Tug-of-War

Yesterday was the annual Gunma prefecture (similar to state) sports day. Each village, town, and city sent a strapping group of their finest young lads and lasses to compete in different events (note: the average age for the participants in my village was about 54). My village wanted me to be a representative on the tug-of-war team. I, of course, accepted their offer and trained relentlessly during the weeks and months preceding the event by doing hand-grip exercises and working on my technique. That sentence could also be read as: "I said sure, why not? I trained by typing on my keyboard and increasing my calorie intake, following the Newtonian equation for tug-of-war and sumo training (see E1)."

(E1): Strength Quotient, SQ = {[Gravity + Mass]/Hand-grip Potential} - Friction

Anyway, the day started early (~5 am) because we needed to round up "the gang" and head down the long, windy mountain road toward civilization, and the prefectural arena. Unfortunately, about half of the team wasn't coming due to the typhoon-like rainstorm prohibiting the track and field portion of the games from being held. We got to the arena early, found our spots, and put on our team attire. Our team attire consisted of a neon yellow, ultra-tight windbreaker (Uenomura in kanji on the back), and a baby blue logging cap with a small emblem of Gunma on the left above the ear. To be perfectly honest, our outfits were awesome....awesome in the sense that they were horrendous and I felt like I was transported back to the 1980s. We looked like we should be directing traffic at the county fair. We looked rag-tag--along with the awesome color combo of neon yellow and baby blue, about half the members on our team were grandparents and close enough to collecting retirement benefits, the other half looked normal and fit, and then of course there was me. Now, I have been in a lot of strange situations before, but never, EVER would I have pictured myself in the middle of an arena filled with 5000 strangely dressed Japanese people (many wearing some sort of "hot" or neon color), being intently stared at like a pendulating medallion, and being able to see over everyone in the entire building. It was euphoric, and what dreams (the weird ones) are made of.

Because of the rain, there was only one event at this year's sports day: tug-of-war. The opening ceremony took place, loaded with pomp and circumstance and the patented Hitleresque hailing of the prefectural governor. It was all window dressing for what was to come. Next was lunch and practice. This time was devoted to scouting the opponents and sizing up the competition. Things to note were how fat the other team was, how old, and what color of windbreaker they were wearing. Also, many teams payed special attention to our team because of the one and only foreigner in the building. I think both the competition and my teammates thought I was the secret weapon, the ace up the sleeve, the jack-in-the-box, the man, the myth, the legend, a certain "je ne sais quois." This was going to be the year that Uenomura brought home the trophy...and I was going to be the MVT (Most Valuable Tugger).

After about 4 hours of sitting around trying to speak Japanese with some old men, the main event began. It was tense...the arena was like a pressure cooker...the anticipation in the building could rival that of children sitting around the Christmas tree waiting to open their presents. It was that crazy. We were all set for our tournament run. We just had to win every match, a match consisting of the best out of three bouts. We had a first-round BYE because of Uenomura's impressive performance the year before. Eventually, we were up. It was quick, painless. We lost two bouts in the span of about 30 seconds. We were done. We lost. Our dreams would have to wait another year. There would be no tossing each other in the air like rag dolls. No hoisting of the MVT on the shoulders that pulled ropes like no others. It was an atrocity. It was humiliating. It was embarassing.

So, we packed up, high-tailed it out of there and did what anyone in that situation would've done. We drove the bus to the local hardware/everything store and bought cheap, bulk beer and drank all of it on the way back to Uenomura. It was a good trip back. We reflected on our time in the limelight. Old men snuggled up against the half-opened windows and smoked. People kept saying "rainen," or next year. Eventually we made it back to Uenomura. We went straight to the only restaurant in town and proceeded to party like I've never partied before. That's when I learned what the true meaning of sports day is: it's not whether you win or lose, it's all about the huge party afterwards.

Bon Appetit!

In Mongolia, we went to a Chinese restaurant one night to socialize a bit with some English teachers in Darkhan. We ordered some Mongolian beer (which, in my experience, is the best beer in Asia) before referring to the menu to see what strange food we would be eating. It was nice being in a Chinese restaurant in Mongolia....just about everyone in our group needed a break from mutton. Furthermore, it was nice to see a trilingual menu--representing Chinese, Mongolian, and English. Take a look...what would you order?



In the end, we ordered a dish with chicken (we wanted to indulge because every other restaurant in town had banished the chicken because of the bird flu), a couple dishes of fish (not smart, considering Mongolia is a land-locked country), and the-always-comforting, can't-go-wrong white rice. In other words, we started off with a tantalizing sample of the temple explodes the chicken cube, followed by a heaping helping of fuck to burn the fish, rounded out nicely with the delectable the water boils the fish.

I thought the fuck to burn the fish was the worst fuck to burn the fish I had ever had...it was tasteless and, frankly, in need of a bit more burning. The temple explodes the chicken cube was pretty decent...I would recommend that to just about anyone; Ask for it at your local Chinese restaurant. Now, the water boils the fish was very good. So good, in fact, that I tried to get the recipe from the waitress, but had no luck. I am curious how they prepared it.

OxyMongol

Back from Mongolia, evidence of the trip still lingers on--grubby fingernails with dirt-polished cuticles, socks stained from the ankle up with dry brown earth, a pink Chinggis Khan shirt that reflects the great conqueror's lighter side and love for women, a hankering for mutton surrounded by a corona of fat that my childhood pets would dream about as they waited under the dinner table, and also some great memories.


Mongolia was great. Mongolia was interesting. Mongolia, land of extremes. Mongolia was intense. Mongolia, jeez...umm....where do I begin? Those are just a couple responses I have come up with so far when asked "How was Mongolia?" Questions along those lines are just plain sinister and impossible to answer. That is why I choose to answer in the form of oxymora (plural for oxymoron), which helps to show that there are rarely absolutes when describing something, especially a country. Here are a few I have come up with: Mongolia is pretty ugly; Mongolia was almost exactly what I expected and exactly opposite of what I had in mind; My working vacation in Mongolia was awesome.


Mongolia is pretty ugly.

Yes, that's right. In some regards, it is so ugly that it is beautiful. Mongolia is roughly the size of Alaska, but we only saw an area about the size of Vermont. Thus, I don't have much to base this statement on. Just the endless brown hills, sparkling like sequined prom dresses from thousands of windblown, broken vodka bottles. The cities were a sight for sore eyes to realize that there are more sorrowful sights out there.

Yes, Mongolia was pretty ugly. However, parts of Mongolia were absolutely gorgeous. We went to a traditional ger (round Mongolian tent) camp in a semi-mountainous area to do some horseback riding and hiking. The area was green with grasses and trees! Trees are about as common as drinkable water in Mongolia. They should consider participating in Arbor Day, at least in the area we were working in.


Mongolia was almost exactly what I expected and exactly opposite of what I had in mind.

• Genghis (aka Chinggis) Khan was emblazoned on everything from beer to streets to the international airport.
  
• It's not easy being green in Mongolia. The temperature dips to -10 degrees Celsius at night and skyrocket to nearly 30 C during the day. The harsh environment leaves everything brown until summertime. Exception: the scenery can also be white with snow, as we found out while working amongst flurries.
  
• I ate more mutton than one could ever count in a sleepless night.
• The Mongolian people were as friendly a people as I could ever imagine. Their good-humor and straight-forwardness were definitely refreshing compared to the shy people of Japan.
• If the Mongolian Empire basically spread the known world, in the end, why did they choose to settle in Mongolia? They could have the pick of the litter. Why choose a place with 0.3% arable land, harsh winters, hot summers, and limited natural resources? That still baffles me.
  

My working vacation in Mongolia was awesome.

Through the sweat, chills, intestinal grumblings, a bout with food poisoning, and weather, we managed to almost complete 4 houses. We learned the Mongolian words for cement, trowel, and water very quickly as most of our time was devoted to the masonry side of the construction process. Some great houses were constructed and even better relationships. The families we worked with were constantly cheerful and happy to be working side-by-side with some funny looking foreigners. My group worked on a house with three generations of men--Grandpa (we actually called him that, and in a couple days he understood what it meant), his son Sambo, and Sambo's sons Dirtchiem and Oka.

It was amazing to work in Mongolia, among the herds of horses and sheep. The shadow-spotted mountains offered great backdrops for 5 minute breaks and seeing what the weather was bringing. The families were very grateful for all our help and although they couldn't tell us that, you could see it in the way their eyes twinkled and lips curled.