July 30, 2008 by Karin.

also known as “a very big adventure.”

also known as “Mongolian horses don’t know the word for ’stop!’”

We were to go horseback riding, four at a time. I wasn’t too nervous and the resident cowboy-man must not have been either because we weren’t given any instructions. We were accompanied by Gana, a boy on the smallest horse and hardest saddle who guided us from behind by yelling commands like “No! Stop!” or “No stop!” which of course, have opposite meanings but was delivered by him in the same bossy tone. One of the other girls taught me to how to make my horse turn left and right. And we learned pretty quickly that “choo!” means “go!” in Mongolian. But no one said anything about how to make a horse stop.

10 minutes into the ride, my horse, who was leading the pack, wandered of the main road. The boy yelled belatedly, “stop! stop!” I gave the reigns a little yank but it just seemed to further piss of my already agitated horse. Finally, the horse decided “I’ve had enough if you!” and made a sharp 180 degree turn in the opposite direction, lauching into a full gallop.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the boy gesturing “pull on the reigns!” but my hands were occupied. My grip on the metal handle of the saddle was the only thing keeping me on the runaway horse. As we flew over the hill, out of sight of the others, and we headed through a field of low bushes, I realized that 1. the horse wasn’t planning on throwing me off and 2. a gallop isn’t so scary once you lean back and enjoy the rhythm of the ride.

Before long, I see our camp site, my horse and I making an impressive sight as we rode in.

“Stop! Stop!” the cowboy yelled.

“I’m tryyyyyyyyyying!”My horse slowed down enough for the cowboy to grab its lead and help me off. He pointed to the horse, explaining ”nice horse.” He pointed to me and makes the ‘pull the reigns’ gesture, as in ‘this is what you should have done.’ Then he helped me back on the horse.

I moaned a little “do I have to?” and even though he didn’t understand my English, he understood exactly what I wanted to say. But quitting or getting sued are not in the Mongolian vocabulary so he just handed me my reigns, adjusted my stirrups, and patted me on the back. Then for good measure, reached around and carefully placed his other hand to my chest to comfort the fear in my heart. As a compromise, he assigned Gana’s cousin, Zolvayar, to take my horse’s lead and walk beside us the rest of the trek.

  Zolvayar was my hero.

Later, both Gana and the cowboy told me I was very good on my horse…as in, I didn’t scream or break a bone (as expected). All in all, it was one of the most satisfying experiences I survived in Mongolia yet. Though it would take a whole day for my saddle gripping fingers to regain sensation. 

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July 30, 2008 by Karin.

On my second day in Mongolia, I took an overnight trip with 10 others from my guesthouse to Terelj National Park, the easiest way to experience Mongolian countryside in a short amount of time. Terelj was breathtaking, a cross between the Mongolian steppes and the landscape of Switzerland.

We slept five to a yurt (from this point on, to be refered to by its Mongolian name, “ger”) and aside from horseback riding, there wasn’t much to do but relax and explore. Our hosts didn’t speak English and when we realized it was a very “hands off” guided trip, we found our own activities.”Hmm…so what’s there to do now? I guess I’ll go rock climbing…again.” Or “oh look, there’s a camel over there. Let’s go walk uphill twenty minutes to check it out!” It was the healthiest day I’d had in years. ”Oh dear, I need the bathroom. Guess I’ll walk half a mile and find a rock big enough to pee behind…”

[the boy on the right is Gana, who bossed us around on our horse trek.]

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July 30, 2008 by Karin.

On my first day, I hung out with Gordon, an American from the flight. He had spent four years in Mongolia (in the countryside) and is back this time to teach English in Ulan Bator. At the Black Market (a fun name for a totally legal market that sells everything), he gave me a crash course in Mongolia culture.

 I tried airag, fermented mares milk (also referred to as “Mongolia’s champagne” or “horse vodka”) sold in old water bottles. The guy let me try some out of the giant barrel of white liquid with black bits (???) floating on top. ”Try not to let a dead flies get into your mouth” Gordon warned. At first, the salty, powerful taste was a shock but it did have nice fizz. Unlike champagne though, airag is meant to be tossed back, followed by a manly thump on the chest.

essential components of nomadic life: ger furniture and satellite dish

Posted in Food, Mongolia | 2 Comments »

July 30, 2008 by Karin.

People have told me that Ulan Bator isn’t much besides a bunch of Soviet style cement buildings. But it’s exotic all the same.  Old buildings show the wear of the harsh climate. (Rumor has it that at -40 degrees celcius in the winter, some Mongolians go to Siberia to warm up. But when I asked a Mongolian about this, he looked at me like I was crazy.)

Meanwhile, new buildings popping up here and there are shiny but lack the finished touch (i.e. new marbled staircase meet curled up floor linolium where no one thinks to trim the edges to fit).

Ulan Bator’s no Paris or London but it’s not that different in spirit from other “down to earth” capitals like Hong Kong or Ho Chi Minh city. Except that it lacks any must-see sights.

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July 30, 2008 by Karin.

From the plane, the white puffs of clouds resembled yurts over the soft brown and green landscape. And then real yurts started appearing. Round white tents dotted the land in formations and in peaceful seclusion. Oh, there were houses as well. Little one story wooden cottages painted in brilliant reds, blues, yellows… 

Oh, and the animals! Brown and black creatures scattered in the grass, drinking from the river. From up high, Mongolia resembled pieces of a child’s play set. It was everything I’d ever seen in books and tv documentaries but shinier and cuter. And it made my heart so happy.

Chinggis Khaan International Airport MYTH: Planes land on a strip of dusty, unpaved runway.
Chinggis Khaan International Airport FACT: Planes have the luxury of lawn parking.

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July 28, 2008 by Karin.

My new friends generously shared with me their can-do enthusiasm and Mandarin language skills as we taxied around Beijing. We saw the Olympic site behind a fence where everything looked ready and sophisticated. It would look shiny too if it weren’t for the persistent smog smothering the whole city. (Like San Francisco fog, but less refreshing).

(I tried to pose for a stealth photo but was caught too close to the entrance and shooed away.)

At night, we zoomed around Tianemen Square, admired christmas lights around Mao’s giant portrait.  Finished up with a stroll down a wide gentrified portion of the hutongs.

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July 27, 2008 by Karin.

Mongolians can be identified by their cheekbones. Not, your conventional cheekbones that poke out from the side of the face, but high cheekbones that fit in just under their eyes. I was watching them at our boarding gate in Beijing airport where we were just told that there was no plane for us. And that the weather was bad in Mongolia anyway, so we couldn’t fly there. Except that the weather in Ulan Bator had just turned sunny so we could have flown. Had we had a plane.

I chatted with some Germans and an American before deciding to stick with the group of Cantonese speakers who, incidentally, were the only ones able to communicate in Mandarin with the airline staff. The Cantonese speakers turned out to be bunch of kind Christians who took me under their wing as we all headed for a hotel in the city. We would have an entire day to explore Beijing (without applying for an expensive visa!) before boarding a flight out the following morning.

more to follow…

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