Adapting to the cold and skiing for the first time

Mongolia is cold.

I realise that statement is an obvious one but I thought I would throw it out there anyway.

The temperature in Mongolia dropped below zero 2 weeks back and is going to stay that way for the next 4 months. I have come to terms with this fact and I no longer get annoyed at the length of time it takes to get ready to go outside. As anyone who has ever lived in a country where warmth is something to dream about for most of the year will tell you, the key to not freezing to death is layers. I realised very quickly that layering up is an exact science. Wear too many layers and you will overheat fairly rapidly, too few and you'll be trying to remember what it felt like to have feeling in your extremities. The extreme cold creates problems for everyone in one way or another. The main issue for people living in Ulaanbaatar is pollution. UB is surrounded on 3 sides by ger (the traditional Mongolian dwelling) districts where poverty is endemic. The only way to heat a ger is to burn whatever you can get your hands on. Coal is the most common fuel but people will burn almost anything to keep warm. The majority of UB's population live in these districts so you can imagine the conditions created by hundreds of thousands of people burning fuel. UB itself lies in a valley so the smoke has nowhere to go. It hangs above the city like a great brown stain on the sky and on most days you cannot see the hills which surround the UB. It is little wonder that Mongolians have such a high level of respiratory diseases.

I believe I am adapting to the cold fairly well. I have learnt to ensure my hair is completely dry before going anywhere and I know to cover my face, both in an attempt to block out the pollution and to avoid the uncomfortable feeling of the inside of ones nostrils freezing. I have become adept and traversing the seemingly permanent patch of ice which lies conveniently in front of the door to my apartment building. In the past I would have been slipping and flailing my way across it (it's pretty wide), earning the laughs of the old ladies who sit on the bench nearby every morning, apparently unconcerned by the cold. Now I practically glide across and the old ladies nod sagely like Mr. Miyagi approving of the Karate Kid. I even know precisely where the slippiest parts of my route to work are. Speaking of my route to work, there is a western man I pass unfailingly every morning who I have decided is my nemesis. He is always wearing a baseball cap, which is a ludicrous choice of headgear for a winter in Mongolia. I believe he does it to make me feel less tough for wearing a warm hat. He doesn't wear gloves either. Who the hell does he think he is huh? Of course, I may be overreacting but that doesn't stop me from muttering "douche bag" every time I pass him.

Last week saw an event of such monumental significance that words can barely describe it. Okay, I'm exaggerating but it was pretty awesome. On Thursday (Nov 26th) Mongolia's first skiing resort opened to the public. Thursday also happened to be Mongolian Independence Day so we I had the day off. I was also paid the day before. It could not have been more perfect. So when Thursday morning reared it's pollution stained head I threw on the clothes I felt were most suited to skiing and went to meet the other volunteers who had decided to take advantage of this most excellent day.

The Sky Resort (for that is what it is called) had put on a free bus to take people the 13km out of town. Once I had sat down on this bus it suddenly dawned on me that I had never skied before and that Mongolia (where safety is something to implemented sometime in the future) may not be the best place to start. Unfortunately it was too late to back out so I discarded the nagging doubts which were swimming around my brain and trusted to fate.

When the bus pulled up to the resort I was pleasantly surprised. I had envisioned a place where the slopes would be strewn with body mangling objects and bears would pick off unaware skiers like salmon in a river. This proved not to be the case. The resort looked really good. There were 5 slopes: 2 green, 2 blue, and a black. However, only the greens and 1 blue were open that day. It is not a big place by anyone's standards but it was good enough. The place was very busy, although I think most people were taking advantage of the 30% discount! As a result, our first hour there was spent in various different queues. Once I had managed to grab the equipment it was time to gear up and embarrass myself in front of hundreds of people. Outside, I clipped myself into the ski's and was given a quick lesson in basic movement by Kiwi Steve. Armed with my new found knowledge, I slipped and slid my way over to the learning slope. It being a learning slope, there wasn't actually much of a slope, but I was thankful for this as I stood at the start of it. After a moments contemplation I made the plow shape with the ski's and pushed myself off. Once I realised I hadn't immediately decked it I began to enjoy myself. That is until a 5 year old girl went speeding past me.

Having courageously conquered the learning slope a couple of times I felt ready to step it up a gear and move onto a green run. This was predominantly because I had just seen Stephanie (who was skiing for first time as well) jump on to the ski lift and head up. My manly pride was wounded so naturally I had to follow. Having never used a ski lift before, I was quite unprepared for the speed with which the chair comes up behind you and was not very gracefully scooped up. I enjoyed the ride up to the start because I was able to laugh at all the people wiping out in different, hilarious, ways. I tried not to think about the fact that I too would probably be grinding my face through the snow in a few minutes.

When we reached the top of the run I immediately began to regret my decision to go up there. The slope we had chosen to go down starts with a steep bend and then straightens out until the finish and it looked much, much, steeper from the top. Still, fortune favours the foolish (at least I think that's how the saying goes) and with Steve's encouragements in my ear I let gravity have it's wicked way with me. Just like on the learning slopes, I made a plough shape and away I went. I started out pretty well but there was just one small problem. I hadn't learn how to turn, and it turns out that that is a pretty integral part of controlling one's speed. This quickly became apparent as my speed began to increase dramatically and my ski's began to straighten out. Before I knew what had happened I was hurtling down the slope. I probably would have been screaming if I wasn't so shocked. The whole way down I was thinking "don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, please get out of the way kid, don't fall, thank God the kid got out of the way, don't fall, don't fall, how the hell do I stop? Thankfully, I eventually ran out of momentum and came to an extremely relieved stop.

I spent the rest of the day on the green slopes and I did pretty well. I didn't fall over once, although I did slam into the back of a very large snow sculpture as my momentum failed to run out. Happily the sculpture was unharmed, my dignity was not.

I hope you enjoyed reading

A series of parties and frozen hair

It appears that my attitude to this blog has been a bit lackadaisical of late. It's been over a month since my last post (I know, you have been lost without it) and a lot has happened in that time. Too much to write about in one post in fact.

Work is going great and I have built up quite a rapport with my desk. It allows me to put things on it and I try not to draw on it. But seriously, Sometimes work can be difficult. This is mostly because there is nobody telling me what needs to be done and when it needs to be done by. That might not sound like something that would make a job hard but like it or not, this is what most people who grow up in the West are used to. As a result, I have found myself in an environment where this doesn't happen. Some days can be a battle to make myself do something, others can be a battle to conquer the mountain of work I have created for myself. I prefer the latter. Happily, the days when it's a struggle to find something to do are few and far between.

Before I came to Mongolia one of my biggest concerns was that I wouldn't have much of a social life. I had a visions of myself hanging around my apartment with too much time to think. So it is with no small amount of relief that I find that my social life is, if anything, overactive. My budget is strained to breaking point due to my inability to say no. Actually, it's more likely to be because whenever someone mentions the word 'party' I get an uncontrollable urge to buy enough alcohol to drown a Rhino. I am slowly learning that my current lifestyle is unsustainable. A fact which was painfully demonstrated when I went to a market and realised that I only had enough money to buy a small bag of lentils...and I hate lentils.

Despite my current fiscal woes, I don't regret spending my money the way I did. The parties were pretty awesome. A couple immediately spring to mind. There was one a couple of weeks ago which was remarkable partly because I didn't know, or in fact, meet the host at any point, but also because I accidentally-on-purpose consumed a whole bottle of vodka. Though my memory is hazy, I do remember spending the entire night with said bottle of vodka holstered like a gun in my pocket. I also remember that there was a power cut so most of the partying was done in darkness. This meant that most of the conversations I had were dominated by comments such as "ow", "you're standing on my foot", and "that's not a bottle of beer your holding, it's sunflower oil". The following days' hangover was fairly spectacular as well. I woke up in the morning fully clothed and spead-eagled on my bed with an empty bottle of vodka in my jeans. When I stumbled into the kitchen it also became apparent that I had attempted to cook something when I got home. By the looks of it, I had tried to invent a new dish involving flour, bread, and another ingredient which I couldn't quite indentify. Needless to say, it didn't go well.

There was also a halloween party which would have been better had I not been wearing the worst halloween costume in Mongolia. In my defense I didn't choose it, I foolishly let a Scottish guy arrange it for me. My 'costume' consisted of a long, dirty, yellow raincoat. That's it. No one could quite decide whether I was dressed as a pervert, a serial killer or a fisherman. In the end I settled on a combination of the three. So I became (hopefully) the worlds first 'serialfishervert' (see below)



Still, I had a good time so no harm, no foul. There has been a bunch of other gatherings and shindigs but they can be summed up in the words 'I got drunk, had a good time, regretted it the next day'.

In other news, any warmth that was left in Mongolia has up-sticks and headed south. The temperature has dropped firmly below zero and won't be hitting the positives for another 4 months. As I write, the temperature is -12° C which, whilst cold, is nothing compared to what's forecast for the weekend. According to weather underground (http://www.wunderground.com/global/stations/44292.html), the temperature on Sunday will be a beer freezing -37° C. That's right folks, you read correctly. I am amazed that Mongolians don't just hibernate during winter.

When a country is this cold it affects everything. True, there are some days when you can get away with a fleece and hat, but mostly you have layer-up. Leaving the apartment takes a good 5 minutes as one has to pile on the clothes so that you don't lose an arm to frostbite. If it has snowed then walking anywhere requires all you attention in order to avoid slipping and sliding into on-coming traffic or a large, possible angry, Mongolian guy. I am seriously considering investing in a pair of ice skates! The other problem which I learnt about the hard way is that of things freezing. This may seem obvious, but when you have spent 23 years living in countries where your hair dry's if it is wet when you go outside, I was quite unprepared. For those of you who have never had frozen hair, I can tell you that it is quite disconcerting. I didn't even notice the first time (yep, it's happened more than once) until I tried to run my hands through my hair and was met with more resistance than usual. The dampest sections of my hair had literally frozen. I never expected to have to thaw out my hair when I came to this country.

That's all I've got time for now. I'll try to be more dilligent with my blog in future.

Thanks for reading. -37° C. That's right folks, you read correctly. I am amazed that Mongolians don't just hibernate during winter.

When a country is this cold it affects everything. True, there are some days when you can get away with a fleece and hat, but mostly you have layer-up. Leaving the apartment takes a good 5 minutes as one has to pile on the clothes so that you don't lose an arm to frostbite. If it has snowed then walking anywhere requires all you attention in order to avoid slipping and sliding into on-coming traffic or a large, possible angry, Mongolian guy. I am seriously considering investing in a pair of ice skates! The other problem which I learnt about the hard way is that of things freezing. This may seem obvious, but when you have spent 23 years living in countries where your hair dry's if it is wet when you go outside, I was quite unprepared. For those of you who have never had frozen hair, I can tell you that it is quite disconcerting. I didn't even notice the first time (yep, it's happened more than once) until I tried to run my hands through my hair and was met with more resistance than usual. The dampest sections of my hair had literally frozen. I never expected to have to thaw out my hair when I came to this country.

That's all I've got time for now. I'll try to be more dilligent with my blog in future.

Thanks for reading.

A tidal wave of beer and a trek in Terelj

I recently made the decision to only write my blog when something interesting happens. This was partly because I don't want it to get boring (if it already has, please do let me know), but also because I am far too lazy to maintain that level of blogication (you see, what I did there was combine the words 'blog' and 'dedication' to make an amusing new word...well I liked it anyway) So that is why I haven't written a new post for a couple of weeks. Anyway, here is my next one...

The last couple of weeks have actually been interesting enough for me to have written two posts about it but as I mentioned earlier, I am far too lazy. Work has been going well and I'm really beginning to get used to life in Mongolia. If anything, I have become complacent. I now casually stroll out into the lawless death trap that is Ulaanbaatars' traffic whereas before I would have formed a strategic plan before even considering crossing a street. I laugh in the face of maniac drivers and kick death in the nuts. Having said that, I still have to be careful. There are occasions when I am crossing a street and I make the mistake of making eye-contact with an approaching driver. He/she instinctively see's this as a challenge and as a result will go out of their way to mow me down. Luckily, I have become adept at unleashing sudden bursts of cheetah-like speed and thus far I have been able to avoid becoming points on somebody's "running-over foreigners" score board.

The weekend before last (3rd-4th Oct) was pretty freaking awesome. Up until that point I hadn't really been able to cut-loose as I had been too busy. If that weekend had been a novel the synopsis would have read: "This is the tale of a guy who went out and drank lots of beer. Oh, and he also visited a monastary." I didn't consume vast quantities of alcohol but my bodies' ability to resist it had drastically weakened due to lack of practise. Now some people might think it's embarrassing to admit that after 3 beers on Saturday night I was well away, but not me. I don't remember exactly how many beers I drank that night, but I do remember that I had an awesome night. A bunch of us VSO's headed to this place called 'Ivory' and it was pretty cool. I met a load of new people and generally made merry. It had been a long time coming but it was worth the wait. All of the worries, stresses, and tiredness that go hand in hand with living in a new and strange country were washed away in a delicious tidal wave of beer. Of course, the morning after the night before is always interesting. I am not unaccustomed to hangovers but it had been a while so when I woke up my body decided to punish me for disturbing it's peace. I awoke lying awkwardly on my couch and my first thought was 'why did I use my trousers as a blanket and use the real blanket as a pillow?'. My second thought was 'my God, I have escaped a hangover, thank the heavens' because my head felt clear. Ecstatic at having evaded said hangover I leapt off the couch and was immediatly hit by the realisation that I had not in fact escaped punishment. My body had cunningly decided to delay exacting vengeance until I was least prepared for it. The moment I stood up I realised my mistake and was practically floored by a headache which felt like someone had ploughed a freight train through my forehead. It was then that I began to notice the familiar signs of a hangover -

Headache - check
Dry mouth - check
Extreme nausea - double check
Inability to move properly - check
Half eaten food lying nearby - check
Intense desire to eat cold pizza and watch a movie in bed - check

Eventually I recovered and I resolved to never let this happen again by drinking more regularly and regaining my alcohol tolerance.

The following weekend myself, Leah, Andrew, Aki, and a German guy named Stefan went for a trek in Terelj. The plan was to walk 40km up one valley, over a ridge, and down another. Terelj is a national park and it is exceedingly beautiful. Our route took us along a river and we passed a number of gers complete with angry guard dogs. There was however, an exception. As we walked past one ger a dog that had been lying nearby got up and bounded over towards us. We armed ourselves with stones (as we always did in such situations), ready to fend off the attack. In fact, it never came. What did come was an extremely friendly dog who seemed pleased to see us. We carried on walking but the dog followed us. We naturally assumed that it would get bored and go home but we were much mistaken. Our new companion would stick with us for the entire weekend. The walk up the valley was great. I was extremely grateful that we were walking on established paths rather than bushwhacking like on the last trip. I wasn't quite so grateful for the weather. The sun rapidly dissapeared and was replaced by cloud and a biting wind and didn't improve for the rest of the day.

We camped on top of a ridge seperating 2 valleys next to an ovoo. It was a nice spot and we got a fire going and cooked dinner whilst trying to fend off our canine companion who was trying her hardest to get our pasta. I was slightly apprehensive about the coming night as my sleeping bag was only good to -4C and the weather forecast had predicted that the night-time temperature for the area would be at least -5C. To prevent myself from freezing to death I threw on all the clothes I had with me and settled down to what proved to be an uncomfortable sleep. One problem with wearing a number of layers is that inevitably your body will decide to make you go to the toilet in the middle of the night. What is normally a simple function becomes a complex race against time to de-layer and get out of the tent. Add to that the fact that the woods we were in were spooky at night and what you are left with is a wholly unpleasant experience. Now, when I went to the toilet there wasn't a cloud in the night sky and the stars were out in all their splendour, so imagine my surprise when I woke up in the morning, unzipped my tent, poked my head out and saw a couple of inches of snow blanketing the ground. Imagine also, my consternation at having a hefty dollop of snow fall off my tent and on to my unsuspecting head. I quickly got over it though as the snow covered forest was magnificent. The snow continued to fall as we packed up and headed down into the next valley. It was truly stunning, all the more so because we walked past a herd of horses galloping about whilst their owner tried and failed to control them.

When the walk was over I was thoroughly tired and aching (40km in two days is a long way, at least for me anyway) but it was a great weekend. The next day in work was equally awesome as I found out that I had had my first project proposal accepted. Helloooooo £10,000 for CYPPD!

I hope you enjoyed this post!

Thanks for reading.

Living with a dead person, being electrocuted by plants, and snow in September.

It's been a couple of weeks since my last post. There is no particular reason for this, I just found lying on my couch after work to be much more agreeable than exerting the Olympian amount of effort it takes to write this thing. Exaggeration? Maybe. All I know is I like lying on my couch.

Anyway, the last 2 weeks have been ticked over nicely. It is such a relief to find yourself breezing through each day and the time not dragging at all. There was a nice moment not too long ago when I came home from work, kicked off my shoes, sat on the couch and thought "it's good to be home". Now that may not sound significant, but I had spent a good deal of time wondering if I would ever settle or whether everyday life would become a chore so to feel at home was something of an epiphany. This, of course, is not to say that I have forgotten where home, or the people in my life who matter most, really are.

I have also found that I am enjoying work. It must be said that sometimes it can drag but then that surely must apply to almost every job, except maybe being an astronaut...or a demolition expert (let's face it, getting paid to blow up big buildings must be awesome). My usual routine involves arriving at work at 9:00am, having a cup of coffee at 9:01am, reading and answering e-mails and then spending the rest of the day working on various project proposals or working out a budget (all interspersed with numerous cups of life-giving coffee). I have also discovered that proposal deadlines (in this case, our Edinburgh Global Partnership proposal was on Wednesday 23rd) can cause inordinate amounts of stress followed by a tsunami of relief rolling over you as it wings its way through cyberspace and (hopefully) gets accepted. So I think I will happy working at CYPPD for the next year, although I will be even happier if the projects I am planning don't crash and burn!

Having previously stated that I feel at home both in Ulaanbaatar, and in my apartment, settling in has not been without it's problems. There are the normal things that go hand-in-hand with moving to a city in a poor country, such as trying to avoid being mugged or pick-pocketed, dodging maniac drivers (who presumably count hitting a foreigner as a million points and see road safety as something to be pondered philosophically as they hurtle round a corner on the wrong side of the road). Then there are the less usual, person specific things. In my case, this means discovering (after having lived in my apartment for about a week: I only remembered to write about this yesterday) that you share your apartment not with a family of cheeky, yet friendly mice, nor a large cantankerous spider, oh no, that would be a luxury only to be dreamed of. Instead I discovered that, in fact, I share my apartment with the cremated remains of my landlady's mother-in-law. That's right, you read correctly; another persons dead relative. "Stop over-reacting Mike" you might say, "it's only ashes", and whilst that is true, it doesn't help to learnt that said dead mother-in-laws old clothes also occupy one of the compartments of your closet. For intents and purposes she still bloody lives here. Couple that with all of the strange noises the flat makes at night and the fact there have been a few times when I have woken up in the morning to discover a door open or light turned on that I could swear I closed or turned off the night before. Oh and then there were the words GET OUT scrawled in blood across my living room wall (just kidding...I think). Throw all of this into a metaphorical cauldren, stir it around a bit, and you are left with a concoction that has a 100% chance of freaking me out.

I seem to have grown used to my apartment's little indiosyncracies now and don't really associate it with a ghost any more, but there was a moment when I almost called Ray, Peter, Egon, and Winston to proton pack her dead ass.

The next little obstacle to settling in which my apartment threw at me (although admittedly, it's more a comic minor inconvenience than anything else) was quite literally shocking (please excuse the terrible pun). The first time occurred I didn't quite know what had happened. One mintute I was flicking through Mongolian channels on my TV, the next I had taken a big jump backwards and was waving my hand around in response to the sharp pain that had just shot through it. Okay, so the pain wasn't really bad, but allow me some dramatic license. Once I had gotten over my consternation and realised that it was just a static shock, I gazed around looking for the culprit. The TV was the most obvious suspect, sitting there looking old and angry with the world for inventing better TV's. But no! I had cautiously crept forward, reached out and touched it. Nothing. I scanned the floor looking for an exposed wire, anything upon which I could lay blame and exact revenge. Still nothing. Then, as I stood up I got shocked again. This time it was clear who was responsible. A most unlikely suspect if ever there was one. It sat there, green and seemingly harmless, but this potted plant was my attacker. I headed over to the fridge to get a beer and decide what this plants' fate would be. As I opened the fridge with my right hand, I put my left on the top and zap, I got shocked again. My immediate thought was that the plant on the TV had somehow hurled a bolt of lighting, Zeus-style, at me. However I quickly became aware that it was the other potted plant on top of the fridge that had assailed me. It was clearly a plant pincer movement, and a well executed one at that. The plants and I now live in a sort of North Korea - South Korea situation. I know not to invade their space and they know that if I do they will zap me again and that, unfortunately, would result in their quick exit from the building via the window.

The final thing I would like to talk briefly about is the sudden turn for the worse which the weather has taken recently. On the coldest day of this month (Saturday 19th) it snowed. It snowed a lot. I first became aware of this when I awoke that morning, had nice hot shower, threw on a t-shirt and trousers (the weather had been pretty good up to that point) and strolled outside. I doubt there has ever been a faster retreat (although the French or Italians may lay claim to that title). It was practically a blizzard. To say I was surprised would be a massive understatement. Before I had left my apartment I had been blissfully unaware of the Arctic conditions outside because I usually keep my curtains closed as I live on the ground floor and don't want curious Mongolians peering in. The snow in Mongolian is very strange. It doesn't feel wet to the touch and it is very powdery. Strangest (and worst) of all however, is the fact that try as you might, you cannot make a snow-ball out of it. I very nearly broke down in tears when I made this discovery. My dreams of stealthily landing a snow-ball on someone's head were dashed by the freakish snow of Mongolia.

That just about wraps it up for this post. I hope you have enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!

Starting work and a long journey to the Gobi Desert.

Since my last post I have started work proper, I have ventured down to the Gobi Desert, and Patrick Swayze has died. Still, at least he had the time of his life...if that was too soon I apologise but if you can't laugh what can you do? (I am aware that the joke wasn't necessarily funny but I reserve the right to crack bad jokes).

Anyway, I marched to work on my first day brimming with confidence. The sun was shining, the birds were probably singing but the sounds of the traffic were more than a match for their vocal styling's, and the world was ready to be saved by a plucky VSO volunteer. I descended the steps looking as cool, in my humble opinion, as its possible for a man wearing a fleece to look, and promptly became entangled in the net designed to prevent bugs from getting into the building. It did a pretty good job of stopping me from getting in as well until after a few seconds of epic man vs net struggle I triumphantly, and with less than a little flair, freed myself. Unpurtubed, and with even more elan, I sauntered along the corridor, glided into the office and deftly sat down at my desk feeling quite pleased with my entrance. Then suddenly reality hit me like a frisbee to the face. I didn't have a clue what to do. Panic set in. Beads of sweat began rolling down my brow. I was like a midget in 12ft of water: Out of my depth.

Happily, a few minutes later I remembered that I had been told exactly what I should do and I began reading a guideline to monitoring and evaluation, a document that I would quickly develop a love/hate relationship with insofar as I loved to hate it. Unfortunately for me (only because it meant I couldn't just pretend to read the document), implementing an active system of monitoring and evaluation is a pretty important part of what I will be doing here.

Thus far, my work has been confined out of necessity to familiarising myself with the various projects CYPPD is involved in and that means a lot of reading, interspersed with glimpes of what my work will entail once I understand exactly what I need to do. Thankfully I think I am going to enjoy the work, plus I get to teach English to the staff which I'm looking forward to (no, seriously).

Moving on. I have been fortunate in two respects this last week. Firstly, there are VSO volunteers crazy enough to run a half-marathon in the Gobi desert (I briefly contemplated walking it but common sense got the better of me) which mean I got to tag along. Secondly, my boss is awesome enough to allow me to have a Friday and a Monday off in my first week of work.

Before this trip, the Gobi Desert was for me, something that existed only on television and in my imagination. I had visions of endless seas of sand and humanity clinging to life in a land that clearly wasn't made for people to live in. In reality, only small parts of the Gobi have sand dunes and people don't cling to life in the desert, they adapt to it.

We left Ulaanbaatar on Friday, September 11th at 8:00am. We had a rather optimistic idea that the journey would be around 10-12 hours which would prove to be more than a little bit innacurate. After about 45 minutes the luxury that is paved roads came to a bumpy and dusty end. Usually, the idea of a very long drive is enough to make me wish I had a powerful sedative so that I don't have to spend mind-numbing hours gazing at nothing in particular. So I was relieved that Mongolia is anything but boring and not once did I grow tired of looking at the spectacular views. There were moments when we would come to the top of a lip of a ridge and an involuntary smile would creep across my face as my eyes were greeted by the some of the most awe-inspiring sights I have ever been privalaged to witness. The land would undulate and roll away into the distance, as far as the eye could see. Here and there herds of horses would canter across the plain, guarded by a solitary, watchful, herder. The road stretches out before you like a long dusty artery connecting the remote regions of Mongolia.

The transition from steppe to desert is a gradual one and I only noticed when I realised that there was very little plant life around. The other indicator was when we happened upon a group of Bactrian camels ambling slowly to wherever it is camels like to go in the desert. They didn't seem to care about our presence and our driver didn't seem to care about my curiosity or the camera in my hands. He continued to show disdain for my camel watching desires throughout the entire trip and I was only able to get this shot as we sped by one particular group -

We eventually stopped driving at around 7:30pm as the light was rapidly fading and we needed to set up camp. However, I'm a sucker for a sunset and this one was particularly impressive so I ran off with my camera and my tri-pod and totally forgot to help Chris put up our tent. When I returned he was half done and I sheepishly helped with the rest. The night descended with startling speed and soon all was dark except for the light from our cooking.

Every now and again you conditions combine to create something truly special. That night we were no where near a town, we were in the desert, and there was no moon. The stars unfolded above to create a wondrous spectacle that I will not soon forget. It was in a word, perfect. The milky way was as clearer than I had ever seen it and it arched across space as though God had deliberately left a brilliant trail through the cosmos. I was awe-struck by the night sky and as I stood there in the vast emptiness of the desert staring up at the unimaginable vastness of the heavens I began to think. What I thought about I won't say but I will say that sometimes, ever so rarely, you can have an experience that is profound and comforting, and during my first night in the Gobi Desert, I had one of those experiences.

The following day we finally made it to the ger camp which was the base for the literally tens of people who are insane enough to want to go on a long distance run through a desert. It was set on a plateau with mountains in one direction and desert in every other. It was also close to a site of paleontolgical significance called the Flaming Red Cliffs. It was the first place where dinosaur eggs were discovered. It is also exceedingly beautiful. From a distance they look like they are just a chain of cliffs but as you get closer you realise that they are actually a interwining series of gorges and crevaces that rise up to a ridge overlooking the Gobi. They are a stunning red (hence the name) and are truly stunning. When you get to the top of the ridge you can see the cliffs drop away before you and extend to your left and right. The contrast between the red of the cliffs and the blue of the sky adds to aura which this place creates.

Although that photo really doesn't do it justice it gives you at least some idea of what I'm talking about!

I spent my time at the ger camp wandering around the cliffs and doing some good old fashioned exploring. The finish line for the half-marathon was at the top of the cliffs which was great because I got to spend more time there whilst waiting for our intrepid competitors. All four did really well and even beat some U.S. marines so take that America! I kid, but seriously marines should be beating volunteers.

The drive back from the Gobi was equally as long as the drive there and I arrived back in Ulaanbaatar thoroughly knackered but very happy nonetheless. I could have written volumes about the trip but I am aware that some of you may have lost interest already so I had better call it a day.

Log on next week for more (possibly) exciting tales from Mongolia!

Thanks for reading.

A culinery revelation and a new home

Hey all!

Well I did it. I managed to survive language school with my sanity intact. That is no mean feat I assure you. Every morning I would wake up and instead of feeling happy and looking forward to the day I would wake up and wonder what fresh hell would be delivered upon me. It's not that I'm not learning anything, quite the opposite in fact, I'm constantly learning new ways to stop my mind from melting in the face of all the bewildering pronunciations and the bane of my existence, grammar. In the afternoon we would all head off to our one-on-one tutelage with a student. Fate had ordained that I would be assigned a girl named Bolorchimeg. She was perfectly nice but spoke next to no English (at least I think she didn't, perhaps she was just toying with me). "But hold on" I hear you cry, "you're learning Mongolian, she doesn't necessarily need to speak English". Whilst that may technically be true it resulted in the continuation of our teachers' draconian methods, namely "I am going to say something, you will repeat it, AND get it right or I will prolong your embarrassing agony by repeating it a futher fifty times". Thankfully, my time in purgatory eventually came to an end and on Friday September 4th 2009, I emerged from language school blinking and squinting in the harsh glare of the sun, looking like a guy who has been mentally pummeled for 2 weeks. I did get a nice certificate out of it though, and I will reluctantly admit that my Mongolian has improved as a result of my time in this Guantanamo-esque language school.

The weekend was fairly hectic as it was the end of our in-country training and everyone would be moving out of the guesthouse and into their new homes. For some people this meant travelling a very long way. Apparently Mongolia is a pretty big country, who knew? I was due to move into my new place on Saturday the 5th and I would be sharing with Ruth, the volunteer whom I am replacing, until her two year 'stint' ended the following Thursday. In the end, I didn't move in until Sunday, but this meant I was free to enjoy my Saturday. I spent the afternoon visiting the Mongolian Women's Farmers Association and agrovating their guard dog so that I could get a good picture. Luckily for me it was chained up otherwise the headlines would have read 'Fool torn apart after annoying an already irate animal'.
In the evening most of our volunteer intake group, and a few more established guys, went out for dinner. Now there is something you must understand about my mindset at this juncture. I, like all the new volunteers, had been living on a meagre diet for three weeks due to our budget. The previous day we had all been paid our living allowance (although I recieved far less than I was expecting due to an annoying length of time between when VSO pays their share, and CYPPD pays theirs), and so on Saturday I was looking forward to a meal of moderate extravagence. Imagine my horror then, when I was told that we would be going to a vegetarian restaurant. That's right, you heard me correctly, a vegetarian restaurant. The thought of it filled me with a sense of dread the likes of which I have never felt before. My gastronomic dreams for the evening were dashed in one apocolpytic sentence...or so I though at the time. Never let it be said that life doesn't throw you pleasant surprises. It turns out that tofu isn't so bad after all! What was once a disturbing abboration of nature to be scoffed at from afar, transformed into a delicious sortayed (if thats how you spell it) dish. It was a moment of revelation comparable only to St Pauls vision on the road to Damascus (that's right, a biblical reference!). I am officially a tofu convert. Anyway, that's enough hyperbole for the moment, moving on.

I moved into my home for the year on Sunday, September 6th. My flat is on the ground floor of a large Soviet (big and grey) style apartment block. It is a pretty decent size, particularly for one person. When you enter, you come into a hall-way where I imagine I will be keeping my shoes and possibly drying my clothes. A door at the end of the small hall leads into the apartment proper. There is another hallway (which makes the first one seem a little unnecessary) which leads into the living room on the left, and towards the bedroom and bathroom on the right. There is no partition between this hallway and the living room and there are a number of cables snaking across it, the purpose and source of which I have yet to determine. The living room also has the kitchen attached in an open plan design. The kitchen is at one end of the room (which is pretty big), a table sort of acts as a dividing line between the two. There is a couch which, whilst not being the best couch in the world, is certainly not the worst. There is also a television but it doesn't work very well. It can pick up a fair few channels but they are mostly Russian, Chinese, or Mongolia. However, it does get BBC world news which is great. The screen is red and blurry but you can just about make it out. I don't think I will be watching it much though.
The bedroom is at the opposite end of the apartment. It is a good size and has a queen size bed. The only trouble is there isn't much in the way of a mattress. Ruth has been sleeping on a ger blanket, which isn't very thick or comfortable but she didn't mind as she wasn't going to be living there for very long. I am hoping my landlady will find me one. If not then I am sure it will be good for my back! The bedroom also has fitted cupboards but they are a bit loose and unstable, still, better than nothing! Until today I have been sleeping on the couch cusion in the spare room. Ruth has moved out now so I will finally be able to sleep in a proper bed!
The toilet and bathroom are in seperate rooms and I was delighted to discover that the shower is awesome (when there is hot water).

So I have learnt two things since my last post -

1/ Tofu is not the enemy.
2/ Whoever decorated my apartment really likes the colour green.

I also started work this week but I will save that for my next post. I am heading to the Gobi desert tomorrow so you can look forward to hearing about that as well. I hope you all realise how lucky you are!

Language school difficulties and a bushwhacking weekend

Welcome to my third blog post!

This past week has been an interesting one. On Monday August 24th we started Mongolian language school. I was feeling fairly optimistic about the prospect as everything VSO had organised for us thus far had been great. Monday morning saw me leaping out of bed and in the mood for some awesome learning!! But seriously, I was genuinely looking forward to learning Mongolian and cracking the enigma that is the cyrillic alphabet. We had to catch the bus to school (which I haven't done for a good few years) at 8:20am but having observed the Mongolian people's contempt for the practice of being on time we didn't rush to get to our pick up point. In the event, we weren't even really late (about a minute) but try telling that to the bus driver. Picture any Japenese prison camp from a World War two movie and now picture the commandant. Our bus driver makes them look like ballet instructers. He has buzz-cut grey hair, a face that suggests "I've killed people", and a stare that says "I've definitely killed people". Anyway, we sheepishly scrambled onto the bus headed off to school with a long mental note reminding us not to be late again.

The language school is a large circular, red-bricked building that may have been a church at one time. Upon entering we were greeted by some of the staff who divided us up into two groups who would be taught seperately for the next two weeks. I believe they were employing a divide and conquer method as it quickly became apparent that the purpose of this school was to break our will. I won't go into detail about each lesson as it would bore me and probably you as well but suffice to say, I had more fun the last time I stubbed my toe. Our teacher speaks very little English and her favourite teaching method is the good old, "I'll say something and then you will endlessly repeat it" technique. Despite her best efforts, after a week at the school I can finally read a bit of cyrillic but when I first looked at it I may as well have been trying to read a babies random scrawlings. The first week at the school dragged but finally the weekend appeared on the horizon.

I had been looking forward to it ever since it was first mentioned. Myself and a group of VSO's headed into the hills of the Bogd Khan protected area to do some hiking and camping. On the way to the start point I envisioned a gentle stroll over across some reasonable hills and valleys. had I known the truth I would have been filled with trepidation...and I would have brought more water.

The morning started nicely enough on a relatively gentle gradient but as we entered the forest the path began to get steeper and much less pleasant. I was lagging behind a bit due to my total lack of fitness but I "heroically" pushed on. The woods were totally unspoilt and every now and again there would be a break in the tree line and we were treated to a stunning view out across the steppe. As well as great vistas, the morning presented us with a bizarre incident. The last thing any of us expected to find up in the hills was a full company of soldiers, weapons and all, lounging around in the shade of the forest canopy. Naturally we were surprised and I wondered if we had accidentally wandered into a military exercise and were about to be forcefully ejected from the area. Thankfully, our presence barely registered with them, save for a few curious glances. Shortly after we had passed the soldiers the reason for their presence became clear. As we rounded a bend a portly man wearing a blue shirt hoved into view. He was flanked by two men carrying weapons, both of whom had their fingers on the trigger. It turned out that he was the president of Mongolia been out walking with the American ambassador (whom we encountered looking rather tired later on). Life is strange sometimes.

In the early afternoon we climbed up a large rock formation which stood at around 2224m and was capped by a very large ovoo (see earlier post). It offered spectacular views of Ulaanbaatar as well as the steppe and distant hills. It was one of those moments that you know you will remember for many years to come. Sitting perched on a rock with nature in all its glory spread out before you is quite an experience. Aside from the wind there it was quiet I could hear the flapping of the enormous ravens circling overhead.

After we headed on there was no more paths to follow. We were officially bushwhacking and the going was rough. We hiked over boulder fields and through dead woods as thunder claps nearby made us concerned for the night ahead. It was whilst we were traversing one of the large boulder fields that I was saved from serious facial disfigurement by luck and my ruck-sack. I was hopping from boulder to boulder when I put my foot on a rock which gave-way. I started falling forwards and luckily my foot slipped and twisted my body so that I landed on my back rather than my face. I was scratched and bruises and my back ached for a while afterwards but I was otherwise unhurt. The thought of face-planting a boulder isn't a happy one.

We eventually found a camp-site and set up for the night. We lucked out both with the location and the weather. It didn't rain despite the thunder which was now directly overhead. The night wasn't particularly comfortable but at least we were dry! In the morning we set off and I hoped that the worst was behind us. However, the devil vomitted in my kettle once more and it only got worse. We were scrambling over bigger rocks, through thicker forest, over more uneven ground, and up and down steeper valleys. It would be fair to say that I was well and trully exhausted as we finally emerged from the forest onto the hill that would lead us down to Ulaanbaatar. At this point I was pretty much in a daze and it was all I could do to prevent myself from toppling over and grinding face first down the hill.

As with any tough trip we finished with a beer and a smile and I'll be damned if it wasn't the best beer I'd ever had.

Many thanks for reading! I know it was a long one!

A Week in Ulaanbaatar and Uncomfortable Horses

Hello all, welcome to my second post which I have finally managed to find the time to write.

So where to begin...

Well all of us new VSO guys started our in-country training (ICT) on Monday the 17th. I must admit that I had not been looking forward to it at all but once we got going it was pretty good, and there was free coffee which always helps. The first week of ICT basically involved sitting in a room and learning as much as possible about Mongolia as well as how to avoid beeing mugged, getting a disease or being trampled by a yak. The sessions usually lasted for from about 9:30am until 2:00pm and I will save you the boring details save to say that there was a hell of a lot to take in.
One of first things that I have learnt in Mongolia is that it is never going to be famed for its culinary delights. Mongolian dishes are not what you would call varied, and that is an understatement. The first gastronomic delicacy that I was privaleged to try was Buuz (pronounced butts). Buuz are essentially incredibly greasy lumps of meat wrapped in equally greasy pastry type stuff. Interestingly, "incredibly greasy" could be used to describe any Mongolian food. Also, if you don't like meat then you are in the wrong country. One of the volunteers ordered vegetable soup and it may as well have been renamed "meat in oiley water with a small piece of cabbage floating around in it". Another kitchen wonder is Huushur which is a small slab of meat wrapped in some other kind of pastry and deep fried. Cholestorol is clearly not a concern in Mongolia. I swear that the grease and oil that I could have drained from it would have filled a tea cup. Thankfully there are a variety of different international restaurants in Ulaanbaatar.
The week passed fairly quickly and featured social events for all the volunteer orgs in Mongolia and a pub quiz. Being made a permanent member of a pub quiz team was not one of the things I was expecting from Mongolia. When the weekend rolled around I was stupidly happy as there were a couple of trips arranged. On Saturday 22nd all the new vols plus Doug (the country program manager), his family and a few of the older vols hired a bus and headed for the countryside. I had a bunch of idyllic images and preconceptions about what it was going to be like and unbelievably I wasn't let down.
We were going to visit the family of one of VSO Mongolia's staff who were still living the traditional life in a ger. The drive out provided a glimpse of nice scenery but it was nothing compared to the view that we were treated to once we arrived. Stepping off the bus the first thing I noticed was the silence. Its not often one gets to experience true quiet and sadly my moment was cut short as soon as we started moving. Taking a step seemed to awake an army of crickets who immediatly began chirping and never really stopped. Still, it was nicer than traffic noise. The family inhabited two gers and we were invited to sit inside and shar some food and drink. Gers are pretty awesome. There is a whole load of etiquette involved. The main thing is that you must always walk clockwise around the ger. There are plenty of other "rules" ranging from not tripping on the threshold to not holding your cup by the rim.
As amazing as ger life is, it's nothing compared to land surrounding them. I've never been in such open space. Africa has plenty of plains but there are always tree's to break up the view. The Mongolian steppe is completely devoid of trees and bushes and its effect is breathtaking. Vast expanses of flat land extend up to distant mountains and hills. Dotting the land are ger settlements. The other thing you notice are the horses. I've never seem so many in one place. Most gers have a group of them near-by and they huddle together, possibly for warmth, possibly to play a game of cards without the humans knowing. They are not the healthiest looking animals in the world but that is due to the lack of a sufficient food supply.
There were Mongolian herders constantly riding here and there tending their flocks of goats and sheep or just galloping off into the distance as eagles soar overhead looking for prey. I was lucky enough to be able to be able to have a go at riding one of the horses and part of me wishes I hadn't. Pain seems to go hand-in-hand with horse riding! Especially where wooden saddles are concerned! It was amazing to canter off accross the plain though. What an experience! My imagination ran away with me and I pictured the mongol horde setting off on a trail on conquest and destruction. Then I rememered I was merely sitting on a boney horse that sounded like it was struggling to live. No matter, it was still awesome.
The afternoon was capped off by seeing a veritable stampede of a massive group of horses (there must have been around 60) accross the steppe. Their owners were desperately trying to reign them in but we had to leave before we got to see who won that contest.
The following day myself, Aki (an existing Dutch VSO), Leah, and Andrew (both new Australian and both new) headed off to climb Mt. Chingeltei which is apparently the highest mountain in the north at 2000m. Granted that isn't too high but the weather was atrocious. The wind was howling and the rain blew in sideways. Naturally I didn't have a water-proof with me and so I got soaked. It was worth it in the end though as the weather cleared up and the view from the top was amazing. At the top there is a massive mound of stones with a large wooden pole sticking out of the top. The pole is wrapped in blue material with prayers written on. It is known as a Ovoo and it is a shamanisitic symbol. Shamanism is one of the leading religions in Mongolia and its quite intriguing. For example, one custom which we all partook of is that every time you come accross an Ovoo you must circle it three times and throw another stone on or leave an offering. There was money from all over the world at its foot and I found it remarkable that no one had stolen it.
The whole weekend was amazing and I am glad it was because we started language school on Monday and I doubt fun has ever been used to describe it. But that is another story for another day.

Thanks for reading my second post, I hoped you enjoyed it. More next week!