#(it's like the biggest holiday for Swedish students so we do essentially get that week off)

[boneless-mika]

Apparently season 3 of Abbott Elementary is also airing and they're also taking a break until May. What is going on over there (in the US)?

[memorylang]

My First Mongolian Lunar New Year /Цагаан сар/ | #25 | February 2020

Welcome to my first time experiencing Mongolia’s biggest holiday, the Lunar New Year’s better known as Цагаан сар /Tsagaan Sar/ (TsaGAHN Sar)! We celebrated it uniquely, with COVID-19 Coronavirus precautions escalating. Likewise, I experienced the profound fortune of having spent my final week of the lunar 2019 uncovering a rich history I soon found myself part of. With eating more Mongolian steamed dumplings than you thought possible, downed with our deliciously salty milk tea, welcome to Lunar New Year’s! 

Like Christmas in February

The Saturday before the holiday’s first day, I returned downtown to meet with one of our Peace Corps summer’s local English instructors, whose birthday we celebrated in October. While Lunar New Year crept closer, I served as logistics coordinator for a mentorship-focused summer camp for disadvantaged children. I had meetings to attend. My friend’s been accompanying me to translate with officials. 

After Saturday’s sessions, my friend walked me through the outdoor market, bustling with shoppers. I hadn’t seen it this crowded since August. Now in late February, I got last-minute Christmas shopping vibes. [Fittingly, did you catch this is my 25th story?] My friend explained, most years, it’s far more packed. I tried picturing the occasional empty stalls as completely full. He explained, too, instead of saying usual Mongolian hellos, I can greet people with phrases translating to, “How are you wintering?” and essentially, “Happy New Year.” So seasonal. 

We regrouped, and I treated him to dessert, he treated me to hot tea. Following Lunar New Year’s, we’d be able to continue meeting with officials for funding. We also talked personal projects, with quarantine about. I didn’t know my home tour appeared on the Peace Corps Mongolia Facebook Stories! I felt glad. How magical to have immortalized my set-up for others to see. After our session, I returned home, practicing more languages and wondering how I’d spend the Lunar New Year.  

Our Holiday Within Coronavirus’ Context

Our Peace Corps Mongolia country director returned mid-February to Washington, D.C. for extensive decision making regarding the COVID-19 situation. Mongolia remained case-free, despite bordering China. 

Meanwhile, local and national governments continued moving to limit movement. 

Traditionally, Mongolians celebrate the three-day Tsagaan Sar by visiting family, colleagues and friends. Peace Corps Volunteers typically travel home to their host families to spend the holiday with them. 

With Mongolia's road closures, Peace Corps Mongolia prohibited us from travel. Thus, we wouldn’t be able to visit our host families this year. Furthermore, my sitemates in the other province wouldn’t even be able to return to ours for the holiday. I felt dismayed, but I assured them if they needed anything I’d do my best. 

Still, though we couldn’t travel much, and with public places closing left and right, we could gather in small groups at the few places remaining open. Living alone and so done with my solitude, I definitely took offers I received to be among others. Thus, our story unfolds...

New Adventure with an Old Memoir

The week preceding Tsagaan Sar, I was heavily in my books and involved in meditation. So I rose Monday morning before 5 a.m. for the usual meditation meet-up. 

But I got no response from my driver, the philosophic doctor friend. So I decided to stay up, in case he called. I read my final chapter of the 25 days with “Rediscover the Saints.” I felt I’d need to choose new reading. Then a path appeared. 

Having found out my thesis would take more revisions, I felt needing an academic refresh and, frankly, a break. I scrolled my Facebook feed (something I scarcely do). I chanced upon, "Mongolian Studies,” a public group. 

Now the fun begins. I introduced myself to the group. I described my interest in religious studies. A member suggested I read the recent memoir, “There’s a Sheep in My Bathtub,” by Brian Hogan. Its synopsis detailed that Brian, a fellow American, recounted foundings of Mongolia’s first churches. 

So I asked my American couple friends if they’d heard of it, since they mentioned attending a church. In fact, they had the book and knew its author. I felt stunned! I asked to borrow it. They invited me to come by at the speaking group meet-up, 7 a.m. 

Having come into town for weeks to hike the mountain at 7:30 a.m., I knew well how to get downtown before sunrise. Hurriedly, I prepped and left for Zaya’s Coffee Shop. 

Crossing Worlds in a Coffee Shop

When I returned to the speaking group, my friends said the memoir was by our city’s first Christian missionaries. That blew my mind. Its author helped found my friends’ own church! After we finished our morning’s speaking group, I dove into the story. 

I devoured 50 pages the first day (a lot for me). The memoir even began at Tsagaan Sar! That felt too timely. Like me, the family left from Beijing to Ulaanbaatar. I felt awed by their faith. 

I spent my day at Zaya’s Coffee Shop. Then I spent there my week. 

I read and wrote. I enjoyed the hot water. I didn’t eat much, though. I guess baristas felt concerned or just very generous. I was nibbling a cookie at lunch hour, and she said that’s not food, haha. They treated me to Turkish food a few times. Gosh, I’d love to see Istanbul. Another day, I tried a carrot cake muffin! I felt touched. 

Sometimes they practiced English with me. They told me about Swedish missionaries Brian mentioned in his memoir. They thanked me for coming to help the community learn English and Chinese. I loved the shop even had Russian patrons. It felt so multicultural. 

I also talked to the shop owners, “Zaya,” who’d served as missionaries in Afghanistan. The siblings spoke of bringing the Gospel to the whole former Mongol Empire. They said Chinggis Khaan's soldiers’ descendants still live in distant nations. Incredible. Like Belle sang, “... our small corner of the world [felt] big.”

My dad served the U.S. Army in Afghanistan, so I appreciated the similarity to my father. The shop owner also made these lovely tan and maroon book covers. I liked the look of them and felt I should protect Mom’s cockled New Testament better. The owner offered to sew a fitting cover, so I gave him Mom’s Bible. 

I returned since Monday for many reasons. Tuesday, I discussed transitioning the Chinese speaking group to the owners’ trilingual friend experienced in China and with a linguistics background. Wednesday, I returned for the Americans’ English speaking group. Thursday, we launched the new Chinese speaking group. Friday, we’d the English speaking group and my German volunteer friend’s farewell. 

As I left the coffee shop Friday to see my German friend off, the most amazing thing happened. I met a woman mentioned in the memoir I was reading! She was back in town to see her family for Tsagaan Sar. She and they were among the city’s first Mongolian Christians. In fact, she’d graduated from the very university where I teach. She had a Peace Corps Volunteer then, too, a Christian she’s kept in touch with all these years. Wow! When I mentioned no plans or people to spend Tsagaan Sar with, the woman invited me to come spend it with her family on the first day. I felt shocked and awed. 

Warm Dumplings at Spring’s New Beginning

Tsagaan Sar began touching every part of my days in the final weekend before Lunar New Year.

Tsagaan Sar celebrates the traditional start of spring. At the Wednesday evening group, one of the doctors (husband to my senior student) wanted the head nurse to take me to ride horses with him in the countryside. So, with my sitemates stranded in the other province, Peace Corps Mongolia would send my helmet directly to my city, Friday. 

Evenings that week, after mornings and afternoons in the coffee shop, I visited the American couple’s apartment to play games like Sequence with our speaking group members. Friday night, I attended their usual dinner and discussions. Afterward, late that cold night, I first needed to get my package from Peace Corps. Thankfully, an older widow in our group, the kind English teacher I’d met the month before while promoting an English scholarship program with my innovator friend, lived on that side of town. She invited me to wait at her apartment with her son. 

Once we got inside, we called the package driver to ask when he’d reach town. I passed my phone to the teacher. She learned it’d be hours. She started cooking, in the spirit of Tsagaan Sar, бууз! Pronounced /boe-z/, one syllable, they’re circular steamed dumplings, which some Mongolians compare to Chinese 包子 bāozi. 

"How many бууз would you like?" she asked. 

My mom would ask me that about soup dumplings, I recalled.

When I was little, I usually said three to five. Mom asked whenever she made 汤饺 tāngjiǎo. Though, she usually called them, “dumplings,” “水饺 shuǐjiǎo,” or maybe “饺子 jiǎozi.” If you recognize Chinese food, then бууз are, to me, more comparable to thicker, circular 水饺 shuǐjiǎo steamed dumplings. Chinese 包子 bāozi, on the other hand, are like Mongolia’s fluffy мантуун бууз (pronounced /mahnTONE boe-z/). My church fed me ма��туун бууз when I visited ill, on Teachers’ Day, actually...

Tonight I’d no preference. I felt pleasantly surprised by Mom’s memory. I love бууз, anyway. While the teacher cooked, I humored her chatty, young son who told me about conspiracies he saw on YouTube. 

Then we ate. The teacher mentioned visiting the U.S. a couple times, as a volunteer translator for Children’s Heart Project of Samaritan’s Purse. In America, my mother became a translator. The teacher offered me to see her photo books and albums. Unfortunately, her husband passed away while their son was very little. I loved their wedding photos. 

In considering care for the widow and orphan from the Bible, I wondered if moments like these are part of it. Jesus instructed John to take a new mother and Mary to take a new son (Jn. 19:26-27). Maybe these are how Christ's body mends. 

I napped from the meal. Finally, past midnight, the delivery driver came. The teacher walked me out to find him. With her hands in her pockets, my friend seemed to speed-waddle across the ice. I’d never seen anything like it. I’m so bad at crossing street ice. 

From the driver parked outside the city center distributing packages, I received my horseback helmet. Then my community friend sent me in a taxi home. She sent me with extra бууз, so I felt fed and fortunate. Tsagaan Sar seemed a great season. 

Lunar New Year’s Eve, Битүүн /Bitüün/

Sunday morning, my older friend, my usual driver, picked me up. We checked electronics stores for a Surface charger, since mine fatally kinked, my week writing at the coffee shop. We drove around town trying to find a shop open with the charger, but no luck. Shops closed through the end of national travel bans. My friend said we could check after. 

In the meantime, we drove out to see if we could go to the countryside to visit his father, a Mongolian familial tradition. But a line of police cars blocked the road. My friend got out and talked with the officers, but they repeated the government’s word that people couldn’t leave the city because of the Coronavirus. With nowhere left to go, I accepted my friend’s invite to his place for Lunar New Year’s Eve. I felt confused but relieved I’d somewhere to be. 

After extra shopping, my friend dropped me off at his family’s house in the ger district. With no fire on, his house felt just a smidge less freezing than outside. He invited me to the usual dry, sweet fried боорцог /bore-tsog/ nibbles to soften in the salty hot milk tea. He also left family albums for me to see. Then he left to bring home the rest of his family. I felt at first confused he’d leave a foreigner alone in his house. Then I figured, I’m trustable.  

Flipping through the albums, I spotted how my city looked, seemingly while Soviets still influenced much of it. I’d seen just a few photos from then in the memoir I’d been reading. My city center looked pale, lacking the paint that earned its “Colorful City” title. I also saw photos from what seemed places I wanted still to visit in Mongolia. I saw his family in various provinces, such as in a boat on Khuvsgul Lake, then outside what seemed the Mother Tree (which the “Mongolian Studies” group scholar told me to visit), and among reindeer perhaps in the taiga, somewhere many locals told me to visit this summer. 

The family returned home and quickly got busy. My friend, the dad, asked if I was cold, then apologetically started the stove’s fire. I magnetized to the heat. We ate delicious dumplings or бууз he warmed in the milk tea I kept my fingers around. Once the fire got going, my friend changed to his tank top and laughed I still wore two layers. They later recounted my chilly story to relatives. 

When they said we're entering the Year of the Mouse, I felt I was back on the other side of Asia. Back then, Year of the Pig banners adorned U.S. airports and Greater China. While I’m against seeing Asian cultures as entirely alike, I realized Mongolia probably decorated similarly. What a lunar world. 

As I saw the 15- and 17-year-old readied the traditional tan tower of food and candies while the parents cooked, I felt reminded of American traditions to decorate Christmas trees and ready supper. Preparing the eve was the whole family’s effort. I helped the boys with the traditional food tower (the идээ /eeDEH/). 

Mongolian Families For All Seasons 

After the family set some food to offer their Buddhist/shamanist Бурхан (God) shrine, we sat down to eat. I picked a random spot by the table’s end. But the father said, by the идээ is most honored. So he moved me from my last chair to beside the идээ, across from him. I felt amazed, remembering suddenly that’s what’s supposed to happen (Lk. 14:10). 

After dinner, I felt on five occasions summer memories with my host family I’d wanted to see this winter. The morning before, my host mom called about whether I'd visit this year for Tsagaan Sar, as I hoped. I could hear others' “Сайн уу?” greetings on the line, feeling their glee. My younger host cousin’s actually done well messaging me most every other day morning greeting pictures in Mongolian. Sadly, I explained, Peace Corps forbade our travel to our host homes due to Coronavirus this year. But my host family sounded eager and satisfied I resolved to try again next year. 

We'd that conversation very straightforwardly. I felt my language skills have grown smoother. I wondered how I’d have done among my host family if I could’ve seen them again…

First, after dinner, the dad invited me and his sons to play the Orient board game. My host family owned the same. Summer days, a host sibling got it from the little shed, and we walked around the fence to our neighbor’s. There my Peace Corps Trainee neighbor from Boston and I would eat and play floor games with our siblings/cousins. I mean “floor,” not “tabletop,” considering I’ve never done board games or shagai on a table in Mongolia… Coincidentally, the Boston guy and I both played in our cohort’s D&D party from winter. 

Anywho, second, the father got out the шагай /shagai/ ankle bones, and we played the flicking game I recognized but hadn’t understood. This, too, my host siblings and I played at the neighbor’s. An outside observer would probably compare it to marbles, though I think marbles’ goal is to flick marbles out of the circle. This game has no circle. But as I watched and learned from the father’s beautiful skills and his younger son’s OK skills (the dad’s words, not mine), our goal is to flick like-faced bones into each other to collect the most. Strategy lies in manipulating the four faces carefully. I did alright! 

Later that night, third, on TV a "Яг түүн шиг" rerun I saw that summer with my host family came on. ‘Twas the infamous episode when the woman, crossdressed as Snoop Dogg, won. But next came "The Voice of Mongolia." I hadn’t realized how likable the judges seemed! I’d heard of Uka, Bold and Otgonbayar (from Хурд, sounds like /horde/) but didn’t know Ononbat. I’d heard really good things about Uka, since she’d once performed at a Peace Corps Volunteer’s wedding. Shocking, I’d probably seen Otgonbayar live in September when Хурд performed in my city’s square. That was our First Day of School 2019...

Then we headed out. It was so late. I appreciated my friend warned me in darkness of ice on the dirt, my nemesis. But when I thought we finished, my friend took me to a relative’s. Ah, a fourth memory of life with my host family—surprise visits to others’ homes. 

Finally, fifth, I appreciated locals’ enthusiastic compliments of my ability to speak Mongolian. Reminding me of my summer soum, I guess those in the ger district feel more generous in commending that I know Mongolian at all. 

Speaking with them, I kept up at a speed reminding me of first meeting my Chinese relatives those three years ago. Locals spoke at the normal pace, and I could catch and answer their basic questions with few speed bumps. 

Though living in a city limits how much I need to speak Mongolian compared to soum-dwellers, I feel more enriched speaking it. Locals seem happier I try, too. Thankfully, we didn’t stay long, since I was beat. But I ate ever-more food, since that’s tradition. I quite enjoyed their fudge-like oil-based dessert. With smiles and an extremely full belly, I got my ride home. 

The First New Day /Цагаан сарын эхний өдөр шинийн 1/

Monday, February 24, I rose before the sunrise for the traditional dawn to the First New Day. I saw upon a faraway hill a couple new flames I didn’t recognize. Though I heard we couldn’t hike to light bonfires upon the hills this year, I felt warmed by the brave souls who did it anyway. 

I dressed in my traditional Mongolian clothes, bundled up and went forth. I had on what I dubbed my “space cowboy” look, with the white, brimmed summer hat and mask for air pollution. Having learned my lessons from the nights and hikes before, I bundled up well. I was off to meet the Mongolian Christian family of the memoir I read. 

The first thing I noticed and loved were the flurries. 

Considering a White Christmas, I thought it funny. Lunar New Year’s name in Mongolian translates to “White Month.” So, could I call it a “Цав цагаан сар /Tsav Tsagaan Sar/?” A “Very White Month?” I smiled as I descended the massive hill separating my apartment area from the rest of the city. I enjoyed less the fresh powder snow on ice, since I nearly slid. But this is Mongolia, hehe. 

Anyway, locals told me snowfall on Tsagaan Sar is auspicious. Hooray! Thus, my first year of Mongolia’s biggest three days began. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)