Przewalski's horses are pretty damned awesome

Hello hello! Before diving into the next fascinating installment of The Mongoliosity Serial, I feel compelled to make a quick note addressed directly to you, the reader: over the past week, I've suddenly become aware of your presence, and I won't lie to you--it's a bit disconcerting. As a result of the sudden flood of correspondence I received in the wake of the riots last week, I was introduced to more than a dozen individuals whose readership of this blog had been previously unknown to me. And now that I know about you, as I sit down to type out this entry it feels as though you're all standing just over my shoulder, hawkishly scrutinizing every word I say! Go on, yuk it up out there in Readerland while I agonize over the placement of commas; whether to describe an ancient Mongolian artifact as "antediluvian" or simply "old;" whether or not the content of certain rants is appropriate for readers of all ages. Kick back and relax; I'll try not to disappoint you.

This was a lot easier when I thought Mom and Dad were the only ones following my blog.

Since the riots occurred Tuesday night, you'll recall that by Wednesday morning the president had declared a state of emergency. This meant tanks at intersections, widespread restrictions on auto traffic, a curfew in effect from 10 pm to 8 am each night, and, by far the most importantly, a prohibition on the sale of alcohol in the capital city. Oh dear lord, why?? We weasely foreigners attempted on several occasions to feign obliviousness, innocently ordering beer at every restaurant we visited in the hopes that some waiter, somewhere, would take pity on us and sneak us a couple of cold ones on the sly. To their credit, they denied us every time. Frustrated desires aside, work on Wednesday and Thursday turned out to be spectacularly unproductive. Wednesday the office was in marked disarray--only about half of the staff even bothered to show up, and those of us that did mostly carried out our responsibilities in a dazed, mechanical fashion. We were all tense, distracted by our anticipation of further bad news. (Fortunately, none ultimately materialized). Bill Infante, our head honcho, called several staff meetings to gather news and insight on the situation from both political and civil perspectives. By Thursday, an unhealthy level anxiety was welling up within each of us. We needed a release, recreation. We needed to see the damn countryside already.

Laura, ever the take-charge, leaderly type, booked us a night in the ger camp at Hustai National Park, about 100 km west of UB. Friday morning, our driver rolled up in front of the dormitory at around 8:30 am and we all piled in for what promised to be a bumpy ride. Getting out of UB, fortunately, was relatively easy at such an early hour--later in the day the gridlocked traffic makes driving anywhere an insufferable undertaking. As we broke free of the urban sprawl, the vast, green Mongolian steppe unfurled before us for miles in all directions. Contemplating the scenery around us, we decided that the vastness and the emptiness of the landscape, complemented by the vast, open sky, reminded us most of Montana or Wyoming. The beauty of the steppe is stark; indeed, by the time we were 30 minutes outside the city, the trees vanished altogether. Also, remember that the grasslands are only so green for a few brief months out of every year; I recall the hills being a much duller shade of brown when I flew in at the beginning of June.

An hour or two into the drive, we were all in high spirits, reveling in the views around us, when disaster struck. It just wouldn't be a road trip through a third world country without a little dose of disaster, would it? (For the record, on my first day in Guatemala, the road to Quetzaltenango was rendered impassable by a monstrous avalanche about halfway along; I had to hitchhike three separate times to get to my final destination). If you've ever driven in the Mongolian countryside, you'll know that outside of aimag centers, there are roughly 10 km of total paved roads. This means that to get to the great majority of destinations, Mongolians simply carve their own roads out of the landscape. (Hence the bumpiness). However, this can become problematic after a solid rain, which is precisely what we discovered that morning. Unexpectedly, our van's progress stalled, and before we knew it the driver had lodged all four tires 12 inches deep in gooey, slippery mud. Being stalwart travelers, we were not to be discouraged by such a setback, and we all leapt out of the car to begin dislodging our vehicle. At first we all simply got behind the van and attempted to push our way out of the groove. However, the mud afforded us little traction and within an instant Emily had fallen and was plastered with the stuff head to toe. (Check out the picture of her in the facebook album; classic). We needed to be more resourceful. Searching the area, we discovered a small root vegetable growing in abundance whose leaves just might provide the traction we needed to get the van unstuck and rolling along again. Using vegetable leaves, twigs, a bucket for scooping, random chunks of concrete (?), and our own bare hands, we constructed a solid, frictive surface for the van to travel over. We all got behind it and heaved again as the driver hit the gas, and suddenly the van was free!

And then it was stuck again. Twice more we got stuck, twice more we panted and grunted and heaved and unstuck the van. Dislodging it the third time, we screamed frantically and motioned for our driver to "keep driving!! for God's sake just keep driving until you're back on dry land!!" Sprinting after the van to catch up with it, we climbed back inside and congratulated one another through ragged breaths.

The view from our ger camp at Hustai was spectacular. After locking our gear up, we wasted no time in setting out into the park to see Przewalski's horses (takhi in Mongolian). The horses are fascinating animals, with the hide of a domesticated horse but a bone structure much closer to that of a zebra--some takhi even have faint, zebra-like stripes encircling their lower legs. We took lots of pictures and oohed and ahhed, then moved onward. As we traveled, we were fortunate enough to see more takhi, marmots (so fat/awkward/cute), argali sheep, deer, and gazelles. Our final destination lay 40 km northeast of camp: a small, unassuming deerstone in a remote valley at the heart of Hustai. The air there was so clean; I can't begin to convey how wholesome and refreshing country air can be after four straight weeks of UB smog. In light of my professed agnosticism, I think it's fairly significant to note that my time there could almost have been described as "spiritual." That night, we returned to the camp for dinner and (thank heaven) booze! Apparently the booze ban only applied to UB, so we all celebrated with a harsh, crappy bottle of Chinggis black. Finally, before returning to our gers for the night, we all lay out on a hill above camp to watch the stars. If you've never had the pleasure of viewing the brilliant night sky from a spot totally free from light pollution, I recommend that you get on that. Immediately. Like, right now. Stop reading this and just go, for the love of licorice.

The next morning we sat outside on a patio and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. I took some time to just sit beside a field and watch the grass ripple in the breeze. The sights and smells were powerfully evocative of eastern Oregon, where I used to visit Kevin's cabin with him and his family. Later in the morning, we all rode (domesticated) horses over the steppe above the ger camp. It is hard to put words to the feeling of surveying the Mongolian countryside from the back of a horse. It would have been more fun if we'd been able to go fast, though. The guide kept getting mad at me when I'd subtly dig my heels into my horse's sides and whisper "Chuu! Chuu!" Oh well.

Unfortunately, the day was curtailed unexpectedly when Emma's horse got spooked and threw her from her mount. At first she appeared to be seriously injured, but once she had been calmed down and examined, she seemed only to be bruised and badly shaken up. Later, after she had been to the SOS clinic back in UB, the x-rays confirmed that she had no broken bones and no spinal damage. Thank goodness! We were disappointed to say goodbye to Hustai so abruptly, but grateful to have had the opportunity to escape UB and enjoy the rustic charms of the countryside. Riding home, I vowed never to spend a full weekend in UB again. And with Naadam fast approaching, I should have no trouble getting out again this weekend!

That's all I have to report for now, folks. I hope you enjoyed it--those of you that managed to stick around this long, at least--and please keep in touch! Love to you all.