FANS!
I'm terribly sorry. I've been a horrible blogger and an even worse ruler. The real Genghis Khan came to me in a dream and told me that I would never be a real Khan with my lazy attitude and I think he is right. He's always right!
Today, like so many Canada geese before me, I am migrating south for the winter. Why you ask? Well, there's something about -30 degree weather that doesn't quite sit right with me. The next month will be spent in sunny South East Asia, where I plan on doing heavy amounts of recruiting and research for when I finally decide to live out the prophecy given to me by the Great Khan.
It is wild to think that my time here is half over. Like a coffee bean dipped in honey, it is bittersweet. Its a very strange thing to be handing out grades to students who are less than a year younger than me, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And if that means giving every good looking girl in Mongolia a 100%, then I say, so be it!
The big event of the past few weeks was definitely the Christmas party that I co-organized with some of the teachers. Not that I like to brag, but I am pretty good at this kind of thing, but even my acute party planning skills are no match for my friend the language barrier. The party ended up being a huge success. The first half was much more memorable than the second half, involving many performances by the students, special student "Oscar Awards", and even a movie with a script penned by yours truly. The second half was a haze of vodka and hip hop. A great thing about Mongolia is that people young and old don't mind just getting down together. I felt no different dancing with my 50 year old coworkers than I did my 20 year old students. I can't imagine every boogeying with any of my college professors. Well, maybe Professor Billington.
Yes, wild times were had by all. Less wild times were had by me in my bed until 4 the next afternoon. The only time I ever get phone calls it seems is when I have a headache. Typical. Real typical.
Just got off the phone with Korea airlines. My flight is delayed two hours. It seems this country just can't stand to see its prodigal son leave.
If I don't post before then, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! A special Merry Christmas goes to my family who are going to be missing their boy for the first time on Christmas this year. I am with you in spirit guys, and I will brew some home made eggnog in a Thai hostel toilet in your honor.
If you will be in South East Asia in the next month, just call my name and I will come a-running faster than Steve Urkel after Carl Winslow's latest tirade!
May everyone have a safe and happy holiday season and see you all in the New Year!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Genghis Cochrane meets Kublai Van
About three or four times a day, I have a conversation with a friend or a family member still wasting their life away in non-arctic weather on the topic of visiting me and observing my mastery of the nomadic lifestyle. They tell me that "Mongolia is too far to visit" and "Isn't it like -90 degrees up there.... KELVIN" and "Keith, it really just isn't feasible financially or time-wise for me to swing up to Ulaanbaatar for an afternoon." and of course "How the hell did you get this number?"
I ask all you non-believers to stand in shame and bask in the glory of Kublai Van, the latest and strongest member of my horde. Kublai was nice enough to take some time out of his tight schedule to see how my empire is holding up. After some reconnaissance work in China, he hopped on the train in Beijing and rode the quick 30 hours for a peaceful (bi) afternoon ride. He reported to me that the train is forced to change wheels at the border, due to the differing sizes of Chinese and Mongolian rails. This highly inconvenient delay ensures that Mongolia cannot be overrun by Han Chinese. What if Mongolia wants to overrun China you ask? That's the beauty of horses my friends. No wrenches required.
Speaking of horses, this weekend was spent in lovely Hustai National Park, where in 1992, 16 horses were reintroduced to the wild. These 16 got their freak on and now they are thriving again. And again. And again. They are just like regular horses except they have bigger heads and two extra chromosomes. Legend has it that these extra chromosomes give them the ability to say "Yay" as well as "Neigh" making them the only truly democratic horse society in existence. Only in Mongolia folks, only in Mongolia.
Day turned to night on the Mongolian Steppe and the sun disappeared like so many 1,000 Togrog bills at "Ger-lls, Ger-lls, Ger-lls", Ulaanbaatar's premiere strip club. We were lucky to be at Hustai park where the only thing wilder than the horses is the nightlife. We stayed up drinking bottle after bottle of Chinngis's finest vodka, playing guitar and singing Mongolian long songs into the wee hours of the night. A late night bathroom break revealed a crucial flaw in the Ger camp setup. Every Ger looks the same. Especially while wearing a shiny set of Vodka goggles. I must have wandered into three or four different Gers before finding the right one, making my fair share of friends, and fairer share of enemies along the way.
In true Mongolian fashion I was up and ready to go the following morning. For lunch we stopped at a real Nomadic Ger and were served the best noodle soup this side of the great wall. In Mongolia it is totally okay to stumble into someone's Ger expecting food, and if needed even a place to sleep. They would not have survived for this many years without this extreme hospitality, and it is one of two ancient traditions that still lives on today. The other tradition: marrying their cousins. This one is hard to avoid in a society with no last names. They're only human after all.
We left the countryside behind, and were back in the city by nightfall. Kublai and I shared some beers and some tears, and then I had to say farewell to my dear friend. He was tempted to stay but thinks that our revolution will have a better chance of success if we take it global sooner rather than later. He might be right. Either way it leaves me a lone wolf once again.
Friends!
Family!
Anonymous Internet Weirdos!
Take his torch and get out here immediately! Seriously, I could use the body heat. Also, the Mongolian Canteens are already producing Grease-cicles that are sure to last through February. If that's not motivation enough to get out here, I don't know what is.
Until next time,
Genghis
I ask all you non-believers to stand in shame and bask in the glory of Kublai Van, the latest and strongest member of my horde. Kublai was nice enough to take some time out of his tight schedule to see how my empire is holding up. After some reconnaissance work in China, he hopped on the train in Beijing and rode the quick 30 hours for a peaceful (bi) afternoon ride. He reported to me that the train is forced to change wheels at the border, due to the differing sizes of Chinese and Mongolian rails. This highly inconvenient delay ensures that Mongolia cannot be overrun by Han Chinese. What if Mongolia wants to overrun China you ask? That's the beauty of horses my friends. No wrenches required.
Speaking of horses, this weekend was spent in lovely Hustai National Park, where in 1992, 16 horses were reintroduced to the wild. These 16 got their freak on and now they are thriving again. And again. And again. They are just like regular horses except they have bigger heads and two extra chromosomes. Legend has it that these extra chromosomes give them the ability to say "Yay" as well as "Neigh" making them the only truly democratic horse society in existence. Only in Mongolia folks, only in Mongolia.
Day turned to night on the Mongolian Steppe and the sun disappeared like so many 1,000 Togrog bills at "Ger-lls, Ger-lls, Ger-lls", Ulaanbaatar's premiere strip club. We were lucky to be at Hustai park where the only thing wilder than the horses is the nightlife. We stayed up drinking bottle after bottle of Chinngis's finest vodka, playing guitar and singing Mongolian long songs into the wee hours of the night. A late night bathroom break revealed a crucial flaw in the Ger camp setup. Every Ger looks the same. Especially while wearing a shiny set of Vodka goggles. I must have wandered into three or four different Gers before finding the right one, making my fair share of friends, and fairer share of enemies along the way.
In true Mongolian fashion I was up and ready to go the following morning. For lunch we stopped at a real Nomadic Ger and were served the best noodle soup this side of the great wall. In Mongolia it is totally okay to stumble into someone's Ger expecting food, and if needed even a place to sleep. They would not have survived for this many years without this extreme hospitality, and it is one of two ancient traditions that still lives on today. The other tradition: marrying their cousins. This one is hard to avoid in a society with no last names. They're only human after all.
We left the countryside behind, and were back in the city by nightfall. Kublai and I shared some beers and some tears, and then I had to say farewell to my dear friend. He was tempted to stay but thinks that our revolution will have a better chance of success if we take it global sooner rather than later. He might be right. Either way it leaves me a lone wolf once again.
Friends!
Family!
Anonymous Internet Weirdos!
Take his torch and get out here immediately! Seriously, I could use the body heat. Also, the Mongolian Canteens are already producing Grease-cicles that are sure to last through February. If that's not motivation enough to get out here, I don't know what is.
Until next time,
Genghis
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Trick or Meat!
For thousands of years Mongolians have lived peacefully on their expansive steppe. Thousands of October 31sts have come and gone without making so much as a blip on the Mongolian radar. All that changed in a big way this year my friends. Just like Genghis Kahn taught the Mongols how to fight, Genghis Cochrane taught the Mongols how to fright.
It all started last week, on a day much like today. I was having a typical conversation with one of my coworkers. After exchanging pleasantries and information about the state of our respective livestock, I mentioned that I was "super duper stoked" for Halloween. A fifteen minute explanation of the phrase "super duper stoked" was followed by a 30 second description of my favourite holiday. I talked of Jack-o-lanterns, of trick or treating, of witches and of zombies. Needless to say, she was more intrigued than a Grizzly Bear at a honey tasting. She insisted that I show her and the rest of the department my weird and strange traditions.
And what a weird and strange party it was!
It began with me retelling the story of Stingy Jack and the first Jack-o-lantern, complete with different voices for the different characters. I do a great Lucifer in case you didn't know. This was followed by some inspired Jack-o-lantern carving. I fancy myself an expert in the art of pumpkinry, but much to my embarrassment, I was shown up by almost everyone in the department. I suppose all those years of slaughtering sheep and Chinese farm people have made the Mongolian people handy with a knife.
Jack-o-lanterns begat ghost stories, and might I tell you, there is nothing harder than explaining the concept of a haunted house to a Mongolian. Their nomadic lifestyle makes them completely immune to hauntings.
"What's that honey? There's a ghost in the ger? PICK IT UP!"
Perhaps this ghostly loop hole was the original inspiration for their lifestyle. I see no other explanation really.
Following the herds? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.
We had candy, we had jack-o-lanterns, we had ghost stories, but what Halloween party would be complete without a little Monster Mashing? I played my coworkers the Barry Picket classic on repeat and taught them the true meaning of fear.
Yes, all in all a classic Halloween, and an event that I am told will become an annual tradition. They told us at orientation not to try and change our countries, but like light bulbs and underwear, some things just need changin'.
Does this mean I am going to start changing my underwear? Lets not get ahead of ourselves here.
And finally here are some pictures for your visual enjoyment. They are not of the staff party, but of a party that I threw with my second year English class. The party taught me two things about Mongolians. They all throw the peace sign in pictures and if you cut one of them with a pumpkin carving knife they bleed red blood, just like you and me.
Happy Halloween!
GC
It all started last week, on a day much like today. I was having a typical conversation with one of my coworkers. After exchanging pleasantries and information about the state of our respective livestock, I mentioned that I was "super duper stoked" for Halloween. A fifteen minute explanation of the phrase "super duper stoked" was followed by a 30 second description of my favourite holiday. I talked of Jack-o-lanterns, of trick or treating, of witches and of zombies. Needless to say, she was more intrigued than a Grizzly Bear at a honey tasting. She insisted that I show her and the rest of the department my weird and strange traditions.
And what a weird and strange party it was!
It began with me retelling the story of Stingy Jack and the first Jack-o-lantern, complete with different voices for the different characters. I do a great Lucifer in case you didn't know. This was followed by some inspired Jack-o-lantern carving. I fancy myself an expert in the art of pumpkinry, but much to my embarrassment, I was shown up by almost everyone in the department. I suppose all those years of slaughtering sheep and Chinese farm people have made the Mongolian people handy with a knife.
Jack-o-lanterns begat ghost stories, and might I tell you, there is nothing harder than explaining the concept of a haunted house to a Mongolian. Their nomadic lifestyle makes them completely immune to hauntings.
"What's that honey? There's a ghost in the ger? PICK IT UP!"
Perhaps this ghostly loop hole was the original inspiration for their lifestyle. I see no other explanation really.
Following the herds? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.
We had candy, we had jack-o-lanterns, we had ghost stories, but what Halloween party would be complete without a little Monster Mashing? I played my coworkers the Barry Picket classic on repeat and taught them the true meaning of fear.
Yes, all in all a classic Halloween, and an event that I am told will become an annual tradition. They told us at orientation not to try and change our countries, but like light bulbs and underwear, some things just need changin'.
Does this mean I am going to start changing my underwear? Lets not get ahead of ourselves here.
And finally here are some pictures for your visual enjoyment. They are not of the staff party, but of a party that I threw with my second year English class. The party taught me two things about Mongolians. They all throw the peace sign in pictures and if you cut one of them with a pumpkin carving knife they bleed red blood, just like you and me.
Happy Halloween!
GC
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I'd Rather be a Blogger than a Tool
Actually, what the hell is the difference?
I am back fellow hoard and less powerful than ever. After searching UB unsuccessfully for spare laptop parts, I finally gave in and bought a second hand monitor. The thing cost me a whopping 30,000 Togrogs (about $25) and I still feel like I got ripped off. I think I had this same monitor on my original Gateway 2000 PC. Now if only I could find a copy of Simcity it would be like 5th grade all over again.
The big news I have to report is that the strike is finally over. Actually, its been over for days. My amazing negotiating skills got the teachers to call off the strike. Unfortunately, our pay wasn't actually raised. It was basically the least successful strike in history. I was invited to the School Director's private soccer game, and I think we should just have our department play the administration. If we win, we get the pay raise, and if they win, I will personally pay for their hospital bills.
This means that school is back in session. My first lesson plan back on the job was teaching my adult students how to express preference using phrases like "I prefer" "I'd rather" and "Given the choice". In order to hammer home the point I even used the Paul Simon classic "El Condor Pasa".
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail,
If I could, I surely would.
I'd rather Mr. Simon didn't rip off a bunch of helpless Peruvians, but who am I to complain? Anyway, the students did really well, especially one overachiever, let's call him Steve, who corralled me after class. The exchange went a little bit like this:
Steve: Hello Keith.
Genghis: What's up my brother?
Steve: Where are you going tonight?
Genghis: I'm going to go get loaded with some friends. It's my friends birthday tonight. WOOO!!! Where are you going?
Steve: I'm going to my church. I am a Christian. What is your religion.
Genghis: I am not really a religious man Steve.
Steve: I'd rather be a Christian than a normal person.
Calling me a normal person was a bit of a Freudian slip, but we're not getting into those until next week. I didn't know whether to be offended by his statement or impressed at how great a teacher I am. He proceeded to invite me to his church, telling me there was an American missionary who would "really like to teach me." Even though I said "No, thank you", Steve has promised to bring me two copies of the Bible, one in English and one in Mongolian so I may read and possibly decide to change my heathen ways. I am looking forward to the Mongolian take on Christianity. The mutton of Christ anyone? I actually really like Steve, and having never read the Bible, Mongolia is as good a place as any to start.
Was going to post some pictures, but Mongolian Internet is about as reliable as Dominik Hasek in NHL 2002. I will try again later. Just like the Dominater.
I am back fellow hoard and less powerful than ever. After searching UB unsuccessfully for spare laptop parts, I finally gave in and bought a second hand monitor. The thing cost me a whopping 30,000 Togrogs (about $25) and I still feel like I got ripped off. I think I had this same monitor on my original Gateway 2000 PC. Now if only I could find a copy of Simcity it would be like 5th grade all over again.
The big news I have to report is that the strike is finally over. Actually, its been over for days. My amazing negotiating skills got the teachers to call off the strike. Unfortunately, our pay wasn't actually raised. It was basically the least successful strike in history. I was invited to the School Director's private soccer game, and I think we should just have our department play the administration. If we win, we get the pay raise, and if they win, I will personally pay for their hospital bills.
This means that school is back in session. My first lesson plan back on the job was teaching my adult students how to express preference using phrases like "I prefer" "I'd rather" and "Given the choice". In order to hammer home the point I even used the Paul Simon classic "El Condor Pasa".
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail,
If I could, I surely would.
I'd rather Mr. Simon didn't rip off a bunch of helpless Peruvians, but who am I to complain? Anyway, the students did really well, especially one overachiever, let's call him Steve, who corralled me after class. The exchange went a little bit like this:
Steve: Hello Keith.
Genghis: What's up my brother?
Steve: Where are you going tonight?
Genghis: I'm going to go get loaded with some friends. It's my friends birthday tonight. WOOO!!! Where are you going?
Steve: I'm going to my church. I am a Christian. What is your religion.
Genghis: I am not really a religious man Steve.
Steve: I'd rather be a Christian than a normal person.
Calling me a normal person was a bit of a Freudian slip, but we're not getting into those until next week. I didn't know whether to be offended by his statement or impressed at how great a teacher I am. He proceeded to invite me to his church, telling me there was an American missionary who would "really like to teach me." Even though I said "No, thank you", Steve has promised to bring me two copies of the Bible, one in English and one in Mongolian so I may read and possibly decide to change my heathen ways. I am looking forward to the Mongolian take on Christianity. The mutton of Christ anyone? I actually really like Steve, and having never read the Bible, Mongolia is as good a place as any to start.
Was going to post some pictures, but Mongolian Internet is about as reliable as Dominik Hasek in NHL 2002. I will try again later. Just like the Dominater.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
POSSIBLE OUTAGE 10/10/2008 - ?
When I came to Mongolia I promised myself that I would not get sick. Unfortunately, "Farmer in the Dell", my usually trusty laptop did not make the same promise. There is a problem with the monitor. It starts up very bright, then almost immediately goes black. The computer is still on and I can make out the screen if I stare very closely with a headlamp on. This is far from ideal however. I am thinking about attempting to repair this myself. It is either a problem with the LCD inverter or the LCD backlight. From what I've read online, it is a very fixable problem.
What do you, the fans, think? Should I:
A) Risk Forever Damaging My Laptop by repairing it myself
B) Risk Forever Damaging My Laptop by having a Mongolian repairman look at it.
C) Suck it up and buy an external monitor (A temporary solution until I return West)
D) Screw the Laptop. This Blog Sucks Anway!
E) Other (Make a suggestion here)
We will test Blogger's polling capabilities. Please give your comments and vote in the Poll!
What do you, the fans, think? Should I:
A) Risk Forever Damaging My Laptop by repairing it myself
B) Risk Forever Damaging My Laptop by having a Mongolian repairman look at it.
C) Suck it up and buy an external monitor (A temporary solution until I return West)
D) Screw the Laptop. This Blog Sucks Anway!
E) Other (Make a suggestion here)
We will test Blogger's polling capabilities. Please give your comments and vote in the Poll!
Friday, October 3, 2008
STRIKE
“Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will end up at the end of my sword .”
The Great Khan 1215
It didn't take long, but I am already changing attitudes and fighting the good fight for the little guy. Inspired by my own renegade attitude and dashing good looks, the professors at Ulaanbaatar's University of the Humanities stood up today and said "NO MORE!" Unhappy with their low wages and busy work schedules, the professors have decided that they aren't going to take it, and are now involved in a good old fashioned labor strike. I must say that I fully support their cause. Not only because their complaints are completely founded and justified, but also because I was supposed to work today. The strike means I get to take the day off for moral reasons, rather than hiding behind my usual amoral excuses.
The reasons for striking are very straightforward. In addition to teaching regular day classes, all of the teachers at the University of the Humanities are required to teach night classes as well. The night classes, or "Intensive Courses" are intended for professional Mongolians (doctors, lawyers, herders, wrestlers, etc.) to learn English. The students are primarily "Old Guard" Mongolians who were educated during the Soviet Era, learning Russian as their second language. "New Mongolians" are now all taught English starting in high school. The strike is entirely related to the teachers' wages for the intensive courses, so even if the strike lasts all year, I will still have to teach my regular day classes. If only I could find something wrong with those classes as well...
But onto specifics. The students pay roughly 45,000 Togrogs a week (approximately 40 dollars US). With ~280 students, this equates to just about 126,000,000 Togrogs brought in by the school per week. There are a total of 103 classes (each an hour and a half long) taught per week. Right now the teachers make just about 11,000 togrogs per class (about 5 dollars an hour). The teachers therefore split 1,133,000 togrogs between them per week, or less than one percent of the total tuition. The teachers' demands are to get the pay increased to 15,000 togrogs per class, which would put the wages just over 1 percent of the tuition.
I am baffled by this strike. I am not baffled that they are striking, but that they should even have to. Talks were had with the administration this summer and no changes were made. These teachers (myself included) are making less per hour than a sandwich artist at Subway, not including prep time and time spent grading the students and helping them after school. I am happy that they are taking a stand for change, but I can't help but think that they could have upped their demands a bit. Maybe ask for free water in the staff room (we have to pay for this) more than one reem of paper per month (again we pay if we use more), or at the very least, a private restroom for the teachers. The only bathroom is coed and shared with the students. Being taller than most Mongolians I can see clear over the stall walls. This means I either have to bend my knees awkwardly while urinating a la Billy Madison or run the risk of pulling a Chuck Berry and losing my job. To peep or not to peep? That is a question for another post.
I think that the teachers were inspired by my own negotiation skills. When told that I was living in a dorm with no working laundry machine, I yelled and screamed and argued until the school finally gave in to my demands. No laundry machine, but they did buy me a wash basin and a rag. I showed those suckers what's what.
Its impossible for me to gauge how serious this strike is. This is because all talk is in Mongolian, and also because Mongolians are as a people, impossible to faze. Their nomadic history and generally tough lifestyle has taught them to adapt to any situation. Crisis is not a Mongolian word. However, if they were freaking out in this, the 10th hour of the strike, I would be a little worried. They all expect it to end quickly, and when I look at the facts, I see no reason that it shouldn't. If it is prolonged, I might have to finally buy myself a guitar and write a catchy protest song.
"We are the teachers, and we're tired of your crap,
If you do not pay us, we'll give you the clap.
ESL stands for Everyone Should Learn,
So pay us kind friends or your school we will burn."
I'm a revolutionary, not a songwriter folks.
If any of the school directors are reading this, know that we are serious, and for the love of god, don't make us turn the proverbial flames of revolution into real ones.
Join us in our cause my friends! Sympathy Strikes are widely encouraged! Let our voices be heard!
I must now return to the picket line and hassle me some scabs.
Until next time,
Genghis "They Have the Plant, but We Have the Power" Chavez
The Great Khan 1215
It didn't take long, but I am already changing attitudes and fighting the good fight for the little guy. Inspired by my own renegade attitude and dashing good looks, the professors at Ulaanbaatar's University of the Humanities stood up today and said "NO MORE!" Unhappy with their low wages and busy work schedules, the professors have decided that they aren't going to take it, and are now involved in a good old fashioned labor strike. I must say that I fully support their cause. Not only because their complaints are completely founded and justified, but also because I was supposed to work today. The strike means I get to take the day off for moral reasons, rather than hiding behind my usual amoral excuses.
The reasons for striking are very straightforward. In addition to teaching regular day classes, all of the teachers at the University of the Humanities are required to teach night classes as well. The night classes, or "Intensive Courses" are intended for professional Mongolians (doctors, lawyers, herders, wrestlers, etc.) to learn English. The students are primarily "Old Guard" Mongolians who were educated during the Soviet Era, learning Russian as their second language. "New Mongolians" are now all taught English starting in high school. The strike is entirely related to the teachers' wages for the intensive courses, so even if the strike lasts all year, I will still have to teach my regular day classes. If only I could find something wrong with those classes as well...
But onto specifics. The students pay roughly 45,000 Togrogs a week (approximately 40 dollars US). With ~280 students, this equates to just about 126,000,000 Togrogs brought in by the school per week. There are a total of 103 classes (each an hour and a half long) taught per week. Right now the teachers make just about 11,000 togrogs per class (about 5 dollars an hour). The teachers therefore split 1,133,000 togrogs between them per week, or less than one percent of the total tuition. The teachers' demands are to get the pay increased to 15,000 togrogs per class, which would put the wages just over 1 percent of the tuition.
I am baffled by this strike. I am not baffled that they are striking, but that they should even have to. Talks were had with the administration this summer and no changes were made. These teachers (myself included) are making less per hour than a sandwich artist at Subway, not including prep time and time spent grading the students and helping them after school. I am happy that they are taking a stand for change, but I can't help but think that they could have upped their demands a bit. Maybe ask for free water in the staff room (we have to pay for this) more than one reem of paper per month (again we pay if we use more), or at the very least, a private restroom for the teachers. The only bathroom is coed and shared with the students. Being taller than most Mongolians I can see clear over the stall walls. This means I either have to bend my knees awkwardly while urinating a la Billy Madison or run the risk of pulling a Chuck Berry and losing my job. To peep or not to peep? That is a question for another post.
I think that the teachers were inspired by my own negotiation skills. When told that I was living in a dorm with no working laundry machine, I yelled and screamed and argued until the school finally gave in to my demands. No laundry machine, but they did buy me a wash basin and a rag. I showed those suckers what's what.
Its impossible for me to gauge how serious this strike is. This is because all talk is in Mongolian, and also because Mongolians are as a people, impossible to faze. Their nomadic history and generally tough lifestyle has taught them to adapt to any situation. Crisis is not a Mongolian word. However, if they were freaking out in this, the 10th hour of the strike, I would be a little worried. They all expect it to end quickly, and when I look at the facts, I see no reason that it shouldn't. If it is prolonged, I might have to finally buy myself a guitar and write a catchy protest song.
"We are the teachers, and we're tired of your crap,
If you do not pay us, we'll give you the clap.
ESL stands for Everyone Should Learn,
So pay us kind friends or your school we will burn."
I'm a revolutionary, not a songwriter folks.
If any of the school directors are reading this, know that we are serious, and for the love of god, don't make us turn the proverbial flames of revolution into real ones.
Join us in our cause my friends! Sympathy Strikes are widely encouraged! Let our voices be heard!
I must now return to the picket line and hassle me some scabs.
Until next time,
Genghis "They Have the Plant, but We Have the Power" Chavez
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Happy Jew Year!
Today is Rosh Hashanah, and as an atheist in Mongolia, this could not mean less to me. However I can still support my Jewish brethren and wish them another good and bountiful year.
Well, Cochrane fans, its been much too long since I've posted on this blog, so its time to dust the cobwebs of my webspace, tighten my britches, and get right into it. This blog has gotten staler than last weeks leftovers. And you know how much I hate leftovers.
I suppose I have no real excuse for not posting, except that I've sort of fallen into a rut. Wait. I mean a groove. My teaching schedule has been finalized, I have infiltrated a social circle, and I have even started to learn Mongolian.
For those of you who didn't know that Mongolia had its own language, you are not alone. I was given a brief introduction to Mongolian from Sergei Brudov's "Mongol", so I was already an expert before I came. It did sort of surprise me however that when I got here, the people I talked to were not subtitled. A flagrant case of false advertising if you ask me. You might think it is a waste of time and effort to learn a language only spoken in one country, but I ask you this:
Could 2.5 million Mongolians be wrong? That's what I thought.
Every Mongolian on the great steppe assures me that "Mongolian is easy. English is hard." I try to explain to them why they think this, but my Mongolian is not quite at that level yet. However, if you want to know how old someones mother is (Tanni Eeejin Ner Xhen Ve?), or whether or not someone is a student (Oyutan yo?) , I am definitely the man for the job.
The most useful phrase I have picked up so far is definitely the exclamation "Uuchlarai!" It is basically the Mongolian word for "sorry". With this helpful phrase I can now get away with murder.
"What's that Mr. Cab Driver? I owe you 4,000 Togrogs. Well...... UUCHLARAI!"
"What's that Mr. Large Mongolian Man? That attractive woman is your wife! Uhhhh....UUCHLARAI!"
Normally scenarios like these would usually end up in me getting involved in my two least favorite activities: paying for something, or getting my ass beaten severely. With the help of Uuchlarai however, I get involved in my two favorite activities: getting free stuff and only getting my ass beaten mildly. Its a fine line I walk, but someone on the mean streets of UB has to do it.
They say UB is a capital city with a small town feel, and it is very true. I can walk anywhere I want and I often find myself bumping into the same people. If the city is a like small town, then the expat community is like that inbred and incestuous family that the normal people leave to their own devices, only occasionally approaching to try and take their money and to tell them to get off of their yards. Our inbred family is composed of current Peace Corps folks, Australian Youth Ambassadors, Peace Corps alums, Fulbright Scholars, and two chumps doing some mysterious program known as Princeton in Asia.
This lack of a built in fan base leaves me at a severe disadvantage when it comes to contests judged by the applausometer. Case in point, I was unceremoniously left off of the podium during a Salsa dancing competition last weekend. As you all know (or will know if you ever have the honor of boogieing down with me), my moves are like a cross between Justin Timberlake and Micheal Flatley. It all boiled down to a popularity contest that night however, something I usually excel at, but not in this strange land.
"But Keith, I've seen you dance, and to be honest, you're moves are about as fresh as your jokes."
That is simply false. I am right and the entire world is wrong. But I digress.
When I get tired of my incestuous family, and want to see the rest of the town, there is never a lack of Mongolians wanting to practice their English. The small town nature of UB also means that I have the opportunity to run into some pretty big wheels on the Mongolian news machine. I've dined with the US Ambassador, free-styled with a member of Mongolia's number one hip hop group, and played soccer with a member of the Mongolian national team. I feel like Jon Voigt in Midnight Cowboy: a big fish in a big pond. Hopefully like Mr. Voigt I don't have to start selling my body to make ends meet.
If I do end up having to walk down this dark path to augment my meager salary, I will go to UB's most popular spot for the ladies (and men) of the night: right under the statue of one Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. There's something about a full moon bouncing off of Vlady's head that loosens wallets and opens hearts.
For now though, I am a teacher, and so I will remain. More frequent posting to come to satiate your bloggy needs. I have created a monster, and now I intend to take care of it.
Well, Cochrane fans, its been much too long since I've posted on this blog, so its time to dust the cobwebs of my webspace, tighten my britches, and get right into it. This blog has gotten staler than last weeks leftovers. And you know how much I hate leftovers.
I suppose I have no real excuse for not posting, except that I've sort of fallen into a rut. Wait. I mean a groove. My teaching schedule has been finalized, I have infiltrated a social circle, and I have even started to learn Mongolian.
For those of you who didn't know that Mongolia had its own language, you are not alone. I was given a brief introduction to Mongolian from Sergei Brudov's "Mongol", so I was already an expert before I came. It did sort of surprise me however that when I got here, the people I talked to were not subtitled. A flagrant case of false advertising if you ask me. You might think it is a waste of time and effort to learn a language only spoken in one country, but I ask you this:
Could 2.5 million Mongolians be wrong? That's what I thought.
Every Mongolian on the great steppe assures me that "Mongolian is easy. English is hard." I try to explain to them why they think this, but my Mongolian is not quite at that level yet. However, if you want to know how old someones mother is (Tanni Eeejin Ner Xhen Ve?), or whether or not someone is a student (Oyutan yo?) , I am definitely the man for the job.
The most useful phrase I have picked up so far is definitely the exclamation "Uuchlarai!" It is basically the Mongolian word for "sorry". With this helpful phrase I can now get away with murder.
"What's that Mr. Cab Driver? I owe you 4,000 Togrogs. Well...... UUCHLARAI!"
"What's that Mr. Large Mongolian Man? That attractive woman is your wife! Uhhhh....UUCHLARAI!"
Normally scenarios like these would usually end up in me getting involved in my two least favorite activities: paying for something, or getting my ass beaten severely. With the help of Uuchlarai however, I get involved in my two favorite activities: getting free stuff and only getting my ass beaten mildly. Its a fine line I walk, but someone on the mean streets of UB has to do it.
They say UB is a capital city with a small town feel, and it is very true. I can walk anywhere I want and I often find myself bumping into the same people. If the city is a like small town, then the expat community is like that inbred and incestuous family that the normal people leave to their own devices, only occasionally approaching to try and take their money and to tell them to get off of their yards. Our inbred family is composed of current Peace Corps folks, Australian Youth Ambassadors, Peace Corps alums, Fulbright Scholars, and two chumps doing some mysterious program known as Princeton in Asia.
This lack of a built in fan base leaves me at a severe disadvantage when it comes to contests judged by the applausometer. Case in point, I was unceremoniously left off of the podium during a Salsa dancing competition last weekend. As you all know (or will know if you ever have the honor of boogieing down with me), my moves are like a cross between Justin Timberlake and Micheal Flatley. It all boiled down to a popularity contest that night however, something I usually excel at, but not in this strange land.
"But Keith, I've seen you dance, and to be honest, you're moves are about as fresh as your jokes."
That is simply false. I am right and the entire world is wrong. But I digress.
When I get tired of my incestuous family, and want to see the rest of the town, there is never a lack of Mongolians wanting to practice their English. The small town nature of UB also means that I have the opportunity to run into some pretty big wheels on the Mongolian news machine. I've dined with the US Ambassador, free-styled with a member of Mongolia's number one hip hop group, and played soccer with a member of the Mongolian national team. I feel like Jon Voigt in Midnight Cowboy: a big fish in a big pond. Hopefully like Mr. Voigt I don't have to start selling my body to make ends meet.
If I do end up having to walk down this dark path to augment my meager salary, I will go to UB's most popular spot for the ladies (and men) of the night: right under the statue of one Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. There's something about a full moon bouncing off of Vlady's head that loosens wallets and opens hearts.
For now though, I am a teacher, and so I will remain. More frequent posting to come to satiate your bloggy needs. I have created a monster, and now I intend to take care of it.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Keith Cochrane and the Mystery of the Mongolian Toilet
Now I know what you're all thinking. What kind of a heartless freak would follow up a post about "Vaginal Slopes" and "Phallic Rock" with one primarily dedicated to Fecal Matter?
One that knows his strengths. Just like the Great Genghis Khan, I know the importance of building on past victories.
After Khan showed the Kazakhs who their daddy was in 1219 did he opt not to go to the Middle East for fear of "not being fresh enough."?
Absolutely not. He found something that works for him and now, so have I. Potty humor is what I do best, and potty humor is what you will get. (Until I run out of ideas)
But onto the issue at hand. For the past month, I have been living in a dorm provided to me by my university. It is a living, breathing model of Soviet architecture, complete with all of the usual Communist quirks: pieces of my ceiling are constantly raining down on me, the hot water is as dependable as Italy in a World War, and the bathroom houses a traditional "Mongolian Toilet".
I've seen a few impressive things in my day but none can hold a candle to the feat of engineering that is The Mongolian Toilet.
Side View: Mongolian Toilet
The first thing you notice about The Mongolian Toilet is that unlike the traditional western toilet, it drains from the front of the bowl, rather than the back. This would be inconsequential if not for one glaring oversight on the part of the Soviet Toilet artists.
When comparing toilet X-sections, you will notice the area shaded in red on the Mongolian Toilet. This zone serves as a stopping point for any and everything that enters from above. I don't know if there is a technical name for it, but it is best described as a Poo Poo Pedestal.
How did this happen? Why did the Soviet engineers bother to include such an unnecessary shit stop? I mean, pit stop? Many conflicting theories are available on the subject.
The first and most promising theory is that the toilets are in fact faulty. Someone in the USSR screwed up and made thousands of flawed toilets. He ended up in Siberia and the toilets were all shipped to Mongolia. Out of sight, out of mind.
An airtight story. Or so it would seem...
A much likelier scenario in this blogger's opinion is that Joseph Stalin, one of history's proudest men, ordered the inclusion of the Poo Poo Pedestal in all Soviet toilets. Proud in every aspect of his life, nothing brought him more joy than to stare at a particularly impressive bowel movement. Consider the amount of beets in the typical Russian meal, and you are guaranteed to see some crazy color schemes. It's like Pablo Poo-casso up there.
Whatever the reason, faulty design, or Poo Poo Pride, I am 100% in favor of Mongolian Toilets. Sure you have to clean them much more frequently, but that is a small price to pay to be able to stand up, turn around and say "Yeah. I did eat that."
Until next time,
Genghis "Poopin' ain't Easy" Cochrane
One that knows his strengths. Just like the Great Genghis Khan, I know the importance of building on past victories.
After Khan showed the Kazakhs who their daddy was in 1219 did he opt not to go to the Middle East for fear of "not being fresh enough."?
Absolutely not. He found something that works for him and now, so have I. Potty humor is what I do best, and potty humor is what you will get. (Until I run out of ideas)
But onto the issue at hand. For the past month, I have been living in a dorm provided to me by my university. It is a living, breathing model of Soviet architecture, complete with all of the usual Communist quirks: pieces of my ceiling are constantly raining down on me, the hot water is as dependable as Italy in a World War, and the bathroom houses a traditional "Mongolian Toilet".
I've seen a few impressive things in my day but none can hold a candle to the feat of engineering that is The Mongolian Toilet.
Top View: Mongolian Toilet
Side View: Mongolian Toilet
When comparing toilet X-sections, you will notice the area shaded in red on the Mongolian Toilet. This zone serves as a stopping point for any and everything that enters from above. I don't know if there is a technical name for it, but it is best described as a Poo Poo Pedestal.
How did this happen? Why did the Soviet engineers bother to include such an unnecessary shit stop? I mean, pit stop? Many conflicting theories are available on the subject.
The first and most promising theory is that the toilets are in fact faulty. Someone in the USSR screwed up and made thousands of flawed toilets. He ended up in Siberia and the toilets were all shipped to Mongolia. Out of sight, out of mind.
An airtight story. Or so it would seem...
A much likelier scenario in this blogger's opinion is that Joseph Stalin, one of history's proudest men, ordered the inclusion of the Poo Poo Pedestal in all Soviet toilets. Proud in every aspect of his life, nothing brought him more joy than to stare at a particularly impressive bowel movement. Consider the amount of beets in the typical Russian meal, and you are guaranteed to see some crazy color schemes. It's like Pablo Poo-casso up there.
Whatever the reason, faulty design, or Poo Poo Pride, I am 100% in favor of Mongolian Toilets. Sure you have to clean them much more frequently, but that is a small price to pay to be able to stand up, turn around and say "Yeah. I did eat that."
Until next time,
Genghis "Poopin' ain't Easy" Cochrane
Monday, September 15, 2008
KharKhorin - 1st City of the Mongol Empire; First City of my Heart
While out on a not-so-typical man-date the other night, I was told the oldest of Mongolian Adages: "In Ulaanbaatar, there are two ways to survive the winter: you either drink yourself through it, or you escape to the countryside."
Now I know what you're thinking. "Lord Cochrane, I know that Mongolia has long winters, but surely it hasn't started yet." Well my friends, you are absolutely right, but since I'm going to be drinking my way through the winter, I thought I might take an opportunity to see the famous Mongolian countryside before the cold months set in.
The trip to Kharkhorin (the first capital of the Mongol empire) was set up by two German girls who live in my building. When asked if I wanted to join, I responded with a resounding "NEIN!" My German must not be as good as I thought, because they were very confused to see me in the car the following morning.
Here is one of the better roads we drove on.
Right outside UB and right outside Kharkhorin, the roads are paved, but everywhere in between there is just a tangled mess of country roads. Here is the GoogleEarth projection of the roads between Kharkhorin and UB.
Our driver, Okhtober, or "Halloween" as I instantly dubbed him, handled himself very well, only occasionally asking a local sheep herder directions. His navigating skills were of the "eeny meeny miny moe" school of driving, but on these roads, that's about all you have.
The trip was fairly uneventful. I saw and rode a camel, stayed my first night in a Ger, and even saw where Klaus Teuber got his inspiration for the Sheep Hex in Settlers of Cattan. (These pictures look ever so good if you click on them by the way).
Settlers is the ultimate conversation starter with Germans for future reference. We argued the merits of wheat and ore late into the evening to the sound of the howling Mongolian wolves. The only thing we could agree on is that Mongolia is getting hurt by being landlocked, leaving it without the sheep port it so needs.
Sadly none of us brought the game along, so we played cards. Amazingly Okhtober managed to learn our game (31, an easy version of Gin Rummy) and even convinced us to play for money. This without using any English. He started out hot as the Gobi, but his luck ran dry as something that is very dry. How about the Gobi?
Yes, it was a very boring trip until we came across possibly the greatest sculpture I have ever seen: Phallic Rock. Eat your heart out Michelangelo, but if your David had this thing between his legs, he would not have needed a sling to slay the angry Goliath. 'Nuff said.
The Phallic rock is one of three sights to see in Kharkhorin, after the Monastery and the Monastery gift shop. Because I am not interested in Monasteries or giving, I just saw the Phallic rock three times. The rock (pictured above) is pointed squarely at a geological feature known as "The Vaginal Slope" (pictured below). The slope is named for its unique shape.
Now I'm saving myself for marriage, so I can't tell a vagina from an antique typewriter. However, my German compatriots assured me that the name "Vaginal Slope" was more than accurate. There was sex in the air, and my sleep was filled with dreams that I don't fully understand.
Yes, all in all a great weekend. I just returned from a dinner with two girls that I am going to be tutoring on the side. Two adorable Mongolian twins. Since their mother does not know any English, I was forced to work out my payment with the daughters, and let me tell you, these are some no nonsense kids. I can't wait to mold them into little sasstalking-machines. The first lesson, "Talk to the Hand" went very well. Almost too well...
And such concludes my life up until this moment. The weather has not turned too cold yet, but apparently it is the smog that is the real killer. As it gets colder, the Mongolians pick up their Gers and move them closer to the city for warmth. Following this, they do not have gas stoves for heat, and therefore burn anything they can (tires, old furniture, dung) for warmth. This leaves the city in a black haze that I have luckily yet to experience. This is why they say you have to drink your way through winter, or get out to where the air is fresh. I am going to add a third branch to the adage and simply get high on the smog fumes. Take that you nasty season!
I have still not seen a Yak nor ridden a horse, so stop asking. You will be the first people I tell in the whole world wide web. Don't you worry.
Also big shout out to my first and only follower Alex Ripp. The rest of you could learn something from her unwavering spirit and magnificent moxie. You have to start building an Empire somewhere, and I am honored to have her under my flag. Join the Hoard or get out of our way...
You've been warned,
GC
Now I know what you're thinking. "Lord Cochrane, I know that Mongolia has long winters, but surely it hasn't started yet." Well my friends, you are absolutely right, but since I'm going to be drinking my way through the winter, I thought I might take an opportunity to see the famous Mongolian countryside before the cold months set in.
The trip to Kharkhorin (the first capital of the Mongol empire) was set up by two German girls who live in my building. When asked if I wanted to join, I responded with a resounding "NEIN!" My German must not be as good as I thought, because they were very confused to see me in the car the following morning.
Here is one of the better roads we drove on.
Right outside UB and right outside Kharkhorin, the roads are paved, but everywhere in between there is just a tangled mess of country roads. Here is the GoogleEarth projection of the roads between Kharkhorin and UB.
Our driver, Okhtober, or "Halloween" as I instantly dubbed him, handled himself very well, only occasionally asking a local sheep herder directions. His navigating skills were of the "eeny meeny miny moe" school of driving, but on these roads, that's about all you have.
The trip was fairly uneventful. I saw and rode a camel, stayed my first night in a Ger, and even saw where Klaus Teuber got his inspiration for the Sheep Hex in Settlers of Cattan. (These pictures look ever so good if you click on them by the way).
Settlers is the ultimate conversation starter with Germans for future reference. We argued the merits of wheat and ore late into the evening to the sound of the howling Mongolian wolves. The only thing we could agree on is that Mongolia is getting hurt by being landlocked, leaving it without the sheep port it so needs.
Sadly none of us brought the game along, so we played cards. Amazingly Okhtober managed to learn our game (31, an easy version of Gin Rummy) and even convinced us to play for money. This without using any English. He started out hot as the Gobi, but his luck ran dry as something that is very dry. How about the Gobi?
Yes, it was a very boring trip until we came across possibly the greatest sculpture I have ever seen: Phallic Rock. Eat your heart out Michelangelo, but if your David had this thing between his legs, he would not have needed a sling to slay the angry Goliath. 'Nuff said.
The Phallic rock is one of three sights to see in Kharkhorin, after the Monastery and the Monastery gift shop. Because I am not interested in Monasteries or giving, I just saw the Phallic rock three times. The rock (pictured above) is pointed squarely at a geological feature known as "The Vaginal Slope" (pictured below). The slope is named for its unique shape.
Now I'm saving myself for marriage, so I can't tell a vagina from an antique typewriter. However, my German compatriots assured me that the name "Vaginal Slope" was more than accurate. There was sex in the air, and my sleep was filled with dreams that I don't fully understand.
Yes, all in all a great weekend. I just returned from a dinner with two girls that I am going to be tutoring on the side. Two adorable Mongolian twins. Since their mother does not know any English, I was forced to work out my payment with the daughters, and let me tell you, these are some no nonsense kids. I can't wait to mold them into little sasstalking-machines. The first lesson, "Talk to the Hand" went very well. Almost too well...
And such concludes my life up until this moment. The weather has not turned too cold yet, but apparently it is the smog that is the real killer. As it gets colder, the Mongolians pick up their Gers and move them closer to the city for warmth. Following this, they do not have gas stoves for heat, and therefore burn anything they can (tires, old furniture, dung) for warmth. This leaves the city in a black haze that I have luckily yet to experience. This is why they say you have to drink your way through winter, or get out to where the air is fresh. I am going to add a third branch to the adage and simply get high on the smog fumes. Take that you nasty season!
I have still not seen a Yak nor ridden a horse, so stop asking. You will be the first people I tell in the whole world wide web. Don't you worry.
Also big shout out to my first and only follower Alex Ripp. The rest of you could learn something from her unwavering spirit and magnificent moxie. You have to start building an Empire somewhere, and I am honored to have her under my flag. Join the Hoard or get out of our way...
You've been warned,
GC
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Pictures of things
Blogger will only let me upload the smallest picture size, so like my life, these are not as epic as I would like them to be.
Here are some pictures from the weekend trip to Terelj. These first two I think could be featured on "Visit Mongolia" postcards.
Here is one of some Jockey children. Mongolian Jockeys are usually between 7 and 12 years old because the horses are small and require a lighter and more limber frame.
And this last one is maybe my favorite building in UB. I'm not sure what it is called or what will be inside it when it is done, but it strangely resembles a glasses lens and that's concave with me.
Here are some pictures from the weekend trip to Terelj. These first two I think could be featured on "Visit Mongolia" postcards.
Here is one of some Jockey children. Mongolian Jockeys are usually between 7 and 12 years old because the horses are small and require a lighter and more limber frame.
And this last one is maybe my favorite building in UB. I'm not sure what it is called or what will be inside it when it is done, but it strangely resembles a glasses lens and that's concave with me.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
My First Week
It's been a long, long week, fellow Blogthusiasts. Both for me, for America, and for the world. Let's start with American news. This week saw the coming of one of the most dreaded and horrible natural phenomena that America has to prepare for. Something that under improper action and preparation can ravage the nation.
I'm talking of course about the Republican National Convention.
What's the difference between Sarah Palin and Hurricane Gustav?
Gustav doesn't wear lipstick.
Horribly predictable and unfunny jokes aside, the real news this week was that I started teaching. I am teaching three university level courses: a general English seminar, and two American Studies Classes. I explained to the department that a Canadian might not be the best choice for an American Studies professor, but they assured me that I am the right man for the job.
Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was just the fact that I forgot to prepare a lecture, but my first class was not the smoothest of affairs. After talking and trying to promote conversation for about an hour, I concluded my class by thanking the students for being my first class... ever.
A collective and understanding "Oooohhhh" swept the class. "Oooohhh", I think is a Mongolian exclamation that means "So that explains the high levels of suckitude". Some things are not lost in translation. (Though most are...)
As the week progressed though, I started to find my groove, and instead of leaving the classroom to the sound of "Oooohhhh", I left to the sound of the phrases "Thank you teacher!" and "Thank you for being my teacher!" I'm not sure what these foreign phrases mean, but I think they were in reference to the large pit stains that seem to increase in size as class progresses. I am confident though, that I will be a good teacher, and if I'm not, hell, I'll just say I was and give them all A's anyway. Mongolia apparently lives on corruption, so I am just trying to assimilate myself culturally and professionally.
I won't go into the long and possibly boring details of my weekend, but the highlights include a concert featuring French and Mongolian artists (too much french and not enough Mongolian for my liking), a cocktail party at the American Ambassador's house (I got to try out all of my Sarah Palin jokes on unsuspecting Ex-pats. No one laughed, but I think it was just the language barrier), and a work retreat to Terelj national park, shown here:
Or not...
As usual the Internet is being a jerk, so I will show images on a separate post. Terelj is about 65 kilometers from UB and is a popular destination for a day trip. Our work retreat involved hanging out in a Ger (yurt is politically incorrect, Stalin) drinking copious amounts of vodka, and competing in several sporting events.
My coworker Gundee started the gold medal flurry for our department with a huge wrestling victory, and I continued the trend, first by being the hero in the soccer match, and second by winning a race to the top of a mountain. The race was not your daddy's race, oh no, but each team was a male and a female holding hands. Chimgee and I hit some bumps along the way, and the conclusion of the race was more of a (not so) brisk walk, but we finally won. The prize for each victory was a bottle of champagne (consumed immediately), a bottle of vermouth (very confusing) and a box of candy. The Mongolian Ferrero Rochers. The vermouth means that I have to convert one of my limited cupboards into a liquor cabinet. Hurrah!!!
My victories brought pride and honor to the department. One guy, a 60+ year old security guard (maybe my next Asian kiss?) was extremely impressed. He sat in our Ger for almost an hour talking about me with my coworkers. I of course threw in an English comment now and then, but mostly just smiled, nodded, and sipped. "Bottoms up" is a favourite Mongolian phrase I have learned.
It has been tough not speaking the language and makes large chunks of the day very tough. It is unfair for me to expect people to abandon their mother tongue in my presence, but for some reason, I sort of thought they would. This is a very western viewpoint I think.
Normally I hate it when people talk about me in other languages (MOTHER, you dutch deceptress), but being here it is much more frustrating when you know that the conversation around you has nothing to do with you. It was nice to be the center of attention, even if I couldn't understand everything that was being said. The smiles and thumbs ups said it all.
I told my coworkers I won the two events in honor of Mongolia's two gold medals. They liked this, and we celebrated by singing songs. First I lead the group in a rousing rendition of "Yesterday", and then we sang Mongolian songs late into the night. I did some improv throat singing which was met by the loudest of giggles.
Alright, that is all for now. I will get back on later and put up some pictures for all y'all. I need to start taking Mongolian lessons as soon as I have a regular schedule. "Hello", "Thank You", "Teacher", and "Hooshuur" (traditional Mongolian mutton filled pastry) are not quite enough to carry on a conversation. Though they do allow me to eat like a king and be overcharged for it. Pictures coming soon...
Cheers,
Ussain "If you want to feel good about your athletic self, come to Mongolia" Cochrane
I'm talking of course about the Republican National Convention. What's the difference between Sarah Palin and Hurricane Gustav?
Gustav doesn't wear lipstick.
Horribly predictable and unfunny jokes aside, the real news this week was that I started teaching. I am teaching three university level courses: a general English seminar, and two American Studies Classes. I explained to the department that a Canadian might not be the best choice for an American Studies professor, but they assured me that I am the right man for the job.
Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was just the fact that I forgot to prepare a lecture, but my first class was not the smoothest of affairs. After talking and trying to promote conversation for about an hour, I concluded my class by thanking the students for being my first class... ever.
A collective and understanding "Oooohhhh" swept the class. "Oooohhh", I think is a Mongolian exclamation that means "So that explains the high levels of suckitude". Some things are not lost in translation. (Though most are...)
As the week progressed though, I started to find my groove, and instead of leaving the classroom to the sound of "Oooohhhh", I left to the sound of the phrases "Thank you teacher!" and "Thank you for being my teacher!" I'm not sure what these foreign phrases mean, but I think they were in reference to the large pit stains that seem to increase in size as class progresses. I am confident though, that I will be a good teacher, and if I'm not, hell, I'll just say I was and give them all A's anyway. Mongolia apparently lives on corruption, so I am just trying to assimilate myself culturally and professionally.
I won't go into the long and possibly boring details of my weekend, but the highlights include a concert featuring French and Mongolian artists (too much french and not enough Mongolian for my liking), a cocktail party at the American Ambassador's house (I got to try out all of my Sarah Palin jokes on unsuspecting Ex-pats. No one laughed, but I think it was just the language barrier), and a work retreat to Terelj national park, shown here:
Or not...
As usual the Internet is being a jerk, so I will show images on a separate post. Terelj is about 65 kilometers from UB and is a popular destination for a day trip. Our work retreat involved hanging out in a Ger (yurt is politically incorrect, Stalin) drinking copious amounts of vodka, and competing in several sporting events.
My coworker Gundee started the gold medal flurry for our department with a huge wrestling victory, and I continued the trend, first by being the hero in the soccer match, and second by winning a race to the top of a mountain. The race was not your daddy's race, oh no, but each team was a male and a female holding hands. Chimgee and I hit some bumps along the way, and the conclusion of the race was more of a (not so) brisk walk, but we finally won. The prize for each victory was a bottle of champagne (consumed immediately), a bottle of vermouth (very confusing) and a box of candy. The Mongolian Ferrero Rochers. The vermouth means that I have to convert one of my limited cupboards into a liquor cabinet. Hurrah!!!
My victories brought pride and honor to the department. One guy, a 60+ year old security guard (maybe my next Asian kiss?) was extremely impressed. He sat in our Ger for almost an hour talking about me with my coworkers. I of course threw in an English comment now and then, but mostly just smiled, nodded, and sipped. "Bottoms up" is a favourite Mongolian phrase I have learned.
It has been tough not speaking the language and makes large chunks of the day very tough. It is unfair for me to expect people to abandon their mother tongue in my presence, but for some reason, I sort of thought they would. This is a very western viewpoint I think.
Normally I hate it when people talk about me in other languages (MOTHER, you dutch deceptress), but being here it is much more frustrating when you know that the conversation around you has nothing to do with you. It was nice to be the center of attention, even if I couldn't understand everything that was being said. The smiles and thumbs ups said it all.
I told my coworkers I won the two events in honor of Mongolia's two gold medals. They liked this, and we celebrated by singing songs. First I lead the group in a rousing rendition of "Yesterday", and then we sang Mongolian songs late into the night. I did some improv throat singing which was met by the loudest of giggles.
Alright, that is all for now. I will get back on later and put up some pictures for all y'all. I need to start taking Mongolian lessons as soon as I have a regular schedule. "Hello", "Thank You", "Teacher", and "Hooshuur" (traditional Mongolian mutton filled pastry) are not quite enough to carry on a conversation. Though they do allow me to eat like a king and be overcharged for it. Pictures coming soon...
Cheers,
Ussain "If you want to feel good about your athletic self, come to Mongolia" Cochrane
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Photos Ahoy
Well, it has been just over a week here in the land of the nomads, and while I have been wandering a bit, I have still not managed to see the things that make Mongolia so special. I have not seen a single yak, camel, nor horse. I did nearly step in a huge pile of horse business however, so I know they are around. A weekend horse riding trip had been in the works, but those bloody tourists snatched up all the horses. I suppose I will have to wait.
But onto the good stuff, the pictures. Here is one of me and my newest Mongolian friend who I met on the steps of the Zaisan war memorial, commemorating Mongolian soldiers lost during World War II.
I apologize for the low resolution. I am still learning to work my new camera. I am trying to do my best Will Forte impersonation, but I think I fall a bit short. Falconer I am not. That bird was heavy though, and I'm not talking Marty McFly heavy here. I only had to hold the pose for about 30 seconds, but my arm was killing the entire time. I escaped with my face intact though, a real accomplishment I think.
Here is said memorial, perched atop the hill. Amazing view of the city from the top.
And what set of pictures would be complete without a little Genghis Khan. The man is everywhere in this country, even carved into mountains. The following picture shows both Genghi in all their glory: Cochrane and Khan together at last! (I changed the camera to high res just in time to capture this gem)
Ah to be young and egocentric again.
More pics will be posted in the coming days and weeks. Still deciding how I want to do it. To Flickr or to Facebook? That is the question, only unlike Hamlet, this one has no clear answer.
My large ego will be put in check this week as I start teaching my Mongolians about life, love, and American History. I'd tell you about it, but I try to keep my personal life and work life separate.
But onto the good stuff, the pictures. Here is one of me and my newest Mongolian friend who I met on the steps of the Zaisan war memorial, commemorating Mongolian soldiers lost during World War II.
I apologize for the low resolution. I am still learning to work my new camera. I am trying to do my best Will Forte impersonation, but I think I fall a bit short. Falconer I am not. That bird was heavy though, and I'm not talking Marty McFly heavy here. I only had to hold the pose for about 30 seconds, but my arm was killing the entire time. I escaped with my face intact though, a real accomplishment I think.
Here is said memorial, perched atop the hill. Amazing view of the city from the top.
And what set of pictures would be complete without a little Genghis Khan. The man is everywhere in this country, even carved into mountains. The following picture shows both Genghi in all their glory: Cochrane and Khan together at last! (I changed the camera to high res just in time to capture this gem)
Ah to be young and egocentric again.
More pics will be posted in the coming days and weeks. Still deciding how I want to do it. To Flickr or to Facebook? That is the question, only unlike Hamlet, this one has no clear answer.
My large ego will be put in check this week as I start teaching my Mongolians about life, love, and American History. I'd tell you about it, but I try to keep my personal life and work life separate.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Gold Medals and My First Asian Kiss: A Wanderer's Tale
I am sitting here at the first day of work, already finding time to slack off and work on the old blog. The good news of the day is that one of my coworkers, Muz or The Siberian Moose as I am not calling him, told me that he can lend me a wireless modem for the year that will pick up Mongolian WiFi. Or MoFi as the locals say.
Yesterday was an absolutely amazing day. It started out with a trip to the Gandan Temple, one of the premiere sights to see in Ulaanbaatar. The temple is one of the last standing since the Soviets leveled most of them in the 1930s. This one was kept as a tourist trap, and what a trap it was. The temple is home to over 150 monks of all ages and genders and for each single monk there are roughly 100 or more pigeons. The Gandan Temple is in need of a Bolivian Tree Lizard infestation and fast. The temple itself was great, the highlights being a 100 foot tall statue of Buddha, and all of the locals coming here to worship. Though I didn't understand any of the ceremonies, I was intrigued and want to learn more.
I thought this would be the highpoint of my day, but walking home I noticed a massive crowd standing outside the State Department Store. Now they don't usually have mutton sales on Sundays so I knew something was awry. Turns out, they were watching lightweight boxing sensation, Enkhbat Badar-Uugan, collect Mongolia's second gold medal in their history and of these Olympics. The match was not even close, and following it came the greatest display of nationalism I have seen since being in La Paz when Bolivia qualified for its first world cup. It seems in both Bolivia and Mongolia, the natural response to an athletic conquest is to get in your car to drive around honking horns and waving flags. Many people were equipped with boxing gloves and helmets, while others simply adorned drunken smiles.
In order to escape the madness I went and sat down in a less crowded park. Immediately I was flanked by two (seemingly) homeless men, hopped up on what I thought was Mongolian pride, but in fact turned out to be vodka. We hit it off. One of the guys was wearing a Canada hat, so we had an immediate connection. Though they knew no English and I knew no Mongolian, I pointed to the words "Gold", "Happy", and "Congratulations" in my phrase book and each was met with more hugs and high fives. They then presented their victory juice which took the form of Chinngis Khan National Vodka. Shots were doled out from a dirty old ashtray. I wanted to decline, but luckily I did not. Sadly our time together had to come to an end, but not before my Canadian compadre gave me a giant hug and kissed my several times on my cheeks. I tell you, for a guy with no teeth, his kiss was amazingly firm.
Returning home, I stopped in Sukhbatar square, which houses the parliament building where the main party was happening. I made what I swear is the last frivolous purchase I will make for a while and picked up a Mongolian flag and waved like I've never waved before. Many people loved seeing me with their colors, giving me high fives until my hands were sore. Others must have deemed that I wasn't Mongolian enough to be holding their flag, and asked if they could have it as their god given right. I stood firm however, and waved it against all odds. I almost caved when a little kid tried to trade me some candy for my flag. Little did he know he was barking up the wrong tree as anyone who knows me can tell you I'm a salt man all the way.
Pictures from these and the rest of my adventures will be up soon. The Olympic bash will continue this evening as the president welcomes back the athletes, and who knows what may happen then.
Will I kiss another homeless man? Will I shake the presidents hand? Will I be able to live an entire year with no TV in my dorm?
Stay tuned for the answers to these and other provocative questions, next time on The Second Coming.
Yesterday was an absolutely amazing day. It started out with a trip to the Gandan Temple, one of the premiere sights to see in Ulaanbaatar. The temple is one of the last standing since the Soviets leveled most of them in the 1930s. This one was kept as a tourist trap, and what a trap it was. The temple is home to over 150 monks of all ages and genders and for each single monk there are roughly 100 or more pigeons. The Gandan Temple is in need of a Bolivian Tree Lizard infestation and fast. The temple itself was great, the highlights being a 100 foot tall statue of Buddha, and all of the locals coming here to worship. Though I didn't understand any of the ceremonies, I was intrigued and want to learn more.
I thought this would be the highpoint of my day, but walking home I noticed a massive crowd standing outside the State Department Store. Now they don't usually have mutton sales on Sundays so I knew something was awry. Turns out, they were watching lightweight boxing sensation, Enkhbat Badar-Uugan, collect Mongolia's second gold medal in their history and of these Olympics. The match was not even close, and following it came the greatest display of nationalism I have seen since being in La Paz when Bolivia qualified for its first world cup. It seems in both Bolivia and Mongolia, the natural response to an athletic conquest is to get in your car to drive around honking horns and waving flags. Many people were equipped with boxing gloves and helmets, while others simply adorned drunken smiles.
In order to escape the madness I went and sat down in a less crowded park. Immediately I was flanked by two (seemingly) homeless men, hopped up on what I thought was Mongolian pride, but in fact turned out to be vodka. We hit it off. One of the guys was wearing a Canada hat, so we had an immediate connection. Though they knew no English and I knew no Mongolian, I pointed to the words "Gold", "Happy", and "Congratulations" in my phrase book and each was met with more hugs and high fives. They then presented their victory juice which took the form of Chinngis Khan National Vodka. Shots were doled out from a dirty old ashtray. I wanted to decline, but luckily I did not. Sadly our time together had to come to an end, but not before my Canadian compadre gave me a giant hug and kissed my several times on my cheeks. I tell you, for a guy with no teeth, his kiss was amazingly firm.
Returning home, I stopped in Sukhbatar square, which houses the parliament building where the main party was happening. I made what I swear is the last frivolous purchase I will make for a while and picked up a Mongolian flag and waved like I've never waved before. Many people loved seeing me with their colors, giving me high fives until my hands were sore. Others must have deemed that I wasn't Mongolian enough to be holding their flag, and asked if they could have it as their god given right. I stood firm however, and waved it against all odds. I almost caved when a little kid tried to trade me some candy for my flag. Little did he know he was barking up the wrong tree as anyone who knows me can tell you I'm a salt man all the way.
Pictures from these and the rest of my adventures will be up soon. The Olympic bash will continue this evening as the president welcomes back the athletes, and who knows what may happen then.
Will I kiss another homeless man? Will I shake the presidents hand? Will I be able to live an entire year with no TV in my dorm?
Stay tuned for the answers to these and other provocative questions, next time on The Second Coming.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Mongolian art is the best art of all art
It took two whole days and two full pints of Chinggis Khan beer, but I am finally mentally and physically prepared to report from glorious Mongolia.
The trip over went off without a hitch. While in Beijing I nearly blew the whole operation by boarding a train headed for the center of town, thinking that it would take me between airport terminals. Luckily though, I am cunning like a crippled cat, and I followed the very well marked signs to the free airport shuttle. Crisis averted. Keith: 1. China: nothing.
My first introduction to Mongolian life and culture occurred in the Beijing airport. By the flight gate, the airport TV's were showing Olympic volleyball. The match, China versus Brazil in a battle of the bitterest of rivals. China, jealous of Brazil's mastery of Portuguese, and Brazil, angry that they can't find a good spring roll in Rio de Janeiro. It was very fascinating to watch the contrast between the Mongolians waiting for the flight and the Chinese airport staff. The Mongolians heralded every Chinese miss with enthusiastic cheers and claps. No one boarded the plane until Brazil had taken care of business.
But onto the good stuff: Ulaanbaatar. Where can I begin? This is a most fascinating city. I was greeted at the airport by my coworker Heliuna (Mongolian version of Helen) and her boyfriend, whose name I thought was Patrick, but now I am not so sure. Though driving is done on the right hand street in Mongolia, the Japanese made cars all have the steering wheel on the opposite side. Talk about culture shock!!!
I am living in University housing approximately a 5 minute walk from the center of town. I spent today doing touristy things before I become a disgruntled local. I don't want to be the New Yorker that has never seen the Empire State Building. That might be good enough for a certain New York Hipster, but its not for me. In the morning I saw the Choijin Lama Monastery museum, a collection of 5 monasteries almost in the middle of the town. Seeing the degraded temples standing next to highly modern buildings is a bit depressing, but the art inside the monastery was amazing. It was all highly graphic, depicting man being punished for his sins. It included a mask worn by traditional dancers of the past made of over 6,000 corals and weighing 30 kilograms. Where the Mongolians got the corals from is a mystery to me, but it was still fascinating.
I then went from the old to the very old and on B. Lowd's recommendations checked out the Mongolian Museum of Natural History. Though not quite as expansive as the house that Teddy built, the price was much more reasonable. 2500 Tugrik or just over 2 dollars. The crown jewel of the museum was a full skeleton of a tarbosaurus, a slightly smaller T-Rex. Also, to my amazement the museum held several Moose!!! Apparently Canada and Mongolia have more in common than I once suspected.
I haven't been robbed or assaulted yet, so I'm already doing better than I did after my first day in College. I don't start work for another week, so hopefully I will get a chance to hit up the countryside and ride me some camels. Like George Bush's presidency, this post has been both long and boring.
Stay tuned however, for the Obama of posts is on the horizon. Change is on its way!
The trip over went off without a hitch. While in Beijing I nearly blew the whole operation by boarding a train headed for the center of town, thinking that it would take me between airport terminals. Luckily though, I am cunning like a crippled cat, and I followed the very well marked signs to the free airport shuttle. Crisis averted. Keith: 1. China: nothing.
My first introduction to Mongolian life and culture occurred in the Beijing airport. By the flight gate, the airport TV's were showing Olympic volleyball. The match, China versus Brazil in a battle of the bitterest of rivals. China, jealous of Brazil's mastery of Portuguese, and Brazil, angry that they can't find a good spring roll in Rio de Janeiro. It was very fascinating to watch the contrast between the Mongolians waiting for the flight and the Chinese airport staff. The Mongolians heralded every Chinese miss with enthusiastic cheers and claps. No one boarded the plane until Brazil had taken care of business.
But onto the good stuff: Ulaanbaatar. Where can I begin? This is a most fascinating city. I was greeted at the airport by my coworker Heliuna (Mongolian version of Helen) and her boyfriend, whose name I thought was Patrick, but now I am not so sure. Though driving is done on the right hand street in Mongolia, the Japanese made cars all have the steering wheel on the opposite side. Talk about culture shock!!!
I am living in University housing approximately a 5 minute walk from the center of town. I spent today doing touristy things before I become a disgruntled local. I don't want to be the New Yorker that has never seen the Empire State Building. That might be good enough for a certain New York Hipster, but its not for me. In the morning I saw the Choijin Lama Monastery museum, a collection of 5 monasteries almost in the middle of the town. Seeing the degraded temples standing next to highly modern buildings is a bit depressing, but the art inside the monastery was amazing. It was all highly graphic, depicting man being punished for his sins. It included a mask worn by traditional dancers of the past made of over 6,000 corals and weighing 30 kilograms. Where the Mongolians got the corals from is a mystery to me, but it was still fascinating.
I then went from the old to the very old and on B. Lowd's recommendations checked out the Mongolian Museum of Natural History. Though not quite as expansive as the house that Teddy built, the price was much more reasonable. 2500 Tugrik or just over 2 dollars. The crown jewel of the museum was a full skeleton of a tarbosaurus, a slightly smaller T-Rex. Also, to my amazement the museum held several Moose!!! Apparently Canada and Mongolia have more in common than I once suspected.
I haven't been robbed or assaulted yet, so I'm already doing better than I did after my first day in College. I don't start work for another week, so hopefully I will get a chance to hit up the countryside and ride me some camels. Like George Bush's presidency, this post has been both long and boring.
Stay tuned however, for the Obama of posts is on the horizon. Change is on its way!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Mutton To It
Well, this is it. The last day on native soil. Or should I say First Nation soil? As Ben Affleck first said in Armageddon, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again." As I have not booked my return flight, I truly don't know when I'll be back. Unfortunately for me however, , I don't have the safety net that is Bruce Willis watching my back. Nope, I'm all on my own for this one.
Unlike Ben though, I leave knowing that I will come back. I have to, because there are just too many things that I'm going to miss about this place. For starters, I will miss time zones.
Apparently, time zones were invented by the white man as no Asian country has more than one distinct zone. Unless you count Russia, but who in their right mind would do something like that?
The next thing I will miss is American TV. I fear the Olympic coverage will not be up to par in Mongolia, and I will miss watching Canada excel in such high profile sports as equestrian and trampoline. I also don't think I will be able to exist having to watch LOST online or even worse... having to purchase it on iTunes. There's some things they prepared me for during orientation, but having to wait ONE DAY to see where and when Desmond time travels to next was not one of them.
I had thought this would be an increasingly nostalgic and extensive list, but apparently America is not that great. If all I could come up with to miss are time zones and Henry Ian Cusick than I say So Long Stink Town!
In 24 hours I will be be in Beijing, jockeying with Chinese businessmen for the best seat at the airport bar, and in 24 more I will be starting my new life in Mongolia, hopefully riding a horse or sizzipin' on some mizzare's milk. But don't worry. To all my homies back in America and scattered across the globe, I will pour the first sip out for you.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Losing my B card (aka Canada vs. Mongolia part 1)
Hello World!
I have been telling people that I would set up a travel blog and here it is. It is not much, just a spot for me to share my experiences through stories and photos. For those of you not in the know, I am spending the coming year in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, teaching English and American Studies at the National University of Mongolia. I have not left yet, but am slated to leave on Wednesday. This blog, like Bill Nye, is intended to both educate and to entertain, but since I haven't left yet, I don't expect this first post to do either. I can however offer a few pre-trip musings on Canada/Mongolia relations:
As a Canadian, I think I can really relate to the Mongolian cause. Canada and Mongolia are similar in many ways. They are both vast, mostly uninhabitable masses of land, both have to live under the constant shadow of their southern neighbour, and both are inseparable from their trademark hoofed animals. Canada has the Moose, and Mongolia the horse. In fact, these two animals appear to be identical to the untrained eye.
Can you pick out which of these hoofed beasts helped to build history's largest empire in the 13th century?
I will therefore approach this experience the same way Liu approached the Mortal Kombat Tournament. I will live with honor and avenge my fallen brothers. I will shoot my students with fireballs of knowledge, and use my bicycle kick, not as a weapon, but as a means of transport in this oil dependent world. I may be beaten at times, but I will always find the strength when given the option to continue.
Today is Sunday, 3 days until M-day. If anyone has any words of wisdom or sagely advice before I leave, write me, or leave a comment. In the coming weeks and months this will surely contain many interesting stories and pictures, but this is all I've got right now. Sorry for wasting your time, but I promise to make it up to you in the swiftest of fashions.
I have been telling people that I would set up a travel blog and here it is. It is not much, just a spot for me to share my experiences through stories and photos. For those of you not in the know, I am spending the coming year in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, teaching English and American Studies at the National University of Mongolia. I have not left yet, but am slated to leave on Wednesday. This blog, like Bill Nye, is intended to both educate and to entertain, but since I haven't left yet, I don't expect this first post to do either. I can however offer a few pre-trip musings on Canada/Mongolia relations:
As a Canadian, I think I can really relate to the Mongolian cause. Canada and Mongolia are similar in many ways. They are both vast, mostly uninhabitable masses of land, both have to live under the constant shadow of their southern neighbour, and both are inseparable from their trademark hoofed animals. Canada has the Moose, and Mongolia the horse. In fact, these two animals appear to be identical to the untrained eye.
Can you pick out which of these hoofed beasts helped to build history's largest empire in the 13th century?
Me neither? But I am excited to learn.
As a Canadian in Mongolia I hope to be part Louis Riel and part Genghis Khan. Put these two national icons together and who do you get? That's right, the great Shaolin warrior Louis Khan (actually pronounced Liu Kang, but not bad right?).
I will therefore approach this experience the same way Liu approached the Mortal Kombat Tournament. I will live with honor and avenge my fallen brothers. I will shoot my students with fireballs of knowledge, and use my bicycle kick, not as a weapon, but as a means of transport in this oil dependent world. I may be beaten at times, but I will always find the strength when given the option to continue.
Today is Sunday, 3 days until M-day. If anyone has any words of wisdom or sagely advice before I leave, write me, or leave a comment. In the coming weeks and months this will surely contain many interesting stories and pictures, but this is all I've got right now. Sorry for wasting your time, but I promise to make it up to you in the swiftest of fashions.
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