It's probably for the best that I've had a few weeks off before I wrote about my third trip to the countryside, which can only be described as a fiasco.
First off, before I even headed out to the countryside, I was almost thwarted from finishing and picking up the planters from the agriculture school. Apparently they were holding some sort of secretive and confidential standardized tests in the school building that weekend, and no one was allowed in, not even professors. This kind of bureaucratic rule-enforcement is a typical Mongolian frustration that I'd been lucky to avoid for most of my time here. The security guard at the school was having none of my pleading and begging, and only through a combination of tears, and my very pregnant advisor roaring at him, did he let me in to get my stuff. I had been planning to finish the planters at the school, but instead took them home and finished them up in my apartment. I got back and realized I had left an entire bag of bottles at the school. After delivering some choice swear words to the walls of my apartment, I finagled the rest of the planters so I would have enough to give to all my participants, with a few adjustments. I maybe should have taken this as an omen and postponed my trip, but I figured the most stressful thing that could happen for this trip had happened and I'd gotten over it and it would all be fine. Oh, how wrong I was.
The next morning I met Chingerel at the greenhouse as she tried to find us a driver. Unfortunately, there were few drivers in that part of the city early Sunday morning. She found one guy, who took one look at the crazy foreigner with her planters and nervously mumbled that he "didn't know the way" (there are basically 2 paved roads in Mongolia, a roughly north/south one and east/west one) so that's why he didn't want to come. The next guy she found was driving an official taxi, with a green and white checker pattern, a meter, and everything. "Are you sure we can go to the countryside in that?" we asked skeptically. "Oh yea, no problem."
So off we went, put all the gardens in the trunk and the back seat, and set off on what seemed like was going to turn out to be another great trip. Our driver said he was from Darkhan, the main city up north where we were going, so all the better. The taxi car was roomy and comfortable and got great gas mileage (a plus since I pay for gas). However, as we drove over the paved road, zooming towards Darkhan, things began to unravel. A chunk of the bumper fell off, our driver started squabbling about the pay we'd agreed on, and my normally cheerful, smiling, laughing translator Chingerel was cross and stony-faced.
I couldn't understand everything Chingerel and the driver were saying, but I could tell he was annoying her. As we drove on, he began to annoy me too. At first just little things, like ignoring my instructions, or scoffing at my attempts to chat in Mongolian. However, by the time we arrived in Sukhbaatar, near the Russian border, I was actively reminding myself to take deep breaths and not snap at his childish and grating behavior.
I decided to give us all an early night, hoping the rest would put everyone in a better mood the next day. We found a nice hotel and a nice cheap triple room, as we'd done for our previous trips. But oh no, our driver threw a hissy fit and demanded to be housed in his own private room. Most drivers I've worked with need to be persuaded to stay in the hotel and not to sleep in their car, which is what they normally do on jobs in the countryside. So after a bit of a negotiating, we decided he could pay the difference if he wanted to stay in a single, more expensive room. Off he went to another hotel, to our surprise but also great relief.
The next morning we got up early and headed out to find our families. These were definitely the toughest families to find of my three research sites because most of them had moved and not all of them had cell-phone coverage in their new locations. Luckily though, I had photos of most of these families. By driving around and stopping at gers in the area where I suspected they were and showing the photos, we were able to find them. In the case of one family, we spotted a herder on horseback tending his flocks and drove up to him to ask for directions; it turned out he was a member of one of the families!
The weather was crappy that day; cold, rainy, buggy and boggy. Selenge aimag gets very mosquito-y in the summer. Because of all the rain, many of the families were difficult to get to because the ground was soft and marshy. We slogged through, getting soaked and more grimy at every stop, but at each ger we were greeted warmly and offered a much appreciated hot bowl of salty milk tea and a variety of fried biscuits and fresh milk products. The most delicious of which was, hands down, the fresh, even still warm, sheep/goat milk yogurt with sugar. Fatty, rich, creamy, tangy, and sweet, it doesn't get better than that!
The generosity and friendliness of the families we met gave me and Chingerel a boost, since the weather and dealing with our driver was taking a lot of energy. He spent most of the time whining, arguing about the best way to do things, ignoring me when I told him which way to go and where to stop, insulting Chingerel and my herder family participants, and acting like it was his vacation trip. I deduced that he was a spoiled little punk, and the constant head-butting was wearing my patience thin.
Despite that, we were able to give out almost all of the gardens the first day. We decided to drive back to Darkhan for the night and finish the last two in the morning. Mostly, the driver wanted to see his friends in Darkhan, and I wanted to be rid of his company for the evening.
When we arrived in Darkhan, we found a cheap and clean hotel for Chingerel and myself, while the driver was planning to stay at his parents' home. We said goodnight, and to meet us there tomorrow at 8am. "No" said the driver, "we'll meet at 9". I looked from him to Chingerel and back again. "No, we'll meet at 8, we need to finish everything and get back to UB early." At this point, the driver stomped out of the room without another word. I strode out after him. "Come at 8 or don't come at all." I stared him down as Chingerel translated this. "No, I'm coming at 9, 8 is too early" he sneered at us. Then he said something harsh in Mongolian and Chingerel burst into tears, and I lost it and started shouting at him with words I knew he didn't understand, and Chingerel started shouting the translation of my words at him, something about "bad attitude," "never had this kind of attitude from another driver," "not putting up with it," etc etc. As he continued to shout abuses at Chingerel, I told him that's it, he was fired, I'd pay him for the work he did and he could leave. I went to go get my money and came back outside, and he wouldn't unlock his car to get the planters out until I had paid him his wage and for the gas that was in his car before we started. We finally completed the hostage handover, and as me and Chingerel turned away to go back into the hotel, he spat at us. Not the way I wanted to end things of course, but it was a huge relief to be rid of him.
The next morning we found a friendly local guy to drive us to our last 2 families. The weather was sunny and warm, and we seemed to be ending our trip on a good note. But just as we were leaving our last family, a freak hail storm came out of nowhere and pelted us on our way back to the city. It seems that overall, my third trip to the countryside to distribute planters was rather ill-fated.
Here's hoping that my next trip will be a lot smoother!
Check out some of my photos from the trip :)
The taxi car, plus a puppy chewing on a bucket.
Gardens on the ger!
This family was so lovely! They were so enthusiastic about the plants that I gave them all the extra seedlings. We'll see what they do with them!
Showing a bunch of women from one of the families how to transplant seedlings and plant seeds in the planters.
Happy plants! Hopefully they'll be this happy when I go back in July.
A family with their plants.
I think Matt will be teaching British - not English, but as a lifetime member of the John Cleese fan club I could hardly disagree.
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