Last day of June. Two weeks to go!
It's raining in Gurvan Nuur. Today we are supposed to check out some sights of Chingis Haan.
So far this has been a very nice trip. Yesterday, I met a young man who had studied English at the University for 6 months and spoke English quite well. He was born in Dadal and has come to visit his parents to celebrate Naadam with them.
I went to a place that is said to be Chingis Haan's birthplace. It is an obo with a large stone in the center. The stone has some things written in Mongolian script. Next, was a visit to an artesian well where the water tasted very good. Our guide was a veterinary doctor who was my age.
I forgot to mention that the manager of the resort is quite nice, and Battoya thinks he is a Buryat, because of his accent.
This place is very beautiful. It looks much like the countryside around Seattle, but with more valleys and smaller mountains. Most of the Mongols here are Buryat and live in log cabins. I bet my friend, Joel, might think this was like a little Russian village with some gers for where the Khalkhas live.
The main Chingis Haan monument which was erected in 1961 under strange circumstances is not as bad as I had thought. Photographs that I had seen made it look like a slab of rock sticking out of the ground, sort of phallic. As a matter of fact, the men were joking with my guide, saying that, traditionally, women had to go up to it, kissing and embracing it. Needless to say, she didn't. Hey, even in Mongolia, men are men(pigs?). Ha! On the monument is an inscription in Mongolian script that says: "My body is not important. What matters is my [country's] State."
I learned some more customs today. When covering the smoke hole of a ger the line must be tied to the right of the door (going in). If it is tied to the left, it means that there is a death in the family. Rainy days are lucky days. Nomads try to do business on such days and will even begin their seasonal migrations on such days. All Mongol families have a family flag and when they wish for good luck for some endeavor, they will take a piece of their flag and tie it to an obo on a rainy day.
Yesterday while we were driving I saw a Mongol family migrating. Nothing seems to have changed after all these millenia. It's more or less done the same way.
Our driver, Altansukh, is a good driver and well prepared for emergencies. We had one flat tire on the way to Dadal and one when we arrived, but he handled it extremely well. They say that most Mongol drivers aren't very good, but if that is true then Altansukh is the exception. He has a good sense of humor, too.
Battoya told me that in the newspaper a Seattle man wanted to buy the Lenin Monument in Slovakia, but the Communist officials wouldn't sell. Probably some guy from Bellevue who needs that special touch next to his fish pond on his estate.
I took a nap afterwards and then we all went to get the 'best fisherman in Dadal'. He was a wonderful old man, a Buryat who enjoyed speaking Russian. Battoya said he was the kind of person most Mongols wouldn't like. It was five of us and another Buryat family in two jeeps that comprised our fishing expedition. But first, we stopped at a Hun-nu burial site.
The old man said that he thought a great warrior was placed here, because the stones that were used at the site were not native to the area. It was very impressive. To touch history... Then we went fishing.
We drove to the Onon River and everyone got out. It was a cloudy day with rain on and off. The old man got all his gear ready while we sat down for a drink. The veterinary doctor said that the river had not flooded, so that the water was still very clear. This meant that not many fish would be here.
While the old man set to fishing, we were drinking vodka and arkhi(Mongol milk wine - distilled airag). I tried to hold back, but the doc was getting plastered. The fisherman came back without any fish, so we drank some more. The rain started again and we all made for the the jeeps. Before too long the air in the jeep was stifling, because of the cigarette smoke and alcohol. Finally, we got moving. Well, almost.
We had gone down a steep slope in the jeep to reach the fishing spot. Now, we had to go back up it, but the fuel tank went dry as we made our climb. After what seemed like a long time of waiting around, Altansukh told Battoya and myself to go on ahead while they worked on the jeep. So we did, talking as we walked. Suddenly, the jeep appeared and we continued on our way. Unfortunately, the inside of the jeep now reeked of gasoline, because they had siphoned petrol from the spare tank inside. It was nauseating.
We drove around to a few places and then stopped at the veterinarian's place whose name, I found, was Baiasgalan. He had invited us for dinner and we eagerly accepted.
I really enjoyed it. We had ribs, steamed mutton dumplings, sweet wafers made in a waffle, and tea. We also had more vodka. At least three rounds more, maybe five, I don't remember. The old Mongol fisherman was a funny guy. Baiasgalan was completely plastered and when we left he was hunched, sitting head down, over the table.
When we got back to our ger, Altansukh built a fire and when I finally went to sleep it was uncomfortably hot inside.
By the way, yesterday I drank real airag. The stuff I drank at Bogd Uul was tarak, or yoghurt. Airag is definitely an acquired taste. It reminded me of a fermented drink my great uncle used to make in Guam. I drank it with some really tart curds. Airag is pretty tart , itself, so it all resulted in tart-overkill.