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| Rhythmically rocking, the train rolls by the never-ending yellow sloping hills and endless countryside of the Gobi desert. Our cabin is filled with light and covered with desert dust, and I am relaxed as if hypnotized by the rocking and constant soft beating sound of the train’s wheels as they pass over the track. I think back to last week, recalling how China felt so cramped, its 1.3 billion people seemed to be stacked, living on top of each other, such a contrast to the emptiness of this Mongolian landscape. For hundreds of miles there are no people, no animals, no buildings, no signs of human civilization at all, just open land. Winter has erased away most traces of color from this vast Mongolian steppe. Barren land is what most may see, but there is beauty here in this open space. The high desert waits patiently, for soon the summer sun will fill these fenceless valleys with fields of green. This year’s late spring brings a bitter chill, leaving in its wake brittle yellow grass with a mix of soft and hard packed grayish brown earth. Apprehension ensues as the train approaches the Mongolian capitol of Ulan Baatar and my nights in the Ger camp draw near. I have lived enough years to fortunately enjoy being pampered, and thought my days of seriously roughing it were over, so I look forward to the camp with a sense of both adventure and dread. Then thirty-six hours after leaving Beijing we find ourselves off the train and jostling our way over 50 kilometers, first on a 2 lane paved road, then off road, to the Mongolian steppe in a four-wheel drive van. We roll to a stop at the Ger camp, the door slides open and a bone chilling wind wraps around us, as a man in a camouflage getup grabs my bag and heads off towards a ger and sets my bag outside. I approached the round, white, felt tent, bending low to get through the brightly painted orange door and all my apprehensions melt away. There I am standing on a wooden carpeted floor, the walls are covered with material to hide the lattice structure underneath, and there are four colorfully painted wooden beds orange with a blue and green detailed Mongolian design. In the rear of the ger, are a small desk and a squatty table just in front of it for meals or playing games. Above my head in the center of the ger is a skylight to see the stars at night, and most importantly a wood burning stove. A knock on the door leads to a woman with her arms full of wood. She kneels down and opens the steel door to the stove, builds a fire and leaves us to settle in and enjoy the heat coming from the burning wood. Dinner was Mongolian cuisine, a carrot salad and mutton stew; afterwards we learned a typical game of Mongolia called Anklebones. Yes, real ankle bones of sheep are used to play the game on a felt circle. The bones have four sides, and depending on which side is up the bone will resemble one of four animals: sheep, camel, horse or ram. Next, you roll the bones, and flick. You simply try to get sheep to hit sheep, rams to hit rams and so forth. When there are no more like bones, it is the next persons turn. If you had contact when you flicked a sheep shaped bone to touch another sheep shaped bone, you pick up the bones, and the person with the most bones at the end of the games wins. Topher and I were no match for Toya, our Mongolian guide. Its 2:00 a.m., the fire has gone out and there is no more wood. I am freezing, I go over to my husband’s bunk and ask to get in and cuddle for body heat, he replies grumpily “Go light the fire.” Sadly I could not, as there was no more wood. Shivering, I scurried back to my bunk and huddled up until dawn. Horseback riding the next day across the plains of the Mongolian high dessert was an experience. The horses are short and stout with long manes and wore wooden saddles, and here is Christopher, a great big guy on a little short horse. The wind is whipping across the plain, the Mongolian herdsman leading our expedition are dressed in typical Mongolian wear with a _ length olive green coat with a low wasted sash for a belt, top hats, ridding boots and gloves. The herdsman led us across this open space, past herds of huge hairy yaks, grazing horses and cows. We ride past a ger, with two children playing out front, two baby calves tied up nearby, and nothing else for miles in any direction. They are a nomadic family; they move their ger to wherever the grazing land is best. Even today, fifty percent of Mogolia's 2.6 million people still live in gers. Why in a world of modern conveniences would someone choose to live in tent-style living conditions with no water, bathroom, stores and so forth? Well, here in Mongolia, McDonalds, Safeway and Starbucks do not exist and in many cases have never even been heard of at all. They do have a few cities, but goods are hard to come by unless you have a lot of money. According to Mongol law, these Nomads can move about where they want, and their children can attend schools where the children can live during the school year. It is a simple life but the Mongolian family we met was very happy. We went to visit a nomadic family, where the wife had been from the city and the husband a nomad. Over salted yak’s milk tea and fried biscuits we found out they met while she was visiting her family on the steppe. They chose the nomadic life, “It is quiet and simple out here on the plain” she said, “I just like it better than the noisy, crowded city”. Actually, I bet a lot of us would agree. We had two more cold and peaceful nights at camp and then it was back to the train and onward to Eastern Russia and the Siberian city of Ulan Ude. Leaving one adventure behind and looking forward to the next can become addictive. Even though it may take days for my bones to thaw out and mutton is not a comfort food, I had a fabulous experience. I will always look back on the memories of this nomadic culture with its sense of freedom, its genuine people and its wide-open space with blissful reminiscence |
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