Street rat! Take that!

Dear Drum,

I didn't think it was in code though several sections might have been gibberish, but in compensation I thought I could shower a little more attention on you. Never fear- another post card shall find its swift way to your pigeonhole though!

Mongolia gets weirder by the day. Some things have become a lot more acceptablet- the staring, the mental traffic, the Cyrillic alphabet which I'm gradually getting a handle on or the bizarre food. But other stuff will keep me amazed for the next two weeks I think.

I'm still reeling over the whole TV anchor/talkshow thing. It's very hard to imagine when you're sat in the studio with only a camera guy and your script. It feels a lot more like one of Leady's practice videos that will never get seen again. That is until I sat down in the pub yesterday and there was a chorus of 'I watched you on TV yesterday!'.

Oops.

I have to question some sections of the TV station- I know that I've arrived with very western perceptions of things getting done when theyre supposed to, of having make up and wardrobe departments, drivers etc. But there doesnt seem to be any concept of that at all. Sometimes when they cant get the translator they just have me announce old English news- some stuff I'm announcing happened in April! HOw can this possibly be a news station??! But I'm still loving it- I'm even trying to get involved with the UB post (the english newspaper here) because theyre looking for editors and journalists. The last intern i my place had an article published- IN A NEWSPAPER AND ON TV AND INTERVIEWED IN ONE YEAR??! Thatd be incredible.

(Incidentally, on the cards for future TV moments are several interviews about music and entertainment- I find this hilarious. There is finally a time when my not knowing who Chad Michael Murray is will be an obstacle. I'm reviewing various Mongolian bands like Altan Urag, The Lemons, Khulan etc. who I've actually grown to quite like. Its a pity theyre not on iTunes... But also I'm expected to feature upcoming music. Like katy perry, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears and Glee. There could not be anyone less able to do that. It gets worse though. Mongolia and specifically my TV station is trying to get Western celebrities to visit to increase publicity. Like Jey-Li and Arnold Schwarzenegger. But they need western interviewers. Enter yours truly. Oh, and the interviews are live. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LIFE?)

Another volunteer and I are also running a journalism class at the local university. I cant think of anything more ironic and bizarre than me teaching journalism students about journalism- I dont even have a degree or any sort of qualifications in it yet somehow Im regarded as an expert. But dont worry, I've been keeping the classes suitably immature. In Thursday's How To guide I was sure to include Miss P's PEE and FART lessons. My Australian co-teacher was so unimpressed....

The wardrobe issues havent improved either. At least half my clothes have holes in them or are held together with safety pins. A couple of days ago my work skirt ripped all the way up to my waist. Even I then had to admit something had to be done.

STREET KIDS. I've travelled a shitload and this is something that even I still find mindboggling. They're everywhere. And sometimes we go Western on them and try to help in orphanages or give them money. Other times, I found myself with an attitude I hope I never bring back to the UK. Everyone gets warned that theft is rife and protect your belongings with everything you have- never let your guard down. But I get told that wherever I go and I have never had bad experiences. Generally, I've been shown best of human nature- shop assistants who have handed over envelopes containing shitloads of money that I've dropped, taxi guys whove rung people on my phone to bring it back to me etc...

Here, take your eyes or your hands off your possessions for more than a few seconds and expect to have them go walkabouts.

My wallet got stolen as I was jumping onto a bus and took my hand off it to catch the rail.

My camera got stolen when I was in a bar, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. Boom. Bizarrely though I found my SIM card on the floor. Politest thief in Mongolia?

Strangest yet was my tussle with a street kid. Walking along the street with my iPod in a street kid starts asking me for money. Rule No.1 is you never give them money (someone else will just take it off them and/or if they see where you keep your money...) But then he starts shaking my elbow. Up until now my hand has been on my iPod but I go to take my headphones out and suddenly the music stops. Putting my hand in my pocket, I grope around but all I have is an empty pocket. In a matter of seconds the boy has reached into my coat pocket, unplugged it and put it in his. I was honest to god gobsmacked- to the point I didnt want to accuse him of stealing because it just seemed too ludicrous. I grabbed him by the wrist before I even thought it through and demanded it back, at which point he started swearing- evidently the only English words he knew. Of course I'm now stood in the middle of the high street, a Western girl holding a local boy by the wrist as he struggles, swears and shouts in Mongolian. British embarrassment kicking in I desperately want to let go, but at the same time...IPOD??! Eventually two Mongolian strangers turn up- one of whom can speak English. I still have my headphones in at this point, tragically disconnected to any music so the case is leaning slightly more towards my side. But as soon as I have it back the Mongolian man raises his arm to hit the child- he doesnt, but there was an education in street life. Aladdin had never seemed less glamorous.

Anyway love, I'm sure you've got essays to do and things to procrastinate over so I shall leave you with all my love and the promise of more contact. And of course, a visit to cambridge next year.

xxxx

The Words Were Hard to Find

Dear Queasy,

Im not even sure you'll get this though I know you're back from HK I dont know facebook active you are yet. Anyhows, I thought of you a fair bit today so it made sense.
So I’ll save the bombshell for later.

Mongolia is mental. I’ve already mentioned the driving which just gets crazier with every day but watching even the locals make mad dashes across the road on a regular basis only to stop the cars with their hands on the bonnets doesn’t get old. A girl here said she saw two buses go headlong into each other and with the attitude these buses take it doesn’t surprise me- I can almost see them going straight for each other, challenges in their eyes. ‘Go on, if you think you’re khan enough’. (I’m sorry, when you don’t have a common language puns are a lost concept).

Do you remember when we used to read Jess’ manga almost voraciously? You know those young Japanese guys were always a certain type- a piercing or two, a bomber jacket and that Asian punk look? Mongolian youth are the same- ripped jeans tucked into those big, leather biker boots, baggy jackets and stubble combined with the slight air of just having been kicked out of a rock band.

I am having a few wardrobe crises (this relates to the bombshell- wait for it). Firstly I hadn’t brought any wash stuff for excess baggage reasons and when I got here, it sounds obvious I know, everything was in Cyrillic. There are only so many times you can put shower gel in your hair and not feel the consequences. Subsequently I now smell like a combination of papaya, avocado and yoghurt and my hands smell constantly like yoghurt. This was all completely irrelevant of course because I ended up at the Mongolian hairdresser’s today. (I’m building up the suspense but the upcoming bombshell will explain all.) The hairdresser had blatantly never had to deal with Western hair before and there were several moments when I had more in common with Aslan than the businesswoman she had been asked to present. Not to mention I was marginally worried that she might start liberally applying the ‘blackening shampoo’ that I had seen advertised on TV. Now that would really mess with my Aussie blondage (a neologism I particularly like because if you take out the ‘l’…) Anyway clothing –wise I’m having a few difficulties cobbling together out of random Asian clothes and my own skewed version both of propriety and fashion something that could be called businesslike. It’s a task not lightly undertaken. I thought of you again and how you’d come quicker to the realisation than I of how other people perceive our clothes. I fear it may be too late for me. I’m doomed to either frumpy or whore. Well I’ve managed to get a jumper/shirt that comes up to my collarbones, a skirt that covers my knees (even though my tights are covered in holes that I’ve failed to craftily hide under my heels or too high up my skirt.

So I come to my bombshell. I may or may not be presenting the news on national Mongolian TV every weeknight this May.

Yeah. That was my reaction. WTF. Or as I would say with Duffy (you have to meet him. You’ll fall in love. Everyone has) Why The Fuck Not. Largely I’ll sat straight up it has nothing to do with me- it’s a right place right time kind of gig. The last volunteer, Biljana, did this so it’s a matter of the best English speaker continuing her legacy. Since I’m English and almost no one else speaks it, it was a no brainer. But I’ve never been more thankful to both Pip and Lead. How else would I be so quick at editing things down to the slimmest version to create the headlines? (Or leads as they’re called in TV). And all I could think when I was sat in front of the camera was- cast your golden net with your eyes, pause, speak slowly, breathe, enunciate. I must have been the only person they’d seen to annotate the text. Still I think once we’ve played to a live audience of 500 several times over, there’s little that can rock my nerve. I’m trying to convince myself that the English speaking audience in UB is that minimal. Not to mention on Sundays I’m supposed to host a media/entertainment programme for twenty minutes- only this time I choose the theme, write the script and deliver it myself.

I somehow feel I’ve done a Bridget Jones and am somehow even less qualified and professional than she was.

Anyway my queasiest of Pease I’m missing you and our endless discourses infinitely and hoping you’re doing well adjusting to life back in the UK.

All my dramatic love,
Lizzy

Funkytown

Dear Vez my love,

Our mini chat yesterday kept recurring in my head- Mongolia is a funky country I said and I couldn’t have been proved more right. There are definitely things that still make me pause. The staring still gets to me. I think its worse than HK because even though we’re obviously western there, they’re used to ‘our sort’. Here, there’s still the sense I just waltzed off the Trans-Siberian Railway and got lost on my way to China. On one of my many walk I glanced across the street to find an entire busload of Mongolians watching me s if I’d just skipped off Saturn. The children make it worth it though. (Now we’ll have none of those jokes please…) It seems ok on the sheer principle of childlike wonder to get stared at- whether by the toddler jumping on bricks across manholes to find himself dwarfed by a strange white girl and his only response was a quiet, defeated ‘oh’, or the boy cycling so surprised that I smiled at him that he beamed back and circled me on his bike or even the small boy in a bright pink beanie who followed me for ten minutes babbling incomprehensible Mongolian. They’re just adorable. (Never fear, I shan’t be posting any of the obligatory ‘me with impoverished child’ that come out of gap years, Unless its under my arm and we’re running onto a plane). Zulaa’s two year old son has so much in common with the baby from Ice Age they might be descendants. He even ran after his mum clapping his hands for the [LAST WATERMELON] orange juice. I might have to come home with a Mongol baby. (I kid, I kid, you can put those condoms and morning after pills away).

Like you said, its strangely humbling to be surrounded by people as they speak a language of which you cannot understand a scrap. I know its only day 5 but I still haven’t got an inkling- though you always know when they’re talking about you. Whether its my name, Britain, or hand gestures its always fairly obvious and then terribly disconcerting when no one translates. Someone described the Mongolian language as sounding like two cats mating until they lose the plot and scratch each other to death. I see their point. But people said the same about German and, like you, I came to really like it. I have regressed when it comes to learning Mongolian. I spent last night in a café whilst a small girl watched in a amazement as I failed to identify various letters of the Cyrillic alphabet. When I got home I even rushed in gabbling various meaningless greetings in order to show my host mother how much I’d learnt. They’ve made a real effort with me- as neither of them speak English she asked her sister, who speaks French to come round and possibly her other sister who speaks a little English. Theres nothing more bizarre than trying to remember the conjugation of French verbs to an audience of onlooking Mongolian family members.

The complete lack of boundaries never fails to amaze but mostly delight me. Beyond the concept of Ariuna, my host sister, sharing a bed with me whilst I’m still almost a complete stranger, both she and her mother, Naryaa, will get changed in front of me or walk in whilst I’m sleeping.. Thanks god boarding school prepared me- but it goes beyond the boundaries of what we experienced. Similarly when I wanted to change into smarter clothes my colleagues at the office told me to just shut the door and go for it. I hadn’t even met half of them! But its also absolutely gorgeous.. On my last two trips home (I live about half an hours walk from work or 45 minutes from Sukhbataar Sq where my Mongolian lessons are) I haven’t walked home alone. The first time after several fearful looks from me that I had or would miss my bus stop and end up at the bus depot at midnight, a random Mongolian girl took pity and told me when to get off and then an equally random guy walked me all the way home in order to practice his English. The same happened today after a guy pulled me out of the path of an oncoming car.

Still the oddest things are the small ones
• they don’t serve or drink alcohol on the first of the month
• they don’t use knives (try eating cabbage with a spoon. Its not elegant)
• it took me days to realise Narya and Ider always picked my handbag off the floor, but apparently its because only beggars leave bags on the floor for money. Odd. But makes sense.
• They put salt in their tea. I haven’t actually experienced this one but I have been forewarned. That’s something I might not bring back with me.

I’ll add to my growing list of oddities I’m sure, but those ones are bizarre. But lovely. As ever.

Much love my darling and enjoy your last two weeks in Deutschland. I had the same homesickness leaving Oz. It’ll be hard to do that again I’m sure.
Bestival will be a riot though!
Lizzy