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.