October 29, 2008 by Karin.

Conversation in the van: 
Karin: Cassandra! Look out the window! I just saw a giant furry sheep with a yak. They were face to face. Do you think they were communicating?

Cassandra: That wasn’t a giant sheep. That was a baby yak.

Yaks were the most exotic creatures I had ever seen. Something about the unabashed hairiness and the slopes of their backs (not unlike the hills of San Francisco). They resembled cows but had horns like bulls. The Mongolian attitude towards animals was a constant source of fascination for me. Where I come from, if you don’t lock up your animals, someone would steal them, or they would run away and hurt people. The yaks were so mellow, giving the impression that they had no interest in charging at people, not even at foreigners with cameras. 

Here’s a funny story: Before bedtime one night, Francine and I were making our way into a valley of darkness (seriously, we wanted to pee away from the lights of the gers and vans). I stood a few feet in front of her to guard her modesty but could not protect her from a voyeur beside her. Just as she was pulling her pants down to squat in the pitch darkness, we heard a snort. It was a yak letting her know that she was not alone. Or maybe the yak was trying to tell her “don’t back up any further, sister.” Either way, we were relieved that the reaction was so gentle coming from a wild animal unaccustomed to strange foreign girl behavior. 

From this photo, you can tell that baby yaks don’t look much like giant sheep but actually more like fuzzy donkeys. (My frame of reference is very limited.) I took many photos of a pair of baby yaks before one of them got freaked out by my proximity and moved to hide behind its mother. The other one tried to be brave and by not letting me interrupt his sunbathing. I could tell that from time to time, he looked over to his mother for reassurance and I could tell that she was keeping her eye on me.

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October 28, 2008 by Karin.

Decomposing animals were not an unfamiliar sight in the countryside. But it was rare to come across something that looked like the remains of a mammoth (granted, a very small mammoth). Which one of the five snouts (horse, cattle, sheep, goat, camel) do you think this once was?

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October 18, 2008 by Karin.

The ger has figured into my imagination ever since I saw it on an ARTE documentary six years ago in France. The ger represented the lifestyle I aspired to: self sufficient, cozy, and nomadic. Imagine feeling at home no matter where your travels take you.

The Interior
A ger in real life certainly did justice to all the expectations I had. It even held a few surprises as I banged my forehead (hard!) on the low doorframe the first few times upon entering. Vertically challenged folks like myself rarely ever have to duck for anything. Once, my head hit the doorway so hard that one of the roof poles got jolted off its socket and fell down. Once inside, you were surrounded by a warm, colorful interior. Mongolian interiors taught me that being portable and resourceful does not mean having to be frugal about creating a nice home. The gers we visited were always decked out in painted furniture (bright orange was the most common color) with decorative trim in all colors of the rainbow. Fabrics of flowers or traditional motifs covered up the lattice frame and grey insulation felt. Oriental rugs and woven images of Ghengis Khan were also popular.

Modern conveniences
It wasn’t uncommon for nomads to have cell phones but electricity and running water were not matters to take for granted. Water was strictly a ”supply your own” affair. (As in, buy liters over the counter at a barely stocked Socialist style grocery store.) Electricity was something we encountered on our second night in a ger: a light bulb lit by a wire dangling from a little black box (later identified as a car battery). The same family had a small television in the main ger and as much as I begged to turn it on for the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics, the idea was shot down. I suspect we missed out on the ultimate Mongolian-Habitaters bonding experience. These were, after all, people that had a photo of sumo champion Asashoryo taped up beside their family photo.

Brrrrrrr!
Because it was midseason, the Mongolian families we stayed with had not taken a decisive stand regarding the hole that was our ceiling. The wheel that crowned the top of the ger allowed the chimney pipe to poke through and for us, a view of the stars. At Orkhon, our ger family left the top mostly covered and kept us stocked with bits of wood to feed the stove to keep warm. The following night in the Mongol Els, the top was uncovered and we got a little sense of what it might be like to feel cold in Mongolia. (Until that night, we were spoiled with perfectly comfortable climate). I layered my remaining clean clothes onto my body, kept my dirty socks on my feet, and curled up in the fetal position inside the sleeping bag. The best decision I made was not using the foam pad as a mattress on the hard bed (it wasn’t noticeably effective anyway) but kept it rolled up as a pillow. My shoulders sighed ‘thank you!’ the next morning.

“What’s that?”
In the main family ger (which the family abandoned for our group to sleep in), I saw a small fabric something hanging next to a decorative banner. It had pockets which held toothbrushes and toothpaste. So stark and simple. To have around what you need and leave the excess behind. It was a contrast to my bathroom back home where 21 bottles of assorted creams and cleansers sit beside the sink. We were so lucky to have gotten a peek into life as a nomad. The experience of sleeping in a ger was not the comfort in the paradise sense, but that was part of what made it such a fascinating, beautiful experience.

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October 14, 2008 by Karin.

After our last morning of building, we all took a premature shower because we didn’t know when to expect our next encounter with running water. (But we knew it would not be during our upcoming two day of R&R on the way back to Ulaanbaatar.)

Tseren Tours pulled up in three vans. We could choose between riding in the Korean van (solid) or the Russian van (with large tires capable of manoeuvring the unpaved roads). Our guide Teggy, no doubt used to the lazy pace of large groups, taught us early on the Mongolian expression “ya wee!” which means “let’s go!” Very useful for rounding the last of the snap happy shutter bugs back into the van for a move on.

The drive from Kharkhorin to the Orkhon Waterfalls was 120 kilometers and 2 4.5 hours away. It was the most scenic drive of my whole trip. Juno caught a precious glimpse of one horse mounting another. My eyes were big, seeing my first yak (and my second, and third, and…). Our driver pulled up to a couple of cowboys herding their yaks to inquire about the depth of the nearby river. Assured, he drove our van through the river, under the watchful gaze of animals caught with their snouts down in mid sip.

After an hour of drive we saw something waving from the middle of a river. It was the international signal for “Help! We drove our van into a river and now we’re stuck!”

The van was full of young guys on vacation who clearly did not have access to a local cowboy’s advice before driving into the river. Our Russian van drove in, got tied to the stuck van with a rope, and put the gas on the pedal. We heard the rolling of tires which we soon realized was the sound of two vans getting stuck. The rope was lengthened and our Russian van started the rescue pulling closer to shore. Raymond from our group who knew a thing or two about rescue missions (from the kindness of strangers in the Canadian wilderness) ran into the river, sneakers and all, and started pushing the stuck van. He inspired the stranded guys to get out of the van to contribute their muscle power as well. That did the trick. And a big cheer went up when the van popped out and started rolling forward.

The slogan of Tseren Tours is “Off the Map Adventures” and this first adventure showed us that they really cared enough to provide us with only the finest of experiences.

Our drive lasted unexpectedly into the night. In the dark, van pulled over from time to time to speak to nomads. “We must be lost,” we whispered but Teggy overheard us. “We’re not lost….The family we were supposed to stay with are nomads and they’ve relocated since we last spoke.”

I still had doubts and was starting to think that maybe Mongolian drivers were NOT born with a GPS system implanted in their brains. Honestly, what were the chances of locating our four reserved gers with no addresses in the middle of nowhere from dark, signless roads.

After one final inquiry, our guide announced, “this is our family. We’re here!” Doubts aside, we were grateful to have arrived. Though the gers did not contain all the beds our group was promised, Tsersen Tours provided us with sleeping bags, rolled up foam mats, and even dinner. (I recognized the pot of potato salad that sat by my feet during the drive over). Teggy said we were very lucky be on their tour because the guides were not only guides, but doubled as cooks. Hmm…

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October 8, 2008 by Karin.

After we had completed the four walls of the house, our last day of build was notable for a hammer shortage and therefore, a lot of standing around and fidgeting. Cassandra, Jennifer, and I wanted to get in a few last interactions with the locals so we tried to chat up the little herd of baby cows lounging around our site. Like most Mongolians, they are of keen senses and could sniff out that we were a different breed of humans. The calves walked away everytime they spotted us approaching and we girls had to resort to playing red light, green light.

While four of them sat together staring into the horizon/construction site, we took silent, exaggerated steps toward them, freezing in mid-stride whenever one of them turned their eyes in our direction. My stomach ached from holding the giggles in. From across the field, a little shepard boy watched us and laughed. No doubt one of the most ridiculous sights he had yet to come across while chaperoning his sheep.

We got within 20 meters of the little cows and felt very clever until they suddenly decided they had had enough. One after the other, they pressed up onto their knees and onto their feet (hooves). We watched them strolling away, shaking their heads in disgust at our juvenile games.

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October 6, 2008 by Karin.

Before our last day of build, we made a special trip to visit the Habitat house built prior to ours in Kharkhorin. This house number three was worked on by the team in town a few weeks before our arrival. Though it still had cement walls, the roof and windows were in place. So was the interior where we watched a family member working away on the electricity.

The owner of the property was away for the moment so we took the opportunity to invade her sacred space with our cameras. Her space was small but full of warmth and personality. It was very neat and you could tell that quite a few people had sleeping niches in that small space.  She wanted a new house built because her current “summer house” was too cold to live in in the winter time. (When the weather gets to minus 40, she and her family have to move into a ger.)

When the family got home, we took many photos of them as well and they offered us a tuppleware container piled high with cheese, milk curds, and other mysterious interpretations of dairy. What hospitality…

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October 5, 2008 by Karin.

While we worked in teams of three to get each cement block buttered up with mortar and positioned, Juno was actually the one who did the hard part of lifting and setting each cement block. He wouldn’t hear of us ladies risking our backs but after three days of lifting, his arm started aching with the symptoms of tennis elbow.

To spare our friend, Kymry and I decided to lift the blocks ourselves, from the ground up to the scaffolding, then up again to row 9 at chest level. We used every muscle of our body to accomplish the physical feat. It might not sound like much but we were glowed with wonder of what we were capable of. We did blocks 4 and 5 on that row before the men noticed and insisted on rescuing us.

Later in our house dedication, I chose one of those blocks to write my message on.

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October 1, 2008 by Karin.

The house we were building seemed like a pretty standard example of a Mongolian house unequiped with running water. So what do Mongolians do to clean themselves off?

We found out at the lake near our hotel.

The night before, Carol’s Mongolian friends working at the hotel had taken us on a 20 minute walk through pitch darkness to the rushing river. Even in the dark, we could tell it was something special (the graffiti in cyrillic inside the dam was a part of it). So after our second day of build, we took a small group of our friends to check out the lake in daylight. We took off our shoes and waded into the rushing river. To this day, I still recall the sensation of the cold, round stones under my feet and can of coke in my hand…oh the joy of simple pleasures.

We walked further and found the that the river opened up and we were not the only ones enjoying the water. A herd of horses slowly walked in on their skinny legs and had a drink together. Mongolian families and teenagers in the water, up to their necks. As I was taking off my sandals, I spotted a bar of soap forgotten in the grass. Steve offered to look after our cameras while the rest of us walked into the river up to our waists. I rubbed my hands over my cargo pants, happy that I was getting the sticky dirt and cement dust off and only a little worried about soaking the only pair of pants I had brought on the trip. The clouds above our heads passed and the sun returned to give us another moment of its golden hour.

Rich suddenly remarked, “The only thing that could make this moment any better is if a horseman rode up over the steppes of the horizon and oh there he is now!”

The spontaneity and beauty of the moment was what made that trip to the river one of the most magical memories of the trip for me.

 We were totally charmed by this little girl enjoying the river in her underpants. We tried to get her to smile for our cameras but she just turned away, unimpressed.

 Later, her family packed up and we watched her walk away, her unzipped ballet tutu falling off her shoulder.

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October 1, 2008 by Karin.

When I think back to that second day of build, I think “scaffolding.” Who in their right mind would agree to be suspended one meter in the air on a bendy piece of wood held up by two piles of cement blocks? I certainly wouldn’t want to stand on any scaffolding that I had a hand in building.

And yet, it worked out.

Another memorable thing happened when I was occupying myself by refilling the plates of mortar for the more active builders. Tseveen, our construction boss came up to me with a naughty smile. He gestured that I should follow him, even held onto my sleeve as he led me out the door. There was more than one raised eyebrow at this unexpectedly affectionate gesture from the usually stoic Tseveen.

He deposited me by the newly arrived truck…full of bricks. It was clear in that instant that Tseveen hadn’t just singled me out, but he had gathered a few of us girls. What made him think that our valuable house building labor could be sacrificed to unload a few bricks!?

There was no point in dwelling on that. The truth was, it was flattering to be thought of at all…and I will forever hold onto that memory of his cement covered work gloves pulling on my dusty little sleeve.

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