In some ways, it's been a long 2 and half months since I arrived in Ulaanbaatar. Moving cities, countries and continents has become something that has happened to me with an alarming regularity since I graduated from high school, despite my deep seated homebody mentality. I was talking with a couple friends in Toronto at the Victory back in June about a possible move to UB. After hearing some of my early stories of North East Asia, DuBois called me an "adventurer," which to me seemed a bit rich but, looking back and after a few months here, perhaps the people who find their way to UB are all a little crazy, unhinged, adventurous, stupid, brave, foolhardy (take your pick).
This term's felt very long, despite being only 9 weeks long (10 weeks total, with the week beforehand). There was, yes, the Unfortunate Dysentery Pandemic and resultant anal swabs (for the record, I slipped out of school when they were going around with their probes, which I'm told was the thing to do). But there were also the realities of sliding back into the teaching grind after 6 months as a man of leisure (aka bored to death), and the experience of finding your way in a new school community with its own logics (or illogics), positives and disappointments.
I was thinking about all this on Saturday morning while nursing a Halloween party related hangover. The previous night we were out with our dear friend Will and found ourselves in successively more surreal spots. We started at the Grand Khan Irish Bar (owned absurdly by the company that also owns my school and half of the country) where Will was in an argument with a fellow American over the presidential election, while the executives from Oyu Tolgoi (the copper gold mine that is the key to the county's future, basically) were drinking heavily a few tables over. Our next stop was the British Embassy's "Steppe Inn" (basically, a makeshift bar on the Embassy's grounds that's only open to members and their guests) where we downed a few drinks before time was called. The German embassy's cultural attache was at the Steppe Inn and invited us down to a Halloween party across town at a "club" on Seoul street. We jumped into a black cab but unfortunately had no idea where the club was at and we were eventually dropped off underneath a bridge. Eventually we made it to the club by foot, an hour after the cultural attache and his crew.
I can't repeat most of the stories you hear in UB of corruption, incompetence and just generally ridiculous situations, which are so unbelievable that they must all be true. (The Unfortunate Dysentery Pandemic is joining the ranks of these tales, for better or worse.) The point for me is that the best way to think of this time is as an adventure of sorts. I know, I know, Mongolia is people's lives. It's their country. Its future means their future. The corruption and incompetence is directly tied to the hopes of their little country wedged in between Russia and big bad China.
But, as an expat interloper, it is an adventure. This doesn't mean that I'm some sort of "super expat" who just gets drunk every day, posts ridiculous photos instantaneously on facebook, and generally acts like they're still in college. I'm in the community somewhat, working with my 220 or so students, trying my best to teach them obscure geographical concepts and historical thinking skills. After a term, I've seen some progress. I've also fucked up a few times. But that's part of the profession and its demands for creativity and the ability to keep going in and keep trying different shit until it works. I'm sifting through the hundreds and hundreds of exams my students have written in the last week (the school mandates monthly tests for whatever reason) and there might be something happening here (for some of them).
I'm exhausted and ready for the holidays though (I'm off to Beijing tomorrow). But I'll be back at it soon enough.
