Going back so soon?

Over the past month or so, I've got rather used to living in Mongolia to the point where in some ways I feel sad about going back to Britain in three weeks. Okay there are the occasional power cuts and the more frequent hot water outages in the home and there are many things that could be done better in Mongolia, but in addition to being home for more than five months now, I've got a steady job in teaching that keeps me financially stable and you can get by in Mongolia on comparatively little. There are certain people I miss - friends and family - but there's always email. The arrival of summer must also be working on my mind making me more happy with my circumstances.
On Saturday, there was a Tsam religious mask dance in the central square which involved a lot of shamanism and a bit of Buddhism. The commentary was - naturally and correctly - in Mongolian so I watched the multi-coloured robe-fluttering choreography, which was entertaining for the first ten minutes at least. It had something related to the last Tsam dance, seventy years ago in Mongolia in 1937 before the Mongolian communist authorities cracked down shortly after. I'm sure it's been performed since 1990 though. It may have been performed on that day in different cities as well since there was a big board mentioning Paris and New York. The title was Khuree Tsam 108, Khuree being the old name for Ulaanbaatar, Tsam being the type of dance and 108 being the Buddhist holy number. There were many mask of mythical creatures such as dragons, plus Buddhist deities and natural animals such as scary looking deers. Also, there were some bulbous-headed monk boys in attendance and a wizened, white-bearded man (apparently an ancient Mongolian deity) who liked going around hugging other mask wearers.
Today, there was a sudden cloudburst of about fifteen minutes with the rain so hard it set off car alarms. Coming home had a bit of extra spice today as the driver of the bus I was in decided to have a racing duel with another bus on a packed main road, horns ablaze at each other. Pity the car drivers in front of them. The impromptu contest ended when they pulled into the next bus stop and were separated by a neutral bus, the other going in front of it, us behind. This rivalry had limits. I also heard on the bus over the radio an advert for Engram, my teaching centre, not that I understood it bar the name. Once home, I observed myself becoming a bit more skeletal and so decided to branch out beyond pasta and ketchup, making some dumpling soup, with potatoes, onion, garlic and spices with a some spicy juice added. A small triumph for me in the absence of Altaa.