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Published: December 14th 2006
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Gombo!
The real deal Travelling in Mongolia is like riding an enraged bull downhill over an ice-capped moguls course. If that picture is not clear enough, imagine being thrown, spun and bashed around a washing machine for hours on end, to be occasionally tossed out into temperatures that should only ever be experienced on some far off planet, to witness yet another magical Mongolian site or share in the warm hospitality of our nomadic hosts and friends.
For the past week or so, Mongolians (and us) have been celebrating Tsaagan Sar, which translates into "White Moon" (Mongolian Lunar New Year). At this time of year, the locals travel far and wide on tracks that change much like a river does - in other words, the path of least resistance.
For us, the party started on Friday night with our Mongolian buddy Moogii cooking us some slightly less than traditional vegetarian khushuur. This is best described as a deep-friend pastie which only differs from the more widely-accepted and enjoyed version in its glaring lack of fatty, minced mutton.
The real brain bruising began on Sunday, as we bounced, bumped and jolted into the countryside for four days of Mongolian style,
buuz-filled partying, with Luisa, another Moogii and Ariunbold. As we have tried most other modes of transport, including horse and camel, we thought we'd give the jeep a run. This tended to be much faster, but quicker car equals hastier onset of concussion and spinal injury. It was rough, but if we're honest, it was luxury compared to the locals' transport options. Dressed in their gorgeous bright deels (traditional coats), we spotted them travelling by horse, motorbikes piled 4 high, on foot, or in sardine-style cars and vans on their vodka-fuelled long-distance party circuit.
We were adopted for 2 nights by Gombo and his family. On arrival, we were greeted through a haze of intestinal steam and the ever so delicious pungent smells of Grandmother scorching the last remaining hairs from the rump of the recently slaughtered beast that was to become the festive centrepiece for days to come. The whole torso of the sheep was then encased on the stove in a metal contraption that vaguely resembled the Tin Man (except that he had no arms and we're sure he had a heart!). The rest of the sheep (and we do mean "the rest") had previously been
boiled up in a joyous pot of bubbling grey. After a cuppa of suutei tsai (milk tea with salt), we went off to explore the moon rock landscape and the resident vultures...yes, they are as evil and horrible as you imagine.
Upon our return, the ritual of booze sharing began. In Mongolia, it's a matter of being offered a full cup or bowl, taking a sip and handing it back to your host, who then goes through this with the next person. The exciting part is that at any one time, there's probably three different beverages doing the rounds, making the whole process a delicate juggling act. It's one sip of vodka (like paint thinner), one sip of airag (fermented mare's milk....Ewwww), one sip of shimin arkhi (homemade vodka distilled from aforesaid mare's milk...Not too bad!) And then AGAIN! This ritual can and will happen at any time of the day or night. We were "drinking" vodka only 20 minutes after waking up, and became quite skilled in the art of fake sipping. To simply refuse their hospitality would have caused great offence (and jeopardised our sleeping arrangements).
Families routinely make at least 1000 buuz for
Tsaagan Sar. They're steamed mutton dumplings and invariably full of much prized fat. Thankfully we were usually able to politely decline these.
Day 2 began with the traditional holiday greeting, which involves holding an elder's elbows and having your cheeks sniffed by them. This is more enjoyable than it sounds. The best part was that the family dressed us up in their deels, so we looked and felt the part. They thought it was great, and loved the digital photos. The rest of the day was spent mostly in the washing machine, which was unbearable, but for the magnificent places it got us to. First stop was a gorge and waterfall where two rivers meet. The falls had dried up, but one river actually sported a little flowing water - a novelty indeed! The sun was shining, and it felt rather toasty at about -15 degrees. Much later we churned through quite deep snow up a forested mountain, until the jeep could take no more. From there we hiked to the monastery atop the mountain, astounded at the signet of real trees (!!!) and the stunning views from the rocky summit.
We tried two gers for
accommodation as dusk set in. One sported a sloshed patriarch, the other a very large family, so we ended up taking a 20km night moguls course back to Gombo and co, who heard us coming and greeted us with enthusiastic waves and smiles out the front of their gers. Gombo was especially keen on his "Mongol vodka" this second night, and offered us sip after sip.
The next morning, after loading the machine, we drove off, with Gombo tossing a blessing of tea over the vehicle. About 6 hours later, we found Ogii Nuur, a picturesque frozen lake. We had a great time slipping and sliding on top of 22 metres of clear pure ice (with a little water underneath). Ariunbold couldn't resist, so we decided to test the traction of the jeep tyres (and the strength of the ice). With much nervous laughter, we performed numerous graceful 360s, trying (without much say in the matter) to avoid the bemused onlooking cows.
After driving around to the other side of the lake, we found a family (and another fatty sheep carcass) to stay with. They offered to show us ice fishing, so a large entourage skated
out about a kilometre to the holes that had previously been bored through the ice. Mel, lagging behind a little after taking in the "amenities", made the unnerving trip alone, and only had one skull-cracking fall (ala Christmas at the river).
The fishing was an ingenious affair involving two basketball-sized holes, a neverending net, and a bright orange rope linking the holes with some kind of underwater rocket. From the hole, they hauled 89 (!!) fish, which were tossed across the ice where they stuck and gasped until the youngest member of the family stomped unceremoniously on their heads.
Dinner was glorious! Fresh fried fish and veggies - very unMongolian. We whiled away the night playing Mongolian card games and Luisa's German Santa game, then shivering in our 3 sleeping bags.
Day 4 was spent returning to UB in the most horrendous weather Mongolia has dished up to date. The cold was unspeakable, and a fierce wind produced one of the infamous godawful dust storms that we'd only read about. After four straight hours of agonisingly cold car-sitting, we teetered out of the jeep with numb, solid feet into the coldest day of the
winter. BBC said it was -31 to -55 degrees CELSIUS. Our shower and bed were like heaven.
Make sure you check out the photos - a picture really is worth a thousand words. It's just a shame we can't send you the ever so delightful odours.
Postscript: We finish work on Tuesday, leave for Korea in 3 weeks. For all of you who have asked about Gobi, she has been adopted by a nice Mongolian family through school.
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