Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Tsagaan Sar L.A. 2016

Celebrating Mongolian New Year during Superbowl 50


Two days ago, we had the Superbowl here in America, and the Broncos beat the Panthers. I didn’t see the kickoff though, because I was celebrating Lunar New Year the Mongolian Way.

Elders of the L.A. Mongolian community gathered at Golden Mongolia restaurant


On February 7 at noon there was a Tsagaan Sar celebration at Golden Mongolia restaurant, located in L.A.’s Koreatown near the Wilshire-Vermont Metro station. More properly, it wasn’t an actual Tsagaan Sar celebration. It was a celebration for Bitüün (Битүүн), the name of the day before Tsagaan Sar. Tsagaan Sar started yesterday, Monday February 8 and is continuing until tomorrow, Wednesday February 10. (That's three days long - and in the countryside where I was, the festivities often went on a whole week.)


In Asian culture, each new year is associated with one of twelve animals. What most Americans don’t know is that each year is also associated with one of five elements - earth, water, fire, wood, metal. 12 animals x 5 elements = 60 combinations, which makes for a traditional “century” of 60 years. This year is the year of the Fire Monkey, or Gal Bich Jil (Гал бич жил).



The Los Angeles Mongolian Association holds a celebration for the ахмад (ahmad), or elders of the community, every year around Tsagaan Sar. I got to speak to some of these elders, some of whom were visiting from Mongolia. (I can only imagine their surprise when they arrived here and it was 75° F (° C)!) I went to the celebration last year, and knew they would have one again this year, so I made sure to check the time. Unfortunately, the Mongolian community and its activities aren’t always well-publicized around L.A.

Yes, we also had huushuur, and they even put the plate right in front of me!


This little girl guards the gifts that have been prepared for the older Mongolian guests.

Lunch contained plenty of Mongolian holiday staples, such as buuz and even airag, and was followed by singing and dancing (mostly waltzing, naturally). I sang "Би Монгол эр хүн" ("I am a Mongolian Man") with the help of the karaoke machine. They also made me make a brief speech.

White guys


More to my surprise, I also met two other white guys at the celebration. In fact one of them was wearing a deel - a very old-fashioned deel, as you can tell by the cut of the chest flap. His deel had a straight diagonal slash across the front, instead of the right-angle corner on more modern styles. As it turns out, they play Mongols in historical reenactments, so they knew quite a bit about Mongolian history already. They’re planning their first visit to Mongolia later this year, so wish them luck!

Group photo


Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Los Angeles Naadam 2015

Naadam in Los Angeles
Naadam in Los Angeles


Two days ago I saw Naadam (Наадам), Mongolia's summer sports festival, in Los Angeles, thanks to the Mongolian Association of Los Angeles (Лос Анжелесийн Монголчуудын холбоо). The event was held in spacious Griffith Park, north of the Observatory, south of the Zoo, and next to the golf course. Although I'd seen several Naadams in Mongolia, this was my first Naadam abroad. I ran into some Mongolians I knew here, as well as some fellow Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs, for those who know) from Mongolia. The event also attracted quite a few businesses, such as representatives of Mongolia's airline MIAT and the Korean company Coway.


The main Naadam tent, on the north side
of the field, naturally
The main Naadam tent, on the north side of the field, naturally



I showed up at 11:00 AM, as stated on the announcement on the LA Mongols site, so I was put to work setting up chairs and tables. In Mongolia, the stated time of an event is often actually the time people start setting up for the event, so those who don't want to help ought to show up one or two hours late.

Just like the local Naadam in Khashaat that I witnessed, the events took place in the center of a giant ring of inward-facing tents.


Baby's first Naadam. Hello Rinchen!
Baby's first Naadam. Hello Rinchen!

The celebration got underway close to 1:00 when a procession in traditional costume marched around the inside of the circle with the Mongolian flag and finally raised it in the center of the ring.
Cultural performances dominated the first half of Naadam, including dancers, singers, a gymnast, a морин хуур (horsehead fiddle) player, and the rock band Dayan (Даян хамтлаг).

Getting ready to raise the Mongolian
flag
Getting ready to raise the Mongolian flag
Young girls don their хатан (queen)
outfits for the cultural performance
Young girls don their хатан (queen) outfits for the cultural performance
Horsehead fiddle (morin huur) player
A selection of medals to be awarded to
the victors
A selection of medals to be awarded to the victors
Prize statues
Prize statues
Rock band Dayan performing at the 2015
Los Angeles Naadam festival
Rock band Dayan performing at the 2015 Los Angeles Naadam festival
Huushuur (хуушуур), creamy airag (айраг, fermented horse milk) and other food for the public was provided by Golden Mongolian Restaurant (Алтан Монгол зоогийн газар) Los Angeles's REAL Mongolian restaurant, who set up a tent on the west side. So many people lined up to get huushuur from them, a couple of my friends were in line for two hours.

The line for huushuur (хуушуур)
The line for huushuur (хуушуур)
After the cultural performances, the wrestling finally started.

Unfortunately, there was no archery or horse-racing - the other two major Naadam events. It's a lot easier to get a park use permit for wrestling than archery or racing, perhaps because of greater perceived danger, as I discussed in "Safety in the Art of Archery." Hopefully future events can incorporate more of Mongolian culture.

Naadam wrestlers
Wrestlers at the 2015 Naadam in Los Angeles. Notice the other guy on the side. Several matches take place simultaneously, so there's never a dull minute


One of the final events was a national costume fashion show.

Getting in line for the fashion show
Getting in line for the fashion show

There was an afterparty at a club in Koreatown, which I didn't attend, but I'd already had quite a lot of Mongolia for a day in America!

Friday, February 6, 2015

Safety in the Art of Archery

While I was impressed by the scrupulousness of American archers, other people fretted over their danger. But after hearing about a septuagenarian who had been shot with a gun in front of his own house, the threat of sportsmen accidentally shooting arrows backward at joggers seemed somewhat less.
Recently, there was a Pasadena city council meeting at which one of the issues was archery. The issue was whether or not the Pasadena Roving Archers could continue to practice in the Arroyo Seco. They had opposition from residents convinced of the danger of archery. People have totally different perceptions of risk though. I've tried archery in Mongolia and America, and from this perspective, the controversy seems almost bizarre.

Archery, or нум сум, is one of the three official sports of Наадам. I was hoping to try it as soon as I found out I was going to Mongolia. Unfortunately, archery wasn't very big in my town, and the equipment is not common or cheap. Luckily, two years into my stay, an archery demonstration was staged in my town, and another competition happened at the town's 90th anniversary celebration, so archery became more popular in my third year. A few people started practicing it, and I got some, but not many chances to try it.

Archery, cars, and nothing in between them.

The setup was very ad hoc. There was no actual range. The archers just put a target up outside town, walked far enough beyond that that they could shoot, and put their quivers on the ground to mark the line. Everyone crowded behind them to watch. Every so often one of the pros would hand off the bow to some kid, who would try to copy what he or she had seen the pros doing. There wasn't a whole lot of explanation. The only real rule, "Don't walk in front of the target when someone's shooting," was so obvious no one needed to say it. I think it's important to note, though, that the judges stand next to the target, so you are always shooting toward someone. After a while some of the adults would get bored and go home while their kids kept on running around the range. The little boys who weren't shooting were employed to run back and forth to the target to retrieve spent arrows, or to shoo cows that walked into the way, because there usually wasn't any boundary to the range.

I wanted to continue after I came back to America, so I joined the Pasadena Roving Archers. My first time there, I knew that it was way different, and not just because Western archers don't draw the bow with the thumb. We newbies were required to stand in a line, fill out information, and sign a release form. The club members tested our sightedness (left- or right-eyed?), measured our arms, fitted us with equipment, and put us in groups. The instructors made our groups do particular stretches, lectured on basics, and explained the rules of the range before we were allowed to string a single arrow. They drilled us on their system of whistles which told us when to go to the line, shoot, hang our quivers, and retrieve arrows. If we walked in front of the targets while people were shooting, we'd get kicked out, we were warned. There are even rules about walking around the target when nobody is shooting. Shooting itself was easier, because the American bows all had less draw weight. They even had little arrow-rests on the bows to keep the arrow from falling out while you aimed! Everything was prepackaged for your safety and convenience.

The gravest risked I encountered in Mongolia was temporary numbness in my thumb after drawing the string without wearing a thumbring.  No one got hurt, and nobody worried about anyone getting hurt, despite nobody taking precautions that nobody would get hurt. Don't be dumb - what else do you need to know? No fences, no rules, no worries, no injuries.

Archery in rural Mongolia. Notice all the people hanging around
the target, the residential dwellings right behind it, and the
lack of any clear boundary around the range that was just set up
that morning.

American archery rules and guidelines seemed like overkill compared to that. On the other hand, when they're this thorough, at least they've covered all possible ground and there's no way anyone can complain.

But of course someone did anyway.

I'd only been to the range a few times when they told us that there was a group, seemingly consisting of concerned mothers, who wanted archery out of the Arroyo Seco, and the matter would be taken up a city council meeting. Amazingly, while I was being impressed by how scrupulous American archers were, other people were fretting anxiously over the dangers of their squeaky-clean sportsmanship! How could it be so? The anti-archery activists were quite creative, it turned out, and imagined all kinds of strange things that might happen. Hikers and joggers would be forced out of the Arroyo, or they would get hit by stray arrows if they didn't get out, or someone would shoot an arrow into someone's lawn. Perhaps a child might even get struck by an arrow playing in their own front lawn!

Anyone who has visited the range should realize how easy it is to get around without getting in the way, and how hard it would be for the archers to hit bystanders, even if they tried. If not, I suggest you refer to my diagram. Arrows that miss the target just hit the hillside behind it, and since it's steep and bushy, no one is going to be climbing there. To hit someone, they would have to turn away from the actual targets toward the trail, and hope someone stood still and waved their arms so they could aim clearly. In order to get an arrow into someone's yard, they would have to shoot across the trail, over the wash, up the canyon side, across the street, and finally into someone's yard. That's not easy. Most likely, the archer would just lose a perfectly good arrow in the wash.

Archery equipment, unlike guns, is not something you can ignorantly and accidentally set off. To hit anything with accuracy and force, you would have to be somewhat competent, by which time you would have figured out that aiming at people is bad. Anyone who might shoot you with arrows would have to really want to hit you. And if someone wants to shoot you, that's an entirely different problem which could not be prevented by an archery ban.

Danger: Kids with Weapons.

I was eager to help the Roving Archers, so I signed their petition, sent a letter to my district four representative, Gene Masuda, and attended the council meeting on Monday. The turnout was so great that that the majority of supporters, including myself, couldn't fit in the council rooms and had to stand outside watching the meeting on a screen. Immediately before the archery was considered, they heard about a crime wave in another neighborhood. In this case, the delay may have been fortunate, because the meeting itself put the issue in perspective. After hearing about a septuagenarian who had been maliciously shot with a gun in front of his own house, the threat posed by good-natured sportsmen potentially, accidentally, shooting arrows backward at joggers seemed somewhat less.

The council talked a long, long time, and didn't vote until 2:30 in the morning, and I had to leave only a short time after archery began to be discussed, so I had to wait until the next day to find out. Thankfully, the city council was reasonable and decided in favor of the archers. The Roving Archers work hard to make archery enjoyable, and safe, for everyone. I was truly bewildered how much some people worried about the Roving Archers after I had already done archery in an almost completely unregulated environment. Things are pretty safe here, but every time someone thinks archery is dangerous, or refuses to drink their tap water, or shave without cream, or lots of other things, I can't help but wonder if we're a bit too safe.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

My Address Doesn't Want Me to Get a Job

I spend a lot of time now filling out online forms for job applications and employment-site profiles, and I've noticed that some of them seem oblivious to certain kinds of work backgrounds - for example, work abroad - just judging by the structure of their data fields. In particular, many times I get stuck at the beginning of an application because I can only input U.S. addresses. Getting around this was easy on paper forms - less so on internet forms where the "state" field is marked "required," with a drop-down list of never more than 52 options. Good luck if your most valuable experience is outside the U.S.! Without Mongolia and Japan, my resume would end up nearly empty. Eventually I figured out how to work around this by listing "Peace Corps Mongolia" with the Peace Corps' headquarter's Washington DC address, and my Japanese university with the Illinois address of the U.S. university it was partnered with in the exchange program. But it's not a great solution. It's frustrating to feel like the address field is blocking you from advancement. In a society where tons of employers drool over international and intercultural qualifications, how many good candidates are prevented from connecting with them because those same employers' forms can't handle a tiny bit of non-standard information? And what other kinds of unintentional stumbling blocks are out there on applications that we haven't noticed?

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Returning - Mundane Weirdness

It’s been three months since I came back from Mongolia, and I’m adjusting fine - mostly. At least I no longer fall asleep at 9 AM, or random points throughout the day.

For the most part, living in vastly different places has convinced me that people are pretty much people everywhere. But some stuff is always different. I never had an experience that was dramatic enough that I would call it culture “shock” - a feeling that overpowers you rapidly when contemplating all the vast differences between countries simultaneously and makes your sweat gush and lungs gulp and heart explode. For me at least, the feeling upon going from place to place, especially moving back to an old place, is what I would call “mundane weirdness.”

When you go to a strange country, you will probably check every book about that country out of the library, practice greetings (with terrible pronunciation, because you’ve never heard the language spoken before), look on Youtube for their folk (or pop) songs, and become instant friends with everyone from that country and ask them a million questions. Soon you will know so much that you could probably write the Wikipedia article on that country, but you actually don’t know much at all. Despite your worthy preparation, when you arrive, all you can reasonably expect is that it won’t be like what you expect. That’s practically a law. You are like the blind man in the Mozi, who can say that black is the darkest color, but couldn’t recognize a giant black ball right in front of him.

Most people know that, but nevertheless forget that it works the other way too: when you go home, home is not what you think it is. PCVs should know better, since Peace Corps spends most of COS conference prophesying reverse culture shock, and exhorting them to be ready. Repent sinners, the end of service is near! In all likelihood, you will ignore them, because you’re thinking of a million and two other things, and you won’t read about the numbered stages of culture shock or make a list of your expectations and think critically about it. Even if you are expecting to feel weird though, you will be shocked to find that there is another shock you have not foreseen: you can’t be sure what will be weird, or when.

Instead of happening when you get off the plane and see McDonald’s, palm trees, bald eagles, Abraham Lincoln, and your mom, it happens when you realize that all the pens come in packs of five and the guy at the checkout counter won’t open a pack and sell you just one. You half expect him to, until you suddenly think, “Oh, that’s right.” Once I went to buy "a" blank CD, and ended up buying a ten-pack. Until I saw the ten-pack I had not once thought that it was absolutely certain that I would have to buy a prepackaged quantity. I seriously believed I was just going to walk in and walk out with a single blank CD. It was very mundane and very weird.

(Incidentally, six years ago when I went to Japan, I had an encounter with mundane weirdness when tried to replenish my three-ring binder. I found lined paper with two holes, and four holes, but not three holes, no matter where I looked. When I finally asked a Japanese salesman where the three-hole-punched paper was, he stared at me and told me such a thing doesn’t exist.)

It also happened when I stepped on my mom’s heel and stuck my hand out reflexively. I had to squint to make sure that she actually kept walking without turning around to shake my hand or even slowing down. (In Mongolia, if you step on someone accidentally, you should shake their hand.)

It’s like the confusion when your car keys are not on the table where you put them, until you remember where you actually put them. Furthermore, you know that you will misplace your keys or wallet or something sometime, but you never know when you will misplace it, so you can’t prepare for it, even though you know it will happen. The subtle, odd feeling, the persistent low-grade strangeness hides behind everyday things. You may “get used to the weirdness” and forget about it while it lurks, until it seeps out in some trivial occurrence. Mundane weirdness appears less and less often over time, but it’s probably just sleeping.

Apparently, I can’t post on time even when I do have internet access. Some things don't change.