From Cinnamon Rolls to Sticky Rice

The semester has finally come to an end here. Dave gave his final last Friday and submitted his grades on Sunday morning. This seems especially quick but he had two great incentives: he wanted to see the Seahawks/Packers game on Sunday morning without the specter of grading hanging over him, and he has a walloping amount of work ahead of him to get the index on his book done before we leave on the 21^st for Xi’an (we also have a language teacher in the family who was able to help him out quite a bit!). I figured I’d sweeten the whole deal by offering to bake cinnamon rolls for the game.

Dave and Tad got up before the crack of dawn to set up Tad’s computer. Tad figured out a way to actually stream the game, commercials and all. Tad, by the way, is an avid Packers fan. The kids defected to Tad’s side because it’s an awful lot of fun to annoy Dad by wearing green and yellow and chanting various poetic beauties made up on the spot (on the order of “How do you spell success? P-A-C-K-E-R-S!”). The whole streaming thing worked like a charm—the game, the snow, the commercials (my first taste of reverse culture shock), the agony of defeat—all came out crystal clear. Well, at any rate, as clear as a snowstorm in Wisconsin in January can look.

The whole set up couldn’t have been more surreal. I mean, we sat in front of a computer watching American football and American commercials (it was the abundance of commercials for debit cards and Visa cards that most surprised me, besides the requisite charmers touting the superiority of one weak, insipid beer over another weak, insipid beer. I had forgotten how much consumption rules the day over there, but of course it does here, too, only in hard cash and Chinese, so I have no idea what the commercials are saying.), with Hohhot just waking up outside, going about it’s normal early morning routine. By the time the game was over, we all felt strung out from the early wake-up, the Seahawk defeat, and the sugar.

Speaking of sugar, has anyone ever read the Little Pear books (other than the Stones, who introduced them to us)? They were written by Eleanor Frances Lattimore in the early part of the 20^th century and they follow the exploits and daily life of a little boy. One thing that left an impression on us in those books was Little Pear’s favorite treat: candied crabapples lined up on a stick like a shish kabob. We’ve always wondered about those. Anyway, we’ve seen a lot of candied fruit on sticks but haven’t tried them yet—I am still a little gun-shy about street food, which I realize is ridiculous both because our stomachs have definitely adapted and also because I buy baked sweet potatoes off the street with nary a glance at the general cleanliness or lack thereof of the cooking barrel. On Tuesday Samuel, Grace, and I noticed a huge stand of these goodies on Mongolian Street and finally we just had to try them out.

Crabapple and banana on top right, orange slices on the bottom row.

The kids each got candied orange slices and I got crabapples split in half with a banana slice wedged in the middle of each apple. They are thick with a sticky syrup that stays hard in the cold. The vendor wrapped each stick in rice paper to keep it from sticking to the “to go” bag. The final verdict on these delicacies? Spectacular! The kids’ oranges were pretty juicy and Grace found it too sweet, but my crabapple stick was a terrific combination of sweet and tart, and Samuel wolfed down his stick (predictably, he also asked if he could keep the stick which has an extremely sharp point at one end—boys!). And yes, you can eat the rice paper, too. It just melts in your mouth and saves you the trouble of trying to peel it off of the syrup coating.

Some of my favorite things to complain about—at least in the privacy of our apartment, and in emails to some of you who are lucky enough to get to hear me gripe—have been the dust, the incessantly dirty floors, and the bathroom. I mean, I not only cannot seem to get a handle on any of the above, much less keep them under control to my satisfaction, I can’t even seem to find the inspiration to attempt to tackle them on anything other than a most superficial level. This has lead to a proliferation of dust bunnies everywhere I don’t feel like looking: mixed in with all the power-cords on either desk, under the beds, couch, and chairs, on the bookshelf. Basically, everywhere. This isn’t your garden variety dust, either. It sneaks in from somewhere (outside? inside? Mars?) and stays put. Our t.v. has had a healthy dust colony growing on its back since day 1. And even though we try to keep all street shoes out in the hall, gunk tracks in onto the tile floor and settles in. Dust and kid stuff and goop and who knows what else—it’s everywhere and I can’t seem to master it.

Where is all this leading, you ask? Ah, well, since the American teachers in the building are now all gone to Thailand and their various side trips for the next month, the lady who cleans their apartments is short on cash. This lead Dave to spearhead an effort to get her to come to our place Tuesday afternoon and kill two birds with one stone (or dust rag): help her out financially and get me to stop complaining. Li came over Tuesday and spent 2 ½ hours dusting and cleaning the floors. I have never had a cleaning lady before—nor will I ever again after this—but I have to say, I never felt so happy as I did when she started in on cleaning this place and I took off to go ice skating with the kids. It’s hard to explain, but it just felt good to not have to do it myself for once—or tell someone to do it and hope it gets done—and I got to go have fun. Needless to say, she will be coming twice a week now for the rest of our time here. Dust bunnies beware!

Wednesday afternoon we went to a Mongolian wedding! Ha Si (pronounced “Ha suh”) works at the International Exchange College where Dave taught. Although we can’t speak with each other without an interpreter, Dave and I have always felt very warm towards him. He’s a really nice guy. I understand that weddings themselves are usually a civil ceremony; what we were invited to was actually the reception at a large Mongolian restaurant in the north end of town. When we got to the restaurant, Ha Si and his wife greeted us and the other guests at the door, dressed in traditional ceremonial Mongolian clothing.

The happy couple at the door.

We were seated at the front of the room in a set-up similar to the other banquets we’ve attended—lots of round tables in a large room, with a stage at one end of the room. Our table was in front of the stage and we, along with Karen and Tyler, were the only foreigners there. Many of our friends and Dave’s colleagues from the IEC were there, along with, of course, friends and family of the bride and groom.

Athena (in black hat), Helen (middle), and Wu Yunna (on the right)

At our table--unfortunately Grace is washed out by the sun, but you get the idea.

The man on the right is a professor at IMNU--he served as master of ceremonies for the reception. The bride is a horse-head fiddle teacher; I heard some of the musicians are her students.

Another view of the stage and some more wonderful outfits.

The couple on stage.

Our table! Lots of vegetables, mutton, pork, rice, duck, and sweet sticky rice in the pumpkin in back--the latter is traditional wedding fare.

Like many wedding receptions, there was music, singing, speeches, and lots and lots of good food. The wonderful thing about this reception is that it was mostly Mongolian music, singing, and food. We really enjoyed ourselves immensely. And in a curious “closing of the loop”, when a sheep’s back was brought out to the front of the room for ceremonial purposes (similar to the sheep’s head way back in August that so completely undid Samuel) Samuel hardly even blinked. Granted, a cooked sheep’s back doesn’t quite compare to a head with empty sockets sitting right in front of you on the table, but still, neither Samuel nor Grace had any complaints about anything other than the volume of the music which made their chests thump from the reverberations out of the speakers. Dave and I loved it and I only wish I could share the music with you—the throat singing was absolutely phenomenal.

Our family, the bride and groom, Tyler and Malicha, and Karen. Notice the picture hanging on the curtains in back? Many people have their wedding pictures taken in traditional Western attire (tux and white gown). I have to admit I prefer the Mongolian clothing for beauty and character.