Shower time

Every time I turn on my computer, this is the image that greets me:

And it makes me smile every time. My mum doesn’t often get all the credit she deserves. She took this photo, and I give her all the credit: nice photo, mum. In this picture, left to right is: me, Ebony, Nikki and Tegan. My three sisters and I. They’re pretty cool and I miss them a lot so the photo makes me happy. Sometimes it makes me cry a little, like now, but only because I miss them.

Today was a good day. Because I didn’t get paralytic drunk last night I didn’t have a hangover like everyone else. So I got to sleep in and reap the benefits of not having a hangover when everyone else did. Nothing happened and everyone went slow and I took full advantage of it. I got to plan my day like this:

Wake up at 7am, know I can lay in bed for hours. Get up at 8:30am and get dressed. Decide what to have for breakfast. Can’t decide so walk to the spring to get more water for my solar shower and my water bottle. Cook pasta for breakfast because I decide – what the hell, I’m on ‘holidays’ and I can eat pesto with pasta (my preference over eggs) for breakfast if I want! Then I cook breakfast, eat breakfast while sitting in the sun. Then I read some more of my Marie Claire magazine a friend brought me back from Australia. I then planned to wash my face and hands and then write a blog or two and edit the photos I took yesterday. My plan worked perfectly and I wasn’t interrupted once. It was lovely. So then, with even more time to myself, I read more magazine and book and I went for a walk up the hill near the spring and did some make-shift yoga. I tried to meditate but I think I need to practice some more. below: making my breakfast in our cabin; the hill that I walked up today

 

 

And then I read some more and decided maybe I’d attempt to have a shower because I felt disgusting, and the water in my solar heater had warmed enough to justify it. So then my next plan was to finish a chapter of my book, set up a makeshift shower cubicle (there’s no privacy here and the toilet is two slats of wood over a deep hole in the ground) and then make some dinner.

Still, no interruptions. I got some quizzical looks while I was using dad’s blue poncho-cum-picnic rug-cum-shower privacy screen to make the shower cubicle but no one interrupted me

I was a little scared of the shower screen blowing down as it wasn’t fastened tightly and everyone was playing cards within view. But it was now or never. I half chickened out and then was grossed out by my dirtiness so decided to go for it. Stuff it, who cares if they see me butt-naked, it might give them something else to talk about.

So away I went. I took some photos of the aftermath for you. I was not exposed, thankfully. But the location of my shower cubicle meant that someone walking past one side meant they’d get a pretty good view of naked Sally if they were walking in the right direction. Of course, someone was and I’m positive they got a good view.  Don’t care. I’m CLEAN!

 

 

Above: the solar shower (after my shower); the side of my makeshift ‘cubicle’ where it wasn’t so private; inside my cubicle – poncho was slung up to the door on the right of the photo. Solar shower was slung over my shoulder.

So, to shower, I had to cart the water from the spring – which was heavy in that funny little plastic bag. I sat it in the sun for 8 hours. The handle on it doesn’t hold its own weight so I couldn’t hang it from the wall of our cabin. I had to hold it. So I washed my legs with the shower head attached, with the water bag hitched over my shoulder. Then I took the shower head attachment off which left me with the little tap. I held the bag over my head so I could wash my top half. It fell down a few times because holding 15L water above your head gets heavy. That meant the bag got really dirty which meant I copped it too. But none of it mattered. I lathered up as best I could, washed it off and dried off. I only used about half of the 20L of water and it’s still warm and I feel like I’ve wasted it. I think I might use it as a warm-water bottle for my feet tonight as it gets cold here.

Now there’s a little mouse in my cabin and I want him to go away because if he eats my food I won’t have anything for another two days. Everyone’s playing cards again but I don’t want to because I don’t understand most card games, I get too competitive and I’m really just enjoying my own time even though I know they’re all judging me for not joining in.

Competition Day

So, where were we?

I left you at our journey north: to Bulgan soum.

One thing I haven’t described yet is the vodka thing. Vodka is used as a blessing and celebratory drink. When you’re going on a journey, you’ll stop on the way and bless the trip with a shot of vodka. If you stop on the way, you’ll drink a bottle of vodka. If you’re toasting, you’ll toast with a shot of vodka. If you’re celebrating or thanking, you’ll use a shot of vodka.

The vodka is brought beforehand and is always handy in the vehicle. In the vodka selling shops, they have LOTS of little medicine sized cups that you can just take to use.

When you stop, the least important important person there has to hand the vodka around. He’ll have one of the plastic/paper shot glasses and he’ll offer it to the most important person. He’ll say a toast and then drink the shot. He will take a fair swig at it but rarely finish the entire shot. Then he hands it back to the least important important person who will top up the shot glass and hand it to the second most important person. The important people are always men (which is ironic because Mongolia is mainly run by women). So the same shot glass will be handed around, topped up, handed around until the paper in the cup gives way and they get a new one. I choose to believe the vodka acts as a disinfectant because I’m usually very close to the last person to have to drink the vodka. (below: vodka and mutton at a stop along the way)

Sometimes you’ll just have a shot of vodka each (usually just a blessing) or sometimes you’ll just have to keep receiving these shots of vodka and passing them back until all the vodka is gone. Sometimes when you’re really unlucky, the bottle will finish and they’ll bring out ANOTHER bottle. Sneaky bastards!!

So we arrived late at night to Bulgan soum and the little huts we are staying in. They’re pretty cute and we’ve got a comfortable single mattress but that’s it. No water, no lights, no toilet. There’s a spring just 200m away which is great but the toilet is another story.  (below: our cabin at night and then in the morning)

I piked early and went to bed at 10:30pm because I was pooped. Trying to fit in to a culture that is not yours really takes it out of you and I was tired! I also wasn’t in the mood to sit up and listen to 40 Mongolians talk in Mongolian all night. So bed it was and I was ready to receive the wrath in the morning. Which there was. There was rumours floating around that I hate everyone, based purely on the fact that I didn’t stay up drinking vodka.

nevermind.

Our first day here was competition day. We had a slow morning and then took the cars and went down by the Selenge River where a Khorkhog (sheep in a big round dish with potatoes and baked to oblivion) had already started. We lolled around while some guys put up a volleyball net. I read my kindle. Vodka was being readily served. Volleyball started and I took up my post as photographer. I never set out for it to be that way, but taking photos is an almighty blessing when you’re in a different culture. I wasn’t on the volleyball team and everyone else was chatting away. If I sit by myself I look like a loser that’s not trying to make friends (even though I can’t because they want to speak Mongolian with their friends, not try to speak English with me). So instead I take up post with my tripod and camera and practice. I got some okay shots.

Volleyball VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Then it was Khorkhog time and I was given a plate of mutton that I fobbed off onto someone else while my friend got me a plate of potato and cabbage. It’s all been cooked in the mutton fat so I have a job trying to hold just the potatoes down. They KEPT TRYING to give me airag, and every time they’d get pissed off that I won’t drink their airag. GET THE PICTURE, mate! So then because I wouldn’t drink their airag or eat their meat (trust me, I’ve tried and I feel terrible that I have to continue refusing), they brought me a cup of the juice from the khorkhog. Wholey shitballs. If that isn’t the epitome of disgusting-ness to me, there’s not much else that would top it. Of all things, I can’t drink the byproduct of cooked meat (I don’t eat soup with bones in it etc etc). So he handed me a cup of something he thought I would like and I had to say no again. KILL ME NOW!

Post-lunch was a wrestling match which was really fun to watch. All the guys take their shirts off, tighten their belts and start touching each others legs, pulling up their undies and kicking each others shins.

 

 

After a bit of down-time, it was competition time. Each team had to do a relay of blindfolded runs, sack races and epic 20 legged race. I was to begin our team’s effort as I had proven the night before I knew how to spot (no one else knew about the standard ballet practice of holding your gaze on one thing). I had to put my hand on a volleyball and go round it 10 times. I ran as fast as I could around this ball, while spotting people’s awed faces – no one had seen anything like it! Anyway, it put me in good stead to piss bolt to the sack racing man. I got lots of cheers. Afterwards and even now, I’m the talk of the group because I can run so fast! (who would have thunk it!)

Our team won, courtesy of a really good sack racing man, a really strong man/woman team that alternately carried each other and a really good ballet spotter.

We had to celebrate with bloody vodka. We won 100000tugrik, to divide between the 9 people in our team. The man that had taken charge (but wasn’t a very good leader) asked what we should do with the money. I said that I vote we should give it to charity. He practically spat in my face and said ‘NEVER’. I doubt I’ll ever see my winning portion of that money.

We took a vehicle down to the bank of the river and celebrated there for a bit. Some people got paralytic drunk and started singing. I just took some photos.

Down by the river VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Back at camp people were playing cards and it continued until sundown (10pm) when it got really cold really quickly. We drove back to our cabins and everyone continued the drinking. I had to drink more vodka as the aimag coordinator was so pleased to have me as a visitor to his area. Then I had to drink more because of something else and something else and eventually I just began to accept the fact I’d definitely piss some people off by not drinking their vodka but I just couldn’t do it anymore. It’s a horrible, pathetic feeling: knowing all you have to do is drink the vodka and you’ll be their best friend, but knowing you can’t let yourself get that drunk for fear of your own safety (and I guess what I’d get up to if I did get SUPER drunk – I never seem to keep my clothes on). It’s also a bit of stubbornness as well – I don’t want to have to drink vodka to prove myself. And I also don’t want an epic hangover.

I probably offended about 6 people last night – all important people. Too bad.

We ended up sitting outside around a table (full of mutton and airag), singing songs. I had to sing an Australian song. Shitballs. I don’t sing. Ever. I don’t remember lyrics because I’d rather use the brain space to store something worthwhile. I mustered up ‘Waltzing Matilda’ mainly because it’s seriously the only song that I know one entire verse to. And I sang. It was terrible, but kind of liberating. And they all tried to hum along but NEVER got the tune. Probably my fault.

I had to dance with a couple of the security guards who had a tight grip on me (literally, I’m surprised I don’t have bruises on my wrists this morning) and tried to force feed me vodka (dear sir, no, I am not stupid enough to skoll your vodka so I get drunk enough to have sex with you, sincerely, sally). It was fun. The aimag coordinator is an old guy who clearly knows his shit, is very wise and all that jazz. He was hanging around as well and joining in the fun with such genuine and sincere care and love in his eyes. I got my packet of beef jerky that dad brought with him and shared it round. It was well received and they all LOVED to eat Australian beef. Even though it’s pretty tough now because of its trip to the Gobi and back.

So we danced and sang as the stars lit up the night. Vodka was poured freely and the airag was drunk in large quantities. It was definitely one of the more accepting cultural experiences thus far.

I snuck to bed at half past midnight and slept well.

Not sure what to call this–it turned in to a rant

The toilets here are abso-freaking-lutely disgusting. I just gave myself a belly ache because I was trying to hold on too long. I never got excited about doing a pooh until I came to Mongolia where fibre is NOT in their diet. To me it’s a game to see how many prunes/tinned peas/tinned fruit/fresh fruit/water I have to consume because I can actually poop. It’s usually directly related to the amount of Mongolian food I have to eat. The more Mongolian food, the harder my digestive system has to work. So there you go.

On Wednesday morning I was at the stage where I wanted to kill myself – of course not literally but that’s the expression I would use to describe just how much I did NOT want to get out of bed to go on this work trip. But I had to get up and pack. And I did. I think I have 6 different bags with me – I was not in the mood to be careful with my packing and I was not about to leave my camera (itself it’s own bag) or my laptop (for photo editing and blogging) behind. And I was not going to come unprepared. Dad left a useful legacy in Mongolia, being the solar shower (good for carting water so I can clean my teeth and wash hands, not good enough to shower), saucepan set and mini gas cooker. So I’ve got pasta and pesto and I have never felt so privileged in my life. Instead of having to eat bento (dried mutton soup) or fresh mutton noodle soup for breakfast, I can cook two scrambled eggs OR pesto pasta. I seriously spent TWO HOURS this morning trying to decide what I’d eat. Decisions decisions.

In Mongolia, travelling regularly for work, I’ve come to appreciate many things and I’m so grateful I feel I need to do something about it. So when I’m reading my Kindle under a tree instead of having to play Mongolian card games (I’m too competitive to play even snap – I’m not about to ruin work relationships by playing card games and getting the shits because I’ve lost), I want to tell the Kindle man that I am ever so grateful for his book reading device that has an ever lasting battery. And when I open a packet of Allens lollies and savour the smell of the amazing sweetness and flavours, I want to write to Mister Allen and tell him thank you very much – very, very much, for your delicious lollies. And when I go to the gym in my amazing Lorna Jane gym gear, and can work out being all comfortable and stuff, I want to tell Lorna that she’s great. And when I put on my comfy knickers, grey hoodie or trackies, I want to tell the makers of Bonds clothing that I have never appreciated their warmth or comfort or practicality so much in my life. I plan on writing to all these people but the list keeps getting longer and I still don’t know how to send letters from the post office.

The only shit thing is that none of the things I have come to love and appreciate are available in the country I currently live in. Too bad, my choice and that’s why I’m here.

So the trip was a loooooooong one again. 12 hours in the car listening to very bad music. Even for a while we got to listen to the same CD that we listened to the WHOLE trip to Choibalsan and back (remember that first trip to the countryside I did where I became so delirious after two days on a shitty road that I decided I’d be better off to dislocate my shoulder so a helicopter could pick me up?). We stopped quite regularly and I was in the same car as the director of my project. Mainly so she could get up me for not asking permission to go to Russia (yeah, okay, I deserved that one). We had a few moments of bonding and I hope one day soon she’ll actually give me some work to do.

The first stop we had was for a mid-morning snack. It was half a sheep wrapped in gladwrap. I snuck around the back and ate a muesli bar. The second stop was actually fruitful and we ate a lot of delicious Korean food in Erdenet (where the big copper mine is). The third stop was another vodka stop (did I mention there was copious amounts of vodka in the previous two?) where we met the aimag coordinator for our project and he served a round-up drum (you know the size? The big maybe 30L drum?) full of airag> bloody fermented horse milk. And a whole massive container of Mongolian cheese.

And fresh wild strawberries. I will give them the credit they deserve. THEY ARE DELICIOUS!

I do not like Mongolian food. I don’t like mutton, I don’t like mutton soup. I don’t like soup. I don’t like yogurt, especially the kind that tastes like the cow was milked and then wiped its ass in the yogurt. I don’t like horse milk, camel milk or any fermented versions of it. I don’t like sheep tongue or brains. I don’t like dried cheese, dried curd or fresh curd. I don’t like salty tea, nor do I like preserved cream with salt in it. I don’t like vodka, I don’t like dried mutton or potatoes. I can’t eat tomatoes.
This leaves me in a bit of a pickle. Mongolians are staunchly patriotic and not adventurous or worldly when it comes to food. Their diet consists of everything I listed that I hate, and nothing more (except cucumber and carrots in summer). So when I’m handed vodka I do my bit and have the biggest sip I can stomach. And then they get pissed off because they think I hate them because I didn’t drink their vodka (and I’m given a LOT because I’m on the only whitey and I’m cute and young). And then they offer me airag (fermented horse milk) and I do my bit and take the biggest sip I can stomach. And then they get pissed off because they think I hate them because I don’t drink their airag. And then they offer me cheese – again, I take the smallest bit and they get pissed off. And then I leave the fat in my soup.. blah blah blah. You get the picture. I try to be as kind as possible but it pisses ME off.

In MY culture that they’re so keen to learn about, I don’t eat meat for breakfast lunch and tea. I don’t eat dairy products like they’re going out of fashion. I don’t shot 1/4cup (seriously) of vodka in one sitting with no mixer. In MY culture, we don’t pressure people to drink if they don’t want to. We don’t make people eat our food if they don’t like it or make them feel ungrateful if they don’t eat it all. We don’t bitch about people if they’ve gone to bed at 10:30pm because there are 40 people speaking and playing cards in a language they don’t understand. This is why it’s so hard for me to participate in some facets of your culture: because I wasn’t born in it; you’ll have to take me as I come and accept me as I am. And hopefully one day know that I love to be here, but it’s also really tricky for me.

I totally realise I’m a guest in their culture and at times it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. It is just very, very difficult to create relationships with people when they base it on your vodka drinking abilities and the fact that you reject their offer of food, every time. It got to a point the other day when I was just beyond it. There’s nothing I can do to make myself eat mutton fat soup or drink airag. No Western person in their right mind could drink any more than a tiny bit. It tastes like you’ve left the milk out of the fridge for two weeks with the lid on and then added white vinegar and some horse ass. It’s fucking disgusting and if you’ve grown up on it, I’m sure it’s very refreshing. But it makes my stomach churn.

So anyway, I had this massive tantrum in my head about all of the above: just because I can’t eat your food doesn’t mean I don’t like you, silly!

So no sex? No sex then?

NO, NO SEX.

Geez.

I was accosted by this totally annoying and sleazy, disgusting looking pimped up Mongolian guy as I was walking to meet my friend for lunch (which was really nice, by the way).

He'd walked straight past me and I sighed a little sigh of relief - you never want people like that coming near you.

Turns out I wasn't so lucky. He came BACK. I kept walking. He wanted to know my name, I lied and told him some made up name. He shook my hand (I promptly washed it) and asked where I was from. It was all very PG and could have been friendly if he didn't STINK of sleazeball.

I told him Australia (it's a big place, I was safe to tell him that detail) and he said he spent three months in Bondi. I didn't say anything and kept walking faster and faster with my bag held tighter and tighter.

The one sided conversation progressed.

What's your phone number? I don't have one, I'm a volunteer and they're too expensive (lie)
What's your home phone number, I will call YOU? I don't have one
What's your number? You don't have ANY phone number? No.
How will I contact you? (no answer)
Your phone number? What's your phone number? (no answer)
I am a massage therapist, I can give you a massage? (I laugh) No, thank you I don't need one
You have a very attractive body.
How will I contact you? What is your email address? Anything? I don't feel comfortable giving you that.
So, NO SEX? NO SEX THEN?

And then, thank GOD he turned around and walked back the other direction. I regained my composure and walked to lunch.

Goodness gracious me - I don't have a clue what the hell he wanted, what he thought he'd get or what the f*** he was thinking, but he was the most unwelcome part of my day and I will definitely be avoiding that area (that I kind of generally do anyway) from now on.

Also, we still have no running water in our house. It's actually a lot more annoying that I ever thought it'd be. Houses are plumbed to have running water. So a loo that doesn't flush and drains that don't have running water down them stink. And dishes pile up and you can't wash them and then you run out of clean dishes. And there's no drinking water or shower water or water to wash your clothes. There's no taps outside and the whole block is off so I can't just 'duck next door'. Fingers crossed the water comes back on shortly!!!!

Tomorrow I'm off on another trip to Bulgan Soum (soum means like a council area) in the North West, for a work piss up basically. I'm not excited. I wish I was. The three-month blues is a well documented period of stifling homesickness and shitness, basically. So, excuse my general whingey and sorrowful demeanor, apparently by this time next month I'll be a happy chappy!

Love from Mongolia xox

Stormy days

This morning was lovely, the sun was out. As the afternoon moved in to evening, the storm clouds rolled in and it's yet to give way to rain but I'm sure it's not far off.

This morning was a bit tricky. I was ready to get out of bed but I didn't want to leave my room. It was like a big hug had engulfed me and I was in a happy place and I didn't want to leave. I'm a 'stuff' person - I like my things and coming back to my room after so long away, and I guess having even more reliance on my 'stuff' to make me feel comfortable here, I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally just wanted to have alone time: me and my stuff.

So I turned my tv on (I have a tv in my room but it only gets Mongolian channels and the BBC) so I had background noise and for a couple of hours I lolled around in my room. It was lovely. But then I had to go to work.
My reception was friendly. There were lots of 'oh, I haven't seen you for ages' but that's it. And it's fair enough because I haven't been in for at least a month. I want work to do, dammmmmmmit! I want to help! I'm here to help! Give me something to do or send me somewhere else so I'm not wasting my time!

So I went to my friend's house to wash my clothes. No running water in our house at the moment means our washing machine only spins. So I took an epic basketful of clothes down the road and washed them. I'll pick the rest up tonight when I go over for dinner.

There are a bunch of new volunteers arriving this weekend. I'm very excited. More new friends!

I'm going to go home, get changed and go to a cafe that I know has great soy chai and read my magazine that my friend bought from Australia for me. :)

What a dill

Wowsers. I am very tired. Almost dysfunctional. The overnight train from Irkutsk to Ulan Ude wasn’t the best idea. We were in third class as they were the only beds left. It meant there was not partitioning between us and the other 50 people in the cabin. It really wasn’t too bad – it was clean and they gave us fresh linen and blankets. There was NO airflow which was pretty sucky. I like some good airflow…. I guess it was a night of constant waking up because I was falling off the bed, because we went over a bump or round a corner, because someone was snoring – you know, all those little things that apparently add up over the space of one night! I feel like POOH.

I liked sleeping on the train though. There’s something soothing about the train chugging along, going over little bumps and making the same clicky-clack sound repetitively.
Anyway, it means now we’re in Ulan Ude absolutely STUFFED. We don’t fly out til 8pm and we arrived here at 7am. We have no hotel and nowhere to put our bags (yet, we’re hoping we’ll find lockers in the train station). I haven’t had breakfast and the lady in the shop wouldn’t serve me when I asked for two buns in english (they were right in front of me). The toilets here didn’t open til 8am which was a bugger because we got here at 6:45am. I made it though, and then paid my 15rubles (about 40c) to go to the loo.
So, I left you in Olkhon Island. We stayed for 3 nights and ate their prison-style food for 3 days. It was edible but it wasn’t nice. The island itself is great! The water is so pretty and the atmosphere is lovely. The sun shines for a minute then ducks behind the clouds that then give way to rain. Our second day was a cloudy, lovely day. We went on a day long tour to a Stupa statue on a little island between the mainland and Olkhon Island. The view from the island was lovely but that was about it. Our boat went slow. And I mean it. We could have rowed there faster, literally. But it was really nice to chug along. I sat on the nose of the boat with all my warm clothes on and breathed in the fresh air and let the water moving against the boat lull me in and out of sleep. (below: me all rugged up on the boat; the Stupa and people walking around it; the view from Stupa island)

We also stopped off at a natural spring that’s got a bit of silver in it. We weren’t suppose to take rocks but I yoinked two little ones. I already peed behind a buddha in Mongolia and stole rocks from somewhere sacred in Africa so I’m hoping I live through this bad karma. They’re only little and I got them for my twin cousins who collect rocks. And these ones sparkle under water. (below: me drinking the spring water)
The water from the springs was delicious! It was so cool and refreshing. I ‘cleansed’ myself many times (washed my face) mainly because we’d had fish soup for lunch and my hands smelt fishy.
We chugged back to Olkhon Island and I had a really weird massage by some nice but weird guy. He cracked my back though, for which I was thankful as my headaches have disappeared for now!
So after the cloudy day, they gave way to an awesome rainy day. It just spat all day until it rained properly. It was a bit inconvenient as I had all my bags with me and we had to go from bus to ferry to bus (and be on the ferry in the open for 20mins). But it’s always so nice to have a bit of rain on your face and to smell it in the air!
All-in-all, our journey back to UB goes like this:
Walk to bus stop; 1.5hour bus to ferry; ferry across strait; 5.5hour bus to Irkutstk; 3 hour wait; 7 hour overnight train to Ulan Ude; 13hour wait; 1.5hour plane to UB; 20min taxi ride HOME
It’s pretty epic. I’m happy to say we’re a bit more than half way there. WOO!
I’m also really bloody hungry but the bitch in the shop wouldn’t let me buy a BUN and I can’t eat any more dried apricots.
re ‘what a dill’: EVERYTHING in this part of Russia has dill on it. I like dill which is lucky. If you didn’t like dill, you’d definitely go hungry. It’s fresh wild dill so it’s strong. It is put in soups, on soup, on fish, in fish, in salad, on salad, on pancakes, on breakfast, on your tea – EVERYTHING. It’s great!