My second chance counted. It was a late summer night when I first arrived in UB in 2004. I didn't see anything from above in the airplane. It was different this time. It was a winter afternoon, I took out my camera to shoot photos as soon as the pilot of Korean Air KE-0867 announced our approaching to UB. I saw a circle of gers covered with the heavy snow in the mountains, like a string of premium pearl necklace. I saw a straight dark asphalt road in the vast steppe, like a pencil stroke on a white paper. I saw the two power stations emitting white clouds of smoke, like household chimneys at dinnertime. Everything was new in my image bank. I was glad I took the challenge to venture into a new horizon.
More than a hundred passengers flocked in four lines waited patiently to go through the immigration process. There were no separate lines for Mongols and aliens. I was at the tail of one line, observing with interest the visages and body languages of a pool of Home sapiens from all corners, Mongols, Koreans, Chinese, Europeans, Russians. Being an Asian, it was hard for me to tell the difference among Asians waiting in lines, unless I saw their passports or I overheard the language they used.
Immediately after I went through the immigration, I saw Mr. Uron holding a white board with my name hand-written in Chinese. I knew he was eager to see me to collect an envelope from Director Baatar Hai, Office of Mongolian Affairs in Taipei. After Mr. Uron helped me claim my luggage from the baggage carousel, I gave him the secret package from my big suitcase. Mr Uron gave me a strange look and warned me to watch out for the bad guys before he disappeared for good.
Coming out of the arrival gate, I saw a gang of young people holding a piece of A4 page with my English name printed on it, two young men in heavy coats and one beautiful young lady in her fancy mink coat. I knew this was it. I broke the ice by greeting them with eagerness and enthusiasm. How happy I was to be in Mongolia again to spend the following three weeks in Ulaanbaatar meeting potential toastmasters in town.
Two young men helped me carry two suitcases to the car waiting on the parking lot. I was advised to sit in the front, the driver was smoking on his driver's seat to the right, the three greeted at the airport crammed in the back. When we hit the road, I noticed that half of the cars on the road had steering wheels to the right on the right-hand traffic. Wow, it was a world of freedom, I mean, for drivers!
I enjoyed every minute of the very first good drive of 30 minutes to see UB on the ground before I was taken to a Russian-style apartment complex in the west UB to stay with Enkhee's family. My future hostess prepared hotdogs on the buns along with Mongolian tea to welcome us. After the cordial afternoon tea for 30 minutes, I was left alone with my new family in UB, Lady Enkhee and her 13 year-old son Tsenguun.
At eight in the evening, Enkhee received a phone call from Mr. Dembee who invited me to UB to help him organize the first Toastmasters Club in Mongolia. Mr. Dembee and I had exchanged emails in the cyber space for the past six months. At last, we could see each other for the first time at a late dinner in downtown UB.
No sooner than later I walked out of the heavy-duty Russian-style elevator in the dark, I pushed open the heavy wooden door of the apartment complex and I tripped on the slippery icy stair. It was a good fall to commemorate the first freezing evening in town. As a newcomer to a dry cold country, I began to adjust my walking steps on icy road to keep my feet on the ground in balance. It wouldn't be hard to imagine that bicycles and motorcycles were out of sight in UB.
I trailed Enkhee to the main road attentively and saw Enkhee raise her hand to hitchhike a car. To my surprise, a plain car stopped in a second to our rescue in the coldness. In UB, every car could be a taxi. All you had to do was to raise your hand, in a second, a car would stop and took you to everywhere you wanted in UB with a competitive charge.
The moment Enkhee and I walked in the Mongolian restaurant, I saw Mr. Dembee walk to me, he extended his hands and said to me with a big smile on his face, "Hi Sherry, you're finally here"! Indeed, I was more than contented that I took the initiatives to come see the young and chubby diplomat of Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade in person!We toasted cheerfully with delicious Chengiskhan Beer to the future of Toastmasters in Mongolia to begin our late dinner. The lambchop in the wooden barrel was superb. The green salad was refreshing. I had Grand Toastmasters Club's 2009 T-shirt on to celebrate the beginning of my Mongolian journey with three young and energetic descendants of Chengiskhan.
The interior of the restaurant was red and Russian. Our table of four was covered with dishes. I tried my best to finish the green salad in front of me, but I didn't have any stomach to finish the rest half barrel of supreme barbeque ribs. If I should have known that Mongols didn't have the habit to take the left-over home, I would have asked for a dogy bag for Tobi--a cute eight month-old male poddle.
It was after 10PM when we got home just to know I needed to climb up to the 9th floor. The service time of the elevator was between 7AM and 10PM on weekdays and between 9PM and 9PM on weekends. Even though I didn't like the curfew hours, I appreciated just the same a good and free fully-geared in-door exercise vertically to help with my digestion before I snuggled in the warm bed on the first night in UB.
PS: It is my belief to finish all the food in my plate to respect the nature. It is also my belief to carry home the leftover in my plate to respect the nature. I don't force myself to eat up everything to gain weight, because I take home the leftover. It is my habit to carry a container in my bag to take the leftover home. It is my habit to carry a pair of personal chopsticks in my bag. I like to be thrifty for the sake of environment as well as my own pocket.
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