Snow and Ice Festival

There is a big river near Our Town called the Tamir River that has been completely frozen over for a couple of months already. During the summer, the Tamir River is a lovely place to have a picnic and maybe fish for trout (so I’m told). In the winter, the Tamir River becomes a place for games like ice shagai (use small metal rectangles to hit small pillars 80 feet away) and what they call kurling (like giant shuffle board on ice). Upon finding out that we had never been to the river (we don’t have a car and we have been busy, ok!) our community English club that meets on Sundays decided to rectify the situation and we all drove out for an afternoon of history lessons and practice.

Cigarillo in my mouth, shagai in my hand.
I thought Mongolian kids couldn’t get any cuter, then they started wearing father-son matching deels.
James was great at it, as usual. Damn he’s annoying sometimes.

It was cold, but I didn’t feel it much, because I spent most of the time gliding across the ice trying to put enough force behind my shagai to propel it 80 ft. while simultaneously trying not to fall too hard. It was so much fun getting to learn to play from strangers who were more than happy to teach the strange foreigners.

Power Posing.

Little did we know, we would be returning to Tamir River the very next weekend with our schools for the annual Snow and Ice Festival. Everyone dressed in their traditional dress finery, packed themselves into a van, and headed down to the river.

21 people in coats, plus driver, plus food and drink packed into this van. If we weren’t good friends before, we are now.

During the Snow and Ice Festival, we lowly amateurs were not allow to actually play any of the games, but the people-watching kept us busy. I kept a mental checklist of who had the most flamboyant hat and how many animals it probably took to make it.

Some of my colleagues, looking fly. 

Being a California girl, I was a bit put off by the ostentatious use of fur and leather when we first moved to Mongolia, but I have changed my tune pretty quick. Not using every part of every animal would be wasteful (and Mongolians are anything but wasteful) and until you have experienced -35 C, you really can’t appreciate how wonderful being warm is. I am almost ready to invest in some authentic hat and boots, but I keep having to remind myself that while I might feel stylish and cozy wearing horse-hair boots in Mongolia, I doubt I will get a positive response back in the US (that and my feet would be a sweaty mess).

We live in the coolest place.
I participated in a wrestling tournament! I lost this time, but I’ll be back, you’ll see! I’ll be back!

Zoom back to the festival: because we went with my school, we didn’t have any say in when we would go home. By hour four, I was getting a little chilled despite the huge amounts of buuz, hot milk tea, and vodka that was being passed around in the various vans where people would hole up to warm themselves. Despite the cold, my school teachers insisted on staying until the sun went down, six hours after we got there. James and I got home, got under the covers to warm up, and immediately fell asleep.

Just in case anyone forgets how cold Mongolia is. Bet you couldn’t tell I was wearing three pairs of heavyweight long-underwear under those leggings. 

Merry Chrisma-hanu-kwanzikaa!

To Mongolians, there is no real difference between Christmas and New Years (and add Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Festivus to that list for good measure). The compilation of everything is called Shin Jil.

Merry Everything from our side of the planet to yours.

Mongolians use a lot of Christmas iconography but mostly as generic decoration for Shin Jil and it imparts no importance whatsoever. Really Shin Jil is an excuse to get dolled up and have a glamorous party to ring in the New Year season.

Both of our schools had Shin Jil parties and luckily they were on different nights, so, of course, we had to attend both. Shin Jil is THE party of the year. Women here like looking good on a daily basis and dressing in what I would classify as prom dresses for even the smallest event, so for Shin Jil, they go all out. Every hairdresser in town was booked solid and making bank.

My school’s party was on Wednesday night and my first impression was that everyone looked really really nice. I wore a 1940s-esque black floor-length gown and didn’t feel the least bit overdressed. If anything, I felt like my outfit was missing some glitz. Note to self: next year wear more glitter. We had a fabulous time, I even won a rice cooker in the raffle! The very next night was James’ school party and by then I had my hair and makeup tried and tested. I liked going to James’ school party because when one of his counterparts told me he didn’t like to dance, I hijacked the DJ table, dragged James to the dance floor, and proved all his colleagues wrong. Later in the evening, they made us sing (as Mongolians are apt to do) and we sang what I suppose is now “our” song: When I’m 64. No one filmed it, which is maybe for the best.

I really did try to open my eyes for this one.

Without the culture of “The Holidays” everywhere we went, we suddenly felt obligated to uphold a bunch of Christmas traditions all on our own, things that we would never do otherwise. We didn’t want to invest in a fancy plastic tree, so we made one out of cheap twinkle lights instead, and I love it. I played Christmas music round the clock for a week and James wasn’t even annoyed. I made my students in movie club watch “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” (obviously my favorite holiday movie) and I think they actually enjoyed it thanks to the large amount of physical humor.

Creative use of hard-to-find twinkle lights.

My school was supposed to have a “Christmas Carols competition” that didn’t feature a single carol, but did feature a lot of great Mongolian songs and what they call “American dances” (ie. high schoolers doing a jazz routine to a compilation of songs in English).

It might be a federal law that every little Mongolian girl must own a puffy white dress.

Another volunteer from the M27 group, Emma, left her nearby town to come celebrate Christmas with us. She decided to buy a tree on her own, which we decorated while cooking a fancy dinner on Christmas Eve (BBQ pork sliders on homemade buns. Sometimes I think we eat better than most Americans). The next day we went on a Christmas day hike into the mountains where we found the only patch of snow deep enough to slide down using a tarp we were carrying around. When we came home, wet, cold and tired, it felt as much like a real Christmas as Christmases can get. it was the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny f-ing Kaye.

Emma before she taught us old-forgotten carols.
Finding fabulous ingredients here is a full time hobby, but I’d say it’s worth it. Arkhangai is for foodies.
The hike begins at the ovoo.

The holidays have perhaps been easier for me than for other people, because this is far from my first Christmas away from “home”, but I think also because this place feels like home in many ways already. If I have any resolutions, it is only to be more present. With how busy we are and how many new things there are to experience, the past eight months (holy cow! eight months!) have gone by so quickly that I want to start being more mindful about the everyday joys. Cheers to the New Year!

I don’t even care if we’re gross. ❤ Photo cred: Emma