I lost my computer in December and I have decided to not purchase a new one. I want to move my life towards a more “hoodoo” level. That being said, as long as nothing goes drastically wrong, I will be moving into a ger at the end of this upcoming spring. I look forward to the new challenges! More information to follow on this topic.

Kiddos

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Capitulate Now

2012-02-09 14:41:24

1. Ah, teachers’ day. This photo was taken at some kind of ceremony honoring three of our teachers (one from each ‘generation’ [young, mid-career, and recently retired], although I couldn’t tell you why these three teachers were chosen); the girls … Continue reading →

"I have had family members and friends not on Facebook ask me to make sure I share ...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Ramblin' in Mongolia

2012-02-09 01:34:21

“

I have had family members and friends not on Facebook ask me to make sure I share everything on my blog that I upload on FB.. I will try and do a better job putting links to albums and posting “status updates” or my thoughts here as well. I’ll post these as quotes and you will know a little bit more about what is on my mind at that moment. This is not me trying to quote myself. BUT if I ever get super famous my blog will be the unofficial start to all my inspirational and wise quotes. Here is a start.

“Waiting in line in crowded Mongolian food markets makes me a tiny bit nostalgic for bars back home. You shoulder your way up the front, present your money to signal you are ready, put on your biggest smile to get noticed, and then proceed to yell your order at the lady behind the counter if that doesn’t work. Except when you finally walk away all you have is a jar of pickles and a head of cabbage for your hard work. But don’t worry. That beer is just another adventure away at the neighboring counter.”

”

A Piece of Paper

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-08 13:13:00

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen
Wednesday, February 8th 2012

The Nature of Selflessness excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“In teaching, the Buddha never spoke of humans as persons existing in some fixed or static way. Instead, he described us as a collection of five changing processes: the processes of the physical body, of feelings, of perceptions, of responses, & of the flow of consciousness that experiences them all. Our sense of self arises whenever we grasp at or identify these patterns. The process of identification, of selecting patterns to call 'I,' 'me,' 'myself,' is subtle & usually hidden from our awareness. We can identify with our body, feelings, or thoughts; we can identify with images, patterns, roles, & archetypes. Thus, in our culture, we might fix & identify with the role of being a woman or a man, a parent or a child. We might take our family history, our genetics, & our heredity to be who we are. Sometimes we identify with our desires: sexual, aesthetic, or spiritual. In the same way we can focus on our intellect or take our astrological sign as an identity. We can choose the archetype of hero, lover, mother, ne'er-do-well, adventurer, clown, or thief as our identity & live a year or a whole lifetime based on that. To the extent that we grasp these false identities, we continually have to protect & defend ourselves, strive to fulfill what is limited or deficient in them, to fear their loss. Yet, these are not our true identity.”

This is one of my most profound & ongoing challenges in Peace Corps, defining myself. Living without sitemates during my first year of service, & not having as decent a grasp on the Mongolian language as I now have, I found myself defining myself not by others, but by my own solitude. In other areas of my life here in Mongolia, I realize that I have only known my friends here (particularly other volunteers) since June 3rd 2010 when we all first met. I believe that as social creatures, human beings define themselves by other people. What implications does this hold for my own concept of self? For the majority of my service, I have juggled whether or not to ingest the labels & conceptions that others here had put upon me. Perhaps it is most pertinent to mention that fellow volunteers do not truly know me, not in the sense that time & familiarity would breed. With the majority of our service spent at separate sites, face-to-face contact limited to once or twice per year, how could I claim that anyone here knows me? Now, nearing June & my return to America, I have begun to step back into myself.

The Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh expresses the oneness of everything with the example of a piece of paper. Holding it up, he said “If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud there will be no water; without water the trees cannot grow; & without trees, you cannot make paper. So the cloud is in here. The existence of this page is dependent on the existence of a cloud. Paper & cloud are so close. Let us think of other things, like sunshine. Sunshine is very important because the forest cannot grow without sunshine, & we as humans cannot grow without sunshine. So the logger needs sunshine in order to cut the tree, & the tree needs sunshine in order to be a tree. Therefore, you can see sunshine in this sheet of paper. & if you look more deeply, with the eyes of a bodhisattva, with the eyes of those who are awake, you see not only the cloud & sunshine in it, but that everything is here, the wheat that became the bread for the logger to eat, the logger's father–everything is in this sheet of paper.”

Jack Kornfield further illustrates this concept by recounting the following story. “The emperor of China asked a renowned Buddhist master if it would be possible to illustrate the nature of self in a visible way. In response, the master had a sixteen-sided room appointed with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that faced one another exactly. In the center he hung a candle aflame. When the emperor entered he could see the individual candle flame in thousands of forms, each of the mirrors extending it far into the distance. Then the master replaced the candle with a small crystal. The emperor could see the small crustal reflected again in every direction. When the master pointed closely at the crystal, the emperor could see the whole room of thousands of crystals reflected in each tiny facet of the crystal in the center. The master showed how the smallest particle contains the whole universe.”

At some point nearing the one year mark of my service, something in me shifted. I started to feel like a part of my community. At the time, I described it to myself that “I stopped seeing Mongolians around me & started seeing people.” Now, I am beginning to realize that my self concept comes from within more than without, that I am not simply a product of my possessions or experiences. Who I am is a constant state of transition & change, a never-ending striving for betterment, a continual drive to move forward, an insistent seeking of inspiration & improvement.

“When we are silent & attentive, we can sense directly how nothing in the world can be truly possessed by us. Clearly we do not possess outer things; we are in some relationship with our cars, our home, our family, our jobs, but whatever that relationship is, it is 'ours' only for a short time. In the end, things, people, or tasks die or change or we lose them. Nothing is exempt.”

Meditation on Forgiveness

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-08 13:21:00

Meditation on Forgiveness excerpted from "A Path with Heart" by Jack Kornfield

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should fine in each person's life sorrow & suffering enough to disarm all hostility. -Longfellow

". . . Forgiveness does not in any way justify or condone harmful actions. While you forgive, you may also say, 'Never again will I knowingly allow this to happen.' . . . Forgiveness does not mean you have to seek out or speak to those who caused you harm. You may choose never to see them again.

Forgiveness is simply an act of the heart, a movement to let go of the pain, the resentment, the outrage that you have carried as a burden for so long. It is an easing of your own heart & an acknowledgment that, no matter how strongly you may condemn & have suffered from the evil deeds of another, you will not put another human being out of your heart. We have all been harmed, just as we have all at times harmed ourselves & others.

For most people forgiveness is a process. When you have been deeply wounded, the work of forgiveness can take years. It will go through many stages -grief, rage, sorrow, fear, & confusion- & in the end, if you let yourself feel the pain you carry, it will come as a relief, as a release for your heart. You will see that forgiveness is fundamentally for your own sake, a way to carry the pain of the past no longer. The fate of the person who harmed you, whether they be alive or dead, does not matter nearly as much as what you carry in your heart. & if the forgiveness is for yourself, for your own guilt, for the harm you've done to yourself or to another, the process is the same. You will come to realize that you can carry it no longer.

To practice the formal forgiveness meditation, let yourself sit comfortably, allowing your eyes to close & your body & breath to be natural & easy. Let your body & mind relax. Breathing gently into the area of your heart, let yourself feel all the barriers & holding that you have carried because you have not forgiven, not forgiven yourself, not forgiven others. Let yourself feel the pain of keeping your heart closed. Then after breathing softly into the heart for some time, begin asking & extending forgiveness, reciting the following words & allowing them to open your forgiving heart. Let the words, images, & feelings grow deeper as you repeat them.

Forgiveness from others: There are many ways that I have hurt & harmed others, betrayed or abandoned them, caused them suffering, knowingly or unknowingly, out of my pain, fear, anger, & confusion. Let yourself remember & visualize these many ways you have hurt others. See & feel the pain you have caused out of your own fear & confusion. Feel your own sorrow & regret, & sense that finally you can release this burden & ask for forgiveness. Picture each memory that still burdens your heart. & then one by one, repeat, I ask for your forgiveness, I ask for your forgiveness.

Forgiveness for yourself: Feel your own precious body & life. There are many ways that I have betrayed, harmed, or abandoned myself through thought, word, or deed, knowingly or unknowingly. Let yourself see the ways you have hurt or harmed yourself. Picture them, remember them, visualize them. Feel the sorrow you have carried from all these actions, & sense that you can release these burdens, extending forgiveness for them one by one. Then say to yourself, For each of the ways I have hurt myself through action or inaction, out of fear, pain, & confusion, I now extend a full & heartfelt forgiveness. I forgive myself, I forgive myself.

Forgiveness for those who have hurt or harmed you: There are many ways I have been wounded & hurt, abused & abandoned, by others in thought, word, or deed, knowingly or unknowingly. Let yourself picture them, remember them, visualize these many ways. Feel the sorrow you have carried from this past & sense that you can release yourself from this burden by extending forgiveness if your heart is ready. Now say to yourself, In the many ways others have hurt or harmed me, out of fear, pain, confusion, & anger, I see these now. To the extent that I am ready, I offer them forgiveness. I have carried this pain in my heart too long. For this reason, to those who have caused me harm, I offer you my forgiveness. I forgive you.

Let yourself gently repeat these three directions for forgiveness until you can feel a release in your heart. Perhaps for some great pains you may not feel a release, but only the burden & the anguish or anger you have held. Touch this softly. Be forgiving of yourself in this as well. Forgiveness cannot be forced; it cannot be artificial. Simply continue the practice, & let the words & images work gradually in their own way."

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-08 14:08:00

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen
Wednesday, February 8th 2012

The following quotes are excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield.
“While it can be good to give beyond our means, if this is done unconsciously & repeatedly, it will become unhealthy. Whether it is generosity with our time, our possessions, our money, or our love, the principles are the same. True generosity grows in us as our heart opens, grows along with the integrity & health of our inner life.”

“Many of us are so out of touch with ourselves that we can easily lose a sense of what is a skillful action in a situation. We can be so intent on caring for others or on pleasing them or pacifying them or avoiding conflict with them that we don't clearly face our own needs, our own situation.”

These are things I struggle with on a daily basis. Because of my fervor to include others in my life & my deep love of friendship & human connections, I sometimes find myself making undue sacrifices. Later, I become resentful, insecure, questioning myself & the other person, wondering why I don't matter or why I don't mean as much to others as they mean to me. I find myself overenthusiastic in writing letters, responding to emails immediately, answering the phone in the middle of cooking dinner (putting my meal on the back burner literally as well as figuratively). These things are done out of the inspiration I gain from communication, from connecting with others, from sharing a bond of humanity.

However, it behooves me now to act with a sense of independence, rather than seeking energy from others, to exhibit maturity rather than exuberance. Though I have always internally feared the reality that I might lose myself by not acting on my inspirations, particularly where others are concerned, I have come to find that if anything, withholding has awakened me more. (On repeat in my head is a quote from a dear friend “People don't value what they don't have to work for.”) I don't need to ask how high when I am asked to jump. More striking a revelation is that I don't even need to respond immediately or at all. I can ask myself “Do I want to?” & that is okay. It is truly like opening a window for the first time after the completion of a cold winter & taking a breath of fresh air.

“In the paradox of life sometimes our compassion requires us to say yes & sometimes it requires us to say no. These may seem like opposites but they are not. Each can express a respect for all beings, including ourselves.”

It strikes me as amusing in a more or less bittersweet manner that I really needed to read those words in order for me to realize that I can give myself permission to be silent in life. I have always been a highly reactive person. I take action rather than do nothing. Yet for the sake of tiptoeing around failing friendships, difficult situations, the potential that someone should confront me for a perceived wrongdoing or that I should be met with some arduous conflict where I may be forced into a position of having to defend myself to another person or group of people (& defending myself in this manner is something I simply will not do), in the past I have rather risked myself, my comfort, my body, my time, my love, my friendship, my goodwill. I have been taken advantage of, I've driven to friends' houses late nights, traveled between states at times inconvenient to me to provide comfort or council, I've collected hours & hours of “Are you okays?” instead of asking “Am I okay?” Funny, that I now realize I can say no, I can say nothing. I can excuse myself from a situation with myself in mind, rather than staying uncomfortable to avoid upsetting others. I can choose not to answer the phone. (In fact, I am contented to leave my phone on silent, plugged in at my computer desk. I check it whenever the muse descends).

“Try responding only when your heart is open & kind. When you don't feel this way, wait & let the difficult feelings pass.”

Perhaps one of the greater gemstones of advice from Jack Kornfield, this new spin on the old “Bite your tongue & count to ten” adage strikes me in a very deep way. If we can't respond with love in our hearts (even in the face of anger, anxiety, pain, stress, worry, or harm that we have been done by someone), we don't have to respond at all.

aaand I’ve been a slacker with this blogging business.....

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-02-08 13:54:00

khuruudakh

new ger party!

anh's a champ

yanaa

corey getting his smore on

smore makin

bayaraa's a fan!

panda hat

skypin with the newbs

bayaraa gettin in on the panda hat too

aaand I’ve been a slacker with this blogging business.. uchlaarai/sorry!

Here’s a little recap of our sitemates’ “Mandatory Bonding Night” we each take turns hosting each Saturday night.. This one started around noon with a new ger warming party, so it turned out to be a MBN marathon in the end but good times I’d say!

Here’s the breakdown:

12:00 - the Mandalgovi sitemates meet at my ger. Apparently, a car is coming to pick us up for my new friend Bayaraa’s brother’s new ger feast.. look at us all classy! Also, we would’ve gotten stupid lost if we tried trekking out there on our own ha.
12:30 - we arrive at the new ger shindig. It’s Corey’s first one! My teachers all must’ve gotten together and decided to move to new houses this past fall, so it was like my 2434234th new ger feast… and they’re still so good!
13:00 - we got forced fed so very much food/drink from our gracious hosts including horse meat buuz, potato salad, vegetable soup, candies, aaruul (Mongolian curdled milk, dehydrated and thoroughly dried in the air and sun… yum, right??), airag (fermented mare’s milk.. not to be confused with “fermented bear’s milk”. I’m looking at you, Gregory :), ceremonial vodka, etc.
14:00 - food coma about to take over but that doesn’t stop us from playing some Mongolian drinking game known as “khuruudakh” (I think I’ve described this earlier in my blog.. something along the lines of turning rock-paper-scissors in to a drinking game with airag). Here are the scores from the day:

Corey v. Stephanie… winner=Stephanie
Corey v. Megan………winner= Corey
Stephanie v Anh……..winner=Stephanie

… I think I’ve found my calling… But I will give credit where credit is due. Anh chugs airag like a champ!

15:00 - we manage to find our way back to Corey’s house. Weather is beautiful out (aka 15F and sunny.. feels balmy ha) but we are exhausted from our eating marathon. So we all pass out at Corey’s succumbing to the food coma. Well 3/4 of us.. Overachiever Corey goes on a run. Then we get up and work on the Anti-Smoking project that’s actually going down this week as a type
17:00 - We make our way to our favorite restaurant Orgil where Corey has convinced the cook to make us a special order pizza! I am all for this since it is my turn to host “Mandatory Bonding Night” and any way I can get out of cooking is A-OK with me! But we get there only to find that in classic Mongol stiil, the cook went to the countryside for the weekend or something along those lines… so cooking’s back on me.. yanaa!
18:00 - we get some spaghetti supplies and head back to my place trying to thaw out the ger quickly. I’m left as head chef on the fly but am quickly demoted when I somehow manage to dump half the noodles on the floor while draining.. its impressive really how difficult I can make cooking. Our Mongolian friend Bayaraa who joined us found the whole debacle quite amusing (these are her pictures pictured above)
20:00 - after we get our spaghetti on, we move on to my favorite part of the evening, desert! (well besides getting to skype with our old sitemates, the Newberries, who are currently teaching in Dallas now.. of course!) So my gracious mother happened to include marshmallows in my last care package, so what is the first thing that comes to mind when you get marshmallows? S’MORES!! (immediately followed by the movie The Sandlot.. “S’more what?”) We build a massive wood fire and put that ger stove to good use making us some amazing smores! My haashaa mama and our Mongolian friend Bayaraa definitely enjoyed their first real all-Amuuurican deserts. (see pure elation on Bayaraa’s face pictured above post-S’more experience)
21:00 - and the Newberres sign onto skype! These guys went home back in October after finding out they were having a baby!! Very exciting of course but we sure do miss them. They were incredibly thoughtful and sent us a care package back in Dec. Unfortunately since then, all four of the remaining sitemates haven’t all been in one place between trainings/vacations until this past week! So we were able to have a great conversation with the Newberries (having a baby boy this June!!) and open the package with them there.. like Christmas! They made sure to included 4 of everything ha.. they know us well :)
22:00 - Newberries are off for a productive Saturday back in the states and we keep the party alive here in Mandalgovi going through our repertoire of card and other drinking games while enjoying the spoils of an amazing care package.. mmmm candy canes!
1:00 - overall a successful Mandatory Bonding Night I would say but at 1am, we decide to call it.. the desert/cold really takes it out of ya! Summer sure will be a different story :)

OOh also, MBN couldn’t be complete without bustin out the Panda Hat, now could it??

So that, my friends, would be the breakdown of our past Saturday Mandatory Bonding Marathon. Definitely good to have everyone back in town!

38/366 Russian exhibition

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia worth 1000 words

2012-02-07 20:40:16

I scoured my apartment for something unmistakably Russian and the best I could find was a copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. I heard the exciting news today that I have been selected to participate in an international photography exhibition organized … Continue reading →

An Unfortunate Move

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Marikaa in Mongolia

2012-02-07 13:09:00

To say that these past couple of weeks have been draining would be an understatement. Peace Corps told me that when I returned to Mongolia from China my HCA (host country agency) would move my ger to another hashaa. Unfortunately, they were unable to find dirt to put around the ger to winterize it. Mongolia is so cold during the winter that the ground freezes. J It is virtually impossible to move a ger in the winter. The next step was for my HCA to find a Mongolian family in Ulziit with an extra ger in their yard. That is also impossible. Finding a Mongolian with an empty ger is the equivalent of finding an American with two homes in one yard. Of course one of those homes must be empty. It was a hopeless situation that inevitably led to Peace Corps decision to move me. What does this mean? It means that I will be starting over from scratch. All of the progress that I have made in my community stops now. Hopefully my CP's will continue the work that I started.

I will have to go through that very awkward adjustment period in my new town…again! I must get to know my new CP’s and student’s strengths, weaknesses, and quirks. Although compared to saying goodbye to my students, CP’s, and directors that’s nothing. The idea of moving to another town 8months into my service is terrifying. I hate change and sad goodbyes. This week has been filled with them. Seeing my students and CP’s cry is heartrending. I didn’t think that it was possible to fall in love with a community so quickly. I certainly have. The bond that I have formed with Ulziit and it’s people is undeniable.

So you are probably wondering where my new site is. It is not far at all. I will be moving to a town about 90 kilometers outside of UB. This is great because I am really close to Ulziit. I will most likely visit my old CP’s and students every couple of weeks. I have been told that it is more developed than Ulziit because the train runs through it. I will be working at a complex school that is much larger than the one I was working at. On a positive note, I will be living in an apartment! (Heat, running water) I never thought that these words would come out of my mouth; but I would rather freeze in my ger in Ulziit than move. Lol.

I will be moving this Tuesday. My greatest fear is that I will not be able to form the same bonds that I did in Ulziit. Genuine, lasting friendships don’t come along very often. On the other hand, Mongolians are unbelievably hospitable and kind. I have no doubt that they will welcome me with open arms. (Food, music, vodka) Wish me luck!

Teachers Day

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Mongolia Monologues

2012-02-07 09:52:00

Teachers Day is celebrated here in Mongolia the first weekend in February and around the world at various times. There is also World Teachers Day, October 5th.
Teachers are such hard working individuals and deserve recognition and fun from their daily busy, and sometimes very grueling schedule! Some folks say this profession has it easy, (with plenty of vacations) but think of all the long hours spent outside of the classroom, lesson planning, grading, etc.!
My school invites all the employees, director, teachers, cleaners, jejurs, plumber, cooks, etc.... everyone joins in the festivities! An awards ceremony is held, with various prizes, plaques, medals etc. being given out. These awards are very revered here and those winning them are held in very high esteem.
There is a lighter side to awards as well, with student voted awards for best image, funniest, most talented, best young teacher etc.. Most teachers trade their teaching duties for one day with a student and the kids have loads of fun with this assignment!
As a Community Youth Development volunteer, I am not exactly a teacher, though I do co-teach several classes weekly with English teachers. I have an easy gig, as I work on conversational skills and pronunciation with the students; thus miss out on the lesson planning, the teaching of grammar, grading of tests, taking attendance and all the other major responsibilities that go along with being a teacher. However, I do get referred to as Jo teacher and respected by the students.
Hats off to teachers everywhere!

Me and Happy (Oyun)

Hajidma (dorm teacher), Otgon (school director) and two of school staff

Altai (dorm teacher) with school electrician

Foreign Language Dept. of my school

Winter

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia The Other Side of the World

2012-02-07 08:08:50

It’s been 4 months since my last post. Many things have happened and rather than back date a whole series of events, I’ve decided to tell you about the one thing that’s been consistent these last 4 months. Winter. Winter. I love it. Truly it is my favorite season. I like bundling up. I like [...]

John the Red-Nosed Volunteer

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Genghis Jhan

2012-02-07 03:00:00

...had a very frostbitten nose
and if you ever poked it
he'd swat your hand and whimper quietly...

Actually it's technically just frostnipped. And it's pretty much gone. I lost my scarf a month ago or so and decided it wasn't worth buying a new one. Last year, the coldest month was December, so I figured it was all downhill from there anyway. Well, this year January was a lot colder, and one day last week while walking to school, my face getting colder and colder, I felt an abrupt pain in my nose, like someone had just punched me with a very hot fist. By the time I got inside, I'd forgotten about it, but a day or two later, that spot had turned bright red. Fortunately things are warming up around here, and Merrie lent me a scarf just in case.

The school year has progressed out of the first semester, when it's possible to get some work done, and into the second, where there are holidays and concerts and standardized tests every two minutes which make it nearly impossible to do anything except get stressed and frustrated, or, as I prefer, just stay home and watch movies with the wife and cat. In the last two weeks, we've had six performances, five of which were on the same day. We're raising money for new chairs and audio equipment to put in our auditorium. I have to bite my tongue whenever they tell me this, as I feel there are many more obvious places any money we raise ought to go. For instance, it would be nice to have classrooms warm enough that students didn't need to wear their jackets inside, but I suppose it's hard to argue with a killer stereo system.

Lucky for me, I have my lovely wife to come home to, as well as her inimitable cooking. Mongolia has made us both better chefs, but she's the true master around here. Our friend Pico was visiting from the countryside again, and on his birthday, Kaede made bacon and ricotta ravioli, squash soup, a fresh garden salad, garlic bread, and red velvet cake from real beets. I was supposed to help with all this, but his birthday happened to fall on the day we had to perform that same damned concert five times.

We're glad February is here. While things at school can be difficult, a lot of our other projects are going well. We launch a new group of Access students this week, we just gave a practice TOEFL exam, and the International Creative Writing Contest is only a few weeks away. Perhaps most exciting is Tsagaan Sar, the lunar new year and biggest holiday of the year, which will happen at the end of the month. Last year, we didn't get much of a chance to celebrate it, so we're looking forward to round two. Kaede and I are having some nice new Mongolian jackets tailored just for the occasion. Very exciting.

In other holiday news, last Friday was Teacher's Day. Every school has a huge party and every teacher gets hilariously wasted, and of course we offered the TOEFL exam the next morning, much to the groggy, hungover dismay of many of our particpants. At our celebration, I was unexpectedly given an award for using good methodology over the three to five years I've been working. Doesn't really make sense, but oh well. Can't complain about a nifty medal!

Swiming in November

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Steppe Up, Step Out: Mongolia to Cambodia

2012-02-05 23:03:00

It's so strange to come home to such awarm winter. The weather today was mild and beautiful. I feel likeGod is on my side in saying 'eff the Super Bowl!' just because theair makes you itch to be outside. But somehow at the same time it'sthe tiniest bit tragic. It's hard to ignore that every ray of sunwarming the face is also melting just one more inch of an iceberg. Iknow it's beautiful weather but somehow it's a little painful becauseit feels so wrong, so unnatural. We are gloriously warmed by the firethat is burning the earth. It reminds me of a great song that's nowone of my fave throwbacks: Sleeping In by Postal Service. It's agreat tune if you don't know it and a verse goes:

And then last night I had that strangedream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
Where concernsabout the world getting warmer
The people thought they were justbeing rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
Forobeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters withthe address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in November

Anyway, don't mean to be grim. It is quite beautiful out so I'll take what I can get which right now is the door flung open, budding trees and very happy birds. Enjoy theevening and happy Super Bowl, ya'll!

THE SNIFF!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Mongolia

2012-02-05 06:00:00

It is the little things that make the world go around. Many times I have these grand ideas of what I should be doing, want to do and will do. However, we live in world, in communities full of people who are also doing. They are doing their part. They are the doctors, lawyers, preachers and teachers of our day. But there are those whom are often overlooked. They contribute so much yet they are often looked down upon or even cast to the side. These people contribute to our comfort and often our health. They are generally humble and pleasant. I speak of the People that clean and cook in our schools.

Today I had the opportunity to “make someone’s day”. Interestingly enough, my day was “made” too. I woke with the idea that today I was going to give these wonderful cleaning and kitchen ladies pictures from our New Year’s party. I got up did my morning routine of meditation, exercise, breakfast& coffee. After getting dressed, I would not let myself forget to put the pictures on my flash. Today I would give something. Not that I don’t usually give, but, today was a special opportunity to give to people who welcome me each day with smiles and “Sain bain uu’s”.

The taxi drivers were so pleasant too. I knew this day was only getting better! I got some money from the bank and went to the print shop. The guy who works in the shop deliberately speaks very fast Mongolian to me. However, I go cause I get a laugh and they are fairly nice to a brotha. Once the wife of the owner finished with my pictures, I hop in another taxi off to school. When I arrive I am greeted with my normal smiles and millions of “Hi’s”, However, I love the children whom interject with Mongolian so I can actually say something other than …Hi, HI, hi, HI….Hello. I met with my managers and teachers about my close of service date, Olympic preparations and distributing books that we received. The meeting was one of the best.

After my meeting I was on a hunt. I printed out three copies of the photos from the New Years Party of the two groups of ladies from the kitchen and cleaning crew. I had in hand, three copies for the Cleaning staff and kitchen staff. First I went to the kitchen /lunch room and gave the pictures. I explained the kind words I wrote on the back in Mongolian and the head chef put it better translation for me. Later, finishing my milk tea and been, I was recharged and on the hunt for the cleaning staff. I found them. On the second floor doing their duties in sheer content. The first lady caught me as I was fumbling for the photos, she knew exactly what it was and I wanted to give it in a gift like manner. So, she pulled me over to the window where she could see better and it also gave me a place to put my things. But, it was the earnest “Thank YOU” and eye contact they warmed my heart. She held my hand for a minute and it was if her "Thank you" echoed at my acceptance to serve in the Peace Corps. Than my friend, another cleaning lady about 50 or so came and sealed the deal with a smile, handshake and traditional Mongolian sign of affection, “The Sniff”! My day was “MADE”! Go make someone’s day.

Teachers' Day

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Ruffin, Ready:

2012-02-04 14:21:00

In addition to being my 8^th month anniversary from leaving home, this Tuesday was Teachers’ Day here in Mongolia. Notorious for finding things to celebrate, my counterparts had been assuring me for weeks that for this party we would spare no expense (Jurassic Park, anyone?). The celebration began in the morning, when 11^th graders taught the classes instead of the teachers, a method to whose efficacy I cannot accurately speak. It was all in good fun. Classes ended early at noon and I assume everyone went home to get fancy, something I was unaware of when I showed up at 2 to Baganuur’s Culture Center entirely underdressed (while probably wearing the nicest thing I own). I found a seat in the crowded auditorium and sat for hours as an awards ceremony progressed, accompanied by a looped Casio track—some amalgamation of “Pomp and Circumstance” and “Hail to the Chief.” They sure love their Casio. The Governor gave a speech, highlighting all the improvements his cabinet has made around town this term (clever man, since it’s an election year). I cheered for my teachers who were chosen to receive awards that they proudly wore the entire night. As aforementioned, awards are a big deal. After the ceremony had finished, various performers took the stage. Traditional Mongolian instruments were (unfortunately) paired in duet with the Casio that made an encore appearance. Ladies and gentlemen in fancy costumes sang really loudly, struggling to be heard over the Casio’s drumkit. Brass instruments (the first I’ve seen in Mongolia) even competed for a moment in the spotlight against the synth of the keys. Finally, all of that stopped and a man with a single murin khuur (horse head fiddle) came out and played a beautiful arrangement. Next, some students did a strange pop-and-lock dance to some sort of dub-step remix while wearing matching outfits and sunglasses. It was all very entertaining. Out of nowhere, the concert was over and teachers restlessly shuffled from the auditorium. “Bayariin mend” “Bayar khuurgii” Congratulations were awarded all around (the traditional greeting on holidays for the most part) and my friend, Alta, hooked her arm in mine while another buttoned my coat and escorted me to the door. “Now we leave.” “Where are we going?” “Party.”

It was 5 p.m. The awards ceremony was for the entire district, but my school’s party was not supposed to start until 7. I asked what we would do until then. My teachers said we would go somewhere and sit. We went to a bar/restaurant and had a beer (miraculously, a stout—Happy Teachers’ Day, indeed) and, strangely, a single boiled egg. After sitting around for a while, we left for the fancy restaurant where our party would be. Our department (foreign language) commandeered an entire corner of the room away from others, which was probably for the best since we can get rowdy. There was a band formed of miners (again, playing brass instruments). They played for a while and we sat around and talked and drank juice. This party, I was told, was going to be dry. That’s right. A Mongolian party without alcohol. None at all.

So we were sitting at our table, hanging out, when another awards ceremony started. Several of my teachers received awards. And then, my shining moment of glory: our volleyball team was called up to receive our winnings from the tournament held a few weeks earlier. Hand in hand, we ran forward cheering. Our stoic school director shook my hand and told me congratulations. We took a picture and carried our prize back to our table. And then it was over, and I was hungry. The food hadn’t come yet, so everyone decided to dance.

Dancing in Mongolia is a funny thing. First, it is not usually your choice to start. Second, you may only dance in one way: a circle. “Sara, you will dance now.” “No, I think I will sit here and drink this aloe juice. Mmm.” “No. Dance now.” So I was grabbed by the wrist and inserted into the circle. Knees were bending in rhythm to some Jennifer Lopez song, I’m sure. The circle dance: everyone moves the same, and everyone watches each other. If you’re lucky, you are under the bright, romantic fluorescent lights of a restaurant like we were. At about that time, one of our female gym teachers, Buya, dances up to me and puts her jacket around me, enticing me into a strange mirror dance. Thankful that the song ended, I sneak back to my seat.

Our food finally came. We had chicken. What a treat! While everyone was seated for dinner, gifts were given to the teachers who were given awards. They received a variety of presents: money, chocolates, vodka. Hello, loophole. So that is how our dry party became very vodka-infused, very fast. Bottle after bottle of Chingiss Gold was finished. We danced again. The shot glasses followed us to the dance floor (literally, glasses). We sang terrible English music really loudly. I pretended to know the words to Mongolian songs. When the chorus to “Zaya” came, I sang “Zaya, zaya, zaya” as loud as my counterparts did, arms resting on each other’s shoulders. “Forever, forever, forever” and we swayed back and forth. Buya came back and grabbed me, dragging me rather forcefully away from my friends who held on to me and yelled at her to stop and let me go. I felt protected. I taught my teachers to swing dance. Then I taught my manager. An 11^th grader showed up to sing a Michael Buble love song as congratulations to his teacher who won an award. I was asked why I didn’t know the words to this English song.

The night was winding down. It must have been close to midnight and time to leave. I was looking around pathetically for full bottles of juice to take home. One of my teachers brought me an apple to put in my pocket, knowing they are expensive. We picked up our coats from the front room and headed into the cold. Arm in arm, we stumbled together through the streets, planning which teachers to take home first, gossiping along the way. My department was the last to leave. Alta and I, living in the same building, split from the group and took a shortcut through a park home. I got home about 12 hours after I had originally left for this Teachers’ Day Celebration. It was a lot of fun to take time to celebrate all the educators in my town. Special recognition was given to all of the great accomplishments made by those who have worked so hard, and I think that recognition for teachers can sometimes be overlooked. I am lucky to be living here in a culture that values and respects teachers so much.

I had a great first Mongolian Teachers’ Day, even though I forgot to bring my camera to document it. Tuesday was also a very special day in my life back home. My brother and his wife had their first son only about an hour before I had to leave for the awards ceremony. I got to Skype home to them while they were still at the hospital. I feel so blessed to have been able to be a part of such an important day. So here’s a picture of my brand new nephew! Isn't he perfect? Congratulations, y’all!

Carson Dean

Coming back to it…

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Sonofthemidwestinthefareast's Blog

2012-02-04 11:54:15

After a wonderful and far too short trip to Berlin, I’m slipping back into the world of gers and mutton and my work. School has started again after a short break in January, and this past Friday was “Teacher’s Day” in Mongolia. A day when teachers pick a student representative to teach their classes for [...]

Homecoming

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Steppe Up, Step Out: Mongolia to Cambodia

2012-02-03 13:59:00

I'm back! Atlanta has opened her arms and welcomed me into herCrisco-scented bosom once again. Hallelujah! It's been quite a journey. Insteadof a 12 hour lay-over I managed to weasel my little butt onto the flight thatwas leaving 3 hours after I turned up in Seoul from Phnom Penh. Not sure what I did rightkarmically for that to work out, but it must have been something big. There, seated between an obese,whiskey guzzling Vietnam War Vet back from a trip to his Baptist orphanages anda narcoleptic Korean girl, I lost all sense of space and time playing way toomany games of Tetris and waiting impatiently for the plane to land. For 14hours. (By the way, if you haven’t seen the movie 50/50, do it! It made melaugh and openly weep on the plane, much to the confusion of the flightattendants.) But when the plane finally ground to a halt at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport,I was once again sucked into a roller-coaster of emotions, a ride I have yet todismount.

The sky was grey when we landed. The buildings were grey. And like visitingyour kindergarten long after you’ve left, the world outside of the portalwindow seemed smaller and less shiny than I had remembered or hoped. I wondered if I’dmade a mistake. I considered asking the pilot to turn right back around. But Ihad no idea what wonders waited for me in the airport. As soon as I deplaned Iwas overcome with sheer joy. Photos of lean-to houses and ripe, fuzzy peachessmiled at me glossily from the walls of the terminal. The portly attendants with gravity defying hairsculptures called me 'bay-bah' and chattered about drinking ‘Co-co-lah.’ The border patrolwas a regiment made solely of sweet Southern boys, with chiseled jaws and gentlequestions, who wished me all the best. And oh the bathrooms! Toilet paper asthick and supple as the world’s biggest cotton ball. Sparkling clean seats toreally and truly sit on. What a brave new world I had landed in! I even drankfrom the faucet just because I could, thankyouverymuch. And how sweet thatlukewarm water tasted.

But then again I plunged. Waiting for my baggage to be pooped out onto the conveyorbelt was perhaps the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I could feel thegrey hairs squeezing their way onto my head and my chances of having a massivestroke skyrocket. The women in my family have many a blessed virtue, patientsis not one of them. I had planned on surprising my parents 12 hours early buthow in the world could I when faceless gremlins were keeping my backpackprisoner for crimes unknown? But finally, like a ray of hope, it sprang fromthe bowels of the airport and trundled its way onto the conveyor belt. Isnatched it up, raced the rest of the way through the labyrinth of customs andsecurity cleanings then popped out into the world and onto the MARTA, Atlanta’smetro system.

It’s comforting to know that some things will never change. For instance,MARTA will always smell like chicken wings and cocoa butter and I wouldn’thave it any other way. I plopped down onto a plastic orange seat, breathed deep the smells of my youth and chattedwith a good ole American businessman about his work in costume jewelry and myadventures around the world. The voice coming out of my mouth sounded detachedand foreign as I talked lightly about living in Mongolia and Cambodia for twoand a half years. The businessman, kind and interested albeit a little confused, had never been abroad before. Of all my fears in coming home, I dread being someone people can’trelate to or sounding too big for my britches. I don’t want to be that guy inthe hostel bar, chain smoking and telling everyone about how rad homestays inAfghanistan were before the Russians invaded or that if you haven’t seen thesunrise from K2 you haven’t actually lived at all. Everyone’s impressed but noone actually likes that guy.

At any rate, after defending myself in the face of a very persistent homelessman, I plodded off the train and into Midtown Atlanta, from jungle to jungle. I was quite the spectacle,brightly colored boots, greasy hair and toting a massive olive backpack, likeAtlas back from his gap year. I even got some amused grins and cheerfulthumbs-up from businessmen on their lunch breaks. And finally, after a totalof 27 hours, I spilled into the door of my Dad’s office, much to his surprise. Iwas home.

It’s been good being back, although it’s been less than a day. I had a heftynap, split two bottles of wine with my elated parents over whole wheat (!!)pasta and smoked salmon then slept like a baby. It had been three days since I’dslept horizontally and for more than four hours in a row. But hometown gloryaside, I know it will be hard. My grandmother just got released from the hospital;the first of what will be a continuous dance as we, her concerned and loving family, followher between nursing homes and hospital beds. My parents are hosting a memorialservice for a dear friend’s father at our house today. My hunt for a good job,which will predictably be exasperating, has officially begun. And somehow, in themidst of all this, I feel like I’m still not here for good. Impulsively, I wasreluctant to unpack my make-up bag, thinking ‘why bother? I’m just going toleave soon anyway.’ Perhaps it’s an old habit. Maybe it’s true. We’ll see.

But I remain optimistic; so far so good. Right now happiness is an avocadoturkey bagel for breakfast while fitting into my old skinny jeans. Andbeing home again.

Mongol Chuud Sportond Ikh Durtai

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Ruffin, Ready:

2012-02-02 07:20:00

I grew up with a healthy dose of competitiveness. I was always in sports. I had two older brothers who never let me win. Like my Mongolian counterparts, if something is made into a competition, I am around 80% more likely to participate. Which is why I bundled up in layers of clothing, headed out in to -30 degree weather, and arrived at my school’s gym for what would be a seemingly never-ending sports-off.

My training manager told me the event would start at 9 am, adding “You are a foreigner and always on time. Please don’t come at 9.” The first game began at 11. As frustrating as it can be at times, I am growing accustomed to “Mongol Time:” life does not need to be rushed. There is nowhere you need to be so urgently that you should pass up what you might see on the journey. I think it’s a good lesson. Anyway, we gathered in our tiny foreign language office to change into our “game shirts” (pink t-shirts boldly stating “Roca Wear: sexy since 1999”) and then added sticky numbers to the back while hot milk tea and bread was passed around. We were ready.

Lunch Break

Second Dinner

There were 8 teams in the volleyball tournament. Meanwhile, chess and ping pong tournaments were being held in different rooms. The teachers who were not playing brought us food they had cooked at home to eat between games. I was reminded of the Team Moms from my youth who always supplied orange slices, fruit snacks, and Gatorade to be quickly devoured by hungry children who had just finished a softball game before running off to play on the playground. Our game fuel was a little different though. After a bready breakfast, huushuur was brought for lunch: fried dough pockets of meat and onions. I was handed a filling bowl of milk tea instead of tart and fruity sports drink. A few games later, the ritual was replicated, this time with bansh (steamed meat-filled dumplings), milk tea, and boov (sweet pastries, this type was fried like a donut). I was trying to avoid greasing up my sweet jersey with all of the savory treats, but with dinner completed, we had play-off games to start. A huge crowd gathered in the gym. Students appeared out of nowhere to cheer on their teachers. Hecklers from other departments were shouting their best attempts. We finished the tournament as champions, undefeated in every match, at around 10 pm, at which time I was summoned to come eat dinner in one of the classrooms. Confused and still full, I was thrusted a heaping plate of tsuivan (an oh so delicious noodle dish) with a side of budaatai huurag (a rice and meat mixture). More milk tea was poured and congratulatory chocolates were devoured. In just one day, I consumed all three of Mongolia’s national foods between rounds of intense volleyball matches. I found myself aching in that classroom with joy, despite the incredibly bruised knees I had gotten diving for balls on the ancient wooden gym floor, proud of the team I was a part of and lucky to call so my friends.

Exhausted, I got up to leave and get some rest from a long day. I was stopped at the door and begged to play in the basketball tournament, which was starting at 11 pm. I tried to wrap my head around this impossibility. “Ta nar onoo oroin surguuliin dotor untax uu?” “Are you going to sleep in the school tonight?” I asked with a laugh. I explained that they would not want me on their team, even if I wasn’t falling asleep, and retreated back into the cold after retiring my jersey and suiting up for the cold, smiling from a Saturday spent at school.

Holidays

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Joyce's Peace Corps Blog

2012-02-02 06:03:00

We’re still in the holiday season here in Mongolia, which lasts from a week or two before New Year’s Day and continues through Tsagaan Sar, the lunar new year (Feb. 23rd this year). Around this time, the weather is truly awful, but people are generally in high spirits and nothing gets done at work because everyone is preoccupied with holiday concerts and parties.
This year the kids at my school put on a bunch of performances—singing, dancing, acting, playing instruments, and just about anything else you could think of. It’s at these performances that I realize I’ve gotten way too attached and I can’t stand to think of finishing my service! Parents don’t usually watch these concerts, but I take their place by staying the entire 7 hours (I swear this year every single student performed something), taking a million pictures and videos and clapping very VERY loudly. (Audiences here are tough crowd. If they weren’t impressed by what you did, they just won’t clap. Even if you’re a 6-year-old girl who just recited a poem in Russian. In fact, they’ll often leave or make phone calls. I feel bad about this, so I make up for it by being Crazy Clapping Lady.) In my second year, I feel like I know most of the kids at my school (since I teach all the 5th-11th grade classes), especially the ones who come to my after school clubs and tutoring. So now I get really excited about seeing the kids perform (“Monkhtuvshin from 11a is going to sing a solo!”) Of course, I don’t know many of the students’ names. I’m getting a lot better this year, but I have to admit when I looked at the roster for one class and saw “Janlavtsogzol” and “Mungunchadmana” next to each other, I sort of gave up on the idea of memorizing every student’s name. Instead I have private nicknames for a lot of them based on distinguishing features—Hairdo, Cheekbones, Turtleneck Boy, Chubs (I mean this in the most loving way possible), Tiny, Mr. Cool, Dimples, Genius, Braces, Mustache, Smiley, etc. This is generally a good system and I’m good at faking, but occasionally I get caught and it becomes clear that I don’t know someone’s name. For example, one 7th grade girl ran up to me at the beginning of class and whispered in my ear, “Today is Enkhbaatar’s birthday! Let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’ song!” I agreed and had just started directing the class: “One…two…” when she ran back up to me yelling, “No, not yet--Enkhbaatar is in the bathroom!” (We did end up singing for him when he got back. Poor Enkhbaatar stared at his shoes and turned so red I thought his head was going to explode.)
Every single one of my students is so, so sweet. Even the boys who sit in the back and hit each other while you’re trying to explain how to form the past passive tense really mean well. My favorite classes last year were the 5th graders. I was worried that over the summer they would turn into pubescent jerks, but they didn’t! I still almost never leave a class without some origami flowers or candy.
So now I’m officially an old lady who gets all sentimental at student concerts. At the New Year’s concert, the 11th grade boys and girls waltzed together and it was so cute I almost died. I also took at least a hundred pictures of 9th-graders hip hop dancing. My landlord (my school’s Japanese teacher) held a concert to show off her singing talents. I know for sure I’m losing it because I got all teary eyed when she sang the “My Heart Will Go On” techno remix.
I also like this time of year because I get to teach fun holiday lessons. I’ve given up trying to explain that Christmas and New Year’s Day are different holidays in America. (Here they decorate New Year’s trees and Grandfather Winter gives children presents on Jan. 1st.) But I do teach them useless trivia about reindeer and elves. You never really think about how bizarre our Christmas mythology is until you explain it to someone who’s never heard it before. For one 8th grade class, I had them discuss differences between American and Mongolian Christmas. It was in this class that I learned that Mongolian Santa does not travel using magical flying reindeer, but rather by taxi. They also very seriously asked me, “Wait…but does American Santa actually exist?” (My answer: Yes, of course.)
Other than the holiday stuff, there’s not much exciting going on. My school now has 4 cows who hang out in the schoolyard. I have asked several people, both students and teachers, “Whose cows are those?” (while pointing out the window) and they always answer by giggling and saying they don’t know. Really? No one knows? Are they runaway cows who somehow made it through the school gates? Is someone looking for them? I’ve been giving them a wide berth ever since I walked to close to one and it mooed angrily and started peeing with such force that it sprayed all over my shoes.
It reminds me of a story my sitemate the business volunteer told me. During training our first summer, one of the first obstacles his group came across when trying to research businesses in their training town was a cow relaxing in front of the door to the bank. No one could convince it to move, so everyone who needed money was just waiting around for the cow to decide to leave.
As for classes, most of them are pretty fun. My students aren’t afraid of me the way they are other teachers, which makes classroom management a little difficult, but as a rule, if they’re yelling things at each other in English (“She is boy!” “He is yeti!”), I let it go because at least they’re practicing the target language. In one 11th grade class, the boys have taken to walking around the room and imitating me, yelling “no, wrong!” or “correct, good job!” or “bad boy!” to the other students. (For the record, I do not admonish students with “bad boy!” but I guess this is how English teachers talk in their imaginations.) My job as a teacher and grown-up person is to pretend I don’t think this is funny and tell them to sit down. This is what I travelled halfway across the world for—to be made fun of daily by teenagers.
Nowadays I spend so much time at school that the toilet situation is becoming an issue. There are a few indoor toilets, but the bathrooms aren’t constructed well, so you can’t sit on the toilet and close the door at the same time. I’ve developed a sort of diagonal squat (there are no seats) that works pretty well if I hold on to the door. The primary school only has holes in the ground. I try to avoid them since last time I used one, 3 first-grade girls yanked the door to the stall open while I was doing my business and explained urgently that that one was broken and I would have to use another one. I know they were trying to be helpful, but it was a little late by then. (I won’t even try to understand how a hole in the ground can be broken.)
I’ve been trying to be a good volunteer by going to the weekly teachers’ meetings this year. Last year I only went to a few because I have to concentrate really hard to understand what’s going on and that gives me a headache. Sometimes I just zone out and stare at people, which is pretty amusing. Our meetings are held in a classroom. The director sits at the teacher’s desk and lectures at us while we take the role of students by sitting in desks and staring out the window, sleeping, or playing with our phones. At our first meeting of the year, the director announced that this year there would be no drinking at school during school hours, and the teachers responded with a collective eye roll. Then we all did vodka shots to celebrate the new year. I guess it was after school hours? In fact, they seem to do that every week, then they go to the gym to play volleyball. The meeting is during dinnertime, so no one has eaten. I usually just head home, because I’m pretty sure if I drank 4 shots of vodka on an empty stomach then played volleyball, I would hurl.
Aside from work, I don’t do much, but there are now 10 English-speaking volunteers from various organizations in Arvaiheer, so I have good company on the weekends. Not that there’s much to do. “Going out” means going to a club and getting a private karaoke room. The club scene is not very popular, as I think I’ve mentioned, and clubs and bars have to close by midnight. Around 11:45, a few policemen will go around to all the clubs (all 5 of them!) and make sure they’re closing down. Once at karaoke we volunteers lost track of time and a couple of cops came to our room to tell us it was time to go. They apologized for interrupting our “party,” and we started putting on our coats (…and hats, earmuffs, scarves, glove liners, gloves, etc., etc.) The cops left the room for a minute, then came back and told us to sit down. We all exchanged a nervous “Are we in trouble?” look and sat back down. Even though everyone had been shooed out of the bar area and the lights had been turned off, the policemen made the owners turn our karaoke machine back on. Then they sang with us for another hour. Sometimes I really like living in a small town where nothing exciting happens.

Holiday concert...
Grandfather Winter and his Snow Girls:

"Have no fear, for when I'm alone. I'll be better off, then I was before. ...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia A Sweet Mission: Justin in Mongolia

2012-02-02 06:30:00

When I was a boy there were two school subjects you could often find me reading ahead in the school textbook. history, of course, and literature. From as far back as I can remember one author was always included in that required tome, whatever the year, whatever the grade, Jack London. So as my teacher would drone on about some dry love affair in Wuthering Heights, I was in the Yukon, the wilderness, the frontier. London would take me on dangerous, thrilling, adventures. I still enjoy reading them today. One short story always struck me as my favorite, "To Build a Fire". A man and his dog are traveling alone in the north Canadian wilderness. Its winter, its cold, very cold. Through folly of his own the man missteps and his foot plunges through ice, soaking his leg. The temperatures are extreme, time is of the essence, he must build a fire. Misfortune befalls the man a second time when his first fire is accidentally snuffed out. He becomes frantic in his attempts to build a second fire knowing that delaying has already cost him his toes. I remember reading London's words, getting caught up in the man's desperation. I could almost feel the cold, almost see my breath materialize as I turned the pages. His hands now too numb to strike matches or break branches or even throttle his own dog to use its intestines for warmth, he makes one final effort to save himself. He runs, in denial that the exertion will warm his body, he finally gets tired and drifts into a final frozen sleep. All because he couldn't make a fire. Awestruck by the tale I remember closing the book and thinking something along the lines of "My God, I hope I never have to experience cold like that."

I grew up in a temperate climate, summers were hot and winters were cold. I'd play outside in the snow with my brother and neighbors till our noses were red and our cheeks stung. I remember coming inside our warm house afterwards to a cup of hot chocolate my mom would have waiting for me. At my grandmother's house it was always our special ritual, starting that first fire of the winter in her fireplace. We'd huddle around the hearth and she'd let me light the newspapers that would ignite the kindling, she'd even throw in special minerals to make the flames change vibrant colors. I'd sit dazzled and amazed, what an entertaining thing fire was. Snow, the cold, warm fires, it was a novelty, something that came around briefly once a year that you enjoyed. It meant days off of school, days experiencing the outdoors in a different way. It was never unbearable, it never scared me.

Then I moved to Vermont. Winters were longer, and colder. With the destituteness that comes with being a college student in an old apartment I spend the better part of the year huddled around a space heater. It couldn't have been less then fifty degrees in our apartment, but it was cold to me then. Walks to classes were taken at a quick pace and bundled up. It was cold, colder then I'd ever experienced previously but it was still doable. I still went out on weekends, I still walked downtown, but it certainly made me ready for summers a lot sooner. After graduation and my final summer at work drew to a close, I drove back home to New Jersey for the last time. I remember chuckling to myself as I headed south down the highway, the Green Mountains at my back, "Well at least I'll never have to be in cold like that again." The irony hasn't escaped me now.

Today I live in a ger, a yurt, a glorified tent. A round structure with a wooden skeleton and a sheep felt exterior. It is a sanctuary I've grown to love and make my own. I might dare say it may be my favorite place that I've hung my hat, so to speak. For all its romantic primal appeal it is not without its disadvantages. Mongolians have lived in gers for centuries, before the time of Ghengis Khan and up until the present day. A cozy space that keeps in warmth, but without special attention and care to that source of heat, the cold quickly creeps in. Cold that I've never felt or could have imagined before. My sanctuary freezes overnight or during prolonged periods of absence. Water, toothpaste, cooking oil, fruits and vegetables, milk and liquid soap. They all freeze. Cracking open my eyelids each morning, often times the first thing I see is my own breath. It is hard to will myself to get out of bed. When the wind rolls through the steppes and the temperature plummets further still, getting around town is excruciating. Walking from Point A to Point B, often distances of less then one hundred yards, is taken nearly at a running pace. Nostrils, face, and eyelids sting, extremities numb, and ice forms on facial hair. My body seems to scream "Get inside you fool!" I do with the utmost urgency. I tell you all this not for pity or praise but for recognition, I've been living here for a mere eight months. The people I have come to know have lived here they're whole lives. Enduring the same extremes every year. They do it and they survive. I look at the bundled up figure of a six year old and realize they're more hardened then I'll ever be.

I stand just inside my school's doors, poised to endure the elements. Ready to go home for the evening, I pull on my gloves and secure my hat. I stare at the wooden double doors, a testament to the fact that the cold can batter through any defense. Every crevice between the frames is encased in ice and snow. The wind swept draft entombing the wood in a frozen prison. The door and the walls sparkle with ice crystals. The glass above long obstructed by water turned solid. I take a breath and push out into the night.

I'm home, crouched in the center of my ger. Huddled next to my stove, I'm going through a ritual I go through multiple times everyday. A ritual I've come to appreciate: gathering wood, breaking up paper and cardboard, emptying ash. The stove, my lifeline, my key to survival. The creation of one of our universes oldest elements. I've never appreciated it more. My world is frozen, it will take time to thaw. It is warmer in my refrigerator then where I am sitting. I crouch, blowing on the hot coals, the blaze grows, the wood ignites to a therapeutic crackle. I smile in satisfaction, it's all okay, I'm okay, all because.....

Би гал түлж чадна.
(I can build a fire)

Apartment buildings e’erywhere

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Capitulate Now

2012-02-02 02:46:40

I usually don’t like taking photos without some kind of sentient being (human, dog, cat, cow) in the frame, but doing this photo-a-day thing has forced me to consider other things. By “consider other things,” I mean “run outside at … Continue reading →

Just happened upon a few more Mongols who want to wish Aunt...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-02-01 15:05:19

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

Just happened upon a few more Mongols who want to wish Aunt Carol and Mama K a very happy birthday!

(PS absolutely love my 7th grade English Club.. they humor me really)

you heard the lady! My counterpart Navchaa thinks there’s...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-02-01 13:50:57

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

you heard the lady! My counterpart Navchaa thinks there’s two lovely ladies stateside who should be having a very happy birthday today/tomorrow and I fully support. So HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my wonderful Aunt Carol and Mama K!!!

Missing you both lots and hope you have the fantastic birthdays you deserve. LOVE Y’ALL!

Growing говь

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Ramblin' in Mongolia

2012-02-01 06:19:06

Growing говь:

Here is the link to the album I have uploaded on Facebook of Gobi. Hopefully this link will continue to update as I update the album on Facebook.

Near Enemies

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-01 06:07:00

Day Six Hundred & Six
Wednesday, February 1st 2012

Friend, hope for the truth while you are alive.
Jump into the experience while you are alive! . . .
If you don't break your ropes while you are alive,
do you think ghosts will do it after?
--Kabir, Indian mystic poet

Near Enemies excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“The near enemy of loving-kindness is attachment. We have all noticed how attachment can creep into our love relationships. True love is an expression of openness: 'I love you as you are without any expectations or demands.' At first, attachment may feel like love, but as it grows it becomes more clearly the opposite, characterized by clinging, controlling, & fear.

The near enemy of compassion is pity, & this also separates us. Pity feels sorry for 'that poor person over there,' as if he were somehow different from us, whereas true compassion, . . . is the resonance of our heart with the suffering of another. 'Yes, I, too, together with you, share in the sorrows of life.'

The near enemy of sympathetic joy (the joy in the happiness of others) is comparison, which looks to see if we have more of, the same as, or less than another. Instead of rejoicing with them, a subtle voice asks, 'Is mine as good as his?' 'When will it be my turn?' –again creating separation.”

I have found that the existence or lack of sympathetic joy is a profound way to reveal who my true friends are instinctively. With true friends, I find myself experiencing no jealousy or envy from either side, neither within myself nor from the other person. When, for example, Rachel, one of my extremely close friends & confidantes, accomplishes something or has a reason to be proud of herself, I find myself truly, genuinely happy for her. I can share in her joy, & I can share in her pride, free entirely from the stain of envy. I personally believe that this is because Rachel & I are equals and perceive ourselves & one another as such in our friendship.

Contrarily, there are times when I do find myself experiencing jealousy toward another. If my hypothesis is true, people in my life or friends with whom I share equality do not inspire this negative emotion. Thus, I can conclude that instances where I am wanting or find myself lacking in comparing myself to another person deem that other person to not be a close friend. Perhaps in such circumstances, little possibility actually exists for a true friendship to ever evolve. This logic works both ways. When I sense jealousy or envy from another person, likewise, that person is not a close friend & there is little hope of him or her ever becoming one. It is a sad truth in my life that I sometimes find myself sensing these negative emotions from certain individuals, particularly in light of my accomplishments, self-growth, or something else that warrants being coveted.

“The near enemy of equanimity is indifference. True equanimity is balance in the midst of experience, whereas indifference is a withdrawal & not caring, based on fear. It is a running away from life. Thus, with equanimity, the heart is open to touch all things, both the seasons of joy & sorrow. The voice of indifference withdraws, saying 'Who cares. I'm not going to let it affect me.'”

Though I do not personally struggle with indifference (perhaps because I am a very passionate & inspired person by nature), I do find myself challenged by this issue. Should I include some people in my life? No, particularly those who have hurt me & who continue to harm me. Am I afraid? Yes, & I admit that I do withdraw on a very physical level. I know that I cannot control others, I cannot force understanding up anyone, I cannot open a person's eyes to see my perspective, I cannot bludgeon another person with reason, & I cannot take responsibility for anyone else's reactions, emotions, beliefs, or anything else. I would rather distance myself from those who cause me pain by willfully misinterpreting my actions, who choose to think poorly of me in a given difficult situation, or who put me in the position of having to defend myself. Defending myself is something I simply will not do. A true friend is someone who believes the best in me, who does not put me “on the defensive” if there is a misunderstanding, but who comes to me from a place of love & gently asks me to open up, allowing me the chance to explain myself rather than forcing an explanation.

I cannot simply say “I'm not going to let it affect me,” as the voice of indifference would, but equanimity is difficult to attain when I believe that someone else feels they have been wronged, that another person feels justified in their anger or hatred toward me. Were I really that awful, spiteful, vindictive, evil, it would imply that the other person has not only the right to abhor me, but that he or she is flawed in some way for having engaged in my friendship at all. It is incredibly difficult for me to walk away, to create that distance between myself & another person, to protect myself by not responding or by ceasing contact altogether. But by no means am I indifferent. However, I can only hear screams directed at me from another person so many times before I find myself not wanting to speak.

“Each of these near enemies can masquerade as a spiritual quality, but when we call our indifference spiritual or respond to pain with pity, we only justify our separation & make 'spirituality' a defense. This is reinforced by our culture, which often teaches us that we can become strong & independent by denying our feelings, using ideals & a strength of mind to create safety for ourselves. . . . Even the Buddha had some relationships that were easier than others; the most difficult ones brought him enemies who tried to kill him, troublesome students, & problems with his parents when he went home to visit.”

I take comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this struggle. If the Buddha could weather stormy interpersonal situations with such grace as he is now remembered for, then it is my hope that so may I. In the words of Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, “I'm not okay, you're not okay, & that's okay.” I am thankful that Mongolia seems to have acted as a natural filter for people in my life, easily separating those who care from those who do not. The separation is easy only in its apparent nature, however. There is nothing easy about confronting the sense of abandonment & disregard I experience in thinking about friends in my life before I embarked upon this journey, ones who have not proverbially traveled with me, friends to whom I thought I mattered. There is nothing easy about discovering I mean very little to the very people who mattered very much to me.

Irregardless, I am thankful. I am thankful for this experience, as I am thankful for the revelation of who has fallen by the wayside, as I am thankful for the searing pain of separation, as I am thankful for the distance on this path, as I am thankful for the sometimes choking sorrow at the thought of those who I have lost along the way. I am thankful because for every person who is not in my life today, there are endless more individuals who have stepped into my heart to fill the void. There are countless more who took root in my heart long ago, only to blossom during the time I have been so far away from them. There are friends that I have found, uncovered, & rediscovered in the most obvious & most unexpected of places. There are people who genuinely believe in me, who hold the thought of me with tenderness, who enliven my life, who provide me with a beautiful vision of hope. To both the broken friends & the radiant friends whom I cherish beyond even my own ability to comprehend, I love you. I love you so much.

“If you had a limitless life, it would be a real problem for you.”
-Zen master Suzuki Roshi to his students as he lay dying

Happy Imbolc

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-02-01 06:11:00

Imbolc, also known as St. Brigid's Day, is an ancient Celtic festival to mark the beginning of spring. Brigid is the Celtic goddess of poetry, healing, & smithcraft, & she is also associated with holy wells & sacred flames. Imbolc falls roughly halfway between the Winter Solstice & the Spring Equinox, & symbolizes the early signs of spring & the gradual lengthening of daylight hours. Imbolc is celebrated by lighting candles & fires which represent the increasing power of the sun & the coming warmth.

...and you think your job stinks?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Mongolia Monologues

2012-02-01 05:11:00

Really I wanted to title this post "Take this job and shove it"....after the old time country song, which then goes on to say "I ain't workin' here no more"! Nope, not talking about PC, this job is cool... but I'm sure some of you reading this have had jobs that drove you crazy, had you dying for pay day, or just plain old dreading getting out of bed in the morning! I know I've had a few!
People here in this struggling democracy do many jobs that I just cannot fathom! The photos for this piece were taken in UB in winter. I was cold just walking around outside, wearing long johns top and bottom, heavy jeans, wool sweater, 2 pair of smart wool socks, fuzzy lined boots, fuzzy lined hat, plus hood, scarf and heavy mittens. The bitter cold wind chilled me to the core! I cannot imagine having to tolerate the cold and work in those conditions just to eek out a living!

these women have chopped up the ice and snow from this patio and are moving it

road snow removal crews

changing billboard in daytime...

ice and snow is chipped away

men in trees hanging holiday lights

ice and snow removal in progress

Ice and snow removal is a big job here, a long and arduous process.... no such things as snow shovels, snow blowers, snow plows. People are the snow removal machines. As the woman above are shown, chipping away at the frozen mess, it's then scooped onto a tarp and moved. Streets are eventually cleared much the same way, with people wearing orange vests.
More crappy jobs here abound... I witnessed men changing billboards at night, when the temperature was at least 20 degrees colder than daytime, police officers standing in busy intersections directing traffic day and night, crews laying cable at night in the bitter cold, women and men on the sidewalks hawking their wares, ie. phone units, candy, cigarettes, sweaters etc., and the folks who work on the buses and trolley cars, collecting fares.
So the next time you are feeling unhappy with your work, look on the bright side; you could have a job doing snow removal in Mongolia!

Clouds Passing through an Empty Sky

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-01-31 18:04:00

Day Six Hundred & Six
Wednesday, February 1st 2012

It's finally February, & I have been waiting on tenterhooks for what has felt like nearly an eternity for this month to arrive. January, for whatever reason, seemed to drag, to stutter, to crawl, to move at an imperceptible pace, particularly toward the beginning & end. By my calculation, this Saturday marks the end of the fifth of the Nine Nines, a system of nine sets of nine days by which Mongolians measure the passage of winter, beginning on the winter solstice (which this year fell on December 22nd). The fourth nine, rumored to be the coldest, is over, & now the fifth is coming to a close. Though we're not out of the proverbial woods yet (& though being in any woods at this point, proverbial or otherwise, seems like a welcome change of scenery), the knowledge that the sixth nine is upon us come this Sunday is a blessing. Being past the halfway point brings with it a sense of relief & completion.

I believe that January passed in such a stupor of convoluted time because I was focusing so much on my own fantasies of America. I am a romantic at heart, as evidenced by my misguided & charmingly naïve visions of Europe, dashed upon my first visit to France when I was met with graffiti & dog droppings in such a plethora that to walk with my head held high would have inevitably resulted in soiled shoes. January had little to offer in the way of hope, it now seems in hindsight. February, however, is marked by events other than the mere passage of time. After this week, we only have two full weeks of school before the week of the Mongolian holiday Tsaagan Sar, translated as “White Moon.” This holiday is celebrated by visiting homes of friends & family members, consuming (supposedly, though last year I abstained from partaking) three shots of vodka & three buuz at each ger. Buuz, transliterated from Cyrillic but pronounced more like “boats” are a small dumpling-shaped Mongolian food, generally consisting of meat wrapped in a thin layer of flour-based dough & pinched or twisted together at the top before being steamed.

Time will continue its strange meandering, moving in both overt & indiscernible ebbs & flows as it does in Mongolia. After the reprieve that Tsaagan Sar offers, March will soon follow, & mid-month, the official completion of the Nine Nines & the end of winter will take place in theory, but preferably in reality as well. If anything, having small landmarks, holidays, & events to look forward to is key. I have been doing a lot of self-searching as of late, reading Buddhist literature & indulging in various podcasts (from zencast.org, recommended to me by a friend last year such that I downloaded a plethora whilst in UB over the past several journeys there). I feel much more present, centered, & conscious of my life.

To quote a passage from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield, “Buddhist cartography & the map of the Elders describe six realms of life that can be experienced by consciousness. The most painful of the six realms is a variety of unending hell realms, domains characterized by an intensity of pain, fire, icy cold, & torture. The highest of the realms are the heaven realms, states filled with pleasure, angelic beings, rapture, celestial music, delight, & peace. Between these extremes are two visible realms, the animal & human realms. The animal realm is often characterized by fear (eat or be eaten) & dullness, while the human realm is said to have the right balance of enough pleasure & pain to be optimal for spiritual awakening. The final two realms are realms of spirits. One is a realm of power struggle called the realm of the jealous & warring gods, a domain of territoriality & titanic struggle. The other is a realm of intense desire called the realm of the Hungry Ghosts, characterized by beings with pinhole mouths & enormous bellies who can never be fulfilled in their seeking or longing. In a simple way, all these realms can be seen as mythological & poetic descriptions of human experience in this very life. Great anger & rage put us into the hell realm, strong addictions make us into hungry ghosts, & wonderful sense pleasures of beautiful thoughts transport us to heaven.”

I essentially interpret this knowledge as somewhat of a floor-plan to a house with many rooms. The house is my current experience, & the rooms are the realms, each containing a different interpretation of what is happening around me, to me, within me. According to the book “Zen & the Art of Happiness” by Chris Prentiss, everything in our lives can be interpreted as something meant specifically for us. Every downfall or difficulty can be seen in the light of “This is happening for a reason. This event is exactly what I need in my life right now, for better or for worse. What can I learn from what I am experiencing? What good things will these circumstances lead me to?” Sometimes, the best lessons in life are found in the challenges rather than pleasantries. More to the point, some of the best teachers in life come from the difficult people (miserable creatures though they may be).

As Kornfield writes, “...the true path to liberation is to let go of everything” [italics in original text] which echoes a pertinent teaching from Achaan Chah, “If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have even more peace.” The passing of events, emotions, circumstances, & moments of happiness or great suffering can be experienced “like clouds passing through an empty sky,” held in a kind & interested attention, noticed rather than judged, acknowledged rather than forsaken or condemned.

During a conversation with one of my closes friends yesterday, we began to wonder why certain people affect us so much in life in contrast to the people who don't. We concluded that it must have to do with some level of personal investment. We are affected by others not because particular people are more powerful or more persuasive, but because we choose to care about certain people over others, permitting some into our lives on deeper levels while not making the same allowances for others. We are affected, in essence, because we allow ourselves to be. I have found myself to be almost inexplicably apt at distancing myself completely when an angry boss takes his anger & frustration out on his employees. These situations, I regard with objective distance. I am able to step back & view the situation from a standpoint of “your problem, not mine” –perhaps because as a subordinate, I don't have to take on the immense responsibilities that the role of boss entails.

In a family or friendship situation, it isn't always so easy to be a bystander. That same boss could chastise employees for one reason or another & I find myself silently attuned to an emotion akin to subdued amusement à la “You're kind of cute when you're mad!” noting how childlike, not to mention unflattering & unbecoming, such anger is when it is expressed aloud, particularly in a public forum. If similar utterances were directed at me by a family member or friend, the effect is suddenly much different. Is this because I care more? Is it because I tend to regard those I choose to surround myself with as equals? I am learning, albeit with much difficulty, that equality is not necessarily the case, nor is it merely in the eye of the beholder. In the beholding eye of yours truly, I wish everyone I love in my life were an equal. I wish all the people I care about had the ability to love themselves, to express themselves fully & succinctly, to be able to solve their issues creatively, to disrobe their bindings of insecurities & self-doubt, to meet issues & others from a place of love rather than a place of fear, distrust, or past hurt. The list goes on, & I have come to find that this particular level of inter-friendship equality is not a birthright, but an achievement. Understanding, in other words, is not born, it is made.

Loving myself means putting myself first, an unfortunate contrast to my nature. I feel at peace & as though I have purpose when I am helping others through problems, when I am a shoulder to cry on, when I am an inspiration both to others as well as myself. I am the friend who will be there for you at 2AM even though I might have a final exam the next day. Unfortunately, as I am coming to discover, loving myself does not include these sacrifices, or at least not to the extent to which I have made such sacrifices in my life. Loving myself means protecting my time, my privacy, my body, my home, my health, myself. Loving myself means saying goodbye first on the phone if dinner is ready, though I admit to being that person who will set everything aside for someone else. Putting myself on the so-called back burner, even so simplistically as in situations like answering the phone when I'm otherwise busy, has done me no favors.

Advice from a friend years & years ago resonates with me now. “People don't value what they don't have to work for.” Little wonder, then, that the friendships in which I had invested so much & for which I had made great sacrifices no longer survive to the present intact. No wonder at all that I haven't heard from certain people (during my time here in Mongolia in particular) when, for years of our friendship, my actions were training them into a state of complacency. Oprah once said “You teach people how to treat you,” & looking back, I now realize that I taught people how to take me for granted.

Another example of my past behavior happened when I was in UB last spring, staying at a fellow volunteer's apartment on the far side of town from the centrally-located usual Peace Corps haunts. A friend called me to say they had just gotten into town that morning, & that they were at a cafe by the State Department Store, easily several miles from where I was staying. Could I come meet them there? Of course I could. “Well, hurry up!” I was told, & I barely gave myself time to breathe as I walked as fast-paced as I could to the cafe. Though my arrival there a breathless forty or so minutes later was well-met, looking back, I wish I had saved myself the sadness I now feel remembering the situation. Not ten minutes later, the group of volunteers who were there including the one I was supposed to meet decided to leave. More to the point, the volunteer went back to the guest house to take a shower –while I waited.

Another excerpt from “A Path with Heart” reveals “In his last words, the Buddha said we must be a lamp unto ourselves, we must find our own true way.” Perhaps, in the example I just described, if I had valued my own time more enough to say “What are your plans for today?” or “Why don't we meet for lunch at 2 o' clock instead?” then my time would have been valued by the other person. If I had shown respect for my time, perhaps by time would have been respected. I have stumbled countless times into periods of sheer suffering due to my inability to push past my perceived boundaries of what is considered polite just for the sake of another person. I effectually have given others permission to take myself, my courtesy, my time, my willingness to help, my creativity, my friendship for granted. If in the past I had simply clarified “What time?” “When?” “How long?” “Can you give me a better idea of when that might be?” when a friend said they'd call me “sometime later maybe,” I could have saved myself a lot of waiting, a lot of self-doubt, & I could have avoided feeling used or abandoned by someone I cared about.

A meditation described by Jack Kornfield in his work helped me to gain some clarity today. He writes “After you have read through the next three paragraphs, close your eyes & picture yourself in the middle of an instance of one of the greatest difficulties in your life. It may be a difficulty at work or it may be in a personal relationship. You can remember it, picture it, imagine it, think about it, feel it–whatever way your heart & mind best sense it. Let yourself reexperience the scene vividly, the people who are there, the difficulties & how you react to them. Let it reach its worst height. Notice how your body feels in the midst of this & how you act & what state your heart is in.

Then imagine that there is a knock on the door that you must answer. Excuse yourself & step outside, where you find waiting for you someone like the Buddha, Mother Mary, or the great Goddess of Universal Compassion. One of these beings has come to visit you. They look at you kindly & ask, 'Having a hard day? Here,' they suggest, 'let me trade places with you. Give me your body & let me show you how I might handle this situation. You can remain invisible while I show you what is possible.' So you lend your body to the goddess or Buddha, Jesus or whomever, & invisibly follow them back into the thick of your difficulties. Let the conversation & problems continue as before, & simply notice what you are being shown. How does Jesus, Buddha, Mary, or whoever respond to the situation? With silence? With what energy? What words do they choose? What is the state of their body? Let them show you the way. Stay with them while they teach you.

Then they will excuse themselves again for a moment & walk back to the place where you met them. They lovingly return your body to you, & before they leave, they touch you gently in the most healing way & whisper a few words of advice into your ear. Listen to these heartfelt words of wisdom & kindness. Hear them, imagine them, sense them, know them in whatever way you can, & let them be just what you need to live wisely.”

To be honest, my first reaction to this meditation was “No, I don't want anyone else to get hurt” when I thought about reliving a difficult experience & trading bodies with another being. It was then that a part of me realized I was trying to protect someone else before myself, the very lesson I am struggling to grasp, & even in the circumstance of meditating where no person could be harmed in any way (least of all someone like the Buddha or Earth Mother). I closed my eyes, remembering, noting how my breathing became more strained, how my body tensed, how restless my mind seemed to become. Letting go, the cheek of my spiritual face held lovingly in a soft & pleasantly cool hand, I received the following advice: “You are better than other people's problems. You are worth more than your perceived failures through the eyes of others.”

and we’re back in the Gobi! Arrived home Sunday night...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-31 14:30:02

and we’re back in the Gobi!

Arrived home Sunday night after a 9.5 bus ride to a squeaky clean ger fully supplied with water and thawed out from a roaring coal fire… leaving my keys with my Mongolian family was definitely one of the better life decisions I’ve made in a while!

Just now noticed the additions to the ger message board picture though (picture above) It’s fantastic how you can win the love of a Mongolian 17 year old girl by leaving her with your straightener for 10 days…

forgot to post this before but I give you the Kovanda fam...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-31 14:40:58

forgot to post this before but I give you the Kovanda fam Christmas card 2012!

(my brother and I took our pictures separately without any knowledge about what the other was doing… juxtaposition worked out quite nicely though, no?)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Marikaa in Mongolia

2012-01-31 12:20:00

My trip to China was exactly what I needed. It was a refreshing change from Mongolia. Mongolia holds a special place in my heart, but after a certain amount of time everything can become very frustrating. About a month before my trip I reached this point. Everyone and everything started to annoy me. The weather, frustrations with language, and cultural differences have all taken a toll on me mentally and physically. I think that every volunteer goes through these periods. Mine has most definitely come. I was burned out and missing everything American.

I went to Beijing, Xian, and Shanghai with three other Peace Corps volunteers. We fit a three city tour into 10 days! It was quite an adventure. We took the overnight train from Beijing to Xian and Xian to Shanghai to save time. I practiced my Chinese and met up with some friends that I met while studying abroad. I discovered that my Chinese has actually not gotten worse. I've improved! I don't know how that is possible, but it is. I bought Rosetta stone at the fake market for about 10 bucks in Beijing. Hopefully that will help me improve my Chinese more. China was wonderful!

Towards the end of my stay I was nervous about returning back to Mongolia. Would I want to go back? How would I survive without the ice cream that I ate everyday in China!?! I have to say that I do not feel any of those things.(maybe I do miss ice cream) I feel refreshed and ready to get back to work. Today I went above and beyond. I taught 6 classes, studied Mongolian for 2 hours, studied Chinese for 1 hour, and enjoyed my first Mongolian meal since coming back from China. I think that I can officially say that I am comfortable here. I still have my issues at site and I don't have an official home yet, but I am doing ok. My CP Erica has come back to Ulziit. She is going to stay with her husband. It is unfortunate that she has returned to an unhealthy relationship. I will not move back in with them, but I will be there for emotional support . This incident has also motivated me to look into what options are available for women and children that need to leave abusive homes in Mongolia. Perhaps something good will come out of this after all.

Overall, China was fabulous and I enjoyed practicing my Chinese. Enjoy the pictures!

BTW Mongolia is -35 right now :-)

Ice Cream for the first time in 8months!!!

Beijing was cold, but not nearly as cold as Mongolia

A picture of Mao Zedong by Tienanmen Square

The train from Beijing to Xian.

The Terra-cotta Warriors. They were discovered in 1974. There are over 7,000 Terra-cotta warriors. Each one is life-size. More then 50,000 cultural relics were unearthed.

Whats left of fireworks. The week that we went to China was the Chinese New Year. It is the year of the dragon. There were fireworks everywhere. It was beautiful. It looked like there were rose petals all over the ground.

This is part of the mosque in Xian, China. The mosque was in interesting blend of traditional Chinese and Islamic architecture. It was built in 742. It is the oldest mosque in China.

Delicious Chinese food that I will miss sooo much.

Goodbye, Miss Saigon

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Steppe Up, Step Out: Mongolia to Cambodia

2012-01-31 12:00:00

Hey from Vietnam! It's actually my lastfew hours here in Saigon but I just wanted to check in. Tonight I amtaking the night bus to Phnom Penh and then tomorrow I'm (literally)leaving on the midnight plane to Georgia. How fast it's all gone!Time in Vietnam has been amazing with so many adventures and I'm excited to recount and reflect on everything very soon. I know processing this whole transition is something that will surely take a while; it will be perhaps both rewarding and stressful but I really do look forward to it. So much to say but until then sweaty lovefrom the Cu Chi Tunnels!

Misheel Obama

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia MONGOLIA 820

2012-01-31 10:10:00

Meet my new lil sister, Misheel! Isn't she a sweetie?

Shine said, "Don't show this to your parents. I look ugly." Sorry, Shine :)

This was Shine's hat when she was a baby!

Aaand who needs diapers? This is how Mongolians poop their children.

And in other news, Anhaa finally had her baby! A brand new baby girl, named... wouldn't ya know it... Misheel. Clearly the number one Mongolian baby name of 2011.

Pics to come later...

Go To Malaysia.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia MONGOLIA 820

2012-01-31 08:09:00

Hello friends and family!

Happy New Year, first off. And Gong Xi Fa Cai, as well.

It's cold here. Very. Very. Cold. In fact, as I'm writing to you, I am bundled in 2 pairs of thermals, fleece pants, 2 shirts, and a scarf. And most ridiculous of all, I have a sunburn.

As some of you may know, I just spent nearly two weeks in the amazingly beautiful country of Malaysia where it is hot. Very. Very. Hot.

View Larger Map

You see that? We were 5 degrees North of the equator. Over a 100 degree temperature difference. It was amazing. Now, I shall tell you of our journey via pictures...

Taxi ride to the airport! We showed up in Malaysia like that...

Best of All! Popcorn is you new friend.

Fly Korean Air. Seriously. Most amazing plane I've ever been on.

Layover in Seoul with some new friends

Look! I'm not throwing a rock at him!

Burger King. We had to. And dear god, did we regret it.

This is what death by Burger King looks like.

Aaand we made it! We got in real late Sunday night and the following morning Patti Tan (the greatest host EVER) introduced us to Malaysian food and culture. Our first taste of a not mutton meal was AMAZING.

Mall, near Kuala Lumpur. Take THAT, Woodfield.

Patti's son Trent! (First boy on the right)

Pineapple juice... mmmm.

I should rename this post to "The Malaysia Gastronomy" because an absurd amount of these pictures are of food. Here we have an Indian Malay combo... Tandoori Chicken, Roti Banana, and some other things I don't know but were delicious.

Chez Tan

The next day, we flew to Kota Kinabalu on the island of Borneo where my old college roommate is currently volunteering.

Rambutan

Coconut water. According to Patti Tan, it cures everything.

Me and Molly! Gusties Unite!

Ummm... it happens.

Night Market! It was Chinese New Year, so the night scene was hoppin.

Sunday Market (Markets are so wonderful). This man is selling birds. Ducks. Chickens. Etc...

Puppies! As I was cooing the pups, the sales lady shoved a little lab in my arms. That was almost a sale.

I KNOW, right?

I told Molly to order me food. She came back with THIS. I'm drooling all over the keyboard right now.

A cocktail! And it's not vodka!

One morning, I asked for coffee to go. So they put it in a bag with a straw.

Malaysian countryside. On our way to Sandakan, Patti Tan's hometown and the hometown of orangutans! The bus ride is normally 5 hours, but we got Chingiss-ed... both times took us 8 hours.

Isn't my sister a looker?

Oh, the orangutans. So, in Sepilok there is an orangutan rehabilitation center. Basically these orangutans are wild, but they are given supplementary feedings twice a day in this one area. If an orangutan is hungry, he or she can help himself.

The first orangutans to arrive were mommies. They don't travel far from the food since they have little ones. You can see the babies clinging to them.

Once the mom's had had their fill, the macaques moved in to clean up.

And then came King Louie! He was the only male we saw, but he was BIG.

Mmm rainforest-y.

My crew: Bonnie, the responsible. Jessica: the goon. Molly: The cuckoo-manchu.

Next, we visited a temple. Meet Buddha.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

And the quaint swastika garden out back.

Annnd back to food. This was like a fondue-ish restaurant. We picked our uncooked food and then grilled it or steamed it at the table. Here Cecilia is making a pork and [unknown, but delicious spicy sauce] saute.

The carnage.

Also, it was Molly's Birthday!

Za, Za. So we continue our trip back to Kota Kinabalu and head for the Islands. We snorkeled for a bit, burned our backs and bottoms, and made shore for Pulua Sulug (only 7 km from the island they filmed the first season of Survivor!)

BBQ on the island. Here we have Jess, slathering some fish.

Fish and squid... oh man I'm remembering how (have I used the adjectives delicious or amazing yet?) ... STUPENDOUS this meal was.

You know that sound Homer makes around donuts?

And as we were eating our squid and fish, our cook threw THESE in front of us.

Watch out! They'll bite back!

And then we had corn on the cob!

Next up, Wetlands and Bird Santcuary

Rainin

And our stint in Kota Kinabalu came to an end. We flew back to Patti Tan's and made our way to Kuala Lumpur. Here, Bon and Jess are being tourists while the general population continues to ignore us.

THESE FISH ARE TRAINED TO EAT THE NASTY OFF YOUR FEET.

Eating Roti, our favorite light meal.

The awesome KLCC twin towers.

Patti Tan made us a checklist of things to do in Kuala Lumpur. One was "Do Your Thing." And here we are.

Me and Patti! She was so kind and wonderful. And also the sassiest lady ever. Love Her.

Free Planterium... why not?

And suddenly it was over. Back to ... this. ::sigh::

You can book your flight to Malaysia here.

some things didn’t change

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia wheelerinmongolia

2012-01-30 13:11:21

Hello all, It’s been a long time since I’ve written, so I feel like it’s time for an update on what has been an eventful winter. This entry’s a bit long, but the past two months really have been incredible, so I hope I can accurately reflect the juiciness of the experiences in my descriptions. [...]

"If I'm bound or gagged. If I'm lost or losing. I might want to leave from here. ...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia A Sweet Mission: Justin in Mongolia

2012-01-30 08:56:00

Saturday morning, my eyes shot open at the familiar but unrelenting sound. Shuffling, wood trying against metal. Someone was continuously pulling on my ger's door handle, impervious to the fact that it was locked. I rolled out of bed with a groan, pulling on pants as I hobbled towards the door, shouting "Hen be?" (Who is it?). No sooner did I release the latch then Shijirbaatar burst through the threshold into my ger. Ignoring my "frazzled and just abruptly awakened state" he fired off into a monologue. "Justin, will you help me?" "My brother is sick, I need to herd his goats." "There are many goats, with one person it is difficult." I pondered this, I was sick myself, looking forward to a weekend of recuperation and spending little time outside in the subzero temperatures. I have found that it is often hard to say "no" in Mongolia when someone asks for help, and I often never regret the decision. "Yes, I'll help you." I exclaim as I quickly get myself ready to go. Reaching for my winter jacket he stops me, "No, it is cold outside." Without saying anything I begin wrapping myself in my Mongolian deel, he nods in approval and instructs me to bring my camera. "The countryside is pretty today" he adds, and with that we trudge out towards the edge of town.

We entered a large hashaa filled with goats and a small ger. Shijirbaatar brought me inside where I was greeted with the sight of a man laying in bed, much older looking then his younger brother and at our entrance he scrambled to get up, jostling over to the kitchen area to make us tea. "How are you feeling?" I asked as we sat down and I was handed a hot bowl of milk tea. "Alright", he answered "I just need rest" he exclaimed stifling a cough. After being introduced by Shijirbaatar the man nodded his thanks and finished our tea and back outside into the January morning. I opened the gate while Shijirbaatar funneled the goats through the opening waving a stick and hollering. We were soon joined by Shijirbaatar's friend and fellow school coworker, "I heard your brother his sick, I came to help." As we walked out away from the town Shijirbaatar handed me a handful of bread nuggets. "Show them these" he explained "and they will follow you." He demonstrated holding a nugget out in his hand and the goats immediately clustered around him, none attempting to stray off or run out into the steppe. I followed his example and was soon engulfed by goats all rustling against each other standing on hind legs and using my body for leverage as they strained to reach the bready prize in my hand. After we had lured the goats far enough from the town and our nuggets had been expended we stood and relaxed while they grazed from the tall steppe grass that had somehow managed to poke its way up through the snow.

As we stood a man on a small white horse rode up from a nearby herd of cows and beckoned us good morning. After conversing with Shijirbaatar he climbed down from the saddle-less steed and instructed me to get on the horse. "You can ride my horse" he said with a gesture towards his mount. So with a boost from Shijirbaatar, I climbed atop and expecting a pony ride waited for him to grab the reins to lead me around. Instead Shijirbaatar gave the horse a light pat on the rump and it began walking along leaving me as the sole driver and briefly terrified. My last horse riding experience having been many moons ago on a family vacation to Yosemite I was not exactly comfortable on the beast. After nervously trotting about I managed to steer the horse back to Shijirbaatar where he promptly made me pose for a "Mongolian picture" before stepping down from the animal. Relinquishing the horse back to its owner the herder said goodbye and with one fluid motion was back atop his horse and galloping off towards his cattle.

It was quiet, I gazed out at the steppe, the mountains, and the sky, never ceasing to be amazed by the expansivness of it all. Goats grazed around me, a horse brayed in the distance, the sun gleamed off the snow. It was so meditational, so peaceful, a landscape that always makes me feel happy and content. Shijirbaatar broke the silence, "Lunch time." With that we circled around the herd and led them back towards the hashaa. When the last goat cleared the gate Shijirbaatar patted me on the back, "Mash ikh bayarlalaa, Justin."(Thank you very much, Justin) He repeated this several times, thanking me again and again for my help. I shook his hand and thanked him instead. He gave me a confused look. I could only laugh. He had done so much more for me that day then I had done for him.

The Art of Moseying

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia The Chronicles of BP and Tony C.

2012-01-29 07:06:00

If you decide to make your way to Altai, Mongolia and want to do some people watching on a weekday morning, you may find a small girl speed walking. You will watch as she slows down suddenly, only to work her way back up to a rapid walk, again and again. This girl... would be me. I guess if I think about it, I've been this way since can I remember; walking extremely quickly and leaving whoever decided to make the trek with me, in the dust. It can't be helped, it's just one of those natural things. My legs end up working so hard, my muscles ache a bit and the soles of my shoes wear down quick... but so is life as a speed-walker.

Since coming to Mongolia, I've learned that it's not so much about where you are going, but the steps it takes to get there. But old habits, I'm finding, are tough to break. I have to constantly remind myself to slow down and take in all the beauty I'm surrounded by; the colorful buildings, the snow capped mountains, the small children who pass me and whose faces light up in recognition that I'm an American, as they practically shout 'HELLO' and 'HI' at me as if I might disappear if they don't yell it like, right now. But even these things have a way of slipping out of my present moment of conscious thought and I find my little legs once again carrying me passed several Mongolians as I fly by. Not only this, but it's also a constant battle between looking at my surroundings, and keeping an active eye on the ground. Rocks lurk out to trip you, ice covers the ground, and manholes threaten to eat you... it can be a dangerous place for a mosey-er. I, of course, try and attempt both, and as a result, trip at least twice daily.... it's becoming a problem.

And not only that, but where do I have to go that I need to get to so quickly... I mean reaaaaally? Time is viewed extremely differently here, and it's a lot more flexible than the rigid schedules we're all accustomed to in the states. Nothing bad will happen if I arrive a little late - Mongolia's biggest lesson to us all. When you're stripped of the constant demands on your time, the urgency begins to fade a little and you're left to ponder the simple decision; to haul-ass or not to haul-ass...? And if I didn't have all of this extra time on my hands, I might not get to ponder all these random, yet important things while moseying, like why are there still birds in Mongolia? Shouldn't they have flown somewhere more south by now? And what element makes snow good for packing, and why does Mongolia hate me and not want me to have snow fights...?

But since we are onto the '5th Nine' of winter, this is all really just a moot point. As temperatures teeter around -40 degrees F, you walk fast to escape the cold and get to the next building that promises some warmth. Maybe I'll master sauntering come spring...

Warning: EXTREMELY HOT

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia There and Back and There Again

2012-01-28 23:54:00

This, my friends, is a young Stephen Colbert:

Taken from an article about a young Jon Stewart at a Dead Kennedys concert.

Yeah, you're welcome.

28/366 tea time

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia worth 1000 words

2012-01-28 14:46:54

The general manager of art and culture for the KRG‘s Ministry of Culture, Mr. Abass Abdulrazaq Akbar, serving tea to me, Kevin and Nabil. Kevin, Nabil and I have had many meetings recently in preparation for the upcoming Green Music and … Continue reading →

New Year.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia There and Back and There Again

2012-01-28 01:52:00

**NOTE: I wrote this before my trip, just after new years. I didn't have time to put in the pictures, so I left it until now.

2012.

I've always enjoyed even years more than odd years, is that strange? Although some even years have been the absolute worst of my life, I've liked them better. Fun fact: Mongolians believe that how you'll spend the NYE is the same as how you'll spend the upcoming year. So spending last NYE alone with my cat seems pretty accurate, no?

This year, Jess and I traveled down to Dariganga to ring in 2012 with our own Sarah K. This means I'll be surrounded by friends this year, yeah? Since this year marks the final stretch of my Peace Corps service, it makes sense.

So how did I do on my new year's resolutions? Pretty well, I thought. Get shit done, genee (I said). I think I successfully got shit done. I'll mark that as a check. Taking more photos, genee. That is a not check. Jess and I are planning to keep each other creative this year (her passion being poetry). I've already started the year out pretty well:

2012 Resolutions:
-More photographs, even taking shit ones and not being so hard on myself about them
-Get even more shit done and finish my PC service out right
-Get healthier!
-Read more, watch less crap, dammit
-~~Swear less!~~ no.

I'm getting ready for a mini tour of Mongolia next week: A week in Altai, and a couple days in Bayankhongor, Arvikheer, and Khar Khorin. All for nursing seminars and CPR/first aid classes, but it'll be nice to visit with friends... and work on those new year's resolutions.

Yesterday was weird. That's seriously the only word to describe it. I was so pleased with myself that I got so much work done, but yet downer things kept happening like tearing a huge hole in my nice pants because I got too close to a metal trash can (seriously, what). At least the day ended off well, with a wine-filled evening with my CPs, although I had planned to do laundry (and I did end up doing later), I decided to let it go. I haven't done that in a long time, isn't that sad? I've become a grouchy-pants. I then stumbled to the store half-drunk with a coworker who I thought didn't like me that much, but there we were, arm-in-arm making our way to the center of town and having a nice conversation.

Shin Jil was a lot more low-key this year, and a bit of a downer. I was still sick, so I wasn't drinking (mistake! but at least I didn't have a hangover). Altansuvd wasn't there because she had just had her baby (?!?!?! it's a BOY!! You guys don't know how excited I am about this), and Mukhzul wasn't there because of a family death. I enjoyed the time, anyway:

Happy New Year, folks.

Beetles? Scorpions? Cicadas anyone? I wish I was more ballsy...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 14:55:43

Beetles? Scorpions? Cicadas anyone?

I wish I was more ballsy and tried out some of the insanity this Beijing market had to offer but I stuck to the caramelized strawberries on a stick… Yummm. Well maybe if the beetles had been caramelized too?

Final day of Happy Chinese New Year marathon! Apparently the...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 14:26:32

Final day of Happy Chinese New Year marathon! Apparently the more fireworks you set off today, the more prosperous you’ll be in 2012… Sounds like world war III just broke out here in Beijing!

Oldest mosque in China located in Xi’an (Terracotta...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 14:34:08

Oldest mosque in China located in Xi’an (Terracotta warrior town) Incredible mix of Muslim and Chinese architecture… Also surrounded by the Muslim district chock full of bazaar shopping and Arabic cuisine.. Felt like I was back in Morocco again! (minus getting the mumps again luckily)

I was less concerned with the fact that this market had the most...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 14:41:15

I was less concerned with the fact that this market had the most bizarre/seemigly inedible food selection I’ve encountered so far (and that includes my colorful Mongolia culinary experience) and more concerned with how exactly would one actually go about eating a starfish??

The presentation here is impressive really… Tough I would...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 14:47:03

The presentation here is impressive really… Tough I would imagine to make this particular anatomy of a sheep look any bit desirable.

Did some major work at China buffet… That’s pure...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia THIS MONGOLIAN LIFE

2012-01-27 13:57:01

Did some major work at China buffet… That’s pure elation right there on this guy’s face. Food coma soon to follow

Insistent Visitors

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mongolia Emma in Mongolia

2012-01-26 09:34:00

Day Six Hundred
Thursday, January 26th 2012
Insistent Visitors excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“...Very specific & often painful sensations, thoughts, feelings, & stories...arise repeatedly in our consciousness. These are called sankaras in Sanskrit. . . . Of course, certain patterns that repeat will call for a response, some wise action on our part. We must recognize these situations, & as one Zen master put it, 'Not just sit there like an idiot.' However, many insistent visitors, even when we have named them or responded to them, will continue to repeat themselves, arising again & again.”

“Repeated thoughts & stories are almost always fueled by an unacknowledged emotion or feeling underneath. These unsensed feelings are part of what brings the thought back time & time again. Future planning is usually fueled by anxiety. Remembering of the past is often fueled by regret, or guilt, or grief. Many fantasies arise as a response to pain or emptiness.

“...The pain of anger & hate can lead us to a deep awakening of compassion & forgiveness. When we feel anger toward someone, we can consider that he or she is a being just like us, someone who has also faced much suffering in life. If we had experienced the same circumstances & history of suffering as the other person, might we not act in the same way?”

In his book “After the Ecstasy, the Laundry,” Jack Kornfield writes “to forgive we must face the pain & sorrow of our betrayal & disappointment & discover the movement of the heart that opens to forgive in spite of it all. . . . Our process of forgiveness may include speaking out & seeking justice, but in the end it also requires a compassionate letting go for our own sake as much as for others.”

After talking with one of my very close friends in America today, I realize that forgiving people from my past is more a personal matter than one requiring external gestures. Reopening a door to friendship that I did not close is not what forgiveness entails. Rather, forgiveness is something that I can do for myself, a way to put my heart & my mind more at ease with who I am & what I have experienced. In “A Path with Heart,” Jack Kornfield talks about naming his demons, & mentions that there are a handful or so in our lives that will continue to repeat, cycling through our minds as worries. He cleverly named his own with titles such as “Mr. Achiever,” “Baby Jacky,” or “Fear of the Dark.” Doing such a thing makes it possible to simply acknowledge these feelings of hurt or sorrow with a kind attention when they arise, which they will. Instead of playing through the film of these common stressors, we instead can greet them.

I'm beginning to say goodbye in a lot of ways. In a few short months, everything I know will change. I will leave Mongolia & return to a place where change may not be visible, perhaps regrettably so, or perhaps small cracks exist beneath the surface of familiar locations & people. Some cracks have been left alone & have collected dust since I left. Other cracks contain seeds which have grown & flourished, flowering into something more beautiful. I will continue to build fences around my poisoned trees, & I am doing so in such a way that the gates can only be opened from within. Forgiveness is me gently dropping the key inside & walking away gracefully. It is not up to me to decide whether these doors stay closed.