The Mongolian ger is a one-room felt and canvas-wrapped home built from a wooden lattice, two support columns, and orange roof poles fanning out like the spokes of a wheel. Well over half of modern Mongolians have grown up in this setting, which negates notions of privacy, inhibition, possession, and personal space. I can’t help but presume a causative link between Mongolian culture and this home environment. Mongolians are friendly, pointed, and honest in conversation, patient with inconvenience, and accommodating to foreigners. They have almost no sense of personal space, and they don’t knock. They tell you what they are really thinking, and usually these are nice things.
Where this candid tendency can become especially amusing is at the pub, where middle-aged men aren’t always thinking nice things. For those of you who don’t know, Mongolia fosters a relationship with vodka much in the same way that Russia does.
One particular evening comes to mind. Dayle and I were at Ikh Mongol with an Australian/Fijian backpacker we met at the museum. We were all having a lovely time, and so were the three Mongolian lawyers at the table adjacent. In a Mongolian pub, the table adjacent almost always ends up joining your table, and after becoming extremely drunk the lawyers scooted over to share some very important advice with Dayle and I.
Our friend Paul, you see, was simply not up to snuff. They could see what was going on, and they were determined to dissuade us from our chosen course. I guess I can see where they got the idea. Paul, having just come from climbing mountains in Tibet, bore a certain resemblance to a young Brad Pitt, and that can put a woman in a vulnerable position. The drunk men stood unsteadily and gesticulated when speaking, giving the impression of court proceedings.
His clothes were of poor quality, they said. He was clearly impoverished. He had no life experience. His penis was small! Paul endured the prosecution with remarkable grace, while Dayle and I howled with laughter.
I read your blog with a great sense of nostalgia, as I too spent a considerable amount of time in Mongolia. It was a lifetime ago, but the senses still tingle. So nice to read these stories and have a few of my own memories come back to me in flashes. I only wish I had photographs to look back upon, but we hadn't yet reached the digital age at that point (I am dating myself here). I have blurry old standard prints packed away in a box somewhere, but they hardly do the place justice. So many nights spent in UB beer bars, and so many encounters with inebriated patrons. Some were fun to be with, and some were just plain scary. Anyhow, I am enjoying your writings immensely. Thank you for the memories!
ReplyDeletewhy thank you!
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