July 21st
I went in to the office and did a ton of uploading. Nothing
particularly exciting, but it was important work. I also met a fellow MA
student researching shamanism and the roles and concepts of violence in
shamanism. I thought this was interesting and showed her some of my journals
involving the use of ritual (yet very painful) beating, drawing of blood,
whipping, etc.
I called Enkhule and we met for lunch, sat and talked for a
while, and ate delicious pizza at Rosewood Café.
In the afternoon, I went back to M’s mother’s house and
played with the kids. Then we headed home. M would be shamanizing that night,
and his family would be coming over to partake.
When we got home, I helped arrange the shrine room, which is currently
doubling as my bedroom. Although I am less familiar with the ritual
arrangements, I am familiar at this point with the more functional
arrangements, like the way it has to be cleaned up, the way the mirror has to
be covered, etc. S dealt with arranging
the shrine and the like. I am getting
familiar with certain ritual duties, for example at one point, the shamans drum
was far from him, but I recognized that he would need it soon, and (after a
quick eyecontact with S to make sure I was right) went to appropriately
retrieve and arrange it.
This evening, family members and one community member who I
have not met, came for shamanizing.
Since M’s grandmother spirit is an accomplished healer, I decided to ask
her about my injured ankle as well as my wrist, which was injured several years
ago and never quite healed properly.
Grandmother massaged my ankle for a while, at one point so painfully I
cried out. She instructed me to keep it
warm and compressed for 3 days and nights by wearing 3 layers of socks. For my wrist, she was unhappy that the injury
had occurred so long ago and instructed me to drink airag for 3 days and then
come back to her. I happily agreed.
After all the shamanizing, the men brought in dinner: two
sheeps heads. Already struggling with
homesickness, the idea of eating a sheeps head was just too much. I was already sick of nothing but mutton, and
the head is especially strong and fatty.
When I was offered the eyeball, I successfully refused, then excused
myself to the toilet. I gave myself permission to cry for 3 minutes, then
caught my breath and came inside.
Culture shock was piling up and it was just a question of when I would
break.
July 22nd
M and I got up in the morning preparing to go to Bulgan. M
needed to bring my passport to the Dragon Center, the bus station, and on the
way realized that his own ID card was at his mother’s home, leading him on a
crazy chase around the city. I was
nursing a headache from all the stress the previous night and stayed in bed. S,
meanwhile, was making food for us to take on the bus. I was awoken by a familiar smell and walked
over the stove to find S making latkes.
She noticed my surprise, “I learned watching you make them. I’m also
making Khuushuur.”
She had clearly noticed my discomfort and homesickness the
night before and, very sweetly, made traditional Jewish food for the bus for
me. I was deeply touched and went off to
the store to buy bottles of water and juice for our bus ride.
The bus itself was surprisingly comfortable, and the ride
was about 7 hours. I spent the entirety of it riding. M spent most sleeping.
We arrived around 7:30 PM in Bulgan. A came to pick us up at the bus station and
his friend Bayna was driving. Bayna surprised me by speaking decent English
which he had, strangely enough, learned in two years in paris. So I started to speak to him in French.
We went on a bit of a wild adventure to try and get
traditional gifts for our host. The candy and cookies were easy, but apparently
getting vodka on a Tuesday in Bulgan is not easy.
We did, however, eventually succeed in our quest and made t
over to A’s ger. His wife, B, was making Tsuivan (a sort of Mongolian chow
mein) and there was also plenty of my least favorite drink ever: nermel. I still can’t drink more than a sip without
wanting to throw up. However, I tried to
drink enough to be polite.
It was enough to make me throw up, however. This one just triggers me. And that was all I
needed to have my little break down.
After throwing up I just started sobbing. Sitting in the grass, saying
“I miss my mom, I miss my dad. I can’t do this, I want to go home.” Again and
again and again. Everyone was very
concerned about me, especially M, who considers himself to be my brother. I’m not sure how long I was out there, I
needed to let everything out, both physically and emotionally. I also hate throwing up, to a pretty extreme
extent, which made the crying worse.
I came inside a bit later, shaking uncontrollably, and still
crying a bit. Everyone was really nice about it, although they weren’t entirely
sure what the problem was. I was tucked
into cozy blankets on a mat in front of the altar and went to sleep.
July 23
I was woken up early by A telling me they would be milking
the cows, did I want to watch? I went
out to watch, which was nice, then rolled over and went back to sleep. This time, I woke up to a giant metal
contraption over the stove. B was
working steadfastly over it. I mumbled out, in Mongolian “What are you doing?”
“Distilling vodka!” she answered. Of course! Every morning, some of the
fermented horse milk would be distilled in to Nermel.
When M woke up he took me outside for a walk.
“Yesterday’s problem, OK? You can tell me. I’m your
Mongolian brother.” He assured me. I
told him I was fine. I was a bit homesick. I hadn’t seen either parent since
March, I was struggling with some culture shock, exhausted, and just had a
little homesick breakdown. The throwing up was just the catalyst. The pain of being sick, of throwing up
because I can’t cope with the taste of a local liquor, was just the straw that
broke the camel’s back.
M watched me carefully throughout the day to make sure I really was OK. Everyone else was concerned as well. It was
very sweet. M offered to take me on a horse ride up to the river where A
gathered water. This sounded like a great plan.
We mounted our horses and decided to take a slow ride up to the river,
about a mile and a half. When we reached
the river, A joined us by motorcycle to gather water for the ger. Unfortunately, a pack of horses had run
around up river, kicking up a lot of dirt, so the water was not potable and A
had to chase away the horses and wait a while.
We waited and let our horses graze and water. A light rain started, but we weren’t too
concerned. When the rain started to get a bit heavier, we mounted our horses to
head back. Not far into the ride, the
rain became torrential. None of us were expecting it, so we were completely
unprepared. I urged on my horse to move
faster, but when the hail began, he refused to run towards the ger, which was
also into the wind and the hail. So here
I was, wearing a t-shirt, on a horse that refused to move, in a hail
storm. It stung. A came over on the motorbike and with his
help (as well as the hail starting to let up) we were able to basically drag
the horse home. I was, literally, soaked through to my underwear.
Inside the ger, I changed my clothes and hid under some
blankets and refused to come out until I was warm. M and A did similar.
But that night was a special night. A and B’s daughter
Marlaa was turning 2. M and A disappeared
in Bayna’s car and came back with a veritable feast. B made rice, mutton and potato stew, and M
and A brought back fruit juice, cola, plums, apples, toffees, and of course, a
birthday cake. Marlaa was thrilled. She was stuffing her mouth with fruit after
fruit after fruit. Fruit is a very rare
treat in the country side. Her cousin
brought her a big cup full of freshly picked strawberries (and brought me a cup
as well, which I shared. It was delicious.)
I gave Marlaa a bag of tootsie rolls and a pez dispenser. M gave her a cute miniature pink purse,
filled with candies.
We shared fruit juice and candies and sweets and all went to
sleep very happy.
July 24
On this day, A, B, M and I decided to ride up to A’s
grandparent’s ovoo, as well as the mountain just beyond it. Because there were
only 3 horses, and four of us, A went by motorcycle. We rode up to the ovoo and everyone made
traditional offerings of airag and aaruul (dried cheese). We remounted our horses (mine stepped on my
foot) and then made our way further up the mountain. Here, we tied our horses to some pine trees.
The men pulled out beers, and B told me that there were strawberries down in
the forest. I made my way down a little bit and, after much searching, came
back with a heaping handful of delicious wild strawberries. I shared it with the rest, and we sat in the
shade of the pine trees and relaxed. At
one point, we heard a loud CRACK as a horse managed to break off the branch it
was tied to. The men scrambled to their feet and chased down the horse and tied
it to a different tree.
We rode back to the ger and relaxed inside for a while. I helped B make buuz stuffed with chopped
offal. It works better as buuz. It
really does. Then I relaxed a bit,
reading a book, playing dice with everyone and just having a nice time. In the evening, another friend came over with
another cake, so we had another small party for Marlaa and played more dice.
July 25th,
In the morning, A was supposed to shamanize, but it kept
getting postponed and eventually just didn’t happen. But in the afternoon, we all got together and
drove to a local river. Bayna’s wife and
baby also came, so there were two little babies playing around, which was very
cute.
A few of the men went to hunt marmot while B and M went
fishing. M, despite his patience, didn’t
catch anything. But B caught two small fish.
We roasted them on the fire after making the marmot. The marmot was prepared the traditional way,
stuffed with hot rocks. It’s not my
favorite meat, as it’s a bit too gamey, but it is still good. The roasted fish were lovely.
We shared cola, vodka, airag, beer, and fruit juice (the
last being at my insistence).
The men began drinking a bit too much, however. We made it home late and the men kept
drinking. I wanted to sleep, but they were being extraordinarily loud. Sometimes they would drunkenly lean over and
lean on my injured ankle. The third time this happened, I just yelled at
them. Eventually they went to sleep.
July 26th
I woke up at 10, horrified. My phone battery had died and we
hadn’t set an alternate alarm clock. The bus was at 11. I yelled at M to wake up. As I rushed to pack, A’s father told us that
the bus left at 10. Bayna, wanting us to
stay an extra day had as a “joke” told us the bus was leaving at 11 on
weekends. I was fucking furious. I
actually lost my cool. A rarity for me. Threw my deel on the ground and stormed
out of the ger. M realized how royally
pissed I was and yelled at the appropriate people on my behalf before coming
out to get me. He managed to arrange for
us to get back, although it was a more frustrating way.
We said our goodbyes and were sent off with 10 liters of
Airag, one liter of Nermel, and a large bag of aaruul. We drove over to a neighboring house to say
our goodbyes. I stayed in the car because I was in a very bad mood and didn’t
know this person especially well.
Suddenly I heard a slap, followed by screaming. I could see through the door the husband
hitting his wife. I just stayed in the
car. There was nothing I could do. She stormed out crying a few minutes later
and made her way into a neighboring ger, presumably also belonging to the
family.
Bayna drove us to Bulgan along with A. We got lunch, caught a group car to Erdenet
and from there, a group minivan to Ulaanbaatar.
I was happy to be back to the rest of my Mongolian family. Soyloo made a delicious dinner of noodle
soup with chunks of meat and potatoes and scallion laced noodles. We made up my bed on the floor and I
collapsed to a peaceful sleep.
July 27th.
We all had a relaxed and slow morning, but we knew our plan
for the day. I’ve been asked to shoot
some footage in Mongolia for a friend, so we decided the ideal place would be
Narantuul market in the shaman section.
I decided to try a prank I’ve been wanting to pull. I put my money in my leg pocket and pulled my
boots over it. I grabbed four pieces of
paper, some red and black colored pencils and red and black string.
I carefully drew with the red and black pencils ominous, yet
meaningless, geometric designs. I folded
the paper, wrote “THIEF” on the back in Mongolian, then criss-crossed red and
black thread. Uukaa egch was home and I
showed it to her, she agreed it looked sufficiently curse-like.
I put one “curse” in each accessible pocket and we hit the
road.
Our first stop was the post office, to pick up a drum that I
had commissioned by an Aleut artist from just outside of Washington. The drum was 22 inches, hand made, with a
haida wolf painted on the skin. At the
post office, we had to go to the customs section, where I had to pay $50 for
importing the drum. We had to open the
box to show that it was a drum, but it was face down, so we could not see the
painting.
M insisted it remain a surprise, so after we showed that it
was a drum, we sealed the drum. I was
dying for some non-Mongolian food, so we went to a Turkish restaurant I
like. It was M’s first time eating
Turkish food, and his nephew, Temuujin joined us. They adored Turkish food.
Then it was time to go to Naran tuul. We shot the footage we needed (y’all have to
wait for that…). We also picked up the
sur, leather strap, that M’s grandmother spirit had requested for a sahius
(good luck charm) for me.
Throughout the market, I kept checking my pockets (my money
was well hidden) to find that all of my “curses” were still there. I was truly
disappointed. But finally, as we were
just leaving, I checked my front right pocket to discover one curse was
gone! I hi-fived M who cheered and
pumped his fist. We were pretty psyched. I was just sad that we couldn’t see
the face of the thief.
We stopped at M’s mother’s home where I finally got to take
a shower.
That evening, M shamanized. His whole family came. Before
the shamanizing, they all admired the drum, taking turns striking it. This
would be their only chance to do so. After the drum was “enlivened” it would be
off limits for anyone other than the shaman.
M began to shamanize, and first came grandfather. I
presented the drum, which grandfather admired.
Grandfather tested the drum and approved. He called for milk and we
realized that we did not, in fact, have any. We sent someone out to get milk
and apologized to grandfather. Grandfather called over O, M’s sister who is
also a shaman, and asked her to test the drum. She drummed and declared that
she felt a bit ‘high’ from it. Which is good. He gave her vodka and nermel to
help recenter her spirit. Soon after, a family member returned with milk. Grandfather poured milk over the drum,
spinning it around and admiring the sinew back which made spinning it so
easy. He then poured vodka over the drum
and rubbed them in with his sleeve. He
gave the drum to O to try again, she approved.
Grandfather also approved and thanked me for the drum.
Grandmother also appreciated the drum. What happened in regards to grandmother has
been written up in my essay “crisis” and I don’t really want to write it again.
After M recovered from Shamanizing, we relaxed with some
food and a few drinks, necessary after such a scary evening.
July 28th
I went in to the office in the morning. I uploaded some videos, which took a long
time, and basically spent my day monitoring a computer. Not fun, but necessary.
Hulan called me and asked if I would be going over to M’s
house because he would be shamanizing again. I told her that I was and we met
near the state department store to head over.
Hulan speaks decent English and is trying to learn, so we’ve been
helping each other a lot.
M shamanized again, and because of something that
grandmother had said last time, we got to have some fun with goat liver. M’s brother-in-law heated up some stones with
a blowtorch and then the stones were half submerged in water and we had to take
slices of raw goat liver and slap them against the stones, which seared the
outside, leaving the inside entirely raw.
We then had to eat them. I was
gagging. I had to concentrate on my breathing and mindful chewing. I wasn’t the
only one. M’s sister was reacting about
the same as me.
M did some private shamanizing for certain people and finished
quite late. He was exhausted and asked
me to give him a hand and arm massage, in the traditional Mongolian style. As I
started to do so, M’s brother in law came over and said “No, you should do like
this!” and he slipped his hands into a position I recognized from Thai
massage. He started showing off about
doing Thai massage. M scolded him, saying he needed traditional Mongolian
massage. I couldn’t resist, I turned around and started speaking to BiL in
Thai. M cracked up, brother in law’s
eyes just went wide. I explained then,
in Thai, that I had lived in Thailand when I was 17 and studied thai
massage. We all had a good laugh over
that.
July 29th
In the morning I went into the city to try and arrange
flights and cars for my dad. It took a
bit of running around, but we got everything figured out. I also came to find
that one plan on the itinerary was stupid, because I didn’t understand the
direction of the places we were going, so I changed that and re arranged our
hotel booking to reflect it.
I went to the grocery store and bought ingredients for Momo
(Tibetan dumplings) and came home to cook for the family. M was shamanizing
again, so I waited outside for him to finish.
Then, with U and Hulan’s help, we made about 80 momo for the family.
They really enjoyed it. Even Enkhule came over to eat.
S told me that they would be going to the country side
tomorrow, which I couldn’t do because I had some meetings I couldn’t miss. I
asked how long. They said a week. This was a bit of a problem. I said I could stay with friends in UB so it wouldn’t
be an issue. The extended family will go out to the country on the weekend, and
I will join them for that, but otherwise, I will stay in the city. I have some
meetings to prepare stuff for my dad, as well as some interviews that I don’t want
to miss.
