230908 – Mongolia, Ulaan Batar to Ger Camp

230908 – Mongolia, Ulaan Batar to Ger Camp

We woke up and collected our bags long before dawn. The group was still somewhat subdued from the length and tedium of the day before. Anne was still a shamed face when she appeared at our door.

Arriving in Ulaan Batar, a local intrepid guide rounded up the group. Anne appeared with the last member and discussed the upcoming day at length with the local. It was a little chilly here, but tolerable. The hung-over and tired hazed clouded us all the way through being positioned on the bus, the stop at the bank to change currency and the drive to the hotel. These were the only duties of the local guide, she pointed out a handful of features and then bid farewell.

We were only using this hotel for a couple of hours, particularly to shower and have breakfast. Liam and I shared once again, alternating between toilet, naps and showers. The power was out for the hotel, sanitation was conducted by candle-light.

Breakfast was a delicate affair, strangely fried potatoe, eggs, noodles, an odd definition of fries, cordial like juice and instant coffee. Everyone was suffering and there was still a long bus ride to be had.

Day-packs had been assembled for the Ger camp and main packs were stored. We boarded the bus with our essentials and small bags of dirty laundry. There would be a stop at the supermarket for hang-over cures after depositing dirty clothes for cleaning.

We had entered the hotel at dawn, when the streets had been deserted. It was now about 8AM and peak-hour. At least, I HOPE this was peak hour.. Mongolians have a strange definition of Right of Way, three were NO traffic lights anywhere, a fender bender we witness degenerated into clawing at each other´s throats and punches. Getting anywhere in the bus was a challenge, I later realised that we managed to get to the laundrette strangely easily..

Driving through the city, the world of this people began to intrigue me. For a western mind, it can be a little difficult to find some norms by which you can form an opinion of a society. The more alien the culture, the more different the drives and ambitions of the people, the more intricate the assessment. It is a sad convinience that the globalisation of the American market can so carefully insert, with surgical precision, little grafts of western culture. The Big-Mac exchange rate, for example, combined with the local pay rate and the desire for fashion/accessories, can allow a forienger a normalised spectrum for comparing their home patch of grass to the current surroundings. Its amazing how much we all like to compare fortunes..

Through all of this, I did notice that the class divide seemed to be closer in Mongolia than many of the other countries I had visited. It was certainly still noticable, but the contrasts within each strata were impressively striking. It appeared to be entirely acceptable to live in a Ger in the suburbs, the traditional circular tent of the nomads. In the suburbs, there were houses and appartment blocks seperated by blocks of Gers. It was more than a little surreal.
Days later, on our return to Ulaan Batar, I noticed very beatifully groomed and extremely fashionable women walking down dirt tracks from the lower-middle class outer suburbs. Between Gers and rickety wooden fences that surrounded houses that ranged from dingy to afluent. The image was strangely balanced, I imagine that she had a very good job and that everyone lived in similar circumstances.

Back to the present, the Supermarket had been a worry, everyone had been told that Mongolia was VERY expensive.. NOPE!!! Cheaper than Australian prices for most things, chocolate, caffeine and icecream were procured, along with a strange selection of bottled water.. There was a brand called ¨Sweat¨... it was a local brand..

A couple of the lads had picked up beer, possibly for Hair of the Dog. On returning to the bus, they also found out how cheap the plastic bags are here.. a broken bottle had the front of the bus smelling like beer for the trip out out to the Ger camp.

Rubbing deodourant under my nose to save my now delicate stomach from the smell of warm beer.. M&Ms and ice-cream had me feeling much better. Stowing the box of tissues in key locations for the next few days (no toilet paper in Mongolia), I settled in for a snooze between glimpses at the Mongolian country side.

Once we were out of the city, the traffic settled into its own pace. Our driver had said very little and was overtaking with a ferocity that expressed his displeasure of the smell of warm beer..

A bit over an hour out of the city, we had passed through multiple road-checkpoints. There were signs of lost industry every few minutes. Old complexes with rusting roofs and guardhouses, once imposing gates were patched with planks of wood. Chain-link had long since dissolved and the metal bar fences were noticably gap-toothed. Nice and modern cars pulled out of near-abandoned factory compounds, more than likely little more than storage space and salvage. There had once been chimney stacks burning in this countryside, rolling progress out the door and fueling the machine. Change had come and the works of long retired hands had now dwindled from disrepair and neglect into dereliction.

Pulling over to the side of the road near a pony tethered to a power pole and a post with a big eagle on top, the driver beeped his horn to draw a pair of men out of a nearby hut. We pilled off the bus and walked over.

The eagle was massive.

The driver negotiated and announced we could get photos holding the eagle for the equivalent of about $1AUD. The first person tentatively stepped forward and, when it was obvious that the great hunting bird would not be tearing our eyes out, thee vast majority of the group followed.

The bird wasnt just massive, it was also impressively heavy. As I held the 5kg eagle above head hight, the local tugged on the cord teathering its feet. The resultant bobbing made it open its wings to retain balance. About a 1.2m wingspan.

And this was a baby.. only 18-24 months old. They can live past 24 years and the locals take them hunt wolves.

WOLVES.. a bird.. hunting MONGOLIAN AND SIBERIAN WOLVES...

We were all a little more than just impressed.

Back on the bus, we continued on. We stopped about half an hour later at the top of a hill. Anne told us that this was a significant shaman monument associated with the spirit of the sky. Consisting of a large pile of stones and rocks, about 2 metres high and at least 3m in diameter, with several sticks or branches piercing upwards from the centre. Many of the small rocks had cloth tied around it, the sticks that acted as the pinical of the monument also had brightly coloured cloth tied to them. Diligently following the instructions to show respect to the monument, we each threw three small stones onto the pile and walked the circumference three times in a counter-clockwise direction. Promises of good-fortune were long-standing for such signs of respect to the local customs. Another bus arrived with its payload of tourists, we got photos out of the way before inundation. The smokers smoked and we all made sounds of disgust at the nearby sign advertising a golf-resort.

There wasnt much more dozing to be had on this trip before arriving at the Ger camp. We dismounted and were escorted to out accommodation.

A Ger is a circular tent with vertical walls reaching approximately 2m high, the roof is on about a 30 degree angle from here. The roof is supported by wooden spokes, as is the wall, appearing to be of an intricate arrangement and requiring thick cord to run around the perimiter like a haybale. Tension of the cords and the particular pattern of the spokes in the roof appear to be crucial for this free-standing structure. The walls and ceiling consisted of a thick felt material and an assortment of dark or transparent sheet-plastic. Dubious of the comfort of these great tents, I had forgotten that the Mongolian winter can reach -40 degrees and this was the traditional shelter. At the moment it was cold, but the wood burning heater was not currently in use.

Adam and Andy were both bitterly disappointed that the floor was raised concrete covered with lino and that each Ger had mains-sockets and electric lights. They had been hoping for an authentic experience, these had clearly been constructed with tourists in mind..

Depositing our gear, the boys tent went for a walk up the hill. I was quite concious of my knee after the long andd hard travel of the past day. I was still a bit hung-over and exhausted and hadnt done any real exercise in weeks.. I was determined to keep up with the others.
At the top of the hill, the view was quite impressive of the valley stretching away in three directions from our camp. Scaling the great rock at the top of the hill, the view improved apart from some pitiful and pathetic graffeti. Sitting in the quite, we decended and headed for lunch.

Lunch was a delicious assortment of hot-dishes. Filled pancakes and buns, hot vegetables and a great deal of lamb. Greg was a little let-down with the minimal vegetarian options, but I was delighted. By the third attempt, the vegie-filled alternatives had made their way to his plate and his meaty morsels found their way to mine. My stomach was still a little sensitive, complaining a the pungent lamb, but was shortly settled with a third dish. Our driver spoke english that appeared to improve with each hour, his humour was a great deal better than on the drive. He seemed to be forgetting Andys effort with the beer bottle.

I went for a nap after lunch, the rest of the group heading out for a horse-ride. I would have dearly loved to have ridden the legendary sprinting horses of Mongolia, but was still under strick orders not to, plus I was exhausted and feeling pretty rotten. One of the more notable stories I heard about these horses was that the local heroe had ridden a 12km sprint in 24 minutes.. they were even faster for shorter distances.

As my snooze finished, the group returned. They were excited from their ride and it was soon obvious that I would have to return here to try it for myself one-day. We all just hung-out and walked or talked for the rest of the afternoon. There was not really much to do at the camp, there wasnt really time to set out for a longer walk or to arrange a game of anything. It was only a little time till dinner.

Dinner featured similar cuisine to lunch-time. It a great deal of meat and was remarkably delicious. I had only eaten Mongolian BBQ back home, so this home-cooked style was new and exciting. Yoghurt and milk followed the meal and our driver started to talk in ernest.

Our Driver, Mei-an was very old, by Mongolian standards, aged at about 60 while looking less than 50 in a country where the male life-expectancy was somewhere in between. He had lead an impressive and interesting life. He mentioned a former trade profession and was appeared mostly self educated. Previously a union head and involved in politics, he was now just a bus-driver and devoted Grandfather, I cant remember the exact number of descendants but it deserved a high-5 by many of the guys. Double digits at least.

Having spent a great deal of time in the country, and having a lot of family from rural regions, Mei-an had been an avid hunter. Still venturing out in winter with an ancient Soviet sniper rifle, he particularly hunted wolves and the occassional bear. He told stories of the changes in nature and how the different men hunt, that wolf packs had grown from pairs, to several, now to dozens. Walking over a hill-top tracking an unwary wolf he had come across a dozen of its mates lazing under some trees further upwind, he kept it that way and beat a hasty retreat. He spoke of the cunning of the wolves, how they were now more bold, forcing their way into homesteads and liberating them of all the livestock.
A brother of his had spotted a wolf and pursued it in a truck or tractor. Summitting a small hill, the wolf had completely vanished. A second look revealed just a corner of a tail poking out from behind a power-pole. The quadraped had stood up on its hind-legs, placing its fore-paws high on the pole. Standing as such, it was trying to hide from its pursuer. Noticing his quarry, the man began to drive around, attempting to get a good shot at the beast. Not to be outsmarted, the wolf walked its way around the far-side of the power-pole, relying only on its hearing to track the moving vehicle. Realising this, the driver began to close the distance to the pole while continueing to circle. Spiralling in, the wolf eventually lost its nerve and made a break for the next cover.
I would like to say that such a smart animal made it, but these men appear to be legendary sharp-shooters.
Plus, what was a wolf doing in the deep midst of this grazing region..

We continued to talk into the night, slowly the others drifted away until it was just me and the driver. Discussing hunting and other stories, I had been invited to go hunting wolves if I ever came back to Mongolia.

This country is AWESOME!!!

I took my time on the way back to the Ger, soaking in the starlit sky. It was as full of twinkling lights as it had been blue earlier today. It is something that I have missed from home, blue skies and stars at night.

Back in the Ger, the boys had worked their way through a few cans. One had already been spilt and the emergency measures had come out to try and stop the place smelling. The fire had been lit and extra wood was soon delivered. Mei-An appeared after a while and growled at the ladies carrying the wood, no-one was sure why.

The night dragged on for a bit and I rearranged my gear. Adam and Liam had started to play tag with a pair of wet socks while Andy was partially passed out. For some reason, Liam had started to become more aggressive from this point in the trip. I wasnt too phased by his blustering and before long the light was out and sleep was on the horizon.