Safety First? Yeah . . right. Part 2

Sport number two is archery.  One I happen to have some skill with, but which is considered a waste when your as big as me.  On day two of Naadam I headed to the archery range to watch the competition and get some sweet pics.  This would be my second time to the field since we came to Mongolia, but this time was without the kids.  Meaning I could go to the best seat in the house.  "Where's that" you ask?  The sideline of course.  In a land with no safety regulations just find a space and fill it.  If this were baseball, they might just let you sit in your lawn chair behind the home plate umpire in a Roger Clemens vs. Randy Johnson game.

No play by play.  Just notice the angle I had for the downfield pic, and then that the archers shoot from behind their next youngest competitor.  That's right.  If you are in the youngest division, you shoot from in front of every other group (who are shooting at the same time).

You wouldn't want one of these "manly sports" to come without risk would you?

Safety First? Yeah . . right. Part 1

Mongolia's big Naadam festival is a three day stroke to the male ego through the "Three Manly Sports" of Naadam.  These are wrestling, horseback riding, and archery.  Ironically, women compete in both archery and horseback riding, but not wrestling.  Well, at least now anyway.  Legend says many years ago a woman entered the wrestling competition and won it.  Men were allegedly so embarrassed that for his reason today's Mongolian wrestler wears a very revealing open chested outfit to expose any female wrestler wannabes.  After all, these are the MANLY sports and we can't have women potentially ruining the last bastion of Mongol manhood.  Right?  So women, please polish your saddle and string your bow, but DON'T practice your half nelson or sleeper hold.

Speaking of wrestling, we had a staff retreat the week after Naadam and the MEN had a wrestling competition.  32 of us, well outside the bounds of workmen's comp, risked life and limb to win cups of sour horse milk (called arag).  Being the biggest foreigner, I was automatically enrolled and expected to win.  However, to the disappointment of dozens of adoring fans, I was found to be without the Mongol born skill set of wrestling.  That's right, I'm a lover and not a fighter.  That's why I have five kids and a good insurance policy.  But here is the play by play:

Round of 32: Grossly undersized, my opponent is about 1/3 my size. (no weight classes in pro wrestling here either by the way).  He put on a show until I picked him up and flicked him like a booger.  Nuff said.

Round of 16: Guy wants to become a legend.  Punk goes for a leg sweep and hit my shin like a moth hits a windshield.  Undeterred he dives at my knees to which I deftly put my hands on his shoulders and sit him on his pride before somebody gets hurt.  [and the crowd goes wild!]

Between rounds I pointed out this smaller guy who was really skilled.  The guy I was talking with said, "He is a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and rated in the top ten in Mongolia."  I said, "What do you bet he could put me down?"  "Yeah right." he replied.

Round of 8: Me and Tae Kwon Do (wouldn't it figure!)  Now I know I am in trouble.  A shorter opponent has the advantage if he gets the tall one off balance, and this guy had just beaten a guy twice his size who actually knew how to wrestle.

First move, he goes strength to strength, man to man, . . . didn't work.  If he would have come in a bit more I could have pick and tossed him, but that was "if".  Instead he backed off, and gave me a hard look, concentrated for a moment, grinned (I swear to God he grinned!), then VOOM!  I see a flash of his butt where I know my armpit should've been, then  . . . clouds . . . grass . . . tree . . . ground . . . THUD . . . crack.  

What?  . . . Crack?  . . . What just cracked!?!  . . . Your rib you idiot!

That's right.  As I peel myself out of the grass, I feel a wincing pain that worsened for the next two days and never allowed me a peaceful nights sleep for three weeks.  All that for two cups of sour horse milk.  I need a better agent.

Blog . . What Blog? Oh yeah!

It's Monday here in good old UB and I have a confession to make.  I am probably the worst start up blogger in history.  Laura and I were talking last night and she mentioned her blog entry, which set off a series of thoughts in my mind as to when I posted my drafts I had recently done.  RECENTLY MY EYE!! They are almost two weeks old you goon!!  So after chewing myself out a while I said, "Okay, Monday I'll give some lame excuse then polish and publish my posts that I should have had out last week minimum."

On that note, being a fair student of the Mongolian language, I want to let you in on a humorous bit my Mongol friends enjoy.  I got the words from the Lonely Planet travel guide's glossary a few years back and and adapted it to a shtick I do here when Mongols are feeling out my Mongolian.  I tell them five words can give ANY traveler a basic Mongolian conversation.  They look at me like I'm out of my mind, then I say, "the words are: Chadaxgui (can't do it); Baixgui (don't have it); Margaash (tomorrow); and Magadgui (maybe) and Za 

(yeah, whatever)."  Now you can translate a conversation that goes something like this:

(Enter the restaurant, store or other business and begin your order)

Me: I'd like to buy a __.

Attendant: Chadaxgui

Me: Why not?

Attendant: Baixgui

Me: When will you have it?

Attendant: Margaash

Me: So if I come back can I get it tomorrow?

Attendant: Magadgui.

Me: So . . guess I'll come back tomorrow.

Attendant: Za.  (and goes back to watching the television)

I've done that bit for dozens of Mongolian friends and they absolutely crack up.  The reason why is they live it every day.  Seriously.  Not funny to you?  Guess you had to be there.