The 3rd post, in which the pictures do the talking.

A few photos...

Sukhbataar Square in central UB.

Narantuul Market

Horsing around in the countryside.

There's more, but the internet here is quite slow, this at least paints a bit of a picture.

Cheers all,

Tom

The Second Post: In which a Star is born, and pictures are promised (but not yet delivered)

I’m writing this from my work computer, as this is one of the few spare moments I’ve had in the last week. Unfortunately that means attendant pictures will have to wait for a separate post, but I will try to get those up reasonably quickly. A lot has happened in the last week, life here is quite literally non-stop. With that in mind, instead of my usual blow-by-blow account (which at this point would comprise a small novel) I’ll try to offer a few snapshots of my time here.

First a brief introduction: My work at Amnesty is going very well. Most of my duties are comprised of developing human rights training programs for various groups. My main project to date is writing and presenting a training module on trial fairness to a group of lawyers (!) The office is a very pleasant place, to the extent that it has become a bit of a refuge from the driving pace of life here. There are a half-dozen local, full-time staff members here, all of whom are friendly and, mercifully, somewhat versed in English. There is also another foreign volunteer, here on a program called the Australian Youth Ambassadors for Development. She’s been here for almost a year already, and has all kinds of useful tips for a neophyte expat. She, the American, and the Aussi (see above) are regular companions in exploring UB (as locals call it). 

So, a snapshot of life here:

This was my weekend. On Friday night, the Ambassador, the Aussi, the American, and I met for dinner after work. After some (refreshingly) western fare, we met a whole hoard of other expats at a bar (the Ambassador being our connection) and downed some Chinngis Khan beer at a lovely little dive called “Hawaii bar” (never has a bar earned its name less). We closed the place down (people don’t stay out too late here).

The next morning we met outside the UN building for brunch (Diplomats get the best breakfasts) and hustled off in cabs to the ‘Black Market’. This is a massive outdoor marketplace covering about 10 city blocks where you can buy just about anything that exists.  We weren’t there long as we were running late for the opera! Yes, the opera. More specifically Ghengis Khan: the opera. The Ambassador and another aussi (who I’m dubbing the Clown, for her goofy demeanor and, well, extensive background in clowning) and I had seats in the National Opera House of Mongolia! The sets and costumes were beautiful and detailed, and the opera house was very nice. The show itself was a little indulgent, kind of a cross between Henry V and Jesus Christ: Superstar (Ghengis Khan: Superstar?) After the show (which started at 5) we stepped out into the blinding sunlight over Sukhbataar Square (pictures forthcoming) and went for a bit of a walk around town. Randomly running into the Aussi and the American, and losing the Clown to a house party, we got out for dinner (Russian, because what’s a post-communist state without a little borscht?)

After dinner we were all pretty tired, so we decided to just get one drink before heading home (hah!). Ulaanbataar, however, ruins the best laid plans. The Aussies were craving some beer from home so we went to the one café where ‘Coopers’ would be served. Just inside the door we were greeted by a full camera crew complete with a couple of boom mikes and an eccentric director. The waitress was just in the midst of asking us to leave (couldn’t we see they were in the middle of a shoot!) when the director and camera man approached to, you guessed it, ask us if we wanted to be in their movie. So yea, that’s the story of how I spent the next 2 hours pretending to chat up a girl while the crew filmed take after take of a guy walking in to deliver a flower to a young woman. (its also the story of how I became the scene-stealing star of ‘Homeboy’: in Mongolian theatres this August).

None of us were tired after that experience, so there then was an expat party, and a quick nap (also known as my night’s sleep) before I was off to the countryside to ride horses for a day. However that’s a story better told with real snapshots, which will be provided soon!

Hope you all are well,

Tom

The First Day: In which the sights and sounds of Ulaanbataar take a back seat to the sights and sounds of some of its citizens

I find that time moves differently on trips like this. So much happens in such a short time that a few days can seem much longer than the weeks that preceded your departure. I guess I should start at the beginning. The flights (thankfully) were uneventful. Arrival at Ghengis Khan airport was uncomplicated, although the facilities were almost laughably simple. The immigration processing area wasn't much more than a few desks lit by harsh, old-style fluorescents (ubiquitous here).  I was met at baggage claim by a rep. from Projects Abroad (the company that set up my internship). I would see quite a bit of him over the next few days, as he showed me around the city a bit (though I can't come close to spelling his name so I won't try here). He's quite a nice guy, but has the sometimes amusing, sometimes irritating habit of, let's say, over-narrating our sightseeing. ("in a few minutes I'll show you the industrial district." "we're almost at the industrial district." "here is the industrial district, all the industry is here", and so on). I got to my accommodations in a state of sheer exhaustion at around midnight. I'd been up for about 24 hours so after a quick dinner (which I had no interest in, but ate in a pique of sheer Canadian politeness) I collapsed onto my new bed.

 The next day brought an introduction session at the Projects Abroad offices. I was 'inducted' (their, somewhat puzzling, word choice) with five other volunteers working on various projects of their own. The 'induction' took most of the day, and was mostly comprised of a pretty facile 'culture clash in the workplace' kind of training. It did give me the chance to meet a few other volunteers though, which proved fortuitous. I've kept in touch with two of them: an Aussi and an American; (both women, the male/female ratio among volunteers is about 1:5) and the three of us have plans to see a bit of the countryside this weekend (more on that as it develops!).

We also toured the area a bit and bought local cell-phones, which is about as interesting as this paragraph is long.

After the 'induction' we were shuttled back to our accommodations by our various supervisors. I bridled a bit at the coddling, as I would have preferred to stay in the city center for longer, though it would turn out I needed a guide more than most (foreshadowing!).

I have to this point avoided talking much about my accommodations. I'm not quite sure where to begin. The situation, while perfectly ah safe, has proven... interesting. When I arrived on my first night, I was greeted by the son of the woman who owns the apartment, a 28 year old man, and his wife. The wife spoke no english and I only had a brief chat with the husband before heading off to bed.

So now I've arrived back after my volunteering hall of fame induction ceremony. The husband (heretofore now referred to as 'my host') is playing video games on his computer with one of his friends. Pretty normal scene, I ask him about the game a bit then head to my room. Later he asks me if I want a beer, which of course I do. He says that's great, he's just going to call his friend to pick him up so he can go get some, he'll be back in no time! Over the next 2 hours I fight off jet-lag and stay awake so as not to offend my new host. He finally returns with a couple of beers and a friend, an amiable Ultimate Fighting Championship fan who speaks just enough english to hold down a conversation. The beers are cracked and before long I'm starting to feel good about my new accommodations, as we crack jokes and show each other youtube videos. At one point the host casually mentions that his wife has gone to stay with her mother in the countryside for awhile. I'd just been informed during my induction that summering in the country was very common for Ulaanbataar residents, so I didn't think too much of this.

Suddenly the host gets a phone call and after an (obviously) incomprehensible conversation, says we should hide the beer because his mother is coming over. Which, huh, ok. So we do, and she does, although at first its not clear why, as she just has a short conversation with her son and then putters around the house a bit. Finally there's a knock at the door, the host goes to answer it. Well, here's where things go from strange to surreal. I can't see who's at the door, but I know its a woman because she and the host are screaming at each other in Mongolian just outside the apartments front door. This goes on for the better part of an hour, while I'm sitting in the living room with the mother (who speaks no english). I cannot fully impart the awkwardness of this situation with words. I have tried and I simply cannot. Finally I get up, walk to my bedroom, and close the door. There really didn't seem to be anything else to do. Hours later I got up to go to the bathroom and found the host, his mother, and yet another friend sitting together quietly on the couch.

That's when he told me that he and his wife had just broken up.

Yup, that happened.

What did I do? What could I do? I said I was sorry. Then I went to the bathroom.

...and that was my first day in Mongolia.


The next day was even more eventful, but for that tale, and to learn how I feel about my internship (spoiler: I love it) you'll have to check back again in a day or so, as I'm too tired to go on.

Cheers all, thanks for reading.

Tom

Confidential to Mum: As I write this I am safe, comfortable, and happy, and have every expectation of staying that way, so don't worry.