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.