White Month Part 2

When I think back on what was the Mongolian holiday Tsagan Sar, I see a blur of milk tea, buuz (meat dumplings), and different types of vodka. It was much like how I thought it would be; visiting houses, eating and drinking, yet I didn't realize how it would feel. Pretend you are walking into someone's house or ger. You feel a rush of warmth from the fire crackling on the stove and see the beautiful Turkish carpets hanging on the walls. You Mongolian host smiles at you and hold out their arms. You embrace them by putting your arms underneath theirs, as if you are supporting them. They press their soft cheek against yours and they breath in. You find yourself doing the same thing while you say the traditional greeting “Amar bain yy?” (I think it means “are you resting well?”) You sit down next to the table which is filled with different types of candy, salads, and sweet rice. There is also an entire steamed goat stacked on top of each other in the middle of the table and a bread tower with different types of white candy on it. Your host sets a bowl of salty milk tea in front of you and says “tse oo” (drink tea). You sip the hot salty tea, knowing you will have to finish it if you want to respect your host. They are busy pulling the steaming dumplings from the stove top. As you nibble on the candies and salads, your host sets the hot dumplings on the table to cool off. While you wait, tiny glasses are passed around and your host pours a clear liquid into the tiny glass cup and boast that this is homemade Mongolian vodka, made in the countryside. You glance nervously at the cup, worrying how much it will burn as it goes down your throat. Your host has their own cup ready and they reach it into the air and say “tuuluo!” You raise the glass and take it back leaving only a little in the cup. Your surprised; the liquid didn't burn at all! In fact, if it wasn't for the slight aftertaste, you would have thought they gave you water. You smile, feeling relieved. Your host passes the dumplings to you and you take 3 on your plate, any less would be insulting. You host then gives you a dark red juice and they tell you its Mongolia beer, homemade of course! You see tiny floating berries, which came from the countryside, and you cautiously take a sip and smile; its delicious! The beer-juice is sweet and bubbly and you eagerly chug it down as you eat the greasy meat dumplings. Your host then takes out the store bought vodka bottle and pours it into those tiny cups and raises them into the air. You raise yours, knowing this one WILL burn and have your beer-juice ready. “Tuuluo!”. Chug, burn, beer-juice. Your host slices your a piece of meat from the table and re-fills your beer-juice. Then its time to go,you stand up and feel a bit sluggish from all the beer and vodka. Your host hold out both their hands and gives you gift (usually T 1,000, or minutes for your phone) as if it wasn't enough that they fed and entertained you! Then you put on your layers, say your goodbyes, and head to the next house to do it all over again.

It's the 5^th house. You walk in; its too hot. You eagerly peel off the layers till you can take off no more. You greet your host with a quick touch on each of their soft cheeks. “Amar bain uu?” you ask. You plop onto the chair and stare dismally at the table full of food in front of you. Your friendly host smiles and passes out plates and those dreaded tiny cups. “Eattara!” (eat please!) they say as they pull the tray of the greasy meat dumplings onto the table. You have already eaten 20 meat dumplings since your previous hosts were just not satisfied with you eating only 3 at their house. You regretfully place yet another 3 dumplings onto your plate and you swear you hear your stomach say “Are you kidding me?”. It groans in protest. Your host places in front of you hot milk tea, a tiny cup of vodka, and beer-juice. They raise their tiny cups and say “Tuuluo!”. “Tuugoulth” you sputter out. Hey, at least you tired to say it correctly. This is the eighth (hm, maybe ninth? ) shot of vodka your taking down. Chug, dull burn (hell your used to it by now) and you take a bite of your fatty dumpling as greasy slips down the corners of your mouth. You feel sloppy and a bit drunk at this point. Your thirsty but the salty milk tea, which you must finish, only makes you more thirsty. The beer-juice, although its refreshing and sweet, makes you feel even more groggy. You gotta get out of this house before they feed you anymore. You get up quickly, put on the layers, receive the gift but still feel unworthy for it and rush home; for once the cold air feels good. You roll onto your bed, your stomach is upset with you and isn't afraid to show it. The scary part is that you know that you will have to do it all over again, for the........ next …...three …..days.

And that is how White Month felt like for me.