Baking for Tsagaan Sar

Tsagaan Sar is always an interesting experience. One part awkwardness, one part frustration, but still somehow worth it all: you get to see how your friends and colleagues live, meet their families (with both adorable grandmothers and adorable children), sing songs and play games. It also gives me the excuse to don my deel—which I never really have an excuse to wear any other time of year (the lack of pockets makes it impractical for daily use).

Tsagaan Sar occurs at a different time each year, aligning to the lunar calendar, and despite the ‘official’ dates—a vain attempt to limit the celebration to a few days each year—it undoubtedly lasts for a week or more. The whole holiday, which celebrates the new year and, simultaneously, the end or ending of winter, is steeped in traditions—some perhaps newer than others.

Tavgiin Edee: a round comestible object made of fried bread (havse)
and covered on top with 'white' foods, usually hardened
yogurt (aral), candies, and sugar cubes.

Regardless of age, all these traditions are followed with great alacrity, from the customary ‘greeting’ (laying arms atop each other and sniffing the cheek) to the exchange of snuff bottles by the men (and some women!), to the stacks of fried bread (havse) covered by hardened yogurt (aral) and the convivial calls of “Saihan Shineleerei” (“Please have a good new year”… or something like it).

Mongolians singing songs in a ger at a hair cutting ceremony during Tsagaan Sar, with the traditional spread of foods, including buuz (Mongolian dumplings), sheep's back, slices of hyam and pickles, dried fruits and candies, and of course a tavgiin edee, one made with havse and topped with candy, the other built of aral.

Most people wear deels, and the site of Mongolians going about in an array of brightly-colored fabrics is, for me, enough to make the world seem a little more magical: crisp crimson, iridescent amaranthine, shimmering chartreuse, popping pink, bright blues ranging from sky-hues to ultramarine… all in different styles with different accessories. It’s a lovely display.

Gifts are given at each home visited—usually by the host or hostess. I’ve received a bottle, two pairs of socks, a shirt, a pen, sweets enough to kill a diabetic, and enough tugrik to cover my taxi costs for the next month. Usually the younger people visit their elders, and so are the recipients of such gifts. However, since my last birthday, I’ve decided I’m a grown-up now (not to mention a victim of American cultural brainwashing) and so the thought of going without bringing SOMETHING is a difficult one for me.

So what do you give the Mongolian who has everything (including, apparently, numerous pairs of socks)? I generally opt for baked goods.

Baked goods for Tsagaan Sar!

This year, I baked up a variety of gifts for the various homes I visited. My oven has been getting a lot of use lately! So here’s what I made for Tsagaan Sar:

Peach Raisin Muffins

Pear Raisin Muffins. Muffins are kind of nice because they don’t require any cutting (yay individual servings!) and they’re kind of novel as far as a baked good goes in Mongolia. To make a batch, I used about two cups of pears and maybe about half a cup of raisins (soaked in the milk that muffin recipes generally call for in order to make the raisins a little plumper). I’ve been looking for more creative ways to make use of all the canned and jarred fruits available here. (Pears courtesy of a gift I got during the last pizza party I hosted.)

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies. I made these a while ago and threw them into my freezer for whenever I might need them. I decided it was time to finally cook them (and make room in my freezer, already filled with cooked beans and pie crusts!). I’ve always admired how easily cookies can be made cute. After baking and cooling, I wrapped them in stacks of four and tied them with strips of cloth left over from my current quilting project (shout out to Bianca!). Adorable, right?

Wrapped Apple Cinnamon Raisin Bread

Apple Cinnamon Bread. I sort of consider this my signature baked good at this point. I adapted it from a recipe for zucchini bread and it’s been a big hit whenever I’ve made it. I’ve gotten SO many requests for the recipe (even to the point of my hashaa brother invading my house so he and I could make it together!). So of course I chose to make it for Tsagaan Sar. I usually make two loafs in one batch (which is super useful, because here in Uliastai, there’s always someone who helped me with something and who I want to thank).

It takes time to make, though, (no food processor, so chopping takes me about an hour and a half; about the length of a movie, which I almost always watch simultaneously) and I have had so many homes to visit, so I’ve been making mini-loafs. In one batch, I can make six of these little guys, and they’re super cute. Making time is usually about 20% shorter, too.

Apple Cinnamon Bread Mini-Loaf

All the baked goods have been well-received, and I expect a fair turnout for a baking series I’m planning on launching (hopefully) in the next few weeks (along with an exercise class… hopefully to negate some of weight-gain baking tends to precipitate!). When I leave, I hope people will still be able to enjoy the breads and muffins I made for them when I was here—and maybe take some joy both from the process of baking and the memory of a Peace Corps volunteer who was also a friend.

I don’t usually dedicate blogs, but this one is dedicated to Bianca, who instilled in me a love for baking—not for myself, but for others. Thanks, Bianca!

Cheers,

Karen

The Holidays

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.

Dental Health Project and Lessons Learned

Poster from Javkhlant school,
Uliastai soum

So, October is Dental Awareness Month. Well, not officially, but here in Uliastai, it might as well be.

This month, the Dental Awareness Project has launched at four of the five Uliastai secondary schools, as well as in Yaroo soum, Aldarhan soum and Tsagaanhairhan soum. The project involves all the 8^th graders from these schools, and occurs in two to three stages, depending on who you ask and what you define as a ‘stage’:

It begins with a poster contest, with each 8^th grade class working in pairs to design a poster about dental health. The posters are judged, and the winning pair gives a pre-made presentation about dental health and receives a certificate.

The dental posters from Aldarkhaan soum

Students at Devshil school, Uliastai soum
giving the presentation

Winning students from Javkhlant school,
Uliastai soum

Students from Chandmani-Erdene
School, Uliastai soum, playing a
game as part of their presentations

That, at least, is the basic structure. All the schools, even individual classes, do the competitions a little different. Sometimes all the students present on dental health together. Sometimes they make another presentation in addition to the pre-made PowerPoint. Sometimes the posters are less like posters and more like brochures. But in all cases, students are learning about dental health, so the variations don’t bother me in the least.

In addition, I’ve been doing dental assessments in preparation for the KIDS dental Dream Team coming in May. This has involved visiting all five schools in Uliastai and those at two of the outer soums, looking at the teeth of over 850 children. And it’s not done yet. I’m scheduled to go out to a number of soums to look at teeth and facilitate the soum school’s participation in the Dental Awareness Project.

Dental assessments,
Chandmani-Erdene school

I guess I kind of got lucky with this project. I think about the projects I tried to do last year, many of which ended in disastrous failures. Sometimes I thought the failure may have been a result of the projects being too widespread, but the dental project is now aimag-wide. Sometimes I thought it might be because it involved too many parties, but the Dental Project has involved teachers, directors, social workers, training managers, doctors, and volunteers from all the school.

So what makes this project such a success? I think it’s a combination of a few things, and with those things in mind, I’m writing a list of tips for future projects—as much for myself as anyone:

Hit on a need: When working on my Teaching Methodology Seminar, I had grand plans. The problem, though, is that no teacher is really that interested in improving his or her methodology; you’re not going to be fired for using an older methodology. But walking through town, you can look at our children’s teeth and know there’s a problem. In some cases, the teeth are literally rotting out of their mouths. But people who have seen it sometimes don’t really SEE it until you bring it up. Then, suddenly, you get those “Ah…!”s of recognition, and people are immediately onboard.

Make it easy: I wanted to do Lifeskills for the longest time (and still do). I went to the librarian at Bookbridge, the workers at WorldVision, and other people in the community asking for help. But no one wants to spend 2-3 hours a week teaching Lifeskills for free--teaching is a lot of work! When I went to schools, though, and met with the director about the Dental Awareness project, I came with a flyer of the project (in Mongolian) that could easily be edited, the dental presentation (in Mongolian) with pictures to show them, and a copy of the certificate, sometimes even an example printed on the nice certificate paper and sign and stamped (and looking nice!). It involved no work on the part of the director or, really, the teacher. It was an out-of-the-box deal. Easy.

Cuteness on wheels

All for the children: Children are so treasured here. I wish I had a picture of all the ways I’ve seen this demonstrated: old grandfathers carrying little children on their back, or rocking them as they slept on their shoulders; fathers scooping up their toddlers and ‘sniffing’ them affectionately; mothers cleaning them, playing with them, smiling at them as they called “minii khuu!” (my child!). The Dental Project is directly related to the health of children, and no one can, with good conscious, reject a project that focuses on such an important topic.

I guess an unofficial fourth tip would be to incorporate flexibility into everything. Every school does the project different, and why shouldn't they? Every child is different, every need is different, every situation is different. And I've rescheduled the project a dozen different times, but at least it's moving forward. I guess that's the way community development goes: it takes times, but as long as you're moving forward, that's what counts.

I hope things continue to move forward on this and other projects. I'm bolstered by my success this month, and hope November proves just as productive.

A quick shout-out to Purobi, who looked over the dental presentation for me, Bob, who taught me how to do dental assessments, and Bryan, Virginia, and Zack, who helped me do the dental assessments both at their schools--and others, as well. As in all successful projects, it's been a group effort.

Cheers,

Karen

A Garden in the Desert, Part II

I’ve gotten increasingly unreliable about updating my blog. It’s not that I forget about it, oh no. But with the surge of autumnal activity (the desperate bustle that heralds the end of summer and dread for the hiemal chill engendering, in funeral-soft voice, the uttered “Winter is coming.”), I’ve been swept up in the tide of projects, classes, and meetings.

Still, I take this bit of time to write about whatever became of my garden.

I planted my garden in May and fostered the seeds into seedlings, then left for six weeks to Darkhan. This is where the story left off, I believe (a gripping cliff-hanger, to be sure).

I returned to Uliastai to a jungle! The sweet peas came up in a tangled thicket of vining tendrils, the zucchini with dark leaves as large as my hand, and cilantro plants that sprouted here and there, without regard from the carefully furrowed rows Tsogoo had made for me. Lettuce sprouted in clumps of bright-green leaves.

The chill came swiftly, but I was able to harvest some things before the frost.I harvest one giant zucchini from my garden that was baked into a delicious loaf of zucchini and walnut bread (enjoyed by the PCVs and two of our JICA volunteer friends during a group pizza lunch).

The sweet peas were harvested and have been tossed into pasta sauces and soups (and gormandized with relish by yours truly). Some of the tendrils of the sweet pea plant were used in a dish made lovingly by my wonderful godmother Purobi.  The lettuce went into the Uliastai Peace Corps Volunteer’s taco night, for which some of the cilantro made a delicious salsa. I was able to salvage many of the cilantro plants from my garden by potting them and bringing them indoors.

The growing season in Mongolia is short, but the success of my summer gardening experiment will, I hope, have long-term benefits. Ulzii, manager World Vision and interested observer to my acitivites, is interested in introducing a greater variety of crops to Uliastai farmers, and we will attempt a project next spring to conduct trainings and supply seeds to potential growers. The additional variety will, we hope, not only create another revenue stream for these growers, but also increase the variety of produce available here, and help improve nutrition.

Closer to my heart is the hope that many families will begin keeping their own gardens, providing healthy vegetables for family members and giving families a chance to work together. But I suppose there is time enough for gardening to catch on, and if this project has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me that (especially in Mongolia), there is lots of space to grow.

Cheers,

Karen

A Garden in the Desert

Mongolia is often perceived, I think, as being mostly desert, and while it’s true that a great deal of Mongolia is, in fact, desert, it is not bereft of life. In winter, I could not dream of anything but dirt beneath the snow—lifeless soil that would never give up nutrients to feed any wandering seed. But I was wrong.

Rows filled with seeds

As spring approached, I spoke to Tsogoo, hashaa father extraordinaire, about planting some seeds outside. I figured any dirt needed could be collected by the river, and recalling the sometimes-torrential rains of my summer as a trainee, felt that our yard could be transformed into a moderate garden.

Our garden; the plants in
front are potatoes

I admit that this garden project isn’t solely for the benefit of a nice yard and some delectable vegetables and herbs; for me, at least, the success of the garden carries more weight. I spoke to Ulzii, one of the directors of World Vision, and introduced the idea of a garden project, by which World Vision workers could have trainings and distribute seeds so that families throughout Uliastai and Zavkhan might be able to have gardens of their own.

Green beans.

The benefits of such a project would be numerous: apart from encouraging families to eat healthier and allowing them to be more sustainable, a garden can help decrease food costs, encourage people to be outdoors more, and give families a chance to work together.

However, before World Vision puts in the funding, they want to make sure it’ll work!

By the time I arrived back from Training of Trainers (TOT) in early June, Tsogoo had made me a garden. In part of the garden, he’d planted potatoes, but designated a number of rows for me to plant whatever my heart desired. Therefore, soon after I returned, I planted some of the seeds I received from home (shout out to my parents and good friend Christian for sending them!).

One of many squash plants

Although my flowers and cilantro have failed to sprout, I’ve had success with many other plants, particularly squash, peas, and beans—all of which I’ve been able to space out. The lettuce has been coming up in little clusters, but is still so small I haven’t been able to space it out; the strongest of the cluster, I suspect, will win out. I have some hot peppers which I started indoors and will soon transplant outside.

Tsogoo and his granddaughter,
watering transplanted squash.

I leave in a few days to train in Darkhan, but trust Tsogoo will ensure the plants are well watered. I return from Darkhan in August, and I’m eager to see what our garden will look like when I do. I know winter will come quickly (I expect snow by the end of September or beginning of October) but hope my plants will be ready for harvest by then.

It’s encouraging to see the sprouts break through the soil, their leaves fanning out in the sunlight, their tendrils spiraling about twigs as they prepare to climb. They remind me that I, too, should be breaking through the obstacles I face, that I should open to what gives me strength, and that I should keep reaching higher. There is always room to grow.

Cheers,

Karen

PS: Although I didn't get a chance to properly document it, June was an eventful month here in the Land of the Blue Sky. Last month, I ran a marathon, walked along the river, crawled into caves, climbed a mountain, and rode Mongolian horses. Not too bad for my first (and really only) month of summer vacation!

Humanitarianism in Uliastai

Sure, there are no paved roads out of town, livestock regularly wander through town, and most of the toilets are holes in the ground. Mountains surround this place, and two vagrant rivers run through it. Walk a few miles out of town, and you could very well be a few miles from another living soul. But don’t be fooled; this is not the end of the earth. Or at least, if it is, it is a place populated not by dragons, but Samaritans.

Yesterday, after classes, I walked to the local Bolorjin Supermarket to buy eggs, applesauce, etc. and ran into Ulzii, the director of one of the local NGOs in town. Seeing her reminded me how many people there are here working for the betterment of this little town tucked into the Mongolian mountains.

Last February, two Japanese volunteers arrived in Uliastai, and after a few weeks of searching in earnest, I finally made their acquaintance. After a meeting with a potential sponsor for an upcoming seminar, Tsogoo (my amazing hashaa father) and I stopped in the post office to pick up a box I’d received. A girl was there getting packages, too, and I noticed the word リンゴ written on the side of her box. I turned to the girl and asked, “Nihonjin deshou ka?” She smiled in surprise and responded in the affirmative. And so began my friendship with Miho.

I had heard from Tuya, a woman I work with occasionally from the local museum on a few of the amazing projects she’s trying to start in the community, that one of the Japanese volunteers was teaching an origami class. Tuya signed me up, but I later found that the time conflicted with one of my clubs. The teacher of the origami class called me to let me know the other times she taught. She began speaking in Mongolian; I responded in Japanese. So began my friendship with Yumi.

Miho is a mid-wife working at the local hospital, while Yumi works at the Child and Youth Center helping organize programs for children in the community. Their presence here reminds me that, as I work to try to help the Mongolian people, I’m not alone. People from all over the world, from Japan and Australia to Korea and the Philippines, are here to help. And while, being American, I may have come a little farther than most, I’m reminded that the world isn’t nearly as big as it sometimes seems.

In the end, though, it isn’t the Japanese or Americans here that impress me: it is the Mongolians. Ulzii and Mongolians like her aren’t in this for the short-term; she’s here for the long haul, working tirelessly to help her fellow Mongolians—and unlike many of us who, despite our meager stipends, have had and continue to have a wealth of opportunities and resources to pull from, she is working with what little she has to achieve truly phenomenal, sustainable good in the community.

So when I look around this town and see the wandering livestock, the dirt roads, the outhouse toilets, I don’t despair. When I see the lonely mountains cradling the town, and the two rivers babbling through it, I don’t feel alone. There is an incredible amount of hope growing here, born partly out of international philanthropy, but mostly out of the hearts of the people who call Uliastai home. It’s a small town, but living here, I feel I’m part of something far larger, something bigger than the world: the aspirations of the Mongolian people for their beautiful, rugged, flourishing Mongolia.

Cheers,
Karen

Arrival of Spring

The snows are melting. In early March, spring revealed itself in an ebullience across the languid mountains that rise into view through my office window. The matted snow was melting; in the day it dissolved to water and, when the temperature dove like penguins back to icy depths, froze again: It looked like the mountains were slowly slipping out of white satin.

So if I don’t write often, it is merely because Mongolia has enraptured me.

But like all fondnesses that don’t spring out of children’s fairytales or romance novels, my fondness for Mongolia is touched with a kind of tellurian (and necessary) ambivalence, an accepted reluctance (and, at times, disappointment and I admit occasionally even revulsion) that makes me deeply appreciate my time here, my service, and incites me to great (if relatively brief) dedication to and love of a country that isn’t wholly my own (then again, are countries every really our own?).

I was unaware how much I longed for this vernal arrival, how much I needed the snows to be gone, the macabre winter to slink away and let the carcasses of creatures claimed by cold  (and accosted by crows and other scavengers) sink into the earth. It is only by contrast, seeing the cows eat newly-found shrubs rather than tossed cardboard, seeing the surviving puppies no longer curling up for warmth against their dead sibling, that I look on spring with relief.

Autumn makes me feel wistful, diaphanous, and delicate, but spring is a roborant; it clears my purpose while tempering my deleterious self-perceptions; it fills me while emptying me. It is a wind blowing through me (at times more corybantically than others). There’s an easy, tempered hope efflorescing before the trees. When I feel a trembling, it doesn’t feel quite as violent as when dying fall leaves trembled with me.

No lush grasses lie in wait beneath the snow; only the sandy dirt. No flower will grow from this soil, whipped by winds and treaded by hungry cows. But something about the grim terrain, the desolate winters, the infertile soil breed people of remarkable good-humor, dedication, and hospitality. They are persevering; regardless of what is or is not accomplished, it’s difficult not to become endeared to them, to root for them, to delight in their joys and despair in their sorrows. Just like in love.

But I know that, like most loves I’ve had in my life, Mongolia won’t be able to contain my restlessness. In 14 months, I will fly away with no plans of returning. But the brevity of my time, and knowing it is brief, makes me value it. Ephemeral things tend to be beautiful--in a heartbreaking sort of way.

I suppose that’s how I feel about Mongolia as she steps into the bluster of spring on the steppe. And like the weather in this tempestuous season, my feelings may change. But for now, I am content to be here, in this moment, feeling like I’m echoing the light across the mountains and the warmth in the winds. The snows in me have melted at last.

Cheers,
Karen