January

Back to work after a 3-week break. First, I went to Paris to meet my parents, because I’m really spoiled. When I bought my ticket in November, I had asked 5 different people including my school’s director to make sure that my vacation would coincide with the January school break. Of course, as seems to happen often at my school, plans were changed at the last minute and the break was moved back 2 weeks. I had to miss a week of work, which my director approved on the condition that I tutor her son for an hour a day for the 2 weeks before I left. He’s about to graduate college and wants to get a master’s degree in Taiwan, which would require him to take classes in English, so he has to take the TOEFL test. I don’t mind tutoring, but the extra work was exhausting!
Anyway, Paris was of course amazing. I don’t really know what else to say. I mostly ate and then ate some more, and then occasionally we would take breaks to eat. I took hot baths and slept on bed sheets and my parents bought me things. Pretty much as good a vacation as anyone could ask for. Reality only hit me as the plane was landing in UB and the pilot announced that the local temperature was -31.
On the way back, though, my luggage got left in Moscow and I had to miss another week of work waiting for it. I love staying in UB because I can go to grocery stores and cafes and see other PCVs whom I haven’t seen in months, but in this case it was annoying because I didn’t have a change of clothes, soap, towel, or anything. I took cabs almost everywhere (I had left my warmest clothes in my luggage so it was impossible to walk more than a couple blocks without crying), and I found it to be a different experience than in the summer. By January, any tourists have cleared out, so seeing someone who looks like me is more of a surprise for the cab drivers. I swear, every conversation in every taxi went the same exact way, like they're following a script:
“Is it cold outside?”
“Um…yes, it’s really, really cold.”
“Hahahahah! Are you cold?”
“Yes.” (My Mongolian isn’t good enough for sarcasm, or my answer would be along the lines of, “No, I’m wearing 3 sweaters under my parka because I think it looks cute.”)
“Hahahah! Is it difficult for you?”
“Yes, it’s very difficult. I’m very cold.”
“Hahahahah! What are you doing here?”
“I live here. In Ovorkhangai. I teach English.”
“Really? Hahahaha!”
And so on.
Finally, I took the long trek back to Arvaikheer, arriving just in time to attend the Teachers’ Day party. No one sat on my lap on the bus this time, but a guy sitting on a box in the aisle did use my leg as an armrest and the monk in front of me’s arm as a pillow for most of the ride. I’m still getting used to the no-personal-space thing. Fortunately for me, they cut the music videos for Mongolian traditional music short to show movies instead. I actually like the traditional music and the music videos are interesting, but not when they go on for 4 hours and you’ve seen them a billion times before. I start thinking, “If I have to see one more scene of someone riding a horse, I am going to scream.” There is one song that basically goes, “I am a Mongolian man. I can do the following things: ride horses, shoot a bow and arrow, etc., etc.” (Yes, you are Mongolian and tha makes you cooler than other people! Congratulations! Please stop singing and let me get some sleep!) One movie was about people on a long train ride—I assume the Trans-Siberian railway. It actually looked good, but I couldn’t really understand what was going on. The other two were romantic comedies that were so formulaic I could keep up perfectly while understanding very little of the dialogue.
Two days before I caught the bus back, my sitemate Allison, who was taking care of my cat, let me know that he had died. We’re not sure what happened, but she assumes he ate something that wasn’t food. I was really, really sad about it and also really angry at Aeroflot for losing my luggage so I couldn’t go home to take care of him. She and Babila put him in a box and put him out on my balcony (I don’t know what I would do without my sitemates!), but I had no idea what to do with him when I got back, since the ground is frozen. By an amazing coincidence, I ran into my friend Uuganaa (Allison’s boss) and her daughter at the rest stop in between Arvaikheer and UB. They were on their way to UB and I mentioned my dead cat problem. Uuganaa told me not to worry and she would have her brother (whom I had never met) pick him up and he could bury him. And he actually came over that very night. Sometimes I wish people weren’t so nice to me, because I feel like I have no way of paying them back. Anyway, now I don’t even have a cat for company. I’m still trying to decide if that’s sadder or less sad than my previous cat-lady situation.
When I got back to Arvaikheer, I was shocked to find out that my school had been voted the best school in the country. I was told to come to school Saturday morning because my school had won a prize and my director was bringing it back from UB. I asked what the prize was and my CP told me we were “number one.” I said, “Oh, in Ovorkhangai?” “No! Mongolia.” “Holy shit!” I know that Merged has won in the past, but it was still very surprising. I didn’t know it, but my director’s bringing the award back turned out to be a Big Deal. Had I known, I would have brought my camera. Some cars with balloons on them pulled up while the teachers and a lot of the students formed two lines for the director and some teachers to march through while carrying the huge plaque. Situations like that are always a little uncomfortable for me, because everyone assumes I know what’s going on when I definitely don’t. I just have to watch everyone else and pick up on what’s going on: “Oh, I guess it’s time to form a line and clap now.” “I guess it’s time to shake everyone’s hands and say ‘Bayariin mend’ now.” “I guess it’s time to kiss/sniff everyone now.” People were in such a good mood that I even got a few hugs, which was surprising. Normally when you try to hug a Mongolian, they hold their hands stiffly at their sides and act like you’re molesting them and they are strongly considering calling the authorities.
That night was the Teachers’ Day party. I asked what I should wear and my CP told me to wear a dress like at the Shin Jil party. Everyone wore prom dresses and had glitter in their hair at the Shin Jil party, and even though I only have a black dress, I decided to get in the festive spirit of things by wearing the bright green eye shadow and nail polish my mom had just given me. When I arrived, everyone was in business attire. I was a little embarrassed, but I rationalized it by reminding myself that I look like a weirdo anywhere I go in Arvaikheer, so being dressed appropriately wouldn’t really change that, anyway. Of course, I felt even more awkward when I realized that the governor of our aimag and several other government officials had shown up to give us a million tugrugs for being number one this year. But as I always say, most of a PCV’s job, no matter where you are, is to be out of place and embarrassed at all times.
The governor also gave us a printer as a gift. I was so excited when I saw that, because we don’t have a printer that the teachers can use (try to imagine teaching without being able to print or copy things—it’s not easy!). However, when we went back to work, I found that it hadn’t been put in the teachers’ room. My project for the past week has been to find out where it went. The verdict so far: nobody seems to know. I don’t get it—we desperately needed a printer, we got a free printer…so where did it go?? My CP said, “Maybe someone’s home.” Ugh, I really hope that’s not the case.
Anyway, the more interesting event of the past couple weeks was Tssagaan Sar, so I think I’ll make a new post and tell you all about it.
Here are some pictures of the bus station and the rest stop that I stole from my sitemate Jo's blog (mongoliamonologues.blogspot.com):