tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-121455482024-03-14T13:12:33.750+08:00Missives from MongoliaAn occassional chronicle of the Armstrong-Southern's lives in Mongolia, comprised of insanely long articles on whatever strikes our fancy, punctuated by arty photos, with occassional asides on other Asiatic topics. Best taken sitting down with a cup of tea nearby. Tavtai murel!Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-26052148873927475942008-03-27T16:55:00.004+08:002008-03-27T17:05:23.363+08:00Egghead Likes his Booky-Wooks<p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Blog? What blog?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tiVQN7UEI/AAAAAAAAAew/AAR8GyYslf8/s1600-h/IMG_1159.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tiVQN7UEI/AAAAAAAAAew/AAR8GyYslf8/s320/IMG_1159.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182343913490042946" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p> </o:p><br />Za viewers, sain bain uu?<span style=""> </span>Sonin saihan u bain?<span style=""> </span>It has been super duper long, and there’s no guaranteeing this will be kept up.<span style=""> </span>Hiatus of eight months between postings are presumably enough to turn the interest of even the most committed blogophile.<span style=""> </span>So why then post now?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p></o:p>Because of the depth of your pockets, you gullible McFlys.<span style=""> </span>Because many of you looked unflinchingly into your pocketbooks in 2007 and fished out a florin to fling my way.<span style=""> </span>So I thought it only fitting that you know how all those ducats were expended.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">As you’ll recall, the idea was books.<span style=""> </span>With your fundage, we would buy books and fling them about the steppe like so many magazines on a coffee table.<span style=""> </span>And this is exactly what has happened.<span style=""> </span>ADRA cut a deal with a publisher to buy in bulk, and we distribute packages of 70 books aimed at primary, middle school and secondary to deserving kiddies across the land.<span style=""> </span>To date, we’ve distributed 4,500 books to 30 schools.<span style=""> </span>Thanks on you for this.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">One of the key attractions of this project (aside from its general freeness to the recipient) has been the quality of the books.<span style=""> </span>The publisher we deal with as the Mongolian language rights to Dorling Kindersley, global publisher for pre-teen glossies like “Inside the Duodenum”, “Aeronautics! In Colour!” and a host of other fine titles.<span style=""> </span>Given that available printed material in the Mongolian countryside tends to be dour antiquated newsprint biographies of Socrates or Kepler, (or for the gents, Russian bootleg James Hadley Chase), books with actual covers and pages within have been a huge smash hit.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tijAN7UFI/AAAAAAAAAe4/2zi5MIastM0/s1600-h/IMG_1169.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tijAN7UFI/AAAAAAAAAe4/2zi5MIastM0/s320/IMG_1169.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182344149713244242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;"> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Even by my usual cynical standards, this project is really quite a winner.<span style=""> </span>The one snag we’re repeatedly come across is a fearsome scourge who prowl the steppe, peering over half moons in search of defilers of the Word.<span style=""> </span>Armed with the Date Stamp of Fury and cat-like reflexes, this shifty cabal swoop on said booky-wooks like steppe eagles on carrion, carrying their treasures off to a distant eyrie called the Library Closet.<span style=""> </span>Viewers, meet the Librarians.<span style=""> </span>Quiver at their organizational skills.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Luckily, some of our team are old hands in dealing with these Samurai of the Stacks, and have ways of neutralizing their powers of Acquisition.<span style=""> </span>Half of the team stand downwind in plain view, offering a sachet of pamphlets, chap books, penny dreadfuls and Penguin Classics.<span style=""> </span>With their noses and bottoms twitching expectantly, the librarians make their way towards the offering, leaving the schoolchildren unattended and free to learn on their own.<span style=""> </span>At this point, Team B (for Book!) leap from the behind the stationery cabinet and before you can say Dewey Decimal System (Doowiigin Arronii Sistem, viewers), magnificent cascades of astronauts, whales, combustion engines and botany for beginners are making rainbows in the brain.<span style=""> </span>Both parties have their booty, and honour is upheld.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">One has to have some understanding for the Librarians.<span style=""> </span>They haven’t had new books since ever in their careers.<span style=""> </span>In some cases, despite being librarians, they have never had books to attend to- a Borghesian jape on the page, but pretty depressing if that’s what you have to get out of bed for.<span style=""> </span>So suddenly being given a stash of books makes our stewards of the shelves take the long view and squirrel those fellows away: those books will have to last the next fifteen-odd years.<span style=""> </span>No point creasing the spines now.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Handing over two sets per venue seems to do the trick.<span style=""> </span>As further incentive, we have told the school admins and librarians than when next we visit, if their set are still clean, we can provide no more.<span style=""> </span>If, however, them volumes are dogeared, fingerprinted, and have Davaa Loves Bold and Wrestlers Do it in the Ring written in the margin, then more books will be provided, as proof exists that the books have gone public.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">And so this is where you come in.<span style=""> </span>Those of you wishing to sneak away before the credits roll, now would be a good time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">ADRA’s going to try to continue this project for as long as it can. So far, about five grand’s been spent, and there’s another thousand getting spent this week, and after that the shelves are bare.<span style=""> </span>If more money comes in, more will be spent, and more books will wend their way to the desert and the mountains.<span style=""> </span>The slight sense of urgency to all this is that the deal we have with the publisher, while not exactly un-kosher, is not exactly formal neither.<span style=""> </span>Terms and conditions could change, and if they did the value for money thing would be much less rosy than it is presently: we’re getting books with seven or eight dollar list prices for under two bucks.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><span style="font-family:Arial;">So what I’m saying is, if you’ve ever needed a book and not had one, then try out some literary empathy and help out some kiddies who face that predicament every day.<span style=""> </span>It won’t save anyone’s life, but it will make someone’s mind a bit more sparkly.</span><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tixgN7UGI/AAAAAAAAAfA/H-FpfgTD0rQ/s1600-h/IMG_1170.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/R-tixgN7UGI/AAAAAAAAAfA/H-FpfgTD0rQ/s320/IMG_1170.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182344398821347426" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">If this interests you, let me know and I’ll let you know how/where to send the necessary.<span style=""> </span>Previous method should still work as well (see blog passim).<span style=""> </span>If you remain uninterested, let me know what additional incentive I can throw in to sweeten the deal.<span style=""> </span>Camel wool products a specialty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Mash ikh bayarlaa,<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Jannie<o:p></o:p></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-44622702953099541252007-08-31T12:48:00.001+08:002007-09-11T16:52:40.231+08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Sain bain uu!<span style=""> </span>Ool zalgui, udlaa shuu! (We hav</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >e not met for a long time, viewers)</span> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >I can only assume that most of you have given this blog up for dead, if only because I told you it was, back in February or so. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >More fool me.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >You see, like when Kenny met Dolly, when the material’s this good, you’ve just got to keep on singing. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Islands in the stream, that is what we are.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Except as we know, no man is an island. Hope that clears things up</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Let us begin.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p><span style="font-weight: normal;">We open on the forecourt of School Number Five, usually the forgiving concrete and broken glass play space of Number Five, where 3,000 schoolkids hurl themselves around playing full contact hopscotch, flaming jumprope and ultimate fighting. </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >This year, said kiddies are in for a surprise when the school y</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >ear starts, for smack in the middle of the apron a square has been sectioned off, surrounded by spikes and iron grates.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Within the square, a mysterious black plinth has been formed.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">And from the navel of that, a monolith.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Was Arthur C. Clarke right after all?</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">There are no chimps around to ask. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Equally mysteriously, the fellows tasked with laying the marble/polishing this plinth are distinctly lacking in most of the major Mongolian attributes.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">In fact, they are undoubtedly gadaadi hun, (people from outside) viewers. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">They appear of a more generally European persuasion, </span><span style="font-size:130%;">but indeterminately so.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Aside from a fondness for cigarettes, they reveal no clues to their identity. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">What on earth is going on?</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RuZXHp3qSEI/AAAAAAAAAa0/X_pYaHZCVHc/s1600-h/CIMG9006small.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RuZXHp3qSEI/AAAAAAAAAa0/X_pYaHZCVHc/s320/CIMG9006small.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108866616308418626" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p><span style="font-weight: normal;">A day or so thereafter, a stern bust is placed atop the monolith. </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Resplendent in gold (or gold effect paint), the serious brows and mighty forehead of a man of consequence is firmly stapled to the monolith. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Having stared long and hard at the fellow, his identity is as mysterious as those who put him there.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">By the next day, the veil of incomprehension had been replaced with the underpants of confusion. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">A foreign fellow comes along with his Letraset stencils, a ruler and some gold nail polish, and paints on the front of the monolith the identity of the tenant in three languages. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The gold visage who will greet youngsters as they prepare to decline the accusative is none other than Mustapha Kemal Attaturk, founder of modern </span><st1:country-region style="font-weight: normal;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">Turkey</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-weight: normal;"> and</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > the hardest rocking bass player in history (Kerrang! Aug 1995).<span style=""> </span>What is relationship is to School Number Five is still unclear.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > <span style=""> </span>Judging from his general choleric look, he seems pretty uncertain about the whole thing as well.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:125.4pt;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\jannie\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg" title="CIMG9220"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;"> <span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtefVp3qR-I/AAAAAAAAAZs/JIgfPwIY5cY/s1600-h/CIMG9220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtefVp3qR-I/AAAAAAAAAZs/JIgfPwIY5cY/s320/CIMG9220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104723897013127138" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Maybe he’s upset by the forbidding portcullis he’s forced to remain behind. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" >Maybe so, because a day or so later, the ironmongery is torn up and removed, leaving six holes for poles, perhaps suitable for losing small children down.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/Rtegxp3qR_I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/YyeO0ZWhML4/s1600-h/CIMG9219.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/Rtegxp3qR_I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/YyeO0ZWhML4/s320/CIMG9219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104725477561092082" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">Or maybe he doesn’t like all those people looking at him (bit of a liability for a bust, really), because, despite the cat being pretty firmly out of the bag vis a vis who this cat might be, he is then shrouded once again, rendering his once patrician visage into that of one of the Imperial Guards in Return of the Jedi, as we discovered him this morning.</span></span><!--[endif]--></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"> <span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtejAp3qSAI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/ngTlyUB8ZYQ/s1600-h/CIMG9225.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtejAp3qSAI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/ngTlyUB8ZYQ/s320/CIMG9225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104727934282385410" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">What could it all mean? I await your expert analysis, viewers. </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">More updates on this breaking news as it happens.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Any other sightings of unexplained statesmen of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century cropping up in world capitals will be reported with equal urgency.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >STOP PRESS 04/09/07: It seems that the orginial portcullis was judged too unfriendly or something. In a last minute rethink, it has now been replaced by friendly yet dignified bollards, which also have the added advantage of filling in the holes in the tarmac.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtzFeZ3qSDI/AAAAAAAAAao/ZyrXGeFyKuc/s1600-h/CIMG9229small.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RtzFeZ3qSDI/AAAAAAAAAao/ZyrXGeFyKuc/s320/CIMG9229small.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106173203662391346" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Phew! A real bodice-ripper, this story. Try not to overheat.</span><br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </div><p class="MsoNormal" face="arial" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Bi sain mit ugui (I really don’t know) viewers,</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Jannie</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-46478226660102088592007-04-20T01:09:00.000+08:002007-04-20T01:23:16.707+08:00Ella It is.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RielD6SRSNI/AAAAAAAAAZc/uCKL4kxXG7Y/s1600-h/CIMG7682.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vSH8hATm0EU/RielD6SRSNI/AAAAAAAAAZc/uCKL4kxXG7Y/s320/CIMG7682.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055190593350748370" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Manai naights (our friends, viewers),</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">We emerge from our self-imposed blog retirement for just long enough to announce the birth of daughter Eleanor Kay, known as Ella, born on 11 April in north Yorkshire. We were pipped to the post by the Pieters-Sherlocks by a full two days (see </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://paulelleneva.blogspot.com/">here</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> for the annoucement of Orla's arrival), but feel certain that we'll make up the distance over the stretch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">All parties interested in expressing the joy in monetary form are encouraged to do so. Checks, phone credits, wire transfers and in-kind donations to the usual address.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">On which related note, much much thanks to all of you throwing cash into the books for Mongolia hat- I am most grateful to you all, and astonished by how many of you have dived between the couch cushions and come up with the necessary. Mash ikh bayarlaa, hummus (many thanks, people).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Returning to the citadel,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Jannie</span></span><br /></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1169092847538872572007-01-18T11:34:00.001+08:002007-01-18T12:04:14.586+08:00Interregnum, or Pony Up Some Dough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2835/1014/1600/545429/IMG_3395.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2835/1014/320/193919/IMG_3395.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Greetings viewers, U bain?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">As some of the keener intellects out there may have noticed, (specifically, Emily, Swith, and our mystery Settle correspondent) a six month hiatus between posts does not bode particularly well. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I wish I could report it was because we were in the studio working on new material, with more keyboards and tablas than our last offering but that would not be true. Fact is, we have been distracted by such hobbies as getting pregnant and doing masterses. Seems unfair that the blog should suffer, but there you are. Either way, Time magazine (not that we read it, but um, we found one) reckons 13 million blogs were started last year, so I trust you've not been short of material. Besides, now that the kids have got hold of the internet, the whole thing's become too hip for us to keep up with. So, like the grizzled old dogs of rock we are, we're bowing out gracefully, doing a farewell tour of arenas across the world, and then we'll step off this madcap whirl which is blogs & blogging. We throw our drumsticks into your outstretched hands.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But! Before we go, I want some money.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Not for me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, we are running a book buying/distrbution project in 2007, whereby folks in the deep steppe with nothing to read except the ingedients list on a sack of flour weill be provided with as many kilos of books as we can score. Literacy in Mongolia is about 97 percent, but there's nothing to read. So the plan is simple. We buy books. We give them away. We do it again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Cost to you? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A measly buck. Less than a quid. Less than a(n?) euro. Less than a New York subway token. Books are cheap in Mongolia.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So go find a dollar and then <a href="https://secure2.silaspartners.com/ccadra/site/Ecommerce?store_id=2001&FOLDER=1031&JServSessionIdr012=ypyo791l92.app7a">click here</a></span> <span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />You'll find us between the sanitary pad and the flipflops. Feel free to stock up on those items as well.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In the meantime, ural (a kind of blessing/good luck thing, viewers) to you all, and see you somewhere anon!</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Jannie</span><br /></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1154666397070297782006-08-04T13:28:00.000+09:002006-08-04T13:42:44.536+09:00When the grass is high....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/naadam%20small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/naadam%20small.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >U bain (‘sup) viewers?</span><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:130%;" >This interregnum has been, to date, the longest ever hiatus this </span><span style=";font-size:130%;" >blog has yet experienced.<span style=""> </span>Ochlaraai (apologies, viewers). While realizing that the readership for this piffle has now dwindled to less than a handful, we are delighted that someone actually noticed at all. So shouts-out then for Swithun, who poked us with a stick to see if we were dead or just sleeping.</span><span style=";font-size:130%;" > <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p>Thing is, July is the all time high holiday month in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and this year more than most.<span style=""> </span>With dextrous scheduling, Mongolian holidays happen in January (Tsagaan Tsar) and July (Naadam), and last about in a week in each case.<span style=""> </span>None of your long Arbor day weekend here and President’s birthday there rubbish for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>If you’re going on holiday, then make a decent muttony meal of it, and blow off the whole week.<span style=""> </span>On top of which, July is the month when it begins to get genuinely hot.<span style=""> </span>So between public hols and weather, it’s hard month to spend in front of a computer.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">So we didn’t.<span style=""> </span>First off was a sally to <st1:placetype st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Huvsgul</st1:placename>, the 12<sup>th</sup> largest body of fresh water in the world, southern cousin to <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Baikal</st1:placename></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>However, unrelenting rain meant that what should have been a easy morning’s drive from the sniggeringly entitled town of Moron to the lake’s edge turned into many rivers to cross, without so much as a Jimmy Cliff tape in the player to help us out.<span style=""> </span>On our first attempt, we balked at the second river, as we would have had to cross 500 metres of floodwater against the current, a prospect less than concerting.<span style=""> </span>When other cars were being hauled across by road graders, it seemed a slightly silly choice, given our lack of heavy earth moving equipment.<span style=""> </span>On our second attempt the following day, what had been mighty torrents had disappeared altogether, leaving behind rocky riverbeds and tumbled trees, but no water.<span style=""> </span>We had obviously imagined it all.</span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">On we went up the western shore of the good lake, wending through forests and fording yet more rivers still </span><span style="font-size:130%;">in flood.<span style=""> </span>It <span style=""> </span>was later noticed that we were the first car to attempt the route in some days without a convoy- others had traveled up the lake by boat, having been told the road was impassable.<span style=""> </span>Just goes to show what you can accomplish when you’re ignorant.<span style=""> </span>The lake itself is fully splendid- as clear as a window, unspoilt by people, bereft of boats, and so clean you can wash your car with it.<span style=""> </span>No wonder Mongolian Expat magazine lists it as one of the Six Places you Must Visit in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Mongolia</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>Only doing what we’re told, viewers. <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The trip, while ultimately pretty routine by Mongolian standards, was also confirmation of what we learned last Naadam: five days doesn’t get you very far in a place as big as this one, and any trip in Mongolia, no matter what the distance, will take five hours.<span style=""> </span>Just will.<span style=""> </span>Plan your in-ride entertainment and hydration strategy accordingly.</span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">By being out of town, we missed the triumphant ceremonies marking the 800<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Great</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mongolian</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place>. <span style=""> </span>In 1206 (or thereabouts), Chinggis Khan (Genghis to you ill-educated out there) managed to unify the various warring tribes of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region> and create a credible nation which was a challenge/counterbalances to the Xi Xia in the east and the Jin in the south.<span style=""> </span>From there on out, it was world domination, leaving such l</span><span style="font-size:130%;">egacies to the world</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> as a reopened overland route form Europe to Asia, the Forbidden City in Beijing (built by Kubilai Khan, Chinggis’s grandson), three kinds of Chinggis vodka, Chinggis beer, the Chinggis Club (three of them), Chinggis Khan international airport, and confusion to our enemies.<span style=""> </span>To celebrate, all Naadam festivities were presented in multiples of 800, so there were 800 horsehead fiddlers, 800 long-song singers, 800 archers, and so on.<span style=""> </span>A new and imposing statue of Chinggis was unveiled outside Parliament House, flanked by two of his generals on horseback.<span style=""> </span>A few days later, 800 pieces of scaffolding were replaced as the whole edifice was 800 hours (or days) behind schedule .<span style=""> </span>But hey, you don’t build a legacy 800 years strong overnight.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And finally, as a glittering finale on the 31<sup>st</sup>, geriatric German hard rock outfit the Scorpions played a gig on <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Sukhbataar Square</st1:address></st1:street>.<span style=""> </span>Lack of promotional material and forewarning (it was billed as a ‘surprise gig’ which is fine as long as someone knows where they should be </span><span style="font-size:130%;">standing to get their surprise) meant that the first our correspondent heard or saw of it was on UB television, the programming of which is esoteric enough that it was in no way surprising to find the Scorpions on it.<span style=""> </span>However, nor was there anything to suggest in was happening just down the street.<span style=""> </span>Imagine our surprise when last nights bleary eyed teevee watching turned into the next day’s front page.<span style=""> </span>No word on whether ‘Winds of Change’ was retrofitted to include references to the siege of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Samarkand</st1:city></st1:place>.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/board%20large.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/board%20large.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">G</span><span style="font-size:130%;">erman gu</span><span style="font-size:130%;">itars aside, </span><span style="font-size:130%;">the summer has also been punctuated by short, spee</span><span style="font-size:130%;">dy zooms down unsuspecting mountain and hillsides.<span style=""> </span>Back in January, getting a jump on midlife crisis issues, I parted one young Settle resident from his mountain board.<span style=""> </span>For those of you uncertain about such matters, a mountain board is basically an overlong skateboard with knobbly rubber tyres, intended to help you get down that slope in double quick time.<span style=""> </span>You get to the top of a hill. You get on your board. You go down it. It is, in a phrase, much much stupid fun.<span style=""> </span>And a country as wavy as the ocean with limited trees.<span style=""> </span><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, meet mountain board.<span style=""> </span>Play nice.<span style=""> </span>Having accumulated a fair selection of scratches on my pointy </span><span style="font-size:130%;">bits while getting to grips with this improved method of dealing with pesky downhills, I knuckled under and scored some pads last week.<span style=""> </span>Within metres of first putting on protection, I hit a marmot hole full on, and tumbled ass over teakettle into the flowers, thus proving that pads aren’t just for fashion, and Poetic Justice isn’t just amovie with Janet Jackson in it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:130%;" >So if in the next few weeks this blog is once again punctuated by silence and atrophy, then it’s because we are off tearing around the countryside on four small wheels.<span style=""> </span>And if the wind gets up, one adds a kite to the equation, and sails across the steppe.<span style=""> </span>That’s where we’ll be, viewers.</span></div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/board%20small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/board%20small.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Saihan amaraaraa,<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Jannie</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1150937768353296202006-06-22T09:35:00.001+09:002006-06-22T09:56:08.370+09:00Our bold new direction<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG6220.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG6220.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Greetings all-<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What you see above is cover art for our new concept triple album entitled "Birthdays on the Balcony", a four hour oddessy into children's festivites with a Mongolian edge. The first disc is a challenging reworking of "John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt" for throat singers, the second is a loop of 14 three year olds chewing carrot sticks over a reggae beat, and the final is a 27 minute free jazz rendering of Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday" played on horsehead fiddles and flugelhorns.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Happy birthday to Natty (tursung undri bayaring mindh hurgee, viewers), two years old yesterday.<br /><br />More soon,<br /><br />Jannie<br /><br /></span>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1148606363814485832006-05-26T10:16:00.000+09:002006-05-26T11:18:58.730+09:00One of Uaz, One of Uaz<span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" >Yamur Mashin, humuus (whatta car, viewers.)</span> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">See, there’s two things about <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>One is, it’s far away.<span style=""> </span>The second is, it’s really big.</span></p> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Granted, it’s far away depending on where’s you’re standing, and it’s big compared to smaller things, but when you combine the two, that’s when you get a Mongolian outlook.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">So there you are, looking around Mongolia and thinking such deep thoughts as “man it’s big” and “wow it’s far away”, and while your understanding of these </span><span style="font-size:100%;">concepts will vary </span><span style="font-size:100%;">depending on</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> what kind of viewing platform you stand upon and what kind of shaded goggles you are squinting through, one thing seems certain.<span style=""> </span>If you’re going to move around Mongolia, you will need a conveyance.<span style=""> </span>In a word, a car.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Not just any car. Oh no.<span style=""> </span>Many of your new fangled rides with their drink holders and in-seat heated</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> bottom massagers are poor choices for the Mongolian milieu.<span style=""> </span>Humvees may prowl the streets of Ulaanbaatar, but these are only vehicular bling, the equivalent of 4WD stiletto heels.<span style=""> </span>Their mileage is so poor and Mongolian gas stations so far apart that taking them farther than the hairdressers is a journey fraught with peril.<span style=""> </span>Plenty of Rovers, Cruisers, Troopers and Patrols exist, but if </span><span style="font-size:100%;">a widget pops lose from its housing when you hit a camel or something, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">good luck contacting your nearest</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> dealer to help you out with the parts.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">So what then is the intrepid Mongolian warrior, weekend or otherwise, to drive?</span></p> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>Step forward the Uaz, as car as iconic in Mongolia as the SUV in America or the Matatu in Kenya.<span style=""> </span>Bata used to promote the Safari boot as ‘the Shoe that says you know Africa’.<span style=""> </span>The Uaz is the Safari boot of Mongolia.<span style=""> </span>Ugly as a kick in the face, made with skills as old as the hills, fixable with pantyhose and gum, and still- no other shoe (or car) sets the maidens’ hearts aflutter like a Uaz.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4083.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4083.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">While you are savouring the fluid lines of the bodywork, marveling at the hardiness of the steering rack or just feeling oddly aroused by the steering wheel, a bit of history for you.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>Back when it looked like the Third Reich was going to gobble up Mother Russia like so much caviar, major industries were moved out of the way of the Wehrmacht by shoveling them way inland away from the front. The ZIS car company was moved from Moscow to Ulyanovsk on the Volga</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> where it began making cars and useful wartime items like shells.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">After the war, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">the Ulyanovsk plant was hied off into its own company, and in the 1950s they started cranking out four wheel drives according to a basic model which is still largely unchanged.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">This is the Uaz.<span style=""> </span>Uaz is pronounced- eh., however you feel like it, really.<span style=""> </span>Go nuts. It’s an acronym which stands for Ulyanovsk <span style="">Avtomobilny Zavod.<span style=""> </span>Russian cars have never gone in for all this fancy naming crap.<span style=""> </span>There’s no Russian word for Elantra, Fabula, or Ka.<span style=""> </span>An Uaz is a Uaz.<span style=""> </span>Similarly, big Russian six wheel trucks are called Kamaz.<span style=""> </span>Because they are made in Kamchatka, the mythical land from the game of Risk handy for invading Alaska, Japan, Irkutsk, Yakusk and Mongolia.<span style=""> </span>By this logic, every car made in Detroit should be called a Daz.<span style=""> </span>Which would be fine, really.<br /></span></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG6009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG6009.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Anyway.<span style=""> </span>Mostly, if you’re referring to one of these beauties in English, you’d call it a Russian Jeep.<span style=""> </span>Or in Mongolian, a 69 (jahren youse, viewers), which is the model number- you know, just in case Uaz is too unspecific for you (not that there are other models, but still.)<span style=""> </span>So Russian jeep UAZ 69 it is.<span style=""> </span>No other ride comes close to being so vital to the country.<span style=""> </span>The Uaz equivalent of a VW bus, the furgon, plays a part certainly, but all others are simply cars.<span style=""> </span>The Uaz is a way of life.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>Why are they so great?<span style=""> </span>Well, for a start, they’re cheaper than a good horse.<span style=""> </span>A boxfresh Uaz will run you between ten and fifteen grand American, and a secondhand one is considerably less.<span style=""> </span>Ideally, of course, you don’t want one still in the original packaging.<span style=""> </span>The whole car production process is a pretty complicated thing, and most cars come off the line with a few jagged edges here and there.<span style=""> </span>You need to own a Uaz for a couple of years at least to get the transmission ground down to the point that you can shift into third, and plug up all the leaks around the doors and windows with strips of foam rubber and carpet samples so you don’t freeze</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> in winter or suffocate in summer.<span style=""> </span>A car a couple of years old is more comfortable and useful than a brand new one.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Secondly, they are engineered simply enough that anyone with a modicum of mechanical knowledge can fix them.<span style=""> </span>Which is great, because by a tremendous stroke of luck, Mongolian drivers have that modicum.</span></p> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">At the first sign of parking, the first order of business is to clean the car inside and out with a retentiveness usually reserved for jewelers and spaceflight.<span style=""> </span>While decidedly open minded when it comes to spitting, urinating and trash in public, Mongolians keep their cars clean enough inside</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> and out that you could build silicon chips in the backseat if needs be.<span style=""> </span>So first order of business when the motor is at rest is to tidy it thoroughly.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">If your parking type situation persists, then its time to jack the car up and start taking bits of it apart, spreading it in a halo around the car, and peering at the constituent gubbins until inspiration strikes.<span style=""> </span>The front left axle/wheel is a popular place to start, so if for any reason nothing’s actually wrong with your car, start there anyway and work diagonally across the engine.<span style=""> </span>In unfamiliar towns, this is also a surefire way to meet some of the most eligible batchelors around, as blokes come ambling over from their stoops to speculate on where that bit that’s shaped like a</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> little helmet for a monkey goes.<span style=""> </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4509.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4509.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">It is mostly pointless for anyone not responsible for driving the car to try to get involved.<span style=""> </span>Such futility usually unfolds thus:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Me: “So what’s the problem?”<br />Trusty Translator: “He says it’s not a problem.”<br />Me: “Right.” (pause) “So why is he taking apart the brake?”<br />TT: (no answer)<br />Me: “Can you ask him?”<br />TT: “No.”<br />Me: “Why not?”<br />TT:<span style=""> </span>“Because it’s his car.”<br />Me: “Ah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Despite/because of the mechanical know how exerted all over these vehicles, they can be and are fixed with just about anything.<span style=""> </span>When one I was traveling in had its axle mounting come away from the main chassis (thanks to some economizing in the welding department in </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Ulyanovsk<span style=""> that day), the axle was strapped back on in with wire and string.<span style=""> </span>Okay so it didn’t work for long, but it seemed a plausible repair at the time.<span style=""> </span>When the repair didn’t work, we drove on for</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> 100 kilometres regardless.<span style=""> </span>Uazzerful.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Why else are these cars great?<span style=""> </span>Plenty of reasons. They come in a dazzling array of technicolour hues, including army green, grey, and khaki.<span style=""> </span>You can take out all the seats and turn them into a sleeping space, a dining hall or a ballroom, depending on your needs.<span style=""> </span>There is no upper limit on how many people can fit in them.<span style=""> </span>But most of all, Uazes are great because, like an asylum, they have padded ceilings.<span style=""> </span>While the mod-cons of the rest of the car are no-frills bare minimum tick the box and move on simple, the roof of the car is thickly upholstered like a wingback chair in the gentlemen’s lounge at the country club.<span style=""> </span>There’s no seatbelts, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">but with a cushioned ceiling you don’t need them- if you hit a bump, you will float through the air, sink comfortably into the ceiling headfirst, and float back to earth like a feather.<span style=""> </span>Your ass is your own responsibility, but Uaz is looking after your head.<span style=""> </span>However, if the ceiling has worn through in places, that may be cause for alarm.<span style=""> </span>Position yourself under a thick bit.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">But before you reach for your checkbook and start ordering up a Uaz each for the kids and a brace for the missus, thereby joining a fraternity of motorists whose enthusiasts include the Ethiopian army and the Nepali tourist industry, I fear I must inform you that there is a downside to the Uaz experience.<span style=""> </span>That is to say, a downside if you’ve understood the motoring experience to include an element of comfort.<span style=""> </span>Whoever told you that one has taken unfair advantage of your good nature.<span style=""> </span>For the Uazanite, comfort is as far away as Mongolia is from Montenegro.<span style=""> </span>Seats made of iron planks and rocks, pointy bits of rusty metal just near your tenderer regions, shock absorbers that are adjusted for maximum reverb so you pogo like a punk on every pebble,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> and ventilation which is either freezing or boiling.<span style=""> </span>Couple that with road surfaces like a bowl of Cheerios, and you’re in for an automotive no-fun ride.<span style=""> </span>For the first few kilometres you can pretend you’re in some kind of music video ride where that lurching up and down is part of the purpose, but an ad hoc imaginary gangsta lean is hardly enough to traverse the steppe with.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Added to the fact that setting off across the steppe usually includes choice between a track off thataway and another off thisaway and the driver can’t decide is the right one,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> riding the Uaz lightning is an emotional process.<span style=""> </span>In phase one, as you careen from boulder to boulder on the wrong road and have to go back and hit all those same pointless bumps twice, a level of anger, frustration and concern for self rises, wherein you swear that this is positively the last time you’ll rent one of the buckets, and much bile is directed towards all other inhabitants in the car, especially the driver.<span style=""> </span>During this phase, it’s handy not to know any Mongolian, lest one be tempted to verbalize some of these mental stylings.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Then phase two, which begins when Something Happens.<span style=""> </span>Usually this is a breakdown.<span style=""> </span>When temporarily disabled, you have no choice but to look around you and then, the majesty of just where you are sinks in.<span style=""> </span>What’s more, you need that car to get through this, so there’s no point getting pissed at something you cannot hope to alter.<span style=""> </span>Acceptance.<span style=""> </span>When the car gets moving again, phase three begins.<span style=""> </span>Grateful to be back on the road, and with a renewed sense of peace, the landscape takes over, and the sheer wonder of Mongolia’s lands permeates your soul like a warm breeze.<span style=""> </span>As the sun sets and catches the gold in the grass, your aching ass is feeling no pain, but is buoyed along by something bigger.<span style=""> </span>By the time you get where you’re going, all is gentleness and calm.<span style=""> </span>Enlightenment comes on Russian retreads, viewers.<span style=""> </span>Sit back and enjoy the ride.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p face="arial" style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">With inner peace abounding, I will close this entry by saying that after fifty-odd good years, the day of the Uaz is waning.<span style=""> </span>The cheapness of second hand Hyundais has meant that the Uaz is slowly getting squeezed out by the cast offs from Mongolia’s neighbours.<span style=""> </span>While still prevalent outside the capital, the day will certainly come when the Uaz is a relic of a </span><span style="font-size:100%;">glorious past, along with the hammer and sickle.<span style=""> </span>In the meantime, Mongolia’s drivers do it Russian style, and we here as the Missives salute the spirit of the steppe supped from the goblet of Uaz.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4518.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4518.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Safe journeys, viewers!<o:p> (saihan yavaarai!)<br /></o:p></span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><i style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(all half-assed research into this article was done from unreliable sources in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Ulaanbaatar</st1:place></st1:city> and the internet.<span style=""> </span>I assume you already figured this out.<span style=""> </span>If you were reading this blog for factual info, then you’re already so off course that you might as well jump overboard and hope that a dolphin carries you home.)</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1145417806308219762006-04-19T12:16:00.000+09:002006-04-19T12:39:47.436+09:00Knead to be Needed<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG5724.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG5724.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Before Seoul Massage</span><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Sonin saihan uu bain, more iin? (What’s new, pussycats?)<o:p></o:p></span></span></span> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>If there are any readers left at this point, it must be due to the</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> sheer wonderfulness of intertia, or a certain degree of Pavlovian internet masochism.<span style=""> </span>You are encouraged to cease salivating, for the bell has rung, and after too too long, a new entry is yours for the rumination. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">But my oh my modern life viewers.<span style=""> </span>What a tense place it can be, filled with stress and strains, anxieties and pains.<span style=""> </span>And now medical science suggests that such time honoured coping methods as keg stands and Gauloises blondes are actu</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ally part of the problem, not part of the solution.<span style=""> </span>Eating your wrinkles away is an option, but how many fudge eating contests can you go to before the fun begins to seep away like so much chocolatey goo? Watching professional sports, picking fights in the street, gambling and psychotherapy all pass the time, but none really reach that deep down fatigue that a body feels at the end of a working week.<span style=""> </span>How to unwind, viewers.<span style=""> </span>How to unwind.<span style=""> </span>The answer is not to try to do it yourself, for you are not a watchmaker with your hands on the springs which make you tick and tock.<span style=""> </span>You need a masseuse.<span style=""> </span>Clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Nestled below us on the first floor of building 37, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Chingeltei district, is Seoul Massaj (massage, viewers).<span style=""> </span>During our various travels around southeast Asia, the calming delights of reflexology were explored between noodle dishes and tuk tuk rides, and we acquired a taste for it.<span style=""> </span>Upon our return to the steppe, we decided to sample some of the local fare to see if it compared, and no, it did not. No comparison.<span style=""> </span>It transcended. It was a whole new way of paying someone to beat you up.<span style=""> </span>If southeast Asian massage is a lithe monkey dancing on manicured paws, Mongolian stylee is a mighty great yak with gnarled hooves of power.<span style=""> </span>Bow down in its presence, unworth</span><span style="font-size:100%;">y ones.<span style=""> </span>One amply proportioned acquaintance of ours described his visit to the ladies of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Seoul</st1:place></st1:city> by saying “a ninety eight pound Mongolian woman took me like it was prison.”<span style=""> </span>A lively description to be sure, but as he’s a human rights lawyer I assume this was a professional assessment of the process.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The foyer of Seoul Massage is a modest affair, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">no bigger than most department store dressing rooms.<span style=""> </span>A rack of sandals and a matron behind a counter are there, as well as a laminated menu of options.<span style=""> </span>Just as Mongolian restaurants serve both kinds of food (sheep and lamb), <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Seoul</st1:place></st1:city> offers both kinds of massage: foot and body (hol and bie, viewers).<span style=""> </span>One price, no fussing.<span style=""> </span>Now get those boots off and get inside. Let’s do a foot massage today, ‘cause these dogs are barking, my verucas are salty, and corns’ coming in by the bushel.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Having removed one’s shoes, you are ushered into the darkened chambers beyond, half of which are equipped with banks of massage tables for those of you who selected the body option (we’ll see you after), and reclining chairs and footstools for the footies. The lighting is discreet and darkened, and a radio burbles out the latest chart nonsense from <st1:place st="on">Asia</st1:place> and the west.<span style=""> </span>Escorted to a recliner, you are presented with your new outfit of striped pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt (black for boys, orange for girls).<span style=""> </span>While you change from your civvies to your uniform, your captain readies the accoutrements she will require to bend you to her will.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Now as anyone who’s seen Pulp Ficton knows, there are foot massages and then there are foot massages.<span style=""> </span>If Tony Rocky Horror gave Mia Wallace one of what follows, then Marcellus had every reason to suspect that something more than podiatry was going on.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Your massage begins when you sit on a footstool and plunge your feet into a wooden washtub like the ones in old cartoons people used to wear to hide their nakedness.<span style=""> </span>The water is scented with a handful of aromatic herbs to ease relaxation, and is carefully warmed to a temperature somewhere between McDonald’s lawsuit and lava.<span style=""> </span>This tub of water will prove very important for the next little while, as you may frequently need to distract yourself from what else is happening by concentrating on whether your feet have turned to fondue yet.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">After a few moments to allow your feet to start shriveling down to size three, your masseuse glides into position behind you to begin your foot massage.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Now obviously, a foot massage concentrates on one’s feet.<span style=""> </span>It is thus only logical that this massage starts with your back.<span style=""> </span>As the healing begins, you realize that where southeast Asian masseurs and –seuses spend their days softening their fingers in bowls of jasmine scented oil and drinking mango juice while watching Singapore soaps in air conditioned parlours, their Mongolian counterparts straphang on busted ex-Korean buses to and from a dusty ger where they wrangle with goats and braid rawhide to make ropes to h</span><span style="font-size:100%;">old the house down when the spring winds hit.<span style=""> </span>These women spend their massage apprenticeship grinding rice into flour in their fists for months before they are allowed near a client.<span style=""> </span>Rumour has it they ran out of rice three winters ago and since then have been using a mixture of gravel and broken glass.<span style=""> </span>By the time you realize how formidable you have been gripped, it is too late and you are no longer holding the keys to the auto of life.<span style=""> </span>These women are small, but they could whup you faster than you could say shiatsu, and that’s just what they’re going to do.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As the pressure exerted on your spine exceeds three atmospheres, another unique element of Seoul massage pokes you in the eye. Hands,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> which certainly are an important weapon in the available massage arsenal, are only one possible option.<span style=""> </span>Any bit of the body which is bony, pointy, gnarly or strong, can and will be used.<span style=""> </span>And so the moments fly by as you wonder “which bit of you is doing that to me?”<span style=""> </span>Possible answers include elbow, knee, bottom forearm, top of forearm, outer thigh, and foot (it’s a foot massage, remember?).<span style=""> </span>Apparently there is a special treatment which involves steamrolling your body using only the head, but it’s a bit intense.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">With your back now living in jelly, it’s time to get on</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> with your foot massage and start agitating your….head.<span style=""> </span>Yep. Can’t just make a beeline for the piggies.<span style=""> </span>Gotta walk the whole course before you race the hounds on it.<span style=""> </span>And so begins a bewildering process somewhere between phrenology and trepanning, whereby your poor old scalp that never hurt a fly becomes the venue for such double fisted techniques as When Elephants fight the Grass is Trampled,<span style=""> </span>Mother Spider Defends her Nest, and sometimes, just sometimes, Joe Pesci’s vice trick from Casino.<span style=""> </span>While all this is happening, in a hopeless effort to escape, you crumple over your knees until you’re hunched like Gollum contemplating your visage in the steaming puddle where your feet now live.<span style=""> </span>In sympathy with your plight, your masseuse starts touseling your hair affectionately, like Dennis the Menace used to get when he’d crash his boxracer into Mr. Wilson’s new mailbox.<span style=""> </span>Whatt</span><span style="font-size:100%;">a scamp.<span style=""> </span>And so, thinking it all nearing conclusion, you begin to extend your neck from beneath your shell.<span style=""> </span>More fool you.<span style=""> </span>What may seem like a friendly touseling between friends is in fact an expert winnowing, whereby weak follicles are being separated from the strong.<span style=""> </span>By the time you realize your predicament, she’s grasped a hold of all the runts straight along your centre part and YANK! She pulls you up to ramrod straight using only ten hairs, Gollum banished forever.<span style=""> </span>Who is in charge has never been more clear.<span style=""> </span>All hail the new queen in town. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">By this point, your overheated and puckered feets </span><span style="font-size:100%;">are quite convinced that they’ve been lied to, and they’re not going to the amusement park after all but are on the way to the doctor’s for a booster shot.<span style=""> </span>They are not wrong.<span style=""> </span>With the back and noggin threats neutralized, our new ruler can finally turn her attention to those neglected..arms.<span style=""> </span>Oh well, at least they’re a limb, so we must be getting closer.<span style=""> </span>At this point the Seoul method becomes slightly clearer- moments of reassuring gentleness are interspersed with sudden, unexpected violence.<span style=""> </span>It’s like how someone once (erroneously) described rolfing as talking about a traumatic experience from your childhood and then having your therapist punch you in the face.<span style=""> </span>It’s sort of like that.<span style=""> </span>Gentle strokes down the bones of each finger, the joints of which are then popped so hard it sounds like timber being felled.<span style=""> </span>But before you have time to muse on this too much more,<span style=""> </span>you are treated to such anatomically impossible feats a</span><span style="font-size:100%;">s the whole arm reverse rotation body pop (whereby your fully extended arm is lulled into such suppleness that your elbow joint is popped upwards), and such symbolic positions as the Figurehead of HMS Victory (fingers knitted behind head, elbows pulled back until almost touching, knee in middle of the back) and the Dying Swan (hands held at wrists, pulled back as far as they go, outer thigh shoving back straight).<span style=""> </span>Another domino of resistance falls, and your entire upper body is now under the flag of Seoul massage.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Your feet breathe a sigh of relief that they have, despite the name of the procedure, escaped with little more than a robust stewing.<span style=""> </span>But your ma</span><span style="font-size:100%;">sseuse sees all, hears all.<span style=""> </span>Your feet are finally withdrawn from their solution, and quick as a flash are bound tightly in white napkins lest they try to escape.<span style=""> </span>The washtub is withdrawn, and your reclining chair is stretched out to full flat.<span style=""> </span>Lay your weary and beaten self down on it while she drapes a sheet over you to keep you warm.<span style=""> </span>Since you know what comes after gentleness by now, you instinctively tense up as you assume at least a charley horse or nuggies comes after the comfy blankie.<span style=""> </span>But no, it seems that your feet have finally moved up the queue, and it’s time for them to get manipulated.<span style=""> </span>Surprise and fear are legitimate at this stage.<span style=""> </span>Let them flow, it helps to cleanse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">What happens next is not so much an anticlimax as such a relief that it’s all you can do to stay awake.<span style=""> </span>In keeping with tradition though, your foot is defined as starting at the knee and all points south.<span style=""> </span>You lie under your blanket as your feet are ji</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ggled and your toes are individually fibrillated until you are lulled into a reverie involving mermaids, unicorns and rainbows.<span style=""> </span>After a bit, you realize that for the past five minutes she’s been folding your whole foot over on itself, top over bottom, left over right, like a floppy bit of dough.<span style=""> </span>Whether or not it’s relaxing is no longer of issue, as you lost the ability to form opinions other than ‘owie’ or ‘no owie’ some miles back.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Things are winding up. Your sheets are swaddled up around you like a mummy, and your legs are spun in huge circles over your head like in the halcyon days of breakdancing.<span style=""> </span>Your feet are replaced in roughly the location they started in, and then it’s over.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Like hitting yourself repeatedly with a hammer, the reason to do it is because it feels good when it stops.<span style=""> </span>You are given all the time to convalesce that you need, before you change back out of your scrubs and into your skin.<span style=""> </span>If you are of a hirsute nature, proof of what you have done can be found on your calves, where little snarled clusters of hairy dingleberries have sprouted where your legs were so vigorously kneaded.</span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As you emerge dazed into the world outside, the sun’s a little brighter, the birds are chirping a little more chirpyily, and the cracks in the pavement seem that much more calm and ordered. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Exhausted but elated, you trudge home a hero, for you have completed your quest and lived to tell the tale.<span style=""> </span>Years from now, your grandchildren will gasp as in wonder as you rhyme them the ballad of the massaged man.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">On which mighty note we shall close.<span style=""> </span>I shall end by mentioning that 200 hours of painstaking fieldwork went into researching this article.<span style=""> </span>I hope you realiz</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e what lengths I go to on your behalf.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Saihan ahmraraa (have a good rest, viewers),<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Jannie</span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG5709.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG5709.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" >After Seoul Massage</span><br /></div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1144287672233120402006-04-06T10:29:00.000+09:002006-04-06T10:41:12.250+09:00Shilling for the Deserving<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/picture-18.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/picture-18.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >In an effort to disguise a lack of new content by filling space with advertising, we are most pleased to announce the publication of Africa Against All Odds, a book of photos by Glenn Edwards.<span style=""> </span>I worked with Glenn in <st1:country-region st="on">Malawi</st1:country-region> in 2002 on this project, and had a great time tooling around the <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">central provinces</st1:place></st1:state> with him<span style=""> </span>Compassion is an overused word when applied to photography, but in this case entirely appropriate for Glenn’s treatment of his various subjects across the continent.<o:p></o:p></span> </div> <div> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p>A gallery of images from the book is available <a href="http://www.africaagainstallodds.com">here</a>, as well as ordering information.<span style=""> </span>Glenn assures me my face appears nowhere in its pages- some things the world just isn’t ready for.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Mash ih saihan zoruck, viewers (lots of great photos, viewers),<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p>Jannie<o:p style="font-family: arial;"></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(I don't have Glenn's permission to use the image above, so if he asks it will be cheerfully and immediately removed.)</span></span>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1142933431661303842006-03-21T17:23:00.000+08:002006-03-21T17:30:31.663+08:00Enjoy a nap while waiting for the next installment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG5443small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG5443small.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Viewers,</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Here's another photo to tide you over until our next entry hoves into view. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">In the next thrilling episode, we'll be exploring what it means to get massaged in Mongolia.<br /><br />And if that doesn't sound ominous to you, you haven't been paying attention.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Coming soon to a massage parlour near you viewers,</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Jannie</span>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1142932913641936012006-03-21T17:16:00.000+08:002006-03-21T17:21:53.656+08:00In Christ's Name Dehydrated<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG5495small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG5495small.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sain bainuu viewers-</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Consistency may be the hobgoblin of small minds, but it's not a half bad thing to have around something like a blog. Its absence in these parts points to a giant mind at work, or something. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Whatever the case, I returned from a couple of weeks of assessing the viability of a national school feeding programme in Mongolia- it's like a spa treatment, only with more longdrops- and found the item pictured above nestled into the in-tray.</span> <br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Words do fail me somewhat here, viewers. Anyone have any serving suggestions?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Daihiat odughgui, (more soon, viewers)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> Jannie</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1140058911594987862006-02-16T10:49:00.000+08:002006-02-16T14:30:51.646+08:00Media Frenzy of One<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/441094740305_0_ALB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/441094740305_0_ALB.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Since an important part of any blog is shameless self promotion propelled by the belief that one's minutest doings are a point of fascination to the world at large, I am pleased to announce that the photo above has been selected as the cover shot of the latest issue of Great Nation. Great Nation is THE magazine for expatriate Mongolians living in Korea, and its pages alternate between Mongolian and Korean language articles on a whole welter of issues. It's website can be found <a href="http://www.greatnation.mn">here</a> (useful to have the Korean and Cyrillic font sets) but is pretty out of date; for all I know it may be advocating cruelty to animals and more exploration of Venus, but hey, in this age of lowered journalistic integrity, who am I to care what my photos are being used for?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Between the Swedish travel supplement and the Mongolian press, I feel confident in declaring myself a major global media player. I shall be listing myself on the NYSE later this afternoon, but without compromising my artistic vision. Buy early and often.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Yours megalomanically,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Jannie</span><br /></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1139476190057919852006-02-09T16:26:00.000+08:002006-02-09T17:09:50.133+08:00Mighty Blighty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG5208.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG5208.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What Ho, viewers!</span><o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">February finds us back in Mongolia after a month in the UK, where, if you are reading this, we probably saw you.<span style=""> </span>So hello.<span style=""> </span>If we did not see you in the UK and yet you’re still reading this, why then that is even more remarkable, and you’re the reason we get up in the morning.<span style=""> </span>So why do I feel like rolling over and going back to sleep?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Turning our acute observational eye to Blighty for just a tick, a few small bits and pieces which got lodged in our grill are extracted here for your review.<span style=""> </span>In tribute to our Yorkshire ‘hood’s most glittering literary son Alan Bennett’s annual diary, this entry is in simple point form, easily swallowed and forgotten, like a tuna and sweetcorn on wholemeal.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> <li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gastro-notes:</span> As in many other countries, people in the Uke Hey spent a tremendous amount of time going hither and yon in their cars. People are busy, time is money, rush hour must be avoided, the A65’s got roadworks on both sides, but everybody’s gotta eat sometime. Pub meals are expensive and may only be served between precise hours, service areas tend to occur only on main roads and are in any case largely toxic, and the weather may not allow for picnics. All of which combines to create the phenomena of Sandwiches in Cars. In lay-bys, car parks, view points and petrol stations, a quick glance behind the windscreen shows drivers and pax huddled over Tupperware, noshing down two slices with filling. Short rows of three and four cars crouch by the side of the road in murky weather, sometimes supported by a van advertising Hot Food for those not already packing a few rounds. This activity is so ingrained into the fabric of things, and the weather is so insistently uncooperative that people unwind in their spare time by taking their sandwiches for a drive to areas of outstanding natural beauty. You fuel up the motor, tuck your trousers into your socks, put the dog in the back and drive all the way to the Ribblehead Viaduct for a pleasant afternoon among the arches, only to find horizontal rain and a wind with murder on its mind. Typical, isn’t it? Still, seems a shame to come all this way for nothing, doesn’t it? Nevermind, mustn’t grumble. Turn up Radio Four, open up the lunch box, and fog up the car. Everything seems better over a wensleydale and chutney with a smoky bacon crisp. Now where’s the flask? Oooh, luvly.<o:p></o:p></span></li> </ul> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> <li><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Religious Affairs Department:</span> It is somewhere beyond cliché to complain about the English weather, but even so, it cannot go without mention. On the first afternoon we were there, I took Natty out into the garden at about one in the afternoon. He looked at the sky and the thick grey putty of clouds smeared across it and declared “dark.” No son, that’s what passes for daylight in these parts. From the mouths of babes comes stuff what’s true and that. As if in response to the gloom of winter, the Methodist church in Settle has a poster on its notice board of a sun baked white sandy beach and the surf beyond with the legend “Wish you were here! Love, Jesus” written in ‘handwriting’ font across it. Whether the Son of God is on holiday or works there or something is not clear. Viewers wishing to know more about their spiritual travel options are encouraged to enquire within. And still on the Methodist tip, a Settle lady in the prime of life recently presented one of her ladyfriends with a fresh new copy of the parish newsletter, to which her excited pal was heard to remark “Ooooh! I wish I could reciprocate with the Methodist Recorder!” We assume she was talking about another newsletter, but we could be wrong. if anyone knows if there’s another meaning for “reading the Methodist Recorder”, answers on the back of a postcard of a tropical idyll to our Ulaanbaatar HQ. Best entries will receive a lifetime subscription to Settle Community News. (with a tip of the flat cap to our reporter-at-large T.R-J.)<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></li> </ul> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <ul style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> <li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vice dept:</span> And so on to south <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, where the hippest trends are born, and describing someone as “being committed to a decadent lifestyle” is a compliment. Certain parts of south London are less wholesome than others, and are the sort of places where people wear fake rather than real Burberry and say ‘Good Luck’ to their cars before going to bed. But this ramshackle state of affairs of is not a result of incompetent or inefficient local government, social corrosion, dub reggae or the youth of today. Oh no. The seediness of certain boroughs is a result of Drug Tourism. That’s right viewers: it seems that certain neighbourhoods have developed a reputation as being such good places to score that well heeled north Londoners have been known to hop in minicabs and come south with the sole intention of purchasing illegal stimulants and the like, thus bringing otherwise upright areas into disrepute. It is apparently a) impossible to find any illegal product north of the Thames, b) dealers never stray more than three blocks from the building they were born in and c) dealers have no idea how to use courier services, the internet or even those same minicabs that are bringing all them tourists into the once placid boulevards and avenues. And so the drug taking public must journey south. Guerrila action to Take Back the Streets by reversing the trend and sending Brixton residents into Chelsea and Kensington to try to buy there have so far met with inconclusive results. In the meantime, packs of toffs clad in John Smedley curb crawl around Lambeth disturbing the law abiding citizens with their loaded questions about ‘gear’ and ‘could one sort one out’ and the like. Pensioners clutch their pearls to their neck and hurriedly cross the road, remembering the old days when all the houses had bead curtains for doors and you could leave the collection plate in the high street overnight and no one would so much as borrow a farthing. And now? Hordes of Japanese with next-gen cameras and safari jackets clutching the Fodor’s Getting On One in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> clog the zebra crossings following tour guides waving antennas with a red rag tied on it as they are led on walking tours of the once reputable shooting galleries and crack dens of SW 11. It’s getting so the streets aren’t safe for the dopeheads anymore. Won’t someone stop the madness? Look, if two Mongolian cops in the only ger in 100 miles can bust timber runners with only their bare hands, then surely the Met can bring the Tourism scourge under control? Our anxious thoughts go out to Mark and Keith, living under siege in Camberwell. Keep hope alive. <o:p></o:p></span></li> </ul> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>On which gritty street-tough note we shall close.<span style=""> </span>Coming soon, more silliness about <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mongolia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>See you then!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p>All the best (saihan saihanig husii, viewers),</span></p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" >Jannie</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1136443172512932692006-01-05T14:18:00.000+08:002006-01-05T14:39:32.536+08:00On Marmots<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Shin onii mindh (happy new year, viewers)-</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">As the mercury plumbs deep new lows, and the lining of one's clothes turns from synthetics to animal fur, winter in Mongolia appears to be among us. On the 21st of December, Mongolians celebrate the beginning of '9 times 9'- the first 33 days represent the start of winter, the next 33 the coldest days, and the final 33 the beginning of the end of winter. While the maths may not add up, and it wasn't exactly above zero before the 21st neither, it is indicative of the fact that outside it's getting a bit froze. It's early 33 days, but thus far it has been within the realm of expectations: don't go outside in shorts expecting warmth and you won't get it- easy! We tip our dogskin boots in sympathy towards our peeps in Minnesota, who suffer the same thing but with less opportunities to eat belly warming meaties than we Mongolian residents have. Nick, fear not: we're saving you a slice of marmot.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Our story this week takes place in the late weeks of autumn, in the soum of Ikh Choloochiheruul, where I had gone with my trusty colleague in a less than trusty rented Russian jeep to inspect the gardening progress of the good people of the soum. This particular spot is two hours flight and five hours drive from Ulaanbaatar, a mere trifle by the standards of the day. By the way, a soum is a Mongolian administrative division roughly equivalent to a county. Each of the 300 soum centres in the country has a post office, a school, a telephone, a bank, a 'hospital', a police station, and a petrol station. Electricity, water, and internet are optional extras.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">There can be fewer more futile tasks than assessing a garden plot AFTER the harvest has already been completed- unkind people might suggest it is in fact no different than scrabbling around in a dirt patch, but we food security coordinators are a sharp eyed bunch, and can see things in a pile of dust that the untrained eye would miss. Our mission was compounded somewhat by the fact for this visit we had decided to use the Improvisational Rapid Assessment tool, an old fallback of the humanitarian/development playlist. Basically, you forget to tell anybody you're coming. My colleague Hovdogh had taken care of that step for us, and our local contact had done her bit by shooting off to the capital for a week or two to visit her ailing pop. What, then, to do?<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Into this breach stepped the local soum governor, the estimable Tsartsagaan. A lady in the prime of her life, she strode unannounced into our hotel room shortly after sun up. Mongolians, on the whole, don't share western mores about privacy. People in round houses know no corners, or something. Anyway, Tsartsagaan had decided that she herself would escort us to the garden plot, and we could leave forthwith. A woman in a position of administrative power wearing a camel hair twinset and a full head of makeup before nine in the morning is not to be questioned, viewers. Saddle up and ride out.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Driving the fifty kilometres to the project site, the less than trusty driver of our less than trusty jeep whacked in a cassette of the Greatest Mongolian Driving Hits..Ever! His vehicle fully conformed to the basic rules of having a crap car: the more crap the car, the more booming your system must be. So despite this being a car that would later have its front axle mount rupture from the chassis while we were driving, the graphic equalizer and woofer system was presently giving us an immersive aural experience, steppe style. This was then taken to the next level. Due to some mysterious cultural shared consciousness, every Mongolian knows the words to every Mongolian song ever written ever. And every Mongolian must sing, sing, sing. In fact, it is especially important to sing when driving in a car, Tsartsagaan informed me. My pathetic lack of knowledge of Mongolian repertoire was not an excuse, it was a disgrace.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">And so with the volume up to eleven, and three throaty companions in good musical spirits, the kilometres flew by like so many miles. Mongolian driving music is a jaunty, exhilarating affair, with lots of cowboy movie strings of the herds galloping majestically across the steppe, uplifting female vocals, and lusty male solo singers, exalting to the great blue skies the greatness of...Their Mums. Yep. Unless specifically stated otherwise, all Mongolian music is a paean to Mater; how she's keeping everyone safe as they travel, how she's just wonderful at making the curds, and how she'll have a warm cup of tea ready for us when we get back. Sung with pep by the cast of Oklahoma, in Mongolian. When I was asked how many western songs are written about mothers, my answer provoked the kind of pitying head shaking usually reserved for stories of puppies left out in the rain.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">As the mountain pass gave way to a giant plain, our happy singing car came upon a single dingy ger by the side of the road, incongruously stocked with a huge stack of uncut tree trunks. A quick scan of the horizon confirmed there wasn't a tree in sight, but all was soon revealed. This ger was the temporary shelter for a policeman and an environment officer, cunningly placed to intercept logging thieves and smugglers pinching wood from the forests up north and selling them in the treeless south. Now why treelifters couldn't drive around the only tent in fifteen square kilometers is not clear. Even less clear is why they would even stop for two dudes without so much as two horses between them. It's not many cops who can stop a truck single handed, wrestle the occupants to the ground and arrest them, remove the cargo from the flatbed, do the paperwork and still get a good night's sleep on the cold hard ground at a decent hour, but that seemed to be the m.o. This duo's duties were not limited to busting timberrunners, but in fact covered seizure of all contraband which might somehow be drawn to them. Illegal whatnot of all sorts was winkled out and impounded, as smugglers of all shapes and sizes found themselves drawn, magnetlike, to the only ger in 50 kilometres.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Contraband is like anything else, and is subject to the whims of fashion, trend and taste. In 2005, the number one most wanted illegal item in short supply was the marmot. A big groundhoggy thing that lives in holes, he is <em>marmota sibirica </em>(tarvag, viewers). If you read Russian and can't get enough marmot info, then <a href="http://tinyurl.com/7lbee"><strong>http://tinyurl.com/7lbee</strong></a> is for you. For the rest of us, it is enough to know that the marmot is a big rat thing that lives in the ground, good for making stoles and other accessories from. Other fun facts about the marmot include that it has fleas that still carry bubonic plague- every year about five or six Mongolians get chomped or mugged by a marmot and get plague. Also, they are congenitally stupid. Like many steppe dwellers there are really, really bored, and spend months inside with nothing to do. So they are easily distracted and will be entertained by almost anything. Over the centuries, the rugged outdoorsmen of Mongolia have worked this out, and lure the marmot from his nest by such cunning predatory manouvres as honking the horn, yelling out "knock knock!", and singing bracing Mongolian hunting songs such as "I kill you good little beastie". Marmots come above ground to see who's throwing the party, hunter shoulders weapon, there is a one sided exchange of bullets, and terminally comatose marmots comes home to daddy.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">But the most important thing about the marmot is that while he's an attractive fellow to make a hat from, and a pretty sporting hunt, he is fine, fine eating. Boiled, steamed, grilled or just plain old warmed on the car radiator, he's the rodent of the moment. There are various marmot organs which are considered especially good for one's health, so much so that they are called People Meat (hun mach, viewers). Certain Mongolians are so enamoured of the taste of marmot flesh that autumn just doesn't taste right without a marmoty burp in the gullet. Be that as it may, this year the government decided that a) plague was just really, really medieval and surely we could skip a year without someone coming over all buboed, b) so many marmot munchers had seriously depleted numbers of marmots left in burrows and c) just do what we say. So it was that this year, there was no legal marmot to be had in Mongolia, and lo there was much gnashing of teeth, free of marmoty sinew.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">And yet, all hope was not lost for those who'd been looking forward to marmotburger all year. For instance, what of already dead marmot? What if, purely hypothetically, a cop in a ger in the middle of nowhere had intercepted some not alive marmots shot by naughty persons? What if those marmots were more than he could possibly consume I mean enter into evidence himself, even if there was a friend to help him out? What then? Wouldn't it just go bad? Wouldn't that be a crime too? Well wouldn't it? Our hostess in the twinset Tsartsagaan was thinking along the same lines. Plus, as governor, she is the boss of him and does represent the will of the people, so make with the meats, flatfoot.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">The finer points of this Socratic dialogue was held in the conditional tense (or at least was translated to me that way), so after a lot of "IF I <em>did </em>have a marmot then I WOULD give it to you" type chortling, it was off to see the soil spot. The project site was a dusty affair, located as it was at the summer grazing spot, now vacated by all but one family. So no people, no turnips, and nothing to assess except the consistency of dust. A successful mission, I'd say.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">On the way back, we stopped at the same cop ger we'd visited on the way out. By a strange confluence of nature and human appetites, in the hours we were away, not one but two marmots had now been found. One was already in a state of severe undress, in the process of being gutted on a cardboard box. The other? Not totally certain, but Tsartsagaan entered the ger and emerged with a mysterious bundle in her arms covered in cloth, which was then stashed in the back of the car. And back we went to the soum capital to take advantage of the many amenities on offer. Could it be that her parcel of cloth contained a marmot? Who can say with certainty, in today's confusing world? But suspicion points in that direction, viewers. This would not be the only suspicious marmot of an increasingly marmoty trip.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Later that evening, my colleague Hovdogh was greeted by some of her local pals, delighted to see her after such a long absence. To celebrate her return, they had thoughtfully brought her...a marmot. Nicely cooked with not too much salt, presented tastefully squashed into a plastic bag. Hovdogh could not have been happier, she being of the too much marmot is not enough school of gastronomy. Having bought herself a jumbo jar of Polish pickles to accompany her repast, she set to work. Now a word about eating marmot in 2005. You may have somehow found yourself in possession of such a thing, but it is still illegal, and the law is still the law, and you can't just sit on the front step and chow down in full view. One must be discreet. Given that our hosts were mostly government folk of some tier or another, it really wouldn't do to chew on the illicit meat right in their faces- even if they gave it to you. A etiqutte poser, to be sure. The simplest thing to do, really, is chomp it down in the car on one's own. No mess no fuss. Which is what she did. For three consecutive meals, Hovdogh would sit in the passenger seat before we'd go into a house (inevitably for a meal), get out the pickles and paring knife and gnaw away. The standard Mongolian fashion for meat eating is direct under any circumstances, but hunched over a bag of contraband in the car with occasional visible flicks of a greasy knife gave the whole process a certain junkie feel.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Even after three drive-in marmot specials, there was still leftovers, and that same plastic bag was kicking around the car with carcass in it. As we were driving the five hours back to the aimag capital, the driver pulled up on a dried up riverbed and came round to where the marmot bag was. Flipping open a secret panel in the back rear right side door, he stuffed the plastic bag into the leg of a spare pair of trousers and closed the panel again. Why is marmot always stashed inside clothes, anyway? This was apparently necessary because just ahead was another spot where cops and environment officers tended to lie in wait of smugglers, and he didn't want the marmot bag in plain sight. Entertained by the James Bond secret panel (although the similarities ended there), and amused by the fact that in all the great wide open space of Mongolia the cops have an unerring ability to pick their busts in just the right spots, we proceeded towards the suspected trap.<br /><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">And with all the inevitability of a thing going to happen, there were the cops and environment guys, right on schedule. In fact, not only were they cops and environment guys, they were the SAME cops and environment guys we'd met the day before, accompanied by their superior officer from the capital. Realizing that these dudes has little ground to stand on on the whole 'have you got any illegal marmots in bags in secret panels' type questions seeing as how they were dealers, we were disrespectfully sniggery throughout our questioning. The superior officer saw nothing funny about anything, but other two authority figures shuffled their feet and averted their eyes, waiting for this whole episode to be over. I was later told that if the car was searched, the driver was going to say that the marmot concealing trousers belonged to me, thereby ratcheting up the whole affair to a full blown diplomatic crisis. In the event, all parties agreed it's a rum old world and no mistake, spat in the dust and drove off in search of more marmot related adventures.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">The remainder of the trip passed without rodent related incident, although I will close this entry by simply mentioning that under pressure to sample the delights on offer, and on the understanding that you only live once, I was induced to sample a sliver of marmot. Screwing my courage to the sticking post, I did so. I can report without fear of contradiction that it tasted meaty, for the most part.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">On which note we shall close- we are away in the UK for the next few weeks, so you'll have to get your jollies at another internet spot till early February, viewers.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Saihan saihuig husii (wish you all the best, viewers),</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Jannie<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4500.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4500.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>A alleged marmot under interrogation yesterday.<br /></div><br /><br /></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1133769736759825942005-12-05T15:53:00.000+08:002005-12-05T16:07:09.190+08:00Höi! Lók! Vi got øãr neim inna papir!<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">Dear Viewers,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">While in Thailand, Natty and I were interviewed for the travel supplement of Sweden's leading daily, Aftonbladet. Their reporter on the scene needed our considered views on traversing the globe with kiddies. Our opinions were highly controversial, and fly in the face of much conventional wisdom on such matters. We urge you to take up the debate by clicking on the following link: </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><a href="http://www.aftonbladet.se/vss/resor/story/0,2789,734903,00.html">http://www.aftonbladet.se/vss/resor/story/0,2789,734903,00.html</a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">If anyone can tell us what in fact we said, we'd love to know. Until then, we will just assume we were witty, insightful and eloquent.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Photos of our alluring visages are also thoughtfully included with the article. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Enjøy,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Jannie</span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132751984938432552005-11-23T18:19:00.000+08:002005-11-23T21:38:37.643+08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/123/5157/640/CIMG4698.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #ffffff 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #ffffff 2px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #ffffff 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #ffffff 2px solid" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/123/5157/320/CIMG4698.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Khao San Road, BangkokJanniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132738997037482662005-11-23T17:42:00.000+08:002005-11-23T17:45:12.363+08:00If it's Monday, this must be Bangkok: A Month in the Southeast Asian Sun<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sawadee, sabadii, and selmat datang (that's hello, hello and welcome in Thai, Laotian, and Malay, viewers)-<br /><br />In response to requests from some of our more attention deficient viewers who got motion sickness from reading the China dispatch, these entries will be divided into country size chunks, allowing one to come and go as one wishes. We will not, however, be offering TXT message article summaries for those pressed for time. Sorry Jake.<br /><br />We begin where we began, in Thailand. If you wish to skip to the end and find out whodunnit, bounce down the page to Laos or Malaysia. If you're not too scrupulous about chronology but would like to know what we did recently, start with Malaysia and work backwards. Confused yet? You soon will be.</span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132738724710623872005-11-23T17:37:00.000+08:002005-11-23T21:34:41.450+08:00Thailand- Backpacking, Temperature taking, and the PPC.<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">The glittering facets of Thailand are generally well documented, and Bangkok is, as it always has been, a dazzlingly fun place to visit. Leaving aside the Golden Temple, the ladyboys selling fried cockroaches, the pleasures of pad thai, and the 4D traffic, Thailand also maintains the element of surprise, as we found out to our credit and debit. So let's balance the books.<br /><br />Our guest house for this visit was situated within the greater Khao San Road area, home of the one dollar hostel and the globe-on-a-shoestring Shangri-La. The neighborhood streets overflow with travellers from all over the planet in various states of smart/casual disarray, poring over DVDs, grilled squids, cheap luggage, kickboxing lessons and more massage options than a website like this one can explore. It rolls on, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, just as it has for thirty years or more. Purists and those who remember the good old days argue that the Scene has been irrevocably sold out (a vibe explored accurately in Alex Garland's the Beach). Indeed, Khao San Road has become so entrenched that it has itself become a tourist attraction, and now features on the city tour of Bangkok, along with the National Museum and the Democracy monument. More to the point, there's now a Starbucks and a KFC on KS Road, which is of course a sign of apocalypse riding in our midst like so much bird flu in a henhouse.<br /><br />Despite the taint of commercial spoilage, there are quirks to the KS area which continue to make one smile into one's papaya shake. Travellers of all shapes and sizes use Bangkok as their jumping off point for exploring every place else, so the traffic is considerable. But a time comes in every traveller's voyage when it is time to cast off the livery of the Road, and rejoin the world they came from. Alternatively, living on the cheap is part of the Experience, and with cash in short supply, it may become necessary to pawn that camera/Da Vinci code/pair of hiking boots for bus fare to Singapore. Hence the emergence of the We Buy Everything market stalls dotted along the shady backstreets.<br /><br />That is what they do: Buy Everything. Hand over your tired Tevas, your clapped out back pack, the flashlight that saved your life in Sarawak, and in exchange get a pittance of baht, or trade it for some other equally second hand bit of kit. Looking at the goods on display at these stalls, one realizes that it is possible to outfit oneself for one's search of self entirely from cast offs from other selfs who went to look for themselves. That sleeping bag may have travelled thousands of kilometres and yet may never leave. And so the backpacker and his Thai hosts have created an entirely self sustaining microeconomy all of its own. No sell out here, greedheads. So please, when next in Bangkok, remember to replenish your water bottle at the Buy Everything well, for it will be returned to you in time.<br /><br />Moving crosstown somewhat, Natty brought with him from Mongolia a particularly robust cough which required the services of the medical sector, and so we discovered how Bangkok has become a world centre of medical prowess, attracting the infirm and injured from all corners of the globe.<br />Based on a pointer from a colleague, we headed to the Bumrumgrad medical centre, a gleaming mothership of chrome and green glass built to make you well again. The triage begins in the road leading up to the complex, where uniformed guards peer in the car and point you to the ER, out patient, inpatient, or shopping plaza, and clear traffic for you as befits your condition. When you pull up to the front doors of the place, uniformed bellboys bustle around your car gathering your stuff for you. Next, green suited concierge ladies glide up and politely enquire as to the nature of the ailment, before gently taking your arm and gracefully escorting you to the appropriate bank of elevators. Note the splendid marble atrium and food court on the mezzanine as you go. If English is not your preferred jive, spot a uniformed lady with your national flag on her lapel, and she will translate from Japanese, Urdu, Tagalog or whatever other specials of the day there may be.<br /><br />Arriving at Kids World (also known as the pediatric outpatient ward), get registered, have a complimentary juice or mineral water, get your new medical credit card thingy, and see one of the bank of doctors on shift. When we were there, the clinic was only half staffed, so there were a mere eight general peds MDs on duty (not counting specialists). If for some bizarre reason you have to wait, then pass the time in the indoor playground, or watching cartoons, or drawing pictures at the crayon table. Racks of the day's newspapers in various languages are on hand for adults. Upon seeing the doctor, who already has your particulars in front of him, get examined, diagnosed, prescribed, get meds, get paid up and get out of there. It took us a whopping fifteen minutes to complete the above, thirty if you count from when we entered the building. We repeated the procedure a few days later, when an x-ray and nebulizer hits were required, and it was equally smooth, the x-ray emailed upstairs in the time it took for us to take the elevator from radiology to Kids World.<br /><br />Efficacy and medical glitz is all good, but the real draw of medical Bangkok is the cost. For all of the above, consults, x-rays and prescriptions, we paid a total of 160 USD. People from all bits of the world, rich and poor, having expended the available medical options in their neighbourhood, make their way to Thailand. The waiting rooms of the complex were a mushmouth of languages- kids get along with whatever they speak, and adults with not a word in common traded WetOnes, soft toys and held each others kids in an effort to keep everyone happy. So please, when next in Bangkok, remember to have your nose done on the cheap at Bumrumgrad. Today's nose at yesterday's prices. What a wonderful world, folks.<br /><br />Or rather, it both is and isn't. Our final Thai musings derive not from Bangkok, but from Pattaya, two hours drive southeast on the road to Cambodia. We selected it for our weekend excursion on the basis of its proximity to Bangkok, and the need to see the sea before returning to the steppe. Our expectations of a sleepy seaside town of thatched beach huts, hammocks, and slow boats in gentle clear seas were as fictional as the beach in The Beach. Had we known where we were going, we would probably not have gone. But that, of course, would have been the way of the wuss. And wuss we do not.<br /><br />Pattaya is a heaving city of two million, most notable for being the epicentre of the seedy, nasty tourism which has long been a mainstay of Thailand’s tourist industry. Given the number of other possible candidates for sleaziest place in Thailand, being the winner is the doobiest of dubious awards.<br /><br />The town has hundreds of girlie bars, staffed by thousands of bar girls. These establishments are simply ranks of u-shaped bars, lit with the requisite red neon, behind which stand at least one barmaid per barstool, to attend to the client as they enjoy one or more beverages. As language is often (the only thing) not shared between x & y in these transactions, many bars keep a stack of board games on hand, so that the culture gap between can quickly be bridged by a bracing round of Snakes and Ladders. The most popular game by far was Connect Four, by the way. To these bars add dozens more gay/straight/other go-go bars advertising in at least half a dozen languages, market stalls selling key rings and t-shirts with 'amusing' smutty slogans, beersweat and too loud music, and many, many pairings of young Thai women and old, older, oldest white men, and you have a fun filled holiday destination for all the family. As was pointed out to us in Bangkok by a fellow in the know, the advent of Viagra has meant that the age gap between the gent and the lady has broadened considerably. May-December romances are now able to see in the New Year, as it were.<br /><br />In fact, Pattaya has such allure to some of the world's male population that there is now a significant permanent expatriate population of 200,000 or more, with many more on a quasi-permanent basis. Sun, sand, female companionship, beerhall bonhomie, all in a Benny Hill atmosphere and affordable on a pension to boot: what more could one want? What is most impressive about this enclave is that far from letting their brains turn to mush in this dissolute atmosphere, these émigrés are highly organized. In addition to the requisite club activities, amateur dramatic societies, Rotary and the like, the expats of Pattaya have their own television station, the Pattaya's People's Channel (PPC).<br /><br />PPC exists to remind the resident farangs of the city that in moving to Pattaya they have made the wisest choice they have ever, ever made. From here on out, it's paradise. The super smiling mzungu presenter and all of his smiling guests share the same evangelical certainty (and blinding teeth- cheap whitening is just one of the many benefits available in Pattaya), and feel the need to convert you, the viewer, to their way of thinking. One interview I saw went a bit like this- two blokes in Hawaiian shirts and cheap linen are smiling at each other on a beach:<br /><br /><strong>Presenter:</strong> So how long's it been since you moved here?<br /><strong>Happy Pattaya Farang Resident:</strong> Oh, about three years now.<br /><strong>P:</strong> And have you EVER been happier?<br /><strong>HPFR:</strong> I can honestly say that my life has never been better, and I've never been happier.<br /><strong>P:</strong> That's great to hear, that's great to hear. And what were you doing before you came to Pattaya?<br /><strong>HPFR:</strong> Brrrr! I don't like to remember it! I was working in [insert profession] in [insert dreary place] when all of a sudden I decided I'd take early retirement and come out there and I here I am and I've never been happier.<br /><strong>P:</strong> And will you EVER work again?<br /><strong>P and HPFR together </strong>(for this is the funniest joke in the world): Hahahahaha!<br /><strong>HPFR:</strong> No fear of that!<br /><strong>P:</strong> And you've never been happier?<br /><strong>HPFR:</strong> You can say that again! I've never been happier.<br /><strong>P:</strong> Really? We get that a lot here at PPC. That's great. You enjoy yourself now.<br /><strong>HPFR:</strong> Thanks for that, I will, I will. Many thanks.<br /><br />Not working ever again is a key component to the Pattaya lifestyle. Following on from the illuminating interview, the next bit of programming was a highlight reel from a recent workshop on the topic of How to Make Money Without Working. Expats in sunwear sat around a hotel conference room and watched a powerpoint presentation on how to make a buck by doing bailiff work, verifying insurance fraud, cockfighting, stunt diving, and many other foolproof schemes, none of which require you to wear a tie or work a nine to five. Unfortunately, I was unable to pick up some of finer points of this process, as the highlights were overdubbed with some happy upbeat music, to remind you how easy and simple it all is- all you need to do is walk away from the rat race and into the arms of Pattaya. What could be simpler?<br /><br />On that inspirational point, we will bring the Thai chapter to a close. A big wai to you all, and here's hoping that if you end up in Pattaya, you know why you're there.<br /><br />Taa gaawn,<br /><br />Jannie</span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132738639605880072005-11-23T17:31:00.000+08:002005-11-23T18:41:35.656+08:00Laos- Slowly, slowly, catchee monkey.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4749.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4749.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">In the wine trade, the personality of a vineyard and the vintages it produces are gauged, inter alia, by soil quality, weather conditions, the grape variety, cultivation and harvest methods, and a final something called terroir. Terrior being the quasi-mystical blend of history, culture, tradition and prestige which allows for a grape grown in the Loire Valley to be inherently more complex than one grown in similar conditions in Mudgee Gulch.<br /><br />While this may or may not be the case when it comes to wine, the idea of there being an organic, non transferable identity to place is intriguing, and one which fits Lao People's Democratic Republic. Vientiane has terroir, no doubt about it. In a world of Yellowtail Chardonnay, Laos is a Sancerre Sauvignon Blanc.<br /><br />Laos (or Lao PDR, either way) is sandwiched between Thailand and Vietnam, with China to the north and Cambodia to the south. It's got about six million people, which makes it demographically tiny compared to anywhere except Mongolia, really. It is otherwise tremendously diverse, with 35 different ethnicities spread over its jungly mountains. Laos has 300 varieties of rice, more than any other country except China, yet less than four percent of its land is classified as arable. Economically, Laos languishes way behind Vietnam and Thailand, and seems likely to continue to do so.<br /><br />The capital Vientiane is a dozy place- hot, humid, and just about to nod off. It has anywhere between 200,000 and 500,000 people, of which no more than about 20 percent seem to be awake at any given time. The head-cleaving heat that bakes the surrounding jungle reigns from 0930 to 1600 makes hats absolutely mandatory, and empties the streets for much of the day of all but the most insomniac residents. Laotian lethargy is legendary- one axiom has it that the Thai grow rice, the Cambodians watch rice grow, and Laotians listen to rice grow. While this makes Laos a somewhat frustrating place to work in for the driven professional, it suits the more relaxed visitor just fine. After the hustle and bustle of metropolitan Ulaan Baatar, it's good to unwind in Vientiane.<br /><br />Once the sun moves nearer to the horizon, Vientiane is a lovely place to amble around. Most buildings are no higher than three stories high, and have verandahs on all floors, to cool off the inside of the house when the heat builds up. Laos has significant hardwoods in its jungles, and houses are built of dark, heavy woods carved with flourishes on the eaves, doorways, and grilles. The roads vary between pockmarked tarmac and packed earth. Like other southeast Asian cities, houses are generally open to the street, and market stalls are set up along the streets, selling fruit and veg, coffee and tasty soups and tilapia for lunch. Tuk tuks and mopeds are the dominant mode of transport, which makes for a rush hour that sounds like a dozen sewing machines. People smile, say hello, and walk along gently.<br /><br />The remnants of Indochine are still in evidence as well. In between the Buddhist temples and government buildings, there are remarkable number of wine shops, one of which has a carved barrel three metres high and two across built about its shopfront. Bistros and restaurants serving French fare abound. Patisseries that bake excellent brioche, croissant and pain au chocolat are on every block. Locals will recommend some establishments for breakfast, some for midmorning, and some are suitable only for lunch, m'sieu. Cafes serving Laotian coffee are in similar abundance- the coffee is, unsurprisingly, marvelous- traditionally served thick and black with condensed milk stirred through it. Laos also remains determinedly francophone, the last remaining holdout in southeast Asia. Street signs are written in Laotian script and French, and people brighten considerably if you parlez-vous. By ten p.m, the streets are just about empty, as everyone has retired to bed after another exhausting day.<br /><br />All in all, a charming, gentle anachronism of a land stuck between the thrusting economic powerplayers of south east Asia, and a place more friendly than a roomful of handshakes. In a world where the Starbucks on Khao San Road serves the same thing as the Starbucks in Beijing airport or the one in the Borders in Times Square, Kuala Lumpur, Vientiane's cafes continue to serve their own homegrown. And for that alone, we urge you to set sail for the land of the languid.<br /><br />Ever southwards,<br /><br />Jannie</span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132738160742172002005-11-23T17:14:00.000+08:002005-11-23T21:37:20.146+08:00Malaysia- Malls, Monorails and Money<div align="justify"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4756.0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4756.0.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">As Lyle Lanley told the citizens of Springfield, "You know a town with money is a little like the mule with a spinning wheel. No-one knows how he got it and danged if he knows how to use it!"<br /><br />Lanley's sold monorails to the towns of Ogdenville and North Haverbrook, which really put them on the map. What he neglected to say that he'd also sold a monorail to Muddy Confluence, Malaysia. So as soon as we saw a monorail in Muddy Confluence, we knew we were in for comedy fun. We were wrong, but Lanley was right.<br /><br />Muddy Confluence sure has money- they've got oil, electronics, Formula One Racing, and Michael Bolton playing at the Genting Highlands resort in November. MC also shares with Springfield a real desire to get noticed by the world- they've got the world's second tallest building (stupid Taiwan), the world's fifth highest communications tower (stupid China, Canada, Russia and Iran), the world's longest apple strudel (80metres), and the world's largest replica camel collection (200). Reports that they will challenge Springfield for the largest pile of burning tyres remain unconfirmed.<br /><br />But it's not all records and monorails in Kuala Lumpur, which is the Malay name of Muddy Confluence. For all its money, Kuala Lumpur has about as much idea what to do with it as that mule mentioned above. Put another way, Malaysia knows EXACTLY what to do with all that money, and that’s spending it on huge construction projects which will shine brighter and better than any before. Add that to the fact that the Malaysian national pastime is shopping, and you have a recipe for more malls than the eye can see. Malaysia claims to have the world's largest mall, and this is all too plausible. The Times Square complex has eleven stories, including an indoor amusement park and an IMAX theatre. Suria KLCC is embedded into the feet of the Petronas Towers, and has six stories of shopping and an aquarium. There are many more.<br /><br />Not unlike Beijing, Kuala Lumpur is strongly focused on making and spending of cashmoney. Unlike Beijing, the process of turning the place into one big shopping centre is so far completed that it is wholly possible to lose all sense of where you are- you are standing outside the Debenham's and might have a snack at Baskin Robbins or Famous Amos on your way to Marks & Spencer. Welcome to AnyMall, Planet Earth. Buy buy buy. The whole consumerist experience has been hermetically designed that no unpleasant indigenous variations seep in; in some cases quite literally, as malls have no windows to the outside world and are air conditioned to sub-arctic temperatures. Walk by a mall entrance at ten yards, and a blast of cold air hits you sideways, as Malaysia attempts to cool down the tropics from the inside out.<br /><br />This nonstop shopping might has some explanation if prices were anything to shout about, if bargains might be had. But no, the similarity between western malls does not end with the choice of shopping outlets; the prices are comparable as well. Despite this, and despite the presence of cheaper prices in Bangkok and rock bottom prices in Beijing, Kuala Lumpur overflows with Aussies, Kiwis and Brits on shopping holidays, whatever circle of hell that may be. You can buy city maps which chart the smoothest passage from one mall to the next, without having to tread in any culture by mistake. Some of the monorail stops disgorge passengers directly into malls, without having to touch the street.<br />The tourists are far outnumbered by locals in the throng. Sporting the slickest phones, bluetooth headgear, watches, flashdrive accessories and sunglasses, the aspirational model of today's Malaysian youth seems entirely western, derived from mass media arbiters of cool, and forms a homogenous uniform appearance, in lockstep with their US and UK contemporaries. They behave just as badly, and sad to say, are just as fat. Kids today, viewers. I tell you.<br /><br />None of this is to begrudge Malaysia any of the success it apparently enjoys. But surely there is a more useful way to spend all of this money in a way which does not simply add more malls to the world? Everyone has the right to shop in the same places, I suppose. Is shopping a human right? Discuss. On the other hand, making the whole thing so indistinguishable from its western counterparts that walking into such places is an empty, eviscerating experience isn't a good thing either. Presumably, there will one day a reckoning, as people realize that there's more to life than Sunglass Hut and Accessorize, and new money will no longer be poured into building more and more caves of shopping. Until that day, we have the KL experience.<br /><br />Kuala Lumpur's residents are serious about making it in today's capitalist world, and are prepared to work very hard to do so. The business pages of the Straits Times takes up at least half the daily paper. The front displays of any bookstore are filled with management handbooks with titles like How to Make Your First Million, and Secrets of Microsoft: The Bill Gates Approach to Management. The payoff to all this is that Malaysia has tremendous human capital, and is a major Asian economic contender.<br /><br />One suspects that this highly organized business approach is congruent to that of Singapore, Malaysia's neighbour to the south, and member of the federation of Malaysia until 1965. Like Singapore, Kuala Lumpur is very clean and very well organized, and its citizens generally are well behaved and law abiding. Ambition is obviously much valued by the Malaysians, both in terms of the individual pursuit of success, and in demonstrating to the world just how much Malaysia can accomplish if it sets its mind to it. Petronas Towers is perhaps the most obvious example, and features as the icon of the country on the currency, in advertising, and as the logo for the ASEAN conference scheduled for December 05. Globally speaking, Malaysia is fully expecting to join the 'G-9' in 2020. The government is nearing completion of a private city from which to conduct its business, the ten billion dollar Xanadu called Putrajaya, which comes replete with ministries, offices and residences for the Prime Minister and the King, a vast pink mosque and a stocked artificial lake for the PM and the Cabinet to commute up and down in special boats. Oh, and an air conditioned shopping plaza, naturally. Putrajaya is adjacent to the high tech exclusive suburb of Cyberjaya, which has wifi internet access from every toilet and breakfast hutch.<br /><br />So far, so sterile. Rabid shopping, white elephant architecture, too much air conditioning, and high prices. Add to that the sin taxes the government exacts on beer (four bucks for a bottle of Tiger), and Malaysia is shaping up to be the fishbone in the trachea of south east Asia.<br /><br />And yet.<br /><br />Scratch the surface even a little bit, and Malaysia is a fascinating country. This is perhaps what is so frustrating about the whole way that Kuala Lumpur has been developed, is that it does the complexity of Malaysian society such a disservice. First off, Malaysia is an ethnic and cultural hybrid comprised of its own indigenous elements with strong inputs from China and the Indian subcontinent. Fifty odd percent of the population is Malay, twenty five percent Chinese, and the remainder are of various south Asian origins, plus others from Malaysian Borneo and farther afield. While avowedly a Muslim state, Malaysia nonetheless has significant Hindu and Buddhist populations, as well as Christians and animists, and maintains a climate of considerable freedom of worship.<br /><br />Over the centuries, Malaysia has developed a cultural absorptive capacity that allows it to incorporate significant populations from China and India without having its own identity overwhelmed. Granted, this has not always been a flawless process, but it has unfolded comparatively bloodlessly, and diversity is strongly valued by Malaysians. Our visit coincided with Aidalfitri and Deepavalii, and the town overflowed with public celebrations of all kinds to celebrate the culmination of the Muslim and Hindu holy days. Over the decades since independence, there have been consistent dark mutterings that the Malaysian socio-cultural equation is too delicately balanced, and could collapse into chaos at any point as a result of independence, communism, Indonesian influence, Malay-Chinese desire for dominance, extremist Islam, and so on. Nevertheless, Malaysia has held firm, and shows no signs of splintering into its base components, if indeed anyone could reverse the process.<br /><br />This ethnic diversity is so interwoven that it is impossible to determine at a glance whether someone is Malaysian or not based on physical appearance. Like riding a train in New York or London, riding the monorail in Kuala Lumpur it is impossible to determine who is local and who is visiting. Waiting for the ferry in Port Klang, two chaps who looked Tamil sat down with another two guys who could have stepped off the streets of Beijing and their pal who could have been (maybe was) Filipino. The five of them have a coffee and smoke (everyone smokes in Malaysia), jabbered away in one language, answered their mobiles in English, switched to another language, back to the first language, and all carried on. On Pelau Ketam island, the same variety of appearance continued, but all the signage was written in Chinese, although everyone spoke English. Muslim teenage schoolgirls wear tight jeans and tiny tops, but with a tundung headscarf over their heads. I saw one such outfit in which the tundung was pinned at the shoulder with a smiley face button. Business as Malaysian usual.<br /><br />This plurality of influence and heritage is also deliciously evident that in the available eating options in KL. Indian buffet restaurants specializing in tandoor stand right next to (or share tables with) stalls specializing in Penang prawn fried noodles, which in turn are next a place doing grilled chicken fish with ginger and soy sauce. Single meals consist of great dishes from all over the place, and ingredients are borrowed and then lent back across the various cuisines. Even against the greatness of Thai or Beijing foodie options, Malaysia has such extraordinary variety of choice that eating well is well and truly one of the prime attractions of Kuala Lumpur.<br /><br />Malaysia is not, per se, a global Great Culture, in the way that China or the United States exude influence across the world. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing. Malaysia seems rather to be able to take up what is on offer from other cultures, and fold it into its own mix. While the wholesale inhalation of consumer culture leads to the homogeneity of the malls, it also allows for the people who shop in them to be part of a dynamic and vibrant multiculture. That's why it's such a disappointment to see the youth getting cloned to look like every other teen on the planet. Kids today, viewers.<br /><br />All is not forever rosy in the land, and there is a darker side to the Malaysian profile. The ruthless drive to succeed takes place within an autocratic state that regularly represses 'unfavourable' elements, especially southern Islamic political parties, a catspaw media, and is dependent on exploited migrant labour. A rigid social hierarchy, enshrined in the constitution, ensures that everyone knows their place. Within the Indian population, inherited caste systems from the subcontinent delineate just who's who and why they'll stay that way. Populations in Borneo are significantly less attended to that those on the Peninsula. In addition to the cast off migrant labourers adrift in Malaysia, refugees from Thailand, Burma and the Philippines waft in and out with regularity.<br /><br />For all the carefully planted parks and manicured architecture, real life is far more interesting in Malaysia than it lets on. Far removed from the gleaming marble of the mall floors, there's a whole country out there waiting to be tasted, walked in and discussed. So next time you're there, please remember to ride the monorail to the end of the line, and start walking from there.<br /><br />On which impractical advice we shall close. If you've read this far, you probably deserve a southeast Asian holiday all of your own.<br /><br />No further travel is slated anytime soon, so relax in the knowledge that the next dispatch will be back on the freezing solid ground of Mongolia.<br /><br />Selamat jalan,<br /><br />Jannie</span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1132104989016091932005-11-16T09:22:00.000+08:002005-11-16T09:51:12.286+08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4872.0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4872.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Frost forms on our bedroom window this morning.</span>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1128672192699720202005-10-07T15:57:00.000+08:002005-10-07T16:03:12.700+08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/Untitled-1%20copy1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/Untitled-1%20copy1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The glorious sportsmen and women of the revolution vs. the marketing might of Manchester United. Worker's stadium, Beijing.Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1128671842025927902005-10-07T15:54:00.000+08:002005-10-07T15:57:22.036+08:00Beijing Babylon<div align="justify"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Mihaa! (Greetings, viewers, but not in Mongolian.)<br /><br />I've been struggling with this piece for sometime now, and have eventually had to release it into the wild without having given it a full physical. Even so, despite wrestling with the subject matter, I have not been either shooting arrows at it or horse racing it, for this is not a Mongolian issue. This piece concerns China. China, on the other hand, is probably deeply unconcerned by this piece. Quid no quo. Grab your wontons and green tea and settle in.<br /><br />China is, as we know, intrinsically vast. Any discussions of China presupposes this massive girth- geographic, demographic, economic, cultural, historical, take your pick; it's a behemoth. There's no such thing as a little China.<br /><br />Playing the numbers with China is a mug's game, because the figures involved are akin to those used to calculate distances in space, but it may be instructive to mention a few here. 1.3 billion people (that's 20 percent of everybody), spread over 9.6 million square kilometres. Shared borders with 14 other countries. A total of 1.8 million kilometres of roads, with five million private cars purchased a year. Annual growth rates in double figures, despite unemployment rates of 20 percent. The second largest economy in the world, ranked 85th on the Human Development Index. Three hundred million people without adequate sanitation. Whatever point it is one is trying to prove, the numbers for China will make the point for you dramatically.<br /><br />But what, then, is the point? How to encapsulate all that bigness into one easily digestible intellectual biscuit? Bearing in mind the fallacy of the visitor in any circumstance is to try to extrapolate a grand theory based on a set of thin conclusions, conclusions which are in turn a result of a narrow set of experiences comprised of a fistful of rapid observations. So we're still no closer.<br /><br />This extemporizing is problematic when considering Lichtenstein or Tonga, but applying this approach to China is unwise indeed. The plurality of the Chinese whole defies comfy theorizing- any operant assumptions are easily contradicted just around the next corner. Much of what one hears or assumes about China is wrong, or at best readily deniable. This isn't particularly unique- the same applies to much of what is written and said about America. Nonetheless, that doesn't stop anyone from coming up with pat assumptions and one sentence summaries.<br /><br />All of which is to say, much of what follows is wrong.<br /><br />Through the centuries, China has kept going, come what may. At massive cost and with sometimes retrograde motion, but it is as it has been for thousands of years: immensely powerful. China in this regard contravenes the standard narrative applied to dominion- implicitly, the notion of empire presupposes decline and fall. Rome, the Mongols, The Ottomans, the British, the Soviets-their empires have come and gone, while geopolitically speaking, the Chinese are still in the hunt, and could still ascend further. This is perhaps due to the fact that China's mass is contiguous, and consequently easier to control than a far flung series of satelites might be. This is painting in broad strokes to be sure, but the fact is that the future of a strong China is still playing out, and does not represent a closed historical chapter in the same way that say, the British Empire does. China has declined and fallen flat any number of times- a fair few times in the 20th Century alone- but with every seeming collapse China reinvents itself and carries on, apparently gaining momentum as it does so. Formidable ironies pile up quickly, as yesterday's anathema is today's ordre du jour, but perhaps it is this mutability which keeps China's sails so full of wind. <br /><br />The result of this ideological pig pile is juxtaposition of everything one might care to ascribe to the concept of China, writ on a massive scale.<br /><br />As one approaches the sleepy little hamlet of Beijing (pop.15 million), capital of the communist People's Republic of China, it is the forces of capitalism that first emerge from the gloom. Clusters of skyscrapers stand on either side of the road, each crowned with a single giant corporate logo- Nokia, Microsoft,Luftansa- concrete and steel fingers stretched out for coin. The buildings themselves are functional blocks with occasional accents or color, but for the most part simply appear to be unadorned money making factories. This is repeated throughout the city, as one realizes that China is El Dorado- the biggest market and the cheapest labour going. <br /><br />If you're in the business of making a buck, you simply cannot afford to ignore China and risk losing out. Incredibly posh shops and corporate frontage are purchased at lavish expense to peddle Louis Vuitton and Audemars Piguet at prices that no one can afford, ignoring the inconvenient fact that knockoffs are available just across town for rock bottom prices. A Rolls Royce dealership sits between Burberry and Prada on Beijing's main drag, Chang'an Avenue, fifteen minutes walk from Mao's Mausoleum. The most powerful communist state on the planet is one of the most nakedly venal places on earth. China is for sale, and everything's negotiable.<br /><br />Insatiable moneymaking has driven property prices sky high, with old buildings being destroyed in order for something more profitable to be constructed. There's a clock on all this: the Olympics in 2008, for which Beijing must be shiny to the point of blinding. China World Trade Centre is looking to throw up a 80 story wonder, in addition to its two existing 40 story towers. Dozens of cranes work single construction sites, round the clock, seven days a week. We walked along streets on which huge billboards in red and white advertised thrilling new residential opportunities coming soon suitable for executives and foreigners. In the breaks between the billboards, bulldozed shanties lay in piles, with folk squatting in locations destined for higher things. Sanlitun Bar Street, a bohemian strip of pavement bars and nightclubs is scheduled for complete razing, renovation and restoration as a high end entertainment mall by 2007. The western side of the street already is rubbled, with one establishment which has somehow held out left adrift in a unlit field of broken stones, with a sign announcing "We Still Here." How long that will hold true is anyone's guess. Probably not much longer, for the future is coming. No one, it seems, is ineligible for destruction.<br /><br />The pressures on land and sky coupled with the inflow of much much money means that the high end residential market is also booming. Congestion, traffic and and air quality are such that gated communities geared to the international market have been thrown up around the edges of the city, with names like EuroVilla and Paradiso. These complexes come complete with private security, driving ranges, schools, pools, restaurants, and off street parking, at a price which allows one to spend in the style to which one has become accustomed. The alternative of living deep in the city, with the attendant lack of green space, lack of non-Chinese speakers, noise and traffic can be a something of a challenge, especially for the child rearing. Air quality especially leaves something to be desired- for 2005, Beijing City Council is aiming for 230 clear days, up from 228 in 2004. Put another way, that means that 135 days are not clear. Four and a half months of the year, it's a smoggy smog world. How the discus throwers are going to cope with this during peak choking season in 2008 remains to be seen.<br /><br />All through the city, the sound of currency being counted quickly permeates. Advertising is everywhere- flat screens were mounted opposite the elevator doors on every floor of our hotel to give a you a hit in those critical seconds before the doors slide closed. Soon, all Beijing taxis will have unturnoffable screens installed into the seatbacks to bombard you with product information as you drive around.<br /><br />Beneath the corps doing billon dollar deals, at street level dozens of markets sell everything, and the bargain hunt is a key element of many tourist's trips to Beijing. We saw platoons of Americans (recognizable because Americans on vacation wear tshirts emblazoned with the name of the last place they went on vacation) lugging bootleg Samsonites into the Pearl Market to fill up with cheap product to take home. After the polite, prix fixe dealings of Ulaanbaatar, the aggro and fluidity of Beijing's markets can be a bit startling. The general rule of thumb seems to be pay no more than 25 percent of the asking price, no matter what. This will involve shouting, some of it angry, so be ready. Inevitably, the first few transactions will doubtless lead to some dubious purchases of uncertain value, but soon enough one is buying Levis in bundles of six. It also helps to keep the exchange rate in mind. Two of our party, jetlagged and unfamiliar, ended up buying some dried fruit and two bananas for forty bucks. Ooops.<br /><br />Once into the swing of things, one common bargaining manoeuvre is called Happy Price, whereby the seller and buyer agree to meet halfway- all good until you realize that you are dealing with people who are hands down smarter than you, and have a much better idea of the worth of the materials in question. Going to buy a pair of shoes/string of pearls/set of clubs becomes an exercise in vaguely Buddhist market indexing: the true value of anything in unknown, so how much is one willing to pay for anything? Independently of what one is willing to pay, how much can one get it for? Is it worth either of those prices? Only the abacus knows the answer.<br /><br />All this haggling and money making going on can make one's head spin- and yet, besides this everything must go attitude, there is a humourless inflexible adherence to the rules. For obvious reasons, taking photos inside the markets is forbidden- the same vendor who would sell you the shirt off her back will under no circumstance let the shutter click. You need a visa to set foot in the airport, even if only in transit. Taxis will not stop for fares anywhere except in designated spots off the main roads. Hotel reservations not in pristine order are treated with deep suspicion. At bustops and the airport, queues happen, and seem to keep a degree of shape. In fact, given the sheer volume of humanity in play, it's impressive how relatively well the infrastructure functions. Granted, there are problems with particular elements here and there (traffic flow and roads spring to mind), but overall it keeps ticking over.<br /><br />Once all bargains have been safely negotiated, it's time to go and poke at the lasting achievements of China's history. Of the various stops on the circuit, there are two highlights of truly sublime dimensions. Specifically, the Forbidden City and the Great Wall are extraordinary places to visit, and worthy of all the hyperbole pointed in their direction. Anywhere which maintains an emotional punch in spite of the domestic and foreign hordes milling everywhere, bloated tourist tat shops, and wilting humidity is worthy of visiting, and no more so than those two. On a more miniature level, the caliber of workmanship on even the cheapest of items is very high indeed- lacquerwork, painting, and ceramics are all exceptionally wonderful. Of course, there's a vast cornucopia to choose from, so individual mileage may vary, but something for everyone can be found. And then there's the food.<br /><br />Unless one is a particular kind of freak (hi Bob and Ali!), reading about other people's meals is rather like hearing about other people's minor ailments: it's hard to keep from scratching oneself to stay awake. The food in Beijing deserves better than that, so we'll keep it brief. In a word, transplendentdelicioustastyyumyum. And that was just the cracker we found on the floor at the airport. The highlights of the meals inhaled are plural, but a shout out is in order for the romaine with sesame dipping sauce, barbecued trout at the Great Wall, green onion dumplings, prawns cooked on hot stones, multiple wonderfuls with aubergines and garlic, and the mystifying ability to take fish as marginal as carp and turn it into a centrepiece dish. Once one gets used to the fact that food seems to arrive in arbitrary order, and you remember not to touch, move or otherwise disturb the meal chit filled in by your barrage of servers that rests at the end of the table, everything will arrive in a regular rotation of tasties. And if, after all, you thought the vegetables could have been more exciting, or the squid was less than you hoped for, then solace awaits when you get the bill. Even with a revalued yuan, China is kind to the holder of hard currency. Smack your lips, burp up the vapours, reach for a toothpick, and ask to see the menu again.<br /><br />And on that rich, aromatic and tasty note, we will draw an beaded curtain with a pitcure of a dragon on it over these proceedings. As a digestif, I would offer the following.<br /><br />Traveling around Beijing with a blond haired blue eyed baby is an extraordinary thing to do. More times than could be counted, we were stopped by random strangers, asking to take Natty's picture, either by himself, or with them arrayed around him. 'Asking' is perhaps the kind way of putting it. Dozens of people picked him up or carried him out of sheer 'i want to hold a baby' joy. One night at a Thai restaurant called Banana Leaf, he woke from his sleep and when roused, started dancing to the music from the band. Tables cleared of patrons who came piling round to watch the scamp do his thing. A bank of camera phones was popping like Cannes- I counted seven at one point. We have a photo taken inside the Forbidden City, in a gallery filled with jade and vases of inestimable value- every single person in the place is looking at the boy standing around doing nothing much. The combined beauty of the imperial heritage have nothing on a toddling boy. There was no let up for this the whole week. It was all good natured, but unrelenting. If it ever got too much, the only recourse was to return to the hotel, and even there- one morning at breakfast he was pinched off his chair to play by the lady in the carpet shop before he'd had a bite. <br /><br />I mention all of this not to big up my son, but because it was a manic, nonstop of the visit. Given how many people there are in Beijing, there are surprisingly few babies. Granted this may be different in more residential areas, but compared to the streets of Ulaanbaatar, the difference is obvious. The one baby policy is still in effect, even if it is less rigidly enforced, and there is nowhere for China to sluice off the unrequited maternal/paternal instincts. Perhaps this is an inadequate explanation, but even compared to kiddie friendly places like Mongolia or Italy, the degree and urgency of attention Natty got was striking at the time, and slightly melancholy thereafter. What will all those people who took jpegs of a random foreign baby do with them? Save them? Add them to their holiday album? Why take a photo of such a thing in the first place? All of the possible answers are depressing.<br /><br />To be continued at a later date, viewers. This will not be our last visit to China, and I look forward to contradicting myself imminently. <br /><br />Bai bai,<br /><br />Jannie </span></div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1126850841795919242005-09-16T14:53:00.000+09:002005-09-16T15:07:21.803+09:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/1600/CIMG4445.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2835/1014/320/CIMG4445.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">Undri Mindh (Good afternoon, viewers),</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">Posts to this blog are like number 38 buses. You wait ages for one, and then three come at once. In other ways, this blog is not at all like a bus, so do not try to board it, attract the conductor's attention, or stand in front of the yellow line while the vehicle is in motion. Next stop, Zavkhan market. All aboard!<br /><br />One of the bigger unofficial milestones of the year in Ulaanbaatar is the turning on and off of the heating system. The whole city is still centrally heated, and individual houses and apartments do not have thermostats- you are as hot or as cold as the state decides you are. Usually, this means you are walking around in shorts, as the heating engineers seem to err on the side of tropical.<br /><br />The heating comes on the 15th of September, an event preceded by unannounced workmen stomping around the attic (in old Russian buildings, plumbing is in the roof) at 11pm on Sunday night, followed by heavy hammering, rotary saws cutting through metal, and welding. Given the quality of Mongolian construction, this usually leads to plaster falling on your face as you lie in bed, wondering if you're about to be invaded by wrench wielding maniacs. It's like that film Brazil, only in Mongolia.<br /><br />Once the dust settles and banging subsides, the heating comes one, one radiator at a time. And despite all my caviling about the State of Things, on the morning of the 16th, we awoke to heavy snowstorms and zero temperatures. The picture above was taken on the way to work. A neat bit of scheduling. Almost-almost too neat….<br /><br />The heat will remain on until 15th of May, no matter what the weather does between now and then. Whether the blowtorch wielding roof marauding casuals will return between now and then depends very much on the creaky pipes holding it together for another season. Let’s hope together, shall we?<br /><br />Gadaa huiten bain (outside it's cold, viewers)<br /><br />Jannie</span> </div>Janniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12145548.post-1126846440235155312005-09-16T13:54:00.000+09:002005-09-16T13:56:48.140+09:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/123/5157/640/CIMG4215.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #ffffff 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #ffffff 2px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #ffffff 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #ffffff 2px solid" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/123/5157/320/CIMG4215.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Dried and pickled goodies on display, BayankhongorJanniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01326457731239997185noreply@blogger.com0