Killing the Fatted Calf

Our winter meat selected and roped (in the first throw!)

This past week was fall break--a much needed one-week off from work. Zorig coordinated a trip to the countryside, to the north, where he has a camp on the Chuluut River. 

As always, a trip to the countryside is thick with adventure and deep in opportunities to connect with nature, with the earth, and to feel a part of the cycle of life. Our trip included the selection of the three year old cow that is to be our meat for the cold winter months ahead. While Zorig had mentioned that we'd be bringing back our winter meat, I did not understand that I'd be witness to the entire process--from selection all the way to eating that first steak last night in our home. 

A little help from our steel steed

Again--Mongolia is filled with surprises, at least for us foreigners that is. While this sometimes hits me sideways initially, it offers new and alternate perspectives on life. In the U.S. most people get their food from the store. While more are beginning to think about where meat comes from and how it was raised, very few are yet involved with or witness to the process of selecting and acquiring their food. While I continue to lead a life filled with moments of surreality, it is not false, fake, or removed from reality. If anything, I am becoming more rooted and grounded in the basic elements of life. Though I went Paleo a couple years back (and am not exactly maintaining it fully here--remember that meat and dairy are the primary food groups here), life in Mongolia includes connecting with components of our caveman ancestry in an authentic way. 

I was witness to it all. Once our ox/cow was selected, then it took the assistance

of our Russian van to get her up from the river bank and to our camp. There she waited, tied to the bathhouse, for the proper tools to arrive (by horseback). Our cow was killed with a swift blow to the head, using the blunt side of an axe, directly on the flat space between the eyes. She went down immediately. A second blow was delivered, her spine was severed behind her head, then a cut was made directly to the heart and she was bled out as much as possible into a large metal tub. I assume this was to make the skinning and quartering process less messy. 

Zorig and Enkhi--the herder who sold us our cow

In the course of a couple of hours our cow was skinned, gutted, quartered, and cut up into manageable pieces. Mongolian women arrived to process the innards which includes emptying the intestines, cleaning them, and then stuffing them with tenderloin--the GOOD meat. I had NO IDEA this is what happened. I feel foolish for not trying the intestinal shaped pieces from my Khorkhog experience back in July. Granted, I opt to not eat the intestinal lining itself, but the meat inside is delicious and tender. Now I know. 

That evening we hosted a small celebration and invited the local nomads, many of whom Zorig has known for the years he's been taking clients to camp and fish the Chuluut, to have a taste of meat and to toast good life and happiness. This soiree included over 20 people, from young child to elderly, and went on for a couple of hours. My girlfriend and I, as the only two Americans, were certainly out of place, but we enjoyed all the smiles and warm feelings expressed to us. We both had moments of sensory and input overload--funny, considering we were in our fifth day of being unplugged from the rest of the world. I guess when you experience something so foreign from all you've known your whole life, it takes some time to feel it, to process it, and to understand it and where you belong in the middle of it. 

This is about half of it....

On Friday we loaded up the meat and it rode behind us, in the back of the Russian van, all the kilometers and hours back to UB. Now it's been butchered into manageable cuts and is in our newly delivered chest freezer. It's ready and waiting to be consumed throughout the long nights of the frigid winter that lies ahead. I love that Zorig thought ahead to do this for our family. Now I hope he can teach me how to cook it. This man knows meat far better than I. Another thing to add to the long list of things he teaches me or opens me up to experiencing. I continue to expand and discover and learn--about this man, this land, these people, and more importantly (and sometimes painfully) about myself. 

Cold & Pollution

Public bus ride home after an after-school v-ball game 

Most everyone knows that I moved to the coldest capital in the world. Many of you have asked if it's getting cold yet.  I've mentioned in recent Facebook posts that we've already had a couple days with snow flurries (though no accumulation of any kind). Thus far, September and October have been most comfortable with many days in the 50s or 60s, while dropping to freezing or below every night. Similar to Colorado weather, when that sun goes down, the land cools of significantly. We enjoy sunshine most every day and very less days with continuous cloud cover. You can see the current 10-day forecast looks most comfortable. While some of my friends and family may fear I'm spending one-half to three-quarters of a year in freezing weather, you are incorrect (Thank Goodness!). From what I can tell, the weather WILL begin to dip much colder come next month. Then December, January, and February are brutal--temperature wise. In March, we begin to climb our way out of the frigidity. November and March are the steep descent/ascent months of the year.

High fashion (left) meets Traditional attire

I have more coats than I think I'll need; and Zorig keeps having me try on others of his that he doesn't use, and saying they are now mine. From what I've learned, it's all about the temperature here, and not much about any significant accumulation of snow. Though I do hear that ice forms easily on the marble sidewalks that seem to be crouched all around the city. Definitely need to keep an eye on my footholds and steps once ice appears. The women here LOVE their heels; while I'm more of a practical gal in that department. Just last week I had a second grader ask me if I was wearing "boy shoes." Gotta love them for their lack of filters. 

From bus, see the power plant expelling smoke in the distance?

More than the cold, my worst fear of making a new life here in UB is in regards to the impact of pollution. Air pollution, specifically. It is ranked as one of the most polluted cities in the world, despite it's population being just around 1.5M in UB, and 3M country-wide. Since I arrived in July, it hasn't been all that bad; news articles from the past indicate that winter is the worst time for air pollution with the increased burning of coal. You can keep an eye on the AQI (Air Quality Index) in Ulaanbaatar through this handy website. (If you zoom in on the map, I am a few blocks west of the Chinggis Khaan Square near the Baruun 4 Zam station.) I'm still learning what all the various numbers mean, but use this site to monitor overall air quality, as well as an app on my phone called Global Air Quality. One of my friends recently gifted me a disposable face mask which I'll carry for use on days when it gets bad. That would need to be changed once a month (I'm adding it to my list of what to get from Amazon before my next shipment from the U.S.). Some of the teachers I work with are coming from locations in China; living with air pollution is something they've been doing for a while and I'm glad to have them share their experiences/knowledge with me. 

I confess the mask feels strange on my face. I have yet to wear it, but I do see people every day wearing masks. Some may be wearing one to avoid spread of illness, others to filter out pollution. I suspect I'll get over my feelings of self-consciousness when the time comes, just as I did about going running and doing exercises on the street. At some point you do what you must and let go of what others may think of you. 

Today it will be 64 degrees and sunny! I have just today and tomorrow to work, then I can enjoy a week off for my Fall Break. Zorig and I are planning to head out of UB and into the countryside for some adventures. 

Language & Love

I know many of you are wondering how it's going......learning the language. I am confident that I couldn't imagine a better man in the entire world......AND I couldn't have fallen for a man with a MORE difficult language. Whew. It's tough! I only hear a few words here and there that I understand. It is difficult for me to discern where one word ends and the next word begins. I feel a lot like Charlie Brown, to be honest. :(

Last week I finished my first round of Mongolian lessons. A teacher at ASU (who is obviously talented in languages...being just 24 yo and speaking 4+ of them!) offered four weeks (3 hours each week) of "Survival Mongolian" lessons. While I am by no means speaking in Mongolian, I AM able to read signs and can pronounce *most* of the 36 characters in the Mongolian cyrillic alphabet. This pictures shows the characters. To listen to the sounds that accompany the letters, click here. The Es, Os, and Ys are by far the most difficult; and the L and R are a close second. The R rolls a bit like Rs in Spanish. This language requires a great emphasis on using the back of your tongue and the throat. It's different from English, no doubt. 

I've finished my first phase and intend to invest in a Mongolian tutor after our fall break has gone. It will take me some time to learn this language and I confess that it intimidates me. It's easy to stay inside the English-speaking bubble. I will need to force myself to step outside of it. Soon. In the meantime, I am always interpreting signs and practicing my pronunciations with Zorig. 

This man lets me be me--and that is beautiful!

On to other thoughts..... Remember the movie Jerry Maguire and the infamous line, "you complete me?" Some people took hold of that idea--were moved by it, while others rebelled. I've been musing about the premise in recent days and have my humble thoughts to offer up. 

I do believe we are fully formed individuals, though always evolving and growing, working to discern and determine who we want to become, what we believe, where we want to be, when to pursue life and when to ride the tide, and why we are here. 

I do not believe we need another person to complete us or make us whole. We are complete and whole as individuals (though many are working on this piece). However, I have come to believe and know that there is an extraordinary grace and beauty and wholeness that comes from LOVE WITH/FROM ANOTHER that ALLOWS you to be completely yourself. To be so free in one's skin and self-being, this indeed is a beautiful and supernatural experience. I bask in this kind of love daily. From morning until I rest my head to sleep at night, I am free. I am seen AS I AM and loved and adored for nothing other. I can strangely relate to Maria Von Trapp from the Sound of Music, thinking....I must have done something good to deserve this. Granted, my childhood was idyllic in many ways. I have no dark and twisted past from which I'm trying to recover. My parents loved me and raised me to pursue my dreams. Though I'm sure they had no idea that would include moving to Mongolia for Love! 

Some days I can't help but feel as though I have too much good in my life.  It is a certain slice of dream-like reality. How did I get so fortunate to meet this man? In a world of 7 Billion, what caused our paths to cross? And what gave each of us, individually, the where-with-all to pursue this life together? And then caused us to follow-through? Really.....the pieces of this puzzle are mind-boggling. It's a mystery. And therein lies the beauty of it. I do not want to know why.....don't explain it to me. The mystery is what lends it beauty and magnificence. 

All I know is that I know love in a new and ever-expanding way and it has colored my life in entirely new ways. I will never see or feel the same way again. The past is but a memory.....all we have is NOW.

Well, it happened to me...

Sukhbaatar Statue

The warnings to beware of pickpockets are everywhere. From the U.S. Embassy page to most every guidebook you can find for Mongolia. When I met with the health department in Colorado Springs to get my vaccinations, they provided me with a Country Profile that also warned me about the high incidence of theft--going so far as to declare that public transportation should be avoided (which is not at all practical). 

Back in July, when I ventured out for the first time alone onto the sidewalks of UB, Enji messaged me with, "WATCH OUT FOR ROBBERS!" I can't say that did much to bolster my confidence being in my new home city, but it was advice well-meant and based in reality. Zorig repeatedly warns me to be careful of both thieves and machines (aka cars) every time I venture outside. 

Well, it happened to me this past week. I was pick-pocketed. Now, before you get worried--they got NOTHING of material value. I didn't feel it happen and was never scared or fearful. Quite frankly, it's a mystery as to when and how they did it.

I had stayed on in Zaisan (neighborhood where ASU is located and most of my co-workers live) to have some wine and food with my friend (pictured here). I caught a bus around 7:30 pm which is after dark now. I know that it DID NOT happen on the bus, as I had a seat to myself and my backpack was on my lap the entire time with my hands resting on it. I have yet to feel exposed on the buses here, but perhaps in wintertime they get busy and more packed. We'll see. 

Anyway, when I got off the bus, I could see the Square all lit up ahead. It looked beautiful and I knew Z wasn't coming home from the worksite....so I decided I'd walk over and enjoy the Square a little before walking home. There weren't many people out. I was wearing my headphones and listening to my iPod, as I often do. I crossed the necessary crosswalks, took pictures, and wandered around some. Upon heading home, I noticed the Central Post Office was yet open. I popped inside to mail a letter I had in my purse (which was buried in the main pocket of my backpack under a loaf of bread). 

When I took my backpack off, I could see that the smaller, most front pocket was wide open. My pen and pencil case was yet inside, but the small bag that I used to house my iPod and headphones (when not in use) was gone. This was a gift Zorig gave me when he first arrived to the U.S. back in December. It was a lovely little bag and I'm sad that it's gone, but more importantly, I'm glad that my money or Alien ID Card wasn't stolen. My safe-feeling-bubble has officially been burst. I will be more careful moving forward. Time to stop with the headphones and I look over my shoulder way more often. I didn't feel a thing--they were like sprites unzipping the pack and lifting what they probably thought was a wallet. However, the bag was empty and I was a most unsuccessful mark. Pickpocketing is not a violent crime and for that I am relieved. 

Lesson learned.