Mongolian Baileys. A Marriage.

Over several efforts, there has been slow perfection of Mongolian Baileys. It is indeed a perfect marriage, aided by the brightly coloured Mongolian food photos in the background. I feel Chinggis Khan would dig it.

Ingredients

- milk

- chocolate condensed milk

- coffee, brewed at Leah and Andrew's- the only place that makes coffee out here

- Mongolia's finest vodka, determined by the change in your pocket

Method

Mix all ingredients in a vessel of some description. Drink and share with a friendly Mongolian nearby.

My Mongolian Palace

I got word that my ger was finished and ready for me to make it my own. I went to check it out. It was magnificent. A five wall beauty. Huge by Mongolians standards. People were amazed that I was going to live in it by myself. The people who were renting it to me had gone to much effort. It had a fridge, dry sink (more explanation later), a hot plate, a traditional stove (with chimney), sofa, armchairs, tables. The stove had been installed with much insistence for fear I would get cold. I feel I am at much greater risk of burning the whole thing down. Firing the stove may need to be a supervised activity. 

In a wave of excitement, I raced down to the local market to grab a few fundamentals. My priority was a few Mongolian posters. I had admired the poster in the kitchen at Leah and Andrew's and was thrilled to find out there was a whole poster industry. Think bright colours, photoshopped foods, horses and gloss. After purchasing an excellent kitchen poster and a requisite horses galloping in gold frame poster, oh and a couple of knives and forks, I was ready. I moved the rest of my clothes in and claimed my Mongolian palace.

For further explanation of my new home, a ger is a traditional Mongolian tent used by the nomads. There are similar version of it right through Central Asia. It is comprised of an inner lattice attached to a door. The number of lattices determines the size. Mine is five wall or lattices. Wooden roof slats are then attached between a big wooden circle that forms the centre of the roof and the lattices. A canvass inner goes on the outside of the lattice, then a layer of felt and then a waterproof outer. The amount of felt determines the warmth. Winter gers have a serious amount of felt. The whole thing is a remarkably simple and effective structure that has served the nomads for eons. It can be assembled in a day and be carried by yaks or camels (though trucks tend to be more popular these days).

nb. None of these gers are mine. It is coming- just you wait.

 (My radical neighbour in some ger buidling action)

Hospital Day 1

After all the shennigans in getting here, it was time to start at the hospital. My interpreter, Iyon and I met the Director of the Hospital and were lead to the grand tour. Upon entering the hospital, two things became clear. Firstly, the supply and demand relationship was out of whack. Thick queues of people lined corridors waiting to be seen, streaming out onto the street. Each person carefully clutching a small, pale blue book that was their personal health record. The hospital services a region of about 100,000 (about the size of Darwin) and the hospital is about the size of Alice Springs Hospital (services a lot less than 100,000) Secondly, this was not like any hospital I had encountered before. There appeared to a doozy in the time-space continuum and I had somehow landed back in the fifties. Limited running water, no elevator between the 4 floors, minimal pathology testing, medical equipment I had no idea how to use. Amongst the midst of this, I somehow ended up in maternity and spent the rest of the day there. 

Women arrived by themselves with their own food and blankets. When it was deemed necessary they were moved into a 2 bed waiting room from the ward. If there are more than two, they all sort of share the space. Eventually when the moment gets closer, the women are then shuffled into a birthing room- think stainless steel chair and stirrups, and procede to give birth as doctors and midwives bark at them. So far I haven't seen any pain medication used. After giving birth if there are concerns about bleeding, a large piece of cloth is tied around her stomach and wrenched tight, well beyond a girdle. It is left there for two hours with further pressure occasionally added. Women are then put back in the waiting room and eventually transferred to the ward (think a room with four beds, nothing else). 

So Day 1 was spent here, adjusting to a very different type of medicine. I delivered my first Mongolian baby, my name was even misspelt in the official record to validate this. To be fair, Mongolian women so far have made birthing look ridiculously easy. Delivering a baby really just involves putting your hand out and giving a bit of a tug. In the midst of these challenges, doctors and midwives worked together well and the Maternity Department had a much friendlier feel than any I have previously encountered in Australia.

Arriving in my new home, sweet home.

After an interesting arrival, life settled down quickly in my new town. Leah arrived and was impressed I had already met the entire police force and immigration. To be fair, they were all lovely and quite strapping. I moved into Leah and Andrew's flat and slowly settled into the nuances of Mongolian life. Outside the flat each morning is an old Mongolian lady who throws milk to the sky in a blessing. Milk men line the park on motor bikes, with jerry cans of the good stuff. The pervasive scent of mutton fat fills the air.  

 

With Leah and Andrew's place being delightful but way too intimate for a six week guest stay, I still needed a place to stay long term. Mongolian hospitality began to show itself in abundance. I was offered a small hut in the ger district out of town by a lovely family, who promised to have me for dinner and fill up my water containers when I needed it. But with no phone reception and a dog gauntlet into town, I had to turn it down. I was still holding out for a ger.

Leah and I headed to an NGO to ask for any accommodation leads. We walked into a big, white Soviet style building with a flaking paint job. The lights were on, computer screens lit up but it was completely deserted. We walked out the back yard to a ger. It was packed. In a ceremony for a volunteers, the workers had packed into the ger in a big circle. Vodka, cheese and Airagg (fermented mare's milk- once again as good as it sounds) were being passed around freely. A Morin Khurr (a traditional two-string horse head fiddle) was being played and people would take turns to stand up to lead a song. It was 10 am.

After a bit of Vodka, cheese and a bunch of introductions, I got roped into singing. Embarassingly, Waltzing Matilda was the only thing that seemed appropriate. Somewhat less impressive than the throat singing that preceded me. But on the plus side, it is also easily picked up on the Morin Khurr, leading to a rock n roll jam Mongolian style. It was all a bit rowdy and hilarious but as we left, I thought that would be the end of it. Later that afternoon, Leah received a call, stating that my fellow rock n rollers would be happy to assemble a ger for me and have me live in their yard. Win!

Meat 2 vs Body 0

Meat, there is no escaping it in Mongolia and there is no mistaking where it comes from. There is no black polystyrene containers and glad wrap. The local meat market is a room where one wishes for gumboots amongst the counters of butchers. There is a yak, beef, mutton and horse sections. No part of any animal is neglected. But sheep's tails and ribs are considered the best bits. Truly holistic trade. You will notice no lamb. It is not considered favoursome enough- wait till it's mutton, apparently that is the tooth-pick-requiring business. The go is to drift around the counters until you find a piece of meat that takes your fancy and order. I just pick my favourite butcher, difficult as they are all pretty delightful. Must admit vegetarian days have increased dramatically.

Meat 1 vs Body 0

In an effort to help my body combat the meaty Mongolian diet, today I kicked off some sprouting. This is is also an ode to former housemate, Jules, Alice's Sprouting Queen. Go Gut, Go!

On the Road from UB

After returning from the Horse Trek, I had a day to finalise my visa and hit the road. Cruising along to bad pop tunes and tales of his 'very fat but delightful' wife, I rocked up to Immigration with my super driver, Ganbat. Sans interpreter, I walked up to counter and requested my passport only to be told they had no record of it. This was the start of my worst day in Mongolia to date. After an hour of much smiling and then arguing, we eventually sorted it out. I left with my passport and adrenaline pumping.

Ganbat and I raced around to find medical scrubs, apparently essential and not hospital provided. I was eventually dropped off at the bus stop. In the midst of carrying a stupid amount of shit, I had my phone pickpocketed. Fuck. While this is a current occurrence at the UB Bus Centre, it posed several problems. The biggest being I had no way of contacting anyone, including those at the other end. I was furious at the world and myself for the first hour of the bus trip. But over the next seven hours, the insanely stunning landscape, yup more rolling green Steppes, and the fact the girl next to me was transporting baby goldfish in a jar from the big smoke, got me back to human.

I arrived to my new home, a kilometre out of town in the pouring rain. There was a white guy. Leah and Andrew had been stuck out country in the rain whilst hiking, another common occurrence when there are only dirt tracks everywhere. They had sent Jason to come meet me. Needless to say, the guy's a winner.

The next day, I decided to be independent and sort out my business before Leah got back. I trotted off the local Police Station to report my phone loss for insurance. Mongolian is not a language that rolls off my tongue or any other body part. There is also minimal English around. Things started to get interesting when the Immigration guy rocked up. Before I got deported, we all quickly decided dependence was the way to go and I could sort it when Leah got back.

Phone loss is becoming a recent feature in my life, this being the second Iphone I had lost in 3 weeks. It was disturbing how much I craved crap communication without it. Over the last few years, it has become an additional limb and not one that does anything useful like gesticulate wildly or feed me. I decided it was time to shed. 

(This zen lasted two days. I tried. I am just saving off grid for another day. I now have a glittery, strawberry throw up pink cheapy. Anyone pickpocketing this monstrosity is giving it straight back.)