Surrealism 2.0

We left Khalkiin Gol, the most eastern point of our road trip, last Thursday. It was a thoroughly depressing little town that showed the dire consequences of mismanaging the transition from  a planned economy to a market economy. There was a state farm that was headquartered here and a population of 10,000. After the transition the farm quickly went bankrupt and the population plunged to 3000. The plant the supplied hot water for heat and consumption couldn’t pay its bills so it too had to close. Consequently the Soviet era apartment building all have make-shift chimneys poking out of the windows for the wood burning stoves that have been installed in the kitchens.

We drove west for a day and a half, camping just west of a large oil field. We made it to Baruum Urt by mid-afternoon on Saturday. We didn’t think we were going to find a hotel room since Baruum Urt is a state capital and they were having their Nadaam that weekend. Luckily we found a ger hotel that had one vacancy with four beds still available. It was a relief to find it since it had been raining all day and the prospect of camping was not pleasant. We unpacked and spent a little while walking around the town. We were told that there were 6 “modern” toilets on the edge of the ger camp. 3 for women, 3 for men. After getting our gear unpacked I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and headed off to “check the horses” as they say here. At the end of our row of gers, sure enough, there were 6 gleaming porta-potties. It was dark enough to see that they were even lit on the inside. You can’t imagine the level of disapointment when I opened the door only to find that these were, in fact, pit toilets. The muddy conditions only made it worse. I’d been dealing with open pit outhouses for most of the trip so far. For a guy with one replaced knee and another that’s about to be replaced, pit toilets are NOT fun. There should be a  law against them under the heading of “Squater’s Rights”. Oh well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do…

The population of this city is normally around 25,000 and it swells to over 40,000 when the Nadaam happens. Mongolians love to party and this place was hoppin’.

Back at the tent we readied ourselves for bed only to find that our ger was infested with hundreds and hundreds of little black beetles. They didn’t bite, but they were very annoying. Between the music, the partying and the beetles none of us got much sleep.

The next day we spent touring the city and watching some of the sporting events. A Nadaam is centered around the three “Manly” sports of horse racing, wrestling and archery. Quite humorous since all the horse races were won by girl riders. The one thing that I failed to mention in my previous post about the horse races was that 98% of the riders were riding bareback. The other humorous part of these being the “manly” sports is that the reason the vests they wear for wrestling are open on the front is because one of the warrior queens was a very good wrestler and was successful in defeating many men. Thus the open front. They don’t want any girls sneaking into the competition and beating any of the guys.

That night we found a nifty little way to get rid of most of the beetles. They like to hang on the roof and sides of the ger. We took empty water bottles and trapped them so they fell to the bottom of the bottle. We passed a few hours gathering as many beetles as possible. It was like emptying the ocean with a tea cup. We were fighting a losing battle, but it did pay dividends. We had far fewer of the little buggers to contend with when we turned in for the night. It was a pleasant evening and the steady rain kept most of the revelers inside. I fell into a deep sleep only to be awakened at about midnight by a 1000 watt car stereo right outside our tent. I just about came out of my skin when it started blaring American gangsta rap music at about 140dB. We hadn’t thought about it, but it was the last night of Nadaam and the Mongolians were going to party come hell or high water. In between the songs on the car stereo we could hear the band playing in the city square only a few blocks away. I think there was a little competition to see who could be the loudest. Around 2:00AM there was a spectacular fireworks display that lasted about 15-20 minutes. The fireworks were being launched from the field right next to the ger camp. After all of that the party quickly petered out, but any chance of getting back to sleep was long gone. I think I dozed a few minutes here and there, but that was about it.

The next morning we got up, had breakfast and hit the road. We had stopped for gas and consulted with several other drivers who were headed in the same direction. We were confident that the road we chose would take us to our next destination. The farther and farther we went on this road it became more and more apparent that this road was not well used. In fact, at one point, it just ended. No road, no trail, no nothing. A little conversation between Engthbier and Shombodon along with a little fiddling with the GPS yielded no explanation of why we ran out of road. So we did the only logical thing. We started off cross country. We just headed west and figured we’d hit another road at some point. Now, mind you, doing this in Mongolia isn’t a bad thing, the terrain is flat as a pancake where we were. I couldn’t help thinking about the pioneers of the American west and how much they would have enjoyed having an Isuzu SUV to traverse the great plains.Sure enough, about an hour and half later we come across another road that is oriented east and west. Easy choice, take a left and head west.  The next ger we come across we pull over and chat with the man of the house. He clues us in to where we are and how to get to where we want to go. No problem. Off we go. A little while later we spot another ger and we stop to confirm that we are on the right course. I get out and take a few photos While Shombodon talks to the man of the house. After I put my camera away Shombodon calls to Maaike and me. He leads us over to the door of the ger and disappears inside. I guess that means we are to follow. As I near the door I hear what I think is some sort of broadcast. Once inside the ger I’m stunned to see that the occupants are watching the Olympics on their small, flat screen TV! (wrestling, of course) We all take a seat and the lady of the house sets out bowls for all of us and pours what I think is a round of milk tea. As she hands out the bowls, Shombodon proudly  announces that this is Mongolian beer, the dreaded fermented mare’s milk. It takes ever ounce of will power I have to keep from launching my self at him and snapping his little neck. He knows that I have have been suffering from intestinal distress for the last couple of days and the very last thing I need to ingest is this concoction. To be polite I put the bowl up to my lips and feign sipping the foul smelling brew. Since we’ve been on the road for a week and a half, I haven’t had the chance to trim my mustache consequently it soaks up a little of it . Out of habit I lick my lips and get a good taste of the stuff.  It tastes like a cross between sour milk and bad yogurt with just a bit of sharpness from the alcohol content. It’s about as strong as beer. Everybody else is slurping it up like it’s the nectar of the gods. I guess it’s an acquired taste, but for me it would have to be acquired with a gun pointed at my head. It’s made by taking the mare’s milk, which has 7 times as much sugar in it as regular cow’s milk, and storing it in a bag made from horse hide. I’m not sure if yeast is added or not but there is something in the horse hide that helps the fermentation process. It’s not the most disgusting things I’ve ever had to eat or drink, but I’m glad I can cross that off the list of things to do in my life. Something really weird will have to happen during the rest of this trip to supplant this as the most surreal episode of the journey.

We stop in a small town and interview a few of the older men living there. This town is a stark contrast to Khalkiin Gol. This was a collective farm and it was divided up amongst the residents of the town during the transition. Immediately after the transition the residents got together and formed a cooperative. It was an amazing decision and the farm is going very strong. The men are obviously quite proud of the farm and it’s management. The little town is one of the nicer ones we’ve seen along the way.

We continue westward and as we near our destination Shombodon wants to take us to the ger of an old woman he knew during his days working in this area. We find her ger with no problem and she remembers him from days gone by. As we enter her ger we find her listening to the Olympics on the radio. She is hopeful that 2 of the Mongolians competing in the games will win medals. One for marksmanship and another for judo. She is delightful and her stories of growing up and going to boarding school are a real treat to listen to. She tells of how her father was a Lama and that he had been taken away during the purge in the late 1930s. Lamas, or monks, started to marry around that time to hide the fact that they were Buddhist monks. The high level Lamas were killed, the mid level Lamas were sent away (to work camps maybe?) and the lower level monks were just sent home. Several of Shobodon’s uncles were either killed or sent away during the purge.

We continue westward to Choyr to visit Shombodon’s family. Shombodon and Enghtbier stay with their family and Maaike and I are put up in a small hotel. We spend two nights here and Maaike interviews Shombodon’s sister. She is retired now and rents a greenhouse that was originally built by the local coal mine. She grows cucumbers, tomatoes and bell peppers.

The next day we pack up and turn the Isuzu northward to Ulaan Bataar. We are presented with a 2 litre coke bottle full of fermented mare’s milk as a going away present. Halfway to UB we stop along the paved(!!!!) highway for a pitstop and Shombodon pours a large cupful of the mare’s milk and does his best to get me to try it. “It’s fresh”, he says. “Much better that the other,” he says unconvincingly. I had to laugh. I think to myself that he had just spoken the ultimate oxymoron. The words “fresh” and “fermented mare’s milk” should never, ever be spoken in the same sentence. Ever!

We are back in UB now. Yesterday, after unloading the Isuzu, I had lunch at Millie’s. I had a nice big Greek salad. I never thought I’d be so happy to see a vegetable! After a good night’s rest and breakfast, we are doing laundry and planning the next road trip. I need to take a walk downtown to the camera store and see if I can find a charger for the mini-cam battery.