The mind is an illusion, and so are pickpockets.

Time seems to go so much faster at an internet cafe. Every few minutes I glance at the clock, trying to figure out if I have enough time to finish the work I have to do. Internet cafes are also slightly more stressful than the staff room at the school. A few minutes ago I suddenly realized that my wallet was sitting unguarded in my inner coat pocket. Usually this would be the perfect place for it, but I had taken my coat off and put it on the back of my chair, which is just stupid.
I felt the pocket, and found it was empty. Frantically I checked the other five pockets in my coat. Nothing. I stood up, ashen faced, and looked frantically about the room. About a dozen 10 year old boys were playing video games. I thought the two credit cards I had in my wallet, and let loose an expletive. One of the boys helpfully translated the expletive for the others (every group has a translator). They all looked at me, waiting to see what my problem was.
I then realized my wallet was in my pant's pocket, and felt rather foolish. I sat back down, breathing heavily.
But give me a break, I had been primed for a heart attack.

Yesterday we went to the larger of the two open air markets here in Ulaabaatar, and I bought a full outfit to wear for Tsaagan Sar, which will be next month. I came to the market with about $130, which is foolish to the point of insanity. Still, I didn't see another option. I needed to buy a lot of very expensive stuff. I took the precaution of dividing my money between the pockets of my coat; T20,000 bills in one pocket, T10,000 in another, change in the outer pockets to give a diversion. In this way I could hand people the proper bills without bringing any money into plain sight. It seemed like a bright idea.
The shopping went well. I bought a light winter dell for about $30, a fur hat for $5, and double layer leather boots lined with sheep's wool for another $30.
The boots were my only problem. My feet are size 11 1/2 US, size 44-45 here. My friends were doing the bargaining for me (which probably saved me a bundle) and when they said the size they needed the shop keepers would go goggle-eyed.
"You want boots in WHAT size?! I might have one pair... maybe, it will cost you T90,000".
Invariably, the boots were so cramped that my frozen feet would get stuck in them, and it would take two people to pull them off. Finally I settled for a slightly cheaper pair of boots without all the fancy leather decorations. Still, they fit, they're real leather, they're warm.
After my friends had finished helping me wade through my cluelessness about clothes in general, and Mongolian clothes specifically, we made our way toward the center of the market. We weaved our way between shops, through open and tight spaces, but always through crowds.
At one point we walked through a particularly narrow space, and two people tried to go on either side of me. Instantly I glanced at my exposed pocket, something I had done about a hundred times that day, and one of them reaching inside it. I grabbed his wrist.
In retrospect I probably shouldn't have done that. It's quite possible to get a punch in the face from grabbing a pickpocket's wrist, or even get slashed by razor blades. On top of that, since he was reaching into the pocket with my change the most he could have gotten was $10. Fortunately for me, however, he noticed that his haul wasn't worth fighting for, struggled weakly, then let go with a little mild swearing.
I rejoined the others, and found that one of them hadn't been so lucky. He'd gotten his entire wallet stolen. I told my tale with a bit of smugness (I can be a bit of a jerk). One of the Mongolians had gotten pick-pocketted and I HADN'T.