The Bad Representative, a continuing drama

I generally don't hold grudges against people. I'm pretty damn mellow -- mellow to a fault, even. However, if I happen to rub up against our Foundation representative, "X" in a dark alley some time next summer when we're ready to come home, I'd consider foul play.

We have already had some significant and pathologically bizarre friction with him in the past over our apartment. We decided to have as little to do with him as possible after that. Even at a distance, he managed to screw us over.

When we arrived in UB, we were met at the airport amid much ado, replete with expensive restaurants and more expensive hotels. "X" proclaimed us "The Audubon of Mongolia" to everyone that would listen, and announced that he wanted to introduce us to the Prime Minister, "who is a good friend", and some Mongolian artists that he "regularly hangs out with". "X" is a self-proclaimed supporter of the arts, and has even secured a much-touted box seat in the State Opera House, which he lavishes on his favored friends and colleagues. "X's" flair for the dramatic proclamation seems to know few limits. However, his follow-through leaves much to be desired.

To his credit, we were invited to join the The Foundation staff on an outing to the Gandan Monastery, in which we met the Lama Purbat who paints religious themes and teaches the art and technique of Buddhist painting. All in all, that was a spectacular and worthwhile visit. Unfortunately, that has been the last thing that we have purely good feelings about concerning his involvement: virtually everything since has been tinged with a range of discomfort, from curiosity regarding his motives, to contempt, to un-throttled outrage.

"X's" modus operandi is that if he has enthusiasm for something, it will probably get done. If he doesn't enjoy the task, it just simply won't get done. We have discovered that reminding him doesn't result in action towards completing the task, but further reminders will result in a vacant reassurance of action, or a torrent of irrational ire... it's a crap-shoot as to which one.

This particular screwing over began shortly after we arrived: we asked The Foundation to assist us in registering as Foreign Nationals living in Mongolia. "X" assured us that he'd put someone on the job. Several weeks go by and we have a list of things to ask him about, one of which is the registration. He again assures us that someone will take care of it. I left the written list with him as a reminder. Several more weeks go by, and I read in the Lonely Planet guide that registration must be accomplished within 10 days of arrival: we are long past 30 days, so I go down to the The Foundation office and suggest that we might get in trouble if we don't get registered soon. "X's" immediate response was "Oh, don't worry about that, they never look at it." He assigned Avirmed to help us, and we gave him our passports. More than a month passed. I finally had to ask for our passports back because we will leave for Hong Kong in 3 weeks. Since we will be leaving from and returning to Mongolia via China, we need both a Mongolian visa and a Chinese visa.

I figured that the Chinese visa would be the most difficult, but I was wrong: all I had to do was fill out the application, give them our passports and 2 new pictures each, pay in US dollars -- no other currency would be accepted, even Chinese RMB -- and wait a week, voila, visa. No fuss, no muss, and there weren't even long lines. Of course, I discover the hard way that the Chinese visa office is only open on Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 9am to 4pm with a 2-hour lunch at Noon, so I wasted a couple of valuable visa-procuring days.

Welcome To The Mongolian Bureaucratic Machine

T-minus 9 days: I figured that more than a week should be adequate to get a Mongolian visa without incurring a rush charge. I was wrong on this account as well: and not because the visa process is inefficient, but because we were complacent about the foreign national registration based "X's" terrible advice. I fully admit to a sense of panic when considering dealing with the government because I have such poor command of the Mongol language, and not every office has a fluent or even semi-fluent English speaker. I have discovered that even when there is an English speaker, often something important is lost in the translation. Furthermore, the task would definitely fall on my shoulders as Zina was busy securing train tickets and finishing the calendar.

I started by locating -- with some difficulty -- the visa office: it is on the rear of a government building which is not marked with Roman characters: only Cyrillic Mongolian and Old Script. Having pondered the sign for some time, I entered the building to find a lavish lobby, not what I would expect to find in the visa office. I asked a security guard and he directed me to the rear of the building. There was only one door, and it was also not marked in Roman characters. I entered and quickly located the long line for visa applicants.

Having learned some Mongolian etiquette, I barged up to the head of the line and secured the forms to fill out: this is entirely acceptable behavior and expected. I filled out the forms and got in line. A short while later, maybe 15 minutes, I arrive at the window and am delighted to discover a very nice woman who speaks fine English, much to my relief. I hand over the paperwork and our passports. This is met with some disapproving clucking... she has noticed that our passports lack the "Resident Foreigners Registration" stamp. I was first instructed to go to the cashier and pay $25 US dollars -- and again, the Mongols don't want Mongolian currency, only US dollars -- and my forms were stamped. Next, I was sent across town to the Foreign Citizens Administration Office, which I discovered was closed. My day was done, and I returned home in a foul mood to work on the calendar project.

This bears some explanation as to my frustration. Most Mongolian businesses, except restaurants, close for lunch, usually from 12:00 noon to 2pm. The banks close at 4pm, leaving only a 2-hour window in the afternoon, but generally most businesses stay open fairly late into the evening, often until 8pm for retail establishments. I have grown accustomed to this, and can schedule around it, even though I still consider it an inconvenience. Perhaps the Mongol perspective is that this lengthy mid-day break allows people to spend more time with their family and save money by eating at home. I can understand, even appreciate this logic.

However, the thing that I find most perplexing and frustrating is the governmental office habit of having random days off, or half-days during the week. There is no rhyme or reason that I've discovered that explains which days are chosen for this respite. Different offices have different days off, so if you want something done, the best time to do it is in the morning, because there is a low chance of a full day off, but there is about a 1-in-5 chance that the office will be closed in the afternoon on any given day of the week. This is a problem for me: Zina and I have gotten into a late-night work habit, so we haven't exactly leaping out of bed at the crack of dawn.

The next day, I return to the Foreign Citizens Administration Office and located someone who speaks enough English to help. I explained that we had failed to get our registration. She looked at our passports and noted that we had been in-country for almost 3 months without registration. She said "This is very bad for you." I came to discover that she was quite right. I followed her to her superiors office, a man I disliked immediately. He was impeccably dressed, his hands manicured, and not a hair out of place. His watch had the luster of real gold and probably cost more than a new motorcycle. He smoked what appeared to be imported cigarettes and lit them with a fine slender golden lighter. I could not understand much of what he said in his resonant, smoke-burnished authoritarian bark, but his manner clearly conveyed anger and contempt for me and for his subordinate. His hands moved in a precise manner, sometimes folded neatly before him on his desk, occasionally inspecting his cuticles and rubbing a thumb over the end of his glossy fingernails, other times, motioning, palms facing each other, perpendicular to the desk, thumping vigorously in the universal "These are The Rules" motion. I silently assign him the moniker "Evil Smoking Man".

The subordinate woman explained to me that Zina and I are each responsible for a $300 US dollar fine for failure to register. We must get a letter from our host organization explaining why this failure to comply with the law had occurred. With this terribly upsetting information in hand, I went to The Foundation: as I saw it, the organization had EXPLICITLY accepted responsibility for our registration -- regardless of real or implied duty to the Luce Foundation -- when "X" said "I'll put someone on it." Fortunately, "X" and Zola were in Japan, no doubt frolicking at the Opera, and I found the staff at odd ends in his absence, which served my purposes quite well. I explained my understanding of the situation, and was met with some sympathy from the staff, but no offer of action. I asked if they could write a letter saying that Zina and I are scholars working for ESBP, but I could sense grave reluctance to write an official letter in "X's" absence. I reminded them of our pleas for action, and mentioned our written note, which had included a financial request that Avirmed had filled, so he understood how long we had been ignored by "X". I basically buttonholed Avirmed, who seemed somewhat reticent to get involved, for assistance in understanding what the problem was down at the Foreign Citizens Administration Office. We took a cab over to the office, but they were closed this particular afternoon. We agreed to meet the following day at 10am, Thursday, November 7th, which is my birthday. I went home, again, in a foul mood, to work on the calendar.

Armed with a Native Speaker

I was at the The Foundation office, 10am sharp, and we went to the Foreign Citizens Administration Office and found Evil Smoking Man. Avirmed asked what to do with this situation, and after about 10 minutes of agitated "These are The Rules" desk thumping and frequent mentions of other nationalities -- which I perceived -- possibly incorrectly -- to mean "The Germans, the French, the Russians pay their fines, why should this stupid American get off the hook?". And trust me: a 10 minute conversation with an angry Evil Smoking Man made both Avirmed and I quite uncomfortable.

Dismissed with a wave of the manicured hand, Avirmed and I retired to the hallway to discuss the conversation. He explained to me that part of the responsibility of a Host Organization is to make sure that the foreign nation whom they have invited gets properly registered. So, since we were technically invited by the ESBP, we would need to get a copy of the original letter of invitation and a letter of culpability explaining why we were not registered. The Host organization would then have to pay the $600usd in fines. Since our relationship with ESBP is sort of shaky at best, and their budget is shrinking, that was not an option. Avirmed continued to explain that if I were to write a letter explaining why we were not registered and admitting that we had broken the law as private citizens visiting for an extended stay on our own, i.e. not associated with a business, the fine would only be $300usd for both instead of $600usd. Avirmed was worried that The Foundation would have to pay the fine, but I insisted that, ultimately, registration was our own responsibility, not The Foundation's.

Clearly, I don't run around Ulaan Baatar carrying several hundred dollars in cash, so we had to sprint to the bank. Unfortunately, it is lunchtime and the bank will be closed until 2p. Since we had almost 2 hours to kill, Avirmed and I went our separate ways: he returned to The Foundation and ate his bag lunch, and I walked to "Ikh Delgur" (the State Department Store) where my replacement sunglasses were ready to be picked up. I also ate lunch at "Little Hong Kong", a Chinese restaurant next door to Ikh Delgur.

The Lemon Chicken Experiment

I was absolutely miserable: I was already severely concerned about money: I am in deep trouble with the IRS, and the costly mistake rode heavily on my conscience. Additionally, dealing with Evil Smoking Man left an acrid taste in my mouth like chewing tin foil found on the floor of a public toilet. I was extremely angry with "X" for ignoring our well-being. Most of all, I hated my own terror and loathing of those who have power over me: I avoid them like the plague, but inevitably I pay dearly in the long run. One would think I'd have learned this, but painful lessons are remembered best.

Towards the end of my meal, I recalled a cliche that is bandied about in self-help circles: "Do one thing different." It boils down to the idea that if you keep doing things in the same ways that you always do, you will keep getting the same results. It's basic scientific method: use the same techniques always to produce repeatable results. So, when you want to change the results, you must alter the technique. I decided not to finish all of my lunch and give the balance to the street kids that swarm around the entrance of the State Department Store, targeting foreigners for handouts, which I have always resented.

I walked out with my 'to-go' box of food in a bag. I walked up to a particularly dirty little boy in a filthy red coat and gave it to him. Immediately, there were half a dozen children scrambling for the three pieces of chicken and half a bowl of rice. They opened the bag and started gobbling it up with their hands. I guess that I can't ever entertain the idea that they might want money to support their parents alcoholism. I started to walk away, and suddenly I had a 12 year-old girl clinging to my sleeve, saying "I'm hungry, I'm hungry", making eating gestures. I told her that I didn't have any more food, and that I was sorry. Even though I'm doing one thing different, I maintain my refusal to give money. This poor child stayed attached to my arm for a block, and I kept repeating that I hand no more food. Finally, I told her to go away, using the most polite form, hopefully indicating respect for her as a human. I felt like shit.

Sheep for the Shearing

I return to the The Foundation office at 2pm, and Avirmed, Byamba (the driver for The Foundation ) and I go to the bank where I withdraw $300US worth of Tugrug (Tg). This makes the third trip to the bank this week. We return to the Foreign Citizens Administration Office where I present the cashier with the paper representing my fine. I handed her the money and she said that I had to BUY the deposit slip for 500Tg! I suppose that there is some security in having a numbered, signed deposit slip, but my deep and possibly irrational feeling is that my $300 is going into Evil Smoking Man's wardrobe fund.

We also have to write letters -- one each for Zina and I -- admitting guilt in breaking the law. I explain to Avirmed that such an open-ended letter... "Yes, I broke the Law." is a terrible Sword of Damoclese that I cannot accept hanging over my head. I insisted that he ask WHAT law we had broken, and include that information in the letter. I made copies -- another 50Tg each -- of the letter which I will keep on file until we leave the country, if not longer. We return to Evil Smoking Man's office and there is more discussion, which isn't translated to me. I hand over the stack of Tg and ANOTHER 1,000Tg is demanded!!! This time, I have to buy two RECEIPTS for the God Damn FINES! Avirmed patiently explains to me -- as the muscles in my jaw are going into fast-twitch spasms from clenching with the effort required to keep from growling something rude -- that this receipt is the most important thing: it proves that we have been punished, and without it, we could be punished yet again. He reiterates that we must not ever lose this paper and keep it with our passports. I feel the same way as I did when my Visa credit card, with it's 22% interest, quit paying for postage on the bills... a white-hot rage against the fucking greed-head bastards all.

In the car, on the way back to the Visa Office, I mention to Avirmed how uncomfortable Evil Smoking Man made me, and to my surprise, he instantly agreed and shared that he, like me, is a shy person that avoids conflict... especially with powerful people. I blurted out that I found Evil Smoking Man especially distasteful because of how he seemed to especially enjoy having power over me, and power to fine me, and the power to elevate himself by doing me a "favor" by telling us how to reduce the fines.

We finally get to the head of the line at the Visa Office and are fortunate to get the Very Nice Lady again: she informs me that for an $85 "service charge" I can get an unlimited entry, unlimited exit 2-year visa for "free". Of course, the degree of "freeness" depends on the value of the visa: the service charge for a single entry/exit visa is $25usd each, which is what I paid on my first visit. So, I discover that I have exactly $76 on me: well short of the $120 balance. I called Zina on the cellphone and she has $34, still short. It's after 5pm, and the bank has been closed for over an hour: Very Nice Lady says that she is leaving, but will return at 6:30p. We decide to try to buy some US$$$ at several of the large tourist hotels downtown. No luck: I am perplexed to find that they will only SELL Tg, and will not sell US dollars for Tg, even though presumably they have Dollars on hand. I simply don't understand why this is the case: I would have happily bought the Dollars at a ridiculous, usurious rate , just to get the money. We even tried to locate Martin or Babu Joseph, the owners of an Indian Restaurant which I know accepts US Dollars, but they weren't available.

Back at the Visa Office, we go to the cashier window and attempt to pay for the visas partially in Tg and partially in Dollars. No dice. Avirmed and Byamba drop me off at home at 7pm, defeated. We agree to take up the battle again tomorrow, Saturday, in the morning.

The Surprise

Now, the best thing to happen on this day, Thursday, my birthday which I have spent in mortal combat with Bureaucrats From Hell, is that Zina has made arrangements to celebrate with our friends. We meet Shel and Ariuun at a Korean restaurant and we have dinner together. The 4 of us finish a half-liter of Vodka over dinner. We returned to our apartment, and Zina has arranged a surprise party for me -- there are 8 or 10 folks waiting in our apartment stairwell, and I am greeted by most of the guests. As I walked up to the next landing where Enkhbold is waiting for me: he scared the crap out of me! Long story short, we ate cake, we drank lots more vodka, I even indulged in a couple of cigarettes, and fortunately after everyone went home, I hurled into the cold, dingy used-to-be-white Soviet-era toilet. It was quite a birthday bash.

I awake with a start on Friday morning, terrified that I might have overslept. We are to get on the train to Beijing first thing Sunday morning, and if I miss this opportunity to get the visa, we are so very screwed because the Visa Office isn't open on Saturday. I am very uncomfortable with this situation. Zina tells me that I reek of alcohol, and I feel like I've been pickled in vodka: I have cotton-mouth and my head feels like a rotten melon with a railroad spike driven through it. I called Avirmed on his cellphone and he agreed to meet me at 10:30a in front of our apartment. He's a little late, and I take the opportunity to grab some much-needed chewing gum at the little yellow City Shoppe in front of our apartment. I present Avirmed with a small tin of cookies when he arrives as a token of our gratitude for his help.

In the Home Stretch

We get to the bank around 11a, and I withdraw a huge wad of US dollars: they're better than travelers checks because businesses that fail to understand the concept of a check will accept dollars almost universally. Back at the Visa Office, we slip in the door at 11:45, just as the guard is trying to close the office for the day: Friday is the day for the Visa Office to have it's regularly-scheduled half day. I am massively relieved when the guard lets us in. We pay our Dollars, I get another rubber stamp on the first receipt, I go back to Very Nice Lady, who checks both the newly-stamped receipt and the receipt for the fine. She uses a system consisting of several rubber stamps and hand-written information to create the visa in our passports. It is done. Fait Accompli. Avirmed takes me back home, and on the way, I am practically weeping with gratitude: I told him that I simply could not have done it without him, and that he saved us $300 Dollars. I vow that we must bring something nice back for his 3 year-old daughter. I collapse in bed for a short nap before returning to work on the calendar.

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NOTICE: all contents copyright Alan Lapp 2002