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It is Monday,
August 24, and I am happy to announce that
we finally have a resolution to our plight
in Zamin Uud. The mechanic does not have a
passport, so is unable to cross the
Mongolian border, so our only option is to
go on to Ulaanbaatar as soon as we can We
just received some disturbing news from
Tamara, who went on to Ulaanbaatar last
week. Since the bike weighs more than 160
Kg, the Russian train will not take the
bike. For her it is a bit of a problem,
because she has a train ticket to depart
tomorrow…Tamara does have several options:
she can sell the bike, store the bike in UB
or separate the bike and the sidecar to make
the weight. Tamara chose to store her bike
in UB and is now in Istanbul, finalizing
plans to teach. Once we are in UB, we will
face the same problem. We do have another
option: we can apply for another Russian
Visa, since our original will expire on
September 13, and wait out the time in UB,
riding into Russia once we get the visa. We
will have to make this decision once we
arrive.
In my third
update, I mentioned several positive events
that we have experienced to date. Well, I
have to report on another that just happened
this afternoon. Agie is a customs inspector
at the Mongolian border. He had seen us
enter Mongolia and decided to help us if he
could, unbeknownst to us. This was told to
us by Onko, whom Tamara befriended when we
first arrived at the train station in Zamin
Uud. Jack called him for help and he has
been gracious enough to introduce Jack to
the right people to make things happen.
This time we needed help with arranging
train tickets and the transportation for the
bike. All is arranged for tomorrow: Agie’s
friend at the train station will purchase
our tickets and Chuka, Lt. in the Mongolian
army and takes care of the customs for all
the trains will help with the bike. They
have been so helpful and are just nice
people.
Since we are
leaving tomorrow, Agie invited us to a real
Mongolian barbeque. Of course, we expected
this to happen in a restaurant, but we were
definitely wrong. There were six of us,
Agie, Biya, his girlfriend, the driver, Tuka,
Jack and myself. We stopped at several
markets, finding them loading water,
pickles, bread, wood, a blow torch, beer,
vodka, a bag with the meat that was covered
with fur, which had my interest peaked, into
the van. Once they finished their
purchasing, we were driven out into the
desert at the outskirts of the city.
Everything was put out onto the sand and
then the van left to obtain something they
must have forgotten. When they returned,
the wood was made into a barbeque pit and
the stones, which they had forgotten, were
put into the center. They started the wood
with the blow torch (could melt metal),
which certainly does get a good fire going.
The stones were completely covered in order
to get them red hot. I thought that they
would cook the meat on the stones, but my
assumption was wrong. Agie pulled the fur
covered meat out of the bag and placed it on
some rocks: It was a carcass with no head
and four paws. We were told it was a
marmot. This is quite a delicacy for the
Mongolians, and they wanted to share this
with us. We felt quite honored, but also a
bit hesitant…never having eaten marmot we
did not know what to expect.
While the
fire was burning, we were all sitting in the
van consuming the vodka that they had
bought. Mongolians as well as the Russians
are known for drinking vodka. Everyone is
expected to drink some, so of course, Jack
and I could not offend our host. Before
they drank, they dipped their fourth finger
on the right hand (their ring finger) into
the vodka, touched their thumb to the finger
and raised it as an offering to the sky, so
we took up the gesture. I was able to down
several drinks with water chasers. Well,
before we knew it we had consumed quite a
bit of the bottle, having the remainder used
in the cooking. This seemed to be well
choreographed, because now it was time to
carry on with the cooking of the meat.
Biya, a male
friend of Agie, was the cook and this was
his specialty. Also we were told that only
the men prepare this. Biya held the carcass
of the marmot from the neck and turned it
inside out to empty the carcass of the meat
that had been de-boned prior to the
purchase. Once the carcass was empty, Biya
turned the fur side out…like a fur bag or
pouch. He began to ask for the hot stones
that were placed inside the pouch along with
desert flowers (a natural herb and quite
good), salt, onions and the pieces of meat.
He worked each stone in very carefully,
making sure that the first ones were in the
animals legs, and then each item was mixed
in well with each other. This process
continued until all the meat was placed
inside the pelt. You could hear the
sizzling of the fat being touched by the hot
stones. He carefully mixed and massaged all
the ingredients together. Once the pouch
was filled, they lashed the animal’s neck
with a very hot wire, making sure that all
was tight and ingredients well mixed. Then
Biya plucked some of the fur from the pelt
and placed the pelt onto some wood, pumped
up the torch and began to singe the fur
off. This process was continued for about 2
hours, making sure that all the fur was
carefully burned and scraped off. We were
given a sample of the juice, having been
squeezed from the only open orifice on the
animal: the animal’s anus…yes, you read me
correctly. Actually the juice was good, but
a bit salty for my taste.
The well
scraped and cooked pelt was carried by Biya
to the van and split down the middle. The
juice was then tasted and was richer than
before. We were given pieces of the meat
and the skin. It tasted quite gamey to me
and not a taste treat that I would seek out
again. It also was too long a process for
such a small amount. But it was a once in
a lifetime experience that I truly enjoyed,
being made more rich by the people
involved. Agie and his friends are such
good people and very willing to help. This
people contact makes the adventure
worthwhile.
Through Agie
we met his wife, who was coming down from UB
by train the next morning. She owns a
clothing store in Ulaanbaatar and was taking
a buying trip to Beijing. Many people
travel from UB to Erlian and especially
Beijing; because they feel the products are
much cheaper. When she arrived she called a
friend in UB who owns a guest house, Gana’s
Guest House, getting us a room for our
arrival on Wednesday. He and his wife went
to the railway station with us to arrange
the shipment of the bike and the purchase of
tickets for that evenings express train. By
5PM everything was arranged and we waited
for the train to arrive at 10PM.
But let me
digress a bit and give you the blow by blow
of the events that started that morning.
Originally Agie and his wife were to
purchase our tickets at 10AM once his wife
arrived in Zamin Uud. Well, when they did
not show up by 10:30AM, I decided to wander
over to the station to find them. I did not
see them, so I walked over to Chuka’s office
at the station building. I thought that
Jack had arranged with her to help with the
motorcycle, but I found out that did not
happen. The day before he had been talking
to Agies’ wife not Chuka, so with egg on my
face, I asked her opinion about chances for
the bike to travel by freight. She was
going to try to get us on The Orient
Express, but it did not show up that
morning.
While waiting
in her office, I realized that she was too
busy to deal with our situation, so I left.
When I
returned from the station, Agie and his
wife, Shogi, were sitting in the
restaurant. I formally met Shogi and then
our plight was discussed. We then went to
the freight area to deal with the bike.
Agie handled all of the negotiations
necessary to accept our overweight bike for
baggage: made sure that UB was called to
sign-off on the acceptance of the bike, made
sure that there were enough handlers to lift
the bike onto the platform…yes, no ramp just
man power. Seven or eight men lifted the 650
kg bike onto the platform, nearly missing it
to have the bike plummet to the ground, but
Jack balanced the back of the sidecar with
his shoulder (he maybe 64 but he is still
strong and I was quite impressed) to help
lift it onto the platform. Max was then
prepared for the long journey to
Ulaanbaatar: bike tank was emptied of the
gas as well as the extra gas tank, Jack
removed all parts that could be dislodged or
stolen, the transportation fee of 45,000
tugriks ($45.00) was paid as well as the
handling fee of 20,000 tugriks ($20.00) paid
to the train crew for baggage handling.
During this process, Agie had introduced me
to a friend that would purchase the tickets
for us; and we would pick them up at 7PM.
With all the
details arranged we went to dinner, and then
took our place on a bench next to the train
to await its departure. It was a five hour
wait, but a great opportunity to do a bit of
people watching: the young guards that
patrolled each car, looking official and
tried to be stoic (we did get one of the
guards to smile), so that no passengers
could get off until cleared, the groups of
people that brought huge amount of freight
to be stowed on the passenger train…they are
not charged for this so what a great way to
avoid the freight fees. There were
literally hundreds of boxes of all sizes
along the concrete platform at the entrance
to the train. I later found out that this
is a common occurrence for all the trains at
this station…something that is definitely
overlooked by the military officials that
run the station, because they are losing
revenue or not.
We found out
which car was ours, but then watched it be
pulled out of the station to places
unknown. We heard incomprehensible
announcements, but none of the passengers
seemed to move, so we watched and waited
with the others. Within a half hour our car
was brought back and linked to two other
cars…obviously additional cars were needed
for the number of passengers. By this time
it was 10PM and people began to approach
their designated car. We carried our
luggage toward car 15 and saw a boisterous,
unruly crowd standing at the entrance while
boxes were being thrown onto the train;
people were pushing and shoving to get
closer for boarding. I was knocked down by
someone pushing a box closer for boarding.
Jack reacted and got into this man’s
face…”Watch out, this is my wife”. It was
like cattle jockeying for the front spot.
The train officials were trying to settle
the crowd down, so people could board the
train as orderly as possible. I was ready
to punch out the man that had shoved me,
because he kept pushing this box closer for
boarding. I got in his face and glared at
him with such contempt. I was fuming and
realized how angry that I could become if
pushed to my limit…I do not like to get that
angry. I was finally helped onto the train
and pushed and stepped on the entire time.
I was so glad to be able to make my way to
my car for the duration of the trip. It was
the worst train experience of my life, and I
hoped to never have to repeat this again. I
am a bit wary about taking the train to
Moscow, since it will be a five day trip. I
have heard some horror stories, so I am a
bit anxious about the experience.
One more time
the people on our journey have redeemed my
faith in human nature. The people that
shared our cabin were from Ulaanbaatar,
returning from Beijing after a shopping
spree: Togo was a student and had purchased
clothes for school and the long winter
ahead. He also bought gifts for his
family. His companion was the sister of his
girl friend and she was also laden down with
recent purchases…all stuffed under the bunks
and in the over head bins. We were able to
store our gear in the storage boxes under
the bunks, which had been left for us. They
were very accommodating and generous enough
to let us sleep in the lower bunks, since it
would be more difficult for us to climb,
because of our age. We could have done it,
but we were relieved that it would not be
necessary. Due to the hour, we all took
necessary steps to prepare the bunks and
ourselves to retire. As usual it took me
some time to fall asleep: hearing the
clanging and banging of the wheels on the
tracks, people talking and settling in for
the night, waiting for our tickets to be
collected and the humming of the train as it
passes through the night air.
I must have
drifted off, because with the light of
morning, I woke to find that Jack had
already been roaming the train and catching
the passing scenery, especially from the
smoking section in between the cars. I
joined him and saw Mongolia pass before my
eyes with green rolling hills and animals
that dotted them. The expanse of the land
was awesome, having a wild and natural
beauty that was startling to my senses:
natural pools of water, flowers that spread
out to paint the valleys with hues of red,
purple, gold, green and silver. From a
distance I saw the regal camels, the
Bactrian or two hump camels, strutting
through the valley. Their humps were all
raised, being filled with flesh and fat as a
reserve for times when food is scarce…I
always thought that water was stored in
them. They truly are “the ships of the
desert”. I have several favorite animals,
and the camel happens to be one of them and
here they were in the wild…seeing them has
been a dream of mine since we started this
trip. The glass and steel hampered my view
and I was anxious to get out into the
countryside on Max. All the frustration and
delay seemed to melt away, knowing that our
plans would be realized. We would finally
ride into the Mongolian countryside.
When we
returned to the car, our bunk mates were up
and readying for our arrival in
Ulaanbaatar. While we waited, Togo was
giving us some interesting information about
holidays they celebrated especially their
New Year’s celebration at the end of
February. The entire family gets together
for feasting and to welcome the coming of
spring. Everyone dresses in their
traditional garb, eating traditional dishes
that they may not eat during the year.
While telling us, his face was quite
animated with such a happy expression and it
was obvious that this was a special time for
him. His relating this tradition to us was
certainly a special time, reminding me of
the family gatherings for our holidays:
Christmas and New Years. It made me a bit
melancholy and happy at the same time, but
only for a brief time. The train stopped
and I was about to move when Togo told us
that this was the interim stop before ours.
People were getting off and most of the
bundles seemed to be pouring out from all
directions. As the train slowly moved out,
I saw hundreds of boxes lining the gravel
departure area, wondering what goods could
be inside these bundles so tightly wrapped
with hundreds of meters of plastic tape.
Then my thoughts were interrupted with the
slowing of the train, realizing that this
would be our stop. It was time to gather
our belongings and make our way off the
train…I was a bit concerned about getting
off since our getting on was a madhouse.
Luckily we had waited long enough to miss
the bulk of the passengers departing. Now
we just had to contend with our own luggage
and where we were going.
While we were
on the train a young fellow came by with a
sign that read Mr. & Mrs. Morgan, asking if
we were them. At first we just brushed it
off, but someone was to meet us at the
station, so we pursued the fellow and found
out it was us and the name was wrong. He
led us out of the station and onto the
street, calling someone to come and pick us
up. A car stopped at the curb, having to
step over the metal railing with our
luggage. All was stowed into the trunk and
off we went. Our driver was a large
Mongolian named Mogi and our guide was named
or sounded like, Inkblot, later to find out
it was actually Enkbold. We were taken to
the guest house, Gana’s Guest House, where
we would be staying until we left for
Moscow. It was located near the center of
town and had all the comforts of home:
locked area for the bike, kitchen with all
the necessary appliances, even a washing
machine, hot shower and a television...all
for $6.00 a night per person. What was the
catch? Ah, we would be sharing these
conveniences with two Italian men. When we
arrived, our room mates were out. So we
busied ourselves getting our luggage in,
making the beds and preparing for our stay.
We then went
to lunch at Pizza Della Casa, owned by Gana
who owns the guest house, on the main street
in the city. The food was good and the
atmosphere quite pleasant, but our lunch was
a bit rushed, because Jack needed to
retrieve the bike from the station and try
to locate a mechanic to fix the clutch
problem. I was to be on my own, having the
location for the guest house and an internet
café. As I left the restaurant and walked
the street, I could not locate the internet
café, so I looked for some foreigners that
might know. I spotted some in a restaurant
and excused myself for the interruption.
They gave me the directions and I found it
without any more trouble. While I was
answering emails, the young couple who gave
me directions walked in. The woman and I
struck up a conversation, finding out they
were from France and were leaving in the
morning. They had completed a four week
cycling tour through the countryside, having
some very interesting adventures. One in
which they had to cross a swollen river,
needing help to do so. They knocked at the
door of the nearest Ger, finding the people
very willing to help. The bikes were loaded
onto a cart pulled by a camel and off they
went. I asked if she had pictures and she
did. I talked about our plans to travel to
France and she immediately invited us to
come and visit her in Normandy, which we
will. I want to see the pictures of the
camel pulling the cart. When I left the
internet café, I started to walk toward the
direction of the guest house, but I realized
that I was lost. My only landmark was the
Pizza Della Casa, so I went there for
assistance. A young man was enlisted to
take me back to the guest house, and on our
way I saw Inkblot in a truck, and he led me
to Jack. The guide and the original driver
were trying to board the bike into a storage
area, which was not what Jack had in mind.
He wanted to take the bike to a mechanic and
with some persuading he accomplished this.
I left him to continue to the guest house,
which was not far from their location.
Once I was
inside I decided to take a nap, since I did
not get much sleep on the train. I was
awakened by a banging at the door, but at
the time I ignored it. As it got louder I
thought I should investigate. I opened my
door and saw a man streak through the
entrance in a towel. He excused himself,
opened the door and quickly disappeared into
the shower room. I was approached by a tall
dark-haired man that introduced himself as
Francesco, visiting Mongolia from Italy with
his friend now in the shower room. We had a
brief but pleasant conversation and off he
went into his room. Actually we did not
see them again until we went to dinner that
evening. I looked at my watch and realized
that it was quite late, but I knew that Jack
was tied up with the bike. A short time
later I head another knock at the door,
finding that Gana, the owner and Undra, her
general manager, were at the door. Jack had
called Gana, having her number from our
friend Shogi, to let me know not to worry,
the bike was almost fixed and he would be
home shortly. Within fifteen or twenty
minutes he was knocking at the door. It was
about 7:40PM and we were both starved. We
quickly cleaned up and drove down to the
Pizza Della Casa for dinner. We saw our
roommates there, finding out that this was
their last night. Leonardo, the streaker (I
did not recognize him with his clothes on),
was a Music Therapist and Francesco worked
in a sporting goods store…a pressure less
job, which suited him, in his own words. We
had a brief conversation about Music Therapy
and other topics, wishing them well and we
left to order dinner.
Next day was
pretty layback for both of us, trying to
regroup and to get our bearings in this new
city. There were only two things that we
needed to accomplish today: find some
tennis shoes for me, since I had to wear my
thongs and exchange some more money…both
were wearing thin. With the help of a
couple of foreigners who had been here about
a year, we were directed to a shopping
center where we could find both. We were
able to exchange some US for Tugrik, but no
luck with the shoes. At least the weather
was still warm during this time, so the
thongs, even though uncomfortable for
walking long distances, fit well with the
temperature. Our original guide, Inkblot,
which seemed to fit him quite well, knew of
a large sport shoe store that he would be
glad to take me to the next day. We were to
meet at 11AM and he showed up at 12:30PM.
So we left, but this did not give me a warm
feeling about the day. I inquired about
taking a taxi, but he said that the store
was not far, so we walked and walked and
walked. I like to walk, but not in
thongs. I never realized that I would
have so much trouble finding shoes in a city
of 700,000 people, but the pickings were
very thin: finding shoes I liked but not my
size, directed to shoes I did not want that
were in my size. I was pretty frustrated at
the end of three hours, having walked at
least several miles or it seemed that way.
At last we were in a store that offered a
variety of sport shoes and in my size.
Since I was desperate, I chose the shoes
that looked good, seemed to fit and the
price was right, $32.00. Well, I know
better than to try on shoes under these
conditions, because the shoes have
stretched, have no real support and seem to
be getting bigger with each wear. At least
my feet are covered and protected from the
cold. I am sure that I should be able to
find a better shoe along the way, but for
now I am stuck with my Korean made sport
shoe.
While here we
made contact with Onko, the girl that we had
met in Zamin Uud. We made plans for dinner
Friday night, leaving the choice of
restaurant to her. We met at the designated
time and she took us to a local German
restaurant. This place occupied a large
area with an outside barbeque and seating
that covered the entire front. The night
was pleasant and like any Friday night, this
was a place where the singles could meet,
have good food, drink and families could
come and enjoy the same. Right now Max
seemed fine and it was nice for us not to
have to think about Max and just sit, relax
and enjoy the company. We could even plan
on the upcoming event of the Dalai Lama
appearing at the largest monastery in the
city the next day.
We made plans
to meet Onko at 8:30AM, departing our guest
house immediately to arrive prior to 9AM.
She and I took a cab while Jack followed on
Max. When we arrived at the front entrance,
the people were already making their way
toward the monastery platform where the
Dalai Lama would appear. The platform had
been cordoned off, but we managed to get
passed the barrier and setup for his
appearance…I had my Nikon digital camera
while Jack had the movie camera with the
tripod. We were armed and ready to take
photos. Of course, like any celebrity, his
appearance did not happen on time. There
was much preparation going on at the
platform, thinking he would come out from
the back. But off to our left we heard
horns, and saw some movement which turned
out to be the Dalai Lama who was covered
with an elaborate umbrella being led by
monks toward the platform. The procession
was slow, stopping and greeting many along
his route. Finally the procession climbed
the stairs and rested on the platform.
During this
procession, people moved closer to the ring
of monks that flanked the front of the
platform…everyone trying to catch a glimpse
of his eminence. We were told not to stand
so others in the back could see, so we were
on our knees most of the time…about
forty-five to fifty minutes. I was restless
and trying to get comfortable when a sweet,
generous lady offered me a pillow for my
knees. She also offered me a plastic bag to
cover up the pillow and I declined. Her
gesture was heartwarming and I did not want
to discount it by the thought of germs. I
did feel guilty at first since Onko and Jack
had to kneel on the concrete, and I even
offered them it, but they declined. Then
some announcements came and people began to
sit up and become quiet. At this point, I
directed my camera to the platform, because
I believed that the Dalai Lama was in
sight. I took several photos, but later on
found that none contained his image. In the
meantime, Jack was busy taking movies, and
found out later that he had gotten some good
footage of him. Jack announced that he had
to leave and would meet me in the court yard
of the monastery. Once he left, they
started to chant and would for the next
several hours. I stayed for about a half
hour while they were chanting, since I did
not want to interrupt those around me, but I
needed to take my leave. I felt as though I
was an intruder in this special praying that
was happening around me. I offered the
pillow to Onko with permission from the lady
and took myself out of this circle as
quickly and quietly as possible.
I found Jack
at a vantage point outside the circle of
people and joined him. We watched for
several more minutes and then decided to
walk into the courtyard. Both of us had
taken pictures prior to our approaching the
platform, but now we could take additional
pictures of other activities taking place:
those offering prayers around a holy pole
draped in prayer scarves by touching their
fingers to the scarves or their foreheads,
other believers were marching around a
monument while turning some prayer wheels
walking the significant three times around
and others were praying in front of photos
of the Dalai Lama. The scene was quiet and
very symbolic for those participating. As I
watched the people and their reactions, I
felt a sense of peace and serenity inside:
a state of being that I had not felt since I
left Changchun. What a great day! What a
great joy to be experiencing such an
uplifting event…the chance to see a great
leader of our day! For me the people are
what the ride is all about and to experience
and video such an important person and event
was awesome.
The next day,
Sunday, we made preparations for our trip to
Harhorin or in Mongolian Khar Khorum. But
on Monday, there was one important thing
that I had to do before we left. I had to
send a package back to Changchun. I had
tried to send this package a couple of days
before, but I did not have all the
information that I needed. So today I went
to the post office armed with all the
necessary information, but when I got there,
I was not sure how to send the package. I
tried to ask the staff, but I only got blank
stares. I was becoming frustrated and
needed to send this package right away.
With this all building, I shouted in the
middle of the post office, “Does anyone
speak English? I have to send a package and
I need some help!” One of the postal
workers raised her hand slightly, and I went
over to speak with her. Her English was
limited, but enough to point me in the right
direction. I filled out the proper
paperwork, getting additional money from
Jack in the parking lot and left the package
in the hands of the EMS department. I was
not sure if the package would arrive at all,
but I found out that it arrived safe and
sound.
Harhorin is
365 Km southwest of Ulaanbaatar and is the
site of the 13th century capital for
Chinggis Khan. We would finally ride in
Mongolia and experience for ourselves the
beauty and splendor of the countryside that
we saw on the train. On the one hand, we
were elated that Max was fixed, but on the
other hand a bit wary as to his ability to
make the trip. Of course, we were told that
we would travel on a paved road, so the ride
should be easy…not. From the time we left
UB until we arrived in Harhorin, we
experienced one of the worst roads ever. It
was 365 Km of pitted, potholed and washboard
conditions that jarred, rattled and jostled
Max’s parts as well as ours. Every time we
stopped it was a relief and shear pleasure
to walk and stretch. Thank goodness for our
Bar seats. These at least cushioned our
buttocks and helped to soften the jounces
that we were experiencing. I cannot imagine
what our butts and lower backs would have
been like without them.
Off in the
distance I noticed some camels standing and
laying down off the road. There were
handlers as well as some foreigners,
flanking the camels. I was curious to see
what was up, so I asked Jack to stop. He
was not too happy, because we were already
behind time. As I surveyed the scene, I
realized that the foreigners were deciding
whether to ride the camels or not. There
were no takers. Well, I had ridden a
Dromedary in Egypt, so I was very game to
ride a Bactrian. I gave them my 2000 tugrik
($2.00) for ten minutes, thinking that it
was quite high for a short period of time,
but my excitement overruled my
practicality. I chose the biggest and
oldest of the lot, because I figured he
would be more sure footed and knew what to
do. I walked up to him and he did not seem
to be too happy to have to work, showing his
teeth and squawking at me. I was helped to
sit in between his humps, which was quite
comfortable, sitting on a pad of blankets.
The handler gave the camel a command and up
he went. The Bactrian is shorter in stance
than the Dromedary and more sure footed, so
I felt closer to the ground and not as off
balance as I did in Egypt. The camel was
led by a rope that was attached to a bone
peg that was pierced into his nose. It
certainly is an effective way to keep them
in line…it is like piercing ones ear or nose
just on a larger scale. I was walked
around on the sand dunes and told to hang
onto the hump in front, which had a tuft of
hair on the top, making it easier for
holding. Once my time was up they walked me
back to his original resting place and
suddenly he went down on his hind legs and
immediately lowered his front legs. Since I
was not expecting such a sudden drop, I was
thrown off balance and luckily the handlers
stopped my fall and helped me off. I felt
badly that these camels were relegated to an
amusement ride, yet, I was perpetuating the
novelty. It was a great experience and I
would do it again given the opportunity.
It took us
three days to reach Harhorin, because of the
late starts on Monday and Tuesday; this
unscheduled stop and a couple of wrong
turns. So by the time we reached Harhorin
in late morning on Wednesday, we were ready
to stop anywhere we could for the rest of
the day. Our first attraction was the large
ger that was prominent on a side street that
led to a structure that we thought was the
reconstruction of the capital city. Later
found out it was the oldest monastery in
Mongolia. At first we by passed it, but
decided to find out if it were a
restaurant…we were tired and quite hungry.
We found it to be a good restaurant hosted
by a very engaging young man named,
William. When we found out it was a hotel
also, I went to investigate the facilities:
it had hot showers, bathroom facilities and
the rooms were traditional gers that were
quite appealing to both of us and at $12.00
per person per night a steal. We moved in
and made ourselves comfortable. We liked
our stay so much that we stayed an extra
night.
As always we
made friends with the staff, helping to make
our stay much more fun. While Jack was
talking with William, he mentioned that he
had heard about the national drink of
Mongolia called Airag, which is fermented
mare’s milk. William being such a
resourceful fellow knew where to buy this.
It could not be purchased in a commercial
market, but only made privately by the
Mongolians in the countryside who own
horses. Well, Jack could not resist the
experience and asked him to buy us some for
tasting. Now I do not know about you, but I
was a bit wary about drinking something from
a horse. We would meet him and his
girlfriend, Nara, at 7PM in the restaurant.
When we arrived, we were the only people
there. William placed four large glass mugs
on the table along with a large brown
plastic bottle that we had seen a young boy
playing with that afternoon. He poured this
white liquid into our glasses and Jack and I
looked at each other with the same thought:
an awful lot of liquid that we needed to
consume. Yes, we paid 2000 tugrik for this
2 liter bottle, but we did not want to
offend William or Nara, so we would drink it
all. Of course, we took the opportunity to
photograph our first impression of the
drink, which while William was there, was
different with a heavy yeast smell, a bit
sour and good. The truth is that it tasted
quite sour and yeasty with the hint of beer
in the back of the throat; and as someone
pointed out just like buttermilk, which I
drank as a kid.
We had fun
with them just drinking, laughing and
talking about the different elements to a
ger. Nara showed us a bow that was made
from an Ibex horn and that only women use
for hunting. William expounded on the
benefits of Airag: good for health with lots
of vitamins, helping to prevent colds. He
told us that all ages of Mongolians drink
Airag for breakfast, because of the good
properties. He said that it did not to
leave you with a hang over just a terrible
taste in your mouth the next day. A good
night was had by all. The next day I did
not have the bad taste, but I sure felt out
of it. Was it the beer or just the ordeal
with the ride? I think a bit of both. I
guess you could develop a taste for Airag,
because the more I drank the better it
tasted or at least it did not taste as bad.
We did manage
to get ourselves moving later in the day,
and we drove down to visit the monastery.
The outer walls appeared to be fairly
recent, but the inside structures were the
ancient design. Right now this monastery
only houses a few monks, since 1990
seventeen monks were allowed back into the
monastery with the change in government from
communism to democracy. While touring the
grounds, we were allowed to enter one of the
rooms of the monastery in which young monks,
boys between 10 and 13 maybe a bit older,
were learning the chants. It was a quiet
and solemn moment to watch them pray. Then
the session ended and lunch was served. The
solemnity turned to chatter and laughter
among the boys and their teachers. Poverty
is rampant among those in the countryside
and at least these boys have a chance to
pursue their calling.
This thought
remained with me as I exited the grounds.
It was then that I saw Jack talking with a
couple of men. I joined their conversation
and found out that they were both writers
and poets, and right away we had something
in common. I found out that they were
traveling with three women, who were monks.
I did not know that women could be monks or
lamas. I saw the monks crouched next to a
van, taking advantage of the shade. I asked
one of the men if they would mind if I
photographed them. We wandered over to them
and I was able to take their picture. I am
sure that Jack has already related this to
you, but I was struck with the older woman’s
eyes. Her body was bent and tired, but her
eyes had a faint sparkle. This was quite
pronounced when Jack made the gesture for
her to ride the motorcycle…her face
brightened up with a smile and her eyes
sparkled with glee. But when she put her
hands together and prayed her face was
solemn and I felt a surge of energy touch my
soul. The tears just poured out of me
uncontrollably, feeling so blessed that this
93 year old lama took the time to bless our
bike and the journey. After the blue prayer
scarf was tied to the bike, the three women
walked away to continue their pursuit of
prayer. I could hardly compose myself while
I asked one of the men to relay my sincere
gratitude for her kindness and generosity.
I had touched her hand and tried to thank
her in my quiet way, but I needed her to
know in words how I felt. This holy woman
touched my life in such a profound way.
Even today I feel her presence and can still
see those sparkling eyes.
The next day
we prepared to pack up Max and head back to
Ulaanbaatar. The night before William had
said that he and Nara would see us off.
Well, we thought that it would be too early
and that they probably would not get up.
They proved us wrong, because William was
there looking tired, but full of smiles. He
kept checking on Nara to make sure that she
would come…we did tell him to let her
sleep. Within a short period of time she
joined him, and we served them hot coffee in
the ger. We finished the last bit of
packing and said our good-byes. I am
usually sad to say good-bye, but I felt joy
that we had met such nice people that cared
enough to see us off. I was looking forward
to the trip back, knowing that once we
reached UB that we would be preparing for
the trip to Moscow.
Well, all my
joy turned to grunts and groans once we
started back on the road to UB. The same
road conditions that plagued us on the way
out did not miraculously disappear.
What
exacerbated the situation was that Jack
wanted to arrive in UB this same day,
Friday; so we pushed for 12 hours. But
during this ordeal, I spotted a car that had
stopped on the side of the road; then I
noticed a herd of Bactrian camels just
 grazing.
We immediately stopped and grabbed the movie
camera to document this
great event.
There
were adults and babies just lazily eating
and moving away from
us, but not
in fear. They were moving to the other side
of the road for better grazing. I wanted to
go over and pet them all, but I kept my
distance and just watched in awe. Once
they started to cross the road we continued
the ride.
The snippets
of joy that I have received on this ride
have been amazing. Even though we were
being bounced, jounced, jostled, weaved in
and out of potholes, churned and literally
burned, I can look back and know that it was
all worth it. We reached UB at 8PM in the
evening. We were starved, tired, dirty and
grimy. We ate, rented the same room we had
when we left, fell into bed and literally
stayed in bed or in our room for the entire
next day….we were more than thrashed our
butts were dragin’. Ah, true to the name
Dragin’ Run. We forgot that at our age we
do not seem to bounce back as quickly. As a
matter of fact, it is Wednesday and we are
still a bit worn.
Excuse the
bit of philosophy, but you know how
sometimes life just slaps you upside the
head or bites you on the ass; well, Jack and
I received a bit of life while in Harhorin.
We discovered the same hard, sore spots on
our derrières. Was it a coincidence or had
a spider gotten into our bed? If you are
ever in a strange place, check your bed,
because you never know what may be lurking
under the sheets. This could save you some
discomfort.
Since our
return, we made arrangements to ship the
bike to Moscow for a fee of $650, including
the freight fee, carton fee for the bike and
the sidecar, having to ship them separately,
the okay from the head of the railway
station and of course, the freight
forwarder. We were ready to buy the tickets
for a Friday departure and I obtained the
applications for the Russian visas. The
only hang-up was that we had not received
the Letters of Invitation in order to
process the visas. The company that had
arranged our last visas had changed their
policy and needed an actual form to
authorize them to send the letters by UPS.
It is know going to take 5 days by UPS from
Russia, which delays our departure until
next Friday, September 15, arriving in
Moscow on September 19. Since our date for
arrival in Moscow was September 5, we only
will have two weeks to fix the bike, do some
site-seeing and high tail it out of Dodge…it
is doable, but we will be rushed.
In the
meantime, the weather has gotten so cold
that it snowed this morning. Of course,
Jack and I are not equipped for this
weather, since everything was left in China;
and we packed for a ride through UB and
Russia a month ago while the temperatures
were warm. We may have to buy some woolies
to be discarded when we get to Turkey. We
did have dinner with our friend Onko last
night and she said her sister knew someone
at the Russian Embassy and also at the train
station, so we may get some help through
her. Until there is a resolution, we will
do the best that we can to keep ourselves
occupied and see more sites in the city.
Yesterday,
Thursday, September 7, I got the official
word from the Russian Embassy that they
required original Letters of Invitation no
PDF files or faxed letters. It will cost us
each $140.00 to have the visas processed in
two days. All our plans stem on getting the
Letters of Invitations on Monday, bringing
them to the Embassy, which only opens
between 2PM and 3PM Monday through Friday,
and having a two day turnaround on our
visas, which would mean Thursday. If
everything goes according to plan, and we
know how that has been so far, then we
should leave next Friday for Moscow. If
not, then the next train departs the
following Tuesday. Even though Ulaanbaatar
is a fairly large city, I am more anxious to
be spending my time and money in Turkey,
Egypt or other countries with warmer
climates.
Bye for now!
Janet
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