Song & Dance and Dog & Pony

Well, four days of school down (only 178 to go) and two weeks into Mongolia, I'm still alive. I have not starved to death (in fact, I'm going to cook something REAL shortly after I write this, which will make the third time this week), and in fact, I was not even remotely tempted to eat the whole pizza I ordered last night (because it was nowhere near as good as New York Style Pizza's Brooklyn....mmmm.....) I know Mongolia will be a good place for me, especially if I make myself keep the right perspective. For example, it might take me an hour and a half to get downtown on the bus sometimes, but if I remind myself that it used to take me nearly that long on the subway to get to my belly dance lessons in Shanghers, or to make it to places in Seoul, it doesn't seem so bad. It's all about perspective, really.

A week ago the school took us newbies (and any Oldies who wanted to go) to the Tumen Ekh song and dance show. The vocal music didn't do all that much for me - I bought some on iTunes back when I got the job and overall it kinda gives me a headache - but the instrumental pieces were great. I especially loved the part where they made the horse-headed fiddle whinny like a horse.

They had dancers, too, but I thought the coolest part was the contortionist. Unbe-freakin-lievable. The theater was meant to resemble a ger-palace like our buddy Chinggis would have had. Not the most comfortable seating arrangement, but nice digs nonetheless.

The next day, after school, we abandoned Ulaanbaatar for the countryside (again, courtesy of the school). It took us three and a half hours, and we didn't go that far from UB, but Hustain National Park was worth it. Mongolia really does have spectacularly gorgeous countryside.

I got to sleep in my first ger that night, and it wasn't bad. Or it wouldn't have been if the fire hadn't gone out. In fact, it was nearly midnight when one of my ger-mates actually got someone to put a stovepipe on our stove and start our fire. Which was coal and didn't smell as nice as the wood fires that were burning in other gers, but it was so nice and warm, I didn't care. But let me tell you - when that fire went out, all three of us knew it. It got COLD. And it was bloody August.

The main reason people come to Hustain is to see the takhi, Mongolia's wild horses. This is the closest picture I got, out the window of the bus, but we actually found a herd of them and got out to take a look. We were supposed to leave the camp at 8 for this little excursion, but we got stuck waiting for people with families, and then our bus driver told us to get on the OTHER school bus. Well, good thing he did - turns out he was drunk as a skunk, and at 2 p.m. when we were meant to be heading back to UB he was incapable, so my bus had to hang around a couple more hours til the bus company could send out a sober driver. I had heard that alcoholism is a problem here - apparently the first day of the month you can't buy alcohol anywhere here (store, bar, or restaurant), but this was the first time I'd seen it with my own eyes. I felt kind of bad for the guy - I guess it would suck to have to stay sober while driving a bunch of drunken foreigners around, but then, I go around with drunken foreigners all the time and enjoy myself just fine. And I wouldn't risk my job for it. Anyways, that's all for now, people. Hope you are eating well wherever you are; have a burrito and think of me.

Another day, another dirham

So last week, as crazy as it felt, helped me to gain some perspective and improve my work ethic. See, last Wednesday, I had a six period day. This seemed like a LOT of teaching to do in one day, at first. But then I realized that those six periods, forty minutes each, added up to less than one morning - without gym/swimming - at GDA. I'd still have two, possibly four hours more to teach if I were still there. So I've been trying to kick it up a notch here in Miss Becky's art room, and went ahead and started tentatively planning times for double periods for year two - since they requested it and I needed to do it, anyway. As a result - or maybe just because it's been a crazy week, which I'll get to in a minute - this week has flown by.

Yes, it has been a crazy week. Sunday Michelle went up to wake our grieving coworker up so she'd come to school and start working on rebuilding a sense of normalcy in her life. Or at least that was the plan. Actually, she was drunk as a skunk, and in the afternoon Michelle and Sarah took her into the hospital. And after checking in, she turned around and checked herself right out. I got warning of this around 6 that night, and went to spread the word to Maureen, and thus was standing next door when this individual made her way home. I said hi, but got no acknowledgement; she tried the doorknob, then turned right around and walked away. I called our principal to let him know, and tried to catch up with her before she hurt herself, but by the time I'd gotten to the lobby she'd vanished into thin air. I checked the floors, but nada. So I ate dinner with Tony and Melissa - we are so smart, we're taking turns cooking for each other - and when Roy showed up we went looking for her, but she was exactly where I said she would be, checked in at the Hilton via her husband's credit card. We explained what was going to have to happen at this point - that she was going back to her husband in Qatar - and stuck around long enough to make sure she was okay, but left around 9:30. I was fighting a cold - still - and wanted to go to bed early.

Ha. Not likely. Because Melissa needed "petrol," and on our way to the station that also has Macca's (because nothing feeds the soul like greasy fries), we stopped at a corner to let traffic clear, and a Gypo driver tried to cut around her and ended up sideswiping her. Blerg. So while Melissa lost it, I phoned Roy and asked if he was familiar with the saying, "when it rains, it pours," and asked Tony to bring Melissa's backpack (because it had her license), and asked Paul to bring Tony (because he has wheels). Except instead of explaining the situation fully to Paul I seem to have given him the impression that we just needed him to come pick us up, and he showed up without Tony, who took a cab, and hadn't made it to the scene before the police informed us to go to Mamourah station to sort it. And in spite of the evidence in our favor, we ended up getting stuck with the blame...maybe money exchanged hands, maybe it was because we couldn't communicate in Arabic, maybe just because it's a boys' club and we were screwed by our excessive x-chromosomes. Whatever the case may be, the accident was supposedly our fault.

I was pretty strong the whole night. I shed a few tears with Linda, and several on our way OUT of the station, but for the most part, I was cool, calm, and collected. Then I got home and found out my niece the Princess - who I feel fairly confident in saying is the closest thing, genetically, I have to my own children, and possibly always will be (Abby and I have similar coloring, and Shaggy and I look more alike than any of our other siblings) - was born. And THAT'S when I lost it. I didn't think I'd be so emotional over another anklebiter in this world, but I am. I missed little Princess' birth.

I still haven't fully processed the fact that there's a new crazy little redheaded girl out there in our family. And part of me is glad that I haven't had any kids, so I could really appreciate the Princess for who she is. I can't wait to meet her next summer!

There was more trauma throughout the next day or so, and I basically decided I was going to morph into Antisocial Girl on Tuesday and give a great big, "Screw You!" to the rest of the world. And I did. Recovered enough by last night to do my dinner duty (Korean curry - nom nom nom!) but my mind is in a weird place (worried place) and I wasn't the best of company...basically I wanted to get everyone out so I could dance. It's been a while since I've felt like it as much as I have been. Maybe because I've lost some weight, or because I've got three mirrors up on my wall, or just because I have my own space in which to dance. Whatever the case, I'm glad to be back in it. I forgot how much I missed it.