Pictures

I took another trip to the river. This time the taxi driver didn't even ask me if I was Russian, he just started speaking to me in Russian as soon as I got in. I told him I was American, and then he began speaking to me in Mongolian. They always assume I know more than I do, but I got most of it.
Anyway, I guess I should shut up and post the pictures. Click on the pictures to enlarge them.

Here is the frozen river, with some barely visible me-tracks.

A bunch of guys were playing a rather impressive game. They try to slide flat, smooth objects down this ice lane and get them in a target that's about 18 inches wide. They usually get them in.
I'm getting the feeling that Mongolians hate foreigners taking their picture. I asked if I could take a picture and they said yes, but I had to take three shots to get a decent one and they were starting to get annoyed by the third.
The sun setting behind the peace monument (the little dots area people going to the top).
Ice.....

Another me-track.

Skin off an elk's butt (8/10)

I have lost my nice elk skin gloves. During this sad time I would like to thank whoever gave the gloves to the person I stole them from. I would thank the person I stole them from, but that's just awkward.

I would also like to thank the (presumably) dead elk who donated the skin from his (or her) cold, lifeless behind to keep my hands warm.

However, one should not dwell on the loss of gloves. I have just returned from a short expedition to buy more gloves. On this expedition I discovered an interesting fact: Mongolians' love for hip-hop and rap extends to their fashion tastes.

Good for them.

Unfortunately, they have missed an important fact which I have shown on the map above. The range of the wild rapper (Aduro falsus) does not extend north of 40 degrees (except in France, and they're just weird). In fact, it is usually restricted to even lower latitudes, though warm currents in the western Atlantic permit it to live as far north as New York.

Put more simply:

Really though, I don't care. Mongolians can listen to whatever music they like. The only part that bugs me is that since rappers don't wear warm gloves, Mongolians don't wear warm gloves. The only gloves they have are eastern European style lady's gloves, which are about as good for insulation as saran-wrap.

Eventually I found some moderately warm gloves in the stall of an outdoor vendor. It was then that I ran into another problem: compared to the average Mongolian's hands, my hands are like dinner plates. Oh well, that which cannot be avoided must be accepted, or in this case squeezed into.

I'm really happy. This morning at church I ran into the two air traffic controllers who dropped out of my class two weeks ago. They actually came! They didn't go to my class (or rather, to the class that is mine when there's no one else to teach it), but they came for Sabbath school and church.
I have a video clip from church. The random girl is someone's daughter... though I suppose that is true about all random girls.


Not much else to say. Happy times are uneventful.

Silence (6/10)

At eight in the morning opened the inner door of the school and stood the entryway. I checked each pocket: keys, wallet, cellphone, and camera were all there as I had placed them.

I took a final breath then opened the door, stepping out into the bright sunshine of another sub-zero winter day. Crossing the road, I caught a taxi and told the driver to head for the Peace Bridge, a bridge built by the Russians as a symbol of friendship between Russia and Mongolia. The driver looked at me in the rear view mirror, seemingly confused about something.

"Are you Russian?" he asked in Mongolian.
"No, American" I said.
The driver stared at me for a few more seconds, contemplating the idea of an American wandering around alone on a sunny winter morning for no apparent reason.
I absolutely love being mistaken for something other than what I am. Not that being an American is bad, it's just cool to know you could just as easily be something else.

He drove me to the Peace Bridge, and from there I directed him to the bridge crossing the Toll river (fittingly, the Peace Bridge goes from nowhere to nowhere without crossing much of anything). When we got there he told me I wanted to go to Tsai San, the peace monument near the River that is a popular place to walk around taking pictures.

"Nope, river" I said in my limited Mongolian.

I walked down to the frozen river and put on my skates. The ice was covered with a thin layer of snow, and there wasn't a sound to be heard save the cawing of the crows and magpies. There were paths in the snow from countless people going to draw water from holes in the ice, but there were no people drawing water now.

I skated for two hours, completely alone.

Then my cellphone rang. Igtil, the front desk worker at the school, was calling to ask when I was going to show up to the meeting on increasing enrollment. Dangit. No one had told me what time (or what day) the meeting was.

I rushed back to the bridge, put on my boots, and hailed a taxi. After I told the taxi driver where to go he looked at me in the rear view mirror and asked me why I was out of breath. I held up my skates, which seemed to satisfy him. He then said it was a bit cold out. "No, morning cold, but now not cold" I said. He then looked at me again with a new question.

"Are you Russian?"

boo-yah!




Bird tracks and wing marks in the snow.

A picture from before the river got covered in snow.

Colder

Here's the video for -20. The next one will be for -30, which should take a few weeks.

The weather still says -20, even though it's only -10. Someone needs to be fired.

Whenever I post a video I get a bunch of comments from people on youtube telling me I'm an ignorant loser. I'm not sure how they deduce this from a 30 second clip, but I thank them for their insightful comments. Thanks to their efforts, I have been able to stop being both ignorant and a loser. It's really amazing how helpful inarticulate critisism is.
Anyway, this video doesn't need an introduction. I give you, video:

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Being a missionary means all manner of extremes. Or not, either way.

Exactly like everything else, only different (6/10)

Dance on the edge of meaning
The thin ice adores you
The cold is your warmth, but you'll find that
The moment is always fleeting
And like those before you
A zephyr in arms
Is the one thing, the best thing, the last thing to carry you
Under the ice where the fire is tearing you
Up to the depths of insanity, bearing you
Softly, for pain loses shape

Chance is the briefest meeting
The way that's before you
That told you "belong", and you'll find that
A soft touch is always leading
And it will adore you, with love for a son
Like the last time, the first time, the thought is continuous
Just like the best time, the time when he met with us
Two will be lonely, yet one won't be lonely at all
Though alone he may fall
And there, die
not at all

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Being a missionary means learning what Jesus meant by "seek and you will find"