My door to China was a very simple conversational Mandarin, a need for a foreign enterprise for people with basic management skills and wild hair. These requirements are suitable, like shoes, in childhood I always wanted to have the experience of living in a foreign language. Something was in that thought that hypnotized me, even being a child of six, I wanted to learn a foreign language. However, unfortunately, for me, I was born in America, where the only language the major speaks, or has any direct interest, is English. So I had to wait another ten years before I could begin my life journey with a foreign language. This outbreak led me to be the only student in my high school to try to find French, German and Spanish in one load.
Almost ten years after arriving in China, after working at the Shanghai Hilton as a concierge, United Airlines as a ticket agent, and also for the joint project Corning Inc. My working days in China were numbered. Chinese workers began to complete their international management courses and began to take off their blue and green suits to put on a white collar and tie. I felt that the need in this situation was gradually moving from foreign employees, such as myself, to these newly trained local employees. The idea of returning to America at the time seemed untrue. I learned a lot and learned a lot, a new language and the basics of working in a foreign culture. However, these things are quite complex, so it’s almost impossible to demonstrate without any “approval”.
Over ten years in China and a knock on the tongue allowed me to find the right ingredients to learn Mandarin. With this, I was able to pass the exam for the Mandarin State Exam (HSK), which allowed me to attend the university without further study in Mandarin. I decided that my “approval” should be a concession in something related to China, this would allow me to advance in this language and add the knowledge that I have already achieved. It would also give me a completely new perspective on China, which I learned. My interests led me to the minority language and culture, and thanks to the great consideration and guidance of a Tibetan friend, I decided to visit the University of Inner Mongolia at Hohhot. I was supposed to be the first foreign student to receive a diploma in Mongolian language and literature.
July 1995 was for me the beginning of a new life in China, from which I could not say, all I knew was that I had to go through this, and I did it. After settling in Hukhot, I began my Mongol lessons at the university. During the first year, my teacher taught me traditional Mongolian primers, which I consider to be a good base in the traditional written language. It may be interesting to note that there is a significant big difference between the traditional written and oral Mongolian. During the second year, I began to learn the grammar and rules that form the basis of colloquial speech. From the very beginning I was sure that I could learn this language for one or two years, but after the second year I still felt that I had only scratched the surface. I was constantly amazed at the beauty and expressiveness of the language. From time to time I discovered that while learning Mongolian language, I was revising my own language, reorganizing my own worldview.
Later, several people suggested that I go to the pastures so that I could better understand the language and culture. In Hukhot, the majority language still remains Mandarin, even for the Mongols, therefore, the language environment is not so favorable for speaking Mongolian. I decided to continue this idea and began to prepare, my plans were to stay for a month. The date was set and I bought a plane ticket to Xilinghot, the place of the Xiling Gool banner.
After arriving at Hukhota airport, preparing to board the aircraft, I had no expectations except to experience life with a Mongolian family in the meadows of Xiling Gool. In my opinion, I tried to imagine what it was, of course, to no avail. The aircraft was a small military support aircraft, which consisted of approximately 50 people, and maybe eight passengers sat in the plane. After takeoff, we rumbled over the Da Qingshan mountain range and in the small pasture town of Silinghot.
I was met at the airport by a friend’s family in Hukhot, and they immediately took me for a traditional milk tea and lamb in a small tea room in the city. The next day, people from East Uemchin would pick me up, where I would stay, but he continued to rain continuously for several days, and the dirt roads to and from the region were impassable. I could do nothing but rain. On the fifth day, the Jeep from Uemchina finally arrived to push me away to what seemed almost "never land."
We spent a couple of hours on the winding asphalt roads of the Xilinghot, until finally we reached the end of the asphalt. One glance at the rain damaged the dirt roads and I could see that we were on a bumpy ride. The jeep made its way through all this when we passed several camels that had lost their winter coats and several white Mongolian coats of arms (yurts) far from the green meadows of the green meadows of spring. Curiosity and excitement made me feel like I was a kid again, before my first day at school. It will be a completely different kind of education than I had ever imagined, and one that I will never forget.
After a nearly three-hour drive, the night was upon us when we arrived on the asphalt, it was the main street in the small town of Uliastai. I spent one night at the house of my trip, who was also the person who took all measures for my stay.
The next morning, after milk tea, Mongolian cheese and fried bread, we climbed onto a jeep and set off towards my pasture. Leaving behind the asphalt again, we drove along the mountain road for almost an hour, when we approached a small village located next to a natural salt lake called “Mother Lake”. I was already familiar with the "Mother Lake" of my Mongolian primers. The story was strong in my mind when we fumbled in the village.
"Mother Lake" was the lifeblood of many Mongols in the past days, it was the only source of salt that is a vital ingredient in Mongolian milk tea. People came to the caravans from all sides, sometimes traveling all day to get the salt they needed. Thus, the lake was named “Mother Lake”. Oda and songs were sung to her, and even I had to participate in the secret of her spirit.
We arrived at the local government offices, where I was introduced to local personnel who would accompany me to meet with my new family. After a simple lunch, we jumped into a jeep and drove along the “Mother Lake”, its snowy salty white edges almost looked like a halo. The village behind us soon disappeared from sight, when we went out to the quiet hills. After about thirty minutes, we came to a flat prairie, and someone pointed to a terracotta brick house with a windmill in front, "This is your new home," they said. The house was very simple with three small windows at the back. Sheep roamed on one side and cows on the other. Even the sheep looked wide-eyed in curiosity almost as if they were greeting our coming.
We pushed towards the gate with barbed wire, and a strong man of thirty ran out of the house to open the gate. He was moving heavily in big leather boots. When he ran, his beautiful turquoise Mongolian robe was walking with steps just below the top of the boots. The smile on his windy face gleamed like a salty halo around the "Mother Lake". He moved the jeep to the front door of the house, a fading blue wooden door was located in the middle of the house, and a window on both sides looked out of the rooms on the east and west sides.
To date, two family dogs, later known to me as Puig and Pupp, have run up to the jeep to make sure we were friendly visitors. I took out my bag, and we all entered the house. Right inside was a small entrance room with nothing more than a large steel roof filled with water, and the facial basin on the right. We were taken to the western room, it was the only room in the house with a "can", a brick wall about three feet high, covering almost half of the room, the surface was covered with a large carpet. All the men stood on the Kan, sitting cross-legged, chatting in Mongolian.
In the middle of the kanda was a small square red wooden table with short legs. The women brought cups that filled them with milk tea and gave them to every visitor, it was when they gave me their green porcelain bowl, which I will use for my entire visit. Boiled lamb and various other snacks were delivered in honor of the guests. A woman of about twenty-eight people placed several knives in a bowl holding meat. Everyone drank, ate and chatted. I just sat and did all this, trying to figure out how I should act. One person came up and took a big bone with meat, took a knife and began to knock down meat from the bones, the direction of the knife is always towards himself. He brought a knife to his mouths, a piece of meat between his thumb, and the knife was soon in his lips as he continued to wash another piece, still supporting the conversation. This lasted for several hours, until the official audience was ready to go back. They all said goodbye, climbed back into the jeep, and I found myself beside my kind hosts, who were saying goodbye to the jeep when he left. I looked around and realized that I was in the middle of a world in which there was no idea. Behind the barbed wire was nothing but grassy hills and a path left by jeeps that came and went. The sun began to plant, and the sheep and goats occasionally returned to the barbed wire, preparing to settle for another night's rest.
The mother of the family was in the early 50s, I called her Tatty. A few years ago, her husband passed away, leaving her with his five sons. Aunt was a very beautiful woman with a face that shone like stars in a clear sky. The man who met us at the gate was her third son, Humjilt, it was he who, together with his wife Delger, was in charge of the house. Humjilt and Delger had a six-month-old son named Sumber, named for the mythical mountain.
After a good night, sleeping on a can, I was awakened by the novelties of the day, baby Rash, and sheep and goats outside the morning joke. The sun only began to show its colors when my new world came to life. Humjilt began to move all the sheep to the open areas behind the barbed wire. He simply walked behind them, slowly moving them forward as they moved, like a shout in the streets of Shanghai. He took a couple of goats and put them in a small fence, moms were not interested in this idea, but they were hungry and knew that the food was out of the fence. Later I found out that the young people are supported because they cannot keep up with adults. Between the mother goat and the bottle delegate, all Kiddas and Lambs received three square dishes. I fell in love with the little kidd and even collected it with the butt of my mother several times.
Once the sheep and goats were released, it was time to milk the cows. All calves were kept indoors until it was time for milking. According to one of the calves, calves were released, and they made a line of bees for the nipples of their mothers. After they are recruited, they will be tied to positions, and Aunt and Delegate will start milking. Pooch and Pup were always confident that everything was under control.
After a few days, everyone got used to the fact that they had an American living in the house; in fact, they even began to act as if I was one of them. I was happy to help with the work as I could. I took over the management of the water keg, and when he went down, I made the necessary trips to the well to save it. I would also try to keep the “argal” all day, argal - wind-dried patties with cows, which the Mongols use as fuel for cooking and heat. When the box in the house became low, it could be bought from a large mound, growing outside.
Walking was just a step behind the barbed wire. I went for what seemed like hours, the scenery was so beautiful, and it was easy to escape the peace of mankind. I often visited a quiet place to sit down and just contemplate the world around me, the birds flying back and forth, the flock of sheep turned white. Looking in all directions, I am concerned about the feeling that the sky was a huge blue cup, covered with me, where the sky and the earth were connected with each other by nothing.
One day, when I was walking, I saw a Mongolian hero at close range and decided to visit. I heard a lot of stories from my teachers about how the owner Gera left everything open and accessible when he was not at home, and how any passerby could enter him, eat what he liked, and rest; then leaves, leaving everything just as he found it. However, they would add that this is no longer the case, because outsiders, the Han Chinese, who came to the area, do not respect these Mongolian habits and traditions.
Today, when people leave their home, they close the door just like everywhere else.
As I approached the dog, the dog began to bark its warning. Everyone in these parts knows that the dog is there to protect the house, and if you get too close, they will attack. I decided to push my luck and continued to move in the direction of the guru. From the west I saw a man with a horse and sheep. He was also warned by the dog and started rolling in my direction when I approached his hero. He drove up to me and I blessed him, he was very surprised to see that I was a foreigner, and he was very friendly to me. He first warned me about his dog, and then brought me to ger, using his lasso wand to hold the dog. The person’s name is Baatar, which means “hero” in Mongolian.
He led me to the door of the door that was in the south. The family of Baatar was inside; his mother was on her knees on the ground, making the yarn from clumps of camel hair a small needle-shaped tool. His wife was cooking dinner; noodles with lamb, and his two children, one boy and one girl, were hypnotized by a foreigner. Baatar put his hat in respect to me, sat on the floor and leaned back on one hand.
Whenever I went out, I always carried a small gift with me, in case I was in a situation where I could give it away. This time I just had a Mongol cassette with me, and I gave it to him, I looked around and noticed that they had a player; they had no electricity. I asked him if he could play it, he said that the batteries were dead, and he would have to wait until the traveling salesman appeared so that he could get new ones. Two children enjoyed the removal of cellophane, opening the box and still looking at the tape. Baatar was one of the few people in this area who still lived all year round. However, most people today will install their hero near their permanent home in the summer months.
Gers are very comfortable in the heat with natural air conditioning, achieved by supporting the melt covering with chopsticks around the base of the hera.
Before my trip to the meadows, I bought a pair of Mongolian boots, these boots are black leather boots, almost knee-length; they are almost like what you think of Santa Claus as wearing. The boots were the easy part, but getting your hands off some traditional Mongolian stockings was the hard part. These stockings are hand-embroidered with two to three inches of needlework, which are visible outside the top of the shoe. I noticed Baatar’s stockings that impressed me as very beautiful. I reluctantly asked him if we could make a deal and offered him our high-quality western-style belt. I took off the belt and put it down to watch. He looked at him and asked where he was made, and he pulled both ends, checking the quality of the skin. I told him that it was made in America, and he smiled. He accepted my offer and I left with a beautiful pair of Mongolian stockings.
A few years later I had the opportunity to return to the house of Baatar, he was surprised to see me. When we changed our regards, he proudly pushed the shirt to show a belt that looked so familiar and still in good condition.
