Mongolia, A Report from the Field: Lunch before the Adventure

It’s lunch time on the first day of my three-day tour and we head for a tourist camp in Terelj National Park in Mongolia.  The camp itself is closed, but there’s a temporary kitchen set up in a ger, and for the first time in my life, I enter a ger.

The main lodge is closed for the winter.

Gers for tourist accommodations.

Half a dozen Mongolian men are seated at a table.   We take seats on the other side of the structure.

Soon, lunch appears.  There’s a yummy salad of tofu, pickles, and ham with mayo.   It’s a meal in itself, but it’s soon followed by delicious chicken noodle soup.  I’m full, having finished neither dish, but soon Purevdolgor, the chef, brings out Mongolian dumplings filled with ground sheep.   Then she tops it all off with chocolate ice cream.   A four course lunch in a ger.

Tofu, pickles, ham with mayo.

A divine chicken noodle soup.

Mongolian dumplings with ground sheep, called buuz.

Purevdolgor, the cook

I ask if I can see the kitchen.   She says it’s a mess, but I have Yusef tells her I’ve worked in many restaurant kitchens and owned my own restaurant.  Despite her reluctance, I consider the kitchen fine.

We back-track a short distance to where a few Mongolian horses are tied to a line.   As we pull up and park, a teen-aged boy jumps astride a horse and trots the horse to the line.   His feet hang well below the stirrups and I stand in awe as he seems to be one with the horse.   I am reminded of the saying, “A Mongol without a horse is like a bird without wings.”

Sound asleep in the noonday sun.

Mongolian saddles.

Unchanged since the 13^th century, the Mongol horse is stocky with short, but strong, legs.   It stands 12 to 14 hands, or 48 to 56 inches, and weighs about 600 lbs.  They are typically unshod and have few hoof problems.   These are the horses that helped the Mongols conquer much of the known world in the 13^th century.

This horse is a breed unto itself, not descended from the Przewalski’s wild horses as once thought.

Then it’s my turn.   I need help getting on, mostly because the girth strap is quite loose and the saddle slips towards me.   That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Here’s proof:   the horseman is tightening the girth strap.

But, there is a confession due here.  They do not let you ride off into the Mongolian sunset on these half-wild horses.   Instead, they lead them.   Yusef soon takes over for the drover.   We go a short distance and turn back.

Looking down at the saddle.

Yusef leads my wild mount.

These horses are turned loose to forage in the winter.

The whole point was to get a photo of me on a Mongolian horse for my step-daughter Diane, breeder and trainer of horses and mules.   And a zorse.   Once.

I buried my hand in the thick mane.   These horses can withstand temperatures far below zero.

Photos done with, we get back in the vehicle and travel down the beautiful valley in warm sunshine, back to the second ger I will ever enter.

Road scenery.   Handsome critter, isn't it?   These animals look like they were assembled with leftover parts.   Nothing seems to belong to the next part.

I will stay in one of these gers.

For interesting information on these amazing horses, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mongolian_horse

Mongolia, A Report from the Field: Puppies and Solitude

Safely down from slippery Turtle Rock, we load up in the Land Cruiser and head farther up the valley towards the Ariyabal Meditation Temple  high on the side of a mountain.

The meditation temple is in the patch of snow in the center of the photo, in the gray part of the mountain.

The meditation monastery at Terelj.

Snow covers the "road" up to the parking area.

From there on, it is all uphill.   Through the gate and then up a long concrete walk lined with Buddhist inscriptions and translations.  At the end of this walk is a gazebo, inside of which was a huge prayer wheel with--I kid you not!--a roulette wheel on top.

Spin the prayer wheel and wherever the arrow stops, that's the number of your Buddhist saying on the signs we just walked past.  Mine was 80:

 

Now the pathway is covered with snow, melting snow, slippery melting snow.  A suspended bridge is crossed gingerly as warmer air under the wooden slats has loosened the packed snow and a footfall in a certain way means you feet fly our from under you and, arms akimbo, your fate is in the hands of the mountain spirits.  Or maybe Buddha, but it seems to me that if Buddha gave a whit about your aching butt and bones,  he would see to it that the snow was melted away.

Yusef, the one and only.

Across the bridge, things get even dicier.   The trail is narrow and icy.   We finally arrive at the foot of the steps that lead to the temple itself, and they aren't any easier, though the snow is mostly gone from them, perhaps courtesy of this shovel.

But first, lying on a patch of dried grass, enjoying a good nap in the warm afternoon sun, is a female dog and two puppies.   All three wake up to greet us.

Tummy scratches and she's my friend for life.

Up the stairs and into the temple, where I point to a rendering of an exceptionally thin deity.   Yusef explains he ate only a certain plant, which turned his skin green.   Judging from another painting, he also didn't cut his toenails.

Looking down the valley though a window in the temple.

The green deity.   Note his rib cage.

And, look whose photo (plural, there were many) I find there.   This temple is of the Yellow Hat sect of Tibetan Buddhism.

We circle the temple itself on the outside, turning the prayer wheels, then start up again to a small building.  This journey is really treacherous.   Like the suspended bridge, the snow does not adhere to the wooden slats.   Add to that, many of the slats are either broken, rotten, or missing.

Inside the little stone structure, are these:

Bet he had a hard time finding shoes that fit.

And it was all downhill from here.   Slipping and sliding, I am glad when the two of us make it safely down the paths, though we opt to to walk in relative safety UNDER the curved bridge rather than across it.

The caretaker.

The dog and her puppies follow us far down the trail to the gate as we drive off down the valley to find lunch.

A view from the temple.   Turtle Rock is far in the distance, barely visible left of center in front of the mountains

Still there.   Not sure if they are sad to see us go, or making sure we really leave.

That's the back side of Turtle Rock.

A hidey hole way above the temple for the monk that really wants some solitude?