the day we didn't see the lunar eclipse

This is a story from back in March that I didn't get to post because of internet issues and then forgot about. This post includes a shout-out to JFJ. And now you've made the blog twice.

March 24, 2007

It was a Saturday night and I was having dinner with the guys. I mentioned that I thought there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse in the morning but I wasn’t sure when since the article I read was from America and listed the times for the US. With some help from the internet and some math skills to figure out what time it would happen here, we decided to get up about 5:00 to try to watch it. We called other friends to invite them, but rising that early to maybe see an eclipse didn’t interest anyone. The 3 of us decided to go anyway.

We live in a city. Lots of tall buildings block the view of the sky. We decided the best place for viewing the eclipse would the Racetrack. The track itself is a big wide open field where we will have a clear view. And it’s on the outskirts so the lights won’t be as bright.

So it’s around 5:00 am and I’m in a taxi on my way to the Racetrack. The guys have called to see if I’m still coming because of the clouds. They think we’re not going to be able to see anything. I live in the city so leaving my house I couldn’t tell if it was cloudy or not, so I’m already on my way. We still decide to meet up to attempt to see what we can.

I arrive first and am trying to find a good place to wait for the gentlemen. The Racetrack is a Mongolian horse-racing track and has a restaurant where you can eat in Mongolian yurts. The complex is large with some Mongolian statues, a small grasslands scene with fake sheep and such, a large stage for performances, all the yurts, and the bleachers and track. It’s not a scary place during the day. Before daylight, however, it’s quite eerie. The statutes look kind of creepy, everything is dark, and there’s a guard dog. This is the really scary part. I can hear him barking like he is ready to eat me, but I can’t see him yet so I don’t even know how to plan for an escape. I go to the gate of the track and it’s unlocked, which is great. But it’s not at a very visible location so I need to find a better place where the guys can see me. I walk more towards the restaurant and that’s when I see it….the dog. It’s huge. It’s like the dog from Sandlot, only scarier. It’s a Mongolian dog. World Domination and a desire to ruthlessly conquer all enemies are naturally coursing through his veins. He is on a chain, but he is jumping around and barking like crazy. This is the part of the story where I start contemplating what I will do when this Khan of All Dogs breaks loose from his chain. On my left are the stairs to the stadium, but he can run up stairs too, so that’s no good. In front of me is the big stage that he’s chained to, but it’s not tall enough. He could jump up on it with no problem. There are the yurts on my right, which would provide refuge from the monster, but they are all locked up tight with padlocks. However, they have a small window with an air conditioner that could serve as a starting point for climbing on top of the yurts in case of chain-breakage. Yes. That’s the plan. I decide that I can indeed scale the yurt quicker than the dog could run from the stage to where I am standing. Then I start laughing at the thought of actually having to climb up on the yurt to run from the dog and how long I would have to stay there before some form of help comes.

Enter: racetrack night security guard who interrupts my little daydream. “What are you doing here?” he asks. He too has heard the beast going crazy and has come to check things out. I answer, “I’m waiting on friends.” I know this is going to be a difficult conversation. I don’t know how to say “eclipse” in Chinese.

“Why are you waiting for them here?” he asks. Here we go. “We want to look at the moon. You can see the sky clearly here.” That’s as close to “We hope to have a good view of the lunar eclipse” as I could get. He looks confusedly at me, then motions to the sky and says the equivalent of “You can’t even see the moon.” He’s right. And I’m sure he’s very confused about why some crazy foreign girl is at the racetrack at 5:00 am. I then try to explain “eclipse” by making fists with my hands and saying, “You know if the moon is here and the sun is here and the earth is here…” This isn’t working so I just stop talking. I’m just glad there’s now another human so help me fight off the beast. We finish our conversation (if you could call it that) and I continue waiting.

Then I see the security guard do something absolutely crazy. He goes over to the monster and takes it off the leash. I get closer to the yurt and prepare for my ascent. But I see that the dog appears to be staying close by the side of the guard. I’m amazed. Then I see the guys arriving in the distance. I tell them about my encounter with the dog and how glad I am to see them. They could hear the animal barking as they walked and they too saw him with the guard. One of them makes the comment that with three of us, we don’t have to outrun the dog, just the other two. I still think my plan is the best possible escape.

We proceed to the track. The only things we can see in the sky are clouds. No eclipse. While we’re at the racetrack we might as well go take a look at the horses. We can’t find them either. It’s freezing cold outside so they must be in their warm stables and not out on a cold cloudy morning trying to see a lunar eclipse.

The guys take some pictures of things that we can convince people were the lunar eclipse. They’re really funny, these guys. The pictures involved a head lamp, their head, a window with a reflection, and other such nonsense. Some of the photos were pretty convincing and all of them were funny.

No eclipse and no horses. And it’s cold. We’re chilled to the bone at this point and begin the trek home. As we near the gate I give the gentlemen a full display of my “grace” by slipping on the ice and falling onto my tailbone. It was one of those falls where your feet cartoonishly fly out from underneath you, and the moment when no part of your body is touching the ground seems like an eternity. Then, my rear hit the ice. Hard. I didn’t move for a few minutes. I just lay there, half laughing from embarrassment and half crying from pain. The guys were great. No laughter and two hands immediately extended to help me up. I just needed to sit there a minute though and make sure nothing was seriously wrong. With their help, after a few moments I was able to get up, but my hip hurt for the next week or so. I felt like I was 77 and not 27.

And that’s the story of the morning we didn’t see the lunar eclipse. Or the horses. And I fell on my rear. What a morning.