Breaking the Circuit
Dear Home,
My computer and humidifier, possibly due to American origins, put a lot of abuse on my apartment's power. They still work fine, but when my power's been out for over a day I lose hope for the food in my refrigerator. It was this that really bothered me in the middle of the night. If only my heat would break down as well, I foolishly thought, my food might keep until I got things fixed. Granted, many of the volunteers have neither apartment, refrigerator nor radiator. They have a shed (or PING\Пнйн) connected to the front of their tent, which forms a buffer to the outdoors and provides easily accessible storage space for however much meat and firewood they hope to consume over the winter. The food is pretty reliably frozen by the end of October, and the fire is as good as you make it. I can't make fires. Really, my apartment is fine.
The next day, a bit groggy, I enjoyed my usual morning run and weekly chat with family and my girlfriend. Then as I set out for home a ran into a local Physics teacher who had just learned that the Professional English class was canceled. We talked (in English) and I discussed my electrical malfunctions. He pointed out that as a Physics teacher, he had some practical knowledge (more than I had). Besides, he knew an electrician. And not just that, this electrician had a Russian degree in medicine and looked on the physics teacher as a younger brother to be supported in all his efforts.
So we jumped into a taxi to grab supplies, not sitting in the backseat so much as on other passengers, and soon we had the best in Chinese engineering, including a new circuit breaker (or Гал Хамгаалагч/Gal Hamgaalagch). On my return the brothers-in-arms commiserated (in Mongolian) about the state of my apartment and decided that in my excitement I'd bought the wrong breaker. So they told me to hold the fort in case the real electrician appeared and soon returned with the correct device and some change, which is far more than I could have done for myself. Completely surrendering my power over my power, I began to tidy up my bedroom and ensure that everyone had a steady supply of chocolate.
Eventually everything aligned and I was ushered downstairs to look at the register so that in the future I would arguably be able to fuss with the circuits myself. Then I went back upstairs to plug everything back in and say a tearful farewell to the beef that didn't make it (the milk, in contrast, was delicious). I asked if I should get out my bleach, but they felt this was overkill and explained that a little cigarette smoke would clear up the smell, and no doubt serve as a just reward for their efforts. I was also told that in the future I could hang food out my window in a plastic bag in a pinch. After all, its much colder outside. In fact, opening my window might also help me control the heat in my apartment. I continue to struggle with my pride over this issue (it's always my pride, and not the culture, that gives me real trouble).
I'd had hopes of inviting my coworker and her family over for spaghetti, and still had salvageable tomato sauce, but then the Physics teacher insisted that I come over to his place for dinner (though he called it lunch) and this seemed better in every way. So over the next few hours I ate and ate, alternated between basic Mongolian and English, taught the Dr. Electrician to play UNO, and tried my hand at Mongolian poker, which is more of a trump game and already dear to me heart. Out of four games, I won once and helped my partner to win once. Which seems like good odds. My cultural integration was only slightly troubled by the liberal consumption of Coca Cola and the sound of Corbin Bleu 'Pushing it to the Limit' in the background. Occasionally I looked across the way to my apartment with some concern, but all I noticed was snowflakes beginning to whiten the hills and roofs around us.
As if this weren't enough, I hear that some of the volunteers are going to get together for Laundry Night. Sounds like the perfect way to celebrate my day.
My computer and humidifier, possibly due to American origins, put a lot of abuse on my apartment's power. They still work fine, but when my power's been out for over a day I lose hope for the food in my refrigerator. It was this that really bothered me in the middle of the night. If only my heat would break down as well, I foolishly thought, my food might keep until I got things fixed. Granted, many of the volunteers have neither apartment, refrigerator nor radiator. They have a shed (or PING\Пнйн) connected to the front of their tent, which forms a buffer to the outdoors and provides easily accessible storage space for however much meat and firewood they hope to consume over the winter. The food is pretty reliably frozen by the end of October, and the fire is as good as you make it. I can't make fires. Really, my apartment is fine.
The next day, a bit groggy, I enjoyed my usual morning run and weekly chat with family and my girlfriend. Then as I set out for home a ran into a local Physics teacher who had just learned that the Professional English class was canceled. We talked (in English) and I discussed my electrical malfunctions. He pointed out that as a Physics teacher, he had some practical knowledge (more than I had). Besides, he knew an electrician. And not just that, this electrician had a Russian degree in medicine and looked on the physics teacher as a younger brother to be supported in all his efforts.
So we jumped into a taxi to grab supplies, not sitting in the backseat so much as on other passengers, and soon we had the best in Chinese engineering, including a new circuit breaker (or Гал Хамгаалагч/Gal Hamgaalagch). On my return the brothers-in-arms commiserated (in Mongolian) about the state of my apartment and decided that in my excitement I'd bought the wrong breaker. So they told me to hold the fort in case the real electrician appeared and soon returned with the correct device and some change, which is far more than I could have done for myself. Completely surrendering my power over my power, I began to tidy up my bedroom and ensure that everyone had a steady supply of chocolate.
Eventually everything aligned and I was ushered downstairs to look at the register so that in the future I would arguably be able to fuss with the circuits myself. Then I went back upstairs to plug everything back in and say a tearful farewell to the beef that didn't make it (the milk, in contrast, was delicious). I asked if I should get out my bleach, but they felt this was overkill and explained that a little cigarette smoke would clear up the smell, and no doubt serve as a just reward for their efforts. I was also told that in the future I could hang food out my window in a plastic bag in a pinch. After all, its much colder outside. In fact, opening my window might also help me control the heat in my apartment. I continue to struggle with my pride over this issue (it's always my pride, and not the culture, that gives me real trouble).
I'd had hopes of inviting my coworker and her family over for spaghetti, and still had salvageable tomato sauce, but then the Physics teacher insisted that I come over to his place for dinner (though he called it lunch) and this seemed better in every way. So over the next few hours I ate and ate, alternated between basic Mongolian and English, taught the Dr. Electrician to play UNO, and tried my hand at Mongolian poker, which is more of a trump game and already dear to me heart. Out of four games, I won once and helped my partner to win once. Which seems like good odds. My cultural integration was only slightly troubled by the liberal consumption of Coca Cola and the sound of Corbin Bleu 'Pushing it to the Limit' in the background. Occasionally I looked across the way to my apartment with some concern, but all I noticed was snowflakes beginning to whiten the hills and roofs around us.
As if this weren't enough, I hear that some of the volunteers are going to get together for Laundry Night. Sounds like the perfect way to celebrate my day.