The first way to portray yourself is as an insider: someone who understands and respects the accepted norms of the group your are entering. The second way to portray yourself is as an outsider: a well meaning fool who hasn't the foggiest idea what's going on but will gladly accept any instruction. Either method generally works, unless there are special conditions, such as a formal banquet (where one is expected to be an insider) or a private conversation in a foreign language (where one is expected to be an outsider).
Today I went for a walk with a goal: to find some people and chat with them. Generally one does not set out from home with the firm intent of finding casual conversation, but of course most situations in Mongolia don't fall under the "general" category.
My problem is that most of the people here play two sports: basketball (tsaksanboombuk) and soccer (don't know that word yet). They are very good at both of these sports, and prefer to play them with people that are equally skilled. I stink at both. I don't stink at soccer by American standards, but unfortunately American standards don't cut it as far as the rest of the world is concerned.
My walk took me past apartment complex after apartment complex. I passed countless games of basketball, and a few of soccer. I hung around the soccer games, but when no one invited me to join in I moved on.
Eventually I saw a group of about half a dozen old men gathered around a table. This is a familiar sight in every city in the world. It generally means that a game of chess or checkers is being played, though in some countries it means mahjong or backgammon. Mongolia is not one of those countries. In Mongolia, a group of old men gathered around a table means chess.
I approached the table and began watching the game in progress. I was not acknowledged except by a few casual glances, as is usually the case with a group of old men playing chess. The game progressed slowly, with a lot of input from the group. Despite the slow pace of the game, the old men both followed an aggressive strategy, and soon there were not enough pieces on the board for a checkmate, ending the game in a stalemate. At this point something happened.
A bad something.
One of the men came over to me and introduced himself in English. I shook his hand. He then offered me a bottle of snuff, and asked me if I spoke French, as his French was better than his English.
Do I look like I speak French?
I know what to do when I'm offered snuff, really. However, the whole thing caught me rather off guard. There's something about being in a group where you believe you are the only one who speaks English. It puts you in your own world: a comfortable world, though sometimes a boring one.
I stared at the bottle of snuff, frozen. My mouth moved unbidden, and unintelligible noises came out of it. Seeing this, the man assumed that I was a stupid tourist. In most circumstances this assumption would have been fine with me, but snuff was involved here. He kindly proceeded to explain in broken English what the snuff was, and to place some on my finger.
Dangit.
I sniffed the snuff. It was rather like snorting dust.
He then asked me if I was a tourist.
This is where the two methods of interacting with a new group come into play. I should have said yes, but I didn't. I said (in English and broken Mongolian) that I was a new teacher at the English school, and that I had lived in Mongolia for six years as a child. He asked me if I played chess. Again, I should have said no, but I said yes. Fortunately I was intelligent enough to add that any game between myself and a member of the present group would be a short one.
The man said his name was Batsukh, and offered me his card. He was an opera singer, and according to his card, composer.
I asked him if he sang Mongolian opera. He replied that no, he was a tenor and sang Italian and Russian opera. His most recent project had been to translate opera into Mongolian. He proceeded to list a few composers that I recognised, such as Tchaikovsky and Puccini, along with several more that I didn't recognise, and gave the works of each composer that he had translated.
Since he kept on struggling for words in English and saying the words in French, I asked him if he spoke any Spanish. I thought that perhaps if we broadened the conversation to include three languages it might be easier, though my Spanish was minimal at best.
He replied that no, he did not speak Spanish, though he occasionally sang in Spanish. He proceeded to demonstrate, and sang beautifully, though somewhat softly because the chess game was still going on.
I began to get the distinct feeling that I was a boy among men. Most of you are probably thinking something along the lines of "no dur, it's a chess game". This is true, but it's still an unpleasant feeling to encounter. This feeling increased when they asked me if I would like to play. I said that yes, I would, but that it would be a "short game" as I said before, since my skills were very much inferior to theirs.
It was indeed a short game, and it ended in a checkmate that I hadn't even seen. True, the pieces were unfamiliar, I hadn't played in several months, and my concentration was divided between the board and the man I had been conversing with, but the facts stand. I was a boy among men at that table.
All things are forgiven when you speak English however. Batsukh invited me to come visit him in his apartment and play chess some time. I accepted this invitation, and told him when I had breaks in my schedule.
One of the many reasons that I came to this country was to get away from the cultural norms of America. I can't stand having to think about what is polite and what isn't, since I would much rather just try to be nice. I failed to realize that they have standards of class here too, except that here the standards are influenced more by Europe. Oh well, so much for that.
The telivision broadcasting tower next to our apartment lit up at night
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