The Mongolian Steppes

            I look at the ground in front of my plodding feet. The long grass is very green like the rest of the Mongolian countryside. Hills, trees, everything is green in the broad daylight. But the time of day is changing. Evening is beginning to fall, and that changes the colors. The hills that I am walking toward have changed from the smooth green to more of a rough golden hue. The ground changes under my feet as I cross the road. Calling it a road is something of an exaggeration though. It is really just a pair of tire tracks that cut through the grass extending in either direction as far as I can see. Right in front of me is a telephone pole that is only one in a series that runs parallel to the road. Once I walk by these though, the signs of human existence are all behind me.

            Shrubbery begins to appear. At first it is barely longer than the grass. But it begins to climb as I do. I glance at the plants, and begin to wonder which ones could cause me harm. Earlier one of the guides had warned be about stinging nettle. We were on the way to fetch firewood from the nearby grove. Next to the camps the river that watered the camp had carved a hill in the plateau. A short distance downstream the grove bridged the river, where there was a plentiful supply of fallen wood. I was climbing down the incline when my guide pointed to a plant and informed me that it was stinging nettle. There was such a mixture of plants in the general vicinity however, and I never figured out which one to be wary of. So as I was climbing the hills on the opposite side of the camp, I did my best to avoid all contact with anything that looked like it could do me harm. This was difficult since the hill was coated with knee high plants, and there was no discernable path.

            When I reached the top of the hill I was rewarded with a beautiful landscape. Hills, just like the small one I had just climbed created a skyline in the distance. Dozens are well lit nearby while others fade as the distance grows, requiring more imagination to see clearly. The valley in front of me appears to have some sort of building, but I cannot tell what it could be. The slope that lies at my feet is very steep, keeping me from traveling any further. Trees are thinly scattered across the hillside. Several are crowning the hill near where I am standing. There are also several exposed rocks along the ridge. I decide to turn back and find a nice open spot facing the sun to settle in.

            As I walk along the hill, I notice that the shrubbery has become shorter. I look at it and realize that it is small rather uncomfortable looking plants, very different from the grass at the bottom. The fact that this looks smooth and green from the bottom of the hill reminds me of home. Near where I live the hills appear very smooth and yellow. Driving by on the freeway it looks rather comfortable and fun to play in. But upon closer inspection the plants turn out to be waist high plants with seeds that attach themselves to clothing with ease. If these stickers are not painful they are annoying and somewhat destructive to clothing. One of my friends said that while before she had thought that these hills looked nice, she would forever remember that they are covered with some incredibly uncomfortable plants. As I look at the small plants that I crush with relative ease, I am thankful that they are so small compared to those not only at home, but those further down the hill too.

            I found a place to rest and looked out. Here was the rest of the world. Everything nearby sloped down. The hill I had just climbed ended in the field I had just crossed. On this field lay the camp, several Mongolian gers, round huts designed to withstand the harshest winters. Even further was the river, and behind that a grove of trees. Looking at the river I was reminded by my damp underwear of the events that had taken place right before my trek. Having been out on the steppes for several days at this point, riding horses, sleeping on the ground, and shoveling massive amounts of animal feces I was beginning to get dirty. I had gone down to the river with several of the guys to bathe. We stripped down to our boxers and climbed in the water. But getting in was more difficult than I had imagined. The first problem to overcome was the cold. The water was so cold that within a minute of being in it body parts went numb. This would have been manageable if entry were a gentle slope. Instead there was a sharp drop off ending in many slippery rocks. The first step in the river sent me knee deep. The second almost sent me tumbling as I tried to keep my balance. Eventually I got about waist deep and just stood there. I had no desire to freeze my whole body, and everyone else was taking their time. Eventually the others climbed in, and we all went under as a group to prove our manhood. By this time though, the lower half of my body was numb, and I decided that some sun and warmth was necessary. So I climbed out to the shore, slipping every time I set my foot down and getting muddy as the last step send me careening into the bank. Sun drying immediately had helped, but I was still cold from the river, so I climbed the hill, and lay out in the sun to bring my body temperature back to something that would not concern a doctor.

            When my veins stop griping at me, I look at more than what lies directly ahead of me. To my right the impending sunset forces me to squint, so I do not take the time to look at the neighboring gers that I know lay in that direction. Instead my gaze is drawn to the left. There I see more short hills like my peak. Shadows begun to grow from those hills. Little do I know how those hills will play into my life in the near future. Later I would go chasing some sheep and goats who had wandered into the shadow of these hills. As I would move out of the sunlight and into the darkness, I would become cold. Only the active pursuit of the wandering sheep will keep me warm. I would follow the sheep on the ground, while my professor would climb the hill as nimbly as the mountain goats he was chasing. As I will round up the sheep, I will clap my hands, both for warmth and to scare the sheep in the general direction I want them to go. After herding sheep I would return to the camp after sunset, finding warmth only in the fire. As I would go to bed, I will wrap myself well in my sleeping bag, but even that would not keep me warm, and I would succumb to the cold. But currently I am still sitting in the sunlight, warming myself like a lizard.

            I hear laughter behind me and turn to see some of my friends behind me, joking together. They strike up a conversation with me, but we are soon interrupted by some more of the people in our group. They are chasing a herd of sheep who have wandered up to us. We are already in a position to lead the sheep the right direction, so we get up and start to send the sheep in the correct direction. And so I begin my adventure that would eventually end in cold. But the cold is not the end of my story. When I will wake up the next morning I will step outside into the wonderfully warm sunlight. I will again become active, doing things that warm my muscles, and rid my body of the chills that have taken up residence there. In the morning the sun will end not only the chill of night, but also the middle ground in which I currently reside. Warmth will reign, and I will be content.

Soma

            Soma was surprising to me. I did not know what to expect when I got to Nibo Jibon. All I had heard was that I’d be working with street boys, but that did not mean anything to me. I had imagined that there would be orphan boys who had been taken in by the Missionaries of Charity. I did not expect it to be a home for mentally and physically handicapped children. So when I walked through the gate into the courtyard where the boys spent their time I was surprised. As I walked by the children on the way to the volunteer room in order to drop off my stuff I saw many different people boys. Some were crippled, others had vacant stares. None of the boys seemed capable of higher functions. I went into another room to begin working with children, and that is where I met Soma.

            His most distinct feature was his head. From his eyes down it looked normal. One tooth was shorter than the rest, and slightly crooked. And when he looked at me I was never quite sure if he was looking at me or past me. These differences were easy to overlook compared to the top of his head. Right above his eyes it expanded sideways until it was about twice as wide as it should have been. It was also much taller than normal. This made me think of the protagonist from the recent cartoon movie Megamind. Even with a large head, he was rather short; standing next to me he was shorter than my shoulder.

            As I walked into the room where many children were sitting Soma gestured to me. I was neither sure what he was doing or who he was gesturing to. His palm was facing the ground and he curled his fingers. After being confused for a few seconds I decided action was necessary, and I walked over. He patted the ground next to him. I understood this gesture much better. Sitting next to him he looked very intently, placed the tips of all his fingers together so that his hand formed a cone, and started moving it toward and away from his mouth rapidly. Then, with the most concerned expression, he pointed at me and said, “Eenh?”

            This took the cake for confusing me. I did not know what to think. Was he asking if I wanted to eat? Or if I had eaten? I never found out. He simply kept asking in the same fashion. I decided that the safest answer was “no” since that would not result in me being handed food by a mentally challenged child. When I finally told him no, he looked at me, concerned, and said, “No?” while waving his hand at me. When I confirmed, “No,” he adopted a very pitying expression and said, “Oh…” and took my head in his arm, pulled it into his chest, and patted my head. This interview happened several times throughout my time with Soma, with a different reaction every time. Sometimes he just looked downcast; at others he patted my shoulder and would start rubbing my back. Every time though he seemed extremely saddened by the fact that I said no to his query.

            The more time I spent with Soma, the more I could see his intelligence. When I looked into his eyes he seemed to have plenty of thoughts that he could not express. He also had retention skills that far exceeded the other boys. When one of the workers suggested that he sing, he was very shy about it at first, but then he really started to go for it. Though his lack of clear speech and knowledge of the English language made it impossible for me to understand his words, it was clear to me that he had something that he was saying. And I grew more impressed with his intelligence.

            This also may have had to do with the other boys I was interacting with. While working with the boys, I met children with many different problems. One boy was so deformed that he was permanently confined to a wheelchair, his arms always over his head. His brain was not functioning properly either since he always had this overly-excited look on his face. Another boy would wander around with one hand clasping my arm, the other holding a bottle cap to his mouth. As he walked he would make one of two noises. “Bula bula bula,” was the noise he would make as his one open eye would fixate on the ambulance that was parked in the yard. Or he would make a deep gurgling noise as if he were trying very hard to clear some mucus deep in his throat. The boys in the home had so many problems and looked so strange that in comparison the Down syndrome boy living at the home appeared rather normal.

            There was something more about Soma though. He was not normal looking in the least. Instead, what stood out was his compassion. Helpers were in limited supply. Helpers like me, who spent their time playing with the children, were a treat that was few and far between for the boys. I could only do so much for the boys. So when it came to spending time with them, every boy wanted a small piece of me, including Soma. Soma acted differently however. As I would sit with him he would enjoy my company. When someone else needed attention however, he would immediately give up his position. He was willing to claim my attention, but when he recognized a need greater than his own he would allow for that need to be filled.

            And that need was not necessarily to be taken care of but to be given attention. When sitting with Soma, he would do nice things for me as often as not. I remember sitting next to him and thinking, “He is giving me a hand massage.” I did contemplate trying to massage his hand in return, but decided against since he was always commanding, and if I did not follow his orders exactly, I was gestured at until I complied. Like when we were sitting on the floor together cross-legged and he told me to take off my shoes. I did not understand right away and his actions become more exaggerated until one of the other volunteers told me that he wanted my shoes off. He was very happy after I took them off, but always insisted that they sit behind my back.

            Soma also acted at a protector on several occasions. Due to the mentally unstable nature of the boys, some underestimated their strength and would use that strength on me. Being unwilling to fight with mentally handicapped children, I would not do anything. Soma, however, had no qualms about beating them off. Some of the boys also took interest in my shoes that Soma had asked me to remove. He did not like this at all. So he would tell the other boys, “No!” and take my shoes from them. Then he would hand them to me and tell me where to put them so that they would be safe.

            Soma also became fascinated with my pants. Because of the ground conditions in Kolkata, I had rolled my pants up to just below my knees. This piqued Soma’s interest. He had me sit on a planter so that he could get a clear look at my legs. Then he sat on the ground and started unrolling my pants. He was very methodical about his task. And when he finished, he suddenly became engaged with the zipper. After thoroughly investigating the zipper he rolled them back up. This was impressive to me because he rolled them up to the same exact height, and rolled them better than I did most of the time.

            As I was leaving Nibo Jibon I decided to look into Soma a little bit more. There was a board on the wall that gave information about all of the people living in the homes. It told the name of the boy, their ailment a picture of them and sometimes had a description about them. The diseases ranged from mental retardation to “weakness.” I scanned for Soma and found his picture and learned his name. His ailment was described as “mental retardation.” I thought to myself, “There is no way that is the extent of his problems. He is too smart to be mentally retarded.” Then I looked at the date of birth. It was in 1994. That meant he was eighteen years old, and two years younger than me. But he acted more like my seven-year-old nephew. All of a sudden I found myself agreeing with the sign.

The Bald Adventure

            It had finally come to pass. I looked at myself in the dirty mirror with a cloth wrapped around my neck. The barber stood behind me preparing his tools. Weeks earlier Professor Lee, our team leader, had talked about it. He said that Beijing would be a good place to do it. Unfortunately though, we never got around to doing it while in China. I assumed Professor Lee had a plan, but he did not. On one of our last days we looked for a place, but since it was so last minute we were unable to find a suitable place. So we put it off until we could find a place in Vietnam. That is when we found ourselves in Phu Tha Province, where I got more than I had anticipated.

            We had been working in the commune helping them construct a drainage trench. The health center for the whole commune had some nearby water build up. Since the water was stagnant it became a mosquito breeding ground. Our objective was to construct a water runoff conduit to allow the water to flow into the rice patties.

            The people in Phu Tha were very welcoming. It felt good to do manual labor with the natives and contribute to their project. Unfortunately due to rain, often our work was cancelled. Such was the case on the day I shaved my head. In lieu of mixing more cement, we had plans to visit homes and learn about the lives of the villagers. But first, it was time for a haircut. Professor Lee had located a barber and decided it was time for us to finally shave our heads. I was excited, but my stomach churned with apprehension.

            A large group sought out the barber. When we arrived everyone was making a commotion about how excited or nervous they were. Several doubted my looks without hair. As people still congregated around the outdoor barber’s chair, Adam looked at me and said, “Nick, you’re first.” That caught me off guard. I didn’t want to be first. Something could go wrong. Or the naysayers may be right and my hairless scalp will look bad. Then I realized that I was going to do this, so there was no reason to hesitate. I said, “Oh, okay,” and sat down.

            Then Nat, an American grad student doing research with the health center and our amateur translator, eventually explained what I wanted to the barber. Then the clippers came out and all the hair came off. Many exclamations of surprise followed as my scalp, which had not seen the sun for many years, reflected every source of nearby light. Then the barber pulled out a straight razor and started scraping every hair off my head. I was so focused on what he was doing and the pain that emanated through my scalp that I failed to realize that most people had wandered back to the commune headquarters. After having everything but my goatee shaved, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “Not bad.”

            Next it was my friend Wesley’s turn. Having done this before he had no qualms about cleaning everything off his head. As the barber began the process of shaving his head, I explored the feeling of having no hair. With the Vietnamese humidity, any refreshing breeze that cooled my scalp was delightful. I rubbed my smooth head and smiled, this was a good choice.

            Unfortunately though, time had run out. Getting our heads shaved had taken longer than anticipated, so the rest of the interested parties could not get their heads shaved. In fact, while Wesley was still half hairless, the rest of our group had to leave for the tour. I stayed behind with Wesley, Josh, one of our leaders, and Nat. Once we were finished, we were supposed to meet with our group outside of the health center and complete the rest of the tour with them. But abiding by the laws of APC, “All Plans Change,” that did not work as expected.

            We walked over to the health center and discovered that our group would arrive in a short while. So we stood outside the health center, in the middle of red clay talking about anything from the dead dragonfly that one of the village boys handed to Josh to Nat’s life plans. After spending about an hour talking and getting to know both Nat and my teammates better, we decided to do something.

            With nothing but the health center nearby, Nat suggested we go in and start our visit early. We walked into the nearly deserted courtyard. As we peered into the different rooms we saw one filled with people who I would later learn were doctors. Nat went up and asked them if they would mind if we looked around. Somehow amidst all of the Vietnamese being spoken, none of which I understood, we were invited into the office with the doctors. The old 90s Windows screen saver was the brightest thing in the room. The barber shop seemed as sterile as the dark smoky room we were sitting in.

            We sat at a short table with several doctors. They poured us bitter green tea and offered us cigarettes. After we all refused, they started smoking. The more tea we drank from our small cups, the more they poured. There was only so much of the bitter brew that I could drink, so as they kept pouring I remembered that in Vietnamese culture if a person finished something that meant that they wanted more. So on my final cup I just took a sip and let it be. No one seemed offended, and I was relieved.

            Sitting in the health office proved to be quite an interesting experience. None of the doctors spoke any English, and only Nat could speak any Vietnamese. This meant that all communication went through Nat, and since his Vietnamese was limited all conversation was slow and halting. We slowly struggled through the normal pleasantries, hello, what’s your name, how old are you, where are you from, etc. Then came the question I was not expecting, “Are any of you married?” While Nat told all of the doctors that none of us had married in Vietnamese I had time to ponder the situation. I could not understand why the doctors had asked us that question. Perhaps they were trying to set us up with some nice Vietnamese girls. Maybe they were trying to find husbands for their granddaughters. I was not used to being asked that question by a group of older men.

            All of this worry came to naught. Later I discovered that it was customary for Vietnamese to ask if someone was married. It would be the American equivalent of asking what someone did for a living. I found out that there was much depth to the Vietnamese marriage culture. Every person had lucky years to get married depending on the year of their animal. My lucky years to marry turned out to be at age twenty, twenty-four and thirty. I also discovered I should marry a woman older than me. This was lucky for me since my girlfriend was already older than I was. All I had to do was convince her that we needed to marry in a certain auspicious time frame and everything would be fine.

            As I sat there stupefied and somewhat concerned, Nat’s next question seemed less strange, “Do any of you have a girlfriend?”

            I said, “I do.” He then asked how long I had been dating and I told him two years. This seemed to pacify the doctors. The conversation continued in Vietnamese, and I sat back relieved and sipped my tea once again. As soon as I set my cup down it was refilled by one of the doctors.

            As I sat in my reverie Nat carried on with the doctors. I was more than happy to not be the center of attention. I smiled to myself as I rubbed my freshly smooth head. However Nat soon turned to us and asked, “Would you like to see a baby that has just been born?”

            Josh looked at Wesley and me and said, “Sure.” But we were all puzzled. If the baby had just been born, how was it that we had heard nothing and the doctors were sitting with us sipping tea? Seeing our confused expressions, Nat explained as we crossed the courtyard, “The Vietnamese are very shy about things like this. Often times there will be no noise. Sometimes, even, a woman will be walking around the room and just, plop! The baby comes out.” This fact impressed us.

            We then followed one of the doctors into the room where the woman was recovering. Her whole family turned and looked at us as we entered. They stared at us in confusion as the contingent of four large Americans walked in. We smiled and offered our congratulations, which I am sure none of them understood. The room was so bare that it only compared to the barbershop in the number of people filling the space. Nat then discovered that the birth had been two hours prior, and shared this news with us. That cleared up all of our questions. After smiling and saying goodbye we stepped out and mulled it over. It was an interesting coincidence that since I shaved my head I was able to see the new life.

If You Traveled the World...

            Concordia’s Around-the-World Semester is quite a unique experience. You get to circumnavigate the globe, visit amazing sites like the Great Wall of China or Machu Picchu, and meet people who live very different from you. Each residence, however, is a different beast. From the steppes of Mongolia to the Super 8 Happy Dragon Hotel Hostel in Beijing, each place that you live in will be quite different. Adjusting to these abnormalities in your life will be a trying experience. This is written to give you a brief idea about what you may or may not encounter when you visit each destination.

Terelj National Park, Ger Home Stay, Mongolia. $260 a day:

            The first thing that will happen when you arrive is that you will be given a horse and told to ride. With no experience, you will have to focus too much on the horse and will miss the green rolling hills that surround you. Eventually though you will arrive at a destination and hope that you can finally rest, but unfortunately you will discover that it is only a short stop for lunch. So you will clamber back on your horse, and blindly follow the leaders until suddenly they lead you into a grove where you will have to set up camp.

            You will grab two roommates and pitch a tent in the small glade with everyone else. Then, you will charge up a large hill wheezing like an asthmatic and passing real ones in order to look out over the Mongolian steppes. At the top you will discover a shamanistic altar. As the sun sets you realize that that is your light source and you should get off the mountain before it is all gone. After a dinner of rice mixed with vegetables, you will take turns with your Mongolian guides singing songs from your native lands. After witnessing a shooting star you go to bed.

            The next morning you decide to sleep instead of getting up early to gallop on horses with your friends. This means getting more sleep but missing out on an adventure. You will decide it was not that important, and pack up before breakfast. Then you get back on a horse and begin your ride back. Your guides will tell you to go faster if you desire. This will go well for a while, but eventually one of your group will get thrown from the horse. This will cause everyone else to become scared, and high speeds will be discouraged. Eventually you will reach camp and ride in feeling like an expert rider.

Super 8 New Dragon Hotel/Hostel, Beijing China. $20 per night. 8610-52190188:

            When you first arrive you will discover that you are uncertain what you are going to reside in, or even the name. One sign says Super 8 Hotel and the other says New Dragon Hostel. But soon enough you won’t care since the air conditioning feels so nice compared to the sweltering Beijing heat.

            Once in your room you will pull out only what you need and let the rest of your bag get strewn across the narrow floor. Then you will explore the building and discover a bar/restaurant/social hangout downstairs. While your bedroom resembled a hotel, this red room with masks and flags hanging everywhere is more like a hostel. After a long awaited and delicious flavor filled meal full of assorted Chinese dishes, you will return to your room and sort through the hotel amenity kit of toothbrushes and many types of soap. You will even note that the bar of soap comes from the Forbidden City Hostel, which is neither name you have seen before. Since you have everything you need you will swiftly lose interest.

            In the following days you will become more comfortable with the hotel. You will sleep later, and use more of the free services. Your roommates will also suspect that the cleaning ladies have gone through your stuff without actually cleaning your room. This will concern you considering you just read a story by Rolf Potts about his bananas being stolen by the hotel cleaning ladies. But since nothing seems to have disappeared you feel safe.

            Toward the end of your stay you will notice that the bathroom has taken on a strange odor. This will lead to the discovery that your toilet does not rid itself of anything but liquids. And since all of your friends have decided to use your bathroom instead of the squatty-potties, there is quite a load building up. Though somehow the cleaning ladies remove all of the excrement the next day, the problem persists, and you will be glad that you only have a little time left.

Nha Nghi Hoang Giall, Pho Thang, Vietnam. $23 per night. 0210 2487 015:

            When you awake from you late night nap on the bus and discover you have arrived, you will stumble out into a light drizzle to get your room assignment. As orders are being given, you realize that your sole roommate for the next week will be the only junior high boy on the trip, Matt. This will cause you some concern since your only interactions have either left you confused or concerned. You accept it though, feeling a sense of martyrdom as you trudge to your room.

            It will be as you unpack that your worst fears on the trip will be realized here: bugs. Your neighbor, Seth, will invite you to his room and point out a spot on the wall. As you peer through the dim light you will realize that he is pointing at a spider the size of your hand. You will return to your room and keep a wary eye out for anything that could cause harm. Matt will find the only spider worth note in the bathroom. Feeling a sickening feeling you will decide to leave it be, hoping that maybe it will be struck by lightning, or something of that persuasion. Unfortunately nothing of that sort happens and you have to go to bed hoping that your mosquito net will save you if it suddenly becomes rabid in the middle of the night.

            Bugs are only a small part of your problem at this point though. As you try to read and journal before going to bed Matt will insist on having a conversation, and will talk straight through your entire night. Entirely exhausted, you hope sleep assails him quickly, which it does, and you are left in peace.

The Mountain

            It started as a statement. “I think we should climb that mountain.” It changed to a challenge. “You can’t make it there and back in time.” It ended as an accomplishment. “We did that with time to spare!”

            Our team had just arrived at Bayan Gobi, the small camp on the edge of the Gobi desert. After unpacking and settling into our hut, I was taking in my surroundings. The most outstanding feature was the large mountain a distance outside of camp. The mountain piqued my interest, and as I was itching to break out my camera I thought it would be fun to climb it. I mentioned the possibility to Seth Preuss, who was intrigued, but questioned our ability to have the time. So we sought out Adam Lee who informed us that we had an hour until dinner, giving us an hour to accomplish our mission. We thought it would be fun to include others. However, we encountered naysayers.

            Most people we talked to said that they would rather make for the much more attainable goal of visiting the dunes of the Gobi. Zach Oedewaldt was rather vocal about his opposition to our plan. “You will never make it to the top. Have fun at the tree line at the base!” We were not daunted. Instead we accepted the challenge and took off.

            The large plain that was between us and the base of the mountain was a lot rougher than it appeared. With the time out on the grasslands, I had time to reflect on why I was marching across the Mongolian steppes by the Gobi Desert at all. I was a part of twenty seven students who were given the opportunity to travel around the world and study for one semester. Mongolia was our first stop of ten countries we would visit on this trip. While visiting each country we would read a book from the country’s history, one from its modern era, and explore while participating in mission projects. This trip to the Gobi was part of our exploration of Mongolia. The huts which were staying it were also part of our cultural immersion in Mongolia. These huts, in Russia known as yurts but in Mongolia called gers, are the primary residences of the Mongolian nomads who wander the steppes with their herds and flocks. To me this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I wanted to make the most of it. Trudging across the bumpy grasslands, I realize that that is the reason I am even trying to make the top of the hill, so that I don’t miss a single opportunity.

            Seth and I decide to bring our pace up to a light jog. This is difficult for me as I am carrying a camera and running across ground that is as smooth as the ocean during a gale. Even considering that, we got pretty far before we were stalled. There was a small creek which blocked our path. After debating whether to make a jump for it and trust our luck or to use the minimal stepping stones, we came to a decision. Seth leapt first so that I could see how it was before trying while holding a camera. Clearing the stream with ease we continued our jog to the base of the mountain.

            Shortly after crossing the creek we reached the base of the hill and began our climb. The minor hill, which was about half the vertical climb, was achieved. I looked at my watch and saw that only eight minutes had elapsed; so much for not making the tree line at the base of the hill. We stopped, took pictures, made videos, and then decided we could make the ridge at the top. So after skirting what appeared to be a shamanistic altar with a horse skull on top we continued our march up the ever increasing incline.

            Due to the cold air, the light jog, the hard climb and the high elevation, I was wheezing as we continued to climb. Making periodical stops, we climbed such a steep grade that I was almost forced to use my hands to stabilize myself. Twenty minutes after our initial take off and a few feet below Seth, I heard him say, “Well this is definitely worth it.” And mounting the ridge, I agreed. Stretching out in front of me was the Mongolian landscape, large fields of greenery, gentle sloping hills. Off to my right I looked and the green broke in a solid line and gave way to the sandy dunes of the Gobi Desert. The scene was quite a sight to behold. Quite impressed, I whipped out my camera so that I wouldn’t miss a moment.

            As I fired my camera, adjusting settings and angles, Seth started building a shrine. He took small pebbles and started using them to form a cross. When I asked his reasoning he said, “The pagans shouldn’t be the only ones to have an altar here, so I’m making this one, and higher up too.” Proud of his efforts I tried to snap pictures of the rocks, but they blended too well, so nothing showed up. Disappointed, I switched my photos to personal victory shots. Seth posed for me as I snapped pictures of him pointing to our ger camp in the far off distance. Then I handed off my camera and showed him how to operate it so that the pictures would turn out. After he snapped a few of me, we decided to contemplate the world around us. Unfortunately, we did not have the time to wait for sun set, so we headed off our mountain, feeling successful.

            The hike down was less strenuous when one considers the strength aspect. In light of balance, and fear of falling, it was a much more intimidating climb. Leaning back and choosing my foot placement carefully I slowly made my way off the steep part of the mountain. All the while, whether from exhilaration of escaping a near death experience or from the desire to fill the silence I am not sure, I babbled, talking about strange and pointless things. Once I realized this I laid off in order to allow my companion to enjoy the scenery without my interference.

            Once we climbed all the way off the mountain, we took stock of the time and decided we did not need to run across the large field, but a brisk walk would do. We took off at a swift march and soon encountered the stream we crossed before. This was a cause for concern. Before we had leapt and succeeded, but coming back we realized that that would not work since the bank we were currently on was lower than the other. We paced, and contemplated jumping, but seeing as I had my expensive camera and was wearing jeans, I decided against. We widened our search, hoping for a good jumping point or some handy stepping stones. Soon we encountered some stones that seemed to suffice. There was one just breaking the surface of the water that was large and flat, then a narrow one that provided only a corner to walk on. I decided that Seth could go first so that I could see if I would be able to manage with a camera. His foot slipped in as he walked upon the narrow stone, which caused concern on my part. Having failed and discovering why, Seth was able to coach me to basically run and I would make it. Having nothing but time to lose by waiting, I went for it. Happily only the rubber soles of my shoes got wet and I was able to carry on.

            The only think at that point keeping us from achieving our goal was a large field. Checking the time and realizing that we had over a quarter of an hour left, we realized that our goal was almost assured. With this in mind, we decided to try and beat Zach back from his trek out to the sand dunes. We walked into camp, and it appeared vacant of our team except for Ellie Johnson who was playing with some small children who were denizens of the camp. Unable to find anyone else we played with the children until we heard a commotion and assumed it was the rest of our party. Seeking them out, we used the opportunity to gloat.

            “Have fun at the trees you said. Well we made it to the top of the mountain!”

            “I wanna see pictures! Picts or it didn’t happen!”

            “You want pictures? Look, here’s me. There’s Seth. And you can see the rest of the mountain in this one.”

            “Alright, I believe you. Good job. Those are some nice pictures.”

            Pleased with myself for having had a mountain top experience, I decided it was time to settle down and grab some dinner to celebrate my victory.

All About Mongolia

            I figure I should update everyone. Mongolia was largely a success. I was so busy the whole time I really didn’t have the time to update my blog. We were teaching English to high school and college age students at Mongolian International University.

            Mongolia International University, fondly called MIU, is an international Christian school, taught completely in English and run primarily by Koreans. It is located in Ulaan Baatar, capitol of Mongolia, and really the only city of note as over half the population of Mongolia lives in the city. Most of our time was spent in the small area of the city around our dormitories where we live, and MIU where we taught an English camp. This was quite an interesting experience since we were given very little instruction, and were told to teach. Not having done this before, I was lost, but by the third class period I caught on. This continued until I really found out what I was doing. I became bold. By the end of the camp I was getting along very well with my students, and sad to see them go. We had a performance at the end of the camp where the classes had to show off their English skills. My class presented 6 tongue twisters, with good pronunciation. I was very proud.

            There were many other things which we did in the city. There was a black market during the Soviet occupation of Mongolia. When it no longer needed to be underground, it just changed to a large swap meet. You could find almost anything in there. Unfortunately the first section I blindly wandered into was predominated by female intimate apparel. To say the least I felt terribly awkward and so out of place. We moved on however, and after that I felt much better. I looked at knives and other somewhat masculine items, but didn’t make any purchases.

We also visited some historical sites in Mongolia. We went to the palace of the Bogd Khan. This was the man who started the up rise against the Chinese oppressors. It was a majestic place full of artwork. We also had the opportunity to visit a museum that gave much of Mongolia’s history. It was an interesting place full of artifacts, and interesting relics.

            The food was awesome. Mostly it consisted of meat and rice. The meat varied, he rice didn’t. But every day it continued to be delicious. We had opportunities to eat out on several occasions. One we went to was a distinctly Mongolian restaurant named City Nomads. There were served large amounts of food. So much that people stuffed themselves, and were feeling queasy after. Later that evening we were invited into the residence of a man we had befriended, because he wanted us to try his wife’s meat. Feeling full, most of us hoped to eat only a little, but we were informed that we weren’t leaving until we finished everything. Everyone kept it down, but limits were certainly tested.

            I also went to an Indian and Mexican restaurant one evening. Their claim to fame was that they were the only one in Mongolia. I will contend the world, but I’ll look for more just in case. I also went to a Turkish restaurant that looked so awesome. When I walked in the room was full of smoke. This was merely accidental as on the exhaust vent was broken. But it added very well considering the rest of the décor was a cave setting. There were pebbles laying on the ground, and gigantic cobras that formed chairs. Some chairs were faux stone benches with fur padded seating and while others were large wooden backed throne like chairs. It was a great place to go if for no other reason than the atmosphere.

            We also got to visit the countryside. The first time we went to a ger camp by the Gobi Desert. A ger in Russian known as a yurt, is a traditional Mongolian dwelling. They are round huts that can apparently be broken down by two men in two hours. We rented out several of these to sleep in. Then I decided to go climb a mountain and take some pictures. Once back I went into the gigantic dinner ger which just left the doors open, which meant birds were nesting inside. It was interesting to have birds flying over as we ate. After dinner we had class inside of a ger, then I went on a hike with several of the guys to go look at the stars. The next day we went to Karkorum, Chinggis Khan’s son’s capitol, then back to UB.

            On our last days in Mongolia we went deep into the Mongolian countryside. It started with boarding off-roading vans, and heading out. The roads, or rather paths which we drove on were so bumpy that we were bouncing and sliding all over our van. We reached a river, and jokingly talked of fording it. Then, the first van actually attempted it. They got stuck and had to get towed out by a military truck. Then we found another pass, and forded with ease. Our off roading adventure continued until we reached our camp.

            When we reached the camp we were taught how to ride horses. They told us how to climb on the horse, how to say go, and how to make the horse stop. Then we were all handed horses and told to go. It was very interesting to try to figure out how to ride a horse with so little instruction. We rode for hours, even deeper into the countryside. We then stopped for lunch then took off again. When we eventually got to camp, we set up tents, and then climbed a mountain. Of course I took pictures at the top. We spent the night with our guides singing and playing games. The next morning we packed up and rode back to the camp where the horses came from.

            Once there, we settled in and enjoyed just hanging out and having class on the Mongolian steppes. The next day we did chores around the camp. I had to carry water from the river up to the camp, and then I was given the task of cleaning out poo. We were clearing it off the ground where the pens were, then throwing it off the edge of a steep hill. After such difficult and dirty work, we rewarded ourselves with a swim in the ice-cold river. After drying off I went into the mountains to read until I was recruited to help herd sheep. That was a fun experience. The next day we got back up and drove into the city, stopping at different sites, including a gigantic statue of Chinggis Khan. The next day we left Mongolia and flew into Beijing. It was a great three weeks and a great way to start my trip.

First Flight

            Flying is still quite a new experience for me, especially international flying. I was able to follow others to get by. Imitating others while checking my luggage and walking through security was simple. Climbing on a plane, easy enough. Unfortunately, I do not know airplane etiquette so I was very timid at first. I always wanted to ask for advice: What did they say? May I open this? Is it okay for me to ask for that? Can I go to the bathroom now? But I wanted to be self-reliant so I just did things and didn’t get yelled at.

            I started the flight off by talking with classmates and enjoying the ride. Once I settled down, I started doing reading for classes. I read The Gray Earth, or at least the portion due on Friday. While doing that I received an interesting in-flight meal. Fish, I believe; rice; corn with, possibly, mayonnaise; raspberry yogurt; and a roll. For quite a while I poked around at the corn, wondering what it could possibly be. I finally decided on eatable and almost finished it. After reading I decided to take a break and watch a movie: John Carter, don’t waste your time.

            Once I finished the movie the second cycle of my flight began. I decided it was time to be studious and hit the books again. I read about half of the Mongolian Folk tales before getting bored. Feeling more confident I got up, stretched and chatted with friends. Then I found some in-flight music on the personal touch screens and enjoyed the sounds of Eric Whitacre. More reading followed. After finishing my assignment, I decided it was time to watch Citizen Kane. As I watched I was served another meal. Fried rice, beef, and surprisingly mango shortcake were much better than spruced up corn and fish.

            Eventually I was tired and comfortable enough to curl up under my blanket and sleep. I woke up an hour and a half later in time for the descent. Plummeting toward the ground is much more effective at waking one up than a cup of coffee. After only twelve hours of flying we finally landed in the city of Beijing having lost twenty-eight hours. Here begins the start of my first international experience.