Naadam Mania

We weren’t quite sure what to expect. We had read about it and we knew it is a very significant time on the Mongolian calendar. We sensed the excitement building as the days got closer and knew something was happening because everything started to slow down in anticipation of the holiday. Naadam is a festival celebrated all over Mongolia, always at this time of year and is one of two big national holidays.

Getting tickets for the stadium events proved a little harder than we expected. Excuses were that it was an election year, everyone wanted tickets, that the queues were longer than expected, they were only selling two tickets at a time. So when James’ contacts said they had tickets for the three days of events at local prices, we were rather chuffed.  Scalpers were out on the streets at night a few days before and as we walked up to the stadium, there were still tickets being pulled from plastic bags. Guess we were foreigners so they figured we would be prepared to part with extra cash for the once in a life-time show.

It was with excitement that we walked 3 kms through the drizzle following lots of others making the pilgrimage. It was like the Royal Show, lots of things to see outside the arena, sideshow alley, food stalls only selling traditional foods, kids with balloons and a block of portable toilets that I avoided.

 

Lots of people were dressed for the occasion, couples wearing matching dels. A del is like a coat, either lighter fabric for summer or heavier for winter. They are at least calf length and tied at the waist with a sash. It’s common to see older people wearing them about the streets, generally older gentlemen with bowed legs, Stetson hats and riding boots or older ladies, also bow legged, but with high heel shoes, scalf tied around there neck and sun hat on their heads. But for Naadam, there was a display of Sunday best, brand new dels out for the occasion. Most were happy to stop and pose for a photo.

Once inside, we found our seats, dried off the water then sat and waited for it all to begin. It looked a little disorganised with people in different uniforms and costumes all mingling together, but eventually they made their way to different parts of the of the arena and the band struck up a tune. The procession started with soldiers in ceremonial dress astride beautiful white horses leading the way. They carried poles topped with gold bands and white horse hair that caught the breeze. These poles are referred to as flags and are quite significant in the culture. They are called “Yoson Kholt Tsagaan Tug” or Nine White Banners. During war black ones are displayed but these white ones are a sign of peace and democracy and live in the parliament. The nine poles were placed in a circular stand and were guarded ceremoniously by soldiers before being returned to parliament after the closing ceremony.

Standing Guard Over the Flags

The Opening Ceremony was a little like the opening of the Olympics with displays of dance and costumes, all significant in some way and all states of Mongolia represented. There was Kazak dancing, lots of acknowledging of the gods, a Buddhist monk, pop singers and the Mongolian Olympic team doing a lap of honour. And all done in a language that we had no idea what they were saying, but the spectacle was fantastic. The music stirred the soul and you couldn’t help but get mixed up in the pride of the nation.

Enter the Cauldron

Kazakh Dancers

Singing the National Anthem

Naadam Stadium Opening Ceremony

Mongolian Olympic Team

All the speeches done, the banners rolled away and the oval cleared, out came the wrestlers. The main sports of Naadam are wrestling, horse riding and archery, all talents deemed as important from years back. So this is really serious stuff, with drug testing stations and the winner acquiring immense status in the community, as well as rewards of cash and cars.

The strolled out, did their stretches and adjusted their rather skimpy outfits. The tops were really just sleeves, joined with fabric at the back and a string tied around their ample bellies. And the bottoms were like budgie smugglers. They were either red or blue and embroidered with a check pattern in places. Their heads were topped with a little cap made of velvet, looking very Mongolian. The art of wrestling is ingrained with ceremony. When the wrestler comes out, he jogs over to the guy who is his “corner”, puts his arms up pretending to be an eagle, flies around him a little, then the corner guy takes his cap. The wrestler then jogs over to the stand with the Nine White Banners and does a circle of that, pretending to be an eagle. I had a quiet giggle, not wanting to offend anyone and start a riot. But did this guy know how silly he looked. I mean, he is a moving advertisement for Jenny Craig but flapped around pretending to be a bird like he was on Play School. But like I said, this is big bucks, so guess I’d do it too. 

Anyway, he goes back into the middle and picks on a guy by grabbing his budgie smuggles while squatting nose to nose with him. They do a little dance like two crabs circling in the sand, until eventually one trips the other over. The winner is the one who fell on top of the other guy. He gets up, flaps his wings again and takes off to the Nine White Banners, curtseys to they, then goes back and gets his hat and jogs off of the oval. I don’t know how they score or why some big guys were fighting some much smaller guys, but this went on for about two days. There obviously are grades because in the paper were results talking about the grand eagle, the grand lion and lots of other ferocious animals.

When we went back the second day, we spent some time watching the archery, at least I could understand what the aim was there. They shot arrows down a field and had to knock over some little wicker baskets at the other end. I could see the skill in this. But at the other end were some silly buggers standing next to the little wicker baskets, wouldn’t get me doing that. Although, the tip of the arrow was a lump of fiber-glass, but still, it would hurt. When they hit the baskets, they would wave their arms up, when they missed, their arms were down. These men and ladies must have a good deal of strength, they would tremble with tension as they pulled the string back.

Archery Competitors

Archery Field

Target

 

There was another lesser known sport played, using the ankle bones of sheep. (I have my own issues with ankle bones, but I put my fear aside and investigated) It was called Ankle Bone Shooting. I call them knucklebones, like we used to play with as kids. But these are flicked at a target while a group of fellows sat in a circle. They had to flick the bone so that it landed in a box, knocking out another bone. It was all done ceremoniously with chanting and tossing the bone to each other before it is launched toward the box. Again, I don’t understand the rules, but they looked like they were having fun.

Shooting Ankle Bones

We had put two of the three days behind up, and the third day was the most girly. The paper had said it started at 10 am, so we were in the square early. But, as is the way with information here, that wasn’t correct. The procession of national costumes didn’t start till 12 but it gave us plenty of time to look around (and enough time for me to dash to the Chinese Embassy in pursuit of a visa…a very long story). It seemed like every second person in the crowd had really dressed for the occasion. Mongolians are quite fashion conscious and when you see their national costumes, it is easy to see where that comes from. They are stunning, so beautifully embellished and in all colours of the rainbow. And it was young and old, all so proud to display their best outfits.

The procession was arranged in regions, so there was a sense of competitiveness to be the best dressed. They strolled along in groups, smiling and waving. Every now and then the procession would slow or stop, so we had a good look. I had the camera ready and these fashion models were quite keen to strike a pose so I could snap a million photos. When they stopped, someone would call out to the crowd and hands would be shook and a chat catching up on news. It was such a happy, friendly atmosphere with lots of laughs. 

Kazakh Family

Blue Sky Tower and Sukhbaatar Square

Just at the end of the procession, the rain started. It was almost as if the clouds had waited to the end. But it didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. While we retreated to higher ground (a restaurant on the third floor of a nearby building), everyone popped up a brolly and stood in the rain to watch the catwalk while prizes were given for the best dressed. It was a great end to fantastic festival that I am so glad we were here to see. The party atmosphere is ongoing, the shops still closed and I think the vodka sampled. But, how lucky are we to be a part of such national pride.

Camping in Paradise

Well before we left Australia, James started researching a place here that had, you guessed it, a golf course. Now, those who know James, understand that his love of golf sees him seeking anything that relates to the club and that little white ball. Once we were here in Mongolia, he started gathering information about how to travel the 60 odd kms to get to the only golf course he can locate in Mongolia.

So you can appreciate how I felt. I was going off on a three day volunteers workshop in the countryside, staying in a ger camp. As we made our way, someone on the bus said, “Hey, is that a golf course?”.  Oh no, guess where I was. I phoned James and asked him the same thing. When I told him I was at UB2 Hotel, well I won’t tell you what he said.

 

But I suppose I should go back to the start. Yes, it was a work related jaunt out of the city, into the most beautiful scenery I have seen here, so far. The setting was Teralj, a national park set among mountains and rolling green hills. The hotel sat above a river that flowed freely with rock covered shores.

The ride up there in a mini bus was fun, we traveled some of the same roads on my previous trip to the countryside, but when we took a turn to the left, we climbed up and past big rocky outcrops and clumps of pine trees. Herds of goats or cattle grazed, the odd herder on a motor bike. Once we had passed through the entrance to the park,  the hills and valleys were dotted with clumps of white gers which provided holiday accommodation in this crisp fresh air. 

The bus was crammed full of Aussies and our Mongolian counter-parts but the conversation of the Australians was all about what was missed most from home. The consensus was Tim Tams, Mint Slice and Cadbury Caramelo Koalas. It is amazing what brings memories of home. I must be the nanna of the group, I thought of family, friends and a soft mattress.

After we had pulled up at the hotel, all bundled out and I had made my phone call to James, we were shown around the back of the hotel to rows of gers. Empty beds (with really soft mattresses) were claimed and then it was out to explore. Some of the blokes hired golf clubs and headed to the driving range. The Mongolians, not to be left out, followed and had a go. Mongolian ladies are really fashion conscious, so of course, they had changed before making their way to hit a few balls. One of the girls came up to the tee wearing a little black dress and black stilettos. They were the only shoes she had brought on the camping experience. 

 

That night after dinner was “party” time. There was lots of singing and dancing, but even more drinking and as a result, a few slow starters the next day. I guess it could be described as a cross-cultural sharing of songs and dance, with the Aussies singing Waltzing Matilda and Give Me a Home Among the Gum Trees, while swilling vodka and beer. Can’t help but think that some of the Mongolian contribution to the entertainment had more cultural romance. There were times though that the entertainment was a little more like a first year uni party. I think I should mention here, that there were quite a few productive hours shared during the workshops. But for me, the magic of that area was fantastic. And I’m sure of much more interesting than outcomes, indicators and capacity building.

It rained on our second day, fortunately we were all inside for the day. But at night, the sound of rain on the ger roof was rather rhythmical and exotic. We were as warm as toast, a fire had been lit in the stove in the middle of the room earlier in the evening and was now producing a cosy warmth. Everything had been moved up off the floor in-case the water ran through the ger. The rain came in waves with the wind and the damp felt lining had a smell reminding me of my wet school jumper after walking home on a rainy day. It was easy to get off to sleep.

The rain had swollen the river and it was flowing faster the next day. There was a mist rising from it which added to the charm of the place, but the paths were slipperier, so more of a challenge to walk the banks. I sat and watched a young couple trying to make their way to the other side, where a ger camp was available for tourists. They persisted to walk up and down the edge and tried a few times to wade across, but the river was too fast and I expect being unknown, too big a risk. Eventually a horse and cart came from the other side and carried them and their backpack back to make camp on the other side.

Our last day was just a free frolic from lunch time, so most of the group took off horse riding. I decided to save that experience for another time, but took a wander through the local village and then up a steep hill that overlooked a valley. Everything was so green, so picturesque, the word beautiful just doesn’t match it. There was a clump of gers set up on the edge of the creek that twisted under trees. Horses grazed, it was warm and sunny, the skies blue, just glorious.

 

 

I think this has been my best experience so far. There were a few downers though. Our meals, provided by the hotel, were traditional Mongolian foods. Breakfast, rice porridge with beef and hot tea. Lunch, beef soup, mutton and salad with stale bread and salty milk. Dinner, mutton soup and beef with salad. And I found out gers don’t have bathrooms. So sneaking to the loo in the middle of the night was a quick run wrapped in my duna.

But the good bits grossly outweighed the bad. I really want to head back up there in early or late winter. I would love to see that area through the seasons and I can imagine the mountains covered in snow with the trees peeking through. I imagine the river will be frozen and paint a totally different picture. But when I go back again it will be with James and he can chase that little white ball while I soak up the scenery, and my guilt will be appeased.

 

The Challenge of Language Lessons

I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, me being old and all that, but this language is HARD.

First came the alphabet. It just doesn’t make sense!

‘A’ that sounds like the u in but, ‘b’ that sounds like the b in book (ok) ‘B’ that sounds like the v in very, a thing that looks like r but sounds like g in get, then…. A weird looking shape that resembles the pi sign that sounds like d in door. A back to front R is ya.

As if that isn’t bad enough, there is oo and agh, you and your, a C that sounds like ‘SS’ and a P that is R with a roll of the tongue. And the tongue. You put it in the front of your mouth to go illlll, than half way back to go issshhh. I feel like I have a lisp.

The teacher is patient but I can see it is wearing thin, especially when she points at the page with purpose and goes “You know this!”

Numbers…huh!

Neg, yohorr, gorroh, dorroh, towl. That is my phonetic translation. Somewhere in there is naam, yorroh and arroh. When the teacher asks how old I am, I break into a sweat, push the hair back from my brow and sigh. She waits, unrelenting. “Minni …..tevn …neg …zorroh” “Zar, san” Yeah, I got it right!

Ohhh don’t get me started on parts of the body. rap = gurr and it means arm. Xypyy = finger but it sounds as hororrow. yNx =ear, sounding like cheecht but the N is back to front and there is nothing on the keyboard for legs which sounds like hoolsh. I have tried to source a Mongolian to English Medical dictionary but there is no such thing to be had. I think I’m in for trouble.

Have you ever heard of a defter vowel? I don’t think that was part of English when I went to school. They have so many rules, what goes after depending on whether it is a strong or weak vowel.

We learnt the Mongolian word for camel, horse, sheep, goat and cow. Not sure how much I will use those words in a city hospital! Every now and then there is a word I can relate to, like machine (written MaWNH, but the N is back to front) meaning car and bank (written baHK) being bank. But don’t confuse you oos or your os, cos you could end up with a glass of hair rather than water.

My co-student (a really nice girl from Melbourne) and I, have started a few tactics. If we copy from the board really slowly, we have to do less work. And we take it in turns to go to the toilet in the middle of class. Break time is starting to stretch out and today we said we had an appointment 15 minutes before class was finished. I think the teacher was wise, ’cos she gave us homework. I feel like a 10 year old, using every possible method to avoid work in the classroom, I can’t remember doing that when I was 10 years old.

But with all that said, I can get in a taxi and say “chigerret”, and the taxi driver knows I mean “go straight on”. I can ask “Hed vay” in a shop and the assistant will show me the calculator, which is just as well because I haven’t sorted numbers yet.  I can say tom for big and jejig for small, I can tell someone “mini ner Diane” and ask “Tani ner hen bea?” to find out their name. I can say hello and goodbye, yes, no and OK. The first thing I learnt was thank you.

I still have a few formal lessons to go and I’m hoping it gets easier, but I don’t hold out much hope. My biggest problem yet to face is getting to work in a non-English speaking hospital with staff with VERY limited English and my VERY limited Mongolian, and no English to Mongolian Medical Dictionary. So there could be trouble ahead. But I am trying to remain positive and pick up a few words a day. I guess it is all part of the experience of living in another country and I now have more compassion for those new Australians who don’t have English as a first language.

Postscript : I wrote this about two weeks ago. The lessons are over (thank God, they were so stressful) and I have found that medical dictionary, all 3 volumes and definitely not pocket size. A Lonely Planet Phrase Book has arrived from Australia (thanks Darryl) but in a restaurant yesterday the waitress was in fits of laughter when she delivered our dinner and I said “hello how are you” followed with a quickly corrected “Thank you”. Guess I still have a way to go.

I Must Have Got It Wrong

I think it was all my fault. I understood that we were going into the mountains to get a good view of the city of Ulaan Baatar. But I got it wrong. The day before, I discovered we were going to the countryside to have lunch with a nomad family. Munkhtuul, our new Mongolian friend, pointed out there were no toilets, “Is that OK”. Sure, why not. But then I thought “Well, what do the nomad family use?”

We had to meet at Mukhtulul’s office. On the walk there I had realised I had forgotten the box of chocolates purposely acquired as a thank you gift for the host, as is tradition. The newer the friend, the bigger the gift. I did wonder if it had been deliberate that I had left this huge box of chocolate in our fridge. Not to worry, got another (the original is still in the fridge unopened). We all piled into a car, 4 adults, 2 kids and the driver, and took off to the countryside.

As we drove out of the city we went through what is known as the Ger District. Here, those poorer families live in traditional gers, cars parked outside, the only sign of any significant possession. This area seemed dusty, smoky, cluttered and oppressed. Occasionally I saw a small herd of sheep or goats, penned against a paled fence. But the grubby kids played together, chasing each other and looking happy.

As we made our way out of this area and getting closer to rolling hills, we stopped to buy a bag of roasted pine nuts from a young girl, for a fraction of the cost we would pay in Australia. The catch was we had to shell them before eating them. They are so tiny and lots of work for little reward. But at least I can say we did it.

Next stop was an obvious tourist attraction with a tour coach stopped before us.  We all bundled out and I looked at James saying, “Can I have the camera?” “I thought you had it”,  “I thought you had it” I got it wrong.  Never mind, we had the little pocket job, which would do. I managed to get some shots of the camels that didn’t look at all fussed that we were excited.  The kids climbed on and screamed as the camel stood, then screamed again as it sat back down. Photos were paid for. There were eagles there with incredible wingspans and talons to match. James had one sit on his arm, then his shoulder, then his head, I took photos, which were paid for. But great experience and at least we can say we’ve done it.

On we went and the grass covered steppes looked cool. We followed a really bumpy road and at times left the road and travelled on the verge, a smoother but dustier option to the road. We, well at least the ladies with us, broke into song and it sort of had the excitement of a school excursion. Especially when they said the museum was ahead. I sort of thought they must have the wrong English words, but sure enough, in the middle of nowhere, was this gigantic stainless steel statue of Chinggis Khan, astride a horse, mounted on top of a building housing a museum of bronze age Mongolian artefacts.

 

As if the museum wasn’t impressive enough, a private collection that has been donated to the country, we got in a lift and went up the 131 meters to the top of 250 tons of stainless steel and looked up Chinggis Khans nostrils. That was if we looked in one direction. Looking the other way was a magnificent view over the Mongolian Steppes. Amazing! Mongolians love old Chinggis, he was ignored a bit during Russian rule, but the locals are now allowed to boast his strengths. They have even names a vodka after him. (Yes correct spelling for Chinggis, James checked on the vodka bottle)

All piled back in the car we seemed to be heading back in the direction we had come from. We slowed slightly then took a hard left onto a dirt track that was etched through the short grass. Up and over a gentle hill, before us was a ger with smoke coming from the central chimney. We had arrived a the mobile home of the nomadic family with whom we were having lunch. The ladies we were with were obviously good friends because hugs were exchanged, this was the first time I have seen such familiarity between Mongol people.

The door was held open and we stepped over the threshold into the darken tent. We were instructed to move to the left of the doorway as we made our way in, this being polite tradition. Also in keeping with tradition, I presented the lady of the house with the big box of chocolates, her reply translated as “they are my favourite”. I wondered if this was polite tradition too. 

This was a new location for the family, they had moved here only a week prior but they looked pretty organised. But then, if you move four times in summer, you would have a good routine. The moves are determined by the amount and quality of feed available for the livestock. They never overgraze an area, but move on to greener pastures. The inside of the ger had the basics. From the left of the door and against the wall were a few large barrels holding fresh water (which is carried from a nearby well) and milk taken from the goats, a single bed, then a table with a satellite  phone, a solar converter connected to TV and DVD,  the TV on soccer, another two single beds and a cupboard, a few buckets with milk and yogurt sat on the floor. In the centre of the room was a low stove with a flue going through the roof and a lid that lifted to expose the fire.  There was also a folding table and about three chairs and a few stools. The floor was dirt but we were told in winter there is a wooden platform for comfort.

A ger is made of felt, laid over a wooden frame. When erecting the home the roofs central structure resembles the hub of a wagon wheel, with about 100 spokes coming out and anchoring to the side wall. This wall is like an expandable lattice that stretches to form a circle. This structure is all tied together with ropes, then overlaid with thick sheets of felt. This is then covered with canvas and again tied down with rope. The portal for the door is painted and the door itself has a beautiful design of bright colours. This ger, being a summer ger, had the ability to raise the edge of the tent, so as to let air circulate into the home. Most of the time the door is left open to provide light. (Except when I wanted it shut so I could take a photo and they were in there in the dark) The inside of the wagon wheel which forms the ceiling, is a great place to tuck extra bits and pieces like toothbrush, sunglasses, cooking utensils etc.

The central "wheel" of the roof

Yummy yogurt

Making noodles, the hard way

 

Once we were inside, we were sat and offered a bowl of thick, fresh, unsweetened yogurt to drink, which had been proudly and freshly made. It was almost gelatinous but quite tasty, bit strange drinking from a bowl though. We watched while our host prepared lunch. She had cooked a flat bread of flour and water and then while sitting on a bed, because as guests we had the table and chairs, proceeded to shred the bread into noodles. Then meat and vegetables were also sliced and placed in large metal bowls while the fire was stoked with dried horse and cow dung, a bag of which sat next to the stove. Roaming free amongst all of this was a lamb, who lived inside with the family after having been orphaned. Just adding an extra charm, he would sniff toward the food, having a nibble then wandering off again unchecked by the chef.

Every now and then I would get up and snap a few photos and, you guessed it, ran out of battery. Not to worry James had the iphone. I wandered outside to have a look around and it was all very basic rural stuff. There were solar panels on the roof, the ropes slung over the top of the ger held against any wind with old wheels. There were old baby baths holding water for the goats and sheep that roamed unrestrained and next to a fenced area were a few horses tied to the fence. There were no trees to provide shade from the hot summer sun and when the wind picked up it was a bit dusty.

Back inside, lunch was underway on the stove. We were told to sit and bowls were filled to overflowing with this hot stir-fry that was absolutely delicious. We worked our way through with a fork and as a reward for finishing, were offered tea. This was poured from a thermos, steaming into cups. It was milky but salty. I had heard of this before and was a little cautious, but acquired the taste.

We chatted, conversation being translated, questions asked and answered. This family of four, mum dad, a son and the mother’s sister, move regularly through the area. The extended family live close by and their daughter is studying in China. They are self-sufficient and sell some of their produce, dairy products and meat, to shops in the city. They are a Christian family and attend church when possible. They seemed gentle, happy people.

Those bags of dried dung by the door are leaning on beer kegs, they must party hard.

Then it was time for milking. The goats and sheep were all herded together in a pen, the kids(the goat ones) on the outside. One by one about 50 goats were milked, about a cup or two from each. They were released after being milked to their awaiting crowd of bleating kids. James and I got to have a go at milking. The two women had squatted on their haunches at the back end of the goat with a bucked positioned between their knees as they dampened their hands in the milk and deftly squired fresh milk into the bucked. I was nowhere near as professional. I was bent, my bum in the air trying to locate teats under a hairy goat bum. Must have been a sight. James took a photo but you're not seeing it. I felt like a real farm girl, grabbing goats by the horns and leading them over to be milked before shoving them out of the gate when they were finished with. My reward was one and half litre of really fresh warm goats milk, a share of the twenty litre bucket full.

All the niceties done, it was time to head home. The girls who were with us were dustier and a little more disheveled after spending the day chasing goats and sheep, but they looked like they had had a really good time. So had we. We retraced our path back to the city, the camels and eagles still on the side of the road. What a fantastic experience we had to reflect on as we all sat quietly, the girls dozing. I kept thinking though. I didn’t see anything that resembled a toilet and not a tree or bush in sight. I wasn’t game to ask but they must have a toilet somewhere. I must have got it wrong.

First Impressions

I’d managed a nap, the flight had been delayed twice so it was quite late. I had a window seat and as ‘the cabin crew prepared for landing’ I could spot a few  sparse, dim lights on the ground below. We got lower and closer to Ulaan Baatar and the next time I looked out the window, there was fairyland.

From the air at night, I would say that the city is about the size of Adelaide if you knock off the northern and southern suburbs. I could make out buildings and cars on the roads but the darkness hid lots. There were towers light up in multi colours and apart from tall buildings, there was something reaching into the sky that I couldn’t identify.

A bit of a rough landing, but I had an American guy sitting next to me who is on his third visit with a church mission, so I had my bases covered. It seemed like and did take forever to get my luggage off the carousel, but waiting outside were my beautiful husband and my in country manager.

Loaded into two taxis, we had a convoy through the dark toward the hotel. As we drove, the roads were more like dirt tracks, a bit bumpy but adding to the excitement. Especially when the truck traveling to our right wanted to turn left. James was keen to chat but I was being a bit rude and watching our new home through the window. In the dark I could see what looked like a copy of the Arc de Triumph, maybe a gift from the French community.

The thing that I couldn’t work out that was reaching into the sky, was a smoke stack. There had to be three of four, belching dark smoke into the air, big clouds spreading out and up but providing the city with electricity. No wonder the air quality is so bad.

When we got to the hotel, James pointed out a ger just inside the gate. Not sure what they use it for but thank god it wasn’t our room. By this stage, I was tired and light headed from my 24hours on the go, so really I think I would have slept anywhere.

The following week has been busier than I expected. Sunday started with apartment hunting. The variance in quality directly related to price, so lucky for us we both have an accommodation allowance.  The place we now call home is modern, brand new and resembles an Ikea display. But we have plenty of room to move and no residual cigarette smell. We are on the 6^th floor  (underneath the first ‘T’ in the photo of building with a brick shed in front of it) which is a bit of  an inconvenience when the lift isn’t working and we stand at the lift doors with bags of shopping. But at least we are settled..

I have been at work since Monday, doing orientation and language lessons daily. The Red Cross office is tucked in behind Hospital Number 1, bumpy dirt roads leading to it. At first I wasn’t too hopeful about the language lessons, but now I can greet people, say thank you, buy water and have a rough idea of numbers. My language school is in the north of the city within suburbia and there are gers and apartment buildings for neighbors.

To get a taxi here, you just stand on the side of the road and wave your hand. If someone is going in your direction, they stop. You don’t give street names but a landmark. Most street names aren’t used, relating back to the nomadic heritage. Then you would have said, “go to the 4^th big hill and we will be on the eastern side”, a little like a mud map.

The city streets are quite busy, not having been designed for more than public transport. But when the Russians left, there was an increase in private wealth, so more people could afford cars. Now you can see cars ranging from Mercedes, Jaguars and Hummers to Toyotas, Hyundai and Kia’s. They drive a little like they ride their horses and it can be a game of chicken crossing the road.

But with that said, I think I like it. The people are so friendly, nothing is too much trouble and life goes at a relaxed pace.

So from here on it’s new things to see and new things to do.