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| Mongolia |
Morning at Bürd Sum
Our morning started with a quick wash, which was the only sort of wash available. We had brought drinking water from Ulan Bator but otherwise relied on our hosts’ supply. As this was dragged laboriously from the stream in large, blue plastic butts we were reluctant to create work by using too much.
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| Morning in Buurd Sum Lynne outside the ger |
Erdene Zuu Monastery
Cleaned and fed, though with stomachs still not entirely
settled, we set out to visit Erdene Zuu monastery.
Oggy drove us out of the valley and then further south to a tarmac road where we paused by a Buddhist shrine. It was nothing more than a pile of stones with a tangle of flags, but every passer-by either stopped or hooted their horn. We walked round it three times in a clockwise direction, which is the appropriate thing to do, and placed another stone on the top. Mongolian Buddhism is of the same Yelugpa sect as Tibetan Buddhism and they recognise the Dalai Lama as their spiritual leader, but Mongolia also has a long tradition of Shamanism, and sometimes Buddhism and Shamanism become intertwined.
Twenty or thirty miles take no time on a proper road,
particularly when there is very little traffic.
We stopped on a low rise overlooking Erdene Zuu. Beyond the monastery, the small town of Kharkhorin was marked by an ugly smudge of smoke from a rare example of Mongolian industry.
We had halted by an interesting stone which had been
arranged so that it pointed into a folded cleft in the hills. I have been unable to find out when this
little monument was erected, but, in theory, it channels away the monk’s sexual
energy, allowing them to live pure and blameless lives. That sounds to me like
a post hoc justification for the chief lamas’ childish glee at having
found a stone shaped just like a willy. It also provided an opportunity for
a few locals to set up trestle tables and sell trinkets to passing willy
watchers.
Ghengis Khan built his capital of Karakorum here around 1220.
Not being a settling down sort of guy, Ghengis soon moved on, though the city
thrived for a while before being destroyed by a Ming army in 1388. Erdene Zuu
was built in 1585, using such remnants of Karakorum as were available. The site
is surrounded by a wall containing 100 stupas. 108 is a mystical number in
Buddhism, so perhaps some builder miscounted and nobody noticed until it was
too late.
By the end of the 19th century there were over 60 temples
here, but in 1939 the communists destroyed many of them. What remained became a
museum until 1990 when the site was handed back to the lamas and again became
an active monastery.
The ‘thinning’ of the buildings in 1939 had the unintended
consequence of providing a pleasant and uncluttered site to walk around. The
temple buildings are similar in style and architecture to those of Tibet, and
the interiors are richly coloured.
Unlike Ivolginsk, there were plenty of visitors, though I think we were
the only westerners there at the time. The site was also equipped with clean,
modern flush toilets, and as the airacke had not yet fully passed through our
systems we were duly grateful.
The exit was through the gift shop – the Mongolians seem to
be adapting to capitalism more naturally than the Russians. We had bought some
Tögrögs before leaving Ulan Bator, but discovered the gifts were all priced in
US dollars. Suggesting we might pay in Tögrögs produced a sigh and a pocket
calculator. ‘This must be for the foreign tourists’ we thought, but there were
none except us.
Oggy drove us out of the valley and then further south to a tarmac road where we paused by a Buddhist shrine. It was nothing more than a pile of stones with a tangle of flags, but every passer-by either stopped or hooted their horn. We walked round it three times in a clockwise direction, which is the appropriate thing to do, and placed another stone on the top. Mongolian Buddhism is of the same Yelugpa sect as Tibetan Buddhism and they recognise the Dalai Lama as their spiritual leader, but Mongolia also has a long tradition of Shamanism, and sometimes Buddhism and Shamanism become intertwined.
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| A pile of stones with a tangle of flags Buddhist (or perhaps Shaman) shrine, Mongolia |
We stopped on a low rise overlooking Erdene Zuu. Beyond the monastery, the small town of Kharkhorin was marked by an ugly smudge of smoke from a rare example of Mongolian industry.
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| Erdene Zuu with Kharkhorin in the background |
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| Phallic stone, Kharkhorin |
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| Erdene Zuu |
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| Erdene Zuu |
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| Temple interior, Erdene Zuu |
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| Monk with a prayer wheel, Erdene Zuu |
Camel Riding
We returned to our ger in time for our midday mutton. After
eating, we were informed that Shitter’s father-in-law had acquired a couple of
camels - I have no idea where from - and thought we might like a ride. Payment
was again requested in US dollars.
My previous experience had only been with Arabian camels which are smelly, bad-tempered, supercilious and uncomfortable, so I approached this new opportunity warily. The two humped Bactrian camels, I soon discovered, are docile and sweet-natured, and also have an obvious place to sit. I know there are people in the Middle East who love their one-humped camels the way cowboys loved their horses, but I will take the two-humper any day of the week.
Shitter’s second son and a friend were in charge of the beasts and
showed us how to control them, though they had little faith in our abilities
and walked with us all the way. Four year old Ugana ‘assisted', showing no fear
of the large beasts, walking right underneath a camel at one point.
Once mounted, we set off on a longer version of our walk of
the day before, first visiting the desert and then circling through the whole
of the encampment. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, though I had no
idea how much my knees would ache when I dismounted and straightened them up.
Later, as we were chewing our evening mutton we heard voices
outside. They were speaking English, and speaking it with the familiar lilt of
the south Wales valleys. The W family, father G, mother D and daughter K had
arrived to stay with Shitter’s in-laws. They had already had their first brush
with airacke and were in urgent need of the noisome hole in the ground.
We let them sort out their problem before introducing
ourselves, swapping some stories and then letting them sort out their problem
again.
That night was peaceful – for us - interrupted only by the occasional howling of the dogs.
Dawn brought another beautiful morning, with nothing to do except spend a day in camp with our hosts. We watched what they did, helped where we could, which was very little, and tried not to get in the way.
My previous experience had only been with Arabian camels which are smelly, bad-tempered, supercilious and uncomfortable, so I approached this new opportunity warily. The two humped Bactrian camels, I soon discovered, are docile and sweet-natured, and also have an obvious place to sit. I know there are people in the Middle East who love their one-humped camels the way cowboys loved their horses, but I will take the two-humper any day of the week.
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| A lesson in camel management Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
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| Ugana helps Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
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| Totally confident and in control Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
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| Camel's eye view of the desert Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
That night was peaceful – for us - interrupted only by the occasional howling of the dogs.
Dawn brought another beautiful morning, with nothing to do except spend a day in camp with our hosts. We watched what they did, helped where we could, which was very little, and tried not to get in the way.
One job that was carried out morning and evening was the working of what would become leather. Shitter and his father-in-law hung a hide cut into twisted strips on a wooden gallows and attached a weight. Then, with considerable effort, they ran a pole up and down through the twists, twirling the weight and stretching and strengthening the leather.
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| Shitter and his father-in-law work the leather Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
After this it was time to milk the horses. The foals were
tethered to a line set in the grass. Shitter brought up the mares one by one,
allowed the foals to drink their fill, before pushing them away so that Oyedoo
could collect the excess. Finally the milk was poured into a butt half buried
in the ground where it could be stirred and fermented.
Camp Life, Bürd Sum
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| Oyedoo waits for the foal to finish Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
We did little for the rest of the morning but it was
interesting to watch the life of the encampment go on around us. Shitter’s
solar panel powering a single light bulb, but we had heard of gers with
much larger panels, satellite dishes and bored teenagers inside
watching MTV. Nothing like that happened where we were. The two older boys
spent all day with their father, helping out in all he did. Each had his own
horse and they looked completely at home in the saddle as they galloped across
the valley, standing in the stirrups holding their lassos like lances. Their
younger sister spent the day helping their mother.
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| Number 2 son, Bürd Sum |
We may no longer like the idea of ‘men’s work’ and ‘women’s work’ but survival in the camp depends on everybody knowing their job and getting on with it, and if their traditional way of life is to continue this is the way it must be. The older children also spend a large part of the year away at school so they are properly equipped should they choose to follow another path.
Little Ugana was, undoubtedly the star of the show. He spent
much of his day ‘galloping’ astride a stick to which a white ribbon had been
attached for a mane. At other times he could be found walking around the camp
with a stool over his head. This was clearly an important job, but only a
four-year-old’s logic could explain why.
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| Ugana Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
Goat milking was an afternoon job. On horseback Shitter and his sons gathered the herd and drove
them to the appropriate area. Shitter picked out the family goats – identified
by their blue painted horns – and tethered them in two rows facing each other.
His mother-in-law started milking one side, his sister-in-law the other.
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| Ugana among the goats, Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
Ugana galloped over and muscled
his way in among the goats, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. He
clambered onto the back of one, grabbed its horns, and started making motorbike
noises, twisting his hand round the horn like his uncle opening the throttle on
his bike. The goats seemed to accept this as normal behaviour.
A lot of work was involved and
the quantity of milk produced was not great, but the cheese produced is an
important part of their diet. The traditional Mongolian diet consists largely
of dairy products, with added mutton. The concept of ‘five a day’ was alien to
them, indeed the Mongolians do not traditionally grow vegetables, considering
it an insult to the earth to go digging in it.
Today almost half of Mongolia’s 2.75 million people live in Ulan Bator
and few of them could be considered to live a ‘traditional way of life’.
Later, Oyedoo asked about our lives and we showed her a picture of our house. She stared at it for a while with a furrowed brow. ‘How many rooms?’ she asked at last. ‘Seven’ we told her. ‘How many people live there?’ ‘Just us two.’ She thought about that, decided it made no sense and returned our photograph with a shake of her head and a smile that said that we could hardly have been stranger had we come from Mars. She could not imagine our lives any more than we would have been able to imagine hers just a few days earlier.
A Bit of a Sing-song, Bürd Sum
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| Ugana rides his goaterbike.... Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
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| ...while Granny does the milking Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
Later, Oyedoo asked about our lives and we showed her a picture of our house. She stared at it for a while with a furrowed brow. ‘How many rooms?’ she asked at last. ‘Seven’ we told her. ‘How many people live there?’ ‘Just us two.’ She thought about that, decided it made no sense and returned our photograph with a shake of her head and a smile that said that we could hardly have been stranger had we come from Mars. She could not imagine our lives any more than we would have been able to imagine hers just a few days earlier.
We felt privileged to have spent
a few days with Shitter and Oyedoo. Their culture is still strong, but it is a
hard life, and much harder in the extremely cold winters. They are sophisticated
people and not unaware of the outside world. Given the opportunities and
alternatives their children have I wonder how many more generations will chose
to live like this. They are also a friendly and welcoming people. It may be
hypocritical, but I hope tourism of the sort we indulged in does not end up
damaging their culture.
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| Mongolian herdsmen learn to ride young Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
After our evening mutton we were joined by the W’s, their
guide, driver, Bayara, Oggy and Shitter. Oggy produced a bottle of vodka and Shitter
found a glass. We drank in a circle, as is common where glasses are rare. The host
pours for the person on his left who downs the vodka and refills the glass for
the person on their left and so on. With so many people the bottle did not last
long, even though Shitter seemed happy to stick to his airacke. When it was gone
I rummaged round in our luggage and miraculously came up with another one.
We slept well that night, even sleeping through the wolf attack which lead to the death of a sheep.
The Mongolians started the singing, Oggy and Shitter giving
us some folk songs and proving they had very good voices. Lynne replied with a
lullaby in Welsh and so the evening progressed. By the time the second bottle
was empty everybody had contributed to the singing except GW and me. I am
uncomfortable in such situations; I cannot sing, I do not know what to do to
make a tune. Embarrassing as it was, I really had no choice but to opt out; GW was
different. He had enjoyed an interesting and varied career but he had spent
recent years singing with the Welsh National Opera. He had been waiting
patiently all evening and this was his opportunity. I had never before sat
right next to a fully trained operatic tenor when he opens up his lungs. It was
unbelievably loud and, to me at least, incomprehensibly musical. GW sang Verdi,
the Mongolians stared open mouthed and I felt the little hairs standing up on
the back of my neck. Sitting in a tent in the middle of the steppe listening to
a Welshman singing in Italian to a bunch of Mongolians is one of those events destined
to be remembered.
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| Oggy and Shitter drink airacke Bürd Sum, Mongolia |
To the Elstei Tourist Ger Camp via Ulaanbaatar
We eventually made it to the offices of the travel company where we walked up five flights of stairs in the dark to use their toilet.
In the morning we made the long journey back to Ulaanbaatar,
arriving in the middle of a power cut. On the odd occasions when traffic lights
have been out at home, I have found that people slow down, negotiate their way
through junctions, and often do so quicker than when the lights are working.
Not so in Ulan Bator. Every driver pushed his way forward into
any space available while simultaneously leaning on his horn. The result was a
cacophonous gridlock.
We eventually made it to the offices of the travel company where we walked up five flights of stairs in the dark to use their toilet.
After a short break Oggy drove us north for a couple of
hours, largely on proper roads, to a ‘the Elstei Tourist Ger Camp’ a sort of Mongolian
‘dude ranch.’ Straight after the real thing – probably the highlight of the
whole trip – this was a serious anti-climax.
On a desolate grassy plateau were two dozen gers, pitched
much closer together than on any real encampment. Their occupants were us, the
W family, several other Europeans (mainly British) and a Japanese tour party.
There was a toilet block with hot showers, which were welcome, and a brick
built clubhouse where we gathered to eat our mutton. There was also a full bar
(priced in US dollars) so the evenings were quite convivial.
I spent the late afternoon attempting to photograph hamsters. Their burrows surrounded the clubhouse and they kept on popping out having a potter around and then retreating. Whichever burrow I stationed myself beside, a hamster would appear elsewhere, wait as I gently repositioned myself and then, as soon as I raised my camera, disappear. My failure was total.
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| The W family play the bones game at the Elstei Ger Camp |
I spent the late afternoon attempting to photograph hamsters. Their burrows surrounded the clubhouse and they kept on popping out having a potter around and then retreating. Whichever burrow I stationed myself beside, a hamster would appear elsewhere, wait as I gently repositioned myself and then, as soon as I raised my camera, disappear. My failure was total.
Later some of the waiters gave an exhibition of Mongolian
wrestling. Wrestling is very popular and is considered the most important of
the Three Manly Skills - horsemanship and archery being the others. There are
no weight divisions or any limit to the ‘ring’. After saluting the crowd and
their opponent the wrestlers grapple and the bout ends when any part of one
the combatants, other than his foot, touches the ground.
Though somewhat lightweight the waiters put on a good performance and there was clearly some rivalry between them.
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| Mongolian wrestling |
We never did go horse-riding, but I used the opportunity to
finish Crime and Punishment which I
had been struggling with all the way across Russia. I am not sure I enjoyed it,
but I was glad I had managed to finish it. I have not felt the need to read
any more Dostoyevsky.
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| Elstei in the rain, the horses huddled in the middle distance |
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| Reading Dostoyevsky as the rain batters down Elstei ger Camp, Mongolia |
Next morning we returned to Ulaanbaatar, checked into an international class hotel and had most of the day to look at the city.
The Trans-Siberian Railway
Part 10:With the Mongolian Nomads
Part 11 Ulan Bator
