My friend Sarantuya's family. In the photo is me, Sara, her husband Dohgie, Jimmy, Dohgie's brother and his wife. This was our first stop on the Tsagaan Sar tour.
Happy Tsagaan Sar! Yet another holiday in this culture of people who know how to have a good time! We've just finished our 7-family tour, and what a wonderful tour it was! Tsagaan Sar is probably the biggest "friends and family" holiday in Mongolia, and, thanks to some great friends, we've been lucky enough to be included in many folks' celebrations. It's been a truly heartwarming 3-day event, with people making us feel very welcome in their homes. In fact, I'd say it has been a milestone event. While we have always felt accepted here, we have been made to feel like part of the family all over town. Jimmy and I have been welcomed like long lost friends and honored guests; that's what Tsagaan Sar is all about. But first, some explanation of the origins of the holiday.
Although Tsagaan Sar is officially a 3 day event, many people celebrate the holiday for many days, or even a month. In the city, unfortunately (where we are), it's the shorter version. The words Tsagaan Sar mean "White Month," and there are a couple of different explanations for the name. One is that it's because of the fact that it's in February, which is a month with lots of snow, and the other is that it's a time when people eat a lot of white food (dairy). Well, we don't have much snow here, but there sure is plenty of food, so I'm going with the second explanation. The color white also symbolizes happiness here.
Tsagaan Sar is the Mongolian Lunar New Year. It coincides with the Chinese New Year, and uses the Chinese zodiac with its 12 animals. While it may coincide with the Chinese observation, however, Mongolians do not consider it the same holiday--they consider it their own. It is, in fact, many hundreds of years old, having begun with Kubilai Khan in 1267.
The night before Tsagaan Sar is called "Bituun"
which translates literally as "filled up," and, more
poetically as "eating and drinking to one's heart's content." The name is perfect, since it's an evening of massive consumption of aruul (dried milk curd), milk rice with raisins, sides of mutton or beef, lots of veggie (non-lettuce) and pasta salads, chocolates, cake, and of course, airag (vodka). Of course, for most Mongolians, the feast is preceeded by days and days of preparation: buying gifts to give to every guest, cleaning the home until it's spotless, and cooking, cooking, cooking. Jimmy did an informal survey, and the average number of buuz (meat dumplings - the quintessential Tsagaan Sar food) made by each person was 600.
My friend Sarantuya let me help her make buuz a few nights before Tsagaan Sar. Presentation is critical, however, and my buuz prompted plenty of laughter. So, we decided to eat the buuz we made that night. They're a relatively easy thing to make: dough from flour and water, rolled into 3" circles and filled with cube-sized beef (cut from massive slabs of meat), onion and salt; pinch the edges together (that's the part I haven't yet mastered--it's harder than it looks); steam for 15 minutes. (I'm looking forward to a buuz party or two when we get back!) They are really juicy and delicious! If I do decide to go back to being a vegetarian after I return to America, I'll definitely have to wait until after I've made (and eaten) a few dozen buuz with people.Our Tsagaan Sar began the morning after Bituun, when our friend Sarantuya, her husband Dohgie and her daughter Solongo picked us up and brought us to their brother's house. The first thing that happened was that Sarantuya's uncle, who was the oldest family member present, sat in the most comfortable chair, put on his hat and deel, and waited to be greeted. The second oldest family member put on his hat, and held a blue hadag (silk scarf) across his hands. He went to Sarantuya's uncle, and, holding his arms out and under Sarantuya's uncle's arms, kissed him on each cheek.
The other family members, oldest to youngest, then did the same. This greeting, given only on Tsagaan Sar, is called the "zolgoh," and it symbolizes the younger person's respect for and willingness to help the older person. The younger person's arms out, palms up, under the older person's arms is a sign that says "I shall support you always." Is that perfectly awesome, or what? Maybe it's gestures and beliefs such as these that have kept this culture strong for such a very, very long time.The Tsagaan Sar table is overflowing with food! 
There are all of the same foods served as at Bituun, and at very traditional homes, the "otes" is also served. The otes is the sheep's back, with the head on top, sitting always at the head of the table. I hope the photo doesn't make people too squeamish, but it's reality. And although I thought I'd be completely freaked out to see it, it actually didn't really bother me at all. The death of livestock here is an absolute matter of survival for the people, and, therefore, it's everywhere. It also involves reverance for the animal, something which in our American plastic-packaged society doesn't exist for most people. There is a real connection here between people and their food, and a profound appreciation for this gift the animals provide.
The exclusively Tsagaan Sar "piece de resistance" is the "harvsai." It's a 3 to 21 (odd numbers only) stack of hard, oval-shaped bread, decorated with sugar cubes, candies, and/or pieces of aruul. Stacks are shorter and smaller in young families, or couples whose parents are alive. Older folks have taller and often wider stacks. The display remains on the table until the fourth day, when it is finally dismantled and eaten. By then, the bread is quite hard, but people just dunk it in their sootai tsai (milk tea) and it's just fine. We tried some before Tsagaan Sar and it was like a combination of a huge donut and fried dough. How can you possibly go wrong?! 
Another tradition practiced at every holiday or
significant gathering, is the sharing of the "khamareen tamekh," or "nose tobacco," aka snuff. The older men and women in every family have their own special bottle for the snuff, and to share it with guests is an important welcome gesture. Everyone was very patient with us as they explained that we must put just a very tiny spot of it on our finger, or else we would sneeze uncontrollably. I still managed to sneeze a few times.
I mentioned that folks give gifts on Tsagaan Sar, as well. That means that whenever you go to someone's home, they give you a gift! Sort of a hostess gift, in reverse. Jimmy and I were given everything from leather key chains to a box of milk. The gifts were always given to us when it was clear our hosts were "wrapping up" our visit for us. It's interesting that the Mongolian word for happy is the same as good-bye. We joked that maybe the present means "We're glad you could come, now we're happy to say bye-bye!" It worked great -- Jimmy and I never really knew how long we should stay, so it was a great cue to skidoo. And on Tsagaan Sar, with families welcoming as many as 50 guests in a day, it's very important to, as we used to say in the restaurant business, "get 'em in, get 'em out." We never felt the least bit like people were rushing us, though. They were just letting us know, in an extremely kind way, that it was time for us to go.
I mentioned that folks give gifts on Tsagaan Sar, as well. That means that whenever you go to someone's home, they give you a gift! Sort of a hostess gift, in reverse. Jimmy and I were given everything from leather key chains to a box of milk. The gifts were always given to us when it was clear our hosts were "wrapping up" our visit for us. It's interesting that the Mongolian word for happy is the same as good-bye. We joked that maybe the present means "We're glad you could come, now we're happy to say bye-bye!" It worked great -- Jimmy and I never really knew how long we should stay, so it was a great cue to skidoo. And on Tsagaan Sar, with families welcoming as many as 50 guests in a day, it's very important to, as we used to say in the restaurant business, "get 'em in, get 'em out." We never felt the least bit like people were rushing us, though. They were just letting us know, in an extremely kind way, that it was time for us to go.
While all of the visiting is going on, every few minutes, children knock on the door and wait to be given candy or an apple or a crisp 20 tugrik (about 20 cents) bill. It's like a 3-day Halloween, without the costumes. Some children knock and wait, some just walk right in. Even strangers will come and visit. While we were at Sarantuya's, 3 young men came in, sat down, waited to be served shots of vodka, hung out for about half and hour, and left. I asked Sarantuya afterwards who they were, and she said she had no idea, nor did her husband! Your door is open to absolutely everyone on this holiday, and, for many folks, every other day as well.
A real highlight for both of us came on the second night. Jimmy and I had both gotten into our long johns and settled in for some cold pasta salad, when our neighbors' grandaughter knocked on our door and invited us to come 
across the hall to eat and celebrate with them. We had seen her grandparents once or twice, but had never spoken to them. They are a well-known couple in town and very well respected, and they welcomed us as if they'd been waiting nearly 6 months to do so. Their granddaughter, Gantsetseg, is a junior in high school and speaks English quite well, so she translated most things for us. However, Shataar, her grandfather, made it very clear that Jimmy and I must learn Mongolian, and that he and his wife, Poorevsuren, are there to help us every day. In fact, he said at least half a dozen times that he wants us to visit every day, and that if there's ever anything at all that we need, we must come to them. We felt very honored by his offer, especially since our predecessors (also American volunteers who lived in our same apartment for 2 years) were never in their apartment. So now, suddenly, finally, we know our neighbors! There are a few people in the building whom we always greet, but these folks feel like friends, and that's a wonderful feeling! For us, it's too bad Tsagaan Sar comes only once a year, but for Mongolians, who often go into debt (never mind the stress) because of it, I'm sure once a year is more than enough. Next year, we'll have to do some hosting ourselves. By then, we may have 50 guests of our own visiting!
across the hall to eat and celebrate with them. We had seen her grandparents once or twice, but had never spoken to them. They are a well-known couple in town and very well respected, and they welcomed us as if they'd been waiting nearly 6 months to do so. Their granddaughter, Gantsetseg, is a junior in high school and speaks English quite well, so she translated most things for us. However, Shataar, her grandfather, made it very clear that Jimmy and I must learn Mongolian, and that he and his wife, Poorevsuren, are there to help us every day. In fact, he said at least half a dozen times that he wants us to visit every day, and that if there's ever anything at all that we need, we must come to them. We felt very honored by his offer, especially since our predecessors (also American volunteers who lived in our same apartment for 2 years) were never in their apartment. So now, suddenly, finally, we know our neighbors! There are a few people in the building whom we always greet, but these folks feel like friends, and that's a wonderful feeling! For us, it's too bad Tsagaan Sar comes only once a year, but for Mongolians, who often go into debt (never mind the stress) because of it, I'm sure once a year is more than enough. Next year, we'll have to do some hosting ourselves. By then, we may have 50 guests of our own visiting!