Nayra Cafe: Don't judge the store by the storefront

Or, in this case, the cafe by the building.

Nayra Cafe (outside), originally uploaded by Wanderings.

The truth is there isn't much in Mongolia that looks good on the outside. And I still haven't adjusted to that. Maybe I place too much value on appearance. I enjoy attractive storefronts and well-designed window displays. I'm picky about my book covers. I think the presentation of food matters almost (almost!) as much as its taste. So it's a good thing I have friends like Christine and David who somehow keep themselves in the cafe loop here in UB.

Not only had I never heard of this cafe, which is a favorite among ex-pats because of its wi-fi and real espresso, I probably would never have braved ("braved"? really? yes, really!) walking into it had I passed it on the street. (I've discovered or perhaps been reminded that I am a wimp when it comes to trying new places. Places, not things. The distinction is important. Something to do with walking into an unfamiliar building. Apparently I need to know what I'm walking into. Apparently I like to feel confident about my surroundings. Apparently I'm slightly neurotic.)

Thank goodness for Christine and being treated to breakfast. The omelettes were fairly tasty, the muffins amazing, the coffee rich and dark, the interior bright and cheery. It's almost enough to make me wish I lived in the center of the city. I'm not willing to give up my happy home in the 13th district, but if I had to -- I'd want to be within a few blocks of this place (or this place).

Nayra Cafe (inside), originally uploaded by Wanderings.

It may not be much to look at

but I got new pages added to my passport in less than 20 minutes at the U.S. Embassy yesterday. There are bonuses to living in Mongolia. This, I think, is one of them.

On the way home, I got to practice my oh-so-impressive Mongolian language skills with a chatty taxi driver. It was going well -- all the usual questions: How long have you lived in Mongolia? What kind of work do you do? Do you have children? And then my favorite one: Would you like an American husband or a Mongolian one? (Tell me, please, how you're supposed to answer that one without giving offense when your vocabulary doesn't top 300 words.)

I couldn't quite understand the last thing he said to me, but he was miming holding a bow and arrow and my friend Sharon pointed out that he was probably trying to communicate that Mongolian men are manly (since archery is one of the "three manly sports" in Mongolia).

And then he tried to rip me off. Classic.

Spring = Mud

Spring = Mud, originally uploaded by Wanderings.

Learning something new

The parents of the co-op declared the day after Easter to be a school holiday, so Mike, Carol Beth, the younger kids, and I were able to join our friends from the co-op for an afternoon of skiing. With Mike and CB's encouragement, I decided to go and try it out. Though I moved to Colorado when I was 13, I never learned how to ski. (It's really amazing how many people who call Colorado home don't ski. None of my friends did. My parents didn't. So I never learned.)

I didn't want to take a lesson from an instructor. A bunch of the other kids had, with mixed reviews, and I just wasn't sure it would be worth it. Carol Beth was willing to show Linden and me some of the basics and then we spent a good amount of time on the bunny slope practicing. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be -- I could never quite get my V strong enough to actually stop myself from sliding slowly down the hill. But when you're practicing with a little 6-year-old who keeps crashing into the fence, you have to figure something out!

I'll confess that there were a number of times Linden was crying and screaming while I quietly giggled at the absurdity of the situation and tried to extricate her skis from the plastic fence. What can you do but laugh?

She proved to be a little daredevil, though, and it if weren't for those fences, might've gone on "flying" down that bunny hill.

After our fear of falling was sufficiently squelched and our desire for speed sufficiently stoked, we made for the lifts and the green slope. (Yes, yes, I know all you pros out there are thinking that speed and the green slope do not belong in the same sentence, but it was speed enough for me!) I almost fell a couple times getting off the lift (once, because a man had crashed right in front of me -- yikes!), but managed to ungracefully right myself and ski on past. I liked the breadth and length of the slopes. I liked having all that space. And -- to tell you the truth -- I liked the feeling of that cold wind in my face and the snow under my skis. Me! Who knew?!

I took this little video at the top of the green at the beginning of my last run. I probably should've had someone take one of me, but you'll just have to take my word for it that I was on skis, too.

First Goodbyes

I had to say my first goodbye a couple weeks ago. My friend Melissa was getting ready to go home for a few months and won't be back until after I leave for Colorado. More than a couple times since she left, I've found myself thinking about calling her up to see if she wants to hang out over the weekend.

Two nights ago I said goodbye to my teammate Lisa who is going back to the States with her husband and daughter for a couple months and comes back to Mongolia the night before I leave. It was one of those, "

Well, I wouldn't be surprised if we meet again, but if we don't, Someday" Goodbyes.

I'm not looking forward to more of these in the months ahead. Even though I didn't come with the intention to stay long-term, I couldn't help but put down some roots here. I have met wonderful and inspiring people and I'm reluctant to say goodbye to them.