last day on the job

Today is my last day here at the Mongolian Department of Health. By sheer coincidence, and with a lot of effort this last week, today is also the day I finish the website I was brought here to do. Life here at the DoH has been fair enough, the internet's fast on most days and I am free to wander off for lunch or whatever when I feel the desire.

Last weekend was Health Workers Day, and while this day has nothing to do with International Health Workers Day (which is in April, I looked it up), it was still an excuse for the entire department to take off to Terelij Park for the weekend and celebrate Mongolian-style. And after celebrating Mongolian style, I'm afraid I may have drunk myself permanently stupid.


At first I was a little apprehensive about the expedition as I was going to be the only non-Mongolian there. The two people that I could talk to were Oyun, my preceptor, and a nice girl from the Statistics Department who could speak French. But this was all before the application of the greatest of social lubricants, alchohol. And the Mongolians have inherited from their time with the Russians a Soviet Era industrial strength social lubricant- vodka shots.


Upon arrival each office went to their designated ger and after setting up we went from ger to ger, visiting each office/ger, chatting (they chatted, I sat and smiled), eating snacks and shooting vodka. Eventually we staggered down to the main hall where there was a salad and cake contest, judged by the camp's resident cook and overseen by drunken co-workers. Don't let the picture deceive you- this was the most coherent photo I could find:


There was a dance party after dinner as well as karaoke (Mongolians are all phenomenal singers). My inability to speak the language and my co-worker's reticence to speak English didn't stop me from discovering many profound and slurred conversations as the night wore on. And evidently I monopolized the karaoke machine for some time and represented Canada to the best of my ability, but I can't really say that I remember that part.

I lost track of the number of shots after 11.In the morning I woke up still a little tipsy, but being a guest I couldn't turn down the shotglass of vodka pushed my way over breakfast. I snuck away afterwards in an attempt to take some pictures of the countryside and sober up, but who was I kidding. I got chased by a camel, managed to stumble out of charging distance and ended up dancing to a car beatbox in the parking lot with a bunch of mid-morning drunken co-workers (most of them my superiors).

To wrap things up there was an inpromtu Mr and Miss Department of Health competition in the afternoon, complete with a walkoff. Although I struck many a pose I didn't win. Perhaps because I refused to take off my shirt (although I did take off my belt and snapped it above my head provocatively). Perhaps because I couldn't walk straight.


What a great experience! I consider myself very lucky to have been included in such a celebration with all my Mongolian co-workers.

please find and remove the sign

I appear to have been marked with an invisible sign that says PICKPOCKET ME. Perhaps it is a smell or something. Maybe people just want to get into my pockets... anyway none of the girls have been hit but last week was the third time someone's tried- with no success.

The first time was exciting, something new, something different. Now I just get angry. I wish my reaction to adrenaline hitting my bloodstream is a little less 'OMGWTF IS GOING ON' and more of the punchy (or even chokey) flavour.

The last time I was walking along, heading to the Nayra cafe- nowhere near a high-traffic, batten down the hatches you're in pick-pocket territory- and I feel a nudge against my back. I spin around, adrenaline pumping (see above), and there's a guy beside me caught in the act of scratching his arm. His itchy arm, held straight out, is coincidentally at a perfect height for undoing the zippers on my backpack. Once I'm safely on the other side of the street I check my pack and, sure enough, one of my pockets has been unzipped. I frantically check for my iPod and other goodies inside, but I guess I spun around in time. I watch as a fracas breaks out as the pickpockets (they always seem to move in threes) get into a pushing match with another Mongolian who happened to catch them going after his wallet.

The time before that I was a little more aware. That time I was in pick-pocket territory, just around the corner from the post office, and as I crossed a side street these two guys came running across as if they were dashing to the other side of the street. Uh-huh. As soon as they're in front of me one guy takes out a box of matches and starts tossing it in the air, and then I'm aware of the third guy right behind me. So I figure it out- it's a moving trap: the guy in front is going to 'accidentally' drop the matches, him and his friend are going to stop to pick them up, and when I bump into them the guy behind will bump me and relieve me of my wallet.

I'm suspicious right away so I slow down. Like really slow down, and I do it so quickly that the guy behind, the one going to be doing the action, passes me. So what does he do, as I saunter along, he suddenly gets a phone call on his cell and stops to take the call. And I pass him, only this time I'm certain they're pick-pocketing so I move laterally out of the trap and end up wandering among parked cars. When this happens, lo and behold, the guys in front turn to see their friend still on the phone and turn back to join him. When they hook up, they all turn around and head back to the post office.

feckers.

Flooding and lightning storms

The weather here in UB is far from predictable. Recently, however, it's become surreal and dangerous. Last friday, on the way home from Geoff booking his flight back to Nanaimo, we got caught for fourty minutes in a downpour/hailstorm. The taxi driver simply pulled over and refused to drive, using sign language to say that traffic was at a standstill and accidents were bound to happen. Tragically, in the floods that happened as a consequence 24 people died.

The rains from yesterday were more bizarre than dangerous. The day started out clear and became searingly hot after lunch. But this being UB, this wasn't meant to last and rumbling, ominous clouds rolled in from the west. The strange thing is, they just kept rumbling and rolling in. It got progressively darker and the thunder overhead became a continuous, background roar. I decided to make a break for home because it still wasn't raining as I didn't want to get caught out, and outside the clouds overhead were pulsing with lightning flashes from deep within. Of course, the rain couldn't hold off for much longer and halfway home it unleashed. Then turned to hail. Erica got a nice picture of me making the final dash for the apartment, although I haven't seen it.

Manshir Kiid

There is a slight, really an insignificant, possibility that Geoff and I may be deported from Mongolia.

It started out innocently enough, we set off on an impromptu trek from Manshiir Kiid (a Buddhist temple south of here) over some mountains and back into UB. The Lonely Planet recommends seven hours for such a journey so being the seasoned, intelligent trekkers we are, we started at one in the afternoon. And brought headlamps. The temple was impressive and beautiful, with meditation chambers set into the cliff face behind and the shattered ruins of the previous monastary (wrecked during the Soviet purges) in front. We followed the LP's intructions faithfully and soon found ourselves deep in the forest, clean air and that wonderful Mongolian silence, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the trees. The incline was gentle, the underbrush almost nonexistant, the trail completely unmarked.

We came to a giant boulder ridge and Geoff insisted on climbing (as in, actual rock climbing) one of the higher points. Only once we were at the top did I tell him that I wasn't really a rock climber. Still, I managed to scale down in reverse without incident. I'm sure Geoff will tell you it wasn't a really challenging climb at all. After this, and another hour or so crossing a boggyplateau we came to Tsesee Gun, a shaman/buddhist holy peak which also offered an incredible view of Ulaan Bataar very, very far off in the distance. It was four o'clock.

So we set off for the very distant capital. It was rough going as we headed down into a scree valley of boulder proportions. We literally had to leap from rock to rock for many hours, and as the sun began to ominously touch the edge of the ridge above us, we finally, exhausted, came to a barbed wire fence. Beyond the fence was a sign very clearly marked 'Prohibited Area'. It was late, we knew we were close to UB at this point but couldn't see it, and we knew UB was just beyond the fence. It never even occurred to us not to go through.

After cutting across a suddenly thick tangle of wild rasperries we came upon another boulder field and started to jump our way across. We could see, finally see, UB very close now and below us in the valley was a strange little arrangement of buildings. At first we thought it was a dam, which made perfect sense to our exhausted minds. But as we got closer we saw it was some sort of compound, complete with some strange jungle-gym appartatus in the forest behind the farthest building. We were high up the western side now, trying to inconspicuously work our way across the (now treeless) slope, but also intensely examining the compound below. A military complex occurred to both of us, but the buildings were too new, there were no military vehicles anywhere. It was still the best guess (sure beats a university, Geoff).

The compound had a coal power plant, complete with tall stack and a pile of coal outside. This was in spite of the power lines we could see running parallel to the road on the far side of the valley. There was also a bizarre oval in the middle of the valley, which after some intense speculation we realized was a hockey rink, which iced over in the winter. In spite of our burning curiosity neither of us dared to take any pictures, because honestly, we had no idea where we were and if we got caught we didn't want to be accused of being spies. Beyond the next ridge we discovered there was also a road on our side of the valley, so after some consideration we dropped down and it was an absolute, fantastic pleasure just to be able to walk on level ground once again. On the way down we passed a fenced area that looked suspiciously like a bunker.

Here's where things get a little weird. As we walked along the road we noticed a car driving along the road on the far side, and we were so absorbed in watching it -"Do you think he saw us?" "I don't know, just keep walking and look innocent"- that when the big grey soviet minivan with the little red siren came around the corner we never had a chance. The van didn't even slow down, however. I waved and got a smile. Why not? We noticed that in the broad field between the two roads there were tall poles, each with a pair of CCTV cameras that were trained on... the field. And then I really began to feel like I'd stumbled into an episode of Lost when we came across a set of highly varnished, ornate wooden stairs in the middle of nowhere, leading from the road down to the field. Then another bunker. Then another coal plant.

Finally, we could see at the end of the road two massive, beautiful buildings. The back of the nearest building looked like there had just been a large garden party, and there were a handful of people milling about helping to take down the tents. After a muttered, tired debate on whether to stay on the road or cut up across the hillside, we decided honesty was the best policy and did our best to look like the two bumbling, idiot tourists we were and just stay on the road.

I thought we almost made it. I really did. But then Geoff grabbed my sleeve and I turned to see a very severe looking military man with an AK47 and an officer motioning from a nearby tent for us to come over. And I offered him the Lonely Planet and showed him how we'd come Manshir Kiid. This seemed to placate the officer a little, although when I tried to take my book back he wouldn't let me (I let him keep it for the time being). We showed him our driver's liscenses and then the fellow with the AK47 motioned for us to go with him. His black, badass boots clicked when he walked and I was dying, really dying, to ask him to pose for a picture but we still had no clue what was going on so I didn't.

We ended up at a guardhouse with a really friendly German Shepard that greeted us by barking like it wanted to tear us to pieces, even though I'm sure it just wanted to play. The extremely serious fellow there took our names, our address, I had to give him the business card of one of my contacts at work (I'll have some explaining to do tomorrow) and he made us wait at the gate while they decided what to do with us. Geoff prevented me from trying to befriend the German Shepard. After twenty anxious minutes the guard came out and let us go.

We hitched a ride right in front of the compound, and when I found out the driver spoke english I asked him who lived there.

"The President," he told me.

Day two at Khongoryn Els

We camped in Juulchin Ger, right against the dunes. The place is stunning and silent. In the morning Erica went out into the vast, surrounding lands to meditate, I went out a bit further to do yoga and Michelle woke up hungover. As I stretched and strained, I could see our camels from far away, being led to our camp for the morning expedition.

The camels, it turns out, don't like fresh peaches or dried apples. Only after I kicked up a thorny cactii and held it out did they show any interest. The ride to the dunes on the backs of our strange, knobby kneed steeds took us across a barren, rocky landscape that led into sandy, windswept mounds. Our camels were named. Erica: Stuart, Michelle: Pochahontas, Kim: Alaadin and mine was Cocheese. We were led in a line, each camel's nose-pierced rope tied around the back hump of the camel in front. Cocheesy was sneezy, enough that his snot was caught in Alaadin's hump fur.

Jaga, our driver, met us at the dunes and produced four red sleds. We then hiked to the top of the highest dune in the Khongoryn Els. Erica made it to the first rise and let us go on ahead. Over the next rise was an incredible view of the plains, and Michelle stayed and kept watch on our sleds as we went up the final, steepest rise.

Scrambling up on all fours, the sand makes a deep thrumming sound as it slides down. An incredible hum followed us up all the way to the top. Once there, we saw an incredible panorama of the dunes on the other side, the play of the clouds' shadows as they crossed the golden floor, dust devils in the distance, a hawk above... every time i put my camera away i'd take it out again to shoot something else- Kim sitting on a distant dune, the black and white specks of goats below.

Finally we jumped our way down to Michelle, the sand thrumming everytime our feet hit the slope. Then Jaga sent us off down the sandy decline on our sleds. Kim was a natural and could steer her sled. We reached Erica and went down the final, steepest slope- then into the Russian Jeep and back to the ger camp for lunch. Even though it broke down on us, that jeep is one of those rough and tumble vehicles that's just built to cross a desert.

Tomorrow we go to the Flaming Cliffs.

camping fiasco

(see the girls on the mountain?)

made the decision to get out of UB for the weekend. we hit the terelj park after i negotiated a tent and a bed roll from tseren tours in exchange for a talk on mining and health at the cafe amsterdam (same owners) to be given at an as-yet unspecified date later this summer.

After negotiations with a taxi driver for the ride, we pulled up friday night and the camp grounds, were unfortunately unimpressive. I mean the landscape and gers were amazing but somehow i don't think the UB urbanites who come out here don't care about their amazing countryside, maybe it was the heaps of garbage piled everywhere or the astounding amount of broken glass strewn about our camp spot. That and the sweet Mongolian pumping beats two tents down until 2am didn't really help.


Yesterday was great though, we scaled this ridiculous hill/mountain, then found our way down and had a nice picnic on the riverside. Then the weather changed ridiculously fast- one second it was sunny and hot, and then the clouds appeared on the horizon, the winds came up and we were heading back to the campsite in case we had to take shelter from the coming storm. After an afternoon where the warm weather flirted with clouds and rain (making for some cool photos) eventually the miserable cold and clouds took over.



Erica and I made the decision to bust a move while Kim and Michelle stuck it out. It was pretty awesome, within twenty minutes of deciding to get out the tent was collapsed, we were packed and had flagged down the first minivan to pass us. The minivan broke down about half an hour later. So we flagged down a really nice Mongolian who was working on renewable energy for the World Bank and showed us a picture of the rather frightening 150 kg boar that he'd killed last year in his first hunting trip. One more taxi and we were home. And of course, the weather had cleared up and it was beautiful and sunny by the time we made it into UB.

Something happened with Michelle and Kim, details unknown. All I know is they woke me up around 2am, pounding on the door in UB to be let in. Evidently they had some problems with drunken Mongolia arses who wouldn't leave them alone. To make matters worse,his morning as Erica and I brunch at Nayra, the girls are back in terelj because Kim forgot her camera. Bollocks. That's real bollocks. I hope she finds it!

1 Canadian Dollar = 1,293 Tögrög

What this means is that the 10 Tögrög note in my wallet goes for less than one cent. There is no such thing as coins in Mongolia (although I've noticed they have a predilection for medals). Because of the pick-pocket, I've now emptied my wallet of all variety of credit cards (one), identification (like a PADI license and my Nepal VSO ID) and miscellany. It is conspicously un-Canadian. Mostly because the coin pocket isn't so cumbersome and heavy that if I ever fell off The Queen of Coquitlam I'd sink like a stone.
This enormous wad of cash? Probably about $20. I'm not kidding.

Passport pick-pocketed

Today I had my passport pick-pocketed. Was heading down to the Ministry of Visa Registration (that may not be it's exact name) with Michelle when we took a detour into the Post Office, which is apparently a pretty bad place for pickpocketing. As we went into the revolving doors one of the Mongolians was making no effort to get out of my way, which was odd to begin with, in fact he even made an effort to move into me and as we chest bumped I felt my passport slip out of my back pocket (ok yes, passport in back pocket is a *bad* idea. I wasn't thinking at all. it's the first time I've pulled my passport out since arriving, and we'd been in a rush to get out of work so I'd just grabbed it and thrown it in my back pocket. I didn't even zip up my pockets. Normally I am incredibly diligent about these things, and I think today was the first time ever I pulled a no-brainer and didn't think about security).

So yes, the classic bump and pick. I credit my knowledge of this maneouver with endless hours of aimlessly surfing the web because there is in fact a website that outlines pickpocketing techniques. And I have read it.

So I turn around and grab the guy, and there's a very brief moment of oh f**k because I immediately see that he doesn't have my passport. Luckily, very very luckily, Michelle happened to turn around at this moment to say something to me and saw me having words with this guy. I'm still not sure what happened but either he dropped the passport as soon as I turned or he dropped it because it wasn't a wad of cash, but my passport was on the ground (between another suspicious dude's feet) and Michelle grabbed it.

The security guard at the post office, who came sauntering up five seconds after this happened, was utterly useless. Everything happened so fast that by the time I thought of popping the pickpocket in the nose we were inside looking at post cards.

safe and sound in UB

well getting here was fairly painless and i found the apartment with
no problem. looks like i'm sharing a nice flat with three girls, all
very nice. i'll be sleeping under the stairwell harry potter style. we
went to the 'Black Market' yesterday (so-called for the black tarps
everywhere) and bought a mattress for me, then had dinner in a
Mexican/Indian restaurant down the road. i'm hoping that the
countryside is a little more attractive than UB, because i hate to say it but this place is the same as any other dusty, developing country metropolis.


beijing was fun though.



















i managed to get through immigration no problem, when i told them i didn't have a visa they waved me on to the diplomatic desk and i got a special stamp. spent the day in tiannamen square and outside the forbidden city.

had some peking duck at a recommended restaurant and then made it back to the airport. i got caught in no-man's land going through the custom's checkpoints, as immigration didn't want to stamp my passport until the next day, as that was the day i was leaving. so i passed out on a bench until midnight, awakened occasionally by customs officers wizzing past on their segways.

good fun.