The last few months have been super busy, and I’ve depended on the Facebook updates of others to spread the word of my various projects and activities. But, as a friend recently reminded me, I should write for myself, too—to crystallize the moments, little and large, that I may forget, and yet that carry weight and significance—to my heart, if not others’.
I suppose I’d like to start my recollections of the last two months with those centered around the various holidays that have come and gone.
Halloween
Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays; I
prepared for it in advanced by going over ghost stories in my beginner TOEFL
class and watching a documentary on Halloween in my advanced TOEFL class (being
a teacher has its perks).
As was the case last year, Undermaa invited myself and the
other volunteers to the Halloween Party at Chandman-Erdene (School 1), near
where I live. I agreed to come, and Bryan and Zak later joined me. Virginia had
a school function, and so unfortunately couldn’t come. It was fun to see the
performances and costumes and to help judge.
This year there was a dance contest. One of the teachers
from the school—a hefty, friendly woman none of us knew—wanted to dance. She
looked to Bryan and Zak and eventually chose Bryan as her partner; he politely
agreed. In the confusion, I stood up, and so did Zak, not sure what exactly was
going on, and the two of us ended up unintentionally entering into the dance
contest as each other’s partner.
Fortunately, both of us can dance.
When the music came on, we danced, just for fun. I think
there might have been a Mongolian waltz in there, and neither of us really had
any idea what we were doing, but we had fun. Zak’s a really good dancer—much
better than me—but I’m a relatively good follower, and don’t mind getting spun
about.
When the music finished, we returned, breathless, to where
we were standing before, and Undarmaa went around to judge the best dancer
based on the applause each couple got. Zak and I were the last, and we received
a resounding applause, thereby winning the dance contest—an honor worthy of the
additional torture of dancing through the entire playlist of songs all over
again.
Last Halloween, I expended so much energy preparing for the
party that I had utterly depleted my energy stores (not to mention my immune
system) and fell ill on Halloween day, much to my chagrin. This year, I let one
of my CPs handle the affair and was content to be more of a participant rather
than an organizer.
My costume was devised somewhat extemporaneously. I dressed
in black and, upon seeing there was face paint about the department office, set
about painting ears, a nose, and whiskers on my face. Upon completion of this
task, I was a passable black cat.
In addition to the face paint, however, the department was
also filled with adorable little girls—the daughters of my teachers. Upon
seeing my face, they shyly requested their faces also be painted. It began with
two little girls—then went to three and four. Soon enough I had five adorable little
kittens. … Thereby transforming my costume from Black Cat to Black Cat Mother.
But seriously, my kittens were adorable.
Thanksgiving
[Photos courtesy of Bryan's camera]
I think, for many Peace Corps Volunteers, Thanksgiving is one of the more difficult holidays. It fills you, simultaneously, with an aching patriotism (we are, after all, here as representatives of US, to do good work on behalf of the US) and a desperate loneliness for friends and family back home. Thanksgiving is an American holiday, and last year, we celebrated it as such—all the Peace Corps Volunteers gathered together and made food and talked and watched movies.
But this year, my Mongolian family is more than my Peace Corps family. This year that family has grown to include people for whom America is not a home, but still a place and a culture about which they’d like to learn.
Usually for Peace Corps Volunteers, Thanksgiving is celebrated during the fall break. Secondary schools always have a break sometime during the month of November—and this year it came quite early: the first week of the month. We had invited other western volunteers to come in and celebrate with us, as Zavkhan is a central aimag in the west of Mongolia, but no one took us up on the offer.
Fine, I said. Their loss!
I spent a few days preparing for Thanksgiving. I deboned a LOT of chicken. So much chicken. And marinated it all. And boiled the bones up. And rolled out a lot of piecrust. In Uliastai, your chicken doesn’t come deboned; you have to do it yourself. And your piecrust doesn’t come at all! —you have to make it yourself. (Shout out to Bill for teaching me how to make piecrust!).
Fast-forward to Thanksgiving: Virginia made a delicious fruit salad as an appetizer with fresh oranges, apples, kiwi, etc. stirred up in fresh Mongolian yogurt. Bryan was in charge of the first course: baked fish with roasted vegetables (fish courtesy of Virginia’s CPs and my Mongol dad, Tsogoo). I was lead organizer on the second course: creamy chicken potpie with carrots, potatoes, and peas. And the third course was marinated chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and cranberry sauce (from the States). Desert was a traditional pumpkin pie.
Bryan provided both apple cider and a sweet mead. Ganaa brought beers and juice from the local store. Sanaa brought wine. Later in the night came spiced chai.
We all helped each other with the courses, and the Mongolians helped, too! Ganaa chopped onions while Sanaa helped with the carrots. I chopped veggies for Bryan while Virginia helped with the chicken potpie and Bryan checked on the marinated chicken. It was definitely a group effort.
Zak provided musical entertainment, playing both guitar and his Japanese shamisen. Sanaa brought out her keyboard to play a little. Mongolian friends came and went. Some could only stay a few hours, while others stayed for the whole shebang. All and all, anywhere from 10 to 12 Mongolians passed through my doors.
I didn’t have enough chairs. We sat on the floor of my bedroom, using a plank of wood covered with foam as a table. As the meal progressed, each of us—each person, American and Mongolian alike—said what they were thankful for. It was a wonderful evening, one I was delighted to share with these people who have become such amazing and lasting friends to me. For me, it was a truly memorable evening.
And the best part is, my Mongolian friends did all the dishes! (Shout out to Duya, Ganaa, and Sanaa)
For those who might be curious, on Thanksgiving proper the Uliastai volunteers made the trip out to Zak’s ger and made horsemeat chili. I made cornbread muffins the night before, and the combination was delightful. The company, even more so.
Christmas
For me, Christmas is one of the most difficult holidays to be away from family. A few years ago, missing Christmas with my family might not been quite so bad; but when there are young ones in your family for whom Christmas is still a time of pure joy and excitement, you feel like you’re missing out on witnessing that kind of yuletide magic and childlike wonder.
Henry, my nephew, is still just a little boy. I would have given anything to be able to share this Christmas with him—and my mom, brother, sister-in-law, father, stepmother, grandmothers and all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I was thinking of them, and missing them.
This Christmas, as tends to happen around this time of year, I got sick. It happened on Christmas Eve-Eve (the 23rd) as I was engaged in cooking. I managed to make 6 loafs of sweet apple bread (a favorite among my teachers) and umpteen blueberry muffins for my school’s Christmas party (along with soup for one of my site-mates; I’m dedicated to the task of keeping my ger-dwellers well fed!). Though Tsogoo (my wonderful Mongol dad) was able to transport the baked goods to the party, I, alas, was too sick to attend, and spent the day a-bed.
Feeling somewhat better Christmas day, I rose and proceeded to clean my kitchen, wash dishes, wipe down counter-tops, sweep and scrub the floor, and wash my hair and face in preparation for the day. Virginia came over early, with ingredients, and we prepared lasagna.
So, there’s a lot of stuff that goes into lasagna that you just can’t find here in Mongolia. Fortunately, we do have beef and tomato sauce (spiced courtesy of care packages—thanks Touchan and Marie!). Noodles we had to make ourselves—which was actually kind of fun. We made egg noodles, and they came out really nice. We also don’t have ricotta—only Edamer. The recipe we found called for sour cream. None of that either.
Since my time in Mongolia, I’ve become slightly mad-scientisty when it comes to cooking. So, here’s what I did: I heated two cups of whole milk (Mongolian: “milk”) and added two tablespoons of lemon juice to kind of curdle it. I wanted to make it thicker, but adding flour or cornstarch seemed weird, so I went with egg. Added two eggs, then added grated cheese, threw in onions and garlic, and viola! A delicious cheesy concoction that in no way resembles ricotta but is cheesy enough that people don’t care.
For dessert, apple brie flatbread (brie courtesy of Ulaanbaatar, apples courtesy of Zak) drizzled with honey.
We opened gifts later in the night. Virginia and I got the boys each a snuff bottle. I was able to get a good deal on them because I know the shopkeeper—she’s a good friend of Tsogoo’s. I picked them out especially for them, and they seemed to really like them, which makes me super happy. For Virginia, I put together a little craft box that includes thread for making friendship bracelets, string for making necklaces, and a bunch of beads of all different shapes and colors. I also gave her a friendship bracelet I made. She, in turn, gave me a beautiful silk scarf from Thailand; it’s so elegant—I love it!
New Years
New Years, I was still sick, though I’d spent the last few days recovering from my malaise. The day before New Year’s Eve came a flutter of texts from sitemates inquiring what our plans were. I had none, but to be honest, we’re all pretty happy just spending time together.
New Year’s Eve, I went over early to Virginia’s place, laden with ingredients for our evening.
So one thing I’d ask for from home was pudding. Pudding is delicious, and absent from Uliastai. My father, being the wonderfully thorough person he is, sent me both chocolate and vanilla pudding—along with four different flavors of gelatin, which is made by the same company. I had no idea what I would do with so much gelatin. Until New Years came around.
A little gelatin, a little warm water, some vodka, and a fridge, and ta da! Jell-O shots. So I picked up a bottle of cheap vodka from the store, went to Virginia’s apartment, and filled her fridge with a colorful army of plastic cups of red, green, and yellow Jell-O.
So, I rarely deep fry things in my house, because the noxious fumes hurt my eyes and can sometimes make the air thick with oil. So I fry at other people’s dwellings!
We first made onion rings. Onion rings is one of those things I love to make with others, because everyone can take up a job. Virginia dips the rings in flour and drops them into the batter; I take them from the batter and cover them with bread crumbs; Bryan takes them from me and fries them up.
Afterwards, I cut up and floured pieces of chicken, and Bryan fried them up. I threw them into a buffalo sauce inherited from Bill and Bianca, and they were delicious!
Later in the night, I tipsily deboned some of Virginia’s chicken (no injuries!—I have come to debone masterfully) and Virginia and I made chicken alfredo pasta. Delicious!
As the hour turned the year from 2013 to 2014 (a change that, even now, I struggle with!), Zak opened the bottle of champagne Bryan had brought for the occasion and we toasted to the New Year. And we continued talking late into the night until at last we all made out way out into the night.
So that’s been the last few months of holidays for me. There have been a myriad of other events and projects we’ve worked on, of course. Maybe, in due time, I’ll compose similar bricolage-blog posts to commemorate our various activities. Maybe.
I’m still too close to 2013 and everything it’s contained to really be able to take a step back and forth. I suppose chapters of our lives rarely follow a strict annual cycle beginning on the 1st of January and ending on the 31st of December. I’m currently in a chapter that promises to last two years, and maybe when that chapter finally concludes this year, I’ll be able to shake away the residue of this life and reflect on who I am, what I’ve gained, and what I’ve had to leave behind.
Until that time, there’s something to be said about enjoying where I am now—the place I live, the things I’m doing, and the people I’m with.
Cheers,
Karen
P.S. As a final note, I thought I would include a short reflection I included in a letter to my mother:
New Year is supposed to be a time of reflection, but I really should be reflecting more than one day a year. You know how I am--I've always been somewhat self-reflective (maybe, at times, to a fault). I haven't been reflecting as much as I should, maybe, because everything seems so hazy. Maybe that's life, though. During this time of life, when there are so many unanswered questions, so many dreams yet unachieved, and those dreams seem to shift and change and you can't decide what will make you happy... maybe this is the way it is. I am increasingly aware of a need for faith--not faith in any particular religion, or in any specific god (in my life, I feel like I've had many)--but faith that I'll be OK. In spite of all my insecurities and concerns and trepidations, I truly believe that. I truly believe that I will be OK. I am in the maelstrom of my twenties, but I will be OK. The purposes of my heart will manifest in a calling, and love will somehow find me.
