Day Five Hundred & Eight-six
Thursday, January 12th 2012
According to thermometer now in our English classroom, Sadie & I have been enduring 50F temperatures all winter. Technically, the thermometer reads 10C, but conversions must be made for the sake of my own comprehension. The radiators don't radiate, & Sadie pointed out today that she could literally feel a breeze seeping in through the window. There is nothing to be done. Sadie is right in saying that if we were to move classrooms, it might only condemn another teacher our freezing room, & that simply wouldn't be fair. The radiators in our classroom have apparently never worked, & the only other empty classroom in the school is even colder than our own, though this has yet to be scientifically verified via our new thermometer. Lo, because the power is often “baikhgui,” even an electric heater is not a viable possibility.
I'm still convalescing from what very well may be the worst cold I have ever gotten in Mongolia. It started as a mere tickle in my throat & digressed into a upper respiratory infection that left me coughing all night to the point where I had barely slept in four days. This cold (though the terminology “plague” seems more appropriate) was multi-talented, causing my nose to simultaneously run whilst being congested, & sneezing all the while. Needless to say, I didn't attend school for over a week, & to this day, I can't use my voice fully. Coughing up bits of phlegm is not my idea of a good time.
I do, however, have a phone interview for the Peace Corps Fellows graduate program in sociology at ISU next Thursday at 10PM! After being so immersed in the application process, engrossing myself in a thirty-five plus hour endeavor that resulted in my finely-tuned statement of purpose, editing a piece of sample writing (which I was advised should be my best piece of sociological writing ever in the history of sociological writing I have ever done in my whole life ever), & emailing various inquiries like an inquiry fiend, the interview definitely crept up on me. The little voice in the back of my head says things like “Yeah, but the deadline isn't until March 1st!” whereupon another little voice nudges me saying “Right, so when else would they be conducting the interviews if not now-ish?”
Some of the teachers from my adult English speaking club talked to me yesterday before I went to the students' English Club & asked if I would go to the community center to dance with them at 5:30. Thinking to myself “Why the heck not?” I agreed. What ensued was a rather awkward hour & a half of learning (or should I say relearning) the Mongolian Waltz, amidst two other dances that seem more Russian than anything. When the teachers were trying to explain the names of the other two dances to me, I may have misheard them, because they told me that one of the dances was the Department Store Dance, & that that other dance was the Bread Dance. The ballet teacher (who is featured in the film “Story of the Weeping Camel,” which was filmed in my village!) is quite an impressive lady, both in stature as well as in her classic approach to dance. Admittedly, I have no idea if she was complimenting my form or if she was criticizing me. However, I trust that in her capable hands (& by the complicated motions of her tiny feet in high heels) that I too shall dance, or at least tomorrow's class will lead me a step closer in that direction (pun intended?).
Indeed, my mind is flooded with idle dreams of faraway places. Where typical Americans tend to daydream of the exoticisms evoked by words like Paris, Rome, or London, I, on the other hand, find myself fantasizing wildly about places like Super Wal-Mart, large expanses of paved parking lots, hanging stoplights swaying gently in the breeze, & aisles upon aisles of tchochkies, their plastic bottoms stamped with infamous phrases like “Made in China,” or more alluring still, “Hecho en Mexico.” My idea of a getaway at this point is to close my eyes for just a moment & imagine myself sitting on the dock of my family's cabin, the sun on my face, my feet in the water, & an ice cold cooler full of Newcastle perched eloquently between myself & my best friend Rachel, my brother wandering somewhere nearby. My escape these days is to imagine myself driving through Colorado, where every glance looks picturesque enough to be on a postcard, going out to dinner with my parents at the Dillon Dam Brewery, & walking the dogs along the foot-trail winding near a crystal clear stream staggered by tiny waterfalls near our condo. I equate the sense of summer, however distant, with hope.
I was very good from what may be the worst cold I have been recovering in Mongolia. It began as a mere tickle in my throat and into the upper respiratory tract infection, leaving me coughing all night.
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