Mongolia Part 2 - Boys Camp

Before I forget, I wanted to mention that Mongolian is a very strange sounding language. They share a border and a lot of trade with Russia, and the influence, including a Cyrillic-based script, is evident when they speak. It sort of sounds like Russian with a heavy lisp. Imagine Sylvester the Cat with a Russian accent ("thhhssssufferin' thhsssuccotash comrade!"). And while the culture remains Asian, the fashion, especially in the main, capital city of Ulaanbaatar, is definitely western. All in all, very confusing to try and absorb.

Anyway, after leaving the Siberian taiga grasslands of Jalman Meadows, we continued on to the second half of our Mongolia journey, located in the Gobi steppes and where we arrived at Arburd Sands, or what we named "Boys Camp". The difference was evident that our second stay in the gers would be a little rougher. Run by a man who came from a long line of horse riding nomads, he had a motley crew of about 8 Mongolian boys and 2 women that did the cooking. Our tent got dirty the first day during a rainstorm, and pretty much remained that way the entire stay. The toilets didn't have the pleasant, odor-neutralizing potpourri spray of Jalman Meadows, either. But we soon came to love the easy-going, rough and tumble nature of the camp.

The staff showed us how the gers were built, and with me stuck in the middle, they quickly constructed a ger around me in about 10 minutes.

Here we are with the head of the camp (in the middle of Tiff and me), and some of the boys. We loved the fact that these tough guys were dressed in traditional Mongolian silk shirts, or the full gown with sash, often wearing bright, flashy colors.


But most evenings after dinner, they gave no quarter when it came to game time. Here we are engaged in the mortal combat of tug-o-war. Most of their games involved some sort of violent action, whether it was dodge ball (or "fish in a barrel", as they called it), marco polo (where one person was blindfolded and ran around trying to tag people, all the while getting pushed in the back and tripped by laughing friends), or even duck-duck-goose, where the chosen "it" person had a balled up scarf to throw at the opposing player.
I tried to teach them a less violent form of entertainment, with the classic "human pyramid". I think their favorite part was when the pyramid collapsed and crushed the people on the bottom.They taught us about the "Three Manly Sports", in which Mongolians compete every year in an annual Naadam Festival. Wrestling, Archery, and Horse riding are the three skills dearest to every Mongolian man. I tried to avoid the random wrestling matches that seemed to break out around camp every day, but I did work on my archery.
We had a few wicked storms pass through while we were there, part of the very welcome rain to hopefully end the 8-year drought that Mongolia was suffering through.
After the storm passed we enjoyed incredibly beautiful skies, with the vast landscape lit up by a multitude of colors, and particularly stunningly scenic sunsets.
As we tried to experience the nomadic life in the Gobi, we tried our hands at riding camels again. Luckily, unlike India, we didn't encounter any sandstorms this time. But the lack of saddles and only a few, thin layers of blanket between the camels' spine and our bottoms left us sore and eager to return back to camp. Both camel and rider were quite happy to be free from each other and back at camp.
After the last, terrifying experience riding horses in Jalman Meadows, we knew we had to try it again and bury those memories. The gentle horses, combined with the soft, sandy soil kept the horses' pace slow and Tiff and Zach very happy.

Tiffany befriended the youngest member of the staff, and he proudly showed her around the camp.
While Tiff was exploring the beauty of life at Arburd, I quickly reverted to my childhood, finding fascination in the artifacts of death around the desert. Bones and animal remains littered the desert sands, which exposed the reality of harsh life in the Gobi steppes.
I got into the swing of things, and jumped and ran around the sandy desert.

While Tiff maintained composure and calmly enjoyed the natural beauty of the land.

Another day dies out with a blaze of glory.

We took a day to visit a sacred Buddhist mountain, where many of the rare, native animals could be spotted. We were quite lucky and saw everything from gazelle sprinting across the fields, to ibex argali sheep (similar to gigantic bighorn sheep) perched high in the mountain tops.

When we stopped for lunch this adorable little beggar cleaned up with Tiff and me. Who could resist that face?!

As we drove through the valley splitting two mountain ranges, we continued to marvel at the vast, picturesque Mongolian land.

We were fortunate to run into our camp head's famous horse master father, Choidog, who at the spry age of 80, famously said, "While I have breath in my body, I will ride and train horses." He continues to breed and train race horses for the Naadam Festival.

We visited a few local nomadic families to experience Mongolian life. After the babies are separated from their mothers, the moms are lined up for their daily milking. Here Tiff helps release the moms after the milking is completed.
And then, in one of the cutest scenes we witnessed, the babies are let loose from their pen, and like a massive after school pickup, the babies bolt out of the pen, yelping for their mommies, while the moms bleat out "Here I am!" and everyone runs around until the proper parent-child match ups are made.

Space inside the gers is at a premium. "Now, where did I leave my handbag? Oh right, it's next to the slab of raw mutton..." And the hanging cord on the left between the blue mixing bowl and the stirrups? That would be the sheep intestines, squeezed out and looped together and sold for god knows what use. The ger family assured us that the sheep had been slaughtered that morning so all the meat was fresh. Whew!

The goat and sheep milk is turned into a variety of foods, from milk tea to yogurt, cheese and curds. And with all those animals running around, who needs firewood when you can use dung chips? The very casual way in which the ger mom shoveled out handfuls of the dung chips only served to reinforce the knowledge that we could never make it living as Mongolian nomads.

But the absolute highlight of our entire Mongolia trip came on our final day and was completely unplanned. On our first day driving to Arburd Sands, we came across the heart-breaking sight of a baby horse, trapped out in the pouring rain, timidly nuzzling the unmoving body of its mother, who, without sufficient strength and fat reserves after the years of drought, had apparently succumbed to the many consecutive days of cold rain. Full of supplies and bags, we had no room to squeeze in the poor foal. Although the head of the camp drove back to the site that day after dropping us off at camp, he reported back that the baby foal was gone.

Well, we had pretty much written off the chances of the baby foal surviving without her mother, but sure enough, three days later on our return drive, we spotted the weak baby. With nothing but a canvas cord and years of horse training experience, the camp head (with our tour guide) managed to capture the foal and secure her legs. We then lifted her into the back of our car and took her over to Choidog's ger camp.The two little boys at Choidog's were given the responsibility of convalescing the foal, and immediately their eyes lit up and they ran off to get her some water. She had lain so still in the car that we weren't sure just how weakened her state was, but she eagerly lapped up the offered drink, and the boys were already preparing some watered down sheep's milk to feed her in a few hours and discussed trying to find another mare in the next few days to try and nurse her back to health.
Tiff and I were thrilled to have had a small part in saving the little pony's life and, after determining that indeed the foal was too large to fit into our carry-on bags, made sure to give her lots of hugs and well-wishes before we had to depart.

Mongolia Part 1- Girls Camp

Tired of spending the night in hotel room after hotel room, Zach and Tiffany decided to trade in the comforts of hot showers and heat for outdoor, nomadic-type living in traditional Mongolian ger camps. Our first 'ger' experience was at Jalman Meadows, located in the Siberian Taiga.

The camp was run by a strict and professional Mongolian woman and it showed in the camp. The ger Zach and I were assigned was beautifully decorated and sparkling clean.

The weather was chilly, particularly at night, but we soon became spoiled by the fire elves that snuck into our ger an hour before we woke up to light a fire in our stove.

No smelly outhouses here! The outhouses were constantly deodorized and stocked with toilet paper and even had a sink with soap!
Even the meals were dignified. We had tea time every afternoon, and meals were served with real plates and silverware. The meals were a bit heavy on mayonnaise-based dishes (everything from beets to carrots), mutton and meat fat, but we really couldn't complain since usual camping food consists of power bars and PB&J.

Although the region has been in an 8-year drought, our arrival seemed to please the rain gods, as it stormed a majority of our time in Mongolia. But there was just enough sun to power the solar panels, allowing us to get a lot of reading done.

We also spent plenty of time in the Genghis Khan library playing games with sheep ankle bones (apparently all the rage in the nomadic circles)...and dressing up like traditional nomadic herdsmen...During the few brief respites from the storms, we managed to befriend some of the furry locals. This guy looked pretty tough, but was quite friendly and gentle.

We even came across the remains of some furry animals, as the drought has been tough on many of the herds. Zach was eager to smuggle this home, but Tiffany was less than eager to integrate animal remains into the home decor.

Horses outnumber people 14-1 in Mongolia, and have been an integral part of life for centuries. So it was inevitable that at some point we'd suit up and give horse riding a try. We cavalierly overlooked the camp's warning of 'not recommended for unskilled riders', after all, we'd collectively ridden about 3 times in the past 5 years, that surely must put us solidly in the intermediate category.

We realized we might be in a bit over our head when the ger camp's horseman was sent out to round up our horses, as most of the time they roam freely. We found out through experience that Mongolian horses have a mind of their own and aren't one to follow commands, especially when they're coming from two green foreigners. To make matters worse, the saddles provided were missing pommels, as Mongolians traditionally hang on to the horse with only their legs. So when our horses broke into full-on galloping, something they did often, we had nothing but a corner of horse blanket under the saddle to cling to with our white knuckles. Needless to say, after a morning of each of our horses taking turn breaking away from our small group and galloping off into the vast, never ending expanse of grasslands, we both kissed the ground as soon as we dismounted.
While we were a bit disappointed with the weather, by the time we left for the Gobi desert, we had noticed a huge change in the grass. It had gone from a deadish brown hue to a bright green color after just 4 days!

Xinjiang - Muslim Chinese Farmers (pt. 2)

It's been about 2 1/2 months since leaving Shanghai now, and we started feeling the first pangs of travel-weary since the start of our journeys. Above, at over 12,000 feet elevation, Tiffany walks the famous Karkoram Highway, which leads from Xinjiang into Pakistan, as the Silk Road winds through the 20,000 ft plus mountain pass. It didn't help that she'd gotten her first bout of food poisoning since India, which made her not so excited about Xinjiang food anymore. Or that we felt like we were never going to get out of the hot, sandy desert at times. But she toughed it out, and we were rewarded with some amazing scenery, friendly locals, and another blog entry! Back in town, we decided maybe no more buying bread off the street was a good policy.

Kashgar is famous for their Sunday Market, where farmers from all over bring their livestock and produce to trade and sell. We watched hundreds of market goers checking animal teeth, taking donkeys out for a test drive, and haggling for their life to finally complete a sale. In many cases, there is a 3rd party negotiator that acts as the go-between between buyer and seller.
These two guarded their family donkey.
Tiffany found her favorite animal, a brown fluffy donkey. We watched an under-1 year old donkey (about this size) that was touted for it's (relatively) calm demeanor, sold for 1700 RMB, or about $220. Not bad, unfortunately Tiff knew her donkey would never stand to be checked in at the airport, and had no chance of fitting into her carry-on bag. Hundreds of sheep lined up for sale. Farmers would shave their flock in a distinctive style, like a brand, for identification purposes.
Another part of the market specialized in various handicrafts, like these fancy versions of the common Uigher hat.

This area of Xinjiang is famous for the "smallest hat in the world". How they know that, who knows, it's not actually all that small, but whatever. Zach is styling a tiny black silk number, with baby blue topping.
We came across this colorful brood in the old town of Kashgar (most recently used in the Kite Runner film due to it's proximity to and resemblance of Afganistan). This was the first of about 50 photos that this giggly group of girls demanded to take, swarming Zach after each one to critique the result, then running back to pose for the next one.

Zach closes the deal with a knife salesman in a town outside of Kashgar, called Yengisar. The blades are hammered out by hand, along with various handle types made of wood, bone, even deer antlers, and inlaid or encrusted with jewels, mother-of-pearl or other decoration. The salesman then took us up the dirt road to his home, where his colleage sharpened each knife while we enjoyed looking around their simple home. At the knife salesman's house, Tiffany and our guide, Aliya, relax for a moment. The family was incredibly hospitable, offering to climb their tree to pick us some fresh apricots for a snack while we waited for the knives to be sharpened. Aliya was a fantastic guide and was interestingly enough a Muslim (but recently converted Christian) who competes in Hip Hop dancing competitions when not leading hapless tourists around Xinjiang.

Tiff half-heartedly prepares herself for another Uigher lunch. Zach loved the "lakh man", made of fresh, hand-pulled noodles and topped with tomato sauce and slices of lamb.

Noshing in China?? Uighers are famous for their "girde nan" and love to eat it in the mornings. They were delicious, thick and dense, sometimes baked with salt crystals in the dough, and always crisp and extra chewy on the bottom, where they dough sat in the hearths. If only they had some low-fat schmear to spread on it...
No vampires here!
Fresh lamb for sale.
It was like the Cirque du Soleil of chickens, hung like they were acrobatically balanced in the air. It always struck us how non-chalantly large sides of meat were hung in the street.

A rare sight in the officially "no religion" China. Friday afternoon brings a crowd of the largely Muslim population to pray at one of the many mosques we saw in Xinjiang.
The most fuel-efficient vehicle on the planet!

The standard package in one of our hotels, the swatter unfortunately came in very handy.
At a silk farm, we watched the silk eggs getting boiled and threads drawn out, for these weavers to form into various scarves and clothing.

Part of the Himalayan mountain range, the snow-capped peaks made for a stunning backdrop as we visited Karakul Lake. The vaunted K2 mountain (named for being the 2nd peak of the Karakoram range), second highest in the world, is nearby.
Out in the desert we explored the Thousand Buddha Caves, home to an ancient monastary of Buddhist monks with individual chambers carved into the stone face.
Top 10 Jobs Zach Wouldn't Last 2 Days At - In order to prevent the desert from completing overtaking and obscuring the road (this was the Cross-Desert Highway, an ardous 12-hour drive we undertook one day), the government decided to plant vegetation along the shoulder to trap and filter the grainy environment. Unfortunately, some poor souls need to be out there to water the plants. So two people are hired to live in one of these desolate, oven-like outposts in the middle of the desert -- and water the plants every day. These buildings dotted the highway every 3-5 miles or so. One tour of duty lasts 3 months (after that you fall prey to desert madness maybe?) and pays about $400/month. Food and fresh water have to be trucked in once a week to keep them alive. Unsurprisingly, the majority of desert gardeners are not locals, but immigrants from another province who are just poor and unknowing enough to sign up for the job. When not even the native desert folks want the job, you gotta wonder...
A minor delay in our journey across the Taklamakan desert caused by some wayward camels.
A mosque and burial ground for the sacred Islamic Yarkent King, about a 20 minute walk into the desert. A sandy wind is swirling around, and Tiffany was not happy.Amazingly, even out in the middle of this desert, Zach found a bright flower somehow flourishing.