Goodbye to Sukhbaatar, Goodbye My Host Community

Today is my last day in my host community; our group heads back to Darkhan tomorrow for final center days (and Host Family Appreciation Day which will include cultural performances by PCTs (us; had I mentioned earlier that these Mongolians like to deeply embarrass the foreigners?) and a waltz recital (they are really big on the waltz here; an apparent “survival skill” in the khodoo), and then to UB to swear-in on August 18 before scattering to our site communities for the next two years. It has been awhile since a group sweared-in in UB (usually, the ceremony is held in Darkhan) so pray that after six full days in the capital packed with indoor plumping, reliable electricity, a variety of foods and drinks (i.e. hamburgers, pizza, sushi, BBQ, and American beers) and other foreigners (international, not just Americans), our group will remain intact and not sitting in the Country Director’s office waiting for a plane ticket back to the States.

On another note, PST is over; the final LPIs (Language Proficiency Interviews) were given on Monday. I’ve gotten better in the language department; I learned enough “filler” words (i.e. then, and, because, but) to make full meaningful sentences instead of the kidde babble that I was spewing the first three weeks in-country. Although I will greatly miss living with my Mongolian host family (and being pampered and cared for), I am more than ready to be on my own and begin my service. PST is similar to experiencing high school all over again: cliques are formed, gossip is spread, bickering and complaining fluctuates with the heat, handwritten notes are passed, and alcohol debauchery is in fill swing. And, like high school, it is memorable but not an experience one wants to repeat.

As an aide memoire to my host community of Sukhbaatar, I have attached some surrounding landscape pictures. A fellow PCT once described Sukhbaatar as:

“…2 paved roads and zero stoplights. There is an outdoor market attached to an indoor butcher and vegetable vendor. The butcher shop has meat out on counter tops, not refrigerated. Also, most of the butchering is done before your eyes. Cows freely roam around the grassy borders of the city square, and it is more common to see a man riding a horse around town than driving a car. The bars have people passed out in booths or on the bar at any hour of the day, and it is rare to see any kind of law enforcement or police.”

Salomon is correct in his first impressions, though, his first impressions overlook the underline charm that indeed exists within this town. In truth, it took me several weeks to notice it myself. It is in the lady who sells Russian ice cream at the market, the outdoor café that keeps Pringos on hand and blasts popular American music, the colorful jungle gyms that are randomly placed throughout town, the individually owned delguurs unique as the collection of foreign and local items they sell, the man holes without covers (for they have all be stolen to be melted and sold in China), and the occasional cow that freely roams untended. It is the little things that one notices when the first impressions fade away. It is the difference between a traveler and a resident…

I leave you with pictures.