By Ann Winters

Imagine a land marked by few roads or power lines, and even fewer fences.  Imagine a rolling grassland, home to migrating gazelle and packs of wolves, and towering mountains through which the snow leopards roam and Argali sheep bound from rock to rock.  Imagine a huge lake where caribou drink cool water and native people make their homes, and a desert where wild camels tread through the salt bush and Jerboa rodents dig for insects.  This is Mongolia, a country with abundant natural resources and one of the lowest human population densities on the planet—only 1.5 inhabitants per square kilometer.  When I told the Peace Corps I didn’t have a preference for placement, this is the last place I thought I would go, but that’s where I was sent.  And the experience changed my life.

I came to the eastern part of Mongolia, the Steppe.  Herds of thousands of gazelle still migrate over the Steppe, which is one of the world’s last largest remaining natural steppe ecosystems.  Herdsmen still live a semi-nomadic life in this region.  These nomads must often move their livestock hundreds of kilometers in search of plentiful forage for the winter months.  The ger (or yurt) is their dwelling for most of the year.  A ger is a round felt tent supported by a wooden lattice infrastructure, usually with a 15-foot diameter.  Five or more people will often live in one of these tents.  During the summer months, families inhabit small, crude wooden houses instead of their gers, because of the heat and rain.  Temperatures can reach 100oF in the summer, quickly turning the ger into a virtual oven.  The summer rains can rot the precious felt insulation of a ger.  The people use summer homes made of wood, instead.  It is very time consuming and expensive to transport wood to the Steppe.  Families will return to these homes each summer, or often build the houses on sleds or axles and wheels so they can be towed to new pastures.  I saw many old railway cars on large tires used as summer homes.  With the nomadic lif-style, everything is utilized.

 The Peace Corps Experience

By my fourth year of college (I would spend five years in college before graduating) I still didn’t quite know what to do with my career.  I wasn’t certain about becoming a wildlife biologist, and I was concerned about finding a job after graduating.  I was interested in many different things, but knew that I wanted to travel.  I had been excited equally by aviation, anthropology, journalism, and conservation biology at different times in my life.  What career path was right for me? 

A friend had first brought my attention to the Peace Corps and gave me a small novel about Peace Corps volunteer experiences.  I read it and became interested.  My General Education professor expressed on many occasions that she had been a Peace Corps volunteer and challenged her students to learn more about different cultures.  Professors who are good at teaching their classes often spark interest in their students, and I had been set aflame.  I became excited about other cultures—their languages, foods, traditions, and literature—but confused by my seeming conflict in career paths.  One day in her office, I approached Professor Spitzer about my dilemma.  “You really should apply to become a Peace Corps volunteer,” she said.  That was it!  Here was my answer.

I began the long application process in September 1998.  After seven months of endless paperwork, medical exams, mental wellness tests and dental x-rays, I was sent an appointment letter for Mongolia as a Range Monitoring Volunteer.  This came as quite a shock since my Peace Corps recruiter said that I’d probably be sent to eastern Europe in the Environmental Education program.  I was more interested in the Parks and Wildlife sector, but it was a very limited program with few openings.  To increase my chances of finding a position in Parks and Wildlife, I hadn’t given any preference for where to be placed in the world.  The result, though, was my posting to Mongolia!  After speaking with a recruiter in Washington D.C. and being assured that this was a very specialized position and therefore an opportunity, I accepted the appointment. 

I was scheduled to leave on June 6, 1999, three months earlier than I’d expected.  I finished my last semester at Washington State University in a whirlwind of final papers and exams.  After graduation I had exactly a month, no, 27 days, to prepare for Mongolia.

The 10th Mongolia Peace Corps group, M-10’s, departed Seattle on June 6.  The journey was lengthy and I was overwhelmed by new experiences.  An 18-hour plane ride with my fellow volunteers landed us in Beijing late at night.  We hefted our luggage (mine just over 102 pounds) and hiked to the parking lot where we boarded a speedy bus that took us through the crowded streets of Beijing to our hotel rooms.  The food stalls, cars and carts crammed in the streets and people on bikes our bus almost hit seemed unreal at the time.  I remember thinking; “I’m on the other side of the world.” 

 Mongolia

In the morning (I was unsuccessful sleeping, though) Beijing Airport intimidated me, with armed guards, Mandarin blaring from the loud speakers, and the communist-era airport architecture.  Our plane was delayed and we waited for hours huddled in a little mass of sleepy volunteers, backpacks, and suitcases as we waited to check our baggage.  Eventually we boarded our flight to Mongolia. 

Landing in Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, was a little shaky.  I remember holding onto my St. Christopher medallion and closing my eyes, praying that all would go well.  After four or five bounces down the runway, we were on Mongolian soil.  An old truck backed up to the luggage compartment of the plane and two young men stacked our baggage, balancing it carefully into the bed of the truck in an amazing, teetering tower.

We were greeted by current Mongolia volunteers, mostly M-8’s and 9’s, and then promptly ushered onto another bus.  Our accommodations in Ulaanbaatar began to prepare us for the disadvantaged living conditions in Mongolia.  We were introduced to the Pre-Service Training staff, fed, and told many things that didn’t begin to even register in our sleep-deprived and jet-lagged minds.  Finally, we were sent off to bed.  The three months that ensued are a very memorable time for me:

 Journal entry:  TO ZUUNMOD                              June 14, 1999 

On Saturday the 12th we moved from UB to Zuunmod, a small town southeast.  Here, at the PC Hotel, I met my host mother, Tuyantsetseg and her son Monkhovoo (her husband, Nadmidtseren was at work).  They are both my age (22) and Moogii is three.  The first day was a little awkward because I was nervous and still had diarrhea.

On the drive from Ulaanbaatar to Zuunmod there were no houses, only a few gers and a lot of livestock.  This land reminds me very much of home, with its vast grasslands surrounded by sparsely forested, rolling foothills.  It is magnificent and seemed almost untouched by man.

Today was my “first day of school.”  We had some TEFL and medical lectures in the morning and ML (Mongolian Language) for the rest of the day.  I took my first shower in three days tonight.  It felt soooo goood! 

I felt very fortunate to have the host family that I did.  Many other volunteers had unpleasant experiences with their host families.  Tuya and Nadma were wonderful host parents, and Moogii was a great host-brother.  We all became very close during the two and a half months I spent with them.  They made my introduction to Mongolian culture a rewarding experience that colored the rest of my stay in Mongolia.  Fortunately, Tuya knew some English, so my first month there wasn’t as difficult as it would have been with a total communication barrier.  During my next two years of service I visited my host family several times.  Three family members and a close friend visited me in Mongolia and I was able to introduce all of them to my host family.  This was a wonderful experience!

Pre-Service Training was easy enough but often frustrating.  We began the tedious process of learning Mongolian, not to be mistaken as an easy language.  My typical day during training is best described in a journal entry: 

DAILY ROUTINE IN ZUUNMOD                              June 24, 1999

I go to school every day at 9:00.  Tuya fixes me tsea (tea) in the morning and we eat buttered bread sprinkled with sugar—this morning we had sweetened yogurt.  I walk past the run-down buildings and crooked fences, sometimes hearing a stream of HELLO’s from children playing outside.  The day is busy and packed full of training.  My favorite time of the day is in the evenings at home with my host family.  They are great!  We talk, play cards, eat, or I just sit and listen to their exotic language.  Sometimes I sit in my window and watch the sun go down and the lights in the ger district get brighter.  My adventures are beginning! 

During this time I attended my first Naadam festival.  In a letter written home, I described my experiences during this three-day celebration: 

Naadam is a traditional summertime holiday held on the anniversary of the 1921 Mongolian Revolution, but has much deeper roots.  Horse racing, wrestling and archery are the three sports of this festival.  These competitions were historically held on Bogd Khan Mountain in a valley near the sacred ovoo.  This year Naadam fell on July 10th and 11th, but people celebrate much longer after the competitions. 

My first day of Naadam was wonderful!  My Mongolian family, Nadma, Tuya, Moogii and I went to the local stadium in Zuunmod to watch the opening ceremonies.  For dinner we ate the Mongolian National food, buuz, steamed meat dumplings.  Then we went to a Naadam tent to visit and watch the horse races.  It was amazing!  All of the Naadam tents were so colorful and everyone was dressed in their vivid dels—the men in their dels on horseback gave an interesting atmosphere.  I was very moved by the atmosphere.  The smell of grass and horse was prominent. 

We sat in a Naadam tent and exchanged conversation with Tuya’s help.  They would offer me some airag (fermented mare’s milk) and I would politely accept, drink a little, then pass it on to the next person.  The finger flicks that you perform when accepting vodka are an ancient, outlandish custom.  I was later told that historically Mongolians sometimes poisoned each other.  In order to tell if your vodka was poisoned, one would drink from a silver bowl, which would discolor when exposed to poison.  These bowls were not always handy, so Mongolians would wear a silver ring on their right ring finger.  When accepting vodka, they would dip the tip of this finger into the vodka and then flick three times, thus allowing the vodka to run down their finger onto the silver so they could determine if the vodka was poisoned or not.  If this is true or not, I do not know, but makes for a romantic explanation of the finger flicking! 

The tent I was in smelled of airag, mutton, and grass with a whiff of cigarette smoke every now and then.  The people were very nice.  Old men in dels, who had drunk too much vodka, asked me questions about my stay in Mongolia.  A striking Mongolian woman with light green eyes and reddish-black hair, Bormaa, befriended me.  I ended up taking a few family pictures. 

Then the riders from the current race arrived after a two-hour run through the hills.  The winner was a small horse, even by Mongolian standards.  For good luck I touched the horse’s side and wiped its sweat on my cheek, a custom that works with both the first and last horse of the race.  We watched some more of the riders come in. 

It was such a lovely, relaxing evening with the sun going down and the hills turning indigo as I watched the sky through the tent opening.  I was at home!  We socialized quite a bit more and ate the peculiar milk products offered.  Buttery sweet cream on cheese accompanied by vodka offered unique tastes! 

Then we began the stroll back home.  It was a nice, cool evening with the smell of horse and grass in the air and a hint of fried food every once in a while.  Moogii told Tuya, “Ter minii Amerik,” “She’s my American,” while pointing at me.  I love the slow, relaxing way Mongolians walk, close to one another, always brushing and bumping up against one another.  Tuya would put her arm in mine and begin a song or hold my hand while crossing a gully.  She even stopped and buttoned up my flannel for me so I wouldn’t get cold.

Oh, it was a beautiful night, the blueness of the darkening sky sharp against the foothills. On a small piece of paper I wrote the following while sitting in the Naadam tent: “I am moved by this land.  It is beautiful and untouched.  Here, in the middle of the Naadam celebration I feel I have been transported into some fantasy novel I read once, a magical age.  Horses are tethered by the hundreds, all lined up, and the colorful tents and white gers with food cooking outside.  Everyone sings; the horsemen to their horses and the mothers to their children.  I even had an old man sing a Mongolian lullaby with me tonight.  It was wonderful.  I am so lucky to be here!  Thank you Lord!” 

My time in Zuunmod passed all too quickly and soon I was saying goodbye to my new family and friends.  A huge picnic was held for host families and their volunteers.  Afterwards my family and I went camping for two days on Bogd Khan Mountain to pick wild berries.  It was a wonderful time!

We said “bayartai,” goodbye, to our host families and relocated to Ulaanbaatar.  From there, all of the M-10’s traveled to their sites with counterparts, Mongolian cohorts who they’d be working with for the next two years.  My site visit was a difficult experience.  I was sick again and somewhat disappointed with the Dornod state capitol, Choibalsan, where I’d be residing for the next two years.  I described my first impression in a journal entry: 

CHOIBALSAN                                                             August 14, 1999

Choibalsan is a dry, sandy city filled with Russian-built apartment buildings and sections of abandoned buildings almost like ghost towns.  My place of work is a 20-minute walk east of my apartment.  It smells dry there.  I can understand why the main environmental concern is desertification.

My counterpart, Dariimaa, tried to help me adjust during this time, but I was so emotional that it was hard to adjust.  I remember scrambling to the telephone, a godsend to have in my apartment, at 10 pm after arriving home late from a field trip with my hosts and bursting into tears when I heard my mother’s voice on the other end.   The week was full of surprises, both good and bad, but I survived and headed back to Ulaanbaatar to finish training.

After Peace Corps graduation I was engulfed in a mad rush to prepare for moving to Choibalsan.  Regular household supplies are scarce outside of Ulaanbaatar, so I spent two days shopping for cooking pots, utensils and spices.  I also took along oatmeal, cheese and tuna fish, all of which were also unavailable in Choibalsan.  I had to leave as soon as possible to participate in a Rangeland and Biodiversity Research workshop being held at the Eastern Steppe Biodiversity Project (ESBP) office in Choibalsan.

 Rangeland Work

My first work experience was frustrating and overwhelming.  The journey to Choibalsan started with checking my 120 pounds of luggage—the Peace Corps supplemented our already-heavy load with a small library of books—and enduring a shaky plane ride in a dilapidated, Russian-built, twin-engine airplane.  When I arrived, I was taken to my apartment to drop my luggage but then I was promptly escorted to the workshop—I was a day late already. 

It was tough to concentrate in the workshop.  The constant interpretation from Mongolian to English and vice versa was tedious, as were the elaborate speeches, and especially the arguments between Mongolian and western scientists.  Most of the reports and research submitted for various projects by Mongolian scientists had been unacceptable and lacked basic scientific method.  During the workshop the general argument developed that Mongolian scientists conducted research a certain way and always had, whereas western scientists used different methods.  This was a cultural difference that caused many difficulties during my two years of service.

My job in the Peace Corps was as a rangeland specialist, assigned to Choibalsan, Dornod.  During my Peace Corps service I was responsible to the Hydro-meteorological and Environmental Monitoring Center (HMEM).  The HMEM has a close relationship with the United Nations ESBP.  Originally, my responsibilities included learning a rangeland health assessment method developed by Robert Buzzard, a grasslands consultant for the ESBP during the fall of 1998, and then to train HMEM technicians throughout the province in data collection and analysis.  Before I could train in this method, though, it was decided that a simpler rangeland health monitoring method (RHMM) was needed to teach to province technicians, because their scientific knowledge is often quite limited.

For most of my service, a team of specialists and I developed and refined a simplified RHMM.  I worked with D. Ariungerel, the ESBP’s national rangeland expert, Dr. Anne Brooks, a GIS specialist for the ESBP, B. Dariimaa, HMEM ecologist and communications technician, and D. Urantuya, HMEM assistant director. The new method was based on techniques that Buzzard developed in 1998, but simplified for non-professional technicians.  We established vegetation monitoring plots in eight different locations around Dornod where the new method would be applied three times each year during the growing season.

The goal of the Rangeland Health Monitoring Method (RHMM) I worked on was to measure trends in the health of Mongolia’s Eastern Steppe.  In order to accomplish this, three objectives had to be met:

1) Develop a simple method incorporating measures that reflect water and mineral cycles, community dynamics and energy flow (i.e. vegetation cover, species diversity, litter incorporation and soil condition);

2) Implement this method to determine present condition of the Steppe; and 

3 ) Determine long-term trends in rangeland health through continuous use of the method.  The following is an abstract of the RHMM: 

A rangeland monitoring method is needed to monitor the health of Mongolia’s Eastern Steppe.  The following is a simple method developed to accomplish this.  This method involves establishing monitoring plots by demarcating similar areas and randomly selecting monitoring plots.  Each plot is permanently marked.  When collecting data, an observer walks five paces from a starting point along a randomly chosen bearing.  The observer lays a 1 m metal rod, marked at 25 cm intervals, in front of his/her right foot.  Vegetation frequency data are collected by lowering a dart down through the canopy above each mark on the rod and noting what the dart hits at this level and at the ground level (bare ground, litter, grass, sedge, forb, or shrub).  The observer will continue this process until 100 data points are recorded.  In addition, after every 20 data entries the observer lays down a grid frame-quadrat next to the meter rod and records percent coverage of bare ground, green vegetation and litter/other.  The number of species in each of 4 plant types (grass, forb, sedge and shrub) is recorded along with any indicator species present.  This results in a total of 5 quadrat observations after a transect is completed.  Lastly, a soil condition index is used to assess soil movement, litter accumulation and degree of pedestaling along the transect.  Data from 5 transects are collected at each monitoring plot, resulting in 500 data entries.  These data are entered into a database and analyzed to examine differences between years and observation areas.  This information will allow managers and scientists to assess trends in the condition of Mongolia’s Eastern Steppe and make management decisions. 

When I first arrived I thought I wouldn’t have much difficulty with the project I had been assigned to work on.  I had been forewarned, though, that projects took twice as long in a developing country as they did back home.  The cultural differences in method development, work ethics, and performing research as well as the language barrier often seemed unbreachable.  During the first three months I accomplished almost nothing.  It took the whole two years I was there just to scratch the surface and come up with a decent method protocol that technicians understood.

I am a single, young female with no children.  This posed my worst problem in the Mongolian work environment.  Respect for women in the Mongolian culture are based on age and having children.  I was virtually ignored as a professional for the first nine months I was working in Mongolia, and really had to struggle to make my voice heard.  The scientific method—accuracy and repeatability—is not often employed in the Mongolian scientific community.   There is not much peer review or questioning of other’s work.  Age and status govern.

Mongolian people do not show their emotions in work situations.  So, when I became frustrated and showed this outwardly by raising my voice or even crying, I found I was making a mistake.  Even when I was elated by a task that went well and yelled “Hooray” to show my pleasure, this was looked down upon or confused my co-workers.

The Research Workshop I first attended included a field trip to the Steppe.  So, on the third day we all piled into Russian vans and jeeps for the journey.  This was the first opportunity I had to really see the Steppe.  The drivers followed bumpy tracks through the rolling grassland.  We pitched camp in the middle of this vastness.  I remember being faced with the dilemma of where to relieve myself, because there were no trees or bushes.  I solved my problem by walking for 15 minutes and finding a decent-sized clump of grass.  Later I learned to use my del, a long coat-like garment, as a portable outhouse and wasn’t so concerned with privacy.  No one looks anyway. 

While walking back from my grass clump, I reveled in the scenery.  Large, fluffy white clouds floated through the blue Mongolian sky.  Underneath, the grassland seemed to go on forever before meeting the blunt line made by land and sky.  Fifteen bright yellow nylon tents sat in the waving grass with a few Russian vehicles parked between them.  My heart leaped as I realized where I was and what I was doing; it felt as though we were exploring at the very ends of the earth.  In fact, a BBC film crew had accompanied the expedition to document the outing and interview the British scientists who were part of the workshop group.

 Back in the City

I had been standing on the street for a while, waiting for the next mini-bus to the Khar Zakh (black market).  It was the first time I had been in Ulaanbaatar, the capital, since moving to Choibalsan three months before.  How independent I felt!  I was about to get into a mini-bus—a sort of public transportation run by licensed drivers—in this large city, speak in a foreign language and travel to the “shady part” of town all by myself.  No problem!  “Zakhruu yavakh uu?” I asked (Are you going to the market?), and I was on my way.

On the morning of October 4th I looked out my front window to see powdery snow swirling in the wind.  The heat had not been turned on yet in Choibalsan and it was snowing, but luckily, it was on a week later.  I toted my camera around that day to capture scenes of camels dusted with snow and people with their jackets pulled over the heads walking in the blustery storm.  I soon adjusted to walking through the cold wind with a scarf wrapped around my head and only a slit to see out of.  Dariimaa’s mother made me a Mongolian del to wear when the temperature really dropped—sometimes as low as –24o F.  A del is a robe made with silk on the outside and sheep skin, with the hair out, on the inside.  It is buttoned at the neck and side with large, round, silver balls and a sash is used to secure the middle.  Dels are often worn with Buriat boots.  These are a special type of decorated sheep skin boot made by the Buriats, a separate ethnic group.  I soon found that these traditional clothes were better than my ski jacket or Gortex boots because they provided the insulation I needed to keep warm.

The most important Mongolian holiday is Tsagaan Sar or White Moon.  This is the lunar new year usually celebrated during early- to mid-February.  Mongolian families prepare for this holiday by making hundreds of buuz, meat dumplings.  During the three-day holiday, people dress up in their nicest dels and visit family and friends and host others in their homes.  A traditional greeting is practiced using blue scarves; a practice rooted in the Buddhist religion.  For my first Tsagaan Sar I visited friends and co-workers.  The three days were filled with socializing, eating great amounts of buuz, salads, roasted meat and sweet biscuits, and drinking milk tea and vodka.  The atmosphere was relaxed but the method in which one greeted people and drank vodka was very formal.  Older people would greet me by taking my arms as I offered a blue scarf and sniffing me on either side of the cheek.  I was also offered snuff in small, decorated bottles, handed to me in a special way of greeting for the holiday.  It was exciting to participate in this special holiday in Mongolia.

Life in Mongolia wasn’t always so congenial.  I often thought of quitting the Peace Corps and going home early.  I was very homesick at times and depressed.  For the first time in my life I was truly alone and in a foreign country.  I lived by myself and had to operate in an environment where no one spoke English or even looked like me.  All communication outside of the office had to be in crude Mongolian, at least until I became more fluent.  I was noticed everywhere I went!  People constantly stared at me when I walked down the street.  Children would yell “HELLO” at me over and over until it almost sounded like taunting.  All of this was much more attention than I ever wanted.  People would follow me home to see where I lived and observe me, children threw pebbles at my living room window and once someone threw vegetables at me while I was shopping at the market.  For a while some children decided to torture the foreign lady.  They would jam matchsticks into the lock on my door so I couldn’t get into my apartment.  Eventually these disturbances ceased and I adapted to my environment.

 Mongolian Wildlife

In the summer, I traveled in Mongolia for work and for pleasure.  My work required travel all over the state of Dornod to collect RHM data and I was fortunate to visit many beautiful natural areas.  My cat, Saaral, accompanied us and served as an ambassador for cats in Mongolia.  Cats are considered evil by Mongolian people and aren’t tolerated, but Saaral made a few friends.  While driving across the Steppe I often observed upland buzzards (Buteo hemilasius), red and corsac fox (Vulpes vulpes and V. corsac), marmots (Marmota sibirica) and Mongolian gazelle (Procapra gutturosa).  While out on a winter field trip I spotted a wolf (Canis lupus) stalking a heard of gazelle. 

During my second summer in Mongolia I had the opportunity to assist a fellow Peace Corps volunteer with a snow leopard (Unica unica) survey in Khovd, one of the south-westernmost states in Mongolia.  We planned to collect evidence of snow leaopard presence along transects on Jargalant mountain, a subsidiary of the Altai mountain range.  It turned out to be quite an adventure, even though I never saw a snow leopard.  I related my hair-raising experience in a journal entry:             

CHASING SNOW LEAOPARDS                              June 25, 2000

After establishing camp on the 20th we all rested and ate a good meal.  The next morning we saddled up the horses and headed out to collect snow leopard data.  We started up the mountain around 10:30 am.  A storm system moved in after we began climbing up the rocky hillside we were on, heading for a craggy area above.  At that point we were about 3,450 meters up.  It began snowing and hailing and became very windy.  We saw snow leopard sign soon after starting the transect.  At these sites I could smell the snow leopards.  It was quite an experience to see their scat and scratch marks.  At one site I bent down and inhaled the snow leopard scent.  It was wonderful being in this great animal’s habitat and seeing where they live and roam.  The weather became worse with mixed hail and snow and thunder and lightning crashing overhead.  At one point we were crawling around cliff-like drop-offs and scrambling up rocky crags—it was so exhilerating!  We ended up abandoning the survey and headed back to camp.

The next morning we awoke to mixed rain and hail.  It was very windy and cold.  We all stayed in our tents, but the weather became worse.  The stream next to our camp had become a raging river.  Then the snow began to fall and wind to howl.  During the night our horses had scattered, so we had no means of escape.  Our tents blew over while we waited for our guides to find the horses.  Everyone was wet and cold.  It was becoming a serious situation fast!  Finally, our main guide, Gantoulag, found the horses.  We headed down the mountain.  We soon reached a steep, rocky slope up which a cold wind was howling, freezing our faces and fingers.  We dismounted and led the horses down the shale slope, sliding down with the horses at our heels.  Soon we were out of the clouds.  A distinct line formed above us where the storm still raged on, yet below us we could see the valley and feel sunshine on our faces.  We still needed to move down the mountain fast since dusk was approaching.  We started down another rocky slope and I immediatley knew we were in trouble.  This was close to a 65 or 70 percent slope of loose rock that had been rained on all day.  There was no choice, I had to keep going down.  My horse and I were in front of other people and horses.  The horse and I slipped and slid and rode the rocks down the mountain slope.  He was forever at my heels or sliding past me.  I fell three times, but always managed to regain my footing.  My heart was in my throat and I soon realized that I was shaking and my legs were wobbly.  At one point the horse and I had to cross a patch of rock that was sliding down the mountain on its own.  This patch was wet and loose and gaining speed.  I threw the lead rope to Gantoulag who pulled my horse across and then scrambled across as quick as I could.

After making it back to the van we visited a ger.  A fire was going in the stove and its light together with a few candles put off a warm glow.  We sat and drank yogurt and salty milk tea in a circle, our faces lit by the glow of the fire.  An old man sat and smoked his pipe while others slept in beds or on the floor.  I was exhausted and extremely happy.

Second Year Work

During my second year of service I took on another rangeland project administered by the ESBP.  I had spent the summer before collecting rangeland health data and seeing severe rangeland degradation caused by the concentration of livestock around population centers.  I became interested in rangeland management.  We decided that a Land Use and Range Management pilot project could be established in district four of Sergelen county, just north of Choibalsan.  We held two very successful workshops, and results showed a clear need for range management in the county and district.  Livestock numbers were double what they should be.  Herdsmen had limited water sources away from the local river, due to broken wells, and this led to high concentrations of livestock.

The objectives for our new project were; 1) reserve seasonal pasture, 2) fix wells so new pastures can be grazed, 3) increase pasture area grazed or decrease the number of livestock per hectare, and 4) exclude degraded areas from grazing and make sure degraded areas are not grazed during the growing season.

During the final workshop I gave a general presentation in the Mongolian language on seasonal pasture rotation and sustainable use of rangeland.  This talk helped me gain credibility with the herdsmen.  We also passed out pamphlets in Mongolian showing how to calculate forage production, carrying capacity and stocking rates of rangeland. I was pleased with the results of the project.  By the time I left Mongolia, herdsmen in Sergelen were already changing their grazing practices, and the restoration work on water wells began in Summer 2002.

Close Friendships in a Foreign Language

I established some close friendships with Mongolian nationals during my second year of Peace Corps service.  I had adapted to my new environment, learned to speak Mongolian semi-fluently and basically learned the culture.  I had become “half Mongolian,” as some of my friends said.  Gerlee (a nickname for my friend, Gerelsetseg, whose name means “light flower”) and I spent a lot of time together.  We met through mutual acquaintances when she agreed to help me investigate buying or renting a horse to ride for pleasure.  Eventually I rode the horse owned by a friend of Gerlee’s.  Meanwhile, Gerlee and I had hit it off. 

She understood my Mongolian very well and knew what words to use in conversation so I would understand.  We would spend hours talking or playing shagai, a game played with sheep and goat ankle bones.  To most Mongolians, I was first and foremost “gadnii hun”—foreigner.  To Gerlee, though, I was just another girl her own age, with similar concerns, thoughts, and dreams. 

I made many other friends through Gerlee, work or the weight lifting class I attended at the local gym.  My boyfriend, Monkhbat, and I met here while he was instructing the class.  Towards the end of my time in the country, I hung out with Mongolian friends most of the time, even though there were other foreigners in town.  Having these close relationships in a different language and culture meant a great deal to me, and still does.  The culture became part of me, and this made it very difficult to leave.

But, eventually it was time to pack up and leave.  The end came too fast.  I thought I had plenty of time to say my goodbyes, but I put them off until the last minute.  I think now that I did so because I didn’t want to leave.  Monkhbat and I spent one last weekend alone together.  Our future together was uncertain.  Would I ever see him again?  I went to a flurry of goodbye parties and dinners.  I said too many goodbyes. 

Gerlee accompanied me on the long van ride to Ulaanbaatar.  She helped me re-pack, buy train tickets to Beijing, and obtain visas.  I had one last night on the town with Gerlee and some other friends.  The next day I said goodbye, boarded the southbound train, and watched through a cloud of tears as Gerlee waved, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.  I traveled in China, India, Nepal and Thailand for three months before I returned home to the U.S.  My travels provided wonderful experiences, and I met many friendly, helpful people; but it was great to see my family again when I finally returned to America.

 The Future

People in Mongolia do not have much luxury to be environmentally conscious.  For most families it is difficult enough to keep food on the table and a decent roof over their heads.  They do not have the resources to protect their environment.  It was the same in the United States 60 years ago.  A great deal of foreign aid is brought into Mongolia for environmental projects, but unless the fundamental needs of the local people are recognized and included in the goals for these projects, they are likely to be doomed to failure.

During the Soviet era, Mongolia was modernized in many ways, but the Mongolians themselves were not given the knowledge to manage their factories and resources.  The Soviets re-worked grazing practices on the Steppe, but the system was managed by Soviets and not taught to the Mongolian herdsmen.  When the Soviet Union collapsed, no one knew how to implement the rangeland management system, and the traditional herding practices had been largely forgotten.

If foreign aid and environmental projects also forget to focus first on teaching the Mongolians how they might best utilize and manage their own resources, then the same cycle of collapse and neglect can be expected when the foreigners and foreign money are pulled away.  Even the best intentions will not overcome a mindset that does not first involve Mongolians and Mongolian culture.

Mongolia is often described as being like a baby with its mouth wide open, being fed foreign aid.  The baby grows, but still needs nurturing.  There are many obstacles to Mongolian development, including communism remaining in the government, unstable economics, and difficulties implementing change.  I fervently wish that Mongolian herdsmen could continue to live their nomadic lifestyle, that Mongolians could keep their traditions and culture pure, and that the Steppe could remain unfenced and unmolested by foreign enterprise.  However, I know this is unrealistic. 

The Mongolian people themselves want change—they want a better life.  They watch western movies and long for lives like ours in the western world, including western-style homes and cars, CD players and other electronics, and fast food.  Most young people I spoke with in the remote areas of Dornod or in Choibalsan wished to move to Ulaanbaatar.  The population of many towns is plummeting because of this migration to the capital.  Over a quarter of the population in Mongolia now resides in Ulaanbaatar.

Mongolian tradition, rooted in Buddhism and even deeper in Shamanism from long ago, calls for stewardship of the environment.  Logging and hunting were prohibited on Bogdkhan, a sacred mountain near Ulaanbaatar, in the twelfth or thirteenth century.  Water sources were protected by restrictions against cutting trees, digging up the earth, and moving rocks near headwaters and polluting lakes, rivers, springs and streams.  Between 1272 and 1297 Marco Polo wrote, “Mongolians prohibited hunting during the birthing and weaning period of hare, elk, roe deer, gazelle and other animals by law.  Therefore there are plenty of animals and wonderful opportunity for the increase of animals.  Violators are strongly punished.”

The largest threat to the Mongolian environment is the temptation to exploit natural resources, to disregard traditional laws, in order to strengthen the declining economy. It will take the wise leadership of the Mongolian government to conserve their abundant natural resources—foreigners cannot and should not impose their will on Mongolia.

Yes, Mongolia will transition into a market economy.  It is already happening, and they are determined to enter the rate-race of the global economy.  The question is, will Mongolians choose to preserve their unique culture and nature?  I think they will.

My experience in Mongolia changed who I am and how I live my life.  I learned that I often expect too much and too little of people.  I learned that life is meant to be savored in the moment and not squandered on worrying about the past or future.  I miss the slow pace of Mongolian life.  Everything happens very fast here in the western world; changes seem almost instantaneous.

I have found that I have slowed down, and I am taking my time now to find my future.  I think that it will include going to graduate school, and I hope it will include more experiences overseas.  Sometimes my Peace Corps experiences feel like a dream—it’s hard to remember that I lived in such a different place for two years.  Even though I have readjusted to modern America, I will never forget the life lessons I learned in Mongolia.