As we drove towards the outskirts of the city I made a promise to myself. This promise was the manifestation of an already strong resolve; a spirit of adventure that I had forced upon myself. I WOULD eat things put in front of me, and I would either enjoy it or die trying.
The car pulled off the paved city street and onto a dusty road that ran off through the ger communities. After a while we stopped in front of a wooden fence with a painted sheet-metal gate; the home of one of the church workers and some of her relatives.
I got out of the car, feeling relatively foolish. I was wearing my del, and up until this point I had not succeeded in getting it right. No matter how I wrapped the long belt around myself it was always wrong; either too loose or too tight, too high or too low. No matter how I erred from the accepted norm I always erred in the direction of "too feminine". It's a dubious talent I seem to possess.
Inside the fence there were two buildings, both apparently belonging to the same extended family. We made our way towards one of them, and up a set of stairs to the second (and top) story. Inside the cozy one room apartment the newlywed church worker and her husband welcomed us, and told us to sit down and eat. There on the table sat a bowl of potato horshur (pouches of dough stuffed and fried) and kimchee.
Well now, that isn't exciting at all. This won't require a sense of adventure!
We sat there for about an hour. Most of the conversation was in Mongolian (which I could usually understand) and Korean (which I could not). Since I was the only native English speaker there none of it was in English. The combination of the food, the warm del, and the constant banter (which I could only understand with intense concentration) began to take effect, and I started to fall asleep.
TEACHER!
I jerked awake, and saw.... someone. Yes, yes, it was definitely someone. Definitely someone I was supposed to know. I smiled in a friendly and knowing way at the person I was supposed to know.
"Come, downstairs!" said the person I was supposed to know.
The pastor and his family were getting up to go downstairs and greet the rest of the family, so I followed them. There, on the first floor, we found a much more traditional Tsaagan Sar celebration. A dozen people were seated around a table covered in plates of cabbage salad, plates of horshur and buuz (steamed meat dumplings), candy, and an array of vodka bottles ranging from empty to unopened. At the center of the table were two things: a pile of hard bread and a deceased sheep. The pile of bread was perfectly round, with the bread stacked in layers like bricks. The top was covered in cheese curds and sugar cubes (the main idea being "white foods"). The head and legs had been removed from the unfortunate sheep. The sheep had then been de-haired (mostly), split down the middle, stretched, and baked whole. The resulting product looked almost exactly like a western saddle made of lard.
This was more like it! We greeted the hostess and other people sitting at the head of the table then took and sniffed their bottles of snuff (I really need to get my own snuff bottle...). They then told us to eat, which we did.
Taking a fork I speared one of the buuz. After a moment of preparatory meditation I bit off half of it, chewed, swallowed, then bit off and ate the other half. Much to my stomach's relief they were beef. I can deal with beef, even Mongolian beef. At the urging of the hostess I ate several more buuz. They were oily, and the beef was very chewy, but college cafeteria food had trained me to ignore unpleasant food entirely, so the buuz and I were at peace.
Despite the fact that the pastor and myself were almost always either eating buuz or drinking salt tea the hostess felt that we should be eating more. She asked someone to make us a salad, and someone did. They placed a plate of salad before us, saying that it had potatoes, cabbage, mayonnaise, and that it was "guy gwee", or "not a problem". The pastor and I began eating the salad, and discovered that it did indeed have potatoes, cabbage and mayonnaise. It also had pork, which was not "guy gwee". I grinned at the pastor, who looked at his salad, shrugged his shoulders and continued eating. Good Adventists aren't supposed to know what pork tastes like, how should we know what they had placed in front of us?
Next, shot glasses of vodka were passed around. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, knowing that an awkward situation was about to take place. One of the family members who went to our church explained to the hostess that Adventists don't drink, and that he (along with the rest of us) would not be able to drink to her toast.
The woman made her toast (which I did not understand), and everyone drank. Everyone except for us that is. We put our glasses back down on the table. It was awkward, especially when the hostess asked why we disliked Mongolian vodka so much, and what kind of alcohol we drank. The pastor tried to explain that we didn't drink any alcohol at all. The lady contemplated this for a while. Telling a Mongolian that you don't eat meat and don't drink anything alcoholic is like telling an American that your religion prohibits the consumption of bread or the drinking of juice, so it's hard for them to wrap their minds around it.
After a few more buuz and some more scalding hot tea it was time for us to leave. At the door one of the women told us we must take gifts before we left, and also that we absolutely had to take some cheese. I gladly accepted the gifts and stuffed them into the front of my del. I then selected a cube of cheese from the plate and put it into my mouth.
The term "cheese" is applied to many things in many cultures. I'm pretty sure that what I ate fell outside the accepted boundaries of "cheese". It was something like a dried, slightly rancid cube of yak butter. More accurately, it WAS a dried, slightly rancid cube of yak butter, but my stomach and I decided that since it was already in my mouth we would think of it as slightly rancid candle wax instead. I chewed the slightly rancid candle wax, then sent it down to my cramping stomach. My stomach told me that it would process and dispose of the candle wax on two conditions: that I feed it nothing for the rest of the day, and that I eat nothing but pleasantly familiar mexican food for the next week. I lied to it, promising to do both of those things.
Having thus lied to my internal organs like a mother lying to her children as she takes them to the doctor's office for shots, I got back into the car. We drove to the next house, which also had a pile of hard bread, a baked sheep, and vodka bottles on the table. My stomach looked suspiciously about the room, noticing the distinct absence of anything resembling mexican food.
Telling my stomach to get a grip, I began stuffing buuz and kimchee down my throat. My stomach examined the buuz and kimchee carefully, concluded that they were NOT in fact mexican food, and said that if I took another bite it would spew everything all over the baked sheep in the middle of the table.
I paused in my eating, realizing that this was a hostage situation. I slowly placed my fork back on my plate. The hostess looked at me quizzically, and told me I really should eat more. I smiled weakly, and said that I hadn't been well for the past few days (which was an obvious lie). My stomach nodded it's approval, thereby nearly upsetting the delicate balance of things. I lay back, closed my eyes, and tried to ignore the strong smell of dead sheep and kimchee.
Ever since I took organic chemistry I have had the olfactory hallucination of alkenes and thiols whenever I am sick to my stomach. Exactly two of the people who read this blog will have the foggiest idea what alkenes and thiols smell like. For the rest of you, I will say that natural gas has the smell of thiols diluted to a few parts per million, and alkenes smell like tar that has gone bad in an eye-watering kind of way... of that's possible. Until we left these smells were strong in both my nose and my mind, and when we finally went outside I greedily inhaled the smell of coal smoke and animal dung, just for a change.
ALL the Asian lunar new years are now over, so happy new year to all!
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Buddhist Snow Angels
Part one (mostly just bragging)____________________
All temps Fahrenheit.
Last night was cold, though not what one might call "very cold".
Actually, I take that back. Very cold is relative. In Hong Kong "very cold" means 60 degrees, while in some parts of Alaska "very cold" means when gasoline goes from a jelly (at -40) to more of a solid (about -70). In turn, other parts of Alaska scoff at those parts that call -70 cold. See? All relative.
But I didn't think that last night was very cold, certainly not by normal standards. The temperatures were in the single digits, with wind chill in the -20's. Those are above average temperatures for this time of year, and last night was one of the warmer nights of the week.
It was a perfect time to test my limits.
Lately I have discovered that I can go out without a coat. This produces a thrill akin to free diving (which I also enjoy, though I don't do it very often). The idea of going into an inhospitable environment and just ignoring it for a few minutes is exhilarating, something like discovering you can fly, or go in space without a space suit.
So last night I decided to see how long I could go. One of the students asked if we could go skating, and after he persuaded another to come along I said I would go.
I went outside with my coat under my arm, and the students both told me to put it on. I told them I wanted to see how long I could possibly go, and that it was a bet of sorts.
My strategy for going out in cold weather is to to minimize heat loss and maximize heat generation. To do this I hold my arms close to my body (obviously), but I also tense all my muscles. I try to slow my breathing, and breathe out only through my nose.
I did this as we walked to the skating rink, getting stares from the Mongolians. To them there is nothing interesting about cold. It's just cold.
We got to the rink and put on our skates. I checked my watch: 8 minutes. I was happy to see that I could still tie my skates easily.
We skated for some time, and I kept going until I stopped feeling cold. This is the interesting thing: if you feel cold then there isn't much of a problem. Once you stop feeling cold it's time to quit.
I crossed the rink to where my coat was, slowly. Oddly enough I still had normal fine motor control, but I was losing the ability to move or think quickly. I crossed the rink as fast as I could, which at this point was a jogging pace. I then put on my coat and looked at my watch. I had started at 8:27. It was now 8:49. How long was that? I tried to think but couldn't. It was odd. After about 30 seconds I finally figured it out, but that was enough to demonstrate how much one's brain slows down in the cold. Still, 22 minutes with wind chills in the -20's isn't bad. I think if I had done stationary exercises instead of rushing around a skating rink I would have gone much longer. In either case, I'm not going to do it again.
Part two (about religion and stuff)_______________________
Because of the blowing wind a fine layer of snow had settled on the skating rink, shifting across the ice in crescent patterns like mini sand dunes. I asked Dolgontengis ("Calm Sea", one of the students) if he knew what a snow angel was. "Angel?" he said quizzically. I lay down and made a snow angel on the ice. "AAAAAh" he said, recognising it. He then went over to where the angels head should be and spun to a stop, drawing a neat circle. "This angel's head" he said. He then skated around, and came back over the head he had drawn. "Now I run over angel's head" he said, laughing.
I wondered briefly if I should be angered or insulted by this. I quickly decided not to be, since he had not intended to anger or insult me. Still, it got me thinking (sort of, my mind was still a bit numb). Why do we get angry when someone shows disrespects for our religious values or icons? Granted, a snow angel is more children's play than grand religious symbol, but the question still stands.
I just took off my belt. It's been getting to me over the course of the day.
This would not be odd, except that I'm currently wearing a del. Traditionally, a man is only supposed to wear his del without a belt if he is mourning his recently deceased wife, or showing empathy for someone else who is. A belt is a man's pride, and should not be crumpled or allowed to touch the ground. This is reflected in the fact that men were (and sometimes still are) called boostay, or "with a belt", and women are called boosgwee, or "without a belt" (even though women usually wear belts too).
Writing this just made me feel guilty, oddly enough. I folded my belt.
If a strongly traditional Mongolian came in here and saw me without my belt, would it be okay for him to think I was disrespecting his culture and values in the same way that I wondered about the student running over the head of a snow angel?
Some might say no, because the belt does not represent something as significant as a messenger from God. This may or may not be true, I am not familiar enough with Mongolian culture. Many of the things that are taboo in Mongolian culture are taboo because of lingering animistic beliefs, which say that everyday items such as a stove or a thresh hold should be treated with respect because of how they relate to the spirit of the family, or fire, or.... You get the idea. It's really hard to find out exactly what something is considered holy for, partly because Mongolian religious beliefs have been influenced by several religions and partly because Communism tried to make them forget their beliefs entirely.
I have a really hard time sticking to a point... where was I? Religious values and icons.
Do we have the right to feel that we must defend our God when someone insults our religious values in this way?
Let's take the most powerful, universal imagery in Christianity: the cross, and consider this.
Most Protestant denominations do not use crucifixes, but I think that most would agree they do not approve of the idea of someone desecrating one. Moreover, if someone desecrated a crucifix with the expressed intention of showing disrespect to God, I believe most Christians (Protestant OR Catholic) would feel some anger and hatred for that person.
Why?
The anger comes from two things: that they are showing disrespect for the cross itself (with the sacrifice it represents), and the fact that they are showing disrespect for Christ on it.
To the first, the cross is a symbol of Christ's sacrifice and love for humanity. However, it is also a symbol of a torturous death. It seems to me that the thing which MAKES it a symbol is the fact that so many people associate it with unconditional love and redemption, not that God himself has any special love of the object. Therefore, the person who insults the cross is not showing any more disrespect for God than he was BEFORE he insulted the cross, he is just demonstrating the disrespect he already had to the people around him.
To the second, showing disrespect directly to God, I would like to quote what Christ himself said on the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do". You may say "Oh, but modern people know exactly what they are doing!"
That may or not be. A person who does not have a personal relationship with Christ knows him only by the actions of Christians. Showing disrespect for what is reflected in the actions of Christians is not, in my opinion, blasphemy, because Christians are human, and are therefore imperfect mirrors.
In short, you don't know. In either case, if you did know the best thing you could do to defend your beliefs would be to NOT show or feel hatred, don't you think?
So how about something less concrete, like marriage?
I say the same thing applies to marriage. Marriage is both a relationship and a symbol ordained (ordered and created) by God. A relationship is defined by how two people interact, not by whether or not some gays choose to dress up. A symbol is defined by the ideas that it is intended to represent, which are held in the minds of the people who believe in it. Again, it's value cannot be affected by whether or not some gay people choose to dress up.
Because of these things I say that there is no need for Christians to defend their religion by outlawing things such as gay marriage, or the desecration of other religious symbols. True, God is being disrespected and disobeyed, but only in the same way that all sin shows disobedience and lack of respect. The real difference is that with the desecration of symbols YOU and your values are being disrespected, and I think you can learn to take it.
Gays adopting, now that's a different topic.
-cue the fire blasts from right and left-
All temps Fahrenheit.
Last night was cold, though not what one might call "very cold".
Actually, I take that back. Very cold is relative. In Hong Kong "very cold" means 60 degrees, while in some parts of Alaska "very cold" means when gasoline goes from a jelly (at -40) to more of a solid (about -70). In turn, other parts of Alaska scoff at those parts that call -70 cold. See? All relative.
But I didn't think that last night was very cold, certainly not by normal standards. The temperatures were in the single digits, with wind chill in the -20's. Those are above average temperatures for this time of year, and last night was one of the warmer nights of the week.
It was a perfect time to test my limits.
Lately I have discovered that I can go out without a coat. This produces a thrill akin to free diving (which I also enjoy, though I don't do it very often). The idea of going into an inhospitable environment and just ignoring it for a few minutes is exhilarating, something like discovering you can fly, or go in space without a space suit.
So last night I decided to see how long I could go. One of the students asked if we could go skating, and after he persuaded another to come along I said I would go.
I went outside with my coat under my arm, and the students both told me to put it on. I told them I wanted to see how long I could possibly go, and that it was a bet of sorts.
My strategy for going out in cold weather is to to minimize heat loss and maximize heat generation. To do this I hold my arms close to my body (obviously), but I also tense all my muscles. I try to slow my breathing, and breathe out only through my nose.
I did this as we walked to the skating rink, getting stares from the Mongolians. To them there is nothing interesting about cold. It's just cold.
We got to the rink and put on our skates. I checked my watch: 8 minutes. I was happy to see that I could still tie my skates easily.
We skated for some time, and I kept going until I stopped feeling cold. This is the interesting thing: if you feel cold then there isn't much of a problem. Once you stop feeling cold it's time to quit.
I crossed the rink to where my coat was, slowly. Oddly enough I still had normal fine motor control, but I was losing the ability to move or think quickly. I crossed the rink as fast as I could, which at this point was a jogging pace. I then put on my coat and looked at my watch. I had started at 8:27. It was now 8:49. How long was that? I tried to think but couldn't. It was odd. After about 30 seconds I finally figured it out, but that was enough to demonstrate how much one's brain slows down in the cold. Still, 22 minutes with wind chills in the -20's isn't bad. I think if I had done stationary exercises instead of rushing around a skating rink I would have gone much longer. In either case, I'm not going to do it again.
Part two (about religion and stuff)_______________________
Because of the blowing wind a fine layer of snow had settled on the skating rink, shifting across the ice in crescent patterns like mini sand dunes. I asked Dolgontengis ("Calm Sea", one of the students) if he knew what a snow angel was. "Angel?" he said quizzically. I lay down and made a snow angel on the ice. "AAAAAh" he said, recognising it. He then went over to where the angels head should be and spun to a stop, drawing a neat circle. "This angel's head" he said. He then skated around, and came back over the head he had drawn. "Now I run over angel's head" he said, laughing.
I wondered briefly if I should be angered or insulted by this. I quickly decided not to be, since he had not intended to anger or insult me. Still, it got me thinking (sort of, my mind was still a bit numb). Why do we get angry when someone shows disrespects for our religious values or icons? Granted, a snow angel is more children's play than grand religious symbol, but the question still stands.
I just took off my belt. It's been getting to me over the course of the day.
This would not be odd, except that I'm currently wearing a del. Traditionally, a man is only supposed to wear his del without a belt if he is mourning his recently deceased wife, or showing empathy for someone else who is. A belt is a man's pride, and should not be crumpled or allowed to touch the ground. This is reflected in the fact that men were (and sometimes still are) called boostay, or "with a belt", and women are called boosgwee, or "without a belt" (even though women usually wear belts too).
Writing this just made me feel guilty, oddly enough. I folded my belt.
If a strongly traditional Mongolian came in here and saw me without my belt, would it be okay for him to think I was disrespecting his culture and values in the same way that I wondered about the student running over the head of a snow angel?
Some might say no, because the belt does not represent something as significant as a messenger from God. This may or may not be true, I am not familiar enough with Mongolian culture. Many of the things that are taboo in Mongolian culture are taboo because of lingering animistic beliefs, which say that everyday items such as a stove or a thresh hold should be treated with respect because of how they relate to the spirit of the family, or fire, or.... You get the idea. It's really hard to find out exactly what something is considered holy for, partly because Mongolian religious beliefs have been influenced by several religions and partly because Communism tried to make them forget their beliefs entirely.
I have a really hard time sticking to a point... where was I? Religious values and icons.
Do we have the right to feel that we must defend our God when someone insults our religious values in this way?
Let's take the most powerful, universal imagery in Christianity: the cross, and consider this.
Most Protestant denominations do not use crucifixes, but I think that most would agree they do not approve of the idea of someone desecrating one. Moreover, if someone desecrated a crucifix with the expressed intention of showing disrespect to God, I believe most Christians (Protestant OR Catholic) would feel some anger and hatred for that person.
Why?
The anger comes from two things: that they are showing disrespect for the cross itself (with the sacrifice it represents), and the fact that they are showing disrespect for Christ on it.
To the first, the cross is a symbol of Christ's sacrifice and love for humanity. However, it is also a symbol of a torturous death. It seems to me that the thing which MAKES it a symbol is the fact that so many people associate it with unconditional love and redemption, not that God himself has any special love of the object. Therefore, the person who insults the cross is not showing any more disrespect for God than he was BEFORE he insulted the cross, he is just demonstrating the disrespect he already had to the people around him.
To the second, showing disrespect directly to God, I would like to quote what Christ himself said on the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do". You may say "Oh, but modern people know exactly what they are doing!"
That may or not be. A person who does not have a personal relationship with Christ knows him only by the actions of Christians. Showing disrespect for what is reflected in the actions of Christians is not, in my opinion, blasphemy, because Christians are human, and are therefore imperfect mirrors.
In short, you don't know. In either case, if you did know the best thing you could do to defend your beliefs would be to NOT show or feel hatred, don't you think?
So how about something less concrete, like marriage?
I say the same thing applies to marriage. Marriage is both a relationship and a symbol ordained (ordered and created) by God. A relationship is defined by how two people interact, not by whether or not some gays choose to dress up. A symbol is defined by the ideas that it is intended to represent, which are held in the minds of the people who believe in it. Again, it's value cannot be affected by whether or not some gay people choose to dress up.
Because of these things I say that there is no need for Christians to defend their religion by outlawing things such as gay marriage, or the desecration of other religious symbols. True, God is being disrespected and disobeyed, but only in the same way that all sin shows disobedience and lack of respect. The real difference is that with the desecration of symbols YOU and your values are being disrespected, and I think you can learn to take it.
Gays adopting, now that's a different topic.
-cue the fire blasts from right and left-
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I Love Staplers
A Mongolian friend and I have been trying to organize a trip to China for the past week. We've been running around in train stations, banks and travel agency offices in an attempt to do the impossible: go to China (usually an overnight trip, a trip for which Mongolians generally don't even need a visa).
This morning I attempted to clear the final obstacle: getting my Chinese visa. Once I had the visa I could immediately run down to the travel agency office, where the trilingual guru agent would buy all my tickets for the pleasantly low fee of $10.
I stood in line at the Chinese embassy, listening to the soft sound of Mandarin Chinese being spoken.
I suddenly realized that I had never heard Mandarin Chinese being spoken in an excited or passionate tone, since almost all of my experience with the dialect had come while waiting in lines. I had heard Cantonese spoken with great passion many times, but not Mandarin. Mandarin was inextricably and permanently linked to bureaucracy in my mind.
And it is now linked more strongly.
As I waited, I looked at the sign announcing visa fees:
Mongolians: Single entry (valid for three months)
$43
Americans: Single entry (valid for three months)
$130
Other: Single entry (valid for three months)
$30
Express fee (ready in 2-3 business days): $20
Rush fee (ready in 1 business day, pick up at 4:00 pm): $30
The notes continued:
All fees must be paid in new edition (after 1996) US dollars.
This did not trouble me. It was unfair, it was arbitrary, it was painfully expensive, but it made sense. The logic seemed to be "If you have money, you give it to us". It was a simple transaction that was easily understood; annoying, but not evil.
I continued reading the posted bulletins. There were only about 15 people in line, but the line was moving at the rate of about 1 person every five minutes, so I had a while to wait.
One bulletin had 16 passport style pictures arranged in a 4 X 4 block. I stared at them. What on earth were they for? I looked at the headings in Mongolian, Chinese, and finally English.
"Examples of unacceptable pictures"
I looked back at the group of pictures. One was faded, one had a dark shadow, one had a paperclip over it, one had bad lighting.... but the other twelve?
I concentrated on the first one, comparing it to the posted example of a "good" photo. It took me a while. Finally I realized that the man in the picture was slightly off center, so that his shoulders were shifted about an inch to the left.
okay....... I can see how that could keep you from recognizing someone. The edge of one's shoulder plays a crucial role in the brain's identification of faces.
I tackled the next one. It too looked normal. I stared at it for a minute, then gave up and read the caption. "Glasses obscuring eyes". I looked back at the photo. The man was indeed wearing glasses. The person in the example was not. I looked at my photo, and saw that I was wearing glasses in it. No one else had cared, but then again why should the actions of one embassy be precedent for another? (That, by the way, was not sarcasm. Just about everything else is).
I looked at the next photo. After about two minutes I gave up, as I was distracted by a discussion between the official and the two visa applicants currently at the head of the line. I decided to put down the failure of the third photo as "does not look sufficiently Chinese", since that too was a trend between the bad photos and the example. Why a Chinese person would need to apply for a Chinese visa, I don't know.
The discussion at the head of the line continued:
"No, no, it's fine. It was accepted at the Russian embassy". The man was perhaps fifty years old, of average height, with gray hair and a rather bumpy nose. He seemed to speak with a vaguely British accent, but since I can't tell the difference between a British person with a vaguely British accent and Dutch person with a vaguely British accent, this meant little. The man's wife stood beside him, also looking fiftyish and vaguely British.
The official spoke into his microphone from behind the thick, bullet proof glass. He was also attempting to use a vaguely British accent, but since he slurred his R's he sounded like a vaguely British person who was drunk in a rather concrete and definable fashion.
"I'm sorry, I can't accept this passport" he said. His voice was calm and measured; polite in it's refusal in the same way that a solid concrete wall is polite in it's refusal to make way for an oncoming truck.
The vaguely British man tried again. "We have already bought our tickets. This passport has been accepted at every other embassy I've gone to, I don't have time to get another one".
He was, I thought, astoundingly calm and polite, as if he was discussing the nature of the universe and the definition of "passport" with an old friend.
The official said again "I'm sorry sir, I can't accept this passport. See? this page is bent."
The man's wife spoke. "We're going to see our children. We don't have enough time to get a new passport and we can't cancel our tickets".
Without looking up the official said "I'm sorry, I can't accept this passport.
I started getting the odd feeling that I was watching someone slowly, calmly, and patiently attempt to explain the taste of pizza to a stapler. The stapler continued:
"If you are able to get a new passport, then come back on Friday and pay the rush fee. I can issue you a visa then."
The man and his wife discussed this briefly and agreed that they would do that. They then thanked the official and left.
I found it odd that they had thanked the man, but quickly decided it was downright classy. I was not classy, but I did have a little secret.
I stepped up to the window and pushed my documents underneath it. The man picked up my application form and glanced over it. "I need to see your tickets and hotel reservation" he said.
"I'm traveling by train and bus, so I can't get round trip tickets, and I'm staying with friends, so I don't have a reservation" I said. "I can give you the address and phone number of the place where I'll be staying if you like".
"You are staying with Chinese friends?" he asked.
"Yes" I replied.
"Then you will need them to fax you a signed invitation. It must have a signature. Remember to have round trip tickets with you when you come back. Also, your glasses have glare in this picture, you need a new picture for your application."
I smiled happily, thanked the man, and left the embassy grinning. I didn't have to go to China! There was absolutely no way I could possibly obtain round trip tickets, a new photo, and a signed letter of invitation in the next two days, so the matter was settled. I didn't HAVE to spend $700 for one day in Beijing, one of the most unpleasant cities on earth. I didn't HAVE to worry about how to coordinate train schedules and bus schedules. I didn't HAVE to spend 34 hours on trains and buses bouncing through dust storms in the Gobi desert.
To be perfectly honest, I hadn't wanted to go to China since I had learned that the trip by bus takes two days instead of one. This would mean we would only be able to spend one day actually DOING things (and half of that would be spent buying return tickets). Because of this I had been somewhat reluctant to pay $700 for the whole thing. I had, however, continued on with the process because my Mongolian friend had already gone through all the trouble of getting her documents in order, and I didn't want to cancel the trip on her just because I was cheap. Now I had another excuse: it was absolutely impossible for me to get a visa, because it is absolutely impossible to buy round trip tickets for a trip by train and bus. You have to physically BE there to buy bus tickets. I'll try to make it up to her.
Note to foreigners: despite the fact that going by train and bus is $110 cheaper (one way) than taking the train all the way, it is nearly impossible to get a visa since you can't show the embassy round trip tickets. The travel agency said many people have this problem, even when they go by train all the way. Fortunately, round trip plane tickets to Beijing are the same price as round trip train tickets ($360), so there's really no reason to take the train any more.
This morning I attempted to clear the final obstacle: getting my Chinese visa. Once I had the visa I could immediately run down to the travel agency office, where the trilingual guru agent would buy all my tickets for the pleasantly low fee of $10.
I stood in line at the Chinese embassy, listening to the soft sound of Mandarin Chinese being spoken.
I suddenly realized that I had never heard Mandarin Chinese being spoken in an excited or passionate tone, since almost all of my experience with the dialect had come while waiting in lines. I had heard Cantonese spoken with great passion many times, but not Mandarin. Mandarin was inextricably and permanently linked to bureaucracy in my mind.
And it is now linked more strongly.
As I waited, I looked at the sign announcing visa fees:
Mongolians: Single entry (valid for three months)
$43
Americans: Single entry (valid for three months)
$130
Other: Single entry (valid for three months)
$30
Express fee (ready in 2-3 business days): $20
Rush fee (ready in 1 business day, pick up at 4:00 pm): $30
The notes continued:
All fees must be paid in new edition (after 1996) US dollars.
This did not trouble me. It was unfair, it was arbitrary, it was painfully expensive, but it made sense. The logic seemed to be "If you have money, you give it to us". It was a simple transaction that was easily understood; annoying, but not evil.
I continued reading the posted bulletins. There were only about 15 people in line, but the line was moving at the rate of about 1 person every five minutes, so I had a while to wait.
One bulletin had 16 passport style pictures arranged in a 4 X 4 block. I stared at them. What on earth were they for? I looked at the headings in Mongolian, Chinese, and finally English.
"Examples of unacceptable pictures"
I looked back at the group of pictures. One was faded, one had a dark shadow, one had a paperclip over it, one had bad lighting.... but the other twelve?
I concentrated on the first one, comparing it to the posted example of a "good" photo. It took me a while. Finally I realized that the man in the picture was slightly off center, so that his shoulders were shifted about an inch to the left.
okay....... I can see how that could keep you from recognizing someone. The edge of one's shoulder plays a crucial role in the brain's identification of faces.
I tackled the next one. It too looked normal. I stared at it for a minute, then gave up and read the caption. "Glasses obscuring eyes". I looked back at the photo. The man was indeed wearing glasses. The person in the example was not. I looked at my photo, and saw that I was wearing glasses in it. No one else had cared, but then again why should the actions of one embassy be precedent for another? (That, by the way, was not sarcasm. Just about everything else is).
I looked at the next photo. After about two minutes I gave up, as I was distracted by a discussion between the official and the two visa applicants currently at the head of the line. I decided to put down the failure of the third photo as "does not look sufficiently Chinese", since that too was a trend between the bad photos and the example. Why a Chinese person would need to apply for a Chinese visa, I don't know.
The discussion at the head of the line continued:
"No, no, it's fine. It was accepted at the Russian embassy". The man was perhaps fifty years old, of average height, with gray hair and a rather bumpy nose. He seemed to speak with a vaguely British accent, but since I can't tell the difference between a British person with a vaguely British accent and Dutch person with a vaguely British accent, this meant little. The man's wife stood beside him, also looking fiftyish and vaguely British.
The official spoke into his microphone from behind the thick, bullet proof glass. He was also attempting to use a vaguely British accent, but since he slurred his R's he sounded like a vaguely British person who was drunk in a rather concrete and definable fashion.
"I'm sorry, I can't accept this passport" he said. His voice was calm and measured; polite in it's refusal in the same way that a solid concrete wall is polite in it's refusal to make way for an oncoming truck.
The vaguely British man tried again. "We have already bought our tickets. This passport has been accepted at every other embassy I've gone to, I don't have time to get another one".
He was, I thought, astoundingly calm and polite, as if he was discussing the nature of the universe and the definition of "passport" with an old friend.
The official said again "I'm sorry sir, I can't accept this passport. See? this page is bent."
The man's wife spoke. "We're going to see our children. We don't have enough time to get a new passport and we can't cancel our tickets".
Without looking up the official said "I'm sorry, I can't accept this passport.
I started getting the odd feeling that I was watching someone slowly, calmly, and patiently attempt to explain the taste of pizza to a stapler. The stapler continued:
"If you are able to get a new passport, then come back on Friday and pay the rush fee. I can issue you a visa then."
The man and his wife discussed this briefly and agreed that they would do that. They then thanked the official and left.
I found it odd that they had thanked the man, but quickly decided it was downright classy. I was not classy, but I did have a little secret.
I stepped up to the window and pushed my documents underneath it. The man picked up my application form and glanced over it. "I need to see your tickets and hotel reservation" he said.
"I'm traveling by train and bus, so I can't get round trip tickets, and I'm staying with friends, so I don't have a reservation" I said. "I can give you the address and phone number of the place where I'll be staying if you like".
"You are staying with Chinese friends?" he asked.
"Yes" I replied.
"Then you will need them to fax you a signed invitation. It must have a signature. Remember to have round trip tickets with you when you come back. Also, your glasses have glare in this picture, you need a new picture for your application."
I smiled happily, thanked the man, and left the embassy grinning. I didn't have to go to China! There was absolutely no way I could possibly obtain round trip tickets, a new photo, and a signed letter of invitation in the next two days, so the matter was settled. I didn't HAVE to spend $700 for one day in Beijing, one of the most unpleasant cities on earth. I didn't HAVE to worry about how to coordinate train schedules and bus schedules. I didn't HAVE to spend 34 hours on trains and buses bouncing through dust storms in the Gobi desert.
To be perfectly honest, I hadn't wanted to go to China since I had learned that the trip by bus takes two days instead of one. This would mean we would only be able to spend one day actually DOING things (and half of that would be spent buying return tickets). Because of this I had been somewhat reluctant to pay $700 for the whole thing. I had, however, continued on with the process because my Mongolian friend had already gone through all the trouble of getting her documents in order, and I didn't want to cancel the trip on her just because I was cheap. Now I had another excuse: it was absolutely impossible for me to get a visa, because it is absolutely impossible to buy round trip tickets for a trip by train and bus. You have to physically BE there to buy bus tickets. I'll try to make it up to her.
Note to foreigners: despite the fact that going by train and bus is $110 cheaper (one way) than taking the train all the way, it is nearly impossible to get a visa since you can't show the embassy round trip tickets. The travel agency said many people have this problem, even when they go by train all the way. Fortunately, round trip plane tickets to Beijing are the same price as round trip train tickets ($360), so there's really no reason to take the train any more.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
I am tourist, suck me dry.
I didn't take this picture.
Last Friday was a totally pathetic student activity day.
Generally student activity days consist of me (an antisocial, awkward person) trying to organize something for 10 - 20 adults to do. I find the days exhausting, though they've been getting much better and attendance has picked up.
For last Friday's activity day, someone suggested we go to a museum. Up until now all the activities have been inside the school: movies, cooking / eating pizza, playing cards, sitting around and chatting etc. I put it to a vote and most people who could come were very much in favor of it.
So.
On Friday I hurriedly flipped through my Mongolian language book, wrote down the words for "natural history museum" and "Chinese embassy" (embassy for getting a visa for my upcoming trip), then headed out the door to grab a taxi.
I got to the museum about 10 minutes early and sat down to wait. After about 20 minutes, one of the students came through the entrance and patiently explained to me that I'd gone to the wrong museum.
Oh the joys of a language barrier.
We went to the correct museum. He then explained that he was, in fact, the only person who had decided to show up that day out of the 15 or so people who had said they wanted to. This was ok though, because he and I are buds (so to speak). We bought tickets.
The sign above the ticket window was in Mongolian and English. I read it, and paused at an interesting entry.
Picture cameras: T5,000
Video cameras: T10,000
I checked the Mongolian section of the sign to make sure it said the same thing. It did, but if you think about it the fee is still pretty much just a tax on tourists. Who takes pictures in a museum that's 10 minutes away from their house?
I fingered the camera in my pocket, thought of all the amazing fossils that had been unearthed in the Gobi Desert, and decided to pay the fee.
My friend and I started making our way through the museum, looking at all the preserved specimens. Though the mounted taimen (Mongolian fish that can exceed 5 feet in length) were interesting, on the whole I didn't think the thing was worth the $7.50 I had paid.
And so we went, chatting and occasionally taking pictures. Finally we found our way to the dinosaur exhibit. It was, how shall I say this? Abysmal. I'm not sure who's fault it was, but it was abysmal. Considering the fact that many of the world's greatest fossils (including the first dinosaur eggs) were found in Mongolia, the exhibit was just awful.
It consisted of one room with a large skeleton in the center. Large skeletons are all well and good, but there are supposed to be lots of interesting things in other places. There really weren't, and some of the things that WERE there weren't even from Mongolia. Still, I snapped a few pictures, glad that for once things weren't in dark rooms behind glass (which is why there is so much glare in the photo I posted).
There were three women in the corner of the room drinking tea. When I began taking pictures they asked me if I had paid to take pictures. I took out my two tickets, one for entry and one for taking pictures in the museum. The women started yammering away at the student who was with me. He had been of the opinion that I shouldn't have paid $5 to take pictures in the first place, and when he translated his voice was dripping with disgust.
"They said you need pay five thousand again, because this.... dinosaurs".
I looked at the fossils. True, they were the remains of dinosaurs. Careful inspection did not, however, show the logic in the statement "Dinosaurs = pay us more money". I tried glaring at the women. This was ineffective, as the women were quite practiced in the art of glaring. They continued badgering my friend. Finally I held up the camera as I methodically deleted the photos. I then walked out the door, half wishing they would continue to hassle me so that I could get truly mad at them.
They didn't, preferring instead to return to their tea.
The student (who works with computers) came up behind me. "I can get deleted pictures back!" he said with an obvious sense of pride. "No, it's ok" I told him. "It really was a pathetic exhibit".
We went down to the front entrance, where we found another person who claimed she had waited for "an hour", though that was technically impossible.
We all decided to go to the Cultural History Museum, which was quite interesting, informative, and well lit. It was great.
Unfortunately they too charge for pictures, so I don't have any. Instead, here's someone else's picture from the hall of national costumes (for each tribe / ethnic group). Chances are that when they took it an old man walked up to them and demanded $5. Honestly, why don't they say on the signs that the charge is per picture? My guess is that it isn't supposed to be.
I'll talk more about the upcoming trip to China when there's more to say. 'Till then!
Last Friday was a totally pathetic student activity day.
Generally student activity days consist of me (an antisocial, awkward person) trying to organize something for 10 - 20 adults to do. I find the days exhausting, though they've been getting much better and attendance has picked up.
For last Friday's activity day, someone suggested we go to a museum. Up until now all the activities have been inside the school: movies, cooking / eating pizza, playing cards, sitting around and chatting etc. I put it to a vote and most people who could come were very much in favor of it.
So.
On Friday I hurriedly flipped through my Mongolian language book, wrote down the words for "natural history museum" and "Chinese embassy" (embassy for getting a visa for my upcoming trip), then headed out the door to grab a taxi.
I got to the museum about 10 minutes early and sat down to wait. After about 20 minutes, one of the students came through the entrance and patiently explained to me that I'd gone to the wrong museum.
Oh the joys of a language barrier.
We went to the correct museum. He then explained that he was, in fact, the only person who had decided to show up that day out of the 15 or so people who had said they wanted to. This was ok though, because he and I are buds (so to speak). We bought tickets.
The sign above the ticket window was in Mongolian and English. I read it, and paused at an interesting entry.
Picture cameras: T5,000
Video cameras: T10,000
I checked the Mongolian section of the sign to make sure it said the same thing. It did, but if you think about it the fee is still pretty much just a tax on tourists. Who takes pictures in a museum that's 10 minutes away from their house?
I fingered the camera in my pocket, thought of all the amazing fossils that had been unearthed in the Gobi Desert, and decided to pay the fee.
My friend and I started making our way through the museum, looking at all the preserved specimens. Though the mounted taimen (Mongolian fish that can exceed 5 feet in length) were interesting, on the whole I didn't think the thing was worth the $7.50 I had paid.
And so we went, chatting and occasionally taking pictures. Finally we found our way to the dinosaur exhibit. It was, how shall I say this? Abysmal. I'm not sure who's fault it was, but it was abysmal. Considering the fact that many of the world's greatest fossils (including the first dinosaur eggs) were found in Mongolia, the exhibit was just awful.
It consisted of one room with a large skeleton in the center. Large skeletons are all well and good, but there are supposed to be lots of interesting things in other places. There really weren't, and some of the things that WERE there weren't even from Mongolia. Still, I snapped a few pictures, glad that for once things weren't in dark rooms behind glass (which is why there is so much glare in the photo I posted).
There were three women in the corner of the room drinking tea. When I began taking pictures they asked me if I had paid to take pictures. I took out my two tickets, one for entry and one for taking pictures in the museum. The women started yammering away at the student who was with me. He had been of the opinion that I shouldn't have paid $5 to take pictures in the first place, and when he translated his voice was dripping with disgust.
"They said you need pay five thousand again, because this.... dinosaurs".
I looked at the fossils. True, they were the remains of dinosaurs. Careful inspection did not, however, show the logic in the statement "Dinosaurs = pay us more money". I tried glaring at the women. This was ineffective, as the women were quite practiced in the art of glaring. They continued badgering my friend. Finally I held up the camera as I methodically deleted the photos. I then walked out the door, half wishing they would continue to hassle me so that I could get truly mad at them.
They didn't, preferring instead to return to their tea.
The student (who works with computers) came up behind me. "I can get deleted pictures back!" he said with an obvious sense of pride. "No, it's ok" I told him. "It really was a pathetic exhibit".
We went down to the front entrance, where we found another person who claimed she had waited for "an hour", though that was technically impossible.
We all decided to go to the Cultural History Museum, which was quite interesting, informative, and well lit. It was great.
Unfortunately they too charge for pictures, so I don't have any. Instead, here's someone else's picture from the hall of national costumes (for each tribe / ethnic group). Chances are that when they took it an old man walked up to them and demanded $5. Honestly, why don't they say on the signs that the charge is per picture? My guess is that it isn't supposed to be.
I'll talk more about the upcoming trip to China when there's more to say. 'Till then!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Pictures from the past... I forget.
People throwing snow in the air seems to be a common theme for outdoor pictures here.... but whatever. 
Getting a taxi here is essentially hitchhiking with a fee. Anything that stops when you stick your hand out is a taxi. Taxi drivers usually try to engage me in conversation. This guy was keen to show off his police badge, so I took a picture (which he thought was odd). 
Moonrise over a sea of smog - the eastern end of the city is perpetually covered in gray goop.
...which is not to say that the western end is free of goop (people are sledding in the foreground)
If you take away the smog the blue sky is stunning.
Some guy and his girlfriend, or some girl and her boyfriend if you prefer, came to look at the goop.
More moonrise over goop. 
LOOK! SOME MONGOLIAN TREES KEEP THEIR NEEDLES IN WINTER!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Another post that's entirely on math... which I despise whenever I'm actually studying it.
I just had a thought. This thought is an interesting thought, but I know there must be a hole in it somewhere. It seems like such an obvious problem that it should have an obvious answer, and I would like to get the answer without being laughed at by a bunch of fanatical astronomy geeks. Supposedly the universe is about 13.7 billion years old, and the oldest observable light in the Universe is 13 billion years old. What I would like to know is, how can we see 13 billion year old light if everything in the universe originated from a central point? If an object moving directly away from us gave off light 13 billion years ago, and the light reached us in 13.7 billion years, then the combined speed of us and the object must be 94.89% (13 / 13.7) of light speed. Put more simply, we must be traveling at 318,175,772 miles an hour in opposite directions. To me this number seems a bit.... high.
And the scientists agree. The speed of the galaxy relative to this same cosmic background radiation (the oldest light in the observable universe) has been calculated as 1,367,017 miles an hour, or about 0.5% of that speed. (No, embarrassingly, I didn't read the article I just linked to, just a simpler article that cited it).
And another thing! The cosmic background radiation is assumed to be almost exactly equal in all directions; they measured that speed I just cited by assuming the background radiation was equal in all directions, then calculating the speed that would be required to produce the observed Doppler shifts. How the heck is this evidence for the big bang? If everything came from a single point how does the radiation from that point surround us? True, we ourselves would have been a source of that radiation, but since both we and the light are moving this doesn't seem to change things.
Granted, I have no idea what the distances in this diagram should be, but it seems that one of two things would happen: either all the light would pass beyond all the matter in the universe, since the one is traveling faster than the other, or we would only be able to see light from a certain percentage of the sky, those parts of it that were far enough away so that the light was just reaching us. Actually, nevermind. That's not "another thing", its the exact same concept with a different diagram.
In the process of formulating my question and argument I ran across a page that gave the answer to my question. Unfortunately, I can't understand the answer, and it seems like the kind of answer that accounts for a small discrepancy, not a huge one. If anyone reads this and can either give me an explanation, explain the explanation I have already received, or refer me to someone who can do either of the aforementioned things, I would be eternally grateful.
Well, not eternally.
But I would say "thanks".
Friday, February 6, 2009
Warm.
The U.S. was cold a little while ago. As I read the unsolicited headlines (minor American news is crammed down the throats of the entire world) I could hear the chorus of voices saying "GLOBAL WARMING IS A HOAX!".
I have heard this argument before. It goes something like this. "Global warming is complete garbage, because last winter it got down to (enter low temperature here) where I live in (enter location here). If you think about it though, this makes exactly as much sense as saying "Inflation is a hoax because my local Walmart has cut it's already amazingly low prices". Global warming is, as the name implies, "global" in nature, and consists of "warming": a gradual trend of less cold. So, what I'm about to say makes absolutely no sense, but I'm going to say it anyway.
Global warming is not a hoax, because I just walked to the store in a t-shirt, in Mongolia, in the middle of February. Granted, the store is only a five minute walk from here, everyone stared at me as I passed, and the person who went with me didn't want people to think we knew each other, but I did it. Usually, anyone taking a five minute walk outside (in February, in Mongolia, in a t-shirt) would be cold, perhaps very cold. They might even be risking serious harm. Today, the snow was melting and forming puddles on the dusty ground.
It was just odd, that's all.
I have heard this argument before. It goes something like this. "Global warming is complete garbage, because last winter it got down to (enter low temperature here) where I live in (enter location here). If you think about it though, this makes exactly as much sense as saying "Inflation is a hoax because my local Walmart has cut it's already amazingly low prices". Global warming is, as the name implies, "global" in nature, and consists of "warming": a gradual trend of less cold. So, what I'm about to say makes absolutely no sense, but I'm going to say it anyway.
Global warming is not a hoax, because I just walked to the store in a t-shirt, in Mongolia, in the middle of February. Granted, the store is only a five minute walk from here, everyone stared at me as I passed, and the person who went with me didn't want people to think we knew each other, but I did it. Usually, anyone taking a five minute walk outside (in February, in Mongolia, in a t-shirt) would be cold, perhaps very cold. They might even be risking serious harm. Today, the snow was melting and forming puddles on the dusty ground.
It was just odd, that's all.
-40 video
It's warm now, but back before the internet cut out it was in the -30 to -40 range. When this video was taken it was -40 with a -70 windchill.
The video cut out suddenly because the camera's batteries froze. When I went back inside the camera came back on.
The video cut out suddenly because the camera's batteries froze. When I went back inside the camera came back on.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Song
I'm completely, totally, "bored out of my mind" done with the first stage of writing one of the songs I want to record this summer. Now I need to get people who might want to help me record it.
I have:
-A tenor
-A baritone
-A guitarist
-A cellist (maybe)
-A soprano (maybe)
I need:
-To have backups for the maybe's
-A violinist would be nice.
-a drummer would be AWESOME... though I'd have to change some stuff.
-Anyone that would like to come to New Hampshire this summer to help record stuff (I want to do about half a dozen songs).
If you know someone who might like to try it forward them here. Professional musicians (defined as "anyone who avoids the guitar because it is a toy") probably aren't a good idea, this is just a hobby thing.
I was going to embed the midi in this page, but it sounds terrible. Download this file and play it with windows media player. Since it's a midi the download should take about 2 seconds. The midi is simplified; there are no rhythm chords or arpeggiated chords because rhythm chords are hard to write (at least if the rhythm is interesting enough to bother writing it) and arpeggiated chords sound terrible in midi.
The song is, in short, about a guy who loses a girl to some other schmuck, gets jealous, and kills him (not very original, I know). It is sung by three people, with a monologue by the psycho harmonizing with a conversation between the couple.
Here are the lyrics:
I have:
-A tenor
-A baritone
-A guitarist
-A cellist (maybe)
-A soprano (maybe)
I need:
-To have backups for the maybe's
-A violinist would be nice.
-a drummer would be AWESOME... though I'd have to change some stuff.
-Anyone that would like to come to New Hampshire this summer to help record stuff (I want to do about half a dozen songs).
If you know someone who might like to try it forward them here. Professional musicians (defined as "anyone who avoids the guitar because it is a toy") probably aren't a good idea, this is just a hobby thing.
I was going to embed the midi in this page, but it sounds terrible. Download this file and play it with windows media player. Since it's a midi the download should take about 2 seconds. The midi is simplified; there are no rhythm chords or arpeggiated chords because rhythm chords are hard to write (at least if the rhythm is interesting enough to bother writing it) and arpeggiated chords sound terrible in midi.
The song is, in short, about a guy who loses a girl to some other schmuck, gets jealous, and kills him (not very original, I know). It is sung by three people, with a monologue by the psycho harmonizing with a conversation between the couple.
Here are the lyrics:
(45 second intro)
Death in the season of love, though she screams I’ll be drunk with the tears and the darkness that keeps me warm.
And like the winter, my mind has gone with her, and God save my soul but I will do him harm.
His smile has haunted my dreams at night and he
(other two on “dreams) I’ll never leave your side
Can’t comprehend what it means, though he will see
(on means) I’m sure that we will find
What he has stolen was mine for a moment, and now all I hear is the screams.
Love, love, love, love, love, love, love
(with power chords)
In the season he’ll fall like a blossom on water, so come one and all, see the lamb to the slaughter. In the season the call of the raven has got her, to drive her as I’ve gone before,
Bleeding
Screaming
I can’t love her now
(guy) Now, as the night grows old
I can’t control myself *
I should take you home
God knows I’ve tried, * oh how I’ve lied to the world
You have possessed my heart.
(girl) (as yet unwritten response)
How do we ever part?
(more unwritten response)
Her skin in the moonlight, my goddess, temptress,
She has become my world, for the best is the only thing that you want to see, the most perfect feeling, and not fleeting, she has it all
Death in the season of love, and she screamed at the blood that now mingles so freely with all my own. Dreams as they once were will no longer dare stir, and God save us all from what I have just done.
______________________________________________________________
I would love to make it more complex and interesting. Any suggestions would be welcome. I can send sheet music or tab to anyone who asks. It is possible that the sheet music will be terribly wrong, because wrote this thing by trial and error with the midi program (I haven't the foggiest notion how to read or write music). However, the two people who have read (who did read music) have said it was ok, so maybe there aren't too many problems.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Loud, throbbing Russian music in the internet cafe
Still no internet.
I learned long ago that people work on an interesting principal: "now" (being a specific time rather than a duration of time) is not when things get done. Now is too short to do anything other than drink a cup of tea, so all tasks must be done "later". Later is also a time, but it is a time of infinite duration. The best kind of later is the kind that is found inside the bounds of time designated as "tomorrow". If something needs to be done (say, if the internet service provider needs to be called) it is impossible to call them today because today includes only three times: before they arrive at work (around noon, apparently) lunch time, and the time after they have gone home. Tomorrow has no such problem, because tomorrow is an abstract concept which obeys it's own set of laws. Anything is possible tomorrow, because when tomorrow comes it is no longer tomorrow, but has instead changed it's name to "today": a time when one drinks tea. It's a wonderful loophole.
Three weeks ago I was told we would have internet on Friday. That Friday came an went, making a nice "woosh" noise as it passed. Since then I have been told that we would have internet "tomorrow". Truly, we are all doomed.
I learned long ago that people work on an interesting principal: "now" (being a specific time rather than a duration of time) is not when things get done. Now is too short to do anything other than drink a cup of tea, so all tasks must be done "later". Later is also a time, but it is a time of infinite duration. The best kind of later is the kind that is found inside the bounds of time designated as "tomorrow". If something needs to be done (say, if the internet service provider needs to be called) it is impossible to call them today because today includes only three times: before they arrive at work (around noon, apparently) lunch time, and the time after they have gone home. Tomorrow has no such problem, because tomorrow is an abstract concept which obeys it's own set of laws. Anything is possible tomorrow, because when tomorrow comes it is no longer tomorrow, but has instead changed it's name to "today": a time when one drinks tea. It's a wonderful loophole.
Three weeks ago I was told we would have internet on Friday. That Friday came an went, making a nice "woosh" noise as it passed. Since then I have been told that we would have internet "tomorrow". Truly, we are all doomed.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Griping over soup and bigotry
Still no internet. The only problem with this is that I still have to go to the internet cafe every day to get stuff for classes, but once I get there I realize I forgot to bring the books for the day with me, and I have no idea what kind of stuff to get.
So I end up wasting time on facebook and youtube as I try to come up with activities.
But still, life goes on. Sometimes life goes on in a way that is somewhat to my liking.
Yesterday we had my favorite food for lunch: not soup. It had been about two weeks since Mogie had made "not soup" for lunch. I love everything about not soup: the way it smells, the way it tastes, and especially the way in which it doesn't feel like soup in your mouth.
Granted, this particular incarnation of not soup was tsoven, or steamed Mongolian noodles. I'm rather sick of tsoven too, but lunch is free, so what do I have to complain about?
I do have something that I'm going to complain about, though I'm not sure if I have the right to do so.
Last Sunday evening I was standing in one of the school offices, contemplatively bouncing an empty water cooler jug against my head. This activity may seem odd to some, but I had just come back from a day of sledding / socializing, and I was in the kind of mood where one contemplatively toys with empty water cooler jugs.
A church member came into the room, took a look at me, and remarked (in Mongolian and English) that I was a moron. The annoying thing was that she was serious in this statement; she wanted to make a sweeping judgment that I was, in all respects, a moron.
I can take a little of this kind of thing, but lately it has been coming from just about everyone. Everyone assumes that I have no knowledge of anything, no useful skills, and that I don't understand what they're saying (about 70% of the time I have a pretty good idea, and often I understand every word).
Any time I demonstrate knowledge of something they know, they are visibly surprised, and often laugh. Any time I demonstrate knowledge of something they don't know, they assume it is something they know which I have failed to explain accurately.
This is demonstrated by how everyone keeps on saying "horhee" to everything I say and do. This loosely translates to "awwww, how cute".
It's downright painful, and has started to piss me off.
When the random church member called me an idiot, I lost it. I lost it in a "I'll prove you wrong" kind of way, which never really works. I told her I wasn't an idiot, explained the term "I.Q" (apparently Mongolians use a different abbreviation), and told her my I.Q.
Predictably, this did not convince her that I wasn't an idiot. Instead it confirmed her opinion that I was an idiot, and also strengthened her opinion that I was arrogant and thought Americans were better than Mongolians.
The next day one of the school workers saw me struggling to install a printer. "Why don't you understand it?" she asked. "It's in English, what about your I.Q.?"
No, she wasn't there when I said it.
Apparently there has been some kind of chatter going around that I am racist, that I think all Mongolians are ignorant, and that I have made statements to that effect. I say "going around" because three people have told me they heard it from someone. This rumor hurts me. I love Mongolians, and most aspects of Mongolian culture. As far as I know, I have never said anything that even hints I might dislike Mongolians. People might have noticed I was sad and antisocial a lot last month, but if they had bothered to ask me I would have told them it was a winter thing, not a hatred of all things Mongolian. Without a doubt, I DO think that many Mongolians are somewhat naive when it comes to knowing how the rest of the world works, but this is because their country has only been open to the rest of the world for 15 years or so, and some of their basic assumptions about it have yet to change. I do not believe they are any more naive than other people on a similar situation would be, or that they have tried to avoid knowledge.
After witnessing it in four cultures / subcultures, I have come to the conclusion that bigotry is a basic characteristic of humanity. All groups of people believe that their group is superior to other groups in all the areas that matter. If another group is quantifiably superior to theirs in some area, it must (logically) be an area that doesn't matter, so they therefore have nothing to learn.
I suppose, however, that the very fact I even care only says two things about me: that I myself harbor similar feelings, and that I'm insecure.
I would like to be thought of as good at things. Not all things, just some things. In most places where I have gone (Massachusetts being a notable exception), a lot of people have been patronising. In Maine it was because I wasn't a republican (and must therefore be an ignorant heathen reprobate), at Southern it was because my parents weren't rich... and I wasn't republican (so I must be an ignorant heathen reprobate with bad clothes). In Mongolia it's because I'm not Mongolian, so I must (obviously) be rich, stupid, and listen to hip-hop music.
I am incredibly sensitive to criticism, and I have yet to find a way to deal with it. Any advice on how I might do so? Comments please.
And thank you for noticing the ads. I like money.
Aaaaaand a small note: this blog has passed 1000 hits. Yay!
So I end up wasting time on facebook and youtube as I try to come up with activities.
But still, life goes on. Sometimes life goes on in a way that is somewhat to my liking.
Yesterday we had my favorite food for lunch: not soup. It had been about two weeks since Mogie had made "not soup" for lunch. I love everything about not soup: the way it smells, the way it tastes, and especially the way in which it doesn't feel like soup in your mouth.
Granted, this particular incarnation of not soup was tsoven, or steamed Mongolian noodles. I'm rather sick of tsoven too, but lunch is free, so what do I have to complain about?
I do have something that I'm going to complain about, though I'm not sure if I have the right to do so.
Last Sunday evening I was standing in one of the school offices, contemplatively bouncing an empty water cooler jug against my head. This activity may seem odd to some, but I had just come back from a day of sledding / socializing, and I was in the kind of mood where one contemplatively toys with empty water cooler jugs.
A church member came into the room, took a look at me, and remarked (in Mongolian and English) that I was a moron. The annoying thing was that she was serious in this statement; she wanted to make a sweeping judgment that I was, in all respects, a moron.
I can take a little of this kind of thing, but lately it has been coming from just about everyone. Everyone assumes that I have no knowledge of anything, no useful skills, and that I don't understand what they're saying (about 70% of the time I have a pretty good idea, and often I understand every word).
Any time I demonstrate knowledge of something they know, they are visibly surprised, and often laugh. Any time I demonstrate knowledge of something they don't know, they assume it is something they know which I have failed to explain accurately.
This is demonstrated by how everyone keeps on saying "horhee" to everything I say and do. This loosely translates to "awwww, how cute".
It's downright painful, and has started to piss me off.
When the random church member called me an idiot, I lost it. I lost it in a "I'll prove you wrong" kind of way, which never really works. I told her I wasn't an idiot, explained the term "I.Q" (apparently Mongolians use a different abbreviation), and told her my I.Q.
Predictably, this did not convince her that I wasn't an idiot. Instead it confirmed her opinion that I was an idiot, and also strengthened her opinion that I was arrogant and thought Americans were better than Mongolians.
The next day one of the school workers saw me struggling to install a printer. "Why don't you understand it?" she asked. "It's in English, what about your I.Q.?"
No, she wasn't there when I said it.
Apparently there has been some kind of chatter going around that I am racist, that I think all Mongolians are ignorant, and that I have made statements to that effect. I say "going around" because three people have told me they heard it from someone. This rumor hurts me. I love Mongolians, and most aspects of Mongolian culture. As far as I know, I have never said anything that even hints I might dislike Mongolians. People might have noticed I was sad and antisocial a lot last month, but if they had bothered to ask me I would have told them it was a winter thing, not a hatred of all things Mongolian. Without a doubt, I DO think that many Mongolians are somewhat naive when it comes to knowing how the rest of the world works, but this is because their country has only been open to the rest of the world for 15 years or so, and some of their basic assumptions about it have yet to change. I do not believe they are any more naive than other people on a similar situation would be, or that they have tried to avoid knowledge.
After witnessing it in four cultures / subcultures, I have come to the conclusion that bigotry is a basic characteristic of humanity. All groups of people believe that their group is superior to other groups in all the areas that matter. If another group is quantifiably superior to theirs in some area, it must (logically) be an area that doesn't matter, so they therefore have nothing to learn.
I suppose, however, that the very fact I even care only says two things about me: that I myself harbor similar feelings, and that I'm insecure.
I would like to be thought of as good at things. Not all things, just some things. In most places where I have gone (Massachusetts being a notable exception), a lot of people have been patronising. In Maine it was because I wasn't a republican (and must therefore be an ignorant heathen reprobate), at Southern it was because my parents weren't rich... and I wasn't republican (so I must be an ignorant heathen reprobate with bad clothes). In Mongolia it's because I'm not Mongolian, so I must (obviously) be rich, stupid, and listen to hip-hop music.
I am incredibly sensitive to criticism, and I have yet to find a way to deal with it. Any advice on how I might do so? Comments please.
And thank you for noticing the ads. I like money.
Aaaaaand a small note: this blog has passed 1000 hits. Yay!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
