Flyin' In Four

In four weeks exactly, I will be boarding a plane to Australia. This is frightening / awesome / wtf. I have a number of things I need to do before then. They include:

1. Learning to play my tovshuur
2. Publicising an international film festival + forum
3. Getting a new tattoo
4. Packing a year of belongings into one suitcase
5. Plotting a course for, um, what next?

I expect many of my upcoming posts will be recaps / shout outs / pleas for help. You have been warned.

P.S. If anyone has requests for things I should do before I leave, please note them in the comments section. I will act accordingly.

P.P.S. GETTING SENTIMENTAL. These are the people I could not have survived without. More on them later. Photo in the interim. Legends.

Why My Uncle Tomi Rules

My Uncle Tomi, who resides in Melbourne, is a very smart guy. He works as a translator and lived in Russia once upon a time. He politely investigated the items in my fridge I posted earlier and shared some info with me. Thanks U. Tomi.

Dear Alicia,

I have really enjoyed your latest blog. You have a very good style; one can see the journalist schooling.

For your edification:

The bottle of pomegranate states that it is "a gigt from Azerbajdjan" and it is a "pomegranate juice" (COK = juice).

The next one with the cow on it states that it has a "delicate plum flavour".

And the cheese spread states that it is "molten pateurised cheese with smoked meat products".

Now you know what is (or was) in your fridge.

Look forward to seeing you soon and hearing all your stories.

Love,

U. Tomi

Yes, I am very concerned about the "molten pateurised cheese with smoked meat products" and no I do not know what "a gigt from Azerbajdjan" means.

Marmots, Mountains + Mosques

A couple of weeks ago I hit the western-most province of Mongolia, Bayan-Ulgii, with my buddy Katherine. The area borders both China + Russia and is very close to Kazakhstan. Its population is largely Kazakh Mongols and as such, Mongolian isn't the first language for many people out there. It is many kinds of awesome.

We spent a night with a beautiful Tuvan family near the Tavan Bogd mountain range before riding horses to scope a glacier. We watched our driver (who spoke Mongolian, Russian, Kazakh, Tuvan, Uzbek, Kyrgyz + some Chinese but no English) attempt to shoot and kill a marmot. Apparently many have the plague (yes, the mutha trucking bubonic plague best known for its appearance in ye olde medieval England) but we ate one anyway that was cooked in the traditional khorkhog manner. Mmmm. Plague flavour. Delicious.

I got to shoot a gun for the first time and we also warded off potential serial killers and a whole lot of mosquitoes with pepper spray... the gun probably would have been more effective.

It's clearly obvious I have just discovered iMovie on my computer, so here's a video extravaganza of our trip:

And a few shots of the town of Ulgii + Tavan Bogd. Many more pics on Flickr.

Folk of the Faraway Fridge

I realised tonight that our fridge is currently hosting a fantastical array of fabulous but freaky goods. I say goods because I am slightly concerned about calling some of these things 'food' or 'drink'. Here's a little look at the residents of the fridge Clare and I call 'ours':

I will now attempt to explain some of the curiouser items.

Once upon a time we had a Belgian housemate. He hosted an xmas dinner party at our place while we were out of town. This was all that remained. The "25% foie gras" label has had me running scared since it appeared on the scene. It's the longest standing item in the fridge, having clocked up an impressive nine months in there and still going strong. GO WEIRD TINNED ITEM!

So fresh + so clean. Everything I look for in a beer really. This takes second place in the battle for longevity in our fridge. It appeared one day and never left. I think we're subconsciously waiting for its owner to come and reclaim it, lest we get accused of snaffling someone's last beer. Is it yours? You clearly know where we live, so please come and rescue your lonely little friend.


Russian pomegranate juice is delicious. I don't know the word for 'pomegranate' or 'juice' in Russian but I do know the first gold Cyrillic word here says 'Sok'... which is funny.

Look at this fucking rainbow connection. Rainbows + cows = Russian butter. Did you learn nothing at farm school?

Seabuckthorn wine. No really. 16% alcohol and counting. Sweetly satisfying.


I thought this was Russian cheese spread when I bought it. Then I ate it. I am still no closer to knowing what it is.


A friend brought me back some camel cheese from the Gobi Desert. Over a month ago. The Mongolians sure know how to build things that last.


Luckily this veritable smorgasbord of Russian roulette, French faux pas and Mongolian madness isn't all we've got - somehow Clare and I have managed to keep a tomato plant alive long enough to each grow our own tasty tomato. Just like us, with only a month to go before we ship out of here, they've just about grown enough to jump off their cosy tomato branch and find a new home. *Insert collective 'aw' or 'vomit' here* depending on your predilection.

Parent Party

My parents, the wonderful Sue + Steve, recently paid me a visit here in Mongolia. They took in most of the usual hotspots - the National History Museum, Gandan Monastery and the souvenir section on the 5th floor of the State Department Store. They also embarked upon a journey with me north to Lake Khuvsgul, a huge body of fresh water up near Russia.

Oh what an adventure it was. We trucked along in a Russian jeep, narrowly avoided a hail storm while riding horses and wondered if we'd ever make it home while stranded in the middle of nowhere with no phone reception and only three tires to our name. We also drank a lot of vodka and played a lot of cards. I put together a little video of some of our (well, mostly Steve's) escapades:

There are a few more pics on Flickr, but this one is particularly awesome. It's Sue. And an eagle.



BYE SUE + STEVE. SEE YOU SOON. YOU WERE EXCELLENT VISITORS x

Beers, Bands + Babes

A week ago, I bought a glockenspiel. It looks like this:


Later that afternoon, I attempted to play the glock and a shaker on stage with a pared back version of UK band We Aeronauts at a Mongolian music festival called Playtime. It looked like this:


A few more photos here really only serve to highlight the fact that many beers were drunk + it was kinda cold. For some more insight into what went down just outta Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, when a few thousand people + us converged on a lovely outdoor site to hear local bands and a couple of dudes intent on bringing post-rock-prog to the masses came together, please enjoy 1:29 minutes of video starring The Lemons, Cam, Stefan, Katherine, James, Greg + a bonfire conga line.

FEED ME

I just watched a Mongolian film where a woman killed a sheep then cooked it and ate it, as in gnawed every skerrick of life off massive hunks of bone. And it made me hungry, very hungry, for meat. What have I become?

Real Mongolian Art

Blogging has become a casualty of summer. Instead of hiding behind the Macbook, I've been out riding horses, drinking beer in the sunshine and watching men in minimal clothing wrestle each other. Yeah, summer is so very, very difficult here. This weekend however, I intend to up the word count and reconnect with the internet (and the kitchen for that matter. I have not cooked in months).

So, here I present the first in a number of posts set to grace your screen this weekend. Here are the four seasons of Mongolia packaged and presented in the form of nail art, as created by four different nail technicians on my street. I am currently rocking out the yellow + pink combo. It is 37 degrees + watermelon weather after all...