The Second Coming

Roads? Where we're going we don't need... roads

2009-06-07T14:18:00.003+08:00

Many of you will recall months ago, I made an open invitation for anyone and everyone to come out and visit me. While most people wrote off my invitation as the incessant ramblings of a lonely and troubled soul, two very lucky ladies heeded my words and made the long journey out here to see the intricacies of my life that can't be revealed in blog form. Three weeks ago, my lovely sisters, Emma and Jesse, arrived in Mongolia and the three of us prepared for the adventure of a lifetime: an epic road trip from Ulaanbaatar to Bayan Olgi, the westernmost province of Mongolia.

While most people are aware of Mongolia's diversity in climate and landscape, few realize that Mongolia also possesses amazing ethnic diversity. It ranks as the world's least densely populated country, but this population is made up of over 20 different ethnic groups. Bayan Olgi is comprised almost entirely by one of these ethnic minorities: the Kazakhs. Bayan Olgi is the only Kazakh province in Mongolia and due to its extremely remote location has been left almost completely untouched by both Soviet and Mongolian influence, making it more like Kazakhstan than Kazakhstan itself is these days.

Jesse and Emma arrived on a Sunday night and our trip began the following Tuesday. Most Mongolians refuse to start any sort of trip or project on Tuesdays, as it is considered bad luck. I wrote this off as foolish superstition, but there were several times during the trip that I couldn't help but thinking we should have reconsidered this very rash decision.

The trip to western Mongolia is one that few tourists and even fewer Mongolians ever get to make. The drive is a trek at over 1500 km on traditional Mongolian roads, meaning roads that aren't really roads at all. Most of the time you are just driving across the expansive steppe, where the sheep to car ratio is in the thousands.

We slowly made our way west, stopping to camp in a Siberian pine forest, enjoying a night at a luxury hot springs resort, two nights on the beautiful white lake, and a night camping next to a salt lake, to name just a few of the highlights. Pictures of the entire trip have been posted on Facebook. If you are not friends with me, or have not joined the Facebook revolution, click here to see them.

It was somewhere around our 5th day, where the scenery got boring, the days of heavy driving began, and the decision to start the trip on a Tuesday began to haunt us. The day was Monday May 25, a day forever etched into my mind as it was one day after Mongolia's presidential election. We were making our way to our final destination of Olgi city in Bayan Olgi when our car smashed into a rock, bending our back drive shaft, and eliminating any possibility of four wheel drive for the rest of the day. This forced us into an unscheduled pit stop in OmonGobi, which is hands down the worst town I have ever been to. That's right. Even worse than Castlegar. We must have been the only foreigners ever to come to this town, but were treated more like lepers than celebrities. After four hours killing time, playing round after round of "would you rather?", we determined that it would be more favorable to lose a hand than to spend a month in OmonGobi. Luckily, by this time our car had been fixed and we got to leave, hands intact.

We made it to Olgi, thinking that the next day would be a nice leisurely drive to the Five Saints National Park, perched on the borders of Russia, Mongolia, China and Kazakhstan. Sadly, bureaucracy kept us from leaving until the late afternoon, and we ended up with another long driving day. In these far reaches of the Earth, the people speak neither Mongolian nor English, so even our guide and driver were unable to communicate. We drove for hours, seeing no signs of life, in a place where our driver had only been once. On instinct alone, he managed to find the Kazakh home where we would be staying for the next two nights. How he did this, I will never know.

After spending the next day holed in due to a blizzard, which are apparently commonplace in this part of the world at this time of the year, we finally made it to the Five Saints and got stunning views of Russia and China. It was a spot that I have dreamt about going since I touched down in Mongolia 10 months ago, and a great finale to an amazing trip. We had been through hell and made it to the end of the earth, and the most amazing part is that the three of us managed not to kill each other even after spending two weeks driving all day and sharing a tent/room/ger at night. Our parents are very proud of us I'm sure.

11 more days of nomad living and I still haven't united the hordes, but at least I've got the Kazakhs on my side.

Only 19 more ethnic groups to go.

The Importance of Being Mongolian

2009-05-05T22:03:00.004+08:00

"You can take the boy out of the theater, but you can't take the theater out of the boy."

Chinggis Khan (preceding a(nother) brutal beating from his disgusted father)

I begin this post with an apology. I have come close to killing this blog, but intend to revive it in my final Mongolian month.

A blog you see is like a flower. Water it and it will grow. Shit on it and it will bloom. Well after so many (4 at most) disappointed followers have shat on me and my blogging skills, I am finally back with a keyboard in lieu of a watering can and fresh life experiences in lieu of sunshine.

On the topic of sunshine, spring has finally sprung, and summer is just around the corner. There is a saying in Mongolia: "Never trust the spring sky" for Mongolian weather is more erratic than their drivers. While I prance around town in stylish short pants and complimentary Princeton shades, the Mongolians continue to wear long johns, tuques, and down jackets, in fear that the weather will turn its mighty wrath against them. I have taken their hesitance in stride, dominating local outdoor basketball courts, scarfing untouched ice cream, and even losing the old shirt every once in a while. If you thought a Canadian winter can make a boy pasty, you ain't seen nothing yet.

But I digress. The biggest news I have to report is that I finally fulfilled a dream eight years in the making and played the role of Algernon in the UB Players production of Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of being Earnest." I read the play in high school and had been dying to play the part ever since. Who knew I would have to travel halfway around the world in order to finally find a theater company where I would be the most qualified for the role. Small pond baby. Small pond. I opted to play Algie as a closeted homosexual, inciting people to come up to me afterward telling me that I was perfect for the part and that it was the role I was born to play. I'll let you be the judge.

Here's me and by brother Earnest (the very talented Dan Macdonald). Notice the Mongolian furniture in our very colonial take on Wilde.

And this classic mustache shot. Closeted Homosexual? Pssshhh. More like closeted Tom Selleck.

It might be an opportune time for me to mention now that the crew of the play awarded me the "Illusions of Grandeur Award" following the production. Philistines! All of them!

The UB Players is Mongolia's first and only expat theater company, a group known primarily for their love of alcohol, socializing, and high society. Earnest was a fitting choice as it simultaneously celebrates and tears down these very ideals. Our particular group was also tearing down pillars of its own as a group made up of Australian volunteers, Fullbright Scholars, and 100% of PIA Mongolia was a far cry from the Ambassadors and diplomats that usually grace the UB Players stage. This was reflected in the quality of the show as well.

Putting on a play anywhere is a struggle, but in Mongolia it becomes a veritable free for all. Amazing that in the world's least densely populated country we were unable to find a real rehearsal space, being forced to run lines in a dingy, dog filled, basement. Tech rehearsals are known to be long and drawn out, but try doing it with a technician who has just come back from a two hour long date with the sweet vodka vixens. On top of this, all of our performances had to start later than intended due to a social dancing club that dominated the adjacent ballroom. Amazing that for 7 nights straight, there was a live band and over 200 ecstatic Mongolians shaking their groove thangs from 6-8. In a country not known for its punctuality (Mongolian time = +1-2 hours), it is fun to see what people actually care to show up on time for.

I am feeling a bit confused as to how to spend my evenings these days, but I think first on my list is going to be to secure my membership card to this very exclusive dance party. If I put my name on the list now, I just might be able to score a spot before I leave allowing me to dance the Foxtrot to the Tetris theme 7 nights a week. If I haven't made Chinggis proud already, becoming lord of the dance would surely be the straw that broke the camel's back.

More frequent postings to come as I procrastinate putting in my grades and finding a job.

Until next time,

Chinggis (not Genghis anymore) Cochrane

An Ice Vacation

2009-03-15T21:30:00.002+08:00

What do you get when you combine -30 degree weather, 0.4% of the world's freshwater, and a handful of wide eyed tourists?

If you guessed a kick ass way to spend the Mongolian New Year then you would be right. To celebrate the new year in style, 11 friends and I threw off the shackles of city life and headed north to Lake Khovsgol for its annual Ice Festival, now among the top 10 ice festivals in the world!

Khovsgol lake is a full 20 hour drive from Ulaanbaatar and houses over 0.4% of the world's freshwater. Called the little brother of Russia's Lake Baikal for its geological and natural similarities, the lake spends the better part of the year frozen solid, becoming a superhighway for Russian oil tankers and European speed skaters alike.

The trip out there was split between an overnight train and a beast of a car ride. Being the selfless man that I am, I offered my fellow passengers the opportunity to hear my epic and boisterous reading of Lewis Carrol's Alice in Wonderland. I made it through the first 4 pages and was almost down the rabbit hole when my lunch decided to go the other way. Family members will recall a similar experience I had in the Bolivian wild involving massive amounts of Cheetos. This time around I was smart enough to stand upwind.

Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice - you can't get fooled again.

Following the most powerful puke of my life, and 10 more hours on roads that have seen little improvement since the days of Genghis Khan, we made it to the lake. For those of you that have never had the joy of riding a jeep across a frozen lake, it is definitely not for the faint of heart. Each second we drove further was accompanied by loud cracking noises. Our driver ensured us that these were normal, and he was definitely right, for we were driving on over one and a half meters of ice. Driving on the ice involved more 360s than a 100,000 point combo in Tony Hawk's pro skater. Even with my life flashing before my eyes at every turn of the wheel, I still thanked god that we were off of the dirt roads. We finally made it to our accommodations, which were humble and quintessentially Mongolian.

Sleeping in a Ger during the Siberian winter is an exercise in both survival and patience. The fire must stay stoked all night so as to avoid frostbite, but don't stoke it too much or your ger will quickly become a smoke shack. I dreamt more in one smoke filled night there than I've done in months, even having an out of body experience where I dreamt from someone else's point of view and saw myself through his eyes. I know now how hard it is to spend time with me, and for this I apologize.

But onto the Ice Festival! All I have to say about this is that I would not like to see the festivals that did not break the top ten. I don't know where they get off calling 10 ice sculptures, an igloo with full bar capabilities, and a few disheveled looking reindeer a festival, but they did manage to dupe almost 100 tourists and for this I commend them. Festival highlights included a slide made out of ice, ice tug of war, and ice wrestling, all activities where I perfected the fine art of falling on my ass.

We did not stay at the festival long but opted instead for more exciting activities: riding a one horse open sleigh across the ice, several 15 km skates, horse riding, and finally living my boyhood dream of ice fishing.

Why they call it ice fishing and not ice breaking I will never fully understand, but a chainsaw can aid in killing fish as well as killing trees and sexy teens, which is very good to know. Mongolian style fishing means leaving the lines overnight and checking them in the morning. Wanting to be a part of the big catch, I refused to buy into the Mongolian ritual, and went from hole to hole, breaking the ice, tugging the lines and sadly coming up empty handed every time. The Mongolians had much better luck, and I learned that a watched fish never bites.

For those of you that read my blog and enjoyed my send up of the Mongolian Toilet (the top result when googling Mongolian Toilet btw) you will surely enjoy this next tale. My original plan had been to hold my bowel movements for the entirety of the trip, but 6 days on a diet consisting primarily of yak meat and vodka threw a wrench into the whole operation.

I am not a big outdoors man.

I have not been on any week long back packing trips.

I have never held a grudge against any of my neighbours.

I had never taken a dump in the great outdoors before this trip.

I was going to lose my D card eventually, and what better place or time to do this than Siberia in the winter? There's really nothing like a howling wolf to give you the much needed incentive to perform this necessary and beautiful act. I liked it so much in fact that I returned for round two. And so on. And so forth.

Cross that one off of my "things to do before I die" list, and "places to take a dump before I die" list.

Talking about killing two birds with one glorious stone. (Not literally I hope)

Be real,

Genghis

Journey to the Small Screen

2009-02-24T18:29:00.002+08:00

Well folks, it happened. After years and years of paying my dues and making coffee for Hollywood Fat Cats, I finally got my big break. No, I didn't get cast in the role of "the foreigner" in the second chapter of Sergei Bodrov's "Mongol". My venture to the silver screen will have to wait for the time being. I did however, get cast in the role I was born to play, myself, in a special episode of Mongolia's marquis English language show: Voicebox TV.

Voicebox TV is a television show written and produced by two of my friends. These two friends are, I am sorry to say, Australian, and it is through an Australian Government program that they are in Mongolia working on this very cool project. Basically the two of them go out every week with a camera and a dream, and come out with a tight 22 minute episode that both educates and entertains. The goal of the show is to help Mongolians improve their English and also to help foreigners understand Mongolian culture a little bit. Normally the show features a mostly Mongolian cast, but this week, the dynamic duo needed some of their foreign friends to help deliver a high quality episode. They turned to me, and deliver I did!

This week's episode was an expose on the Mongolian Lunar New Year, or "Tsagaan Sar". The direct translation is "White Moon", and it refers to the last day of winter and the first day of spring. Its a holiday that mainly consists of eating large amounts of meat and drinking large amounts of vodka, so really not that different from a typical weekday around here.

The holiday is very ritualistic and everything must be done in a specific order. The TV episode was mainly an explanation of the different parts of the ceremony with lots of shots of Mongolians interacting with foreigners. I'm not sure if the episode was supposed to be funny, but the way that the other foreigners and I messed up the various parts of the ceremony is sure to crack the target audience up. I also refused to tell any of the Mongolian people in the Ger my actual name, forcing them to call me by my newly self-christened Mongolian name: "Kharsukh". The literal translation is "Black Axe", and has received universally negative reviews from every Mongolian who I have told it to. They tell me its a stupid and fake name. I just think they're a bit intimidated to be talking to a man with the cojones to dub himself Black Axe. When I get back to English Speaking lands I think I'll just go by Blax, but for now, "Kharsukh" it is.

The traditional Tsagaan Sar food is a steamed, mutton filled dumpling called a "buuz" (sounds like "BOSS" speakers, and ryhmes with "shows". Buuz, like most Mongolian foods is both sheepy and white. One of the traditions of Tsagaan Sar is visiting different families, usually friends or relatives, but often strangers as well. At every home you go to, you will be served food and are expected to eat a certain number of buuz. I have been told that you are supposed to eat 5-10 buuz at every home you visit and can visit up to 10 homes, accounting for a total of 50-100 buuz! Pretty amazing stuff. In traditional Western tradition, the producers of Voicebox decided to exploit this little ritual in a good old fashioned eating contest.

It seems I wasn't brought on TV for my wit after all. I was brought their for my stomach. Normally I don't let people use me for my body, but I decided I could make an exception this time.

The contest: See who could eat 10 buuz in the quickest time.

My opponent: A 11 year old Mongolian boy who grew up in Boseman (Buuzman), Montana

Normally I take it easy when competing against a clearly outmatched foe, but when the cameras are rolling its a whole other story. I prepared for the contest by eating nothing but cabbage and lettuce for a week, allowing them to release valuable gasses, thereby stretching out my stomach to superhuman proportions. The contest was over before it began, and I finished my 10 buuz before my opponent could eat 5.

Pathetic.

Victorious, I strutted my stuff, pumped my fist, and to add insult to injury, even finished my opponents remaining buuz. It will teach 11 year olds around the world not to mess with the likes of me.

I don't think I will be invited back to star in a second episode. People will tell you its because of my horrible sportsmanship, or repeated attempts at speaking Mongolian on an English language TV show, but we all know its politics. Its always politics with these Hollywood Fat Cats. Either way, I have made my mark and what a mark it is.

If you ask my me, TV is for chumps anyways. Chumps and hobos. Next time you see me I'll be strutting on the silver screen.

Start preordering your tickets now.

GC

A B$tch is a B$tch but a Dog is a Man's Best Friend

2009-02-03T22:34:00.008+08:00

I have been back in Ulaanbaatar for roughly a week and a half now, and let me tell you, getting off that plane after spending five of the most blissful weeks of my life in Southeast Asia, I could not help but wondering:

"What the Hell am I doing here?"

I left 30 degree weather, a private slice of the Indian Ocean, pad Thai that cost less than a dollar, and air fresher than any I had ever breathed for -30 degree weather, an apartment building that wasn't even nice when it was built during the Cold War, vegetables that cost an arm and a leg, and air that feels worse on my lungs than 100 cigarettes. Everyone had been telling me I was crazy for living in Mongolia and I was starting to believe it myself.

Then I was perusing a little thing called Facebook, maybe you've heard of it, and I came across an album entitled "Dog Sledding in Mongolia", and I remembered that I did not come to Mongolia because I had heard it was a blissful paradise; oh no! I came to Mongolia because it is simply and truly, the most badass place I could think of at the time. There's a long list of things I need to do before my nomadic stint is up, and dog sledding was sitting in the number one spot.

I made a few calls, wrote a few emails, and set up my date with destiny. The drive out of the smoggy UB haze and into the countryside was better than 100 monkeys typing on 100 typewriters and that was only the beginning. We arrived at the dog sled camp in roughly an hour. We decided it was time to change our wheels for something a little more environmentally friendly. When we exited the vehicle we were greeted by the sound of 40 excited and anxious dogs, ready to go for the run of their lives. The first thing I noticed was that these dogs were much smaller than I had expected. I felt a little bit like an American going to McDonald's in Canada and learning that the Canadian "Large" is the equivalent of an American "Medium". In summary, I felt shortchanged. I didn't think that these puny bone bags would be able to pull my 160 pound frame.

Well folks. I was wrong. Dead wrong. And after a 30 second tutorial on dog sledding from Joelle, our funky French guide, I was about to learn that big things come in small packages.

Meet Marvin. Marvin is 8 years old and lives in Terelj National Park. His likes include chewing on sheep bones, going on long walks in the park, defecating while running at 15 km/hour, and chasing animals nearly 30 times his size. Marvin, like his childhood hero, Balto, spends his days pulling humans around on a dog sled. Unlike Balto however, Marvin pulls a much more precious cargo than medicine for a bunch of whiny Alaskan kids. Marvin gets to pull me.

Here are me, Marvin and the rest of "Team Awesome". While Marvin is indeed a great friend and an inspired runner, his position as lead dog is questionable at best. I was informed that Marvin was a hunting dog, and that I would have to keep an eye on him from the get go. Well the get go came sooner than I could have imagined as not 100 meters from our starting point he was already chasing a cow, bringing me, 4 dogs, and the sled with him. When he realized he would not be able to catch this bovine in his current state, he resumed course.

This behavior continued anytime he noticed footprints, heard rustling, or saw anything in the woods. Luckily, he eventually responded to my cries of "Marvin, don't be an idiot!" It worked wonders for my dad with me, and apparently the effect crosses the boundaries of species as well. As our relationship grew stronger, we got into a groove. Unfortunately, Marvin couldn't stand not being the lead sled, so would often attempt ill advised short cuts over tree roots and gravel. I became airborne on three different occasions and had to dismount the sled through several different gravel patches. None of this deterred my canine companion.

We finally reached our resting point and we human beings ate meat while the dogs got to eat snow. I felt a little bad for Marvin and the rest of Team Awesome, but Joelle assured me that if I played favourites and fed one of the dogs, the others would kill him in his sleep. Not even Marvin deserved that, so I kept my meat to myself.

The ride home involved more shortcuts and a new trick that Marvin learned. I call it the "Poop and Run". Unfortunately he was not the best multitasker, and this move would cause the four dogs behind him to get tangled and frustrated. They would then begin to bark which made poor Marvin nervous and unable to release his bowels. It was a vicious cycle indeed, and one that is unresolved to this day.

By far the highlight of the trip was when we were about half a kilometer from our basecamp. I noticed the rest of the sleds had stopped and could only assume it was Marvin related. Sure enough, there was a family of Yaks standing by the trail. Joelle had stopped his sled because he knew Marvin would try something Marvinesque. Sure enough, Marvin instinctively went after the one Yak that he stood a chance against, the new born baby. His mother was none too pleased at this and charged in Marvin's (and my) direction. If you have never been chased by an angry yak, I highly recommend it. Make sure to do it in the cold as you can see the air being forced out of her nose. My life flashed before my eyes and Joelle could do nothing but sigh and let out an "Oh Marvin..."

We made it back and apparently none of the other riders had nearly the antics filled experience that I did. Their dogs were well behaved, hard working, and obedient. In other words, their dogs were boring. Marvin's irrational and exciting behavior was rewarded by giving him a bone while the other dogs were left to fight over pieces of cow dung.

Every word here is true. Even the cow dung thing. I may be living in a hellishly cold place and developing lung cancer from the smog, but at least I am privy to doing some crazy things that I would not be able to do in most other places. My list is still long, but at least I can cross of #1.

Next up: Ice Fishing! Stay tuned for the thrilling recap, because honestly, what is more exciting than a guy sitting over a hole, holding a string with a hook attached to it. Scuba diving in Thailand? Not bloody likely.

A song, a recap, and a mighty return to Blogging

2009-01-28T13:55:00.009+08:00

Back in the Ulaanbaatar
(To be sung to the tune of The Beatles - Back in the USSR)

Just flew in from Bangkok on Korea Air,
Didn't get to sleep last night.
Spent the whole ride talking to Seoul's biggest square,
Man I had a dreadful flight.
I'm back in the Ulaanbaatar.
You don't know how chilly I are, boy.
I'm back in the Ulaanbaatar.

Stepped off the plane greeted by an icy breeze,
Gee its good to be back home.
Never thought I'd miss negative forty degrees,
I guess this little boy has grown.
I'm back in the Ulaanbaatar.
You don't know how Nomadic I are, boy.
Back in the Ulaan,
Back in the Ulaan,
Back in the Ulaanbaatar.

(End song)

Blog Post

(To be read to the tune of Keith Cochrane telling a hilarious tale)

In case you couldn't decipher from the sweet song you just read (and ideally sang out loud), Mongolia's favourite son is back in Mongolia. More importantly however, I am back to blogging after an unprecedented 5 week hiatus. Why did I not update during my trip you ask? Well that's easy. Seeing as this blog is supposed to be all Mongolia all the time, it would have been like cheating for me to have updated when I was away from Mongolian soil. I'm a man of principle and I'm sorry if those principles don't always coincide with your desire to read tasty blog posts.

I will begin the journey as I best remember it. It all started on December 20. I was sitting in my apartment, hugging the radiator for warmth during the coldest day I have ever experienced. The temperature was -40 degrees Celcenheit. I received a call from my airline telling me to hold tight, and that my plane would be delayed two hours due to heavy winds and icy conditions. I received three such calls before finally making it on the plane. Two short layovers later, I was in Chang Mai, a delightful city in northern Thailand, where I met my former bunk mate Max "MW" Winston, and another Vermonter, Will "The Thrill" Kidney.

The three of us spent three weeks travelling through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, making memories, seeing strange and exotic places, and always sleeping three to a bed. Needless to say I got to know those guys pretty well by the end. In some ways a little too well.

Our trip began with what was supposed to be a two day boat ride from Northern Laos into Luang Prabang, a quaint town in central Laos. A wrench was thrown in the plans as the boat broke down on the banks of the Mekong river on Christmas day. Turkey dinner this year was replaced with a nice three course Mekong Christmas Cookout. The appetizer was uncooked Ramen, followed by the main course: Ramen cooked with the traditional Mekong spices of twigs and sand. This beautiful dish was the perfect buildup to our desert: cigarettes rolled with computer paper. The whole experience felt a lot like an episode of Lost meets Lord of the Flies. I kept waiting for The Others to come and snatch one of us away.

We spent the next week in Laos, mainly in a backpackers paradise called Vang Vieng. Not exactly your family vacation spot; more of a Stoner's paradise. When I asked one particularly burnt out Swede what he did in Vang Vieng, he replied that he was "just passing through." I later learned that he had been "passing through" for more than three months. I guess a place where three guys can sleep for 8 bucks a night and get free shots of whisky from any of the local bars is hard to say good bye to. I wouldn't have minded "passing through" a little slower either.

Following Laos we spent two short days in Siemriep, Cambodia to visit Angkor Wat, a world heritage sight. The sights here were spectacular. Even more spectacular were the 50 cent beers that we found at one of the local bars. After seeing Angkor we took the bus to Bangkok, on what is politely referred to as "the bus ride from hell". I think this is being too kind. We finally made it to Bangkok hours and hours later.

From Bangkok we flew to KRABIIIIIII (Krabi), and took a quick ferry ride to Ko Phi Phi, pronounced Koh Pee Pee. You better believe we got some mileage out of that joke. On Phi Phi, we did some snorkeling and even visited Maya Bay, where they filmed the Leonardo DiCaprio movie "The Beach". Strangely all of the photos they us to advertise this are from Titanic. Perhaps not the best marketing scheme when a boat ride is required to get out there. Phi Phi was getting a little too popular for its size sadly, and was getting overrun by garbage. It was sad to see the ugly underside of such a wonderful place.

Max and Will went home after this which marked the end of week three. I spent the next 4 days in Khon Kaen, a small town 6 hours north of Bangkok visiting my friend James O'Toole, another PIA fellow. Our days were spent teaching Thais how to play basketball, and eating some of the sweetest street food I have ever seen. Everyone in KhonKaen was complaining about the cold. Meanwhile I was walking around in shorts and a t shirt. Cold is all relative folks. I never thought I would be able to handle -40 but here I am. You could do it too.

Following James's hospitality, I was joined by the lovely Miriam Marek who just happened to be in the Bangkok area. It was truly a fine coincidence. I was glad to see her, but couldn't help but miss what Will and Max brought to the table as bedfellows.

I muffled my complaints and Miriam and I spent a few great days seeing the sights in Bangkok and even made an appearance at a local expat quiz night. Despite Miriam's historical and literary knowledge and my Simpsons and Futurama knowledge, we placed dead last. We did however walk out with some excellent pity prizes.

We'll be back Bangkok. We'll be back and you better get ready...

Following Bangkok we took a flight out to Phuket, NY Times' #1 luxury vacation spot. I'm not really a high roller, but Miriam is, so Mr. and Ms. Marek got to experience the good life if only for a couple of nights. Pools with bars in the water, a TV with more than 5 channels, a bed with sheets, you name it. Everything I didn't have for the first three weeks of the trip was there in Phuket.

We tired a bit of the glitz and glam however and headed north to a beautiful spot about 2 hours north called Khao Lak. Here we stayed in a really nice private bungalow right on a private beach. There we were able to enjoy a small fraction of the Indian Ocean all to ourselves for a few short days. My favourite part of this leg was a day trip to the Similan Islands, one of the top dive and snorkeling sites in the world. Jumping in the water here is like flipping on "Finding Nemo". Sadly, Nemo was not found by me, but I did get to swim with a playful sea turtle. Awesome.

Then the trip was over. Everyone had to return their separate ways and now I find myself all alone for the first time in 5 weeks. Now its time to return back to work and get my life back on track. If anyone is interested in hearing more about the trip, please don't hesitate to write. This is a highly abridged version. The director's cut involves Motorcycles, Monkeys, and Ping Pong Balls. Oh my!

I would however recommend this part of the world as a vacation spot as it is cheap, affordable, and overrun with Scandinavians. What more could you ask for really?

But now more Mongolian adventures are on the rise. I have plans to go dogsledding, ice skating, and maybe even ice fishing. If those aren't good reasons to suffer through the winter, I don't know what are.

All the best in 2009!

Keith

And We're Off!

2008-12-20T11:19:00.003+08:00

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!

Genghis Cochrane meets Kublai Van

2008-11-19T22:54:00.006+08:00

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

Trick or Meat!

2008-11-01T23:03:00.004+08:00

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

I'd Rather be a Blogger than a Tool

2008-10-16T14:44:00.003+08:00

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.

POSSIBLE OUTAGE 10/10/2008 - ?

2008-10-08T13:52:00.002+08:00

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!

STRIKE

2008-10-03T20:19:00.004+08:00

“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

Happy Jew Year!

2008-10-01T07:20:00.003+08:00

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.

Keith Cochrane and the Mystery of the Mongolian Toilet

2008-09-20T16:51:00.006+08:00

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.

Top View: 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

KharKhorin - 1st City of the Mongol Empire; First City of my Heart

2008-09-15T20:32:00.008+08:00

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

Pictures of things

2008-09-09T10:14:00.004+08:00

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.

My First Week

2008-09-07T10:18:00.005+08:00

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

Photos Ahoy

2008-08-30T16:27:00.007+08:00

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.

Gold Medals and My First Asian Kiss: A Wanderer's Tale

2008-08-25T14:29:00.002+08:00

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.

Mongolian art is the best art of all art

2008-08-23T16:35:00.003+08:00

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!

Mutton To It

2008-08-20T14:47:00.001+08:00

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.

Losing my B card (aka Canada vs. Mongolia part 1)

2008-08-07T05:56:00.018+08:00

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?

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.