One of the the bigger drawbacks to living in a developing country, and Mongolia in particular, is the sporadic and sometimes even frequent loss of electricity. Now, we have all experienced power failures at one point or another. There is one small difference between a power shortage in Canada and one in Mongolia. In Canada, power outages occur because of inclement weather or because of a problem with a transformer, power line, or payment ability. In any of these cases, power problems are often predictable and cleared up quickly. Here, power outages happen regularly at unpredictable times and for unknown lengths of time. Worst of all, there is rarely any warning and they tend to happen to happen at some of the least convenient times, like around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, when I'm trying to do work and haven't quite gotten around to preparing for dinner.
Typically, these power outages last anywhere from three minutes (just long enough to frustrate you) to three days (just long enough to make you very poor), with an average of maybe 4 hours. Of course this doesn't apply to everyone here. Those who live in the heart of Ulaanbaatar rarely suffer this plight. Those of us who live on the outskirts agonize through the possibility of it happening at any time on any day. There is, of course a forgotten third group: those who live in towns outside of Ulaanbaatar. Unfortunately for these poor souls, their electricity is provided by Russia... but only for select periods of time. It is not uncommon for the whole town to have their power turned off for the night at 10 o'clock or earlier.
I must say, the latter group has one advantage over the rest of us - no indoor plumbing. How is this an advantage? (And I'm certain you asked). Now, to be frank, I don't fully understand Soviet engineering, but somehow they seem to have made every utility system completely dependent on the power plants. As a result, when the electricity goes out (and I'm still not convinced that it isn't some guy just randomly pushing buttons), I also lose the internet, water (except for the one flush left behind in the toilet - choose carefully), and in the middle of the frigidly cold winter, heat. This makes for a very dull and poorly lit night and on occasion, a rather cold one too. Suddenly, having a wood or coal burning stove in a felt tent with an outhouse somewhere nearby can seem very desirable. Especially when the power outage lasts more than a few hours.
The inconveniences really depend on the time of the outage too. An early morning outage means that an electric alarm clock won't work, so it is no longer a viable option. I now rely on a combination of a battery powered clock, my cell phone and a watch that is slowly gaining time. And have you ever tried to get ready for work with absolutely no running water? Trust me, not an easy task... although you're ready much more quickly. A shortage anywhere from eight o'clock in the morning to four o'clock in the afternoon means I have to try teaching with no electronic resources and no lights. As I mentioned, the water stops working, so this causes some interesting... problems in the washrooms. The other option is to lose power in the evening (not that we really have an option in the matter). This is particularly fun because i mean that the loss of power actually costs me money. Since I can't cook with my electric stove, nor is there any water available (and most meals require water in one way or another) and we don't have a barbecue on the premises, I (and everyone else) now has to order food for delivery. There is the other choice to go into town where they have power, but bear in mind that it gets dark here just before four o'clock in the winter, and walking in the dark and cold at that time is rarely an attractive option.
I like to believe that this hardship is forced upon me in the spirit of environmentalism. I know this isn't likely because few people here even consider putting their garbage in anything that resembles a receptacle designed for such a purpose. Still I kid myself. I mean, with the frequency of power outages and the areas they affect, they must be saving millions (of tugrug, not dollars). As one of my many affluent neighbours commented to me some time ago, "You can spend [an absurd amount of money] on a home and that doesn't even guarantee that you'll have electricity." Maybe not, but it makes me appreciate the little amenities in life a little more.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Free Agency
This column will strike a chord with sports fans more than others.
As a sports fan myself, one thing I've always struggled with is the concept of free-agency. It doesn't seem so long ago that when a professional athlete signed on with a team, that was the place he would remain until they no longer had a use for him. In recent years we have seen many a player change teams for reasons we assume to be money.
As a non-athlete, I seem to be in a fairly unique situation where I have the opportunity to experience free agency. As an international teacher, I sign contracts for anywhere from 1-3 years at a time. As my contract comes up, I, like many professional athletes, feel the need to look into my options. This isn't to say that I'm giving up on where I am at the time. I recently signed a contract to work in Indonesia for two years. I was both ecstatic and gutted to have signed that contract. Gutted because I love Mongolia. It's people, culture and way of life still fascinate me. Leaving would inevitably result in cutting short this opening chapter into my life abroad. With that in mind, I am ecstatic because it is a new adventure. A place I don't know yet and will have the amazing opportunity to experience something new. With those things being a trade-off, I had to look at the other factors. There are a few that really tipped the balance toward moving to Indonesia. This opportunity will give me the chance to reunite and work with one of my best friends again. That is a factor that is amongst the most important. (didn't Scott Niedermayer sign on with the Ducks for basically that same reason?) Beyond that there are many perks, like getting to own a moped, and drive it year-round. The money is better, and I have better health coverage--something I actually have to worry about, both because I don't have a universal health-care system and because I tend to take risks that could leave me seriously injured. A last, but not least, rather than a single-bedroom apartment, I will be given my own two-bedroom house--perfect for parking my eventual fleet of mopeds and motorbikes.
As with professional athletes, some people are displeased with a decision to leave. For an athlete, the worst comes from the fans. Inevitably any player who chooses to leave one team for another becomes hated by the fans of his former team. For me, things aren't quite so bad. My "fans" are the 22 seven and eight-year-olds in my class, and to a lesser degree the other students I have come to know well in the school. Instead of receiving boos and verbal jabs from my fans and the media, I have to receive daily pleas and petitions for me to change my mind and stay.
What I'm trying to say is, I'm not leaving because I want out. I'm leaving because I see a better opportunity somewhere else. Don't feel bad professional athletes. I, as an average guy, understand why you choose free agency. And I get it, someday, signing back home just might be the thing I want the most. I wouldn't mind one of those multi-million dollar contracts though.
As a sports fan myself, one thing I've always struggled with is the concept of free-agency. It doesn't seem so long ago that when a professional athlete signed on with a team, that was the place he would remain until they no longer had a use for him. In recent years we have seen many a player change teams for reasons we assume to be money.
As a non-athlete, I seem to be in a fairly unique situation where I have the opportunity to experience free agency. As an international teacher, I sign contracts for anywhere from 1-3 years at a time. As my contract comes up, I, like many professional athletes, feel the need to look into my options. This isn't to say that I'm giving up on where I am at the time. I recently signed a contract to work in Indonesia for two years. I was both ecstatic and gutted to have signed that contract. Gutted because I love Mongolia. It's people, culture and way of life still fascinate me. Leaving would inevitably result in cutting short this opening chapter into my life abroad. With that in mind, I am ecstatic because it is a new adventure. A place I don't know yet and will have the amazing opportunity to experience something new. With those things being a trade-off, I had to look at the other factors. There are a few that really tipped the balance toward moving to Indonesia. This opportunity will give me the chance to reunite and work with one of my best friends again. That is a factor that is amongst the most important. (didn't Scott Niedermayer sign on with the Ducks for basically that same reason?) Beyond that there are many perks, like getting to own a moped, and drive it year-round. The money is better, and I have better health coverage--something I actually have to worry about, both because I don't have a universal health-care system and because I tend to take risks that could leave me seriously injured. A last, but not least, rather than a single-bedroom apartment, I will be given my own two-bedroom house--perfect for parking my eventual fleet of mopeds and motorbikes.
As with professional athletes, some people are displeased with a decision to leave. For an athlete, the worst comes from the fans. Inevitably any player who chooses to leave one team for another becomes hated by the fans of his former team. For me, things aren't quite so bad. My "fans" are the 22 seven and eight-year-olds in my class, and to a lesser degree the other students I have come to know well in the school. Instead of receiving boos and verbal jabs from my fans and the media, I have to receive daily pleas and petitions for me to change my mind and stay.
What I'm trying to say is, I'm not leaving because I want out. I'm leaving because I see a better opportunity somewhere else. Don't feel bad professional athletes. I, as an average guy, understand why you choose free agency. And I get it, someday, signing back home just might be the thing I want the most. I wouldn't mind one of those multi-million dollar contracts though.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The Gobi, Second Time Around
I suppose this is a little overdue, as this trip happened back in October.
For our fall break, Jeff, Jen, Jonny, Megan, Gurgit and I took a tour of the Gobi. The first half was to be a similar experience as what I had the previous year, however, this year would find us turning west instead of east. Rather than a play-by-play of each day, I'll give you a "snapshot" view.
Just starting out, Jeff is drooling with anticipation.
Typically, the first thing to do is get gas. The blown tire on the bottom of the truck was a bit of a bad omen. We had our share of problems with the vehicle this year, including a near-accident in the first few minutes of the trip.
We stopped for a little hike and some lunch in the protection of this mountain. Our guide, Inga, told us it was bad luck to day the name of the mountain while in sight of it. It clearly made her nervous, so we didn't push.
Our first ger stay of the trip, featuring a 7 year old girl that was giddy playing cards with Jen and drawing pictures of each of us.
Because it was so cold, our van wouldn't start in the morning. Dawaa (the same driver as I had the year before) lit a fire under the van to warm it up. To keep from freaking out, we lent the family a hand in rounding up their goats for milking. I ventured in and grabbed them by the horns to line them up, while Jen and Megan tried their hands at the actual milking.
A hare hiding in the dirt. Megan and I were standing just 5 feet away and didn't notice him at all. Dawaa had to point it out to us.
Dawaa asked us all to get out so we could take pictures of him driving by.
We got up nice and early to see the Flaming Cliffs at sunrise. We were greeted by the silhouettes of a few camels. Jeff and I trekked about a kilometer over the the cliffs proper for the photo op of a lifetime.
The sun breaking the horizon.
We weren't disappointed.
Stopping for lunch in the middle of nowhere. It was warm enough to take the coats off for a little while.
Wildlife watching. Dawaa spotted a fox on the side of the mountain, so we stopped for some pictures. We saw a couple of foxes, some vultures, and a ton of tiny little gopher-like animals.
Picking our way down through the gorge at Yolin-Am.
We stopped to fill our giant canteens with the water from the stream. The stream doubled as a road. You have to ignore the fact that we just along this stream for about an hour before we decided to collect some of the water.
Most tours detour around these mountains. We went through them. This pass is barely wider than the Turgon. Jeff, Jonny and I got out to tape and photograph the van travelling through the gorge. It must have been funny watching the three of us running around to film the very van we'd been riding around in for hours and hours each day.
After surviving the very serious terrain in the mountains, the flat, open plains broke the van. I don't know a lot about cars, but as I understand it, the bracket holding the leaf-plates (suspension) snapped, so we couldn't drive anywhere without risking serious damage.
Looks safe doesn't it?
We had to keep warm somehow during our 2 hour wait while Dawaa magically fixed the van.
Possibly the happiest looking camel in the world.
Climbing the tallest sand dunes in the world. Jonny just charged up the 300 metre high dunes.
Snow on the dunes. Inga said she couldn't remember that ever happening before.
I mastered the sand dunes again.
We lost our radiator cap (van problem number 4 if you're keeping track), so we needed to get water to refill the radiator. Some camels came by for a drink, so Jen obliged while Dawaa (again magically) fixed the van.
Ovoos, they're everywhere.
At Kharkhorin, the ancient capital of Mongolia. This is inside the monastery. Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman visited this in their adventure mini-series "Long Way Round".
Jeff & I heated some water on our stove, and got to half-shower. We only really wet our hair, but it was so refreshing, and we even felt clean.
We were entertained in our ger with some traditional Mongolian music.
Tarmac. Glorious tarmac.
Chinngis Khaan believed that turtles were the greatest animal in the world because the could survive equally on land and in the water. There are four that protect Kharkhorin.
Penis Rock. Mongolians swear that it's natural. I have a hard time (no pun intended) believing that.
On the "road"
For our fall break, Jeff, Jen, Jonny, Megan, Gurgit and I took a tour of the Gobi. The first half was to be a similar experience as what I had the previous year, however, this year would find us turning west instead of east. Rather than a play-by-play of each day, I'll give you a "snapshot" view.
Just starting out, Jeff is drooling with anticipation.
Typically, the first thing to do is get gas. The blown tire on the bottom of the truck was a bit of a bad omen. We had our share of problems with the vehicle this year, including a near-accident in the first few minutes of the trip.
We stopped for a little hike and some lunch in the protection of this mountain. Our guide, Inga, told us it was bad luck to day the name of the mountain while in sight of it. It clearly made her nervous, so we didn't push.
Our first ger stay of the trip, featuring a 7 year old girl that was giddy playing cards with Jen and drawing pictures of each of us.
Because it was so cold, our van wouldn't start in the morning. Dawaa (the same driver as I had the year before) lit a fire under the van to warm it up. To keep from freaking out, we lent the family a hand in rounding up their goats for milking. I ventured in and grabbed them by the horns to line them up, while Jen and Megan tried their hands at the actual milking.
A hare hiding in the dirt. Megan and I were standing just 5 feet away and didn't notice him at all. Dawaa had to point it out to us.
Dawaa asked us all to get out so we could take pictures of him driving by.
We got up nice and early to see the Flaming Cliffs at sunrise. We were greeted by the silhouettes of a few camels. Jeff and I trekked about a kilometer over the the cliffs proper for the photo op of a lifetime.
The sun breaking the horizon.
We weren't disappointed.
Stopping for lunch in the middle of nowhere. It was warm enough to take the coats off for a little while.
Wildlife watching. Dawaa spotted a fox on the side of the mountain, so we stopped for some pictures. We saw a couple of foxes, some vultures, and a ton of tiny little gopher-like animals.
Picking our way down through the gorge at Yolin-Am.
We stopped to fill our giant canteens with the water from the stream. The stream doubled as a road. You have to ignore the fact that we just along this stream for about an hour before we decided to collect some of the water.
Most tours detour around these mountains. We went through them. This pass is barely wider than the Turgon. Jeff, Jonny and I got out to tape and photograph the van travelling through the gorge. It must have been funny watching the three of us running around to film the very van we'd been riding around in for hours and hours each day.
After surviving the very serious terrain in the mountains, the flat, open plains broke the van. I don't know a lot about cars, but as I understand it, the bracket holding the leaf-plates (suspension) snapped, so we couldn't drive anywhere without risking serious damage.
Looks safe doesn't it?
We had to keep warm somehow during our 2 hour wait while Dawaa magically fixed the van.
Possibly the happiest looking camel in the world.
Climbing the tallest sand dunes in the world. Jonny just charged up the 300 metre high dunes.
Snow on the dunes. Inga said she couldn't remember that ever happening before.
I mastered the sand dunes again.
We lost our radiator cap (van problem number 4 if you're keeping track), so we needed to get water to refill the radiator. Some camels came by for a drink, so Jen obliged while Dawaa (again magically) fixed the van.
Ovoos, they're everywhere.
At Kharkhorin, the ancient capital of Mongolia. This is inside the monastery. Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman visited this in their adventure mini-series "Long Way Round".
Jeff & I heated some water on our stove, and got to half-shower. We only really wet our hair, but it was so refreshing, and we even felt clean.
We were entertained in our ger with some traditional Mongolian music.
Tarmac. Glorious tarmac.
Chinngis Khaan believed that turtles were the greatest animal in the world because the could survive equally on land and in the water. There are four that protect Kharkhorin.
Penis Rock. Mongolians swear that it's natural. I have a hard time (no pun intended) believing that.
On the "road"
Monday, March 16, 2009
Keeping Up With the Times
This past weekend something remarkable happened. I went bowling. What's remarkable about this? Well, this is Mongolia's first bowling alley. Yes, the Mongolians have finally cracked the technology to allow its people to bowl (I think our nuclear secrets are pretty safe for now). It made me start thinking about the development of this peculiar city in which I live.
Mongolia has had three district periods of development that really capture the image of the country. The first of these periods was centuries ago, long before the time of Chinngis Khaan - that's Chinngis, not Ghengis. Mongolians are traditionally nomadic people, in fact, somewhere between thirty and forty percent of the country is still nomadic. The nomads live, almost without exception, in large felt tents called gers (often called yurts elsewhere). A ger is a circular tent with a wooden structure. The remarkable thing about these gers is that most people who live here in Ulaanbaatar still live in them. Anywhere else in the world these would be considered "slums", but here you find plenty of them mixed in with apartment complexes that sell the units for more than half a million American dollars. Outside of the city, it is far from rare to find solar chargers attached to banks of batteries to provide power. Even more stunning is the fact that at least half of these rural gers have a satellite dish. Living in a tent is not a curse, it's a practical matter, since these people pack up and move every three or four months. Keep in mind, they can take apart or build their house in a matter of a couple of hours, rather than in weeks or even months.
Skipping ahead a few hundred years, Mongolian construction was heavily influenced by the presence of the Soviet Union. In the early 1950s a massive amount of construction, where the first permanent buildings started to be erected. For the first time in Mongolian history, people were beginning to live in dwellings with multiple rooms. Unfortunately for Ulaanbaatar and some of the smaller cities (the second largest city only has a current population of 90 000) these are amongst the least attractive buildings ever built. They are also everywhere. Another drawback was the population explosion that this construction caused, particularly here in Ulaanbaatar, where the population has increased from 25 000 in the early twentieth century to over a million people today (to be clear, that means that over one-third of the population lives in this city). In addition to the horrible hideous apartment complexes, the city is also blighted by sets of asbestos-covered pipes that carry the hot water to all of the permanent structures. Of course the Soviets were unconcerned with appearance, so these pipes are all above ground, and actually create very imposing and bizarre looking overpasses over roads. They also make very odd U-shaped detours around any slight bump in the ground.
Finally, the country - which really means UB - is currently in it's biggest period of development. The only problem is that it doesn't appear that the city actually wanted to develop as there has been no preparations made whatsoever. Those who have facilitated the growth (private enterprises) never really took the dynamics of the people into account either. In my district, which is one of the wealthier ones in the city, there are currently 23 new apartment buildings under construction. Each of the resulting 200-plus new apartments will be sold for at least a quarter of a million dollars. The problem here is that this country doesn't have enough wealthy families to purchase these apartments. Cars have been imported from Japan (and yes, they are set up for driving on the left side of the road) and South Korea at an alarming rate, however; the only new road that is being built (in the entire country) is a 40 km stretch of road that leads and I kid you not, out into the middle of the desert.
I love that this country holds on to its traditional ways, but also that it embraces new ideas. I just find it odd that they seemingly reject the associated necessities that support the world they would like to believe Ulaanbaatar is. Imagine living somewhere that every person owns at least one cell phone when the entire country has never even had more that 200 000 land lines in its history. It's such a lovely mish-mash of the years 1208, 1954 and 2009.
Mongolia has had three district periods of development that really capture the image of the country. The first of these periods was centuries ago, long before the time of Chinngis Khaan - that's Chinngis, not Ghengis. Mongolians are traditionally nomadic people, in fact, somewhere between thirty and forty percent of the country is still nomadic. The nomads live, almost without exception, in large felt tents called gers (often called yurts elsewhere). A ger is a circular tent with a wooden structure. The remarkable thing about these gers is that most people who live here in Ulaanbaatar still live in them. Anywhere else in the world these would be considered "slums", but here you find plenty of them mixed in with apartment complexes that sell the units for more than half a million American dollars. Outside of the city, it is far from rare to find solar chargers attached to banks of batteries to provide power. Even more stunning is the fact that at least half of these rural gers have a satellite dish. Living in a tent is not a curse, it's a practical matter, since these people pack up and move every three or four months. Keep in mind, they can take apart or build their house in a matter of a couple of hours, rather than in weeks or even months.
Skipping ahead a few hundred years, Mongolian construction was heavily influenced by the presence of the Soviet Union. In the early 1950s a massive amount of construction, where the first permanent buildings started to be erected. For the first time in Mongolian history, people were beginning to live in dwellings with multiple rooms. Unfortunately for Ulaanbaatar and some of the smaller cities (the second largest city only has a current population of 90 000) these are amongst the least attractive buildings ever built. They are also everywhere. Another drawback was the population explosion that this construction caused, particularly here in Ulaanbaatar, where the population has increased from 25 000 in the early twentieth century to over a million people today (to be clear, that means that over one-third of the population lives in this city). In addition to the horrible hideous apartment complexes, the city is also blighted by sets of asbestos-covered pipes that carry the hot water to all of the permanent structures. Of course the Soviets were unconcerned with appearance, so these pipes are all above ground, and actually create very imposing and bizarre looking overpasses over roads. They also make very odd U-shaped detours around any slight bump in the ground.
Finally, the country - which really means UB - is currently in it's biggest period of development. The only problem is that it doesn't appear that the city actually wanted to develop as there has been no preparations made whatsoever. Those who have facilitated the growth (private enterprises) never really took the dynamics of the people into account either. In my district, which is one of the wealthier ones in the city, there are currently 23 new apartment buildings under construction. Each of the resulting 200-plus new apartments will be sold for at least a quarter of a million dollars. The problem here is that this country doesn't have enough wealthy families to purchase these apartments. Cars have been imported from Japan (and yes, they are set up for driving on the left side of the road) and South Korea at an alarming rate, however; the only new road that is being built (in the entire country) is a 40 km stretch of road that leads and I kid you not, out into the middle of the desert.
I love that this country holds on to its traditional ways, but also that it embraces new ideas. I just find it odd that they seemingly reject the associated necessities that support the world they would like to believe Ulaanbaatar is. Imagine living somewhere that every person owns at least one cell phone when the entire country has never even had more that 200 000 land lines in its history. It's such a lovely mish-mash of the years 1208, 1954 and 2009.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Homesick
One of the obvious difficulties about living so far away from home is that life somehow carries on without you. Hard to fathom, I know. For me, this isn't generally a problem. I actually have to make quite an effort to remember to call home to talk. It's not that I don't love Sarnia or my family, I'm just usually wrapped up in my life here that I forget to remember the good things about being home. I've always taken for granted that when I want to return (say... once a year) I will get to come home and enjoy it for a few weeks.
This year a little wrench or two got thrown into the mix. First off, I wasn't home for the birth of my first nephew. I was too busy enjoying a two-week vacation in Europe. (Did I just call my newborn nephew a wrench?) I tried to make up for it by mailing him his first ever piece of mail. So now he's got a postcard of Barcelona, mailed from London. This was all fine and dandy as my plan was to come home and spend as much time with him as I could.
I was handling that just fine, but now I'm missing out on attending my little sister's wedding. We all knew I wouldn't be able to make it back for a February wedding - I mean, how do you fit a wedding in when you do a tour of the Gobi desert, spend Christmas vacation travelling through England, Paris and Barcelona, and have booked a trip to Boracay in the Philippines? We've made the necessary arrangements to have me participate in the festivities. They acquired a mannequin, I filmed a speech, I booked a sick day (homesick has the word "sick" in it, so it counts), and the video link is... well... a work in progress. As I write this, the wedding is in its final preparatory stages, but will (knock on wood) be a resounding success by the time you are reading it.
This brings me to a randomly and loosely connected point. What is Family Day? I only know of this "holiday" because my sister choose it for her wedding day. I have only been gone from Canada for the past 18 months and already the country doesn't even celebrate the same holidays. Seriously though, what is Family Day? As I am a man of no country - Revenue Canada has declared me an emigrant, however; I have not immigrated to any other country - I get left out of the loop a little bit. What traditional celebrations take place? Are there online contests to create Family Day traditions? Seriously!! I have no idea what this holiday is all about (or why they had to choose a day so close to Valentine's Day).
To return to my original train of thought, I miss home. I miss my family, I miss my friends and I miss having snow when it gets cold. It wouldn't be so bad if I could spend time at home this summer, but since I'm moving on from Mongolia in June, I'll be starting a new job just 13 days after this one ends, and I have to travel travel to Canada and all the way to Indonesia in that time. Wait a second, why am I complaining? I'm moving to Indonesia.
My friends and family should be coming to visit me.
My friends and family should be coming to visit me.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Staying Warm
I cannot begin to explain how insanely cold it has been in Mongolia for the past week or so. As I write this, the temperature is -26, which is not the low for the day. We managed to get to a high of -21 today. There have been numerous occasions recently where it was below -30... and that's before factoring in the wind chill.
Sadly, the problem with such cold temperatures is that we don't get any snow. We have a grand total of about 1 inch of snow, and that is the accumulation of every snowfall since our first of the year in early October. It just seems so unfair that we get all the cold, but none of the good stuff that comes with cold, namely, snow.
Sadly, the problem with such cold temperatures is that we don't get any snow. We have a grand total of about 1 inch of snow, and that is the accumulation of every snowfall since our first of the year in early October. It just seems so unfair that we get all the cold, but none of the good stuff that comes with cold, namely, snow.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
How to Support Your National Economy
I kid you not, every word of this is true.
A couple of weeks ago, a rather large group of us went off to celebrate a colleague's upcoming birthday. We spent days preparing and somehow kept it secret. We departed at 9:00 with a full bus and travelled about 50 km to destination.
Finally, we arrived for one of the most highly anticipated moments in my life. We all sat around waiting eagerly when we heard the thunderous motor start up and the creaking metal hull of a 1980s T-54 Soviet tank came out from behind the rather easily penetrable wall. That's right, a tank. We we not here to just look at this tank, no, we were here to DRIVE this tank.
How does one drive a tank? First you need to have a friend. This friend needs to be close, personal friends with a minister of defense. This minister of defense should ideally be in a developing country. This developing country should have little money for national defence. You should have about $200 of disposable cash. And finally, you need to know how to drive a stick shift.
I, of course, do NOT know how to drive a stick shift. Yes, my dad gave me one lesson a couple of years ago, but I really did not know what I was doing. Also, tanks don't have steering wheels. They have two levers. one for turning right and one for turning left. As I was faking knowing how to drive a stick shift, I quickly realized that I only have two hands, but three levers to manoeuvre. As I got in, I was told that it needs a good amount of gas for it not to stall. Keeping this in mind, I hammered the gas as I lifted off the clutch (and I didn't even stall it). The result of this? I managed to do a peelout in a tank. To put this in perspective, tanks are specifically designed to not have this happen. Their treads are designed for maximum traction, and we were on a dirt road. One other thing to keep in mind, tanks don't have windscreens. You watch where you are going by peering through a single one-by-four inch periscope. Talk about blind spots.
While we were driving along this remote and secluded road, we of course encountered a passing car. I couldn't help but wonder what would be my first thoughts when I saw a rather large weapon driving toward me, clearly being piloted by people who were not even remotely qualified to operate it.
As if driving a tank wasn't enough, we felt it necessary to shoot multiple firearms. Now, I'm not a gun enthusiast, nor do I support gun violence, so let's just call this.... firearm entertainment. I opted out of the rapid-fire machine gun, but to be honest it did look like a lot of fun. I first chose to fire eight rounds from a 9mm Makarov Pistol at a distance of about 20 feet. The fake guy (read target) I was firing at, was not likely very impressed. My first round was awfully errant, and I was clearly not ready for that much recoil. Of my next six shots, I managed to hit his ear, and wing him in the shoulder. With one shot left, I really angered this fake guy. You know that little button on top of ball caps? If he was wearing one, I would have hit that, and not his head. This is also where a metal crossbar happened to be, so the bullet ricocheted half way back to me.
Next up, the AK47. Surprisingly, the handgun makes more noise. I got 30 rounds, and managed to not hit a single target (all of which were 200 to 500 feet away). After finishing my turn, I asked my good friend Jeff to take a picture of me. Not thinking that I had just finished firing this weapon, i allowed my hand to grab the barrel. Bad idea. Not that it's a huge surprise, but those barrels get hot. I mean burn-your-hand-instantly kind of hot.
Finally I got my chance at the one weapon I truly wanted to fire - the Dragonov Sniper Rifle. Not to brag, but I did hit 2 targets in my ten rounds. Once again my arch nemesis, recoil, got me again. This recoil was not like the pistol. This rifle kicks back about 4 inches, allowing it to hit me right in the eye.
To cap off our day, one of group decided to splurge and pay to fire an RPG. I learned that RPG stands for rocket powered grenade. And rocket powered it is. This thing has such a punch that there is a shockwave that is strong enough to knock people over that are standing 20 feet away!
What is clearly important to remember about this whole trip is that it was a humanitarian outing. We can't just let the Russians or the Chinese invade our Mongolian friends. So it is our duty to drive their tanks and shoot their guns to help fund their military.
A couple of weeks ago, a rather large group of us went off to celebrate a colleague's upcoming birthday. We spent days preparing and somehow kept it secret. We departed at 9:00 with a full bus and travelled about 50 km to destination.
Finally, we arrived for one of the most highly anticipated moments in my life. We all sat around waiting eagerly when we heard the thunderous motor start up and the creaking metal hull of a 1980s T-54 Soviet tank came out from behind the rather easily penetrable wall. That's right, a tank. We we not here to just look at this tank, no, we were here to DRIVE this tank.
How does one drive a tank? First you need to have a friend. This friend needs to be close, personal friends with a minister of defense. This minister of defense should ideally be in a developing country. This developing country should have little money for national defence. You should have about $200 of disposable cash. And finally, you need to know how to drive a stick shift.
I, of course, do NOT know how to drive a stick shift. Yes, my dad gave me one lesson a couple of years ago, but I really did not know what I was doing. Also, tanks don't have steering wheels. They have two levers. one for turning right and one for turning left. As I was faking knowing how to drive a stick shift, I quickly realized that I only have two hands, but three levers to manoeuvre. As I got in, I was told that it needs a good amount of gas for it not to stall. Keeping this in mind, I hammered the gas as I lifted off the clutch (and I didn't even stall it). The result of this? I managed to do a peelout in a tank. To put this in perspective, tanks are specifically designed to not have this happen. Their treads are designed for maximum traction, and we were on a dirt road. One other thing to keep in mind, tanks don't have windscreens. You watch where you are going by peering through a single one-by-four inch periscope. Talk about blind spots.
While we were driving along this remote and secluded road, we of course encountered a passing car. I couldn't help but wonder what would be my first thoughts when I saw a rather large weapon driving toward me, clearly being piloted by people who were not even remotely qualified to operate it.
As if driving a tank wasn't enough, we felt it necessary to shoot multiple firearms. Now, I'm not a gun enthusiast, nor do I support gun violence, so let's just call this.... firearm entertainment. I opted out of the rapid-fire machine gun, but to be honest it did look like a lot of fun. I first chose to fire eight rounds from a 9mm Makarov Pistol at a distance of about 20 feet. The fake guy (read target) I was firing at, was not likely very impressed. My first round was awfully errant, and I was clearly not ready for that much recoil. Of my next six shots, I managed to hit his ear, and wing him in the shoulder. With one shot left, I really angered this fake guy. You know that little button on top of ball caps? If he was wearing one, I would have hit that, and not his head. This is also where a metal crossbar happened to be, so the bullet ricocheted half way back to me.
Next up, the AK47. Surprisingly, the handgun makes more noise. I got 30 rounds, and managed to not hit a single target (all of which were 200 to 500 feet away). After finishing my turn, I asked my good friend Jeff to take a picture of me. Not thinking that I had just finished firing this weapon, i allowed my hand to grab the barrel. Bad idea. Not that it's a huge surprise, but those barrels get hot. I mean burn-your-hand-instantly kind of hot.
Finally I got my chance at the one weapon I truly wanted to fire - the Dragonov Sniper Rifle. Not to brag, but I did hit 2 targets in my ten rounds. Once again my arch nemesis, recoil, got me again. This recoil was not like the pistol. This rifle kicks back about 4 inches, allowing it to hit me right in the eye.
To cap off our day, one of group decided to splurge and pay to fire an RPG. I learned that RPG stands for rocket powered grenade. And rocket powered it is. This thing has such a punch that there is a shockwave that is strong enough to knock people over that are standing 20 feet away!
What is clearly important to remember about this whole trip is that it was a humanitarian outing. We can't just let the Russians or the Chinese invade our Mongolian friends. So it is our duty to drive their tanks and shoot their guns to help fund their military.
Da da da da duh. Da da da da duuh.
Firing the Dragonov Rifle
The RPG
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