A new chapter in Ulaanbaatar and first day nerves.

I’ve been back in Mongolia for over 2 months now. I settled back into life here so quickly it was as if I had never left. Seriously, I’m talking hours here not days.

When my plane landed at Chinggis Khan airport a number of questions ran through mind. Had I made the right decision in coming back? Did I have the right visa? When was the person sitting to my left going to stop talking to me? And where were my shoes? I was mostly concerned with the latter. After contemplating standing up and accusing a random passenger of theft I decided to be rational and look a bit harder. Eventually I found them being trampled by the guy in the row in front of me. I tried to give him a harsh glare and if looks could kill he would definitely have had some mild bruising at the very least.

Mercifully, I negotiated immigration control without any problems. The same could not be said about baggage claim. Standing, exhausted at the conveyer belt and watching a number of bags doing laps of baggage claim I got that familiar sinking feeling that years of travelling related stress had honed into something of a sixth sense. This feeling was compounded when a door off to the right opened and I glimpsed some bags, one of which was mine, surrounded by 4 security guards who looked intent on ruining my day. Eventually there was a flurry of movement and said security guards burst through the doors carrying my bags and those of the other unfortunate people who had gathered and were sharing the same look of anxiety and barely contained frustration. Our bags were then dumped in front of an x-ray machine and then examined and sent through the machine. One foolish passenger protested at the delay and his bag was sent to the back of the queue. He clearly forgot that, in the same way as you don’t piss off people who bring you food, you don’t piss off people who control when you can have your bags back. After a painful wait I got my bag, but only after I had been thoroughly quizzed about the ‘suspicious package’ in my bag (which was prescription medicine, and very clearly labelled as such).

Emerging, blinking in the harsh morning light, I allowed myself a little smile as I gazed out over Ulaanbaatar. That smile quickly vanished as I was accosted by what, in my sleep deprived state, seemed like a thousand taxi drivers (In reality it was more like 5) After trying to choose one of these drivers I remembered that I had little say in the matter and allowed myself to pushed and pulled into a car. The problem with ‘the chaos’ method of choosing a taxi is that you are likely to end up with the most forceful and possibly maniacal guy around. This proved to be the case and we arrived in the centre of the city in record time due to a complete disregard for other vehicles and other annoyances such as stop-lights.

My return to Ulaanbaatar would have gone much more smoothly had the apartment I had arranged (and paid the deposit for) not been whipped from under my feet like rug whilst I was away. Thankfully there is no shortage of awesome people in this town who are willing to put up with a homeless guy and I was able to impose myself upon on the generous nature of my good friend James. He no doubt regretted his rash decision after the first day.

I had a couple of days to get used to life back before I began teaching which I was very grateful for as I was fairly nervous. Truth be told, I was looking forward to it about as much as a man looks forward to a prostate exam. This was mostly due to the images that were ricocheting around my brain of me standing in front of a class and suddenly realising that I didn’t actually know anything and then to complete the humiliation, being ‘pantsed’ by the big kid in class.

When I woke up on the morning of my first day at school a single thought ran through my head, ‘Shiiiiiiiiiiit’, and stayed there until I reached the gates of the school. At that point a new thought ran through my head, ‘Hoooooooollllyyyyy Shiiiiiit’. As you can tell, my thoughts are often eloquent and succinct. Anyway, staring up at the blue and grey facade of Orchlon School with its unusual symbol which appears to be a smiling face with a bad haircut, I decided it was time to man up. So exuding as much confidence as I could muster I strode up to the main doors, of which there are two sets, and tried to picture what opening a door with style and élan would look like. I’m sure that if I hadn’t been doing this I would have noticed that no one else was heading towards the same doors as me and would have spared myself the embarrassment of walking face first into a locked door. If that had proven to be the only awkward moment of the day I would have been a happy man.

I spent my first morning meeting my new colleagues and trying to suppress the urge to run screaming from the building and set the record for shortest teaching career in history. Time, as it is known to do, marched on and eventually the bell signalling the start of my first class rang and I promptly fainted. Just kidding. I grabbed the things I presumed a teacher would need and headed upstairs, paused at the door to the classroom, took a deep breath, adopted the most authoritative pose I could and walked in. Miraculously, the students (who were grade 6 or around 10-12 years old) didn’t immediately plunge into anarchy but a look of puzzlement did cross their faces in unison when I explained that I was their new teacher. I simply assumed that they were just wondering how a fool such as I could be a teacher and carried on. The reason for their bemusement soon became apparent when their actual teacher, John, walked into the room and politely explained that I was in wrong classroom. That was teaching fail number one.

Somehow I blundered my way through the rest of the day and arrived home thoroughly tired. Sitting on the couch, I thought about what the rest of the year might hold in store for me. My pessimism soon drifted away as I looked out over the city as the sunset turned the hills red, and realised that teaching would get easier with each passing day and that in all likelihood, I was going to have an amazing year.