“Justin We, love you.”
I read the
engraving through teary eyes. The words, misplaced comma and all, were too much to handle. Lowering the silver bowl from my face, I looked
around me. A gigantic carpet spread out on the green grass. The sun
beat down over the steppe. The peaks of the Khentii mountains on the
horizon at all sides of me. Crowded around the blanket adorned with
a vat of meat, bowls of candy, and arranged bottles of vodka sat
Omnodelger. My co-workers, my friends, my neighbors.
They were all
there.
For me.
As my goodbye present, my last hurrah
and final send off my school had put together a special countryside
barbeque just for me. Complete with all the games, gusto and cooked
goat that can be expected from any Mongolian occasion. I stood at
the front of the blanket with my school's director as I was presented
with my gifts. One by one people took turns at the microphone
thanking me and recounting specific memories we shared together.
Finally when it was my turn to speak I was so overcome with gratitude
and emotion I found myself at a loss for words, much less Mongolian
ones. I beckoned to Saruul, standing by my side gently rocking her
newborn baby in her arms. She translated as best she could. I
blubbered and thanked them from the bottom of my heart. For opening
up their homes, their school and their whole town to me. For
teaching me more about myself and the world than they realized. For
giving me the opportunity to share my story, my knowledge, myself
with them. The day ended in revelry. The goat consumed. The vodka
flowed. The people I've come to know and love for two years gathered
around me. I've never felt so special.
Two days later
I sat in my ger. Gutted, for all but
the bed and table. The same solitary pieces that had existed in it
when I first entered it two years ago. Unable to transport every
aspect of my Mongolian life with me back home, I had donated much of
my things to my Mongolian friends and neighbors. They eagerly took
everything offered. Even the lightbulb was stripped from its socket.
As the sun set, shadows danced across the lattice of my home. My
backpack and guitar at my feet, any minute my ride would arrive and
whisk me away from Omnodelger. It was hard imagining that I wouldn't
be coming back, that there was the possibility it would only remain
in memory. As insurance to myself that I”d return I buried a time
capsule. Secretly digging a hole in the corner of Dawkraa
and Tuya's hashaa and burying away a tiny container full of small keepsakes of my time here.
Northwest corner.
Four paces from post.
I won't forget.
Headlights danced on the street. Tires
skidding on dirt. Two quick horn blasts. I picked up my bag and
guitar with a sigh. The moment I never really prepared myself for had
finally arrived. No words can describe the mix of emotion that
stirred in me. Looking past the reality and sadness of goodbye I
focused on the excitement ahead. I was leaving Mongolia, a place
that had become familiar, a place I had grown to love. But I was
embarking on a new adventure, a new chapter of excitement, experience
and growth. My journey back to the States would be no easy hop, skip, and
jump across the globe. No time warped plane ride. It would be the trip of a lifetime. To get back west I
opted to travel overland from Beijing, China to Moscow, Russia, a
journey of over 6,000 miles. I would board and ride one of the longest
railways in the world, from end to end.
The Trans-Siberian Railroad awaited.
Thank you to everyone who has followed
my time here in Mongolia, for better and worse. I have decided to
switch platforms and start a new blog chronicling my adventures of my
time in Russia and China and beyond. I hope you'll continue to share
in my experiences. You can continue to do so here
www.betweenthecontours.wordpress.com.
