Ұлыс оң болсын, Ақ мол болсын!

Happy Nayourz! The message in the post title is the traditional Kazakh Nayourz greeting. It sounds like "Olus on bolsun, ak mol bolsun." I'm not really sure of the translation, but I know that I must have said it a hundred times yesterday.

To sum up the day in a few numbers, I visited at least 7 homes, I must have drank 20 cups of white tea, I ate 12 bowls of kojay soup along with pieces of 8 sheep heads and what felt like half a kilo of salty horse sausage, and, for the most part, I had a blast. It was a pretty great day.

It started bright and early at 9:30am where I found myself at my school preparing for the parade. It was finally explained to me why I was supposed to dress as an "old Russian man." Apparently all the schools were told to dress according to a specific era here in Mongolia. My school drew the 10 years between 1940 and 1950, when Soviet influence over Mongolia was perhaps at it's highest. Wanting to avoid wearing whatever costume they had in store for me, I tried to dress myself as best I could using my own clothes (dark jeans, shirt & tie, and black sports coat w/ my Irish cap), but my school director and the other event organizers obviously thought it was a feeble attempt. Instead they handed me a rather crusty-looking suit that I could have sworn one of their grandfathers died in, and they asked me to put it on. Remembering my mantra to "Go with the flow," I held my tongue and tried the clothes on. Since the previous owner of this particular suit was shorter and stockier than I am, the pants were about 4 inches shy of my ankles and the jacket made me feel like a football player, but my school director seemed happy. She also gave me a black leather portfolio to complete the ensemble -- I guess all Russians in Mongolia back in the 1940s carried these portfolios around to make sure Mongolians were up to code on current Soviet standards.

Properly attired, I went to join the rest of the parade-marchers in the staging area. Admiring everyone's costumes, I pulled my camera out to snap a few pictures. It went downhill from there. Once people saw I had a camera, I was immediately pulled in about 10 different directions to immortalize various group poses in digital film. Everyone thought it was hilarious that before snapping a picture, I would count to 3 in Kazakh so people could prepare for the photo. From that point forward, the standard request for a photo became the gesture of a camera and "bir, eki, oosh!"

The parade itself had a wonderful atmosphere. The day was obviously everyone's favorite holiday and every person I saw was in a festive mood. The weather was crisp and breezy, and my buddy Agii assured me that since everyone was out and about foregoing warm jackets for traditional Kazakh dress, there will be lots of sick children today. As my school's token American, I got to march at the head of the procession. As we made our way along the streets around the town square, I heard lots of "Oi, Amerik!" and "Scott Teacher!" from the crowd. I've never felt more like a celebrity.

In the middle of the parade route we passed by the government building where a stage had been erected for the town's dignitaries to observe the celebration. Bahitgul pointed a man out to me and told me that he was Mongolia's president. I guess he was in town to honor Nayourz and also to visit the countryside to observe the effects of the zud, which is the Mongolian word for "terrible winter."

When we reached the end of the parade route, our school's delegation dissolved as everyone scurried off in the direction of their homes to begin their first feast of the day. Bahitgul stuck to her word and invited me to her place where the real festivities began. She, her husband, and their three young children live with her husband's parents. Their home is very nice -- it has running water, a toilet, a shower, and steam heat! I was ushered into the living room where a large spread of finger foods had already been put out on the long table. Guests arrived soon after we got there and the eating began.

Now it seems like the main point of Nayourz is to visit the homes of all of your friends and family. You probably spend 30 minutes at each home. The food at each place is the same: peanuts, dried apricots, yogurt curds, chocolate candies, kojay soup, and, of course, the meat plate. Like the day before with our hashaa family, each meat plate at the 7 homes I visited was topped with a sheep's head. A quick correction on yesterday's post in which I said I ate goat's head -- it was actually a sheep's.

We stayed at Bahitgul's home for about 3 hours and we entertained 3 different parties. Since it was her home, Bahitgul was constantly up and about serving food and playing the attentive hostess. This left me to fend for myself with the dinner party using my feeble Kazakh. After two minutes I ran out of things to say and I spent the rest of the time watching some sort of Russian concert that was playing on the television. I think the family thought I was bored, which made me feel guilty for being so lazy about learning Kazakh. I tried to assure them that I was enjoying myself though. I was really touched every time Bahitgul's in-laws introduced me to their friends and family as "their son."

Once the party wrapped up at Bahitgul's, we all piled into the car and set off on our own string of visits. The funny thing I noticed is that although we visited 7 homes, we were always with the same group of people -- each family just took turns hosting. After about the fourth house, people began to joke with me whenever I told them that I was full and that I cold only eat a little bit of soup and no more meat. I don't think they believed me, especially when at the 5th house, Bahitgul's father brought out a bottle of whiskey for "his American friend" and I was obliged to drink four glasses.

At about 7pm, I said my final goodbyes and made my way home. With all the tea, kojay, and meat in it, my stomach felt like a rock. But I survived. Safe at home with the door locked against any further entreaties to visit, and more importantly, to eat, I called Ashlee in UB to relay to her the day's events. I explained that while she would have enjoyed the parade, I don't think she would have handled the home visits very well. She replied to this comment by asking, "So where should we vacation next year during Nayourz time?"


In Mongolian, the banner means "High School #4.


The guy on the left was the king of the "bir, eki, oosh!"ers.


Bahitgul and one of our 11th grade students.




Two different versions of Kazakh robes, called "chappans." I want to get one similar to the one on the right, minus the Napoleon-style hat.


Now THAT is a hat!






Do I look Russian?
















Fitting with our assigned decade, our delegation toted these pictures of Josef Stalin and his Mongolian lackey, Choibalsan.






I love Mongolian camels.






Bahitgul, her husband, Amosbek, and their three daughters: Dinara, Maral, and Baljan.










On the stage, the shorter man in the middle with the long black coat and Russian-style fur hat is the Mongolian president, Elbegdorj.










This is Habdolda and Vanya, teachers at my school and also students in my English lessons for teachers, and their children.


Olgii's main square.


If you look closely, you can see that my suit pants are about 4 inches too short and that my jeans are sticking out of them.


The spread of fingerfoods at Bahitgul's house.


Bring on the meat plate! In the middle of the plate is the sheep's head. Before eating, the eldest man at the table uses a knife to cut a long strip of the face flesh and then everyone must take a bite. Children really like the ears. The worm-looking thing on the top right of the plate is kaz, or horse sausage. It is horse meat packed into horse intestines (I think).