Goodbyes

I said goodbye today. It was harder than I thought it would be, and I didn’t think it was going to be easy. But first, I want to write about my last full day.

I got up and had a good breakfast, the main meal I will miss. Three pieces of good dense white bread spread with urum (like fresh butter) and sugar. I had my cup of coffee and an extra cup of milk tea. I did my laundry—on days they make vodka there is lots of hot water left over so people wash their hair and do laundry. Grandmother had made vodka, so I got my washing done.

The day was warm and sunny, a return of the weather we had in July after several really cool days. I wanted to go for a long walk on my last day. Say goodbye to the land here that has hosted me and that I feel so connected to. I longed to head up the valley to the mountains where we went strawberry picking. I had some trepidation about this, as there are many gers along the way with guard dogs. I knew the people back up in that valley were less exposed to foreigners, and may be more alarmed by the sight of a lone white woman walking along for no apparent reason (the people here really don’t take walks for enjoyment, and don’t usually walk alone). I decided to brave it. I had a good heavy walking stick, and knew how to pick up heavy stones to throw if a mean dog came to me. I focused on putting out relaxed, calm energy. I walked for almost 2 hours over rolling foothills, with the sparse forested mountains just beyond. Wild flowers danced in the grasses and peaked out of the rocky outcroppings. Artesian springs reflected the clear blue sky. A fresh breeze cooled me. I passed many ger camps, and was careful to walk on the opposite side of the road, and say, “San banuu” to the people who came out to watch me pass. Usually the greeting was returned. A little boy on a bicycle followed along with me for a time, curious. The dogs I encountered didn’t see me at a threat.

Once I felt half done with my walk, I headed back the same way. I wanted to try my wits at language and cultural competence and go into one of the gers. I prayed for guidance to know which one would be best. When I was more than half way back, one camp caught my eye. It had a small log cabin and two gers. Children played outside, and one little boy saw me and got really excited, jumping up and down and yelling. Seemed an invitation. I walked up and could see the elders in the cabin. I said “San banuu” and they returned the greeting and came out. There was an awkward pause, and I said, “Suu-de-tsai bagaa?” (Do you have any milk tea?) This kicked them into hosting mode, They invited me in, and I was able to ask about their animals and ask if they knew Enhee and Tsigmee, let them know I was living there. We each asked questions the other couldn’t understand, then let that question go. The old man said, “I’ve seen you at Tsigmee’s place shoveling the ‘bass.’” (Bass is the other word for dung.) I said, “Yes, that is one of my jobs. Fine work that needs to be done.” He seemed satisfied with that answer. I finished my tea and thanked them, and headed home feeling I had passed the test I set out for myself. I told Enhee and Grandmother I had visited a ger, and where it was. They knew the family, and thought it was funny I had stopped in. It will be a point of conversation between the two families in the future, I’m sure.

On my last evening, I helped with the calves during milking and helped gather them up in the corral just before dark. I wanted to share some vodka to celebrate the good summer. I had a small bottle, and the family was in watching TV. I brought in the bottle, and Enhee laughed and Grandfather’s eyes lit up and he gave the “thumbs up” sign. I sat in the place of honor and poured in the traditional order. It goes first to the eldest male, then the next oldest, then once all the men have been served (in this case, Grandfather and Tsigmee’s brother—Tsigmee wasn’t there), the women are served, oldest to youngest, with the one pouring going last. This process is repeated until the bottle is empty. A single shot glass or nice cup is used, and is topped off between each person. It is rude to down the whole amount, and it is fine to take a tiny sip or a pretend sip when it is your turn. The glass is offered in the right hand, being supported at the elbow with the left, and received the same way. During this little ceremony, Enhee used the dictionary to tell me she was glad I had come, and they wanted me to come again. The grandparents looked at me with real affection (and that was before the vodka kicked in). In the dim flickering light of the TV, I watched all their faces and thought of how far we had come together. Despite the distances of culture and language, we had made a deep connection. It is why I came.

Today, Enhee and Grandmother and Enhee’s girl Bayara tagged along in my taxi as I came for my last overnight in Kharkhorin. I’ll catch the bus to UB in the morning. We parted ways at the market. Grandmother was wishing me a safe journey with real emotion, and Enhee kept holding onto my arm. It was much more of an emotional goodbye than I have seen with any other family or visitors. My heart leapt into my throat and caught there, blocking the well of tears that wanted to flow. My attempt to be nonchalant like they usually are at partings was just enough to keep me from crying. I don’t know what our future connection will look like, as the language barriers and distance are significant. We’ll keep tabs on each other through Chimgee. I told them in 5 years I hoped to come back to Mongolia. Maybe my first book will be published by then…