Metro Mongolia: Life in UB
This month marks my 50th anniversary as a world traveler. Perhaps that's why two events of the last two days seem so startling, at least to me. The first happened Saturday night when I actually ordered and ate a raw salad at a restaurant in Asia. Me who has so obsessively and relentlessly avoided all uncooked food outside the US --even on airplanes--because there's nothing like a serious bout of dysentery to discourage you forever. My extremism was actually reinforced by one small slip up five years ago. At a very fancy French restaurant in Kathmandu I accidentally nibbled on a piece of lettuce touching my steak frites on the plate and spent the night in the bathroom.
But I did it! Cucumbers, radishes, tomatoes, even spinach was in the salad bowl and nothing negative happened. That's one of the blessings of Mongolia. It's not just that the Russian occupation enforced cleanliness. It's more that the usual bacteria that infect raw food can't survive six months of -40ºCelsius. Somehow magically even the vegetables and fruits that come from below the border in northern China are edible. Eureka!
Unfortunately yesterday's happening wasn't anything to shout about. I was pickpocketed. Me who so furiously protects her money with all sorts of body hugging contraptions got so frazzled by my boss here ordering me around the one first class food market, telling me what I could and could not stop to look at, that I must have left my small purse unzipped. or perhaps the hulking young Mongolian blocking the doorway supposedly chatting on his phone was a brilliant thief. The good news is that somehow my merit kicked in because the moment I noticed my purse open and wallet gone, he threw the wallet at our car. What he filched was $125 US; he didn't want the Mongolian money, my credit cards or Iphone. Lucky me, I guess.
I'd heard horror stories about nasty pickpocketing here but most Mongolians are so thoughtful and helpful it was hard to believe until it just happened like that, a guy lying in wait for a foreigner. I mean today I tried to tip the woman who worked on my body at the traditional hospital-- I was told it was medical massage for spinal issues but it was ferocious bone bashing and bending-Chiropractic hell- and she shoved the money back at me as though insulted.
In other news, we're having a heat wave: it's been 90º the last three days and the Mongolians are on the streets in cut off jeans, cut off almost to the Brazilian wax point, sandals, tank tops and bare chests. Amanda showed up for her birthday dinner last night in tight white jeans and a striped spaghetti strap top. And of course she was wearing open backed sandals with a thick woodenHeels more than 2" high. "I'm so short," she always complains. The Mongolians love sundresses too and manage to stay stylish in the swelter so it's easy to spot the foreigners: they're all in the latest khaki trekking gear.
Imagine this climate that swings from -40º C to +33º. I think that beats Maine.
Sandy Garson"Wordsmithing to attest how the Dharma saved me from myself!"http://www.sandygarson.com
http://yoursinthedharma.blogspot.com/
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posted by Sandy Garson @ 4:07 AM
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