There are many levels of bad. There's slightly annoying, mindlessly evil, maliciously evil, and "....?".
My washing machine belongs to the "....?" group.
The first time I washed my clothes, I was disappointed in the results. The clothes were clean, after a fashion. That is to say, smell and stains had been removed, but they were covered in a fine layer of lint. Light clothes were covered in black lint, and dark clothes were covered in white lint.
"oh" you say. "But of course that's what it looked like, light lint only shows up on dark clothes, and vice versa."
Oh really? Not so. I carefully removed lint from said clothes, and found that the white clothes had indeed been covered only in black lint, and the dark clothes in white. There was something truly evil at work in my bathroom. I imagined the washing machine directing the whole process as it sat there humming and thumping in my bathroom.
"Hurry! Shred the socks! Ok, now white lint on the black dress shirt, dark lint on the khaki pants! Make sure to twist everything and turn it all inside out!"
The next load I did was worse. Like the first time, I found all my clothes had been covered in lint, but this time the lint was thicker. On top of that, stains had not been removed. Even minor stains, such as spots from a mud puddle that had splattered my pants, were still there. However, the thing that revealed the truly malicious and evil intent of the washing machine was my pants. The washing machine had eaten my pants.
Apparently the pants were not to the machine's liking, for it spat them back out again (this is how I have retained the pants as evidence), but not before it had torn a gash right down the pants leg.
How does that even happen? I think my washing machine has been sent to me from the bowels of hell, armed with razor sharp teeth which it uses to shred my clothing, tearing it thread from thread.
I followed the theme of my life: "when all else fails, assume you're an idiot". I carefully considered the possibilities, and concluded that I must have overloaded the washing machine. I did another load, this time filling the washing machine only half full. The results appeared to be encouraging, in that no black lint covered my clothing. I was filled with joy, until I realized this was due to the fact that I had not included any dark clothes in the load. I inspected the clothes. Sure enough, stains remained. On top of that, the washing machine had torn a hole in the seat of my only pair of jeans.
Bowels of hell I tell you, bowels of hell.
So... umm, does anyone have some advice on how I may keep my clothing both clean and intact? I'm open to any theories, because Brandon uses the same washing machine, so I can test them when he does his laundry.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Getting Down to Business
(This post has a Chris Rating of 6)
There are a few things that bug me about the book this program uses. One is the fact that there are grammatical errors. Most of them aren't really errors, they're technically correct. They are merely slightly weird phrases that show the sentence wasn't written by a native speaker. Some, however, are simply errors, such as things failing to agree in number or tense (i.e. is happened). It's really embarrassing to pause in the middle of an exercise, explain the book is wrong, and correct the sentence before going on.
Another thing is that the book is simply soaked in Korean culture. This is all well and good in Korea, but we aren't in Korea, we're in Mongolia. The Mongolians struggle with Korean place names, foods and brands, then look to me for guidance. I explain to them that the word is Korean, that I have no clue how to say it, and that they can refer to it as The Magical Land at the End of the Sewer pipe for all I care. Actually I just tell them to make up a Mongolian name, which they then do.
A third thing that bugs me is that the book is soaked in Korean culture. I know, I've been over this, but this time I mean something different. I mean that it is from the Korean worldview. Since Korea (like America) is a first world country, Korea's world view tends to be rather... um... patronising. In questions that ask for a comparison of Korean and western cultures (or products, or whatever) the suggested answers tend to be a "heads I win, tails you lose" kind of deal. For instance:
Do you prefer iPod or iRiver (a Korean brand)?
A: I prefer iRiver. I have one and I really like it.
B: I don't have a preference, I dislike mac products.
Firstly, the second answer doesn't really make logical sense. If you dislike one but not the other you have a preference. Secondly, what if someone wanted to say they liked iPod?
There are a few things that bug me about the book this program uses. One is the fact that there are grammatical errors. Most of them aren't really errors, they're technically correct. They are merely slightly weird phrases that show the sentence wasn't written by a native speaker. Some, however, are simply errors, such as things failing to agree in number or tense (i.e. is happened). It's really embarrassing to pause in the middle of an exercise, explain the book is wrong, and correct the sentence before going on.
Another thing is that the book is simply soaked in Korean culture. This is all well and good in Korea, but we aren't in Korea, we're in Mongolia. The Mongolians struggle with Korean place names, foods and brands, then look to me for guidance. I explain to them that the word is Korean, that I have no clue how to say it, and that they can refer to it as The Magical Land at the End of the Sewer pipe for all I care. Actually I just tell them to make up a Mongolian name, which they then do.
A third thing that bugs me is that the book is soaked in Korean culture. I know, I've been over this, but this time I mean something different. I mean that it is from the Korean worldview. Since Korea (like America) is a first world country, Korea's world view tends to be rather... um... patronising. In questions that ask for a comparison of Korean and western cultures (or products, or whatever) the suggested answers tend to be a "heads I win, tails you lose" kind of deal. For instance:
Do you prefer iPod or iRiver (a Korean brand)?
A: I prefer iRiver. I have one and I really like it.
B: I don't have a preference, I dislike mac products.
Firstly, the second answer doesn't really make logical sense. If you dislike one but not the other you have a preference. Secondly, what if someone wanted to say they liked iPod?
There's another question about Korean and American houses with a similar answer set: either Korean houses are good because they're so close together, or American houses are bad because they're all the same.
Whatever.
I would like to take this opportunity to point out to Americans that this is what you sound like to the rest of the world. Quit it, it makes me gag.
I find it amazing how the weather influences the mood of the students. When it snowed day before yesterday the students came in like zombies. No one wanted to say a word. I spent the entire day trying to be the energizer bunny, and it DRAINED me like you wouldn't believe. The junior class was the worst. The students sat there either glaring at me or drooling on their desks, and absolutely refused to speak anything but Korean. The one Mongolian student has given up on saying much of anything because the Koreans dogpile on her whenever she does and tell her she's dumb. I then explain to them that they're a bunch of puerile moronic imbeciles, but unfortunately my explanation is beyond their understanding of English.
Or perhaps it's fortunate. Keeping one's job is a good thing.
Still, when the last two classes of the day roll around and the studying professionals (the one's who are here because they actually want to learn English) come in, it makes the job like heaven.
There was a question in the junior class book, "Have you ever sent an email in English?" No one had, so I gave them my school address and told them that I would give them candy if they sent an email in English. Out of five kids, I got three emails (maybe I'll get more before class, but it's almost nine so I doubt it).
Here's one of the replies:
hello teacher
i'm ellen
it homework
give me candy
tomorrow
good bye
ROFLOL! -sigh- Self centered simplicity is so funny in kids, I wish it could be funny in adults.
Kids playing 'red rover red rover' outside the school.
Whatever.
I would like to take this opportunity to point out to Americans that this is what you sound like to the rest of the world. Quit it, it makes me gag.
I find it amazing how the weather influences the mood of the students. When it snowed day before yesterday the students came in like zombies. No one wanted to say a word. I spent the entire day trying to be the energizer bunny, and it DRAINED me like you wouldn't believe. The junior class was the worst. The students sat there either glaring at me or drooling on their desks, and absolutely refused to speak anything but Korean. The one Mongolian student has given up on saying much of anything because the Koreans dogpile on her whenever she does and tell her she's dumb. I then explain to them that they're a bunch of puerile moronic imbeciles, but unfortunately my explanation is beyond their understanding of English.
Or perhaps it's fortunate. Keeping one's job is a good thing.
Still, when the last two classes of the day roll around and the studying professionals (the one's who are here because they actually want to learn English) come in, it makes the job like heaven.
There was a question in the junior class book, "Have you ever sent an email in English?" No one had, so I gave them my school address and told them that I would give them candy if they sent an email in English. Out of five kids, I got three emails (maybe I'll get more before class, but it's almost nine so I doubt it).
Here's one of the replies:
hello teacher
i'm ellen
it homework
give me candy
tomorrow
good bye
ROFLOL! -sigh- Self centered simplicity is so funny in kids, I wish it could be funny in adults.
Kids playing 'red rover red rover' outside the school.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Monks in the Snow
Ulaanbaatar traffic isn't particularly thick, it's just particularly accident prone. Basically, this city is what happens when you give a bunch of middle aged people keys for the first time, stick them in SUV's, and tell them it's a race. The vast majority of the cars on the road have nasty scrapes and dents on them. The rest are brand new, but that condition won't last for very long.
Today it snowed. I don't know if it was because of the snow (seems unlikely) or some other reason, but the traffic ground to a halt in the intersection near the school. Usually crossing the street is difficult, today it was easy. You just had to walk around the cars when the weren't moving, which was most of the time.
I had to go to the store again today, as I do practically every day. It appears to me that Mongolians value appearances highly. Not necessarily the appearance of the city in general, but definitely their part of it. The stores put a good deal of effort into looking western, though they sometimes have to put on a bit of a show. For the last week I've been keeping my eyes pealed for deodorant in anticipation of the day when I will run out. A few days ago I found some. There were all the normal American brands, carefully lined up in a locked display case. This would not have been a problem if it wasn't for the fact that Mongolians have taken to using the supermarket style of store. There was no one around to unlock the display case. There the deodorant sits, and there it shall stay, loudly declaring the the store is as western as it can possibly be under the circumstances.
I found one other shop that has it though. I shall prevail!
Because the snow and fog looked so nice I headed out and took more pictures of the Gandan monastery, and the city in general. I was taking a picture of these pigeons when some monks started walking up the steps. I just waited a few seconds until they were in the frame, I think monks look really cool.
This particular monk was talking on his cellphone as he got into his car. I guess the higher level monks are in more of a management position, so they can't give up the things of this world. Things to do! Places to go to! Yessir, these are modern times and they call for modern monks.
and video:
Today it snowed. I don't know if it was because of the snow (seems unlikely) or some other reason, but the traffic ground to a halt in the intersection near the school. Usually crossing the street is difficult, today it was easy. You just had to walk around the cars when the weren't moving, which was most of the time.
I had to go to the store again today, as I do practically every day. It appears to me that Mongolians value appearances highly. Not necessarily the appearance of the city in general, but definitely their part of it. The stores put a good deal of effort into looking western, though they sometimes have to put on a bit of a show. For the last week I've been keeping my eyes pealed for deodorant in anticipation of the day when I will run out. A few days ago I found some. There were all the normal American brands, carefully lined up in a locked display case. This would not have been a problem if it wasn't for the fact that Mongolians have taken to using the supermarket style of store. There was no one around to unlock the display case. There the deodorant sits, and there it shall stay, loudly declaring the the store is as western as it can possibly be under the circumstances.
I found one other shop that has it though. I shall prevail!
Because the snow and fog looked so nice I headed out and took more pictures of the Gandan monastery, and the city in general. I was taking a picture of these pigeons when some monks started walking up the steps. I just waited a few seconds until they were in the frame, I think monks look really cool.
This particular monk was talking on his cellphone as he got into his car. I guess the higher level monks are in more of a management position, so they can't give up the things of this world. Things to do! Places to go to! Yessir, these are modern times and they call for modern monks.
and video:
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Jumbled Rocks to Twist the Mind
Ulaanbaatar is a city of a thousand smokes. The clouds of coal smoke which billow from three power plants mix with the ground-hugging haze coming from the fires of the ger communities. All this coal smoke then settles as a thick smog which hugs the valley floor.
It isn't the number of fires that makes the smoke interesting though, it's the variety. True, most of the smoke comes from the power plants and cook stoves, but there is also cigarette smoke, smoke from dung fires, smoke from burning trash, incense smoke, and sometimes smoke from smoldering hair, which is burnt after the first haircut a young Buddhist boy receives.
Unfortunately, it's still smoke. There have been two days since I came here when an air mass came over the city and covered the valley like a hand, trapping the smoke. Visibility then dropped to around half a mile, which is impressive considering the fact that there's almost no humidity in the air. Because of this smoke we decided to go to the countryside for the weekend. "We" were Brandon (the other teacher), a half dozen church members, and myself. "Countryside" was supposed to be Terelj, a national park north of the city. However, as we were leaving I began to understand from their broken English (and my limited understanding of Mongolian) that they had no intention of going to Terelj at all. I wasn't too pleased about this, but since they were the ones that spoke Mongolian and could plan such a venture I grumbled a little and got in the taxi. After the taxi we took a microbus, which is essentially a minivan with hard seats and no legroom. After bouncing around in a microbus for an hour, passing barren hills and trash heaps, we arrived at a ger camp, which was only moderately touristy, and was next to a monastery. The place was situated in a stunningly beautiful valley. I shut up.
That night we sat on our beds in the ger. Brandon taught the church members to play Texas hold'em poker, and there was a great commotion as the entire group (myself excluded) headed out to collect "chothlo" or rocks, with which to bet.
We then ate. As I sat eating out of a can of Pringle's knock-offs, I began reading the ingredients (as is my custom).
Potatoes
-munch munch munch munch-
...Edible oil
-munch.. munch... munch..-
I looked warily at the can of pringle's knock-offs. There's something deeply disconcerting about being told your food is edible. It's something one generally assumes. It's like being told your washing machine won't suddenly burst into flames; the question of whether or not the washing machine could burst into flames simply doesn't normally enter into one's mind, and if it does the washing machine should probably be replaced.
The can of pringle's knock-offs noticed my concern, and hastened to explain exactly what it meant by 'edible oil'.
...(refined, bleached, deodorized palm olein)
Palm olein is essentially diesel waiting to happen, but the chips tasted good, really good in fact.
-munch munch munch-
The can continued to expound eloquently on it's contents.
...salt
-munch munch munch-
...permitted flavor enhancer 621.
I stopped chewing. This brings us back to the issue of "edible". Like 'edible', 'permitted' is not something you want to see on your food, unless you happen to be heavily into semi-legal body building drugs, and in that case no one wants to know your opinion anyway. In any case, semi-legal body building drugs are generally not regarded as food, even if they are consumed in large quantities.
Still, the chips were good.
That night there was great confusion as the beds were arranged in the middle of the ger. This act of arranging the beds in the middle of the ger struck me as odd, since I was used to the semi-traditional notion that men stayed on the left side of the ger, and women stayed on the right. I was also used to the semi traditional notion that singles on a church outing don't form a mixed gender heap in a small round tent, but hey, these are city people.
I chose to sleep on the floor, not because I have a great aversion to sleeping in a mixed gender heap, but because I like to sleep on the floor, and because I dislike heaps in general. I was glad I had made this decision, because the beds kept on collapsing at random times during the night, throwing the mixed gendered heap into a state of confusion.
A confused mixed gender heap.
The next morning I woke to find that I had been sleeping next to a half full bottle of scotch. We tried to light it on fire, and succeeded.
I leave you with some random video. Have fun with life.
Video of the Valley:
This is inside the ger.
More video of the valley!
A bumpy road. I think I did a good job of holding the camera steady, considering it all. Just thought you'd like to see a bumpy road, and cows.
-post edit-
here are the rest of the pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/31150018@N06/?saved=1
It isn't the number of fires that makes the smoke interesting though, it's the variety. True, most of the smoke comes from the power plants and cook stoves, but there is also cigarette smoke, smoke from dung fires, smoke from burning trash, incense smoke, and sometimes smoke from smoldering hair, which is burnt after the first haircut a young Buddhist boy receives.
Unfortunately, it's still smoke. There have been two days since I came here when an air mass came over the city and covered the valley like a hand, trapping the smoke. Visibility then dropped to around half a mile, which is impressive considering the fact that there's almost no humidity in the air. Because of this smoke we decided to go to the countryside for the weekend. "We" were Brandon (the other teacher), a half dozen church members, and myself. "Countryside" was supposed to be Terelj, a national park north of the city. However, as we were leaving I began to understand from their broken English (and my limited understanding of Mongolian) that they had no intention of going to Terelj at all. I wasn't too pleased about this, but since they were the ones that spoke Mongolian and could plan such a venture I grumbled a little and got in the taxi. After the taxi we took a microbus, which is essentially a minivan with hard seats and no legroom. After bouncing around in a microbus for an hour, passing barren hills and trash heaps, we arrived at a ger camp, which was only moderately touristy, and was next to a monastery. The place was situated in a stunningly beautiful valley. I shut up.
That night we sat on our beds in the ger. Brandon taught the church members to play Texas hold'em poker, and there was a great commotion as the entire group (myself excluded) headed out to collect "chothlo" or rocks, with which to bet.
We then ate. As I sat eating out of a can of Pringle's knock-offs, I began reading the ingredients (as is my custom).
Potatoes
-munch munch munch munch-
...Edible oil
-munch.. munch... munch..-
I looked warily at the can of pringle's knock-offs. There's something deeply disconcerting about being told your food is edible. It's something one generally assumes. It's like being told your washing machine won't suddenly burst into flames; the question of whether or not the washing machine could burst into flames simply doesn't normally enter into one's mind, and if it does the washing machine should probably be replaced.
The can of pringle's knock-offs noticed my concern, and hastened to explain exactly what it meant by 'edible oil'.
...(refined, bleached, deodorized palm olein)
Palm olein is essentially diesel waiting to happen, but the chips tasted good, really good in fact.
-munch munch munch-
The can continued to expound eloquently on it's contents.
...salt
-munch munch munch-
...permitted flavor enhancer 621.
I stopped chewing. This brings us back to the issue of "edible". Like 'edible', 'permitted' is not something you want to see on your food, unless you happen to be heavily into semi-legal body building drugs, and in that case no one wants to know your opinion anyway. In any case, semi-legal body building drugs are generally not regarded as food, even if they are consumed in large quantities.
Still, the chips were good.
That night there was great confusion as the beds were arranged in the middle of the ger. This act of arranging the beds in the middle of the ger struck me as odd, since I was used to the semi-traditional notion that men stayed on the left side of the ger, and women stayed on the right. I was also used to the semi traditional notion that singles on a church outing don't form a mixed gender heap in a small round tent, but hey, these are city people.
I chose to sleep on the floor, not because I have a great aversion to sleeping in a mixed gender heap, but because I like to sleep on the floor, and because I dislike heaps in general. I was glad I had made this decision, because the beds kept on collapsing at random times during the night, throwing the mixed gendered heap into a state of confusion.
A confused mixed gender heap.
The next morning I woke to find that I had been sleeping next to a half full bottle of scotch. We tried to light it on fire, and succeeded.
The rest of the day was spent in hiking, wandering around the monastery, eating, and generally participating in a wild orgy of unbridled tourism. The monastery was like most other monasteries I have been in, only more so, because it was a tourist attraction. To encourage tourism every attempt had been made to make the monastery even more like a monastery than a monastery should be. For instance, some of the remains of a deceased holy woman were on display, and there were statues with piles of money in every corner. For your viewing pleasure, here is the top of a good woman's skull:
...in addition to some of her personal belongings, and a leg bone, which I am told they made into a flute. I will tell you this much: when I die, I want my leg to be made into a flute.
There were also lots of golden statues with relatively worthless piles of money in front of them. It's interesting how the taste's of the spirits change with the times. After the fall of communism the spirits took to drinking heavily, or so one would think from the many empty vodka bottles offered to them at the hilltop ovoo (rock piles / shrines). More recently, however, they've gone on a diet, as modernism has turned the animism / Buddhism combination into more of a tourist attraction than anything else. Most of the ovoo I've visited so far were just rock piles, with no gifts left at all.
The woods reminded me of Maine, only with fewer trees. There were large black squirrels running about through the woods, which look almost exactly like the large black squirrels one sees in the ponderosa pine forests of Arizona and New Mexico.
The little buggers are almost impossible to photograph. They're always ducking and hiding: running from tree to tree and making mad dashes in random directions. This picture is the result of about ten minute's work and at least a dozen deleted attempts (mostly distant, blurry black blobs).
Towards the middle of the day we climbed the mountain, on the slopes of which the ger camp lay. It was steep and rocky, quite a nice mountain. Brandon and I did a little rock climbing, or rather Brandon did rock climbing and I got interested, so I clambered after him in whatever unconventional fashion suited my fancy.
The peak was 1,920 meters above sea level, or 6,300 feet, whichever sounds cooler. The shot at the beginning of the blog post was from the top, but I took some more so I'll post a few.
I leave you with some random video. Have fun with life.
Video of the Valley:
This is inside the ger.
More video of the valley!
A bumpy road. I think I did a good job of holding the camera steady, considering it all. Just thought you'd like to see a bumpy road, and cows.
-post edit-
here are the rest of the pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/31150018@N06/?saved=1
Friday, October 3, 2008
Random Pictures
I have some random pictures I took with no goal in mind. I've avoided wandering around the city with a camera because I don't want to look like a tourist, doing so is dangerous. The only reason why I'm uploading these is that I installed the program for the camera onto one of the office computers and I thought I might as well upload the random shots. I'll upload pictures of our trip to the countryside on Monday, which would be Sunday for everyone else.
This is the view out my apartment window. The white building is the Mongolian National University, and the people gathered on left side are playing basketball. The blurry area is not my thumb, the camera just does that. There's a plastic thingy stuck over the lens, I'll see if I can do something about it before I start taking pictures tomorrow.
This is what my wallet looked like before I changed all my money at the bank. Now it just has tugriks.
There's one more but I'm not going to bother with it because this program is a complete pain and I'm hungry. ttyl.
Oh, by the way: this blog has had over 100 distinct views since I came to Mongolia, and only about a dozen of them were me. Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
What School?
We are attempting to raise money for advertising at this school. Currently the advertisment program for this school consists of three signs out front, really just one sign. Because of this it has very low enrollment, despite the fact that it is the only school with native english-speaking teachers in Mongolia (assuming you don't count teachers from India, which I don't). Please consider donating to this advertising fund, so that we can have the opportunity to reach more people with the gospel.
Include a note specifying what you are donating to, I won't know what to do with money that just appears.
We really don't need much, just a few hundred dollars should be enough for the plans we have so far. If you would like to send someone to this page the address of this post is http://lettersfrommongolia.blogspot.com/2008/10/what-school.html
Include a note specifying what you are donating to, I won't know what to do with money that just appears.
We really don't need much, just a few hundred dollars should be enough for the plans we have so far. If you would like to send someone to this page the address of this post is http://lettersfrommongolia.blogspot.com/2008/10/what-school.html
Moo Cows 'n Gravy
Southern Adventist University taught me to have an adventurous pallet. This is not because Southern had a great variety of food, in fact meals have a one week cycle and most of the days are pretty similar. No, it's because the food at Southern is so uniformly bad that it taught me to totally ignore the taste, smell and texture of anything I'm eating.
It was in this spirit that I, a vegetarian, ate beef last night.
After my last class I was exhausted and really wanted to go to bed. However, when Brandon invited me out to eat pizza with a bunch of students I jumped at the chance. I had wanted to be able to explore the city at night, but they had discouraged us from going out alone. Going out with the group would let me explore, and perhaps pick up some more Mongolian.
We walked down the street, passing stumbling drunks and begging street children. I was surprised to see them, as I had never seen either drunks or street children in that area during the daytime. Perhaps Mongolia has simply gotten better at hiding it's dark underside.
We continued down the street through the forest of flickering signs, passing brightly lit bars and dark, dusty construction sites. We had to cross the street, which was interesting since it was rush hour (as it always is). The speeding cars formed a river of blurred lights as they rushed past. fortunately our group was large. As we stepped out into the road the river of cars stopped and let us through, something that they rarely (if ever) do for a lone person.
We made it to the pizza place, which was actually a restaurant and bar. Unfortunately it was full, as was the next place. The students proposed that we go to a Mongolian restaurant, since it was cheaper anyway. Brandon was a bouncy ball of enthusiasm, which is saying something since he usually has all the expression of a wet beagle. I was just trying to keep my cookies down.
The restaurant smelled strongly of mutton and milk. This is distinctly different from lamb and American milk. Mongolian milk has it's own distinct smell, and mutton is... mutton. People describe it as "strong and gamey". I'm not exactly sure what the phrase "gamey" means, since dead sheep smells nothing like live deer, but that's what they say.
We sat down at a table and the Mongolians began enthusiastically discussion options as Brandon and I stared awkwardly at the all-mongolian menu. Hothlan, a girl from the school, soon began throwing options at us. I ordered egg and corn tea, having no idea what form of 'egg' I was getting, or what exactly 'corn tea' was.
Corn tea turned out to be an extremely dilute form of oatmeal, or perhaps sweetened milk with oats floating in it. It could be eaten or drunk, depending on one's mood. The egg, unfortunately, never arrived. Instead I relieved a plate of beef, potatoes, and pickled vegetables. I stared at the beef. It appeared to be mostly fat. Most of my experience with animal fat had come from dissecting dead things for purposes other than consumption, like study, or even for consumption by others.
But hey, as Brandon told me with a hint of disdain (aimed in my direction) this was Mongolia.
I, a vegetarian, ate several chunks of the extremely chewy beef. I continued this exercise of willpower until some of it got stuck in my teeth. At that point I began wondering exactly what manner of cow-bit was stuck in my chompers, and that was about enough. Still, I downed more than half of it.
Besides, the other people at the table (who were taking things from each other's plates) didn't want any of the beef off of my plate.
That there's substandard beef.
Moo.
It was in this spirit that I, a vegetarian, ate beef last night.
After my last class I was exhausted and really wanted to go to bed. However, when Brandon invited me out to eat pizza with a bunch of students I jumped at the chance. I had wanted to be able to explore the city at night, but they had discouraged us from going out alone. Going out with the group would let me explore, and perhaps pick up some more Mongolian.
We walked down the street, passing stumbling drunks and begging street children. I was surprised to see them, as I had never seen either drunks or street children in that area during the daytime. Perhaps Mongolia has simply gotten better at hiding it's dark underside.
We continued down the street through the forest of flickering signs, passing brightly lit bars and dark, dusty construction sites. We had to cross the street, which was interesting since it was rush hour (as it always is). The speeding cars formed a river of blurred lights as they rushed past. fortunately our group was large. As we stepped out into the road the river of cars stopped and let us through, something that they rarely (if ever) do for a lone person.
We made it to the pizza place, which was actually a restaurant and bar. Unfortunately it was full, as was the next place. The students proposed that we go to a Mongolian restaurant, since it was cheaper anyway. Brandon was a bouncy ball of enthusiasm, which is saying something since he usually has all the expression of a wet beagle. I was just trying to keep my cookies down.
The restaurant smelled strongly of mutton and milk. This is distinctly different from lamb and American milk. Mongolian milk has it's own distinct smell, and mutton is... mutton. People describe it as "strong and gamey". I'm not exactly sure what the phrase "gamey" means, since dead sheep smells nothing like live deer, but that's what they say.
We sat down at a table and the Mongolians began enthusiastically discussion options as Brandon and I stared awkwardly at the all-mongolian menu. Hothlan, a girl from the school, soon began throwing options at us. I ordered egg and corn tea, having no idea what form of 'egg' I was getting, or what exactly 'corn tea' was.
Corn tea turned out to be an extremely dilute form of oatmeal, or perhaps sweetened milk with oats floating in it. It could be eaten or drunk, depending on one's mood. The egg, unfortunately, never arrived. Instead I relieved a plate of beef, potatoes, and pickled vegetables. I stared at the beef. It appeared to be mostly fat. Most of my experience with animal fat had come from dissecting dead things for purposes other than consumption, like study, or even for consumption by others.
But hey, as Brandon told me with a hint of disdain (aimed in my direction) this was Mongolia.
I, a vegetarian, ate several chunks of the extremely chewy beef. I continued this exercise of willpower until some of it got stuck in my teeth. At that point I began wondering exactly what manner of cow-bit was stuck in my chompers, and that was about enough. Still, I downed more than half of it.
Besides, the other people at the table (who were taking things from each other's plates) didn't want any of the beef off of my plate.
That there's substandard beef.
Moo.
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