goodbye Mongolia!

I am sitting at a pleasant cafe in Ullanbator. This is the same place I met the couple from Beijing, the sculptor studing at Columbia, Don Croner "our great scholar", and the well dressed missionary. There is a blacony that looks out over peace street and i feel the cold air reach me all the way back here, where i sit by the window with a view of an abandoned soviet playground. Last night a small group of girls traveled down the street to a nice lounge. We put on dresses, yak shawls, and our nicest shoes. We sat around a single table drinking good gin in mixed drinks. We talked about Mongolia, home, China, Japan politics, people we were missing. We freely talked about politics- something we would soon not be able to do. At 11:30 we headed back home. I realized that soon even this would be uncommon. By India, we won't be able to be out past dark. It has never been easy being a woman. This trip has highlighted so many things, including my gender.

I have become close with the city. So close in fact, that the Beijing couple ask allison and I, "Do you live here or are you traveling?" . Jane and I find ourselves humming Mongolian songs as we grocery shop. We have gotten good at taking taxi's. We have gotten good at navigating the unmarked streets by foot. I have gotten good at strapping my camera to myself and setting up Fstop, ordering drinks without ice and keeping an eye on my shoes. We have gotten good at watching out for each other.

In the evenings we have Japanese and Chinese language hours. I learn important things like "hello", "thank you", "where is the bathroom?" I learn even more important things like, "Where is the bike shop?" and "TERRIBLE, DISASTER, I got a flat tire!" After this we watch films. It is too dark and too late to go out in UB, so we crowd around any ol' mac and watch vivid, beaitiful, mind altering anime or dark, dry humor comedies and dramas. We have RAD viewing night and a few members of the PACRIM family come to appreciate a good bmx backflip, ass sliding, and a good quality 80's dialogue. I miss my bicycle then. I miss it more then ever. I miss the sounds of clipping in , chain on teeth, and the click of a perfectly shifting campy lever. When this first bite of “missing” happens, I begin to miss faces, my bed, metro coffee, and so I do what I must do to counterbalance this feeling… I plan. I make lists of to do’s, titles like “Art in Beijing”, “Hokkaido Museums”, “Bike Shops in Japan”. I compose lists of artists, museums, universities and programs pertaining to my thesis. I make lists of things to remember and still always… things I would not mind forgetting.

Allison and I go out to explore the city some more. I take photographs of new architecture, young people, the aesthetic structures of mountain/building/sky. I say “one, two, three” as I capture Allison at Suk Battor square. The Mongolian guys smile and laugh, imitating us… “one… two… three…. Smile!” they say.

The couple from Beijing tell us about a section of Beijing, “all artists should go to.” It is an old bomb factory converted into an artist’s community. They give is directions and recommend bars and coffee places. I add these to my lists and at night I listen to “The Notwist” and try to imagine all the unimaginable things I will come to hold in my heart throughout my life.

A week ago I take a look at my list titled, “Must Do: Mongolia”. I plan my last days here according to this. Visit the black market again, the calligraphy museum, Sukbattor, the art museum one last time, get some Gobi chocolate, a curry puff, a camel wool hat. The black market it as good as always. We look at the antigue section. I price door knockers and lapel buttons from soviet times. We look at wool, felt, cashmere vests. We find the Home Depot sections, the Drug Store section, the Best Buy section, and finally the pajama section! I haggle and buy a mens top and bottom. The set is fantastic with black and tan and neon lions, a big “2008” sprawled across the chest… as if I would forget this time and place. Allison buys a handmade lock. Its welding is spectacular and persise. I miss studio, work space, art supplies at my fingertips. I buy some other things too. I wrap they up nicely for the trip to China. They stay as the heart of my bag, the well protected core (This is important, they are gifts). I also keep all the gifts I have received. I keep all the emails I received from girls at Gangus Khan University. I keep the bracelet I was given from the Abbot and his family. I keep the firework rock the Gobi gave me and the tiny, pale, shapely twig the Tereiej national park gifted me. I keep all the bus tickets that Todd, Jane, Safa, and others collect for my art. I keep all the gifts Mongolia gave me that remain inanimate. I keep them in my big black sketchbook. I keep them in me.