"Sure as I'm breathing. Sure as I'm sad. I'll keep this wisdom in my flesh. I leave here believing more than I had. This love has got no ceiling"

North of Omnodelger: February

I crunched uphill.  My boots the first to scathe the undisturbed snow.  Snow that fell months ago.  Dakraa was paces ahead of me, occasionally slowing and asking if I was tired or cold.  Marching uphill for the past hour with the heavy Mongolian deel and boots I was tired, and with temperatures in the negative forties I was cold.  These discomforts I didn't express to Dakraa though, I'd smile dutifully and assure him I was fine.  So we trudged upwards, towards some distant crest.  Passing by sparse trees I'd brush my hand along their branches as I passed.  It'd been so long since I had been around so many in one place.

We left hours earlier, stepping out into the cold from Tuya's mother's ger at the base of the Khentii Mountains.  Stepped out into the hodoo, the countryside, the backlands of Mongolia.  Tuya's mother, older brother, and two sisters, were nomads.  They dwelt miles outside the confines of Omnodelger, alone, save for the animals they herded.  When the livestock had expended the area's grass, they'd get up and move again.  I was invited to the solitude to help make preparations for the coming holiday Tsagaan Sar.  After an hour or so of pressing, kneading, and stretching dough Dawkraa grabbed up his rifle and exclaimed joyfully, "come Justin, lets go hunting."  As we exited the ger I saw Tuya shoot her husband a sidelong glance as if to say "typical".  Slinging the weapon over his shoulder I looked at him curiously, "What will we hunt?" I asked.  He just shrugged at me, "It doesn't matter."  I laughed nervously aloud at the prospect of marching off into the wild with a trigger happy Dakraa.  I thought better of trying to explain how hunting laws in New Jersey worked and how he'd surely be violating all of them and just mimicked his shrug of indifference and followed him up towards the mountains.

As we journeyed heading up the mountain's western face,  Dakraa began hooting and hollering into the void.  We hadn't encountered a living creature since setting out, making Dakraa's hunting rifle just a heavy prop.  He continued shouting hoping to stir some creature from its stationary roust.  Suddenly he stopped his whooping and called me to his side.  "There," he pointed, "a fat bird."  It certainly was.  Perched on a branch a couple dozen yards away, I could make out the silhouette of a  bird, with a large round body and tiny head, I was shocked the branch held its bulbous frame.  It was like a beach ball with a head.  "Here," Dakraa said, extending the rifle towards me.  The lack of chicken in my diet for sometime compelled me to take the weapon from him.  I crouched and held my breathe as I tried to judge the shot as best I could.  It wasn't fair that the bird was allowed to be so gluttonous, I would impart his sin unto me.  Pulling the trigger, I heard the thud of metal against wood and saw bark shear from the bird's tree.  Startled, it fluttered off towards the setting sun.  Dakraa laughed behind me.  I stood up and growled under my breath, I was less angry with my embarrassing shot then the fact that the bird, in its obese state was actually able to take flight.  Handing the gun back to Dakraa we set out at our continued pace towards the top of the mountain.

He stopped when we finally reached the summit.  Turning and gesturing for me to hurry up, I sprinted the last couple paces and was met with a mind boggling view.  Our small mountain gave way to a never ending expanse of ones just like it.  They were so vast and expansive that many seemed like mere bumps in the distance.  No roads, power lines, buildings or semblance of infrastructure could be seen anywhere.  Distant forests looked miniature and blurry, the horizon expanded to a hazy white.  If the landscape was daunting, the sky was even more so.  Mongolia's nickname "The Land of the Eternal Blue Sky" rang as true as ever.  A wash of spectacular blue that dwarfed the land it covered.  It seemed there was nothing blocking me from floating away into the blue void.  I was overcome with a feeling of being alone on the top of the world and I resisted the euphoric impulse to yell at the top of my lungs.  "Khentii,"  Dakraa said with a gesture of his hand, sweeping it towards the view that lay before us.  "Its beautiful," I answered just above a whisper.  He chuckled at my stupefied reaction, "Yes, it is," he said with an air that suggested he'd seen it a million times before.  "Lets go," he added and began trekking towards the mountains western rim.  I hung back until his footsteps had faded, until the silence engulfed me, a quiet so encompassing you can almost hear it.  I couldn't take my eyes away from the view, I snapped a picture, then followed in Dakraa's wake.

The sun was all but set as we neared Tuya's mother's ger that evening.  We had been gone the better part of the day.  As we got closer to the tiny round structure I saw a figure step outside.  It was Tuya, discarding some dirty dish water.  Uh oh, I thought remembering her look from earlier.  Dakraa's going to get it for being out so late, leaving them to work all day.  She looked up and to my surprise her face lit up as she saw us approach.  Quickening his pace to meet her, he stopped a step from her and with just as an animated expression as her's he began excitedly rattling off the events of the day.  She let him speak, without saying a word, just smiling up at him.  I'd never seen them show any kind of affection towards one another before but in that moment he took up one of her hands in his as he chattered on, playfully swinging it back and forth.  Suddenly, I took an unconscious step back.  Like my presence was somehow ruining the perfect moment.  The surprise of it all made me feel sentimental and cliche.  In a world where people marry for money, prestige, and insurance, here were two people in a small corner of our planet who had none of those things to fall on.  As I caught some words, Dakraa retold how I missed the fat bird then mimed my facial expression as I stood dumbfounded in front of the extensive mountains and endless sky.  Tuya made some jest back at him and they both went giggling and stumbling over each other as they ducked back into the ger.  At that moment I realized how much they really care about each, how lucky I am to live next to such warmhearted people, to share in their relationship.  It amazes me everyday, the things I learn from this place.

Love, like Mongolia, has no ceiling.

Congratulations Kelly and Sean.

"Sittin' down here, fallout shelter. Paint my walls, twice a week."

"Justin!"
Over the howl of the wind I could hear Tuya calling from behind me.
"Come here, hurry!"
I struggled to hold the camera steady, to take one more picture. I could taste the grit of sand and dirt on my tongue. The acrid smoke filled my nostrils. It stung my eyes and burned my throat. The wind had changed again. Blowing north. Sending it hurdling forward on a collision course with Omnodelger. Someone do something! I pleaded in my head.
"Justin! Quickly!"
I turned and ran back to where Tuya was standing, struggling to close the gate against the wind. Inside the small enclosure housed the towns meteorological instruments. Having taken the pictures like she instructed me to, I rushed to her side to help close the gate.
"This happens sometimes" she said. "Its very windy, its moving very fast," she exclaimed as the gate clanged shut.
"I'm scared," she said.
"Me too," was all I could answer.

Earlier that morning

Spring in Mongolia is windy, very windy. Occasionally this wind manifests itself in the form of dust storms or in the Gobi Desert, sandstorms. Flying dirt, sand, grit, and pebbles propelling themselves into your body and face is unpleasant. Thats why I was content to let the wind rock my ger while I hunkered inside and worked on making exams one Saturday morning. It was around eleven o'clock when I decided to brave the gusts for a much needed bathroom break. I made it several strides before I stopped dead in my tracks in the center of my yard. The "eternal blue sky" was marred by an enormous plume of smoke. It poured upwards, ominously billowing out, its clouds rolling and expanding, threatening to blotch out the sun. My bathroom break now forgotten I ran over to the fence that separates my hashaa and climbed onto it to get a better look. The steppe was alight. The tall grasses burning wildly outwards in a dark menacing circle. There was no one else around to express my concerns to, the streets were quiet save for the roaring wind. I jumped down from my perch and scurried over to Dakraa's. Tried the door. Locked. Since living in Mongolia I've grown accustomed to tolerating things that seem out of the ordinary or dangerous. But I needed to know if this was normal. Banging on the door fruitlessly, I realized there was no one home.

Ducking back inside my ger I grabbed up my phone and texted Tuya asking what was going on. As I attempted to make myself lunch waiting for a reply I tried justifying the fire in my head. Mongolians are always burning trash, maybe its Super Trash Day? I can't be the only one to have noticed it. It must be controlled? Right? A familiar sound tore through the air, giving me my answer.

Air raid sirens.

Blaring somewhere from my towns center, they wailed their warning of imminent danger. The knife I was holding landed with a clang onto the cutting board as I burst back out into daylight and climbed back atop my perch. The sight I was met with shocked me. The wind had accelerated the fire at an alarming rate. In the fifteen or so minutes since I had been inside, the fire had spread, defining the topography of the steppe with blackened grass and scorched earth. From my high and distant position I could actually see it moving. The ring turning the steppe black, crawling towards Omnodelger. As I gaped, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Tuya. After translating I laughed nervously aloud at her reply, reading her message only added to the drama.  "A mighty conflagration is coming, stay there, I'm coming." When Tuya finally arrived some minutes later, she told me that the soum's men would go out to fight the fire. I clutched for my jacket and stood up asking where I could meet them. "No, she said, I need your help," shaking her head. "Please watch Misheel, I must go to work and check the wind."

So I sat on the floor of my ger with six year old Misheel and we played shagai. She hummed and giggled to herself as she played, the air raid sirens continued to blare their warning outside. I put on a smile and tried not to let on my concerns. Ten minutes later Tuya was back with her mother. "Justin, please bring your camera and come to work with me, I need your help." So we left Misheel with her mother and began walking briskly towards the edge of town. "If it gets close we will go to my mother's home in the countryside" she said as we reached the tiny fenced in area holding all of the Soviet hand-me-down weather predicting elements. We were closer to it now, smoke billowed and poured over the gentle hills of the steppe. The wind whipped wisps of grey and black through the air. It looked apocalyptic. She instructed me to take as many pictures as I could while she read her instruments. I jogged out several paces closer to the blaze and began snapping away.   How would they put a stop to it? Omnodelger has no fire department, no trucks, not even a consistent water supply.  

Minutes later we were headed back towards my ger.  Tuya had me e-mail her wind statistics and the pictures I took to a meteorologist in the closest town to the south.  "A warning," she said sternly.  I took it as it served as a way for them to be prepared if it started heading in their direction.  To this day I still don't know how the blaze was stopped.   Later Bolormaa and Munkhkherlen came bursting into my ger coughing and exhausted.  They too had been called to combat the fire.  I gave them tea and made soup, feeling guilty that my role was so minor in assisting our tiny town.  They explained that Omnodelger was safe now, the fire was under control and nothing was damaged save for a garbage dump just outside of town.  The fire, they said was probably started by a careless herder, tending his flock and discarding a dying cigarette.

The next morning a smoky haze could still be seen lingering over the steppe.  The dark blackened smear ending mere yards away from the closest hashaa.  I couldn't help but reflecting that months before I was praising fire, our ability to harness it, how it warms us, fights the unforgiving cold, makes us comfortable and safe.  The scarred landscape outside of Omnodelger serves as a reminder that it has the power to take all that away.

"Ah Mary. She'll bake you cookies then she'll burn your town. Ah Mary. Ashes ashes but she won't fall down."

New Jersey, United States of America

I could feel my heart racing, my palms getting sweaty. The Best Buy clerk looking at me expectantly, presenting two of the fifty options for headphones in each of his hands. He started repeating maybe for the tenth time what all of the different varieties did. Wireless ones, not wireless ones, Bluetooth ones, ones with microphones, ones without, ones that "lock" in your ear, black ones, red ones, white ones, ones that apparently massage your neck while you listen. I screamed inside my head, Christ, I just want to hear my music! I wanted to apologize, somehow explain my indecisive breakdown. How I'd been in a place for ten months where when I went in a store and asked for something the clerk hands me the one option there is, I smile, say thank you, slap money on the counter and I'm out the door.

Up until this point I felt like I had handled the reverse culture shock well, that I hadn't been affected by the re-acclamation from an underdeveloped country back into a developed one. New things like phones that talk to you and make your life choices and little pods of Tide laundry detergent (Tidepod?) amused me rather then made my head spin trying to comprehend them. People often asked, "Is it weird being back?" The only answer I could give that sums up my feelings best was it feels familiar but entirely unfamiliar. I went home knowing I would appreciate my mother country all the more. Things like running water, constant electricity, and climate control were much more well received then when I left. Those things I expected though. What I didn't expect was how much more the consumerism stuck out, the advertising, the countless options of everything from headphones to toothpicks. Is this one of the many ways America stays on top? Is this why Mongolians I associate with hold my country in such awe? Why the average American can't place Mongolia on a map? I chuckle at the thought of having Dakraa or one of my coworkers standing beside me in the mall, just to watch their reaction.

Being home, while giving me new perspective also refreshed me beyond measure. My fears about whether or not I'd appear different in my family and friends eyes seemed to extinguish the minute I stepped back in my house. Everyone seemed the same, and I hope I seemed the same to them too. Within days it was like I had never left. Old routines with people I shared my time with ten months ago were the same. I only wish I had more time. I felt as though I wanted to see everyone all the time all at once. The two weeks back in New Jersey was just what I needed. The generosity and curiosity of the people I care most about surprised and humbled me. I'm so blessed to have so much love coming from two continents. So to my friends and my family you have all my gratitude. I hope to see you all next time I cross the gap.

"I'm crossing the gap on my way home. Above my head just sky and stone. Cross the river from the Jersey side. At the end of a long, long ride."

Beijing, China

I stare out the window. My own music blares in my ears. I can't hear the people passing by. No matter, they speak neither English nor Mongolian. No one pays notice to me. An American in China is no strange thing. Beijing is no Omnodelger. The airport itself could swallow my little town whole. These thoughts seem minor compared to the destination at hand.

Home.

Its never seemed so exotic. Like the roles of the two major places in my life have been flipped. In my impending days before departing for Mongolia I daydreamed of my life there. How I'd live, things I'd do, and people I'd meet. Now the days leading up to this moment have been filled of daydreams of America. Food, friends and family, good beer, warm showers. Places I used to frequent and people I used to share company with. Would it all still be there? Would I see the USA through new eyes? Would people think me different? Most daunting of all, how could I ever begin to share my experiences to those back home I care most about? How could I make them understand? Make Mongolia not just a place on a map anymore? The anticipation of seeing those I loved again burned my brain and kept me awake. I gazed out the window, watching the ground crew prep the massive 777 aircraft that would carry me across the Pacific Ocean.
Carry me across continents.
Carry me home.