My count-down is over, I am leaving Mongolia. In 30 minutes I will be on the way to the airport for my 3:30 flight to Beijing. I'll spend a few days there before heading to Shanghai.
I'm traveling with three other students from my program, our hostels are booked, we just need our train ticket to Shanghai, but that won't be too complicated...my friend is conversational in Chinese...I've lucked out!
I will be home December 20!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Dund Govi (as in the desert)
Again, I am hesitating to post more reflections because my limited time does not do them justice. The last two weeks have been overwhelming – the type of overwhelming that lights your heart on fire and pushes you on.
It started with my trip to the Gobi. I lived with a famous long-song singer. I learned a morin khuur (horse headed fiddle) song from him called “The Weeping Camel.” It’s played in patterns of three (resembling the camel’s gate), rather than in fours, which models the footsteps of a horse. Why is this distinction significant? Camels are king in the gobi, almost beating out the horse in importance to the survival of the herders who raise animals in the desert. Camels are also more surreal in the snow than they are in the sand. As I moved in, so did the snow that literally changed the entire feel of the area.
And it was cold. The kind of cold that took my breath away when I opened the door. The kind of cold that laughed at the small stove in the ger. The kind of cold that made you appreciate the glory of indoor plumbing at a whole new level…as you walked outside to use the “natural toilet” as my translator called it.
Yes, I learned the workings of “anthropological fieldwork,” arranging my own driver, accommodations, translator, even gas purchasing. At times I truly felt as though I were a ‘real’ anthropologist. Especially when I dipped into the gendered nature of my research: how women resist or participate in celebrating Mongolian culture through the promotion of the morin khuur (yes, I know that does not really make sense, but no worries, I’ll post my 40 page paper that explains it all…and then some).
I learned to talk to these women. More importantly, I got them to talk back.
They seemed to laugh when I said I wanted to speak with them at some point. They even left the room when the men began to talk. But as the smells of a large meal started to enter the room, I realized it was my chance to talk to the women, alone.
“I have been here for three months,” I said as my introduction when I entered the kitchen, “and I still cannot fold those things,” referring to the dumplings they were making. The next 20 minutes was spent with women fussing over me, laughing at me, using their best teaching techniques to no avail. Finally, the oldest daughter said, “She can play the morin khuur, but she can’t fold dumplings!”
The door was opened, and I was in. Finally.
And man, did they have a lot to say.
It started with my trip to the Gobi. I lived with a famous long-song singer. I learned a morin khuur (horse headed fiddle) song from him called “The Weeping Camel.” It’s played in patterns of three (resembling the camel’s gate), rather than in fours, which models the footsteps of a horse. Why is this distinction significant? Camels are king in the gobi, almost beating out the horse in importance to the survival of the herders who raise animals in the desert. Camels are also more surreal in the snow than they are in the sand. As I moved in, so did the snow that literally changed the entire feel of the area.
And it was cold. The kind of cold that took my breath away when I opened the door. The kind of cold that laughed at the small stove in the ger. The kind of cold that made you appreciate the glory of indoor plumbing at a whole new level…as you walked outside to use the “natural toilet” as my translator called it.
Yes, I learned the workings of “anthropological fieldwork,” arranging my own driver, accommodations, translator, even gas purchasing. At times I truly felt as though I were a ‘real’ anthropologist. Especially when I dipped into the gendered nature of my research: how women resist or participate in celebrating Mongolian culture through the promotion of the morin khuur (yes, I know that does not really make sense, but no worries, I’ll post my 40 page paper that explains it all…and then some).
I learned to talk to these women. More importantly, I got them to talk back.
They seemed to laugh when I said I wanted to speak with them at some point. They even left the room when the men began to talk. But as the smells of a large meal started to enter the room, I realized it was my chance to talk to the women, alone.
“I have been here for three months,” I said as my introduction when I entered the kitchen, “and I still cannot fold those things,” referring to the dumplings they were making. The next 20 minutes was spent with women fussing over me, laughing at me, using their best teaching techniques to no avail. Finally, the oldest daughter said, “She can play the morin khuur, but she can’t fold dumplings!”
The door was opened, and I was in. Finally.
And man, did they have a lot to say.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Morin Khuur Links
Great picture from UNESCO. They also have a great video about the instrument, even though they pronounce the instrument horribly wrong. They say it exactly as it is written in transliterate English...they should have known that was an indication they were doing it wrong!
Link to the video:
http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?RL=00068
Link to the popular song, I will try to learn a simplified version of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-hzihk7ETc&feature=related
Link to the video:
http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?RL=00068
Link to the popular song, I will try to learn a simplified version of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-hzihk7ETc&feature=related
Monday, November 22, 2010
Back in UB
The trip was worth the 5 hour drive and quick turn around time.
I went to the Gobi Desert...again. But this time it was covered in snow.
And this changed everything.
I learned, painfully, the song "The Weaping Camel" from a very interesting character who words cannot begin to describe. This is a morin khuur (horse headed fiddle) song that immitates the footsteps of a camel rather than a horse. And because the camel rivals the horse in importance in the Gobi, this makes sense (and its own section in my research). I think if I tried to begin to describe him it would start with his hat, but I took a picture of it, so I'll save my thousand words it would equal for the other things I would like to write.
Like, for example, my final paper and my Independent Study Project paper.
As always, I'll write more soon.
I went to the Gobi Desert...again. But this time it was covered in snow.
And this changed everything.
I learned, painfully, the song "The Weaping Camel" from a very interesting character who words cannot begin to describe. This is a morin khuur (horse headed fiddle) song that immitates the footsteps of a camel rather than a horse. And because the camel rivals the horse in importance in the Gobi, this makes sense (and its own section in my research). I think if I tried to begin to describe him it would start with his hat, but I took a picture of it, so I'll save my thousand words it would equal for the other things I would like to write.
Like, for example, my final paper and my Independent Study Project paper.
As always, I'll write more soon.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Countryside Here I come...again!
Tomorrow, 6:00AM I will be leaving for Deren Soum, in Dund Govi Aimag. It's about 300 KM south of UB, so hopefully less than a bumpy 6 hour drive.
At this point I am questioning if the drive is worth the short time I will be staying there, especially since my page paper is not writing itself. But I will finally do the field observations necessary to pull everything that I have been doing together.
I am still deciding if I will bring my own Morin Khuur with me, but I'll save that until the last minute.
I will travel with a translator, and the woman and man that I am staying with. They are visiting family in UB right now, and after I met with them I said I would arrange transportation if I could stay with them and observe the morin khuur in their home.
Never think that's a fair trade before considering the presence of roads. But it is what it is, and I am excited to be leaving.
At this point I am questioning if the drive is worth the short time I will be staying there, especially since my page paper is not writing itself. But I will finally do the field observations necessary to pull everything that I have been doing together.
I am still deciding if I will bring my own Morin Khuur with me, but I'll save that until the last minute.
I will travel with a translator, and the woman and man that I am staying with. They are visiting family in UB right now, and after I met with them I said I would arrange transportation if I could stay with them and observe the morin khuur in their home.
Never think that's a fair trade before considering the presence of roads. But it is what it is, and I am excited to be leaving.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Morin Khuur
I posted the video from the Morin Khuur players a while ago, but I did not fully explain the significance of the instrument.
I am learning to play it.
The morin khuur (said like "more-EEEn Hor") is the national instrument of Mongolia. I won't go into describing it, because you can see it below in the video. I will also post pictures of mine soon.
Yes, mine! I am the proud owner of the hardest instrument I have ever played. Why is it hard? First of all, the darn thing hurts to play. If you number the fingers on your left hand (pointer=1, middle=2, ring=3, pinky=4), you play 1 and 2 fingers by placing cuticle against the string, but 3 and 4 by pressing perpendicular to the strings. The slightest movement of your finger shifts the sound, thus I find myself not only exerting an unnecessary amount of force against my fingers, but also completely aware of the tenderness of the cuticle! Add sliding your fingers up and down strings, while exerting this force and aware of its pain and you’ll find yourself questioning exactly how good of an idea it was for you to learn to play.
Play a scale perfectly (after being shown only one time) and have a famous morin khuur bagsh (teacher) tell you he’s completely impressed with you, and you stop questioning.
It’s a beautiful instrument. It makes a beautiful sound. And learning to play an instrument central to a country’s culture is almost as powerful as learning to speak the country’s language, only more powerful. When I became a student of an instrument like the morin khuur I felt like I made the proclamation that I deeply respect Mongolian culture and was taking a risk by asking to be taught, a request which could be rejected. Rather than a moment’s hesitation, I was received as a student.
I take lessons twice a week, and will leave here with a total of 8 lessons.
I interviewed the morin khuur maker, finding out that the place where I signed up for lessons was in fact his own store and that Eiderbat Bagsh was his friend. I explained that I wanted to buy an instrument because of these lessons, and he offered to bring me a selection of morin khuurs to my first lesson. Sure enough, he showed up, last Thursday and he along with Eiderbat Bagsh picked out the most beautiful morin khuur…for me, an American.
I will have my third lesson on Thursday.
Every time I play the morin khuur, I feel more integrated into this culture, this land, this way of life.
…here’s hoping I can learn some songs!
I am learning to play it.
The morin khuur (said like "more-EEEn Hor") is the national instrument of Mongolia. I won't go into describing it, because you can see it below in the video. I will also post pictures of mine soon.
Yes, mine! I am the proud owner of the hardest instrument I have ever played. Why is it hard? First of all, the darn thing hurts to play. If you number the fingers on your left hand (pointer=1, middle=2, ring=3, pinky=4), you play 1 and 2 fingers by placing cuticle against the string, but 3 and 4 by pressing perpendicular to the strings. The slightest movement of your finger shifts the sound, thus I find myself not only exerting an unnecessary amount of force against my fingers, but also completely aware of the tenderness of the cuticle! Add sliding your fingers up and down strings, while exerting this force and aware of its pain and you’ll find yourself questioning exactly how good of an idea it was for you to learn to play.
Play a scale perfectly (after being shown only one time) and have a famous morin khuur bagsh (teacher) tell you he’s completely impressed with you, and you stop questioning.
It’s a beautiful instrument. It makes a beautiful sound. And learning to play an instrument central to a country’s culture is almost as powerful as learning to speak the country’s language, only more powerful. When I became a student of an instrument like the morin khuur I felt like I made the proclamation that I deeply respect Mongolian culture and was taking a risk by asking to be taught, a request which could be rejected. Rather than a moment’s hesitation, I was received as a student.
I take lessons twice a week, and will leave here with a total of 8 lessons.
I interviewed the morin khuur maker, finding out that the place where I signed up for lessons was in fact his own store and that Eiderbat Bagsh was his friend. I explained that I wanted to buy an instrument because of these lessons, and he offered to bring me a selection of morin khuurs to my first lesson. Sure enough, he showed up, last Thursday and he along with Eiderbat Bagsh picked out the most beautiful morin khuur…for me, an American.
I will have my third lesson on Thursday.
Every time I play the morin khuur, I feel more integrated into this culture, this land, this way of life.
…here’s hoping I can learn some songs!