National Dance and Song

When dad and I first came to Mongolia in the summer of 2014, one of our events was attending the performance of National Song and Dance Academic Ensemble at the National Academic Drama Theatre. In the summer months they have two shows nightly. Dad and I loved it so much--we went again this past summer, taking Enji along as he'd never been. In January, I went to a performance by the Tumen Ekh ensemble. A smaller and more intimate setting than the National Theatre, this performance seemed to focus more on folk songs and dances; whereas the National Theatre performance wraps up with a morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) orchestra performing both Mongolian and popular pieces. 

Yesterday at ASU we had the privilege of seeing an hour long performance by our sister school, School 60 (a Mongolian public school).  


IMG_0778 from Heather Caveney on Vimeo.

This performance was nearly as good as either of the more professional performances I've seen, if not better because it was adolescents and teens doing it. They danced with grace and smiles on their faces. The costumes sparkled and glimmered. Our students, grades PreK through 5th, were captivated--cheering, clapping, ooohing and aaahing, and generally sitting on the edge of their seats. 
IMG_0775 from Heather Caveney on Vimeo.

The colors, the sounds, the movements. I was equally captivated and always find myself closing my eyes while I FEEL the sound of the morin khuur. It is unlike any other instrument I've heard--having something both ancient and haunting within its sounds. Some of the music played for the dances included throat-singing, another unique kind of musical performance that is done in Mongolia. Similar to what the morin khuur does to me, throat-singing transports me to a different time and place. You can FEEL the expansiveness of Mongolia's steppe through this haunting and moving music. 


IMG_0774 from Heather Caveney on Vimeo.

If I had to describe what I perceive as unique about Mongolian dance, I would say it's the hand, arm, and shoulder movements. To me, they evoke the feeling of a bird taking flight, of the expansiveness of the steppe, and of tenger--which translates to sky, heaven, ether, or god. I feel these movements invite the viewer into the experience and offer a piece of what makes Mongolia special and unique, a feeling of being part of something beautifully ancient, enchanting, and transcendent. 

If you want to see a few other videos online, here are some I can recommend:
Altai Hangai
My Beloved Country
Throat Singing
Altai Folk Band does Jingle Bells in the Countryside 

Visits with Fear

Over the past couple of weeks I've been thinking about fear. Again. This is a topic that cycles around. I wrote about fear a few times here. A year ago I shared my thoughts on Fear of the Other--how Americans viewed strangers and our general skeptical nature, and then simply Fear, where I talked about managing the fears around my big move. I also talked about how darkness can initiate fear. This past week fear came up for me. More than once and in reaction to various things, places, times. I wonder how much of our life is really about experiencing and managing fear in one form or another. I am coming to agree with FDR and the statement from his first inaugural address, "...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." He nailed it. 

I went dancing with girlfriends on the Saturday night before Tsagaan Sar. The club was pretty empty and it was nearly ALL women, but we were good with that as we went to DANCE. Around 2:30 in the morning, we dispersed and headed to our respective homes. In my first days here I would have been fearful to walk home in the wee hours of the morning. I wondered if I SHOULD (again....that American impact of should!) be afraid, but I didn't live that far and a walk sounded good. I walked half of the distance with my friend Julia, then said goodnight and walked the rest of the way home alone. The streets were empty and I felt perfectly safe. Lights were still up on the State Department Store--I do appreciate that the block I live on is well lit at all times--and I enjoyed the solitude.  

A week later, I went for a walk in the late afternoon. While it will sound perhaps hard to believe to my readers, spring really IS in the air here. We are hitting 10-20 degrees F in the afternoons and the sun shines brightly. I went a couple blocks west on Peace Avenue and explored Max Mall. Afterwards I decided to hike up the hill to the north to see what I could see. I found a couple gyms in the area to check into at a future date and then quickly found myself on this street, pushed right up against a ger district. If you pull up the picture, you can see on the hill directly beyond the vehicles a mix of mostly gers and a few single home structures. The ger districts surround Ulaanbaatar and are the main contributor to our air pollution problem. They burn coal in their stoves and the exhaust is expelled into the immediate air that we breathe. I couldn't believe just how quickly the air got thick with coal smoke. Only two blocks north from Peace avenue and I had to put on my mask. I went east on this street and took the next major road south to get back into the heart of downtown. All the while, people did look at me and sometimes stared. A foreigner wasn't an everyday occurrence in this neighborhood and I passed no others. But I did pass men, women, and children. Just regular people going about their regular everyday lives. 

Yet, these were unfamiliar streets and UB isn't built on a grid system like most cities in the U.S. At first I could see the Blue Sky building (major landmark in the city) and did I know my general direction. But I was quickly down amidst tall apartment buildings and couldn't find a familiar street. The sun had just set and the air temperature was dropping. My butt was cold!! I could feel myself wanting to panic, to be fearful. I was weaving between buildings, and taking alleyways, looking desperately for a major thoroughfare. I soon hit a road that was made of brick, a sort of cobblestone, and it felt familiar. There are horror stories of foreigners being messed with (physically pushed or roughed up) or mugged (as mentioned, robbery is a problem in UB) and I know these stories sometimes try to bubble up inside me. I have NOT had an experience of these things, but as a foreigner they are passed on. Each time my heart wanted to race, I talked myself down. It wasn't yet dark and one really can't get lost in UB. It's not all that big. Truly. 

Found Colorado! 47 states to go...

Once I hit the cobblestone I could see I was just a block or so behind the State Department Store. I was only five minutes from home. :) I can't see in my mind how the roads I took led me to this location, but there I was just the same. I think in the future I will use an app on my phone to track my walks. I do have a map in my mind and need to flesh it out with these winding streets and neighborhoods. I also recognized that even though I felt lost, I could have, at any point, turned on my data and used Google maps to find where I was. 

Lastly, I rode the public bus home from Zaisan after spending time with a friend. It was nearly 9 pm and I had to wait 15 minutes or more for a bus to arrive (they do stop running around 10 pm, but get sparse as the night wears on) that would take me in my direction. I didn't feel cold and felt safe sitting and waiting at the bus stop. I was carrying home a couple of bags and don't like having to take so much on the public bus. Again--horror stories abound of being pick-pocketed. I try to avoid riding late (again...how darkness makes things scarier). But as I found a seat, felt perfectly safe the entire ride, and enjoyed that there was less traffic to contend with--I wondered why? Riding late was fine. My fear was unnecessary. And, if for some reason a bus would have never arrived, I am only about a 3.5 mile walk to home. I can't wait for the days to get longer and warmer, as I will choose to make the walk home more frequently. 

I'm sure she'll be back around....Fear. I do my best to acknowledge her appearance and visit to my world, and then kindly send her on her way. I have no doubt she has others to visit, to push, to terrorize, to stretch. Without her though, how would I increase my confidence, my knowledge, and my comfort in this time and place? Yes, she is a necessary evil. 

My First Tsagaan Sar

On February 10th of 2015 I put Zorig on a plane home to Ulaanbaatar after our seven weeks together in the US. Those weeks determined our future--both of us making the necessary changes to make space for the other and to commit to a new future--choosing to become one another's family. In a world of 7 Billion people, we had found the ONE which we wanted above all others. 

Last year Zorig arrived home just in time for Tsagaan Sar. He sent me pictures of he and Enji with the rest of the extended family-- grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. I looked at the pictures and began to imagine what it would feel like to be a face in that crowd. While I would look different, would I feel like family?

Amazingly, a year has come and gone and I have experienced my first Tsagaan Sar in Mongolia. I will share my reflections and observations here, but first, for a nice overview of the event, please read this blog post by my friend and fellow American Wife, Michelle Borok. Her extended family has more roots in the countryside while my experience is more city-centered. Zorig's parents came to Ulaanbaatar as young children; he is a first generation city person, making Enji second generation. City folk celebrate Tsagaan Sar similarly, but with some adjustments here and there. 

We went first to Zorig's parents' apartment on the eve of Tsagaan Sar to share food and drink, and to toast the incoming new year as a nuclear family. Home just before midnight, we slept shortly and were up before 7 am to prepare and leave. Back to the in-laws by taxi, where we greeted the new year and received gifts. We piled into my father-in-law's Land Cruiser and made our way to the home of the eldest family member--Zorig's 91-year-old grandmother.  

Most of the family

The traditional spread was on the table and women were busy in the kitchen steaming buuz. We drank milk tea, nibbled on food, and drank airag from a silver bowl while everyone else arrived. During this time, the passing of the snuff bottles was also conducted. (Thankfully, I had first experienced this back in January on a short visit to Michelle and her family in Darkhan--therefore I knew what to do!) 

Shortly after 9 am, the family was assembled and the traditional greetings and offerings began. From oldest to youngest, family members pay respect to their elders. Younger members place their hands and arms underneath the elders and lean in to "sniff-kiss" one cheek and then the other. A monetary gift is also offered. As the elders are honored, the rest of the family continues to offer similar greetings and wishes for the new year all around, paying attention to rank in the family by age. 

Buuz fresh from the kitchen

With greetings complete, everyone sat to eat buuz fresh from the steamer. A vodka toast to happiness and good health in the new year followed. We ate and drank and visited--everyone catching up on one another's lives. My Mongolian language is yet limited, but I caught words here and there and continue to be amazed at how much one can glean from body language, context, and tone. While I am the only foreigner in the bunch, I have never felt strange or out of place when around Zorig's family. Their acceptance and love for me is present and full. His grandmother gets around very well--her mother lived to be 94 years old--and I am comforted to know that genes of a long life run in the family. 

By late morning, we departed. Most people have multiple homes to visit and there seems to be a rotation. After some brief down time at home, Zorig and I walked from our home to visit his mother's sisters. The first a sister by marriage, the other her older sister. Both of these apartments were within very short walking distance of our home. We spent 30-60 minutes at each home--long enough to drink milk tea, enjoy some of the salads, and to have a fresh round of buuz presented, all the while chatting and visiting. This was my first time to meet members from Zorig's mother's family and I very much enjoyed meeting them, seeing their homes, and having the opportunity to get acquainted. On Wednesday evening we visited one more home. 

Three different presentations of the Ul Boov

All in all, we visited just four homes for the holiday. This is small compared to most; one of the sisters said she would see perhaps a 100 people in the three days of visiting. You can see why there are hundreds of buuz made!! 

As a foreigner trying to explain this holiday to my countrymen at home in the U.S., I would say it feels like a blend of Thanksgiving and New Year's, plus a little something extra. Thanksgiving includes a host of traditional foods and is about family gathering together to offer thanks for their health, their good fortunes, for life. New Year's is about the hope and well wishes for good things in the year to come. Those two things, PLUS a ceremonial recognition  and respectful appreciation to one's elders is what Tsagaan Sar felt like to me. I couldn't think of anything we have in the U.S. that would be similar to this third element. Perhaps because we are a young country that lacks centuries old traditions? Perhaps because we are a melting pot of diverse cultures? 

Ultimately, Tsagaan Sar is about family--the blood that connects us and binds us to our pasts, as well as the new connections made through marriage that hold the future of our families in them. I feel honored to be warmly received into this new world, culture, home, and family. My first year of education and assimilation continues, but one thing remains the same--I've never been happier than I am now. Happy New Year to you all--may this Year of the Monkey hold health and happiness for each and every one of you.