Reality Report

By Charlie

Here’s everything you need to know about our apartment, the Central Post Office and today’s bus ride from the airport.

The Apartment

There is now some dispute over who owns our apartment. A fashionable lawyer named Burenjargal descended into our lives about two weeks ago and claimed to have bought the apartment from absent landlord Byamba. Various notarized papers with copies of government ID cards from Byamba’s relatives were offered to prove the legitimacy of the deal. A Ford Expedition and US$9,000 had apparently changed hands.

Of course I did not believe this, so I insisted on having a meeting with Burenjargal at the Asia Foundation office where our man, Davaa, could translate. She agreed to let us stay in the apartment and said that she would write up a new contract. I said that I would pay the February rent when we had a contract. No problem. Well…

Burenjargal called Davaa yesterday demanding money from us. We had another meeting where Burenjargal explained that she could not make a contract because she wants to sell the apartment as soon as possible. She needs the money because her husband is going to Japan and she is short on cash. My answer was simple and ruthless: “Not my problem!”

We negotiated a little more and arrived at a compromise. I agreed to stay in the apartment without a contract, but only on the condition that we would pay rent one month in arrears, which is unheard of in Mongolia. She agreed. And I sweetened the pot by giving her $200 for the first part of February.

Everybody left happy.

Then I got an e-mail today from Byamba, who is apparently in Japan. I’ll let that e-mail speak for itself:

From: Guess Who? [mailto:shuudan@gmail.com]
Sent: Tue 2/7/2006 7:46 PM
To: Charles Mayer
Subject: Byamba

Hi Charlie, A Happy (Lunar) New Year!
How are you doing.
Charlie, I got informed that I did not pay for February to my father. I heard that the lady who’s name is Burnee came to see you and wanted to take the rent. She is not the owner of the apartment. She sold this apartment to us. I had been talked to them after that i got your email about the visit of Court people. We wanted to give the apartment back to her and get our money back. She gave our car(Ford Expedition) to my brother but did not transfer the car to my family. As I heard, her cases are under investigation. So you should not give her the rent money. It would be wrong. If she will back again, just tell her to be contacted our father. Do not tell the lady about the apartment lease and more information about yourself. She must not come into your home without your permission.
My father will back to get the rent money.
Do not worry.

—

While not actually saying “Fuck you,” I told Byamba to contact Davaa and told him that I had nothing to say to him.

Davaa talked with Burenjargal this afternoon and asked her about Byamba’s e-mail. “What did she say?” I asked. “She said that he can ‘fuck off.’”

So it’s all shits and giggles with the apartment.

Tuv Shuudan

I went to Tuv Shuudan (Central Post Office) this afternoon to collect a package. Christmas cheer sent from Lucy and Rich on November 28, 2005 arrived today. It took 20 minutes, 6 people and $1 in duty to get the package released from quarantine.

The next time you’re standing on line at a United States Post Office, think of us at Tuv Shuudan.

Picture this: The entire Central Post Office is a room roughly the size of a Kwik-E-Mart. Counters on both sides of the room rise up to your shoulders. Officially clad Mongolian bureaucrats perch on the other side of the counters. Well, they are perched there at least sometimes. Most of the time, they smoke cigarettes and hang out at what appears to be the “Break Counter,” where absolutely NO BUSINESS is transacted for any reason. Up to six people can be smoking cigarettes and reading ONE shared newspaper at the same time.

Mongolians seem to send and receive most anything imaginable through the post office. We watched one guy packing up some chicken bullion cubes for shipment to Japan, where chicken bullion is apparently not available. One guy came in today with a baby goat under his arm. He stuffed the goat into a box posted for Denver. (Okay, that’s an exaggeration.)

In any case, Tuv Shuudan is one of those human experiences required by life in Mongolia. Just sharpen your elbows and be ready to deploy your stare of death on the people behind the Break Counter.

The Bus

The #11 bus let me down today. It disgorged all passengers on the outskirts of town. #11 bus refugees transferred to a waiting #3 bus. #3 waited for about ten minutes before moving. We limped down the road and waited for another ten minutes at another stop.

As we finally sputtered into town, the smell of spilled diesel fuel and exhaust filled the bus.

I’m just not sure why we got off of the perfectly good #11 in favor of the sickly #3?

Well, whatever. Such questions are not worth asking in Mongolia.