Country Living

 I have spent the last two weeks in the countryside southeast of Ulaanbaatar near a small town (population 900) called Delgerhaan living with a nomadic herding family in a ger.  It was filled with bright colors, vast expanses of land, eagles, horses, goat, sheep, and cows, yurts, dairy products, animal organs, sunsets, and stars.  It is a romanticized place, filled with dreams of freedom and adventure, and it deserves much of its praise.  It is also a place filled with families who work hard seven days of week, with people who collapse into a hard bed or onto the hard ground nearly every night.

Best sunsets ever

Inside of the ger

 I would wake up every morning within a few minutes of 7:00 and usually walk to a disconcerting pond filled with grasses, algae, and animal dung to get water to boil for our daily milk tea, which my mom would make in the morning and keep hot in thermoses all day.  After a bowl of tea and homemade yogurt sweetened with sugar, I would help my mom and sister milk cows.  They would do the milking, and I would shovel cow poop (called argol), keep the cows from wandering away, and occasionally round up the herd of goats and sheep.  I would do homework and some chores until the afternoon, then walk through the steppe near our ger to gather dried cow poop to fuel the stove.  I would just spend time with my family in evening as it got darker, listening to them talk and laugh together, talking (or giving it my best attempt) and laughing  with them more and more as  I became more and more a part of the family.  Everyday had plenty of do and also plenty of time to rest and reflect, although somehow I still found little time for homework.  

My family!

 My family was kind and caring, and they welcomed me into their family graciously.  I lived in a ger with my mom and 26 year old brother, and my sister, her husband, and her baby lived about 20 feet away from us in another ger.  My mom would yell from our ger to my sister’s, and somehow they could understand each other through the layers of felt.  In the last few days, my younger brother came to visit from UB, and although he seemed out of place in his collared shirts and sweaters, he could still jump on a horse and gallop across the steppe bareback.   He and my older brother constantly teased each other, and every wrestling match ended in laughter.  My older brother was a competent herdsman who is respected in the family and community.   He could sleep through anything, and he was one of the most patient language teachers I’ve met.  My sister had been a cook in UB until she had her baby, and she was always checking my Enligh-Mongolian dictionary to communicate better.  My mom had a sparkly smile, and she was always working, always busy.  She was almost always in front of the stove, but she was also one of the few women I saw on horseback.  She was constantly telling me to eat more and was proud when I stomached gerdis, boiled intestines and organs.  

Basecamp Rainbow

  Now I am back in UB and I feel like I have been plunged into a cold shower (actually we had cold water in the apartment last night so that is just as much fact as metaphor).  I no longer see the open steppe but rather apartment buildings and construction.  I no longer wake up to my mom starting the morning fire but rather to the beep of my alarm.  I no longer wander around the ger looking for argol to burn but rather walk to school on the busy streets.  Compared to almost anywhere in the world and especially the chaos and bustle of UB, the countryside is a beautiful and inspiring place where daily life is earned in quiet moments and hard work, and I hope I will keep some of that same spirit for the rest of my time here.