Trans-siberian: More Mongolia

Morning archery session at the ger camp,  aiming the blunt-tipped arrows at a sheepskin target. The arrows arc through the air with a satisfying flair. 

Impromptu volleyball game with some kids before reluctantly heading back towards the city. On the way, we stop at a religious site on the side of the road – a pile of stones, topped by an object covered in fluttering scarves, mostly blue, strung with prayer flags. 

Closer inspection reveals other items around the stones – small clay pots, buddha statues, crutches, a picture frame. As instructed, I choose a stone from the earth, and walk clock-wise 3 times around the pile, the edge of the stone rough against by finger. (I am reminded of the Cruz de Ferro as I contemplate the  possible significance of various offerings).  When my third circle is complete, I toss my stone to join the others, and Niema fills me in on the background of these religious sites, called an ovoo. 

Ovoo fun facts:

• These sites are significant to both Buddhists and Shamanists.
• The piles are begun by a priest, probably because the place has a spiritual vibe or energy. Then passing people add more rocks, scarves, flags…
• The tradition began long ago, when men going to war carried a stone from their hometowns and, when they reached the mountain pass carrying them to their uncertain future, they dropped the stone. Coming home from war, each man picked up his stone; those that remained were a memorial to the fallen.
• Blue represents long life, which is why blue scarves are prevalent.

 Back in town, we meet a local guide, who brings us on a tour of the Ger District of Ulan-Bator, which ended up being one of the most interesting parts of the trip for me, and highlighted the vast difference in life experiences between people in different parts of the world.

UB has a population of over 1 million people, and 68% of them live in the ger district, while the rest live in apartments. Electricity is available in the District, but water must be purchased at, and carried home from, the communal well (which is connected to the city water supply, so it doesn’t run out). Stoves are used for cooking and heating, and there is a new program that allows people to exchange their old wood or coal-burning stoves for a more environmentally-friendly stove, at  a fraction of the cost, in an effort to reduce air pollution. 

The District has a lot of car mechanics. K-12 education is free to every Mongolian – even in the country, nomadic kids can go to boarding school, paying only for food (and perhaps contributing a sheep or some wheat). Every Mongolian – man, woman, child – is also entitled to 700 square meters of land. Once claimed, it is theirs to keep, sell, or leave as an inheritance. There are rules governing where people can claim their allotment. Slowly, people in the District are selling their land to developers, who are building apartment blocks. They are, as we were told, sitting “on a gold mine”, and are in a position to not only receive a good price for their land, but perhaps a new home in the apartment block.

We visit a ger that is home to a man, his wife, and 2 of his children. Two of his sons, out of six children, have gers in the same plot of land. The sons are off completing their stint in the army. The man has stopped working – he used to work in the big market – and is now taking care of his grandkids while their fathers are away. His wife cleans at the local university.

            We sip traditional drink – milky green tea laced with salt, cupping the bowls in two hands, and learn that the man of the house is an archer. He moved his family to UB six years earlier, purchasing this plot of land, because their nomadic lifestyle didn’t provide enough work, or resources, to support such a large family. The ger is large, and their possessions seem a mix of necessity and sentiment – dishes, cooking pots, three beds, painted cabinets; and archery medals, family photos,  an animal skull.  Wedged above the ceiling struts is an old bow; easily five feet long and unstrung. These days, people use trucks to move their lives, but this ger and all its contents would have required five camels to transport it to the city.

            A chubby-cheeked child totters in, clutching the door frame for support, but our coos and waves only make her burst into tears, and she is snatched up by her mother as we ask the man of often he practices his archery. He laughs. Not often. He’d like to, but, you know… life. But he takes down a bow and flexes the string, demonstrating his technique. 

We inquire about entertainment – how do they relax? 

“Talk to each other” (A smile) “Gossip.”

Imagine that.

Here in the city, there is more to do, of course, and even in the country, solar power now allows TV in the gers along with lights, as long as the sun shines. Looking around, the simplicity of this life is appealing – a minimum of possessions, the ability to move your life in a single day. The diet, on the other hand,  is not so appealing: In the country, with no refrigeration, the summer diet consists mainly of dairy products. Then before winter sets in, livestock are slaughtered to take advantage of the natural freezer. Even in the city, this is the way. Our tour guide tells us that last winter, her family had six sheep slaughtered, and kept the meat, wrapped in plastic, on their apartment balcony.

Her parents still live in the ger district, she and her husband opted to take their three children, and her grandmother, to an apartment, because they could afford to do so. 

The last question we direct at our host is about the anchor tattoo on his hand. From his army days, he says. It was the fashionable thing to do. This is a landlocked country, we mention, puzzled. How does anything nautically-themed become a trend?

            “We dream” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

            As we exit, a tiny pair of felt booties are drying on the roof, and they seem to represent something – a simplicity, a freedom, a family.