1 July 2011

It’s midway through the year already. It seems only yesterday that I was making the decision to move to Mongolia. Now I’ve been here two months. One of my best friends is celebrating an epic exploration find with all the rest of my (old) work team. Another amazing friend has moved in to a house that is (maybe, eventually) hers for the keeping. Trevor’s not far off his first breath and I’m eating peanuts and freshly smoked Khovsgol lake pike (fish) in my ger by the lake.

Yesterday was a day of very little. We ate a lot and read a lot. Today has not been too dissimilar. I’ve finished another book on my Kindle and created a list to help guide me during the frantic few hours I’ll have in UB to prepare for our next journey.

Dad and I did go on a bike ride after a few rounds of UNO. We stopped by a smaller lake and watched some very archaic shrimp flit around in the shallow water. If I was a biologist/ecologist, I’d say they have evolved very little since they became what we see today. They can’t see or hear – we threw rocks and shadowed them but nothing phased them. They felt their way around with their whole body and just changed direction when they ran into a rock or a weed.

Then we stumbled across a rack full of drying fish. They were 20cm-ish long and had been gutted but not scaled. They were strung by their head and their tummies were kept open with two little sticks, to aid the drying.

 

 

I guess once they were dry, they were smoked. It’s a pretty fair guess because we found a rudimentary smoking machine right by the dried fish, next to a large pile of wood. We commented on how delicious they would be and moved on.

 

 

To a log cabin being with with spectacular beams of pine. They’d obviously bought the pine beams pre-milled, but were making all the cuts and grooves to build a cabin. They were using a very old Chinese chainsaw, a crowbar and man power.

Back on the road and my tyres went super flat. Really flat. We stopped at a ger camp where two drivers were fixing their cars and asked for a pump. They whipped out a battery powered air compressor and we were back on the road. It was only a few minutes before they were flat again.

Dad needed a beer stop so we pulled in at a little shop and got three beers. As we were about to leave, the shopkeeper whipped open a box of smoked fish. They were the same guys we’d seen earlier in the morning! Only now they smelt all cooked, smoked and delicious! For 1000tugrik (about 70c), we got two fresh smoked fish. Our ger was locked when we got back so we sat on the step in the sun and ate smoked fish. Dad had his beer, I had some lemonade.

A lazy afternoon of packing, reading and showering and then we’re off – back to UB and my crazy month of camping and holidays begin!

Wednesday 29th June

A tumultuous night – we were in bed before sundown (10:30pm) and dad snored all night. It rained heavily and the guides were still sleeping (snoring) outside. I got a little bit of sleep, but not much. I was very grateful for the –10degree C sleeping bags got us though. I wasn’t cold at all.

If my bum and legs were sore yesterday, there’s no way to describe the lethargy I felt today. It was of course, worth the pain. Though I can’t help but thing how much more comfortable we’d have been in a 4WD ute.

Nutella on bread for breakfast and we were off. Through fairy harbouring forests and meadows of snow and wildflowers (think: the beginning of Hansel & Gretel before they meet the mean witch). A few ducklings/signets in the lake and lots more wild spring onions.

Lunch was 2minute noodles – we had to share 5 packets between 7 because we’d only bargained for 5 on our trip. We had an extra guide and some random deaf-mute who happily woofed down his food and jumped back on his bike to go home.

It was from our camp, a 25km ride home. And man-o-man did we feel it! The sun was hot and we were all worn to the bone. Nice as it was, it was no longer a holiday.

Closer and closer to home….. my horse – the wild fast one, doesn’t take much coaxing to get into a gallop. The transition from a canter to a gallop isn’t entirely smooth at the best of times and you have to be prepared to hold on for dear life.

I was prepared until we hit a bump, right on that transition mark. Wobbly in the saddle, I tried my best to remain IN the saddle. The force of him going forwards was too much to help me back INTO the saddle, even with all the strength I could muster.

He didn’t respond to my ‘slow down’ pulls on the reins (yeah, okay, they were definite life-depending-on-it TUGS) and I bumped completely out of the saddle, onto his neck. He freaked out and went faster. I’d accidentally let go of the reins so had no control. We were approaching the forest at galloping speed. My feet were still in the stirrups and I was still wrapped around his neck. The feeling I had was of pure and utter fear. Lots of people get hurt on horses. I had no helmet (I know, I know), I was galloping on the neck of a psycho horse with no reins and I was sure I’d end up flying over his head and being trampled.

Everyone else was plodding along behind as I had chosen to go faster. I had no one to help me.

I had to stop the horse but I couldn’t escape at all with my feet in the stirrups. To my surprise and with hardly any jiggling, my feet were freed from the stirrups and I could focus on finding the reins (with one hand because the other was focussing on falling off at pace of a bloody race car).

I fumbled around and got them in one hand and yanked. Doubled them over and yanked. Then yanked harder and harder and harder. Thank Christ – he stopped quite suddenly and I rolled off his neck onto the ground with the reins in my hand.

He was mighty pissed off and I was in total disbelief that I’d managed to come off him totally unscathed.

By this point, everyone had realised I was in strife and eventually made an effort to catch up to me. I had a bit of a tear up, mainly at how close I had come to being seriously hurt and how I’d somehow managed to get out of it.

After some deep breaths I was back on the horse and walking home. It couldn’t come soon enough.

Back to our ger – I had a cold shower and then some delicious pasta for dinner. Post-dinner I spotted a lady in her deel, milking her yaks. Dad and I went for a wander over to the yards. There were a few babies – so cute! The calves were penned and the females (heifers?) were in the big yard. She’d get a yak, tie its front hooves together, bring over her little seat and bucket, and milk the yak. Once she’d finished, she’d let the baby of that yak out to have a go at the remaining milk. The milk was SO thick.

She was quite friendly and let us just watch. Dad didn’t have a go at milking because he was wearing his last pair of socks with his sandals (faux pas) and didn’t want to dirty them. It wasn’t til we were walking back to our ger that he realised we could have just washed them…

The lady’s grandchildren came to help herd the yaks. Her grandson did the work and the 2yo granddaughter played. They boy wanted his little sister’s photo taken, so showed her how to pose. Hands by your side, no smile, feet together, looking straight at the camera. I showed her the photos – she loved it! So I took a video. She watched it 6 times before I took another. It took four videos to finally crack a smile out of her – it’s just not what’s done here!

The yaks had gone and the grandmother came and watched too. Dad was busy counting teeth in yaks to figure out how old they were.

There’s a group of people here – they were playing volleyball this afternoon and this evening they had a presentation. We’re sincerely hoping they don’t crank the karaoke tonight. We are SO tired!

I really surprised myself today. It was by no word of exaggeration the nearest to epic injury/death I’ve ever come. Here’s to hoping that’s the closest I’ll get. Because now a few hours after, I’m feeling fine and not dwelling at all. I handled the whole thing pretty well and still can’t believe I only broke a fingernail in the process.

Re: reindeer, we decided against it. It’d be like eating watermelon in winter. you know it’s not going to be very yummy and you know it’s not grown naturally  and has been trucked too many kilometres. But you eat it anyway. Today our morals won and we didn’t buy the winter watermelon. Supporting a cruel and unsustainable practice is not cool.

Tuesday 28th June

After a stressful morning of wondering if we’d packed the right gear and food, we mounted our horses. Only after telling one of the camp ladies twice (the second time with her gear in her hands, ready to go) that we didn’t need and ‘English’ speaking guide. Her English was terrible and she was adamant she was going to learn off us. We didn’t need an English speaking nor did we want to pay for her or feed her. In hindsight this sounds terribly rude. In context: every second person you meet wants to use you to learn English, and you kind of get over playing ‘nice’ to people who don’t want to be your friend – only want to learn English.

We got on our way. Two hours in my ass was thoroughly sore. My horse is a ‘fast’ horse – the same one I had the other day. i was lead on a lead for the first few kilometres…… And was about to chuck a wobbly when he finally let me go – making sure I knew to hold tight on the reins. And tight I did – the whole way!! He was a gunner! (below: me on my horse)

By the end of the 40km ride he was a bit less psycho. I had a great time on him though. He was pretty responsive and we got to go fast.

We followed the shoreline for about 25km through forested bits and rocky bits. Then we climbed. Up and up and up until my ass was red raw. (below: dad on his horse, going up and up and up – lake in the background)

Oh man, was it ever worth it! The view of the lake – the smooshed structural geology, the alpine wildflowers, the acres of meadows at 3000m altitude.

Then, of course we had to ride back down. We walked the horses for a bit and then plodded on down. Lots of wild parsley, aniseed, rhubarb, spring onions. Coupled with the smell of the fresh pine leaves, we were in a somellier’s heaven. It wasn’t far from it for a normal person anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

Reindeers. We didn’t see any reindeers.

They’re quite contentious. The money hungry Tsaatan people (reindeer herders; and, who wouldn’t be – if you had the opportunity to better your lifestyle, you’d take it, right – at any expense other than your own?!) are very nomadic people living high in the Khovsgol mountains. Reindeer have adapted to the cold weather, the high altitude and the food that goes with the territory.

That territory is very inaccessible for the normal tourist. so some Tsaatan buy a couple of reindeer (five, usually), bring them closer to the lake (and therefore the tourists) and charge people to take photos of them. The reindeer more often than not are part of an annual intake. They die, so they buy new ones and it’s worth it. They make enough money to afford the business of dying reindeer.

So, I’d bloody love to see reindeer. So would dad. When else would we ever see one? So, do we support this unsustainable business (there’s not many reindeer left) or do we miss our once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of seeing one? We’re undecided.

We’re camping along the lake and by ghost it’s lovely. Dinner – not so much. Pasta with a tomato sauce with lots of bits in it. The stupid cooker burnt the sauce and the tomato paste was gross. Lucky I filled up on Nutella beforehand.

(below: my horse; dad and his posy of hand picked spring onions; preparing dinner)

The horses are resting for tomorrow. We’re in a tent and the guides are outside in their sleeping bags. Three of us are squished into what we would call a two man tent (fits two swags and nothing else). It’s quite cosy, to say the least. It’s also about to rain, but bugger it. I don’t care – What A Day!

Monday 27 June

We woke up to rain on the ger roof this morning. Rain rain rain. We had few plans for the day but the rain certainly took the fun out the plans we did make.

I read a lot of a book I bought on my Kindle called ‘Minding Frankie’. It’s an easy read and I’m really enjoying it. We stoked up the fire and sat in total, surreal silence. There was the occasional yak grunt but that was it. (below: dad making the most of the ‘rainy day’ and sleeping a LOT)

Fish for lunch that was obviously quite fresh. Yummmm.

After lunch we’d organised to go fishing. The rain took most of the fun out of it. We cast a few lines, got lots of seaweed (or, lakeweed) snags and came home. More reading and some UNO of which I was successively very unlucky at. Dinner, shower, more reading.

Lovely.

Above left (clockwise): wading through the taiga to find a decent fishing spot; dad casting a line; the drowned rat that I think is suppose to replicate a swimming marmot so that the big fishies try to eat it – it floated on the surface.

June 26

(A recount of June 26)

Writing by candle light. Dad’s stolen the lamp and my Kindle light.

After a relatively good night sleep, I woke early and took some pitiful photos. I really suck at landscape and I think your knowledge and equipment has to be a lot better than mine to have a decent go at it. My photos never do the scenery justice.

I went back to bed after stoking the fire as everyone was still snoozing. Breakfast was completely edible – lovely surprise!

We lounged around while one of the guys we’re with rode a dodgy push bike (all day might I add). The hill behind the camp provides a spectacular vantage point. We huffed and puffed our way up. And the view was, as predicted, was beautiful. Perfect temperature. No wind. The contrasting colours of the blue lake and the bright green pine trees is something you have to see to believe. We just sat and enjoyed (and I took photos).

 

Lunch at 1pm – outside overlooking the lake – that holds 2% of of the world’s fresh water. It was a 3 course coleslaw, beetroot soup and main course meal. Me being the resident vego (by accident but I don’t regret it) got a delicious omelette.

At 2pm on the dot (unusual, I know!) our horses arrived and we mounted for our hour long adventure.We just poked along around the lake edge. My horse was a faster one so I was held in close quarters to the guide (as in, my knee rested in the guide’s knee and I have his horse’s dust engrained into my white pants). We all did very well and stopped on the way back to purchase dad a beer at the shop.

 

 

Would you like 2L of beer in a plastic bottle, or 1.6L of beer in a plastic bottle?

 

Dad chose the 1.6L bottle.

 

 

100m away a family had freshly killed a goat and were mid-way through butchering it when we arrived for a sticky beak. Dad checked – the goat was at least 6 years old so would have been pretty tough and stinky.

The men were butchering and the women were cleaning out the guts. Once the intestines were cleaned, they will fill them with blood, boil it and slice it and eat it like a sausage. They had a blow torch ready to burn the hair off the goat head so they could boil it and eat it too.

They were unbelievably friendly and were desperate for us to stay and eat with them. Dad showed them a tasty bit of meat he likes on the goat and they cut it out especially to cook it for him. Of course we were still with our guide and had to depart.

I always feel ever so horrible turning down offers like that. They’re genuinely so excited to share the experience with you, but you have to decline – or tell a white lie in order to get away. To me it feels like turning down a genuine Christmas lunch offer and I hate it every time. I’d love to sit there and enjoy it. And I would have eaten the stinky goat. I can stand the smell of stinky goat. But it’s often just impractical.

Agh. To put it in context: it would be like meeting some nice people camping at Moolarben, cooking them a massive roast and getting wine out, setting the table and then having them a. not arrive or b. turn up for two seconds  to say ‘no, sorry, but thanks anyway’.

That’s what it feels like to me anyway, and it’s what I imagine every time I reject or ignore an offer like that.

Post horse riding we had to nap. We were sleepy!

More reading, napping and admiring yak calves (it’s really weird being introduced to a totally domesticated animal that you know nothing about! It’s quite fun, actually. Dad is loving it!).

Dinner, shower (hot dribble shower), more reading. We tried to organise a fishing trip but with one rod and 3 people, actual fish are unlikely.

June 25

(a recount of June 25)

After worrying all night that my passport needed to be in two places at once (at the Russian Embassy and in Khovsgol with me) – it wasn’t necessary.

I woke up at 6:30am to do last minute packing. We walked to the bus stop in the semi-rain, past the square full of ceremonial military.

The bus of the airline picked us up and drove us to the airport. (Thanks, Eznis Airways)

They accepted my ‘Alien Card’ as ID, thank goodness. And we were on our way! (below: dad and I at the airport)

Small little plane that costs $270 return to Khovsgol. Probably 30 people on the plane. It was in pretty good nic. And we got a yummy sandwich. The pilot was American and the air host was an enthusiastic Mongolian (rare).

We were picked up from Muren Airport by our ger camp company. We shopped at the supermarket – for one whole week of water for four, vodka and two nights’ food for camping when we go horse riding. (Below: dad packing the shitty van with our supermarket shop)

On the road by 3:30pm (to the lake), our journey confirmed for Dad what I’ve been trying to communication for a while. Yes. The roads are shit. And incessant. 130km of shitty road in a shitty Delica van with a particularly shitty driver.

At one point I noticed him nodding off and began to pay particular attention because I wasn’t sure if it was just me being culturally insensitive and thinking his eyes were closed when they weren’t.

There was no doubt. He was microsleeping more than he was awake. I said something to the guys (he didn’t speak English) and they were slow to believe….. Until the vehicle almost rolled into a gully because his eyes were shut as we ascended the bank of the gully and he drove us over a boulder. Lots of swear words from us and he woke up for a while. From then on I was constantly watching him though.

After a particularly long and arduous journey (130km distance at 30km an hour in a vehicle with NO suspension), we spotted the lake and it was instantly worth it. It’s a large, blue, serene, beautiful lake. Ger camps dot the shore and ducks with ducklings swim (water too cold for us!). Yaks of various colours and horses graze on the taiga that meets the lake. (below: a sneak peak of the lake – our first glimpse of water. Woo!)

The sun sets and the air cools. The stove in our ger is lit and we have dinner (mine soy protein chicken as I told them I was vego so I didn’t have to eat mutton. To be honest, for the last week I’ve considered it – the thought of consuming meat makes me queasy).

Dad lit the candle in the ger (no electricity) and now we’re reading and writing and preparing for bed (after a nice warm shower). (below: dad by the lake on the left; me outside our ger on the right)

Quote of the day: (in the jeep) “if this were Australia, there’d be a slab of beer in here. You’d be scratching to swallow it though {too bumpy to drink anything}. I guess that’s why they drink vodka, because beer would get too shook up {from the shitty road}”.