January 26, 2009 by Karin.

 A camel is not a minivan

When traveling in Mongolia, you’ve got to pack light. Think nomadic style: everything you need for survival, you can carry on your back.

Wonder how you would cope with the barest of possessions? Here are a few ideas:

1. Try cement debris as facial exfoliator, to be activated during mid-day sunscreen application on the construction site. Dusty fingers massaging upon dusty skin is excruciatingly effective.

2. To build a pillow where there is none (like when you are an overnight ger guest), roll up your spare clothes and shove into your emptied sleeping bag sack for a lumpy head rest.

3. Or, in case you failed to pack proper cold weather gear, put every spare piece of clothing you’ve brought on your body. As for Pillow Plan B: your sleeping pad rolled up becomes a perfectly functional pillow to keep your shoulder from getting crushed on the wooden platform Mongolians call “a bed.”

4. The Costco granola bars your mom had you pack in case of hunger are a good icebreaker when offered to locals and children in the countryside.

5. When you roll up your dirty socks and run them under some water, they get reincarnated as a sponge bath tool on pants sticky with dirt and sweat.

6. During your moment of morning toiletries behind the ger, the sleeve of your zippered sweatshirt acts as a fine face towel.

7. When running low on water, use the last of your morning tea for rinsing your mouth and toothbrush after brushing. Don’t forget to shake off brown tea bits from rinsed toothbrush.

Things I wish I had brought despite fantasies of being portable:
1. postcards of my home to show locals
2. (oh so versatile) sweatpants instead of PJ bottoms
3. aloe vera (to repair the cement damage on my skin)
4. rubber bands (for wrapping up half eaten packs of (carefully rationed) food).
5. Mongolian –> English dictionary

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January 6, 2009 by Karin.

Travel guides always say that learning a few words in the local tongue goes a long way in warming up the locals. I’ve always been too shy for that but in Mongolia, not only was it easy to learn and use Mongolian, but it was often necessary!

Here is a list of words I learned during my two weeks in Mongolia:

Sain bain nuu (hello, how are you?)
Baiyarlaa (thank you)
Akh (older brother)
Ajil (job)
Jorlong (toilet)
Muur (horse)
Hun (sheep)
Yamaa (goat)
Ishik (baby goat)
Yemee (camel)
Os (water)
Choco Pie (Choco Pie)
Showerl (mortar)
Teny (your)
Hoorts (hammer)
Sheement (cement)
Scotch (scotch tape)
Chi (you)
Yawi (let’s go!)
Duu (younger sibling)
Kheden (when)
Supermarkt (supermarket)
Ger (yurt)
Nar (sun)
Sar (moon)
Khirtekh (eclipse)

Other expressions that regularly popped up were “how old are you”, “family?” and “how much?” (that was for drivers who acted as impromtu taxi drivers on the streets of Ulaanbaatar). These sentences were too complicated for me to retain so the Mongolian and I would take turns pointing out questions and answers from my phrasebook. Next time though, I will definitely take a Mongolian–>English dictionary with me.

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January 6, 2009 by Karin.

With every confident turn our drivers as they navigated the countryside, we shook our heads, “how do they do that?” The response from Mongolians was always, “they’ve taken this route before. They recognize it.” We scoffed. Hours of off-the-road driving on endless slopes of green land with no signs…no way!

But on the way back to Ulaanbaator, my van mates started pointing out hills and houses they recognized from our initial drive out to Kharkhorin. They concluded that Mongolians have such an intense connection to nature that they have superhuman ability to recognize and memorize subtleties in the landscape.

My memory was not as good as my fellow travelers’ but I could tell that all our time in the countryside did leave me with an appreciation for the land. My particular connection to nature was through my bladder. It was what set off a signal of hope whenever I spotted a large rock nestled in tall grass, a valley, or a dip in the land. Toilet pit stop ahead!

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December 29, 2008 by Karin.

 (he’s not dead, just bored)

We would not be seeing the Gobi dessert on our trip but we were scheduled to cross the Mongol Els (aka “the mini Gobi”) on our way back to Ulaanbaator. We left the waterfall after lunch and six hours later, pulled off the main road where grass was smothered under miles of sand. At the base of the dunes, (aka, giant piles of sand), a half dozen camels sat around waiting for customers. Camel riding was on my Mongolia to-do list but after the adventures on horseback, I was happy enough just hearing about camel riding from other travelers.

“two humps more comfortable than one”
“the scary part is when the camel puts his front legs down first and you tilt towards the ground”
“the camel’s rein is just one rope, attached to a stick poking through its nostrils”
“there are always flies around the camel’s mouth and nose because it’s really stinky” (dehydration=stinky breath)

As we waited for the other two vans to catch up, I drew on the sand with a little Mongolian boy. I drew a happy face with a cap and said “chi!” (you). He corrected my drawing by adding a nose. I drew other things I knew the words for in Mongolian (sheep, camel). I didn’t know how to draw a horse so I asked him to do it.

This is the picture of the yurt we drew together. A man who had been watching us came up to me and asked if I wanted to go on a camel ride. (fingers pointing at camels and at money in his hand.) When I just smiled and kept on drawing, he spoke to the boy ( “sell a camel ride!” I guessed he was saying). The boy squirmed and tried to ignore him. After teaching me the boy’s name, the man decided to teach me the Mongolian alphabet, drawing the Cyrillic characters in the sand. I thanked him and stood up before he started charging for the lesson.

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November 1, 2008 by Karin.

Maybe this time would will be better. Maybe this time, my horse won’t run away and I can have a nice uneventful Mongolian trek.

This, I was praying as our hosts assigned horses one by one to members of our group. The family we were staying with didn’t have 20 horses (for us and our three guides) but they managed to round some up from the neighbors. I raised my hand for the short stocky one and quickly discovered that Mongolian horses were, if anything, consistent.

After a few unproductive tugs on the reins, this horse also lost faith in me and ran away from the group. It was in a gentle trot instead of an angry gallop. Luckily, it pulled to a stop 200 meters away at the clothes line which I assumed was his home base. Juno, who had equestrian experience, rode up to my rescue and informed me that horses tended to head home when they felt uncertain and that (surprise!) I needed to show him who was boss.

He barked directions at me. “Pull the left reign. Hard. Keep your elbows in. Don’t wrap the reins around your fingers.” Both my horse and I cooperated and we rejoined the group as it set out on the trek to the Orkhon waterfall.

I am happy to report that all but two of us stayed on our horses. At one point, Juno’s horse reared up and threw him when it got spooked by an approaching vehicle. Francine’s horse got freaked out by the rattling pills in her purse and started galloping in a mad circle. Luckily, Francine also had experience with horses and according to eyewitness accounts, she hung on for as long as she could like a real rodeo cowgirl.

[This is a photo of Wei crossing the waterfall on his bare feet after a moment alone on the other side on his 36th birthday.]

The ride back was indeed uneventful as I kept my horse on a ”short leash.’ A part of me wanted to let loose and experience the thrill of the runaway gallop one last time but I was not brave enough to dig my heels in and tell my horse “choo.”  

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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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