by Justin
Stories
Dune
We ran out of water this week. Normally, when we run out of water it's no thang, we just go next door, fill up our 20 gallon osny sow (Mongolian for water container in transliterated Mongolian)and we're back in business. However, due to a string of events beyond our control, we were without water for roughly 36 hours. It all began on Tuesday when our haasha mother told Ashlie she was going to UB for the weekend. Irrelevant you are saying to yourself, but wait, I remember from jr. high English this is called foreshadowing. Then, on Tuesday night Ashlie said she was tired and didn't really feel like doing dishes. Hurray I thought, no dishes means I don't have to get water tonight. I would just get it in the morning. But by the time I got up, our haasha mother was gone to UB and her husband was at work. So morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned to evening, but still no EB (I am trying to keep him anonymous because our blog has a really big following here in Mandalgovi). Here's where the UB trip becomes important. Normally, both of them would be home by that time on a Wednesday night. But because she was gone to UB, EB did as many husbands do when the wife is away, he went out with the boys. He returned late that night, clearly under the influence, and loudly shouted "Yagat!?" (why?!) Not really sure what this was in reference to, but it is slightly humorous. So I thought, well I'll catch him in the morning. But he was up and at 'em pretty early considering the previous evening's outing and was again gone in the morning. So we sat there, trying to conserve every drop of moisture. We ate the only things that we could make without water. PB and J and grilled cheese sandwiches. FOOLS! The salty peanut butter gave me an insatiable thirst, but alas there was nothing to drink. I layed on the bed tossing back and forth. I kept imagining I was a character from the book Dune (it's a sci-fi book about this planet with very little water where the people have to wear suits that prevent their bodies from losing water for any of you non-nerds reading this). I thought I was going to die. My mind raced. What if he is gone to the countryside? What if he isn't coming back? What will we do? We're doomed I tell ya, DOOMED! Then Ashlie suggested we just go buy some bottled water. Oooohhh yeah, that's why I'm married. So we did, we made dinner, then we rehydrated. Then EB came home and we refilled. The end.
Pigs
There is a family of pigs in our town. The only pigs I've ever seen in Mongolia. The piglets have recently come of age and have begun roaming the town like their parents. The other day I was walking home from school and I saw the little piglets foraging near the playground by our house. I don't know why, but an urge came over me. Maybe it is the lack of pork products in my diet, maybe it is my inner child, maybe an inner sadist, but for whatever reason I had an urge. I stopped and looked around for possible witnesses. Seeing no one in the vicinity, I began walking towards the little swine. Slowly at first, stealthily even. I crept nearer and nearer. My stride lengthened, my pace quickened. Before I knew it I was chasing them across the alley, listening to them squeal as they ran away with evil delight. They ran across the playground and I stopped. Smirking and smiling with satisfaction, I began to stroll back towards my ger. As I walked by an apartment building, I heard a quick tapping at a window. I looked up and saw nothing. I looked back down and resumed walking. I heard the tapping again. I looked up and saw a child of maybe 5 or 6 or 7 looking down at me from his apartment window. My instant reaction was that he, like many of the children, just wanted to say hello to the American, so I waved. But he did not smile, or wave back. He just stared at me, with blank, expressionless eyes. Oh no, I thought, he saw what I did. He saw me chase the pigs. I began to walk faster in my shame, still looking back over my shoulder. Then as I was about to turn the corner, I saw him hold up his index and middle fingers in front of his eyes. He had seen me and was letting me know it. I'm not sure what exactly it was he saying to me, but the combination of his expression and gestures made me think he was saying, "We don't take kindly to foreign, pig-chasing scum 'round 'ere. Watch your ass." I will no longer chase pigs, or livestock of any sort in Mongolia.
The Shower House
Today was, in weather terminology, shitty. The increased frequency of "shitty" days this time of year is in direct correlation with the general negativity with which the climate of Mongolia is viewed. This also happens to be, as you faithful followers of the blog already know, my favorite day of the week. Shower day! So, Ashlie and I went through our morning rituals, bundled up, and headed for the shower house. We walked, heads down into a stiff Arctic wind blowing about 30 mph. It must have been into negative double digits with the wind chill. We walked silently, but resolutely into the beast, knowing that steamy, liquidy, cleansing salvation lay but a mere 10 minutes away. We made it. Strode triumphantly to the front door, pulled and... son of a bitch. Locked. About that time a Mongolian woman walked up to the door and pulled on the handle (because apparently we humble, simple Americans were standing in the cold because we are unfamiliar with the concept of, you know, pulling on the handle). She then looked at a paper taped to the window and said, "Arone nigen dzock" (11:00). I looked at my phone. 10:30. Damn. So we stood there, backs against the wall, waiting for the propietor of the establishment when up walked another young woman. I was familiar with this particular woman. She proceeded to talk to us rapidly in Mongolian and pick hairs off of our jackets, button our buttons, and dusts off our backs. In the midst of the grooming process, she noticed an orange tag stuck to Ashlie's shoe laces. This was no ordinary orange tag though. This was a tag that was put on Ashlie's shoe in March when we ran our marathon. A tag that says 'I am no mere mortal, but a demi-god who has ran 26.2 miles.' However, and understandably, Mongolians are unfamiliar with this concept. She pointed at it and said, "Mohai." (ugly). Ashlie said under her breath, "Please don't tear it off." At which point the woman bent down and tore it off. Ashlie then said, "Please don't throw it away." At which point, as if mockingly on cue, the woman threw it away. The woman then continued on with her conversation, but Ashlie never took her eye off of it. Soon after another woman drove up and distracted the talkative young lady, Ashlie took off running across the dirt parking lot and victoriously picked the little tag out of a tumbleweed. Disaster averted, athletic immortality resurrected.
Quick thoughts
*People in Mongolia walk noticably faster during the winter.
*Don't grab onto your metal out-house handle in the winter with wet hands.
*For unexplained reasons watching steam come off of my bodily functions while using the restroom has become a reasonable substitute for reading magazines.
That is all.
